Sweet Cruelty: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Zoe Blake

  I shimmied in my seat as I recalled the painful sting of his spanking. It was wrong and dirty to allow him to take such liberties. Too bad it was also hot as hell. It was just such a possessive, controlling, over-the-top caveman thing to do. A modern woman like me should recoil from such aggressive male behavior. Too bad it made me want to climb him like a tree as I licked the salty musk from his skin.

  This was madness!

  Especially after what I had learned today.

  Crossing to my bed, I picked up the copy of Russian Criminal Tattoo, Encyclopedia Vol 1 that I had checked out of the Newberry Library while at work earlier. The pale pink cover with the black and white drawing of a crowned skull smoking a cigar mocked me.

  This was definitely one instance where a little knowledge was a dangerous thing.

  Apparently a dagger piercing the neck with drops of blood signified a murderer in Russian tattoo culture. Each drop of blood represented a kill. There were three drops dripping from Dimitri’s tattoo.

  The card symbols on his knuckles indicated a gambler.

  I also learned the colorful dragon tattoo on his back was actually a traditional folk art design called Khokhloma. Unfortunately, I also learned that a dragon tattoo was a big deal in the Russian criminal world. It meant you had been brash and bold enough to steal from the government or another powerful group.

  The book had mentioned nothing about cartoon bears, which had seemed out of character for both him and the rest of his tattoos, but then so did the so-called meaning of his tattoos. Sure, Dimitri seemed like a big, scary Russian to me, but did that mean he was also a murderer and a thief?

  Wasn’t I being just a little judgmental and worse… stereotypical?

  Just because he was Russian didn’t mean he was a criminal, for heaven’s sake!

  People got tattoos regardless of their meanings all the time. Look at all the people walking around with Chinese character tattoos, which they thought meant strength or courage but really meant soup!

  Besides, wasn’t it possible I was using this as an excuse to back out of seeing him again because I was being insecure and frankly a big ol’ coward?

  The only way to determine if my misgivings about Dimitri were valid, or came from my own timidity, would be to at least go on one proper date with the man.

  It was just dinner.

  What could happen at dinner in a public restaurant?

  Mary broke into my scattered musings. Breezing into my bedroom, she held aloft her heavy metal makeup case, decorated in a bold leopard print with pink bows.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she said with a wink.

  Perched on the toilet seat with her laptop balanced on my knees, I winced as Mary pulled a brush through a section of my hair, smoothing it out before wrapping it around a neon pink Velcro curler.

  “Ow!”

  “Stop being such a baby!” she mumbled around the hairpins in her mouth before securing the curler.

  “It will take a lot more than some curlers and lipstick to get me to look like one of these women,” I grumbled as I pointed to the collage of Russian women I had found on Pinterest.

  “First of all, knock it the fuck off. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman that any man would be crazy not to want to date.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “No buts… this makeup stuff is all just superficial icing on the cake. Those women have nothing on you.”

  Yep.

  Not a thing.

  Except elegance, sophistication, confidence… not to mention killer boobs and big, pouty lips.

  Wincing as she pulled my hair to put in the final curler, I asked, “What’s the second thing?”

  “What?” she asked distractedly as she turned to dig around in her makeup case before holding up an eyelash curler.

  “You said first of all, implying there was a second thing.”

  Placing her palm against my forehead, she tilted my head back. “Second of all, knock it the fuck off.”

  “You already said that,” I replied petulantly, sticking my lower lip out.

  “It bore repeating, now look up and don’t blink.”

  An hour later, dressed in one of Mary’s rockabilly pencil dresses, I was ready. Although she’d wanted me to choose one with a bold animal print, I had decided on a simple black dress with a brightly embroidered line of red roses over each hip. With its tucked-in waist, the dress hugged my every curve and the deep scooped neckline made my boobs look huge. I mean, it wasn’t like I was flat-chested. I had a modest B-cup, but in this dress I looked like a 1950s Hollywood starlet.

  She had swooped my hair off my face and arranged it in some stylish liberty curls on top with the rest curling down my back. For my makeup she had done an exaggerated black cat eye with a classic matte red lip.

  Staring at my foreign reflection, I couldn’t help but blink several times.

  “Stop blinking!” admonished Mary as she walked into our tiny apartment bathroom carrying two pairs of black heels.

  “I can’t help it. I’m not used to fake eyelashes.”

  “Well, you better get used to it or he will think you’re flirting with every man, woman, and child in the restaurant or signaling to the waiter you are a hostage in need of rescuing.”

  I looked back at my reflection. Mary had done an amazing job. I looked like one of the women in the photos. All polished and done up.

  The problem was I didn’t look or feel like me.

  Sighing, I shrugged. Maybe that was a good thing. Let’s face it. Acting and looking like me hadn’t gotten me a date, let alone a boyfriend, over the years. I wouldn’t even have this date with Dimitri if he hadn’t mistaken me for a high-end escort playing a saucy game of schoolgirl and the headmaster.

  The simple fact was if I had met Dimitri under any other circumstances, he probably would have looked right past me. But the strange woman staring back at me in the mirror, she might have a chance with a man like him.

  Looking over my shoulder, I quickly turned and held up my palms as I backed out of the bathroom. “No way.”

  “Yes,” insisted Mary as she stalked after me into the living room.

  “No. I can’t.”

  Gesturing with her head, she said, “You are not wearing that dress with a pair of Doc Marten Mary Janes!”

  I placed my hands on my hips. “I have other shoes. High heels even!”

  She scoffed. “Kitten heels don’t count. Now choose. Stiletto or platform?”

  After a brief argument I had no chance of winning, I chose the black suede platform shoes. Hoping that with the wider-based heel, I at least had a chance of staying upright and not falling on my face.

  While Mary transferred the essentials from the front pocket of my backpack into one of her red clutches, which matched the flowers on the dress, I nervously reached for the Doritos bag.

  As if she had eyes in the back of her head, she called out, “Don’t you dare get cheese dust on that dress.”

  “But…”

  “Drop it!”

  “Fine.”

  I wasn’t really hungry anyway. It was more nervous eating.

  After she handed me the purse, I toddled toward the door, still uneasy in her heels. “I will wait outside. I’m too anxious to wait in here.”

  “You mean I don’t get to see him?” whined Mary as she picked up her now lukewarm glass of white wine and took a sip.

  “Peek through the curtains.”

  I practiced walking in the four-inch platform heels by pacing back and forth along the sidewalk in front of my apartment as I waited for Dimitri to arrive. It also helped to burn off some of my nervous energy.

  At precisely six p.m., a sleek black car rolled onto my residential street and swung into an empty parking space nearby.

  Thinking I would just open the passenger door and climb into the car, it surprised me when Dimitri emerged from the driver’s side; slamming the door shut, he came storming toward me. His brow was lowered and his lips were tight as he grabbed me b
y the upper arm.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

  Chapter 10

  I can see he’s not in your good books,” said the messenger. “No, and if he were I would burn my library. - William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

  Dimitri

  It was all I could do not to toss her over the warm hood of my car, wrench up that dress, and spank her ass crimson.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma bit her lip as her beautiful brown eyes widened with anxious fear.

  Barely keeping my anger in check, I ground out through clenched teeth, “Get your ass back inside and change out of that outfit.”

  Her hands smoothed over the tight fabric that clung to her hips, a movement that only pushed the top curve of her breasts up higher, putting them even more on display.

  “I don’t understand, don’t you like it?”

  “It isn’t you. Now go and take it off immediately.”

  Her rouged bottom lip stuck out in a pout as her tiny fists rested on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Wrapping my arm around her nipped-in waist, I snatched her to me. She stumbled on those ridiculous heels as she fell hard against my chest. Even in those shoes, her head still only barely reached above my shoulder. Placing a curved finger under her chin, I forced her gaze up. My eyes narrowed as I got a good look at the thick fringe of plastic over her eyelashes and heavily kohl-lined eyes.

  “Let me explain slowly and carefully so you understand.” My voice took on a deep, menacing tone. “I never want to see you displaying yourself like a whore again.”

  Her artificial red lips opened on a gasp.

  “Strutting up and down the sidewalk in this tight dress and fuck-me heels, your face covered with all that crap. From now on, you will wait inside till I arrive at your door, like a good girl. And you will be dressed appropriately, like the woman I fell in… like yourself.”

  I was in such a rage, I had almost blurted out that I was in love with her. It was a ludicrous notion, of course.

  In lust with her, yes.

  Fascinated by her innocence and unassuming naïveté, absolutely.

  Intrigued by the spark of moxie and intelligence I saw behind her gorgeous eyes, fuck, yeah.

  But in love? No.

  Men like me don’t fall in love.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t have every intention of claiming this distracting little minx to be mine and mine alone. She belonged to me. Period. End of argument. I may have only known her for a short duration of time, but I hadn’t gotten where I was in the world by not snatching up what I wanted when I wanted it… and I definitely wanted her.

  I was overreacting to her appearance, and I knew it… but that would not stop me. It angered me she thought I needed her to become a woman she wasn’t. That somehow I was such a superficial Neanderthal as to expect her to conform to society’s version of the perfect female.

  I was attracted to Emma just as she was… with her cute sweaters, messy ponytails, blushes, and naturally pink lips.

  “You are insulting my roommate’s dress, which she was kind enough to lend to me! I’m sorry it doesn’t meet your high standards. I’m sorry I don’t either.” Her lip trembled as her chocolate eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

  Looking down at the creamy expanse of her exposed cleavage, I sneered, “You definitely meet my former standards.” The jibe was an undisguised reference to my unapologetic use of escorts before meeting her.

  Her arm flew up to slap me. My fingers wrapped around her wrist before she had a chance.

  “Let me go… you… you… brute!”

  Securing her arm behind her back, I shifted my hips till she could feel the hard press of my erect shaft. Just because I didn’t like her displaying herself to the entire neighborhood didn’t mean I didn’t like the show.

  “Isn’t this how we first met?” I quipped.

  Through the heavy makeup, I could just see the dark pink stain of a blush as it crept over her cheeks.

  “I never want to see you again!” she huffed.

  With my free hand, I ran the back of my knuckles down her cheek before slinking my fingers around her neck just beneath her jaw. I leaned down to whisper against her lips, “That will be difficult since I plan on seeing a great deal more of you very soon.”

  At my sexual double entendre, her head shifted to the side as she tried to twist out of my grasp. Her movements only inflamed me more.

  My determination to not touch her till tomorrow, giving her body a chance to heal from our first rough fucking, was fraying. There were other ways I could possess her. The image of her on her knees as I smeared her crimson lipstick with my cock had me curling my hands into fists as I suppressed a frustrated groan.

  “Now are you going to be a good girl and change or do we have to do this the hard way?”

  Her response was to stick out her cute little pink tongue out at me.

  The corner of my mouth lifted. “Wrong answer.”

  Or right answer, depending on your point of view.

  Pulling her arm from behind her back, I hoisted it high while I bent low, pressing my shoulder into her midsection.

  “Dimitri!”

  The clumsy heels fell off her feet onto the grass as she kicked and cried out. In a few long strides, I reached the outer door of her apartment, taking note of the busted, unsecured lock before swinging it open.

  Carrying her wriggling form down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, I asked, “Which apartment?”

  “Go fuck yourself!”

  “Such language from a respectable librarian!” I teased before swatting her ass.

  “Ow!”

  I swatted her again. “I can do this all night. Which apartment?”

  “Over here!” called out a brunette dressed in rolled-up jeans and a red bandana as she waved at me from the end of the hall.

  “Mary! Mary! Call the police!” cried out Emma as she clawed at my shoulders, trying to raise herself up. I spanked her ass a third time.

  “Ow!”

  “I warned you.”

  I followed the brunette, who I assumed was Emma’s roommate, around a corner. I had to dip my head and lower my body to cross the small threshold.

  As I stepped into the cozy apartment, I immediately noted the shabby, insufficient locks on their door and the windows with no bars or additional protection. Two beautiful women had no business living in a first-floor apartment in this neighborhood. Let alone one without proper security.

  There was no fucking way моя крошка was spending one more night here.

  As I straightened to my full height, the roommate took a step back and exclaimed, “Oh, my God.”

  Knowing the first impression my imposing, muscular frame and shaved head usually made, I gave her a wink and quipped, “I get that a lot. It’s actually Dimitri.”

  “Mary! Help! Call the police!” Emma cried again as she continued to struggle in my grasp.

  “Sorry, sweetie! Somehow I think this is for your own good,” replied Mary with a smile on her lips as her eyes surveyed me up and down.

  Pointing to the two partially open doors to the right of the living room, I asked, “Which one?”

  She gestured to Emma’s bedroom. Kicking the door fully open, I carried Emma inside and slammed the door shut with my foot before tossing her onto the tiny bed. After a single bounce, she shimmied her ass to the edge as she climbed off it.

  Stretching out my arm, my brow lowered as I warned her in a stern voice, “Move off that bed and I take off my belt.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she stubbornly turned her head to the side. She really was fucking adorable when she was angry, like a little butterfly furiously flapping her wings, but only causing a soft ripple in the air.

  Assuming the only other door in the room was her closet, I swung it open.

  “No! Don’t!” Emma called out as she moved up to
her knees and grasped the worn metal railing at the foot of the bed.

  Too late.

  My eyebrow rose as I surveyed the sexy poster she had hidden away. Nympho Librarian?

  Well, fuck if that didn’t sum her up perfectly.

  Prim, proper, and shy on the outside but on the inside she was a little firecracker just waiting for someone to light her spark. Good thing I was the one with all the matches.

  Striding back to her, I grabbed her jaw and tilted her head back. Not giving a fuck about the red lipstick, I claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss. Sweeping my tongue inside, needing to taste the innocent sweetness underneath all this paint and theatrics.

  She fell back breathless as there was a soft knock on the door.

  Giving her a warning glare, I turned the knob and opened it only halfway.

  Mary held out a wet washcloth, smirking when she saw me. No doubt I had red lipstick smeared across my own lips. “Thought you might need this.”

  Taking the terrycloth from her grasp, I nodded. “Thanks.”

  Her flat palm came up to stop me as I started to close the door. “You hurt her and I’ll kill you.”

  We both knew it was an empty threat, but still I appreciated and respected the fierce loyalty she was displaying toward my baby girl. I wouldn’t forget it.

  My lips thinned as I met her gaze before nodding solemnly. “You have my word.”

  Turning back toward Emma, I wiped my face before tossing the warm cloth at her. “Wipe all that shit off your face.”

  With a sniff, she pulled off the fake eyelashes before using the cloth to rub at her face. I had to twist my shoulders to fit within the tight confines of her closet. Sifting through the various hangers, I selected a pale cream sweater with tiny pearl buttons and a navy blue pleated skirt. Tossing the outfit on the bed, I placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. Her ivory skin glowed a fresh pink and her large doe eyes shone bright, unblemished by any heavy black liner.