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

‘Eat it. It’s bread stuffed with Swiss cheese and roasted onions,’ Noah says.

‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’ My stomach doesn’t feel so good.

‘You must sober up,’ Noah says sternly.

Both of them stand over me watching me expectantly.

I shake my head and the sudden movement makes me feel quite sick. ‘No. I’m full. I’ve just eaten a bowl full of strawberries.’

Noah frowns. ‘Look Dahlia. This is your first day. You don’t want to make the boss angry. It’s not a good idea.’

‘Shame on you, Noah. A big guy like you afraid of Zane.’ I look at him sideways, slyly. ‘I bet you could take him.’

Olga gasps.

Noah looks again at his watch worriedly. ‘You have ten minutes left.’

‘You worry too much, Noah. Of course I’ll make it. I’m not afraid of him, you know. He …’ I trail off as I feel my elbow start sliding on the marble surface. Oh Jesus. I’m trashed as shit. I lean my face against my forearm and with a long sigh I go off to sleep.

I am vaguely aware that Noah and Olga try very hard to wake me up, but I have not slept properly for days, and after the long flight back I am also jet-lagged so they have no success. I just snuggle up against Noah’s strong warm body and go off to sleep. ‘You’re like a bear, Noah,’ I mumble. At least I think it is Noah. Unless it’s Olga and in that case she has a surprisingly muscular body …

ZANE

She didn’t present herself in my study as she had been instructed to do. Instead she got drunk on three-quarters of a bottle of champagne and passed out in the kitchen. I should be annoyed, but I am not. I’m excited by that streak of rebellion in her.

I walk into the cool darkness of her bedroom, switch on the bedside lamp, and watch her. In the pool of golden light her skin glows softly. Her lashes lie like sooty fans against her downy cheeks. Her mouth is reddened and slightly open. Her dark-chocolate hair fans out across the pillow. Her dress has not been properly zipped and one side of it has slipped off her shoulders exposing the soft swell of one luscious breast. Her right hand is softly curled and lying beside her cheek, the nails are painted creamy blue. They exactly match her dress. The whole effect somehow seems staged. Too beautiful. Like a carefully planned fashion shoot. For a moment I wonder if Noah did it.

Nah! Noah doesn’t have a dramatic bone in his body.

I stare transfixed at the smooth curve of her neck. How delicate and vulnerable it is. So easy to snap. Something inside me moves. I’ve had other women as equally beautiful as her, yet only she calls to me like a fucking siren. Even now I’m as horny as fuck. My cock is so hard and painful I’ll have to relieve myself.

Sure she’s fucking hot, but I won’t let any woman get to me like this.

I have exactly one month to use her and exorcise this obsession completely from my system. I know the immutable rule of supply and demand. The more you have of something the less you want it. Even the most delicious will become stale when you have overindulged, so I will over indulge.

I will have her at every turn.

Until I want her no more.

Then I will discard her. As I have done with every other woman I have ever been with. Things were good before her. They will be good again when she is gone.

I don’t need one woman. I never have and I never will. Not for me: weakness and dependence. I reach out a hand and touch her face. Her skin is like silk. Like a fucking dream. One day her face will blend into the endless line of faces and bodies I have fucked and dropped. She is just a sickness. Her poison will eventually lose its potency and be expelled out of my bloodstream. She will become a distant memory and I will be free.

I won’t feel this emptiness every time I look at her.

Twelve

Dahlia Fury

I wake up in a strange bed and for a bewildering moment I don’t know where I am. Sunlight is filtering in through the gaps in the curtains. My mouth feels sour and there is a dull throbbing in my head.

Then it comes back to me. I am in Zane’s house. I got very drunk yesterday evening. I remember drinking coffee in the kitchen. Noah must have brought me up here. I look down and thank God, I am still wearing my clothes. My watch tells me it is nearly seven o’clock.

I look around curiously.

The room is feminine, and yet impersonal the way an expensive hotel room is. It is large with cream walls and three lots of tall dusty pink curtains on one side, which means there are three windows. Beside the middle curtain there is a round table covered with a soft pink tablecloth. A vase of fresh flowers sits on it. Two white armchairs face it. It is obviously a place to have breakfast, but I am immediately happy about the table as it means I can work in this room. The headboard is an elaborate padded thing with pink velour upholstery and gilded wood.