He reaches around so his fingers can play with my clit while he drives into me. Furiously. Relentlessly. All pretenses at civilization gone. We are just two animals fucking. Oblivious to the world around us.
My body starts to spiral out of control. ‘I’m coming,’ I shudder as the waves of contractions start. Vaguely I am aware of calling out his name again and again as I become a creature of ecstasy. I hear a roar. Then his cock jerks inside me and he shoots hot sperm into my body. He did it hard. As if he can’t help himself. As if this thing we have is a madness and this is the only cure.
Our bodies become still.
He rests his forehead against my back. Both of us are still breathing hard when he pulls out of me. I try to get up, but he lays his hand on my back. His cream trickles out of me. I twist my head to look at him. He returns his cock into his boxers and zips up. With a lush smile he slips a finger into me. More of his cream gushes out of me. He smears it all over my sex, thighs, and behind my ears. Then he pulls my dress down over my ass, his hand lingering on my flushed curves. He zips up my dress and pulls me off the sofa.
‘Shall we go?’ he asks.
‘Steady on,’ I say with a wobbly, crazy, impractical, fucked-up smile. ‘I’d like to wash and freshen up a little first.’
‘No, you smell and look exactly the way I want you to. I want every man who looks at you to know you’re mine.’
My knees go weak. Oh my! You are in so much trouble, Dahlia. ‘You sound like a dog marking its territory.’
‘That’s exactly right. I’ve left my scent on what I own.’
‘But there’ll be a wet spot on my dress.’
He smiles. ‘And so there will be.’
Sixteen
Dahlia Fury
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cQh1ccqu8M
A quick look at the big mirror over the fireplace shows me a woman with two spots of high color on her cheeks, swollen lips, and glittering eyes. Her hairdo is most definitely lopsided. There is no freaking way I am going anywhere without repairing that, at least. I pull the pearl pin out, comb my hair out with my fingers, and leave it loose. I turn around to look at Zane. He is standing very still in the middle of the room just watching me. I was so angry before it did not hit me how darkly handsome he looks in a faultlessly cut black suit and a midnight-blue shirt. Like a fallen angel, actually.
‘Have I told you that you look ravishing tonight?’ he asks.
Wow! First compliment. Butterflies are going mad in my tummy, but I affect an air of sophistication. ‘Not in so many words.’
‘Well, you do.’
‘Thank you.’ Then more softly, ‘You look kick ass hot yourself.’
He smiles slowly, sexily. ‘If you keep looking at me like that I’m going to have to bend you over the sofa again.’
How crazy, I actually want him inside me again, but my stomach rumbles. I walk towards him, my hips swaying, my eyes fixed on his. I stop in front of him. ‘Feed me first.’
‘Good idea,’ he murmurs. ‘Let’s fatten you up before the great feast.’
I look at him through my lashes. ‘You speak as if I’m on the menu tonight.’
His fingers tease the nape of my neck. ‘You’re the special for all of this month,’ he says, with the dark smile of a predator.
That reminder hurt. A lot. I suck in a quick breath and avert my eyes. He doesn’t know how his words affect me.
Zane helps me into my coat and opens the door. We find Noah cooling his heels in the hallway. As soon as he spots us he goes into full security mood, nodding at Zane and simultaneously talking in Russian into his earpiece as he starts moving towards the front door. He opens it and goes out before us, his head turning from side to side, his big body moving quickly down the steps. He opens the back doors of a long Mercedes with blacked out windows and waits for us.
Yuri is already in the street and two other men I do not know are getting into the two cars parked in front of and at the back of the Mercedes. The faultless precision of all their movements surprises me. It’s like watching something from a movie.
Slightly awed by the seriousness of the procedure, I slide into the backseat of the Mercedes and Noah closes the door with a firm click. Zane walks around and gets in on the other side. I have never been in a car with tinted, presumably, judging by the elaborate security measure I have just witnessed, bullet proof glass windows. Bizarrely it feels cozy and expensive. I turn to look at Zane.
‘Wow,’ I stage whisper.
He looks at me with his smoldering eyes. ‘What?’
‘What are you scared of?’ I tease.
‘I’m scared of how much I want your pussy.’
My smile dies away.
He slides his hand under my dress and lets it move along my inner thighs. ‘Open,’ he says.
‘No, I really don’t want to arrive at the restaurant with a massive wet patch on the back of my dress,’ I protest with an unsteady laugh.
‘Open,’ he repeats sternly.
I bite my lip and part my legs. His fingers engage with my clit while he watches me.
‘I really don’t want to come right now,’ I gasp.
‘Too bad,’ he says callously.
He carries on until my body buckles and I’m on the verge of coming, when he suddenly stops.
‘You’re not going to finish what you started?’ I blurt out.
‘We are nearly there,’ he says casually, and pulling out a fresh white linen handkerchief, wipes his fingers.
I stare at him dumbfounded, my clit throbbing madly. ‘You could have finished. We’re not there yet,’ I complain.
‘I know, but I enjoy seeing you frustrated,’ he says cruelly.
My jaw drops. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘I’m not… nice.’
I turn my face away from him and fuming quietly, stare out of the dark windows. No more is said until we reach the restaurant, which, in fact, is only a few streets away from my workplace.
Uncle Ho has an awning made of bamboo and lots of bamboo plants in large round clay planters. The same elaborate security measures are taken before we can get out. Noah comes to open my door and Yuri opens the door for Zane. I snuggle deeper into my lovely coat. I feel a hand on the small of my back and Zane guides me to the doorway.
We are shown to a lift where a large man is already waiting with the door open. We get in and it takes us all the way to the top floor. The lift door opens and, wow! The entire rooftop has been turned into a giant conservatory with a vaulted ceiling. Through the glass ceiling I can see the inky night sky full of stars.
A wiry, white-haired man in an immaculate cream suit and a thin, pink tie comes up to welcome us. He has a deep tan. He could be European. His eyes are sharp and they keep darting around the restaurant as he speaks to us.
‘Would you care for an aperitif at the bar?’ he asks, smiling, his head tilted in a half-bow. His accent is pure French.
‘Yes,’ Zane says without consulting me.
I should have been irritated by the impervious way he had decided for me, but I am too awed and fascinated by my surroundings to make any kind of issue. The décor is a meticulous and impressively successful attempt at recreating a lush Asian garden. There is a profusion of exotic plants and flowers. Beautiful, colorful orchids sprout out of halved coconut husks and the bark of trees. There are giant ferns, hanging creepers and a rocky pond full of large koi.
We have to cross a sweet wooden bridge built over a stream to get to the bar area. I notice the bar is made entirely from frosted glass, and looks like a massive ice sculpture. All the chairs are over-the-top thrones, with flamboyantly rich and colorful upholstery.
We are shown to a glass-topped table. How You Remind Me by Nickelback is playing in the background as I slip into one of the marvelous chairs … and holy cow, it is easily the most comfortable chair I have ever rested my ass on.
‘We have to find a way to take one of these chairs back with us,’ I joke, leaning back and feeling like
a Queen. I haven’t forgotten that he left me high and dry at the back of the car, but I plan to bide my time and take my revenge when the opportunity presents itself.
‘Take it if you want,’ he replies with an offhand shrug.
‘What?’
‘If you want the chair I’ll have it sent over to your apartment.’
I stare. The idea was kind of gross. Like a big kid stealing candy from the smaller children. ‘Are you able to just walk into any restaurant and demand their furniture?’
Zane looks at me strangely. ‘This is my restaurant, Dahlia.’
My eyebrows fly upwards. ‘This is yours?’
‘Hmmm … what’s so surprising about that?’
‘Well. I never expected you to have an Asian themed restaurant called Uncle Ho. I mean. You’re so … Russian. Russian breakfast. Russian staff. Russian artwork.’
An exotically beautiful woman in a red and white pants suit brings us both food and drinks menus. I open the drinks menu and there are at least fifty different vodka cocktails to choose from. I dither between Agent Orange and White Russian, but eventually decide on the latter. Zane has the Moscow Mule.
‘Well,’ I prompt after the woman leaves us. ‘What made you open such a restaurant?’
‘It’s actually inspired by Ho Chi Minh,’ Zane explains.
I frown. I’m sure I’ve heard of him before. ‘Isn’t he some kind of Vietnamese Communist?’ I ask.
‘I’m glad to see they teach you world history in America,’ he observes mockingly.
‘Why? Don’t they teach world history in Russia?’ I retort.
‘Yes, but we probably learn a different … um … version than you do.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You recognize him as some kind of Vietnamese Communist, I know him as a great revolutionary figure.’
I look at Zane, curious and intrigued. ‘There are so many great revolutionary figures. Why him particularly?’
His eyes glint and his lips seem very red and erotic. ‘I admired his ferocity. He took on the French Union and won.’
‘So you admire ferocity in a man?’
‘Ferocity gets you what you want.’ His gaze hasn’t unlocked from mine. I feel mesmerized by his raw beauty, but the subject we are talking about is important.
‘Maybe in your world, but not in mine,’ I whisper fiercely.
‘You don’t think ferocity rules your world?’ he asks with deceptive softness.
I look deep into his icy, dispassionate eyes. Yes, he is strong, and rich with power and wealth, however I saw something in his eyes once. Just once, but it was enough for me to know ghosts blew through the deserted corridors of his soul like gusts of cold wind.
‘I know it doesn’t,’ I say clearly.
He says nothing, just smiles, calm and cool.
The waitress comes with our drinks. My White Russian is not what I expected. It is not the color of milky-coffee I am used to. Instead it comes in two layers, the Kahlua in a rich brown bottom layer, and the cream and vodka as a glossy-white top layer. There are little rectangles of Kahlua jelly resting on the surface of the concoction. I use the two little black straws to stir the drink and watch the Kahlua swirl into the white layer.
He lifts his glass in my direction. ‘To ferocity.’
I copy the action, but not the words. ‘To kindness.’
Seventeen
Dahlia Fury
Over the rim of his glass he watches as I remove the straws and sip the fragrant cocktail. It is like a liquid dessert.
‘Good?’
‘Poetry in a glass.’
A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. ‘That good?’
‘This is Oh-My-God good.’
The waitress comes back to check if we have decided what we want to eat.
‘What’s good to eat here?’ I ask Zane.
‘Do you like prawns?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then the flaming prawns dish is exceptional.’
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘I’ll have that. Any suggestions for the main course?’
‘I’m having pork with broken rice.’
‘Sounds suitably exotic. Why not?’ I say.
Zane gives our order to the girl.
A young woman with a long luxurious plait down her back comes and puts prawn crackers on the table. She gives a lingering sideways look at Zane and I feel a tightening in my belly. I can’t be jealous! It’s the last thing I need. I shift my gaze to Zane and realize that he doesn’t even notice her, and I feel an enormous sense of relief, and my body relaxes. Oh boy, you’re in so much trouble.
‘By the way,’ I throw in casually. ‘I need to go to work tomorrow afternoon. I’ll just be an hour.’
Zane nods. ‘Sure. Let Noah drive you there.’
‘Uh. No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be quicker if I just take the tube.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t take public transport while you are with me.’
‘Why not?’
‘There is always the risk of kidnap and harm.’
‘Surely no one with half a brain is going to kidnap the new toy of the great Russian Mafia boss.’ My voice is heavily laced with sarcasm.
‘This is true, but there are people with less than half a brain and I have to be very wary of them. They will be unbelievably sorry afterwards, but the damage would have been done. While you are my property you are my responsibility.’
I raise my palm up. ‘OK, you’ve made your point, but I don’t want Noah to take me. Can’t I just take a taxi? They’ll send someone to come right to the front door, wait at the destination, and bring me back.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Are there men in your agency?’
‘Men? No, there are no men there except for Mr. Hawthorne, the bookkeeper who comes in on Tuesdays, but he’s at least a hundred and twenty years old.’
‘Then why don’t you want Noah to take you? Has he done something to upset you?’
‘No,’ I deny immediately, ‘of course not.’ I sigh. ‘It’s not him. It’s just that I have not told anyone at work about our … arrangement and I don’t want to arrive in a blacked out Mercedes.’
He finishes his drink in a single gulp. ‘Then Noah will take you and park in the next street and walk up the road with you.’
‘What? No way. Noah looks so dangerous.’
‘He can wait across the road,’ he says haughtily.
I sigh again. ‘Fine. But he can’t be seen with me.’
‘I will tell him.’
‘Good. Thank you. I appreciate that.’
A waiter arrives to escort us to our table and we follow him to a round table spread with a snowy white tablecloth and, unusually, set with two pure white serving plates. There is no pattern or the restaurant’s monogram on it. Once we are settled in and glasses of champagne have been placed in front of us, Zane resumes our conversation.
‘So what is it that you do at this literary agency of yours?’
I take a mouth full of bubbles. ‘Well, it’s my job to help read the massive pile of manuscripts that come in the post every day and try to find raw talent that our agency would like to represent.’
‘Do you find many?’
‘No. Unfortunately, everybody thinks that just because they can craft a sentence they can write a book.’
He leans forward. ‘How many have you found since you have been at the agency?’
‘I’ve found three, but two were vetoed out by the other girls as not good enough. So I guess I found one, but she was a really good one. Fey, the owner of the agency, put her book to auction with the big four publishers and she got a £250,000 advance.’ I grin. ‘And that’s just for her UK rights. She got a similar amount for her American rights. Cool stuff, huh?’
He nods slowly. ‘Not bad. How many manuscripts did you have to read to find this gem?’
‘I don’t know, sometimes it feels like a million. But to give you an idea of the statistics we deal with, the agency gets in the region of 200 to 250 s
ubmissions per week, but we only signed up four authors last year.’
He leans back in his chair, surprised. ‘That’s almost like winning the lottery.’
‘Exactly what I say,’ I agreed.
He drags a finger down the condensation on the flute glass thoughtfully. ‘Have you never wanted to write a book yourself?’
‘I don’t consider myself a writer. I guess I never have. I do scribble down my thoughts when my mind gets so overwhelmed that I feel I have to empty the box. Since they are all random often they make no sense at all, but occasionally I sound like a wizard or Einstein. Those pieces I’ve stashed away and maybe one day I’ll read them to my kids. Something for them to remember their mom by when I am gone.’
Zane stares at me as if he is seeing a ghost.
‘What?’ I ask defensively.
‘Nothing,’ he says quickly.
Embarrassed that I carelessly shared something so personal with him, I pick up a prawn cracker, nibble on it as if I don’t have a care in the world and say, ‘So tell me about your job.’
He smiles. ‘Are you asking me to incriminate myself?’
‘I won’t tell a soul. Girl Scout’s honor.’
He takes a sip of champagne. ‘Maybe you won’t, but the walls have ears.’
I put the remainder of the prawn cracker into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. ‘Someone told me your real name is Aleksandr Malenkov.’
‘Is he the one who told you I ate my own heart?’
I pierce him with my eyes. ‘Actually, he told me you are a very dangerous man.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’
I lick my dry lips. ‘He told me you’re a killer.’
His face remains watchful, but he is now also guarded. ‘You have a wonderful amendment in your country’s constitution that I’m rather fond of. The Fourth, I believe.’
‘You’re very casual about it,’ I murmur.
‘Is it cruel when a cheetah outruns an impala and kills it?’
‘The cheetah does it because it’s hungry.’
‘There are many kinds of hunger,’
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) Page 11
