You Don't Know Me (The Russian Don 3)

She puts her palms on either side of my face, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. ‘Don’t. Don’t spoil tonight. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.’

I look at the sad desperation in her face, and even though it makes me sick to my stomach, I control myself. For now. Taking deep breaths, I calm myself, but fucking hell, he has made himself an unforgiving nemesis.

‘Tell me exactly what happened,’ I demand.

She bows her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘If you don’t tell me I’ll get it directly from him, and it won’t be pretty,’ I warn, my voice cold and quiet.

Her head flies up. ‘No, don’t,’ she cries.

I stare hard at her. She seems suddenly so pale and vulnerable I want to hold her tightly and never let her leave this house. I soften my voice. ‘Then tell me,’ I coax.

‘You shouldn’t have bought the earrings. You shouldn’t have showed your hand. It was a rash thing to do. Now he knows that you and I are …’ She shudders. ‘What if he tells my father?’

I don’t tell her that I wanted to show my hand. I wanted to rattle his cage. I’m not going to stand for her having to sneak around in the middle of the night to see me. I want to blow it all out of the water. I want to stand in front of her father come what may. War or not, I’ll declare that she is mine.

I bring her wrist to my mouth and kiss the blue marks his fingers have left on her skin. Her expression is troubled, and it kills me that I can’t erase that look of fear and worry or protect her. That tomorrow at dawn I will again have let her go. And while she is out of my sight anything could happen to her. Oh, God, even the thought of anything happening to her. I pull her soft body against mine and breathe in the clean, sweet smell.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from that sick coward,’ I mutter into her soft hair.

‘It’s okay. It’s not your responsibility.’

That is where she is wrong. She is my responsibility. Every inch of skin on her body is my responsibility.

‘I’m here now, so what’re you going to do about it, mmm?’

I feel her body wriggle and rub wantonly against mine and immediately the uncontrollable lust she always invokes in my loins overtakes me.

I pull away slightly, cup her bare breasts, and let my thumbs caress the stiff peaks. I can’t help being sinfully aroused by the startling contrast of my darker skin against her white flesh.

There is a condom in my trouser pocket and I fish it out. While I gently chew her nipples she groans hoarsely. I unzip my pants and release my straining cock. I push her up against the wall, stabbing my tongue into her open mouth and my cock into her pussy at the same time.

I plunder her mouth while my hands grab the firm cheeks of her ass and pull her even tighter against my cock. Wild and unashamed she sucks my tongue and rocks her hips into me. I release her mouth to return to her breasts. I want to see them twice their size, as they were last night. I draw the tips into my mouth and suck them roughly. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glazed with passion. She furrows her fingers into my hair and presses my head closer to her body.

‘Yes, yes,’ she almost sobs with pleasure.

I nip one of the buds and she gasps. The sound touches something dark and forbidden inside me. I bend down to pick her up then stride to the living room. I put her down in the middle of the room and take a step back.

Let me see if she understands what I want from her.

Nineteen

Tasha Evanoff

What A Feeling

Breathing heavily, he stares down at me. The contrast between the snowy white dress shirt and his deep tan makes his face look predatory and fierce. He starts to undo his cufflinks. Dropping them to the floor, he unbuttons his shirt.

His face is unsmiling and watchful.

For a second I don’t understand, and then I do, and a thrill of excitement runs through me. I smile a little secret smile before I turn around and walk away from him. Four steps into the room and I slowly twirl back, sink to my knees, and assume the position. My head bowed, my knees well apart, my bottom on the backs of my heels, and my hands spread out on my thighs close to my knees. Complete submission.

I hear the rustle of his shirt and pants falling to the floor, the thud of his shoes hitting the ground. He comes forward and circles me.

‘Look at me, Tasha,’ he orders.

I obey.

He puts his hand on my bare shoulder and strokes it. ‘You are mine.’