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

‘Squat.’ The word is like a gunshot. It slams against the hard surfaces in that space, reverberates up my spine, and hurts my teeth.

I stare at him in horror. I can’t breathe. He wants me to assume the most demeaning position possible! I draw in the thick, humid air in a rush and it escapes in a hiss through my clenched teeth.

‘No.’ My tongue glides pleadingly over my lips. ‘Please.’

His eyes watch my tongue. ‘I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,’ he says coldly.

My stomach twists dangerously, but I force myself not to react with anger. I won’t give him the satisfaction. It is an ordeal but I shall triumph. I recognize what he is doing. He is establishing the terms of our arrangement. There is to be no tenderness, no kindness … not even the simplest loving gesture is to be allowed. It is going to be just sex. The kind of impersonal interaction men have with prostitutes. A transaction between two uninvolved parties. He mistook me for a prostitute once, and he has been determined ever since to treat me as one.

‘Fuck you,’ I whisper, my flesh sweaty.

His eyes glitter like ice chips on a freezing morning.

As I look into those cold, electric eyes, a strange sensation of invincibility overtakes me. I feel like Cleopatra or Delilah. A temptress full of rage and lust. Then too, the men thought they were the ones with the power. Little did they know. I will show him. I’ll show him I can be naked and proud and fierce even in this wet heat. The air between us is syrupy, flecked with water drops. These are the last few moments before the battle.

I sit back into a squat and expose my slick and ready entrance. He reaches out a hand, drags his fingers along my slit, and watches me shudder violently. I force myself not to avert my eyes from his taunting ones even though I can hardly bear for him to see the flush of lust on my face.

Still staring into my defiant eyes, he parts the wet folds and spreads the moisture pouring from within. With deliberate carelessness he inserts a long finger into me. Goddamn, it feels like it’s molten hot. I want to scream. My muscles contract helplessly around the intrusion. There is nothing I can do but take it. Take his finger. Take his cock. Take his dominance.

‘Having fun, Dahlia?’ he mocks.

‘Gloating, Zane?’ I retort, but my voice is choked and unsteady.

He chuckles. ‘I’m going to enjoy taming you, little spitfire,’ he says, moving his finger in and out of me.

With a great deal of effort, I pass the words through my lips. ‘You are despicable.’

‘I know,’ the son of a bitch agrees arrogantly, as he puts his thumbs where my thighs join my body and curves his large hands around my buttocks. With a smirk on his wicked lips he eases his head between my legs and begins to lap at my swollen sex. With each little movement of his tongue, I suppress the desire to whine and whimper with pleasure.

I have been on edge for this for so freaking long. Pushing back the lips of my pussy, Zane plunges his tongue into me, and suddenly it is no longer possible to hold back. No longer possible to pretend to be fierce or proud. I grasp his shoulders and cry out with abandon and ecstasy.

His hands dig into my flesh as he holds me in place while the torrent of pleasure makes my world erupt into hot white light. My muscles spasm and I arch my back, my spine jerking uncontrollably. I am only vaguely aware of screaming. The orgasm is long and strong, and I think I lose track of time.

When he lets go of me I slowly lean forward, and lay curled on my side, panting and utterly drained. My muscles quiver as if I have run a long race. I turn my face in his direction and I see a dark predatory glint in his eyes. He is hungry for me! Instantly my body responds to the hunger with an insistent aching between my legs.

I watch him place his palms on the edge of the pool, haul himself up into a crouched position and stand. Again, as I thought the first time I saw him move, I have the definite impression he is trained in stealthy combat maneuvers. Water sluices off his tightly muscled, naked body. Angled out from his sleek body, his cock is red, thick and massive. Underneath it hangs a heavy sack with purple and green veins. I look up at him almost in awe.

He is truly splendid.

He takes a step towards me, slips his hands under my neck and my knees and lifts me up into his arms. I make a small mewling sound. I have never heard that sound come from me before. When I am with him I don’t recognize myself. My hands curl around his neck.