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

The music is louder now. Someone is playing the piano.

I go closer to the door and put my hand on the handle, but for some bizarre reason I am afraid to open the door. I feel like Bluebeard’s wife. It’s as if there is some great secret hidden behind the door. I snatch my hand away and step back. My hand has found its way to my chest where my heart is beating so fast I can feel it thudding against my ribcage. I don’t have to go in. You have to Dahlia. Everything you want to know is in there.

With shaking fingers I reach for the handle, turn it very quietly, and swing the door open slowly … and my breath is whisked away.

The entire room is vibrating with music. It is crashing against the thick walls and hitting me in waves. Zane is still in his tux and playing the piano. Rooted to the spot, I stare at him in shock. His back is to me and I can see by the tension in his powerful neck and shoulders how completely lost he is in his music. His whole body is swaying and alive with vibrant energy. It is as if the beauty of his own music has possessed him. That’s exactly it. He’s like a man possessed!

I am frozen.

I know this man so little. So little.

I thought he was cold and unfeeling. Look at him now. I have never heard anyone play music like this. Like it’s pouring out of his soul. I had no idea he is so incredibly talented. I don’t make a sound. I don’t even think I breathe, and yet …

He stops mid-note.

The silence is deafening. I hear my own heart.

Slowly, he turns his head and looks at me. Our eyes meet. His are so hostile, so unwelcoming, and so furious, I take a step back in shock.

‘What do you want?’ he asks quietly, his voice dripping with such cold menace that I feel my blood chill.

‘Nothing,’ I whisper, backing away, tears coming to my eyes.

Somewhere deep within me I understand. I have seen something I shouldn’t have. I turn and begin to run. I race up the stairs and into our bedroom. I close the door and stand with my back to it, panting. Then I take my dressing gown off and go to sit on the bed. Suddenly the door slams open and Zane is there. Startled out of my skin I jump up. I want to apologize, but I don’t know what for. He says nothing.

He just comes up to me and, grasping the material of my nightgown at my cleavage, he rips it in two. He cups my breasts and swoops down on my neck. He starts sucking my neck, hard. He does it with such prolonged intensity and in so many places I know I’ll be covered in love bites tomorrow. He sucks my nipples. He sucks my breasts. Then he falls on his knees and sucks my stomach.

I’m so wet and so turned on my thighs are trembling. He sucks my belly. He sucks my hips. He sucks my mound. He gives my clit a miss and sucks the insides of my thighs. Then he stands up and turns me around and sucks my back.

He pushes me on the bed so I am face down, then he spreads my legs and plunges in. I grab the edges of the mattress and bite back the scream. He withdraws, slams back in, and explodes inside me with an angry roar.

He moves away from my body and switches on the bedside lamp. ‘Sit on the pillow, open your legs and play with yourself.’

‘No,’ I protest.

‘Do it.’

He is like an angry stranger, but I’m not afraid of him. I am afraid for him. ‘All right,’ I say, and reach for the bedside lamp.

His hand shoots out and catches mine. ‘No. I want to see you come.’

So I look at a spot on the wall and rub myself. As I hover at the brink of coming, he swoops down and, holding my hips, pushes his tongue deep into me so that I am writhing, shaking and clenching uncontrollably around his tongue.

I’m breathing hard and my muscles are still quivering when he says, ‘Don’t you ever come to look for me when I am in that room again.’

I nod.

We fall asleep with his arms wrapped around me. In the early morning hours I wake to find him standing over me, the duvet lifted. He is staring at the marks on my body. My first instinct is to cover myself, but I don’t. I let him look at the bluish maroon marks. Unashamed of what he has done, he gets into bed and takes me again, laughing with haughty triumph when I climax with a scream.