You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  His face is unsmiling and watchful.

  For a second I don’t understand, and then I do, and a thrill of excitement runs through me. I smile a little secret smile before I turn around and walk away from him. Four steps into the room and I slowly twirl back, sink to my knees, and assume the position. My head bowed, my knees well apart, my bottom on the backs of my heels, and my hands spread out on my thighs close to my knees. Complete submission.

  I hear the rustle of his shirt and pants falling to the floor, the thud of his shoes hitting the ground. He comes forward and circles me.

  ‘Look at me, Tasha,’ he orders.

  I obey.

  He puts his hand on my bare shoulder and strokes it. ‘You are mine.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘From the moment your eyes met mine that summer by the pool you’ve been mine, and you’ll always be mine.’

  I rise to my knees and remain rock still, my mouth frozen open in front of him. He takes the condom off and his cock is dripping copious amounts of pre-cum. He moves closer to me, but not close enough that I don’t have to lean forward to an almost precarious angle to snake my tongue out and run it slowly up the side of his shaft and over his cockhead.

  He is so warm, his scent intoxicating. This is my man, I think with dizzy pleasure.

  He intertwines his fingers into my hair and plunges his entire shaft deep into my throat making me gag, and saliva floods my mouth. He withdraws temporarily from the tightness of my throat. Then, taking advantage of the extra lubrication of my saliva, he pulls my head as close as possible to him and fucks my mouth.

  ‘You’ve had this coming to you for a long time,’ he groans. ‘You deliberately teased me with your delicious body from the first moment you laid eyes on me, didn’t you?’

  My mouth stuffed with hard cock, I nod, making my head bob.

  ‘You’ve given me a fucking hard-on for years. Now you have to pay for that.’

  I nod.

  ‘Tell me,’ he commands, ‘that none of the fools you’ve known have ever fucked you like this.’

  I give a shake to my head.

  He pulls out of me. ‘Say it,’ he presses.

  ‘No one has even come close to this.’

  He smiles with satisfaction and saws deeper into my mouth. It doesn’t take long before he explodes, filling my throat with hot cum. He looks down at me.

  ‘Now go lie on the couch and spread your legs wide for me.’ His smile is pure evil, and I shiver with anticipation.

  I rise up and do as he asks, stretching myself over the couch so my legs are splayed open and my weeping center is exposed to his eyes. His eyes are hot wells of black tar as he approaches me.

  He kneels between my legs and uses his thumbs to pull apart my pussy lips, then repeatedly licks at the throbbing flesh as I gasp. His fingers dip into my slick entrance as his tongue rasps at my clit, lashing and stroking it until wild, high-pitched cries and shrieks stream from my mouth.

  I rock my groin helplessly against his mouth and tongue as he continues to devour me. I can’t even imagine what I must look like to him, naked, splayed wide open, and shamelessly begging for more, while he sucks my bud and fucks me with his fingers.

  He switches his fingers for his thumb, which he slowly rubs inside me, up and down until my skin grows hot and my hips are lifting off the couch. Then he thrusts his thumb into me harder and rougher. My body tightens unbearably as the tension ratchets higher. I hear myself moaning and pleading with him not to stop as he continues to stab into me. At this point though, things are so heated, he is fucking me as hard as I am fucking his thumb.

  His greedy tongue laves across my spread labia from top to bottom. I never imagined any man could be so committed to the enjoyment of my flesh. He devours me until I begin to shake and my fingers dig into his shoulder. Finally, I go rigid as the tension peaks. It holds me in its thrall before crashing over me in an earth-shattering roar. While I ride out the storm, Noah continues to use his fingers and mouth. He doesn’t stop, even after uncontrollable hot juices gush out of me and all over his thumb and mouth. My head rolls back.

  Oh my God! Have I just peed on him?

  Flushed, dazed, horribly embarrassed, and unable to move, I look into his eyes. As I try to recover, I realize how hard and horny he is just from watching me, and how much he needs to come again. He doesn’t try to take me. He just smiles softly and gathers me in his arms. ‘Oh, look at you,’ he croons. ‘You’re just a baby.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I croak.

  He jerks his head back in surprise. ‘For what?’

  ‘You know why,’ I mutter, too embarrassed to even say the words.

  ‘Actually, I don’t.’

  ‘I peed on you.’

  He chuckles. ‘You didn’t pee on me. I stimulated your G-spot so you squirted for me and that was beautiful to watch.’

  He kisses me on my mouth. Gently. Sweetly. Protectively. It is the safest feeling in his arms. I forget Oliver and his threats, and my father with his insect eyes.

  There is a sudden flash of light in the room then a rumble of thunder.

  ‘The storm is here,’ I whisper. ‘I’ve always loved watching storms. Even when I was a little girl.’

  He smiles at me. ‘Want to watch it in the next room while we eat?’

  My first reaction is to refuse food.

  ‘I have Chak-Chak,’ he says with a wickedly impish grin.

  Oh, deep fried little logs of unleavened dough topped with hot honey syrup. It’s been a long time since I had some. Come to think of it, I was wound up at the dinner and hardly ate any of it. ‘In that case, okay,’ I agree with a happy grin.

  ‘I’m going to have a bowl of zharkoye too. Want one?’ he offers.

  ‘Who made it?’

  ‘Irina brought it in this morning. She makes it at her home.’

  Homemade beef stew. The ultimate in comfort food and a definite must when watching a storm outside. ‘All right,’ I concur, ‘but only a little for me.’

  He uncurls himself and pulls me up with him.

  ‘Are you cold? Do you want something to wear?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ll wear your shirt,’ I say, going to his discarded shirt and slipping my arms through the oversized sleeves. It smells of him and I hug it close to my body.

  Noah rolls up the shag rug and slings it over one shoulder. We go through to the next reception room where the glass doors open out to the garden. Noah unrolls the carpet in front of the doors. Taking the cushions from the couches, he throws them on the carpet.

  ‘Do you want some blankets?’

  ‘No, I’m not cold,’ I reply.

  ‘Fine. Wait here for me,’ he says, and goes out of the door.

  Twenty

  Tasha Evanoff

  I lie back propped up against cushions on the shag carpet and look at the black sky as it streaks with flashes of white lightning. The power of it leaves me strangely excited. I count the seconds before the thunderclaps. One, two, three. Hmm … using the counting system of Baba, where one second is equivalent to one mile, the storm is only three miles away. It could get to where we are. The storm could break over us … if we are lucky.

  In minutes Noah is back carrying a tray. Two steaming bowls of stew and a plate piled high with Chak-Chak. I dip my spoon into the rich brown liquid and put a bit of potato and beef into my mouth. The meat is so tender it disintegrates on my tongue.

  ‘Mmmm … Irina is really good,’ I say. I close my eyes. ‘I can taste the cloves and the dill, but she’s also used another ingredient.’ I pause and frown. ‘I think it’s rosemary. No, wait. It’s not. It’s actually oregano,’ I decide finally.

  He looks at me with an odd smile.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You remind me of a joke my restaurant manager once told me.’

  ‘Go on then, share it. I can see you’re dying to tell me.’ I put a mouthful of food into my mouth and look at him expectantly.

  He grins. ‘There was this gourmet
who had an amazing sense of smell. He was very proud of it because it was so damn accurate and strong. All he had to do was smell a fork or a knife and he could tell exactly what food had been eaten using that utensil. He could do this even after it had been washed. Every time he went to the restaurant he wouldn’t let the waiter or waitress show him the menu, or tell him the special. He would simply smell the fork and know every single dish that the restaurant specialized in.

  ‘One day he goes into this Italian restaurant and, as usual, before the waiter can tell him the specials for the night, he holds up his hand. “Let me see if I can guess,” he says.

  ‘The waiter looks at him strangely, thinking, Oh God, I’m getting too old for this job. Silently he gestures for the man to proceed. The man smells the fork. “Ah,” he says. “You have sea bass baked with anchovies and olives, but the Chef has put a touch too much lemon juice in that dish so I won’t have that. Instead I’ll have the chicken with Parma ham, and the baked potato which also smells good.”

  ‘Shocked, the waiter asks, “You got all that from smelling the fork?”

  ‘The man explains about his amazing sense of smell but, of course, the old waiter suspects it must be a trick. He must know someone who has been in that restaurant before. However, he wants his tip so he quietly serves the man’s meal to him. For dessert the waiter opens his mouth to tell him the specials. Again the man puts out his hand and smells the spoon. “Ah, it seems as if the Tiramisu is very fresh.”

  ‘Now the waiter is convinced someone is playing a trick on him. “Yes, Sir, the tiramisu was made this morning,” he says politely. “Yes, I will have that then,” says the man.

  ‘The waiter resolves to play a little trick of his own on the man. “No, no, before you make your decision there is a very special dish that the Chef has prepared that has not yet been served to anyone else. I will let you smell it and guess for yourself. And if you correctly guess it you can have your entire meal on the house.”

  ‘The man agrees.

  ‘The waiter goes into the kitchen to the back where Maria is working washing dishes. He gives her an unused plastic spoon. “Listen, Maria, can you do me a favor and rub this quickly between your legs?”

  ‘Maria is a simple girl. “Okay,” she agrees and she sticks the spoon into her panties.

  ‘The waiter washes the spoon, then wipes it down carefully, and carries it to the man.

  ‘The man brings the spoon to his nose and sniffs it. He sniffs it once, then twice. Looking perplexed, he turns to the waiter. “But, Maria works here too?” he asks.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘That’s a good one.’

  He laughs too and suddenly I feel really close to him. As if we have been together for years and years.

  ‘So tell me about you?’ I ask, putting the empty bowl down.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Why would a man like you join the Mafia?’

  His face closes over. He shrugs. ‘I had my reasons.’

  I rise to my knees and, leaning over, kiss him on his eyelids. ‘Tell me. Let me in,’ I plead.

  He lays his cheek on my breast. ‘I needed money, a lot of it, and quickly,’ he says.

  ‘Why?’ I whisper.

  ‘I was fifteen and my mother was ill. I didn’t know how else to get it.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘My father disappeared after he had impregnated my mother.’

  ‘Oh, Noah,’ I sigh. In my mind’s eye I could see him, a tall, lanky boy, whipcord lean, his eyes anxious. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Yeah, I got the money, but she passed away in less than two months. I tried to get out of the brotherhood by paying the debt back, but of course they didn’t want the money. Less than £20,000 for a soul is a bargain.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He shakes his head. ‘For two months she was comfortable. I would do it all again if I had to,’ he says fiercely.

  ‘I’m sorry you were forced into this terrible life.’

  ‘It wasn’t terrible to start with. I was just a thief, but this job slowly seeps into every crack and crevice of your life. It takes more and more of you until it becomes you and you become it. You are a thief, a counterfeiter, an enforcer, a murderer.’

  ‘So how did you come to England?’

  ‘I was on a job and I met Alexander Malenkov. He was called Zane then. He was leaving Russia for England. I had nothing left in the motherland. Babushka had just passed away that year so I followed him. We worked well together and we formed our own thing.’

  He picks up the plate of Chak-Chak and offers it to me. I take one.

  ‘We were Mafia, but we only specialized in the finance industry. We targeted banks and large financial organizations. We were stealing from the biggest crooks of all time. It felt good.’

  I chew the Chak-Chak and swallow it.

  ‘Occasionally we were forced to do business with your father or people like him, but as much as possible we kept away from organized crime outside of our small but loyal group. Then a couple of years ago Alexander met Dahlia and she persuaded him to follow his true talent and become the pianist he is now. By then I had saved a lot of money from our dealings together so I bought all his clubs and restaurants. And here we are.’

  Outside the first fat drops of rain fall. They become a torrent quickly. I turn towards him. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s like there is no one else in the world except us in this house.’

  He stares at me.

  ‘Shall we go out in it?’ I ask.

  His eyebrows fly upwards. ‘You want to play in the rain?’ he asks incredulously.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It’s autumn rain. It’ll be cold.’

  ‘So what? We’re Russian. The cold doesn’t bother us.’

  ‘It was you I was thinking of.’

  ‘I love the rain.’

  He stands and opens the door. Fresh air hits us. He is naked and I am only wearing his shirt. I take his hand and we go out onto the springy wet grass. Indeed, the rain is cold and we are quickly drenched, but we both laugh like children.

  ‘Will you dance with me?’ I shout above the noise of the pouring rain.

  ‘It might not be—’

  ‘When a lady asks you to dance with her, you dance with her,’ I mock sternly.

  ‘Don’t take that tone with me young lady.’

  ‘Or what?’ I challenge.

  ‘Or this.’ He slams me against his body and kisses me passionately. Water runs down our fused bodies. It’s beautiful. And … I will never forget this moment.

  Afterwards, we go back inside, dry ourselves, and he makes love to me on the shag carpet. Outside the rain pours and lightning flashes across the sky. I will never forget this night.

  Twenty-one

  Tasha Evanoff

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWeg-W0xyok

  I Got It

  Yay! Papa is away!

  It is the third day with him away and Noah and I are on a day trip to Nice. Blue seas, blue skies, and gorgeous sunshine. The car Noah hired is an open-top, green BMW, and the wind rushes into my hair as we coast along the Promenade des Anglais.

  Wintering British nobles of the 19th century who came here to escape the dreary English weather set the snooty tone by paving a marble walkway to run alongside the beach. It goes all the way from the airport right into the city. We pass people rollerblading on it as we drive along. The sight fills me with a happy, carefree buzz. Nowhere else in the world can you rollerblade from the beach all the way to the airport if you so desire.

  I hold my hair plastered to the sides of my face and direct a face-splitting grin at Noah. The wind has pushed his hair away from his, making his cheekbones look cut and chiseled. I stare at him. He looks like a movie star, a god, an angel, or something impossibly gorgeous.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, still grinning uncontrollably. I’ve never been this happy in my life before.

  He smiles back. />
  I turn away and gaze contentedly at the blue-green ocean. I have never been to the French Riviera before, and this one-day break with Noah is just pure magic.

  Actually, it has been pretty magical ever since Papa left.

  I’ve spent every wonderful, lust-filled night with Noah. I also bought a pay-as-you-go cellphone, and the sensation of having him at the other end of my phone at any time of the day is simply exhilarating. It is like we are truly boyfriend and girlfriend. On the second day I even took Sergei out to the park to meet him. Yeah, Sergei completely adored Noah.

  ‘Meet my son, Sergei.’

  Noah smiled. ‘He’s as gorgeous as his mother.’

  ‘Shake hands, Sergei,’ I told my boy, and beamed proudly when he lifted his paw to be shaken by Noah.

  ‘He’s well trained,’ Noah noted, impressed.

  Proudly, I told him that I never trained Sergei. In fact, when he was a small puppy he was the naughtiest, wildest devil you ever saw. He was just terrible. I would come into my bathroom to find that he had shredded the toilet paper to bits. The whole bathroom floor was covered in it, and he’d be sitting there with an expression that said, so what are you going to do about it? Nothing was safe from him. He would come to me with something he shouldn’t have in his mouth and challenge me to chase him for it.

  Everybody told me I was spoiling him. I shouldn’t let him sleep with me. I should cage him. I should send him to obedience classes. I was ruining him, but I refused, because I didn’t want him to feel that he was my little slave. Sit, stand, or roll over when I told him to. To me he was my baby. Besides, every time I went to scold him, he would look at me with his great big puppy dog eyes and I would melt.

  He was my heart and I loved him.

  When he broke Baba’s glasses, Papa was furious, but I had no concern other than he might end up swallowing a fragment of glass. He remained a thorn in all the servants’ sides until he was about a year old. Then he slowly started to change. He grew up. He became so good I didn’t even need a lead to take him out. He knew what made me happy and he immediately did that. We were so bonded, words were not necessary. He instinctively knew if a man coming towards me had bad intentions, and he’d growl and bare his teeth until the man backed off.