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

‘I am an opportunist. I see an opportunity, I take it.’

I place my hands on the desk and lean forward. I thought looming over him would give me more power, but I am in for a shock. He tilts his chin upwards until his eyes are slits and locks gazes with me. Inside the piercing blue orbs, I see a bright, cold universe that goes on forever. It is so pitiless and ruthless that it makes me jerk back in horror.

I feel a slow panic shake me. How could I have imagined or fantasized that I could ever be anything but a temporary toy to a man like this? He lives a life exponentially faster than mine, in a kingdom of his making.

‘You will be required to submit to a medical exam and be declared disease free first,’ he says. It is the great sales trick. Don’t ask the customer if he wants to buy it, ask him what color he wants it in or when he wants it delivered. Assume he has already agreed. Zane is talking about the details as if I have already agreed.

‘And what happens if I am carrying some communicable disease?’

‘Then I will have to protect myself.’

I draw a shaky breath. ‘Will you take an exam too?’

One side of his mouth curves upwards. He is amused. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’ I demand curiously.

‘Partly because I am cleaner than a newborn baby, and partly because I fucking make the rules in this relationship. I tell you what to do and you do it.’

I shake my head, still unable to believe what has happened to my ordinary night out. Where did all this come from? It feels like I have fallen down a hole into a parallel universe where unthinkable, inconceivable things happen as if they are the most normal things ever.

‘Are you on some form of contraception?’ he asks.

See what I mean about unthinkable, inconceivable things. ‘No,’ I say curtly.

He nods easily. ‘No problem. The doctor will prescribe it for you.’

‘I can’t believe you need to force a woman like this,’ I say in a last ditch effort to shame him.

‘If it makes you feel better to pretend I am forcing you then go ahead and think that.’

‘You don’t call this,’ I wave my hand between us, ‘blackmail forcing me?’

‘I’m not forcing you, rybka. You have a choice. You can always say no.’ His voice is silky and full of slick charm.

‘What the hell kind of choice is it if saying no means I may never see my sister again?’ I ask bitterly.

‘I admit, it’s a difficult choice,’ he concedes, ‘but it’s still a choice.’ His expression is supremely indifferent and unaffected.

‘You’re sick,’ I hiss.

He stands, his chair wheeling back noiselessly on the carpet, and I find myself backing away. I realize what I am doing and stop moving. Nervously I watch him walk towards me. God, he is so much bigger than Mark. I gulp down the rush of irrational fear when he towers over me. He is standing so close I feel the heat coming from his body and smell his lust for domination.

He lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes. My skin immediately reacts to his touch. It starts to heat up, tingle and burn. I suppress the insane desire to clutch his shirtfront and jerk him towards me. It is disgusting and I’ll never understand it, but I am filled with the burning need to taste him. With an iron will I force myself to stay still.

‘What color are your eyes?’ he murmurs.

‘Hazel,’ I say in a voice that sounds like I have been hypnotized.

‘Hazel? No. They are like chameleons. They change shade according to what you wear and what you are feeling. They are the color of caramelized sugar when you are angry. They glow yellow like a wolf’s eyes when you are turned on, and they are dragon green when you climax.’

I flush from head to toe.

He claws his hand in the hair at my nape and grasps a fistful. ‘Why do you hesitate? You know you want it.’

‘To be your sexual slave?’ My voice is hoarse.

‘To lose control. To have dirty animal sex. To come so hard you can’t stop.’

He holds me firmly by my hair and lowers his face until his mouth is an inch away from mine. I stop breathing. He sniffs my cheek like a wild animal.

‘He left you unsatisfied tonight,’ he growls.

I jerk my face away. Away from the insidious warmth of his breath. My scalp stings, but the really scary thing is I want ‘it’. I want everything he is talking about. I want it with a kind of mad desperation.

‘My sister,’ I gasp desperately.

‘Do we have a deal, rybka?’ he asks softly.

Seven

Dahlia Fury

I arrive at the doorway of a big and fabulously clean kitchen. Whoever cleans it deserves a medal. Stella is sitting at the island table staring into a generous glass of red wine. Noah is eating some open textured, black bread, probably Russian. A glass jar of artichokes in oil is open. As I watch he forks an artichoke, and still dripping, stuffs it into his mouth and chews slowly.