He takes my hand and puts it on his crotch. He is already as hard as a board.
‘He’ll do,’ I approve.
‘He’d better.’
He touches my hair. ‘What color is this?’
‘Teal.’
‘Teal,’ he says softly. ‘You’re the only girl I know who could carry off teal.’ His eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘You’re very, very unique, Billie.’
I warm up nicely with the compliment. ‘You’re pretty unique yourself.’
He laughs. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘What?’
‘To throw in that little compliment?’
‘Not at all. I’m a very good liar.’ I grin at him.
He grins back. There is something soft in his eyes. It is the way a parent might look at their child. Indulgently. With pride. It confuses me.
‘Shall we go?’ I say, shrugging into a light coat.
He takes me to a fabulously extravagant subterranean cabaret club in Aldwych, called Voltaire. A set of neon lights points downwards. We go down gleaming aqua steps illuminated by thread lighting embedded in every step.
‘Voltaire,’ he says, ‘used to be a public toilet.’
‘Great. You’re taking me to a public toilet for our first date. Very unconventional.’
An enormous bouncer shakes Jaron’s hand and opens a bright blue door.
Public toilet it may have once been, but it is now lavish, decadent, and a lot risqué. There is not a bright light, shiny surface, tourist, or cashmere sweater in sight. Instead there are gorgeous fallen angels (waitresses and bar staff with wings) buzzing about serving sophisticated, quirky people.
It made for an edgy, unusual atmosphere.
‘Well done. It is actually the perfect location for an illicit affair,’ I say with a smile.
He smiles back, a heart-melting smile. ‘It always reminds me of scenes from Berlin movie stills of underground clubs from the thirties.’
‘I love it,’ I say and squeeze his hand.
‘I’ve booked a table but let’s have a drink at the bar first.’
Jaron orders a champagne cocktail and I get myself a fluid called The Control Word Is Voltaire. It is unquestionably potent and it makes me buzz almost immediately. I twist on my kiss me/lick me bar stool and, facing Jaron, cross my legs. His eyes drop to my thighs.
‘So,’ I say, and pause until he brings his eyes back to mine. ‘What’s Ebony up to tonight?’
‘No idea,’ he says with a careless shrug.
‘Don’t you…um…care about her at all?’
He gazes at me, and suddenly our surroundings drop away, and it feels as if his eyes, which look violet in the red lights of the bar, are boring into me with uncanny perceptiveness. As if he is seeing right into my soul. It does not last long, but they are an incredibly and startlingly disconcerting few seconds. However, his voice when he speaks is amused and light. ‘What makes you say that?’
My whole body trembles, but I keep it cool. ‘I was just curious about your…odd relationship.’
‘Odd?’
I look at the smoothly tanned skin at the opening of his shirt collar. ‘If I were her I would be jealous.’
‘Are you jealous?’
‘Obviously not. I’m not your girlfriend and we’re just having fun.’
‘Hmmm.’
I take another large sip of my drink. ‘This is delicious, by the way.’
A spotlight comes on and falls upon a black drag queen with a truly impressive amount of make-up, a glittery evening dress, and long, trailing earrings that go past her shoulders. Oozing cool, she glides from the sliding door that she has come out from and goes to a small platform that serves as a stage.
She introduces herself as Nina Simone.
Sitting at a piano she tells us her first song will be: I Put a Spell on You.
Simone turns out to be eye-bleedingly good. Her voice is so strong and clear it makes the hair on my arms stand up. Her Nina Simone is exquisite. When the song is over she stops, wisecracks, and then smoothly eases herself into the song that electrifies the entire room and defines it as hers. Sinnerman!
So I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
Ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
She gets everyone going. I turn at the end of her performance to look at Jaron and he is staring at me. His eyes are intense and almost quizzical, as if there is something about me he cannot understand.
‘What?’ I ask.
But he doesn’t tell me what is truly on his mind. ‘Wait till you see the toilets,’ he says lightly instead.
‘Why?’
‘The doors are transparent until you lock them and then they mist up.’
‘Sexy! Shall we try one together?’
‘Nope.’
‘Have you gone conventional on me then?’ I tease.
‘A: I like this joint and I want to be able to come back and B: I have other plans for you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
It is an amazing night. I eat chicken—well, I hope it is—I drink loads of Voltaires and thoroughly enjoy Jaron’s company. He is charming and suave and attentive. By the time we leave Jaron is stone cold sober and while I am not exactly drunk, I am what you could call merry and what most people would class as very, very horny. The taxi turns into Upper Belgrave Street and Jaron runs his hand along the inside of my thigh. I shift my legs farther apart when his fingers start brushing the crotch of my shorts.
He looks into my eyes. ‘Wet?’
‘Dripping,’ I reply.
The taxi comes to a stop outside a very grand and imposing white stuccoed building. I hop out of the taxi and while Jaron is paying the driver I look around me curiously. The street is completely deserted. I wonder why he has brought me here. I look all the way up at him. I actually love that I have to look up at him. It makes me feel like a child again. Everything is taken care of. All I have to do is just have fun.
‘Come on,’ he says, taking my hand and pulling me up the steps to the house. He puts a key in the door, opens it and walks in. I don’t generally like exaggerating, but it is fuck balls amazing. I stand and stare, completely speechless!
Gray-veined marble floors, polished to a high shine, pull all the way to what I imagine must be the kitchen. The walls are adorned with large paintings framed in heavy gilt. The ceilings are lofty and there are tall doors, all closed, leading away from the hallway. Then there are the marble stairs with their beautiful, beautiful banister that curves around. I lift my head and see the glass roof at the very top of the third floor.
‘Wow!’
I turn back to look at him. He is leaning against the door watching me. His eyes are utterly unreadable. I feel as if I could fall, am falling into those depths. ‘Whose house is this?’ I mouth silently.
‘Mine.’
This multi-million pound mansion belongs to him! My brain does cartwheels. ‘Who the hell are you?’ I mouth.
His eyes. His eyes. They are impossible to read. ‘No one. It’s all a game, Billie. Just a game. I’m no one. I just want you. Be mine tonight.’
‘And the apartment you took me to the first night?’
He shrugs. ‘Mine too.’
‘That’s where you shag strangers?’
‘Something like that.’
‘And this place?’
‘This is where I shag people I like.’
I lick my lips.
He takes a little device from his pocket and presses it. The lights go down and music fills the place. The sound of the music is seductive. A man starts singing.
I was dreaming of the past. And my heart was beating fast. I began to lose control…
I bite my lip. ‘What’s the name of this song?’
‘Jealous Guy.’
I frown. ‘And the artiste?’
‘Bryan Ferry.’
‘I’ve never heard of him.’
‘That’s because it’s before your time.�
�
‘Jaron?’
‘Don’t, Billie.’
‘Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you call me?’
He bends his head. ‘What does it matter? We’re just having…fun.’
‘We’re just ships passing in the night. So no taboos, right?’
His eyes change, something flickers in them momentarily. His mood perfectly matches the music. ‘Because I knew this would happen.’
I don’t have time to think or process his words, because he starts walking toward me. His eyes are unrecognizable. God! this guy really, really wants me. I swear no one has ever looked at me or wanted me like this. The realization is heady. The blood pumps in my ears. I feel almost deaf.
I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry that I made you cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you... I was trying to catch your eyes.
I shrug out of my coat and let it slip down to the floor. Deliberately, I kick it away. I slip my fingers into my top and slowly, slowly pull it over my head. My big and beautiful fake boobs pop into view. I chuck the top away.
I was feeling insecure. You might not love anymore. I was shivering inside. I’m just a jealous guy.
In my white hot pants and black boots I pose seductively for a moment.
And then I do a little shimmy, which makes my breasts swing and jiggle flamboyantly. I get down on the floor and slowly unzipping my black boot slip it off. Then: the other. I lie back down, unzip my shorts and wriggle out of them, sexy as an eel on fire. Underneath, obviously, I am wearing no knickers. I sit up and in time to the music put my boots back on.
I was shivering inside.
I lie back down on the cold marble and rising to my elbows and keeping my knees straight scissor my legs. I probably look really silly with my sex all swollen and red, but I don’t care. I just like the way he is staring at me. As if there is only him and me and this stupendous hallway and the rest of the world has fallen off a cliff.
I look up at him through my eyelashes, putting as much sauce as I can into it. ‘What are you waiting for, big boy?’
He discards his beautifully cut single-breasted jacket as he walks toward me. His eyes hot, hungry, a stranger’s eyes. They never leave me.
He reaches me and stands over me as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and pulls his shirt tails out of his trousers. His eyes are already eating me. Shrugging out of it he flings it to the ground. It falls on top of my coat. He uses the tip of one shoe on the heel of the other to unloosen it. The socks follow. Finally his eyes leave mine and latch onto my exposed sex. I widen the V of my legs. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He steps out of them and kicks them out of the way. Another song I don’t recognize comes on. I guess it’s old too. A man sings, Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.
I make a small sound when his briefs drop to the ground.
‘Oh my, Mr. Rose,’ I tease in a put-on posh accent. ‘I’ve never quite seen you from this angle, and I have to say it’s terribly provoking.’
‘Not half as much as the view from this angle,’ he says, not even a ghost of a smile on his lips. Dropping to his knees he grabs my thighs and buries his mouth between my legs. I grip the big hard muscles of his shoulders helplessly as a cry rises in my throat and dies there. Ridiculous how good he is at eating pussy.
Seven
The sensation is exquisite. On the horizon a climax glimmers.
‘Don’t stop… Please don’t stop,’ I cry.
My teeth start clenching, my head glides on the floor, then I am gone like a spinning top. I come back to the marble floor in waves.
‘I really, really like having you inside me.’
He raises his head and looks searchingly at me. Then he puts a hand out and gently brushes away a damp lock of hair. ‘And I really, really like being inside you,’ he says and inside me his cock twitches.
I giggle and wriggle and wrap my hands around his neck and pull him down. ‘Are we going to spend the whole night on the marble floor? I think it’s really beautiful but I kinda like pillows, duvets and mattresses.’
‘So do I, baby,’ he says, and with a single graceful movement bounds up and, pulling me up, puts his shoulder to my stomach and hauls me up and over his shoulder. He carries me nude, but for my shiny black boots.
‘You are such a caveman,’ I scold, shaking my ass suggestively.
‘Just claiming what is mine,’ he says cheerfully, and with a firm slap on my naked bottom, carries on up the stairs while I giggle like a crazy coot. I’ve never been carried up a staircase. It is a heavenly feeling. One I would have scoffed at and never thought I would enjoy.
Another singer I don’t recognize is crooning, Is this love? Jaron doesn’t look old but… His music.
‘How old are you?’ I ask his back while I watch the movement his pert ass makes as he climbs the stairs.
‘I’m a thousand years old, Billie.’
His mood has changed. For some reason I can’t imagine, he seems sad and unreachable. I try to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Are you a vampire or something?’
‘No, but I’m too old for you anyway.’
‘You don’t look a day over thirty.’
He laughs. It’s a bitter sound. ‘I’m thirty-two, but people like me, we’re like meteorites. We don’t last. We are bright, really bright, we can light up the sky with our fire, but we burn out and hurt the people around us. But I’m not going to harm you. I’m going to be gone long before I do that to you.’
I don’t like the sound of that. For a strange reason it frightens me. I remind myself that we’re just fucking. He has a girlfriend. I know nothing about him. I’m playing his mistress. And so far so good. I won’t let him spoil it by talking about things that are outside our reach.
‘What the fuck are you talking about, Jaron?’
It seems he’s had enough of this strange talk too. ‘No more talking, Billie love.’
The words Billie and love in the same sentence from his lips. So odd it is obviously a slip of the tongue.
‘No more talking, Billie Black,’ he corrects himself.
He takes me into a totally white bedroom. It is like a slice of heaven. There might be clouds under the bed. I know instantly that it is not his bedroom. He throws me on the white bed. The silk duvet is cold on my skin. I bounce and quickly raise myself on my elbows. He looks down at me with hooded eyes.
‘This is not your bedroom, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Is this where you take the girls you…like?’
‘No.’
‘Why have you brought me here then?’
‘Do you know you talk too much, Miss Black?’
‘Why does every fucking thing have to be such a secret? Why can’t you just be cool and tell me?’
‘I can’t have you and you can’t have me. Why pretend?’
I sit up and cross my arms over my midriff. ‘Just so we are clear, I don’t want to marry you or anything like that. I’m quite happy to just think of you as the most enormous erection I have ever had the good fortune to come across. So stop being so fucking secretive. It’s irritating.’
As if I had waved a magic wand the other Jaron, the smooth-talking operator, comes back. Un-fucking-believable. I stare at him in awe. What is he? A multiple personality. He looks me up and down so slowly my nipples tingle. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes when you’re irritated, babe,’ he says very, very softly.
He bends and kisses me, but his kiss betrays him. It is not sexy. It is long and lingering and almost desperate. It reminds me of the way my grandfather grasped my hand when he knew he was dying. Like a claw. Even after he died his hand was tightly clenched around mine. I was so shocked I did not move. My mother came and disentangled his thin hand away.
‘Where is he gone?’ I asked.
‘To heaven.’ My mother sniffed.
‘Is it a horrible place?’ I asked.
‘Of course not. It’s a wonderful place. You only get to go there if you are good.’
‘So why didn’t
he want to go then?’
My mother had no satisfactory answer for me. Why do we fear dying if heaven is waiting?
Jaron is looking at me with a crazy expression on his face. My lips form a single shivery word: ‘Jaron?’
‘I want you to take all of me,’ he says roughly.
‘OK,’ I whisper. The idea is unfamiliar and exciting.
‘Bum up,’ he says, and lays me face down on the bed with two pillows under my hips. The thought of being taken from behind, of being face down, my ass high in the air and totally helpless, waiting for a man to mount me is, to my mind at least, dark and twisted.
He is the master of both our pleasures. His powerful hands run down my back and ass cheeks and down to the insides of my thighs. With both hands he opens me wide. That single rough action is the most erotic thing that has ever happened to me.
Suddenly there I am, spread open for his pleasure. Maybe if he wasn’t such a hulk of a man or so brutishly muscular it wouldn’t have caused the sensation of such powerlessness in me.
I am so wet and turned on that I groan when he enters me. I exhale slowly and savor the full, forbidden pleasure of having a man’s dick inside me, a woman who thought she despised dicks. Perhaps he feels my excitement and how close I am to orgasm. My muscles are already beginning to spasm.
‘Yes,’ I scream.
The orgasm comes suddenly and powerfully but it lasts only a short time. My thighs are twitching and quivering, but he orders me not to move and takes me again and again. So hard that it makes him grunt and the bed shakes and the headboard rattles against the wall. His hands are on my hips, the fingers digging painfully into my flesh, and I am juddering about like a rag doll, but in my head I want him to grip me even harder, ravish me even more, brand me. I open my mouth and ask for it.
He doesn’t disappoint. His thrusts build up even more speed. He is like a jackhammer inside me. I begin to tremble and then an orgasm tears through me. This one is really the one that sages talk about. It is like a death. It shreds you, lays you bare to all kinds of odd sensations. Floating. Out of body. Hues. Emotions. I cry when I come down and he holds me close.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asks.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
‘Did I hurt you?’
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) Page 41
