You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2)

by Georgia Le Carre

  THREE

  Layla

  He holds a hand out to me. Dazed with disbelief, I walk up to him. Even now, I still can’t believe he means to go through with it. This surely must be the part where he admits it has all been a brutish Pilkington joke. My eyes plead frantically with him.

  ‘Lie across my lap,’ he instructs politely.

  Oh dear God! For a moment I cannot move, my mind unable to accept that he really expects me to submit to such humiliation.

  Unaffected by my silent pleas, he cocks a dark eyebrow and nods meaningfully at his lap. ‘No need to be shy. I’ve seen it all before, remember?’ he taunts.

  Our eyes lock. I flush furiously. Then my pride kicks in. No, you despicable, disgusting, insufferable man, you haven’t seen it all. So much has changed since you last looked.

  My bottom is naked, but for three bits of string and the smallest triangle of black lace. It’s a far cry from the polka dot underwear he once saw. Only this morning, I had exfoliated my entire body until it was silky smooth, then rubbed Golden Brown Level 3 fake tan over every inch. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am glowing!

  I lift my chin and stare down at him with a mixture of contempt and stiff hatred. His reaction is to twist his lips with amusement.

  I drop my purse to the floor and, gritting my teeth, I put my hand into his and gingerly lower myself onto his lap. I flinch when my skin makes contact with the steel-like muscles of his thighs. I turn in his hard lap and bend forward, laying my palms flat on the floor to steady myself. In order to keep my legs firmly together, my knees are straight and stiff. The tips of my toes don’t touch the floor and hot blood floods into my head. The position is awkward and unsteady. My nose is less than a foot away from the dark floor and I can see the grain in the naked wood as it glows purple in the firelight.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Hell would have to freeze over before I agree that I am.

  Glad that my hair is hiding my burning face, I close my eyes with impotent fury and shame. He grasps the many layers of my skirt and flips them over my lower back … and becomes completely still. So still it affects even the air in the room. A mad thrill runs through me. You haven’t seen it all have you, big guy? Another thought: he’s not immune.

  I hear him inhale sharply before a large callused palm rests on the cheeks of my bottom. I know he can see the string of my panties between my pussy lips. Resentment races down my spine, but I am suddenly conscious that I am inexplicably wet. His palm is still resting on my skin. I feel it move slightly, almost a caress but not quite and I feel myself begin to tremble.

  BJ

  Who’d have fuckin’ thought?

  Layla Eden’s damn near naked ass laid out like an eat-as-much-as-you-want banquet in my lap. I gaze down at my rough palm resting peacefully on her silky smooth skin in astonishment. Freaking unbelievable! How is this even possible? My cock gets busy inside my pants and I’m suddenly harder than I’ve been in my whole life. A state I’m clearly entitled to given the exceptional circumstances—I am, after all, looking down at Layla Eden’s golden bottom sprawled across my fuckin’ lap.

  You got the peaches, I got the cream, babe.

  The desire to caress the pert, round shape is so powerful, its pull catches me off guard. Lightly, almost against my will, my hand brushes the smooth center of the twin globes of firm flesh. That almost imperceptible action makes her body jerk. A shocked ‘oh’ tumbles out of her full lips and her right arm lifts off the floor, sinking her balance. Suddenly it’s panic at all stations, her body tilts precariously and her deliciously long legs start flailing.

  With pleasure, my other hand wraps firmly around her waist. She has a wasp-like waist. I could span it with my hands. She returns her palm back to the floor and some semblance of order is restored.

  I gaze down at my catch.

  Her ass is a coy little thing, prudishly hiding her anus. Originally, there’d only been just enough of a gap underneath her cheeks to show off a tantalizing triangle of lace-curtained pussy, however since the pointless panic episode, her legs have moved further apart, and she is now quite brazenly exposing a fair bit of her fruitcake. Which, I must say, for a thin girl is surprisingly plump and ripe looking. Between the fat, pink lips, the black G-string of her panties is stretched tight and cutting rather cruelly into her flesh. Update: wet flesh. Someone is getting a little excited for her punishment, methinks.

  It really is the most perfect sight.

  Almost an open invitation.

  My fingers itch to push aside the ridiculous string and enter her pussy. What would she do? Scream blue murder, no doubt. And that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Hell, I’d love to fuck this woman spitting and hissing. I don’t think I’ve ever been with such a haughty bitch before. Even the thought has me salivating, but I’ve got to pretend that this is about chastisement and not pleasure.

  ‘You will count the blows or they will not register,’ I tell her, my voice dead detached.

  She freezes and around my palm gooseflesh begins to form on her perfect skin.

  ‘Get on with it,’ she grates.

  I smile to myself. Ah, Layla, you’re so fuckin’ transparent, so perfectly predictable. She is determined to get through this unpleasant business as soon as possible and never give me the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.

  No can do, baby.

  I open my fingers on her butt and she tightens her cheeks with anticipation. I can’t help it. My fingers curl and I squeeze the firm flesh. She moans and the unmistakable scent of her arousal hits me like a call during mating season. It’s the kind of smell that can drive a man—well, me anyway—crazy. Heavy, suffocating, insistent. I want to answer it.

  Layla Eden may be a snooty, spoilt bitch, but l want to fuck her so bad I’m like those dogs that jump fences and break their legs just because a bitch in heat is passing by on the other side. Hers is the kind of body that I can spend all night, every night, diving into. I want to pick her up like the doll she is, open her legs wide, and suck until her flavor runs over my tongue and coats my throat. Hours later, when she is passed out cold, I want to be able to swirl my tongue and taste her in my mouth all over again.

  A voice in my head urges, Jump the fence then. Break a leg. It’ll heal. She bloody well asked for it. Didn’t she come into your bedroom of her own freewill? But another sane voice is already warning. Even this is madness. What the fuck do you think you’re doing with Jake’s fuckin’ sister? I listen to the sane voice. I have resisted the call of her delicious body off and on over the years. I can do it again.

  I could never really decide if I wanted to spank her saucy ass until it was scarlet or fuck her senseless. Now appears both impulses come from the same place. I watch her body. Frozen in place. Tense. Waiting for the flat of my hand.

  I will hit her hard, hard enough to successfully convince her that this is a punishment and not the sexual encounter it is. I will be methodical. Each slap will land on a different spot. One cheek, then the other. Under the cups of flesh, and finally, where her thighs meet her body.

  I rest the forearm of my left hand across her back and watch her toes curl. A delightfully involuntary response. I raise my hand and hold it suspended high above my head. Ms. Eden’s butt trembles helplessly.

  Oh! Yes …

  FOUR

  Layla

  I have never been smacked or beaten in my life. By anyone. Ever. And as soon as the heat from his palm leaves my skin I experience a wild second of pure, unadulterated panic. With my heart pounding like a war drum, I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare myself for the blow, but nothing happens.

  What seems like an age passes.

  Just as I think he has changed his mind after all, and relief starts pouring into my body, I feel him pull away slightly and a subtle disturbance in the air above me as his palm hurtles through it.

  Thwack! His hand, heavy and hard, lands on my flesh.

  I make no sound at all. First, I am absolutely determined not to give t
his vile beast of a man the satisfaction of a reaction. Second, the blow does not immediately register as painful. But a moment later I feel the effect. My eyes widen and my mouth opens in a silent O. By God, that really hurt! Tears of mortification well up in my eyes. I have to squeeze my eyes closed to try and prevent them from dropping.

  He pauses. ‘I’m waiting for a number,’ he reminds me casually.

  A number? What a sadistic bastard. He has no heart, this man. A hot needle of hatred for my tormentor stabs through me. I open my mouth. Shockingly nothing comes out. I try again. A totally unrecognizable shallow gasp exits.

  ‘One.’

  Almost immediately his hand crashes again onto my skin, but this time I feel the searing pain straight away. Bravely, I suck in my breath. Other than calling out in a trembling voice, ‘Two,’ I make no sound to express the fiery agony I am in. I have never suffered such pain in my entire sheltered life.

  Another blow slams down and I bite back a scream. Even though each stroke has hit a different place, they all serve to build on the existing burn. My bottom feels like it is on fire. I press my palms so hard into the floor to refrain from wriggling and squirming or covering my bottom that my knuckles show bone white.

  ‘Three,’ I croak hoarsely. I hate, hate, hate him. I never thought it was possible to hate someone this much. I am getting closer and closer to unstoppable tears.

  The pitiless thrashing continues. The pain is now so intense I barely manage to call out, ‘Four.’ My butt screaming, I take shallow breaths. My hate has grown in direct proportion to the shame and pain he is forcing me to endure. Halfway there, I tell myself. And the thought is so disheartening I want to bawl my eyes out.

  The fifth falls on the tender, fiery skin of the curve of my bottom and I feel as if I will die of pain. The sting is unbelievable. To my eternal humiliation, a howl slips out.

  ‘Ooooowww.’ At this point tears are freely running down my face; I am like a baby. I can’t talk. I can’t breathe.

  ‘Call it out.’

  ‘Five, you asshole, five,’ I sob, all pretense and pride shattered.

  BJ

  The last imprint of my hand shows white for a second before it reddens to a deep pink to match the rest of her ass. There are still three strikes to go, but her defenses are already broken. She is sobbing openly, and I know that the next blow will elicit a full scream.

  But that’s not what I want.

  Not at all.

  My pelvis is brushing her beautifully reddened ass and my nose is filled with the smell of her. I am hot. My dick is like a hunk of wood straining against the zipper of my pants. I want to fuck her so bad. My hands itch to grab her by the hair, spread her thighs, and rip into her slippery little cunt so deep she hisses with pain and pleasure as her muscles flutter like crazy around my dick. I want to empty my balls into her while she sees stars. Fuck, yeah.

  But, of course, I don’t.

  This is Jake Eden’s baby sister.

  Instead … I allow my little finger to spread out a little so it almost makes contact with her inner thighs, her sex. I rest my palm for a few seconds on her skin, my pinkie almost touching the glistening, salmon-colored flesh. The next time I raise my hand I will spank her pussy. Slowly, I lift my hand and let it hover in the air. Her tender skin is damp and glowing with sweat. Then I let the next wicked swing loose.

  She shudders with shock and white-hot lust.

  My little finger comes away wet. I smile with satisfaction. She freezes, her breathing shallow. I want to see her face. Very deliberately, I put both my hands on the bed on either side of me. Coldly, I say, ‘I’m done.’

  Immediately she scrambles to the floor and, crawling away, crouches like a cornered animal. She looks up at me with big, wet eyes full of hatred. Tears sparkle on her eyelashes. Her mouth quivers with temper. The princess exterior has been stripped away. Only the raw and helplessly sexual animal inside every human remains. Just as I know her buttocks must be humming, I know she will never admit that she is more turned on than she has ever been.

  ‘Are you satisfied now, you sick bastard?’ she spits. She is so furious her voice shakes.

  ‘Fix your clothes and return to the party,’ I tell her callously.

  Using her palms to lever herself up, she springs to her feet and pulls her multi-layered skirts down over her stinging skin so roughly it makes her wince. She glares at me.

  ‘I hate you,’ she whispers.

  ‘Join the queue.’

  ‘I know now why they call you the bat. You’re a fucking vampire, living in this ridiculous black dungeon.’

  I shrug and look at her without expression. Sticks and stones maybe. Words? Forget it.

  ‘I hope I never lay eyes on you again,’ she hurls bitterly at me.

  I watch her snatch her purse from the floor, and start walking towards the door.

  ‘Layla.’ My voice is a like whip. Even in her state she didn’t dare disobey it.

  She turns around and stares defiantly at me.

  ‘My tiepin.’

  She is so furious she very nearly breaks the clasp of her purse as she wrenches it open. She digs around, finds my tiepin, and violently flings it at my face.

  I catch it easily in one hand. ‘Enjoy the party,’ I advise calmly.

  ‘Pervert,’ she snarls and slams the door shut on my mocking laughter. Sure, I get it: hers is the tale of the Princess and the Pea in reverse. She didn’t enjoy being confronted with the animal inside her. Me, I am irredeemably base and animalistic, making me beyond excited to be acquainted with a newly created creature in my bedroom.

  FIVE

  Layla

  The sounds of the party float up to me as I stand shocked and frozen in the hallway. Then it hits me: any moment now he could open the door and come out. With a panicked sob, I turn left and run for the bathroom. I lock the door with shaking fingers, and lean back against it, panting hard.

  Why, oh why, did I ever go into his bedroom? Now everything is messed up. I look in the mirror. A red-faced stranger with smeared make-up, a gaping mouth, and crazy eyes stares back. Anger and hate sparkle in my eyes, but there is something else too. Something more primal.

  I drop my gaze hurriedly and turn on the tap, splashing cold water on my face. I feel hot, confused, angry, and ashamed. My bum is stinging like mad, but … God, I feel alive, in a way I have never felt. And … I am wet. So wet.

  The primal look in my eyes is pure arousal.

  Sexual excitement.

  Jesus! Oh sweet Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I cannot understand why I am aroused. I hate that son of a bitch. I’ve always hated him. He is a callous, uncouth man-whore. A sleazy, bag of shit who regularly sleeps with strippers and makes his money running sex clubs. He’s practically a criminal. I abhor men like him. Even through the tears that had filled my eyes, I had seen the satisfaction and gloating triumph on his face.

  I should be livid.

  I am livid. The memory of his large palm, full of calluses landing on my bare buttocks fills my head. With that last strike he had deliberately slapped my, my unmentionables. He had allowed his dirty fingers to touch my sex! How dare he? Bastard!

  I turn around, lift my skirt, and look back at my throbbing bottom in the mirror. It is lobster red. I feel the fury bubbling in my veins, but another sensation more powerful than anger intrudes. I don’t want to examine or address it. Taking deep, calming breaths, I repair my make-up with trembling hands, then open the door and stick my head outside.

  The hallway is deserted.

  I start walking down it, but as I pass his bedroom door I start running. At the top of the stairs I stop and walk down the steps slowly. No one has missed me or seen anything. Everything is exactly as I left it and yet I’m entirely different. My hands won’t stop trembling and there is a tight knot of tension in my stomach. All I want to do is run away. I will die if I have to see him again in the state I am in. I walk quickly towards the main room, my eyes darting around fearfully.
Fortunately I spot my brother, Jake, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. The sight of him makes me want to start bawling. Squaring my shoulders I push through the crowd and go to him. He is looking down at Lily with a lovesick expression on his face.

  ‘Jake,’ I call, my voice tremulous.

  His head whips around, his body is immediately tense and his eyes narrow dangerously. ‘What is it?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t feel well. I want to go home. Can you call me a taxi?’

  He takes a step towards me, his body relaxing with relief. He is over-protective I can’t even begin to imagine what utter havoc would ensue if he knew what BJ has done to me.

  He puts an arm around my shoulder lovingly. ‘What’s wrong, little bear?’

  I want to throw my arms around him and cry my eyes out, but I don’t. I bite back my tears and lean against his strong, warm body. ‘I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. I’ve just been sick in the toilet,’ I lie miserably.

  ‘Come on, we’ll take you home. Shane can give Ma a ride when she’s ready to go.’

  Lily comes forward, her eyes are concerned and she is playing along, but she is a woman and she does not believe my fairy tale.

  ‘I’ll go find BJ. I should tell him we are leaving.’

  I clutch his hand with both of mine and look up at him pleadingly. ‘Can’t you just call him from the car and tell him?’

  He looks as if he is about to say something, but thinks better of it, and nods. Then the three of us make our way to a smiling girl in a Playboy bunny costume who takes our tickets and gives us our coats. It is only when we get outside that I am able to breathe properly again. I hardly hear when Jake gets on the phone with BJ and then Shane to arrange Ma’s ride home.

  I am too bruised and shaken.

  SIX

  BJ

  I stand at the curving windows with my back to the party and watch her leave, Jake’s arm curved protectively around her narrow back. Something within the darkest recesses of me whirls loose and flaps noisily in the wind. I had managed to ignore it for this long, but I know I cannot secure it back the way it was. You could say that the old hand is back, knocking at the old door.