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

by Georgia Le Carre

  I walk up to table twenty-three. He is wearing a smile that could light up a Christmas tree.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘You were great on stage,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you. Would you like a dance?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure, I’ll buy a private dance off you,’ he says, another bulb on the Christmas tree lighting up.

  Shit, what bad timing! My first big spender and I’m in a horrible hurry. From across the club I can feel Jake’s animosity searing my back. I realize now I shouldn’t have come. I should have passed table twenty-three onto another dancer.

  Jake

  What the fuck! I cannot believe my fucking eyes. Not only did I have to sit through a roomful of horny men staring at her nearly naked body—now the fat bastard is standing up and following her. She’s going to go into one of those VIP rooms and give him a private dance. Frustration claws at my heart. I grit my teeth. I have never wanted to be shackled to anyone, no matter how enticing the chains. But damn her. I cannot even bear the thought of any other man in a room with her, looking at her.

  I want her to belong to me. And only me.

  From the corner of my eyes I see Brianna walking toward me. She is smiling. I don’t smile back. The thoughts in my head seethe so bitter and dark that I lose control. I stand up and begin to stride toward Lily and her punter. I see Brianna’s experienced eye sizing up the situation. She stops smiling and picks up her speed—not so she would make a scene, though.

  I grab Lily’s hand. Her first reaction is interesting. It is one of pure repulsion. Then her gaze collides with mine and the expression is replaced by a mixture of joy, lust, and anger.

  The man turns to look at me. ‘Excuse me,’ he says pompously, as if it is I who has trod on his property. I’ve collected money from men like him before. Without their fancy lawyers they are sniveling, pathetic messes. They’d give up their mothers to avoid a scratch.

  Fortunately for him, Brianna reaches us at that same instant. She is so smooth I have to admire her anew.

  ‘Mr. Walsh,’ she coos. ‘Jewel has a personal emergency that she has to take care of, but I have found two beauties to dance for you instead. Obviously, your champagne is on the house.’

  Mr. Walsh accepts with ill grace. He has no idea how close he was to being floored. Brianna leads him away quickly.

  Hiding the black lust in my heart I look down at the brazen little hussy coldly. ‘I believe this dance is mine.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ she says sarcastically.

  I am still furious, but her scent drifts over me like a sweet cloud and lust writhes hot in my blood as my cock hardens too fast and painfully.

  Lily

  The walls and ceiling of the VIP room are mirrored. It is empty except for a small, round, low table, a large upholstered red and gilt chair, and another much smaller black one that the dancers use as a prop. He kicks the door shut, his heel slamming into the wood, and stands there, tall, proud. Pure alpha. Great! I am alone in the VIP room with one pissed off gangster.

  In a silky, dangerous voice, ‘Did you enjoy that?’

  Nervously, ‘What?’

  ‘Taunting me.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘You looked right into my eyes. You knew I was waiting for you.’

  I lick my lips. ‘This is my job.’

  He walks over to the red chair and lowers himself into it. He takes two blue chips out of his jacket and puts them on the table. Blue chips are a hundred pounds each. Then he looks up at me.

  In a voice like the crack of a whiplash, ‘Now strip.’

  I feel my cheeks start to burn. Doing a dance for someone that you fancy like crazy is totally different. The adrenaline rush is undeniable. It surges inside me. I finally understand why the other girls wear tampons all the time.

  Without taking my eyes off him I unzip my dress and let it slip down my body and pool around my ankles. His eyes rush down my body greedily, hungrily. From the speakers Snoop Dogg is singing, ‘Tell me, baby, are you wet? I just want to get you wet.’

  Just perfect.

  Jake

  She flicks her head flirtatiously like an animal in heat and deliberately presents her buttocks to me. I see her sex clothed in satin and puffed out between her spread thighs. I know exactly what she is doing. She is showing me the sweet wet heat at the center of her. The urge to reach out and touch. Fuck!

  She moves her hips from side to side, slowly, teasing, provoking. Then she pushes back until she is inches away from my face. I can smell the heady scent of her arousal. It has hidden itself within the noisy smells of cheap perfume, sweat, sex, and seedy thoughts. It flowers in my face.

  Like a wolf scenting the air, I inhale in quick bursts. She pulls back and my nose moves forward, following the intoxicating trail of her scent. Her hands skim lightly over her ribs and linger over the tops of her breasts, the skin satiny. She cups her breasts. I stare at her utterly riveted. She hooks one leg over the chair’s back and in one deft, smooth movement, sits down on the edge of the seat.

  Keeping her body arched and her legs straight, she opens her thighs so her long, long legs make a fabulous V. The position is obscene and bewitching. She is good enough to eat.

  I stare at the wet patch hungrily.

  She holds the pose.

  I raise my eyes up to hers. ‘How much to push the material aside?’

  Something flashes into her eyes. She lids them quickly.

  ‘One thousand.’ Her voice is flat and cold.

  At that moment no one else in the world exists. Only her, me, and something raw and too hot to touch. I reach into my pocket and pull out a handful of chips. There might have been two, maybe three thousand there. I hold them over the table and let them fall. Some hit the surface and roll away to clatter onto the floor.

  Very slowly she reaches into the material and pulls it to one side. My eyes drop. God only knows how many pussies I have seen in my lifetime, but this time it takes my breath away. I stare riveted at the pink glistening whorls of wet flesh. In that position the hole gapes, as if begging to be filled, taken, fucked. Enticingly thick nectar drips out of it.

  I raise my eyes to hers. Very deliberately she moves her gaze to my crotch, to my hard-on. I get it. She is angry. Even in this humiliating position she is helpless to fight the sensual call of her own body.

  She smiles. ‘Want anything else?’

  ‘What else is for sale?’ My voice sounds cool and distant, but my heart is hammering in my chest. Afraid of her answer. Afraid she will become more than just a cock tease. Terrified she’ll become another fallen flower littering the ground I walk upon.

  I see it clearly then. A flash of something far stronger than the liquid dripping out of her. Hatred. The violence of it shocks me. She doesn’t close her legs. She doesn’t pull the material over the gaping wound between her legs.

  ‘You’ve already bought everything that is for sale,’ she says quietly.

  My heart leaps in my chest. Alive with some sort of great wild joy. ‘Cover yourself,’ I say curtly to hide the joy.

  She pulls the material over her sex and puts her legs back down.

  I take a black chip out of my jacket pocket. I didn’t know what I was going to use it for tonight—if I was going to use it at all—but I am immensely relieved and glad it is going to be used and for this purpose. I put it on the table and watch her eyes widen with astonishment.

  ‘This is for you to get dressed and go home right now.’

  EIGHT

  Lily

  The door shuts softly behind him. I walk over to the table and pick up the black chip. It weighs the same as all the others, but wow! I never thought I would ever see one of these. Ten thousand sweet pounds! I sweep all the chips from the table into my satin bag and gather those that have fallen on the floor.

  Then I get back into my dress and go looking for Melanie to tell her I am leaving early. I change back into my normal clothes and head to the cashier’s box where I cash everything except the
black chip, and ask for the money to be put directly into my bank account. Shockingly, there is nearly three thousand pounds.

  I pop over to reception and ask Toni to call me a taxi. Less than five minutes later she tells me the cab is outside. Steve, the doorman, walks me out. It is a thing they do, see us into our cabs. As we walk out we see the taxi driving off.

  ‘Hey,’ Steve shouts, and then goes silent when he sees Jake walking toward us.

  ‘Good evening, Mr. Eden,’ he greets politely.

  Jake nods but does not look at him. ‘I thought I might as well give you a lift to mine.’

  I gasp at the audacity.

  Steve starts backing off. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he says, and makes himself scarce pretty quick.

  ‘How dare you give him the impression that I’m going back to yours?’ I storm.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can come in my mouth.’

  I gasp. My insides lurch, like being in a very efficient lift. ‘For God’s sake!’

  He shrugs. ‘Better, surely, than having to hear all those men telling you they want to come in yours.’

  I look down at the ground and see his expensive boots polished to a mirror shine. I regret it even before I say it. ‘I won’t bother, thanks.’

  ‘Why not, Lily?’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘Of course.’ He gazes at me with those smoldering eyes.

  And fire flows into my blood. Jesus! I’ve never had it this bad for any man. ‘I don’t do one-night stands.’

  ‘Whatever gave you the impression that it would be a one-night stand?’ His eyes are curious, quizzical, fascinated.

  My heart swells. He sure knows which buttons to press. He takes a step closer. I should make him try harder. ‘I want to go on a date.’

  He smiles, a look of genuine happiness on his face. ‘On a date? With me?’

  I nod. ‘Could be fun.’

  ‘I knew I’d like you.’

  I grin, feeling protected and precious.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, and leads me to a white Porsche 918 Spyder.

  I don’t know where the night is taking me—some distant warning that it could be dangerous clamors in my skull—but the call seems distant and inconsequential, and I turn away from it. I tell myself it is just a snapshot in time. Here, there, and then gone forever. Why shouldn’t I have this night? Without thought. Without consequence. Embrace, kiss, no rules, no guilt, just get and give pleasure. Only tonight. It will never be more, anyway. Not with men like him. For men like him, women come and go. So I will just do this one time.

  I slide into the cool interior, and he shuts the door behind me.

  ‘Nice car.’

  ‘Yeah, I like it.’

  He doesn’t have to drive far. The car stops in front of a deserted bar. All the windows are shuttered. A young man runs out of a darkened doorway and Jake chucks the car keys to him, and, putting his palm on the small of my back, leads me toward the darkened doorway.

  I look up at him. ‘The place looks closed.’

  ‘It’s closed to some and open to others.’

  The door is opened from inside. There are doormen just inside who nod respectfully to Jake and two receptionists who fuss obsequiously over him. We go through a side door and come upon a room that looks like the interior of a pub. It smells of beer and feet. The stools have been overturned on the tables ready for the floor to be cleaned in the morning.

  ‘What’s this place?’ I ask.

  ‘A gambling den.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yup. When the bar closes, the real activities begin in the back rooms.’

  ‘An illegal gambling operation?’

  ‘Something like that. Have a seat,’ he invites, and I sit on one of the tall padded stools next to the bar.

  He goes behind the bar. ‘Do you want champagne?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m a bit sick of the smell of champagne.’

  ‘What would you rather?’ he asks softly.

  ‘Whiskey.’

  He nods, grabs two glasses, puts them on the bar and reaches for a bottle in one smooth move. It tells me he has worked a bar before. He tips the whiskey bottle the way bartenders at swanky nightclubs do, from up high and continuously. The bottom of the bottle finds its way to the bar surface with a thump. We lift our glasses—there is no toasting—and drink. He downs his and picks up the bottle and refills his glass. A pulse throbs at his throat and he looks restless and edgy.

  ‘So this is your idea of a date?’

  He takes a large swallow. ‘At this time of the night? Yeah.’

  I really have to stop staring at him. Even if he is heart-stoppingly beautiful. ‘If it wasn’t this time of the night?’

  He looks at me with those amazing, bottomless green eyes and pours the rest of the whiskey down his throat. ‘I’d have tried to impress you by taking you to a fancy restaurant.’

  He pours another glass.

  I look at the glass and back up to his eyes and try to remember him as he was on the beach, the warmth of his smile, and I can’t, because the man in front of me seems so far removed from that man. About him is an air of danger and expectancy. My skin sizzles with it. I know just lurking underneath our apparently meaningless conversation are deep sexual undercurrents.

  ‘Should you be drinking so much? You still have to drive me home,’ I say to cover my awareness.

  ‘I’m not driving you, Lily. If I drive you somewhere I’m going to end up fucking you.’ He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his predatory eyes. At that moment he looks sexy as hell.

  I hurriedly look down at my drink. My thighs are clenching like fists.

  He rests his elbows on the bar and leans forward. ‘So, tell me about yourself.’

  I look up and lick my lips. His eyes drop to my mouth. ‘Not much to tell, really. A life wasted.’ I pick up my glass and empty it. The alcohol goes straight to my head.

  He frowns, picks up the bottle and refills both our glasses. ‘Where are you from, Lily?’

  ‘I’m a runaway kid who didn’t make it good, OK?’

  He didn’t seem even the slightest bit affected by all the alcohol he was consuming. ‘You’ve made it just fine.’

  ‘Not many people would agree with you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks. You did fine.’

  I finish my drink and put the glass down with a thud. ‘I’m a stripper, Jake?’

  He chugs his down, refills our glasses and pushes mine toward me. ‘That’s OK. Gangsters and strippers go together like toast and marmalade. We keep the same hours, the tax man doesn’t hear much from us…’

  I grin. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘So what’s with all the whiskey?’

  ‘You don’t have to keep up with me. I’m trying to dull the urge.’

  I keep my breath steady. ‘What urge?’

  ‘At the risk of sounding like a compulsive, obsessive possessive fool, the urge to fuck you, of course.’

  I feel the heat rush up my cheeks. ‘You’re the kind of guy every mother warns her daughter about.’

  ‘Did yours?’

  Suddenly I am on shifting sand. ‘She didn’t get the chance.’

  ‘Don’t you ever want to go back?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you brothers, sisters?’

  Here is the test. Here is where Lily passes with flying colors. I lock eyes with him. ‘I was their only child. Can we quit the questions now?’

  He looks at me with an unreadable expression, his lashes wickedly long and dark. ‘I’m not actually one for talking. I thought you wanted to.’

  I slide off the stool. ‘Let’s go back to your place.’

  My chest rises and falls at the excitement that flares in his eyes. He comes around the bar, grabs my hand and we leave the way we came. As if by magic the c
ar is already waiting outside. We slide into it and roar through the empty streets.

  NINE

  We stop outside a town house in Bloomsbury. He turns off the engine and looks at me and I feel a sharp thrill of pleasure run through my body. I open the passenger door and step out. The night air is deliciously cool. He comes around to my side and, taking my hand in his, pulls me up a short flight of stone steps.

  He must have found a key and put it into the door—there might even have been some sort of alarm set-up he had to turn off—but I am in such a haze of lust that the only thing I recognize is when he grabs my body in an iron embrace and bruises my lips with his. The sensation of being overpowered and taken is so great my body starts to tremble violently.

  He pulls away from me. ‘Are you all right?’ His eyes glitter with the look of a man possessed, a man who can barely control himself.

  Warmth glows in my guts. I open my mouth and no words come. Perhaps I am possessed of the same lust. I nod wordlessly.

  For a second he stares at me oddly, his shadowed face lit by street lamps from outside the windows, then he swoops down again on my mouth and I am vaguely aware that hard hands are sliding inside my top and unclasping my bra. I moan helplessly. It feels as if I have been starving for a lifetime. Cool air touches my skin and warm hands cup my breasts. My nipples harden against his palms. My mouth clings desperately to his. Between my legs I ache desperately for him. Suddenly he takes his mouth away.

  ‘More,’ I beg hoarsely. Like an addict.

  He gets on his knees and his hot hands roughly drag my skirt upwards. Hooking his fingers into the sides of the skimpy triangle of cloth stretched between my hip bones he pulls it down my legs. Then he parts my thighs and with his fingers opens me up and stares hungrily at my naked, slick flesh.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he breathes. His voice is thick with lust. ‘So damn beautiful.’

  He dips his head and, dragging his tongue over the slit, laps up the juices dripping from it. And that simple greed is far more erotic than sex. He has claimed my body in a way that no other man has. He has drunk my juices as if they are nectar. He looks up into my glazed eyes. There is no need for words. He bends his head and devours me with the hunger of the damned. I buck wildly against his gorging mouth.