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

‘When the flames die down, with your hands.’

I follow his lead, peeling the skins and biting into the succulent flesh. They are absolutely delicious and so juicy I have to constantly lick and suck my fingers. OK, I’ll admit I might have overdone it, but how am I supposed to help it when I catch his eyes on me, attentive, mysterious, and full of lust every time I do it? It is only a little revenge compared to what he did to me in the back of his car.

Then I eat the last prawn and lick the last drop of juice from my fingers, and suddenly my idea of revenge doesn’t seem so sweet anymore.

Eighteen

Dahlia Fury

‘Come,’ he says, standing suddenly.

I am still staring at him in surprise when he takes my wrist in his hand and tugs me upright. Conscious that my fingers are still stained with prawn juices, I quickly grab a linen napkin just as he pulls me away. I lengthen my stride to match his. The reaction of the other diners to us moving quickly through the restaurant is standard. They stare openly at him.

Why wouldn’t they? Tall, built, menacing.

He shoves me into the Ladies, quickly checks the toilet stalls, and when he finds them all empty, he jams the door with a fancy pink chair. He turns around and fixes his gaze on me. His eyes scorching.

‘What happened to that wild, lustful look in your eyes, my little cocktease?’

‘I …’ The napkin falls from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

He starts advancing on me. ‘You enjoyed tormenting me, didn’t you? Sending all the blood from my brain into my dick?’ he glowers.

I batten down the hatches, cross my arms over my chest, and do what my mother says is one of my greatest talents since I was two years old. I lie with a straight and brazen face.

‘I assure you,’ I say imperiously. ‘It wasn’t intentional. What am I supposed to do if a perfectly ordinary action like eating turns you on?’

‘Either one of the toilets is badly blocked or that statement is a steaming pile of bullshit.’ He shoots the word bullshit at me like a bullet.

My eyes dart to his crotch. There is definitely ‘bulge’ going on. A very big one at that.

‘Do you know how hard I am?’ he growls. Grasping my left wrist, he pulls my arm out of its crossed position and places my hand on his crotch.

Oh yeah, hard as a damn rock.

‘Oops,’ I say softly.

‘Oops? You think you should be able to tease me like that and not get punished?’ he purrs.

‘Well, you started it first. You left me high and dry in the car.’

‘I’m allowed. You’re not,’ he mutters. Before I can query the hell out of that lordly statement he goes off on a totally different tangent. ‘What shampoo are you using?’ he asks hoarsely.

‘I don’t know. I found it in the bathroom compliments of your housekeeping staff.’

‘It’s fucking epic,’ he breathes in my ear and I can’t stop a smug smile happening.

He rubs my hand along his thick shaft as he moves his face in front of mine and stares into my eyes. Then he takes my stained right hand and brings it up until it’s between our faces and starts licking and sucking my fingers one by one, slowly, deeply.

I find myself holding my breath. My mouth opens as he grabs a fistful of my hair. I claw at his jacket as a pathetic animal-like moan escapes my lips. Bending his head he takes my lower lip between his teeth and nips it.

‘Ouch.’

‘Awww … did that hurt baby?’ he growls.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ I gasp, running my tongue over my lower lip. It stings but I can’t taste blood.

‘I’m frustrated,’ he replies.

‘Do you want me to suck you off?’ I offer, my hand moving over his trouser-clad erection.

He takes my hand away from his crotch. ‘Yes, but not here.’

I scrunch my eyebrows. ‘Then what?’

‘I want you to feel what I feel.’

‘Don’t forget I was frustrated too.’

He licks my earlobe. ‘Not like me.’

‘What’s the difference between your frustration and mine?’ I ask.

He sucks the fleshiest part of my ear. ‘You want to know?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper, my hips inching closer to his body until his hardness digs into my belly. The sensation is downright erotic and I feel my pussy start to cream.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

I nod and grind my mound against the muscles of his thighs.

He places his hands under my ass cheeks and hefts me up to the polished granite countertop where there is a selection of perfume bottles and some glass containers of hand lotion. He spreads my legs and looks down at my dripping sex, then brings his gaze back to my eyes.

‘I told you, you’re not the only one who’s gagging for it,’ I say shakily.