You Don't Own Me (The Russian Don 1)

Closing the door I walk into the cage, OK, room. My knees are shaky. I feel quite unsteady. I stop a couple of yards away from him and watch his fingers, long and manicured, pluck at his collar.

‘We meet again, rybka,’ he says.

‘You said you could help find my sister.’ For some strange reason my voice sounds shrill and accusing.

His eyebrows rise. ‘I said I’d try. I could put the word out, but no promises.’

‘That’s good enough for me,’ I soothe quickly.

‘Sit down and tell me what happened,’ he invites politely.

I walk up to one of the chairs opposite him, sink gratefully into it before haltingly telling him the whole story. It’s hard to focus. My thoughts keep recalling his touch and the words he said to me those months ago. He listens with narrowed eyes. Sometimes his eyes slip away to roam my body which makes me falter, and makes those luminous eyes return to my face.

‘So do you think you can help?’ I ask hopefully.

‘If I can’t find her nobody else can,’ he says quietly.

‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much,’ I gush, feeling like shit for all the horrid things I have repeatedly accused him of. Fortunately, it all happened in my head.

He keeps his eyes focused on me. ‘I will help, but nothing is for free, rybka. If I give you something you want, then you must give me something I want.’

My mouth falls open. It is like looking at a beautiful butterfly and having it suddenly morph into a wasp and sting you in the ass.

‘What do you want from me?’ I ask, my voice, a whisper.

‘You.’

His face is stoic. I stare at him blankly. This can’t be real. Did I just hear him say, you? As in me. Dahlia Fury. Am I even awake? ‘What?’

‘For one month I want you to be mine. Totally and utterly. Day and night. To submit to me and to do anything I ask of you.’

I prevent my jaw from hitting the ground. ‘Just to clarify. You want me to be your slave?’

His lips curve into a wicked grin. ‘Sexual slave. There is a big difference.’

Yeah, I’m awake. A misogynist through and through. And to think I felt guilty just now about my thoughts! ‘Are you fucking with me?’ I ask. My voice is pretty mild considering the murderous nature of my thoughts.

‘No,’ he says calmly.

‘I have a boyfriend, OK?’ I say.

He shrugs, casual and uncaring. ‘Then I hope he is an understanding man,’ he says.

I shake my head in disbelief. ‘What is wrong with you? No man is going to understand something like this.’

‘Then I’m afraid you’ll have to choose.’ He pauses. ‘Boyfriend or sister?’

My anger deflates quickly and soundlessly. Daisy. Laughing, freckled little Daisy. ‘What about my work?’ I ask. I feel as if I have been anesthetized.

His jaw is as hard as granite. ‘Take a month off.’

‘They won’t allow me to do that,’ I protest uselessly.

‘You decide. Work or sister?’

‘You’re a monster,’ I accuse numbly.

He nods. ‘Thank you.’

‘That was not a compliment.’

He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. ‘Maybe not in your world, but it is in mine.’

I take a step back. ‘You’re mad.’

He seems genuinely surprised. ‘Because I want you to be my sexual slave for a month?’

‘Yes. What a horrendous idea. In this day and age.’

‘Would it be so bad to submit to me?’ he asks softly.

I feel my insides begin to tremble. I clasp my hands together so hard my nails dig into my flesh. ‘I … I could be with you for a month … as an equal.’

He shakes his head. ‘That would not be acceptable.’

I scowl. ‘Why do I have to be in such a demeaning position?’

‘Because that is what I want from you,’ he says coolly.

I feel a rush of rage flood over me. It makes me feel giddy. If only I could stand up and walk out. How I ever wasted three months mooning over this unfeeling ass was beyond me. He says nothing, just watches me silently. The silence grows. ‘How can you be so evil? My sister has done nothing to you!’ More silence.

I pause, then quietly sigh. ‘I’m not into any kinky stuff.’

‘How would you know what you’re into? You’ve never tried anything but straight sex.’

‘How do you know what I have and haven’t tried?’ I parry, although he is astonishingly spot on.

He laughs. ‘Let’s put it this way. If I do something to you and you even look for a second like you’re not enjoying it, I’ll stop immediately.’

‘Thanks for offering to be so considerate, but I’m not going to be your sexual slave,’ I say sarcastically.

‘Then we have no deal,’ he says abruptly.

I spring to my feet. I can no longer sit still. ‘I don’t believe this. You’re just revolting. What kind of person are you?’