‘Well, you were the worst lay I ever had,’ I lie.
Unoffended, he laughs merrily. ‘Time to make amends, then.’
‘Don’t you fucking dare come near me,’ I warn. I realize instantly that there is not enough threat and too much desperation in my voice.
His moss green eyes glint, dark and dirty. They make me horribly uneasy. I’m not in charge here. We stare at each other and the rush of sexual heat that sweeps over my body makes me feel oddly dizzy. The memory of his touch still burns in my bones. Unable to speak I stare foolishly at him.
The truth is I’m pissed off with this guy for not calling after he promised to, for making me sleep with my phone for nearly a month, for confusing the hell out of my sexuality, and for having a girlfriend who is the exact opposite of me, but as the seconds pass, I am not sure anymore if I am more pissed off with him or with myself for being so pathetic.
The problem is that my pulse is racing and I can’t think past the aching throb between my legs. I take slow breaths as my body, the hyperaware Judas, remembers and replays the sensation of all the hard planes, the raw silk of his skin, and the absolute perfection of that one night we shared.
I blink. Big mistake.
He advances, his lips twitching with amusement.
I step backwards, purely instinctive, and he takes another step, and so do I, but in the opposite direction. A warm flush spreads over my skin. All kinds of thoughts are running through my brain. Uppermost: of course he’s going to get what he came for. I can already feel his hand on my hips, and the lure of a seriously explosive orgasm. He got me the last time through the same fearlessness of consequences he is exhibiting now. No fear of rejection. Such naked confidence can be mind-numbingly seductive.
He turned my no into a maybe and my maybe into a yes.
And afterwards, when the curiosity and desire had been aroused inside me, he delivered big. I mean BIG. I told myself that I had gone with him because I loved that he did not have a prejudged idea of beauty. He found the spider tattoos on my neck and shoulder beautiful! But the truth was/is, he intrigues me like no other. My body is already craving it. It’s only sex, Billie, I tell myself.
I stop retreating when I feel the hard edge of the table against my buttocks. He takes his next step silently. With his hands around my neck he tilts my face upwards and swoops down on my mouth. Sweet mother, Mary. So bad, and so hot. My will is slipping away. What will? It’s been a long time. A long time. Bloody hell. He tastes so fuckin’ good I want to eat him. I get lost in the raving desire that comes in waves from his mouth into mine.
For a few more pulse-ripping seconds his lips bruise mine, a clash of teeth and lips and tongues. It is brutal, arousing, and totally feral. And then I tear my mouth off. The insides of my mouth are still stinging. He is strong, I’ll give him that. Very fucking strong. And that arrogant tilt to his chin. Like he should be in a vampire movie. Like he’s never heard the word no.
‘I thought you thought I was cute?’ he mocks.
‘If you like psychos.’
He grins and lifts me up by the waist as if I am a doll and deposits me on the table. My legs dangle off the edge. With both his hands he rips open my nightshirt. The tearing sound is deliciously erotic. Nobody has done this to me before. Underneath I am butt naked. His eyes drop to my breasts. With a slow smile he cups them in his hands.
‘I wasn’t wrong last night: you’ve had them done,’ he growls and pushes his tongue into my mouth. The man’s an animal and I love it.
His tongue drives in as I suck it enthusiastically. So different from a woman’s tongue. So demanding. So muscular. Suddenly his mouth leaves mine, and a complaining mewl escapes me. Watching me like a hawk he bends down to take a nipple in his mouth and sucks at it cruelly. I close my eyes and moan. His hands move lower. He spreads his fingers into the thatch of light brown curls.
‘A hairy girl is hard to come by these days,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re one in a million, Billie.’
‘Fuck you.’
He runs his fingers along the slit. I am embarrassingly soaking wet for him. One finger dips inside.
‘Yes,’ I gasp. Even that one word sounds incoherent. I want more.
He plunders my mouth. Slowly the finger inside me becomes two and then three. The stretch is delicious, but I want more. I need more. And holy fucking shit, I know where there is smoking more. I reach for his belt.
‘Look at you, throbbing for release,’ he whispers huskily, and pulling away from me splays my legs open. He watches me, his heavy-lidded eyes roaming my thrown back throat, my excited nipples, my legs spread so wide he has a full view of my pussy dripping and swollen for him.
He tears open the condom foil and then unbuttons the top button of his bulging jeans. The zip comes down and he takes out his cock. This is the thing about us lesbians. We’re used to big toys, but this boy’s toy—it struts right out at a right angle to his body. In its own way it is an aggressive angry thing with large veins. I’m not really sure if I consider it attractive. Certainly it is not pretty the way a pussy is, but there is something wild about it. Something animalistic and caveman-like.
I watch while he sheathes it and obligingly open my legs wider when he plunges the raincoated thing straight into me. That scream. It came from my mouth! His large strong hands are underneath my bum tilting me upwards. Whoa…call the police—this is an attack! He fucks me like a wild man. A furious wild man.
We are a violent, hot tangle. I writhe and claw at him, and he rams into me until I come, quick and hard. The world shatters beautifully and becomes more perfect than before. Almost immediately he does too with a growl and expletives. I bet his girlfriend doesn’t see this.
I grasp the firm globes of his buttocks. We are both panting hard. Now that I am sated I am back to my rather inelegant situation. We have sinned.
‘And you thought you were a lesbian,’ he says with such an irritating smile that I slap him, so hard his head jerks back.
‘That’s the first time…’ he mutters.
I raise a disbelieving eyebrow.
‘I’ve been slapped by a woman while I’m still inside her.’
I use both my hands to push him away from me, but I might as well have been pushing at a brick wall. The hands cupping my buttocks are like steel manacles.
‘You’ve had your fun. Now get out of my home,’ I force between clenched teeth.
'I’m still horny.’
I tingle at the promise his words hold. I glare at him. ‘We all have our afflictions and addictions.’
Suddenly I have the fierce and surprising urge to mark him. To let his woman know that he has been with me. I want to claim him. He sucks my tongue into his mouth. Too urgent to be gentle. Then his mouth moves, warm and wet against the side of my neck. I know what he’s doing. He’s sucking on my tattoos, on the blue spiders. He takes his mouth away and looks at them.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask.
‘Not easily,’ he confesses. ‘I had to shell out a thousand quid. Must be nice not paying your own bills.’
I ignore the jibe. I’m not about to explain anything to him. ‘What happened to last night’s posh and world-weary murmur?’
He grins.
‘When I first met you, you had a BBC accent. Last night it was decidedly posh and today a trace of Australian has slithered in. Will the real Jaron Rose please stand up?’
‘This is the real Jaron Rose.’
‘Are you going to fucking get your dick out of me?’
‘I will but first let me tell you what you’re going to be doing tomorrow. At sharp three thirty p.m. you will bend over this table, your elbows and hands and cheek pressed against the glass, your ass in the air barely covered by lace and some transparent material that rips easily. Baby doll nighties and thongs are my favorite at the moment. What you are doing is waiting for me to come and fuck you like the little bitch you are.’
My mouth drops open.
‘The rims of the thong will beco
me soaked very quickly and you will consider using your sweating hands to masturbate to relieve the ache, but you will not. Instead you will keep that position, nipples and cunt tingling, and wait. The high heels you’ll be wearing—I like black— will make your calves cramp, but you will ignore it.’
My pussy clenches like a boxer’s fists, but I pretend to snort.
He ignores it. ‘At four I will turn up. You will not turn around to look at me or speak to me. No matter how wide your legs are I will have to correct the position by kicking apart your legs and flipping the last bit of covering over your back, so your ass is totally exposed to me. I will roughly rub your panties, find the jellied part, and dig my fingers into it. You will immediately raise your hips higher to try to catch more of my flesh, and moan the way you would if you were begging for it.
‘I’ll tell you to be quiet. That you are not to make a sound until I allow it. I will flick your clit through the material and your body will start bucking and squirming. At that moment I will swat you on the fleshiest part of your buttocks just once, but hard. My fingers might strike your clit. It will make your head spin and you are bound to cry out from the surprise. But if you do I will spank you again. Just to hear you cry out and see the blush spread. And again, until you are panting and dripping onto my hand. Excitement, shame, joy, desire.
‘Then I will back off, make myself a cup of tea and drink it while I stare at your reddened ass, ripe for the picking. Once I have had my tea I will undress. Slowly. You will strain to hear buttons, material scraping my skin, shoes sliding away, socks pulling, zip tearing. I will grasp the reddened, burning skin in my palms and feel its weight in my bare hands.’
I try not to show it but his dick is slowly growing inside me and I am starting to want him to fuck me all over again.
‘Then I will pull the warm red cheeks apart and holding them apart with one hand I will slide my finger into you, first one, then two and eventually three—the way you like it, the way I did the first night we met. You will moan, and shiver and maybe even grunt like an animal. Your head will start to lift off the table—you are about to come. That is the moment I’ll stop and will ask you to touch yourself. You will take your hand off the table and press it between your legs, turning your head to look at me while starting to masturbate.
‘“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” I will ask. “Yes,” you will whisper. I will ask you again. “Yes, yes,” you will plead.
‘And that is when I will ram so hard into you, you will shudder and scream and arch and quiver and come in a screaming rush.’
‘I won’t be in at three thirty p.m. or four p.m. tomorrow,’ I say coldly.
‘Don’t be absurd. Of course you will.’
‘If I am bent over the table, who will let you in through the front door?’
‘That’s my affair. You just assume your position.’
He pulls out of me. And fully erect he takes a step away from me. I close my legs and slip off the table. Expertly, he removes the condom. I watch him pull his underpants up and over the rigid flesh.
‘It won’t break, will it?’
He laughs and pulls his jeans over the bulge. ‘Concern from you is always nice.’
‘Don’t mistake curiosity for concern.’
He zips up. ‘See you at four.’
I don’t say anything, simply stare at him.
Two
When the door closes behind him my breath comes out in a rush. Holy Moly! That was unbelievable and that was not enough. I am still throbbing with need. What is it about this guy? I simply can’t seem to get enough of him. I go to the fridge and pour myself a shot of vodka. I lift it up to my lips, and put it back on the counter. I don’t want to take the edge off the way I feel right now. I light a cigarette and walk onto the balcony. I blow out a smoke ring and my mobile goes.
I pick it up from the coffee table and it is my best friend, Lana.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Guess where I am?’ she squeals.
Well, it’s Sunday. Tomorrow is a working day. Her billionaire banker husband’s yacht is moored in the South of France. So the South of France would be my guess. ‘No idea,’ I tell her.
‘The South of France.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘I tried to call you earlier to see if you wanted to come, but I guess you were asleep.’
‘I was. So what is the little sprog up to?’ I ask referring to my godson.
‘He seems determined to swim across the English Channel.’
‘That’s my boy.’
‘What are you up to?’
I kill my cigarette on the balcony railing. ‘Enjoying a post-coital cigarette.’
‘What?’
‘Jaron came around and we had sex.’
‘Really?’
‘Unless I dreamed it.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Well, go on then, tell me what happened?’
‘It was hot and dirty, and he wants to come around tomorrow for more, but I’m not sure how I feel about it all.’
‘Why?’
‘I think it’s that crazy-eyed girlfriend of his. Mind you, I don’t feel bad about him cheating on her. I just hate the idea of him inside her.’
‘My, my, I’ve never seen you jealous before.’
‘I’m not jealous.’
‘Could have fooled me.’
‘Well, he’s not available. So that’s the end of that story,’ I say firmly.
‘I don’t know what the story is between them, but I got the impression last night that he doesn’t care about her one bit. There wasn’t enough heat between them to keep an egg warm. It was obvious she wanted to claim him as hers, but he only had eyes for you.’
‘Well…’
The doorbell goes again.
‘Hang on a minute. Someone’s at the door,’ I say, and walk towards it. I look through the spy hole.
‘Talk of the devil,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘Call you back.’
I look again out of the spy hole. The girlfriend is dressed to the nines in a white pantsuit, a long cream coat, sunglasses and a fringe sharp enough to skin a goat. I turn to the mirror and look at myself. My hair is a mess, my nightie is torn in half, and I have that slack, just-fucked look. With a grin I open the door.
Three
Ebony’s coldly disdainful eyes flick down my body and freeze at my torn clothes. We stare at each other. Tangibly above all other emotions, disbelief glitters in her eyes. Her chin starts to tremble uncontrollably and a small, pained sound escapes her glossy lips. Her hands, the two-inch long acrylic nails painted powder pink, rush upwards to cover her gaping mouth.
The smug grin dies quickly on my lips.
I pull at the torn ends of my nightie and hold them together. Suddenly I feel like a total bitch. A nasty piece of work.
She stares at me for a moment longer with hurt, accusing eyes, and then turns away, and runs down the corridor. At the end of it I watch her open the stairwell door and disappear through it to avoid waiting for the lift. I close my door and lean against it.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’
Maybe she really loves the guy. I shouldn’t have done that. That was just plain cruel, and I’m not a cruel person. Damn Jaron. I go to the vodka and take a huge swallow straight from the bottle. The alcohol burns the back of my throat and splashes into my empty stomach. I shake a cigarette out of the box, light it and go back out onto the balcony. I drag deeply from it. Smoke fills my lungs and grips it. I hold the breath. My body starts mellowing out. I look down and see Ebony running down the street. I exhale slowly. A frown on my face.
‘Fuck.’
I didn’t go looking for him. She’s not my responsibility. He’s the love rat, not me, I try to rationalize, but guilt is a grim business. Sleeping with another woman’s man has left a sour taste in my mouth. It is the same feeling as accidentally killing the fox that suddenly dashes out in front of
your car. Fucking hell, you think, why did you have to die under my wheel? Why didn’t you just go and die peacefully in some field?
I flick ash into a pot.
Somewhere in my little brain I had a plan to drop some money into Ann Summers’ till. But that plan is wearing a slit throat and shoes with dried blood on them: I won’t be wearing no baby doll outfit and waiting stretched out on my dining table for Ebony’s man tomorrow. In a way it is a relief. There is something about Jaron Rose that terrifies me. He plays with my head. He sets up cravings inside me that I can’t control.
I finish my cigarette and grind it out on the metal railing. I am firm in my decision. I’m never going to bed with Jaron Fucking Rose again. I go into my home, close the balcony door, and though I can still smell him, I go straight to my worktable.
I sit down and sketch a little girl’s outfit. A white pantsuit with blood red lace frills. It has a round red pocket on it. I hold it away from me. Nice one, Billie. I lean my head back and Jaron pops into my mind. With ruthless precision I push him out and open to a fresh page on my drawing pad.
I will forget him, if it’s the last thing I do.
3.30 p.m. one day later.
I glance at my watch. All day I have been a bundle of nerves. I’ve gone through so many cigarettes I feel light-headed. I go into my bedroom and dress in blue: baggy top and shapeless trousers. The least sexy thing a woman can wear, but then I cannot resist spraying a little perfume.
‘Who are you trying to kid?’ my reflection taunts.
‘I can look good while I’m telling him to fuck off,’ I tell my reflection, and sweep on a layer of mascara. My stomach is clenched tight with anticipation. I need a stiff drink. I help myself to an impressively large shot. That helps loosen the knot. I twist my wrist and look at the time.
3.40 p.m.
Right. I smoke another cigarette and pace the floor. Time creeps along.
3.55 p.m. I look at my reflection in the dining room mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes glitter
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) Page 38
