You Don't Own Me 2 (The Russian Don 2)

Zane doesn’t say anything, just nods solemnly.

She turns on her heels, goes back to the stage and starts belting out a fast number, strutting across the stage and looking like the consummate professional. Her heart is broken but she has her pride.

The mood at our table has become strange and strained. Zane turns to me. ‘We can leave now … if you want.’

I nod silently.

We walk in the streets still full of people, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Then I slip my hand into his. He looks down at me and smiles. God, I love him. Every day I love him more and more.

Twenty-two

Dahlia Fury

I loved you at your darkest.

-Roman 5:8

We arrive at the villa and as we pass the swimming pool it suddenly occurs to me that I might not have such a good opportunity again, so I turn towards Zane and push him as hard as I can backwards. For a second he hovers in the air, his total bewilderment etched across his face, then he lands in the water with a great splash. I slap my hand over my mouth and try to suppress the hysterical laughter that is bubbling up into my mouth.

His head and shoulders pop out of the water, and he immediately starts peeling off his clothes. There is no swearing, no scolding. In fact, he seems so unconcerned about being in the water it surprises me. I watch him undo his trousers, kick them off and let them sink to the bottom of the pool. Next his shirt. Then he swims to the side where I am standing and hauls himself up so his forearms are resting on the edge of the pool.

He grins at me. ‘You’re not coming in, bella?’

I cross my arms over my chest. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Too bad,’ he says and suddenly his hand shoots out and curls around my ankle.

I freeze and look down at the wet hand encircling my ankle then back to his eyes. They are sparkling with suppressed laughter. ‘What’s the matter, little fish?’

‘Please don’t,’ I plead.

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?’

I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘I’ll do something really special for you.’

One eyebrow arches. ‘I’m intrigued. Carry on.’

‘Show me your thigh.’

Keeping his hand firmly curled around my ankle, he lifts his leg out of the water and rests it on the edge of the pool.

I crouch close to him. ‘This is just the beginning,’ I say smiling enticingly, and scratch his thigh the way that Stella had taught me to that night at Jamie’s. I must have done it right because his eyes widen and underneath his wet boxers his cock is a soldier standing to attention.

‘Now let go of my ankle for the rest of the technique,’ I croon.

He lets go of my ankle, grabs me around the waist, and chucks me into the water. As I am flying into the water I am actually in such a state of shock I don’t even scream. Stella could make a stranger drive her home at breakneck speed for a promise of the rest and I couldn’t even get my lover to defer retaliation.

The water is actually surprisingly cold. I emerge swearing and spluttering.

‘You’ve ruined my good dress,’ I grumble, treading water.

‘You ruined my good suit,’ he replies reasonably.

‘Now you’ll never know what I had planned for you,’ I say huffily.

He grins. ‘What, after the thigh scratch?’

‘You know about the thigh scratch?’ I ask incredulously. Stella gave me the distinct impression that it was her own personal invention.

He shrugs. ‘Everyone knows about it. It’s just a cock tease. Nothing comes after it.’

‘What?’

He laughs. ‘Yeah, whoever taught you didn’t tell you that?’

I’m going to knock Stella’s head hard the next time I see her. I swim to the side where he is standing with his hands on his hips, and he holds out his hand. I put my hand into it and he grasps it tightly and hauls me out in one smooth move. He kneels down and takes my shoes off.

‘Come on,’ he says, and we run barefoot and dripping into the house. I leave my wet clothes on the floor and he towels me dry so vigorously that I am quite pink and glowing by the time he finishes. He brings a hairdryer, plugs it into the wall, and makes me sit between his knees while he dries my hair.

‘I love your hair,’ he says.

I look up at him with a warm smile. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ He is silent for a while then he switches off the dryer. ‘There. All done. Feel like a hot chocolate?’

I twist around to look at him. ‘You’re gonna make it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’d love to have a cup.’

I sit on a stool huddled inside a fluffy bathrobe and watch him chop a bar of chocolate into small pieces. Then he pours milk into a glass saucepan and puts it on gentle heat. As it warms he drops the chocolate in and whisks it until it is a rich thick mixture and the delicious smell of chocolate fills the air. He pours the hot chocolate into two mugs and puts a mint leaf into each one