‘The boss is on the lowest floor, minus 3. You can take the stairs.’ He jerks his head towards the stairs, ‘Or the lift down that corridor.’ He nods in the direction of the study where I met Zane the last time.
‘I’ll take the stairs,’ I say.
‘Keep going down until you reach the bottom.’
‘OK. Thanks.’
A hefty, florid-faced woman in a black skirt and white blouse passes us on her way to the kitchen. She smiles politely at me and I smile back.
I take the stairs and start walking down into the lower floors. I go past the two flights of stairs I descended the last time to go to the massage room and down the last one. It opens up to another black and white chequered landing with a plinth holding an antique headless and armless statue, and under it a large arrangement of white flowers. Beyond it is a grand set of white and black doors. I grasp the intricately carved metal handles, push them open, and gasp with surprise.
The whole floor is a fabulous open plan, mosaic-covered, steamy bathhouse held up by a forest of pillars. Steam rising from a large raised pool mists the space, making it seem magical or from a different time. A time when powerful rulers of great empires lay in similar pools and scantily clad slave girls came to wash them. I breathe in the fragrance that has been poured into the water. Jasmine. Deliciously Oriental and exotic.
I walk towards the pool and stop when I am about twenty feet away from it. Inside the marble tub capable of fitting at least ten people, Zane is lying back facing me. His powerful shoulders and arms are out of the bubbling water and resting along the edge of the tub. His skin gleams like polished metal in the humid air.
His eyes are open and he is gazing at me. There is something very relaxed about his pose, but something frighteningly alert about his eyes. I think about that time when I looked into his eyes and saw that cold, pitiless universe they held within them. I let my gaze slide away from that barren wasteland.
I don’t want to be afraid of him. He has done me a great favor. I want to show him my appreciation, my deep gratitude. I watch the ink on his body. Somehow it seems even more beautiful in this setting. I want to stand here a little while longer and simply soak in the decadent sight of this marvelous man in his luxurious pool.
‘Won’t you join me?’ His voice is silky and caressing. Still, it is clearly not an invitation, but an order.
I lean against a pillar and take my shoes off. Then I unbuckle my watch and leave it next to my shoes. Barefoot, I advance on the smooth damp marble. I stand at the edge of the pool, my blood hot and thirsty for him.
‘Is a sexual slave expected to wash her master?’ I ask softly.
He remains very still. ‘Take your clothes off.’
My heart starts pumping faster. I unzip my dress and let it slip down. I take off my bra, and though the expression on his face doesn’t change in the slightest, his eyes flash when my breasts pop out. Letting the bra fall from my hand, I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties and pull them down my legs. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me expressionlessly as if I am an art exhibit that he is not sure he actually likes. I straighten, completely naked but for the layer of mist on my skin.
‘Thank you for finding my sister,’ I say, my voice a hoarse whisper.
His eyes gleam through the rising steam, black pupils fixed on me. ‘Good. Show me how grateful you are,’ he says.
There is a black lacquer container by the edge of the pool. It has loofahs, sponges, cloths, and soaps in it. I walk to it, pick up a cloth and a bar of soap, and go behind him. Getting on my knees I take his hand between mine and turning it palm up begin to meticulously wash his fingers. One by one. They are long and elegant, the pads firm and fleshy, the nails beautifully manicured. A pianist’s hand, full of hidden strength. Like a sleek racehorse.
He turns his head and watches me, but I don’t look at him. I keep my head bowed as I raise his hand. He smells of something wild, storm rain perhaps. With infinite gentleness I kiss the inside of his wrist, right on the tip of that cobra tattoo. His body freezes. My heart jumps sideways. My gaze flies to his face. Locks on his eyes.
Both of us are startled, me by the sudden shift in him, and him by something I cannot know. A shadow passes in his eyes. For a shocking microsecond he reminds me of a wounded animal, of the way Suzie looked at Mom and me when we went to pick her up from the animal shelter. Fear, pain, distrust, hope and a profound longing for love. But like a trick of light it is gone, and whatever scary secrets he hides remain in the dark. I am reminded of a little used word I learned a long time ago: bloodthirsty. He yanks his hand out of my grasp suddenly and curls it around my wrist in a steely grip.
‘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.
He carries me past the forest of pillars towards a large round green divan covered with many pillows, and throws me onto it as if I am no more than a rag doll. He stands over the bed and watches my breasts jiggling as I bounce. I stare up at him as he crouches down and spreads my supine body out. Pulling my legs apart he impales me, his hard shaft ramming into me so suddenly that there isn’t time for me to adjust to his size. It shocks me into a long whimper of submission.
That drags a rumbling animal growl from his throat.
Every inch of me feels like I am on fire. My hips thrash upwards as my hands grab the firm, strong buttocks and shove him towards me, our bodies crash together and he is in, balls deep. I scratch my nails down his spine like a wildcat and wrap him so tightly to me it feels as if we are melded together. I know exactly what I want. I want every last inch of him inside me. I need to feel him in the depths of my belly.
‘Make yourself come,’ he orders.
His voice fucks my ear. I stare up at him angrily. His cock swells and jerks inside me.
‘Do it,’ he growls.
I arch my back, press into him, and grind myself against him until I feel a knot forming in my stomach. At that moment he slips his hands under me, lifts me up and, for his pleasure begins to slam into me. He fucks me like a feral beast, the veins in his throat bulging. The burn inside me turns into raging flames.
‘Zane,’ I cry lustily, my whole body jerking under his.
I claw at the sheets, the cushions, his skin. It feels as if my body is shattering into a million pieces. I thrash. I cry. I scream. His hot seed spills deep inside me.
I watch his face, contorted and transformed, his eyes darkened. For the first time since I have known him he is reachable. He catches me watching him and the switch back to the cold, unreadable man totally in control of himself is instantaneous and effortless.
Breathing hard I stare up at him. He is still lodged inside me. There is a whole frozen world hidden behind those eyes. Another woman might have thought she could thaw that world and live in it. I don’t.
‘Come to my study in an hour’s time. I will require you again then,’ he says and withdraws from my body.
My heart goes cold. I watch him stand, his cock still half erect and shining with our juices. He turns from me and begins to walk away. He stops at a low stool and picks up a dressing gown. He shrugs into it and leaves without ever looking back.
Eleven
Dahlia Fury
I listen to the doors click shut before I sit up on my elbows and look at the steam rising from the pool. It beckons to me. I have never been in such a pool. His milk flows out of me and stains my thighs as I get off the divan and walk to the water.
I lower myself into its silkiness, lie back where I had found him, and let my limbs sway in the water.
Ah …
He has declared war.
I duck underwater. Even the bottom of the pool is gorgeous. A naked Adonis type hero wearing laurel leaves is fighting mythical snake-like monsters. It is made of thousands of tiny pieces of mosaic.
I emerge a few seconds later and slick my hair back away from my face. I swim back to the side and notice what I had been too strung up to see before; a bucket of ice with an unopened bottle of champagne inside it, two flute glasses, a shallow dish full of ice, and two silver bowls, one smaller and covered, and the other much bigger and uncovered There are large strawberries inside the uncovered bowl. I lift the lid of the smaller bowl and find a mound of shiny black caviar.
I grasp the neck of the bottle, fish it out of the bucket and look at the label. My eyebrows rise. Well, well, Dom Perignon. Never had that before. I pop its cork and pour myself a glass. I raise the glass of fizzing liquid in a silent toast to me. Here’s to me. I take a sip.
‘Mmmm. Lovely.’
I eye the caviar, but reach for a strawberry and bite into it. It is so ripe and ready sweet juice runs down my fingers. For some strange reason it reminds me of the time I was four maybe five years old and I found a half-eaten bright pink lollipop in our garden. I remember watching my mom yelling at me from the window not to eat it, and me defiantly licking the dirt encrusted sweet anyway, finding it rough and delicious on my tongue. By the time my mom ran out I had not only chewed it up, but swallowed it all, so there was no chance she would put her finger in my mouth and hook it out. She smacked the backs of my legs, but I refused to cry. I didn’t think I had done anything wrong.
I take another delicious sip of champagne, lie back and close my eyes.
How the fuck am I going to survive one month of this? Will I really go to him again in an hour and be treated as a complete sex object? I should be disgusted, but the contrary is true. Even the thought of going to him merely to slake his lust makes me feel all hot and tingly. It seems totally crazy that I could feel addicted to his body when he deliberately treats me like a prostitute, but I am.
I take another strawberry and wash it down with champagne. I wish Stella was here with me. What a laugh it would be. She’d be reaching for the caviar for sure. I down the glass and pour myself another. No point wasting good champagne. Besides, I love champagne.
Four, oh all right, maybe five glasses of champagne later I gingerly climb out and get dressed. My movements are quite sloppy. The zip won’t go all the way up on my dress. I have to conclude that I am slightly tipsy. I sit on the floor to put on my shoes and my head swims. Jesus, I am more pissed than I thought. A giggle escapes. It was fun though.
He said one hour, but it can’t have been more than half an hour. I could get myself some coffee. Sober up before I go to him. I’ll lose the next battle too if I go like this. Besides it’s bad form. I push myself upright and, swaying on my feet, head towards the door.
‘Whoa, this floor is a proper tragedy,’ I say. My voice is worryingly slurred and very loud in the empty space.
I push open the doors and contemplate the curving stairs. They seem to go on forever. I grasp the cool banister and, holding on to it, take the first step. I lift my other foot and put it on the next step. Derived from patience. I shall triumph.
‘The prisoner shall be free,’ I mutter to myself as I ascend to the surface of the earth.
As my feet touch the ground floor a woman dressed in a white skirt and black blouse crosses my path.
‘Hello,’ I greet brightly. She may be another captive sexual slave. I giggle to myself.
She nods and runs off like a frightened rabbit. I watch her disappear down the corridor and I wonder how many people are held in the house. I sway towards the kitchen. As I get closer I can hear people talking. I push open the door. Noah is sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a cup of coffee, and the matronly woman I had seen earlier is preparing food.
‘Hey,’ I say very carefully. I don’t want them to know I am a bit high.
‘Come in and meet Olga. She is the chef,’ Noah says.
‘Hello, Olga,’
I enunciate clearly.
Olga smiles, but doesn’t offer any greeting.
Noah looks at his watch. ‘Boss wants you in the study in twenty minutes.’
‘I’d rather die than submit,’ I declare grandly.
Noah’s eyes narrow and Olga’s widen with surprise. I might have crossed a line back there, but damn, I hate the idea that every person in this house knows I am here just to service Zane’s sexual needs. ‘Can I please have a cup of coffee?’ I ask gloomily.
Noah stands up and goes to the machine. ‘Cappuccino, espresso, latte, American?’ His tone is an interesting paradox. At once respectful and disapproving.
‘Give me an American.’ A little slur happens on American, but fortunately no one notices … I don’t think.
He brings me a cup. ‘After you have been to the study I will show you around the house and take you to your room. You will then be free until dinner is served at seven. Boss has a dinner engagement so you will eat alone tonight.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say slowly. I feel even more wasted now than I did while I was walking up the stairs.
I reach for the teaspoon sticking out of the sugar bowl and miss. I watch it fly out of the bowl into the air and sugar grains scatter on the immaculate surface.
‘Ooops,’ I say apologetically.
‘Are you drunk?’ Noah asks suspiciously.
I grin at him and both he and the cook exchange glances.
‘You’ve fifteen minutes to sober up,’ Noah says worriedly.
‘Why? What’s he going to do to me if he finds me hammered, hmmm? Kill me?’ I find the thought very funny. Laughing, I lean forward. ‘I mean, he does kill people, doesn’t he?’
Noah says something in a foreign language, Russian presumably, and the cook moves towards a covered tray. She puts it in front of me and uncovers it.
‘Eat,’ Noah instructs.
‘Ooo … little buns?’ I exclaim looking at the golden mounds covered in caraway seeds.
‘Piroshki,’ Olga corrects automatically.
‘Not that it makes a blind bit of difference but, OK,’ I say loudly. ‘Piroshki.’ My pronunciation is not bad and I feel pleased with myself. I repeat the word. ‘Piroshki.’
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) Page 7