You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (2 page)

Noah Abramovich

M
y entire body reacts to her words. My heart hammers in my chest and blood races so fast into my cock it hurts, but years of training keeps my face poker straight. Until today she has never even so much as looked in my direction and now she wants me to fuck her. Something’s not right. I steeple my hands on the table.

‘You might need to explain yourself a little bit more.’

She gives a one-shoulder shrug, a careless, elegant, infuriating movement. ‘What’s to explain? I want us to … fuck.’ The Princess had to struggle to get that last word out.

‘Why?’

‘Because … because I want to be … taken by someone like you.’

Like me.
 Now, I get it. The spoilt, bored rich girl is going to become the spoilt bored wife of a spineless fool, but before she submits to that endless boredom she wants to experience something dirty with someone from the wrong end of town.

The Princess wants to be a slut for one night. And the person she has chosen is me. I lean back in my chair and let my eyes roll all over her. Well, well, well. All that untouchable beauty just laid out for me to soil and dishonor.

‘What makes you think I want one night with you?’

Her smooth brow crinkles. ‘Don’t all men want a no strings, dirty night with a perfect stranger?’

I stare at her. This is what happens when you shelter your daughter to death.

She mistakes my silence for reluctance. As if any man in his right man would refuse her. Swallowing hard she straightens her spine as steely determination sparkles in her eyes. She has, after all, come from her father’s loins.

‘There will be no consequences to you. No one will ever know. After tonight we will probably never meet again, and even if we do it will be as if this night never happened.’

‘Where does your father think you are now?’

She licks
those lips that I want to bite. ‘In my bed. Asleep.’

As if my lustful thought has transferred to her, her white teeth sink into her bottom lip. I inhale sharply. Pure lust is a powerful, bewitching thing. I have always detested weak people whose only excuse for doing things they shouldn’t is: 

It was the moment. I simply couldn’t help myself.
 

In that instant I get what they are talking about. Every cell in my body is screaming at me not to take the poisoned chalice, but as if she has cast a spell on me, I stand up, walk around the desk like a zombie, and hold out my hand.

She wants dirty sex.

I know 
all
 about that.

Sure I’ll give her a night so dirty her toes will curl. I’ll make it so unforgettable that in years to come while her husband’s half-flaccid dick labors inside her, she will close her eyes and remember my cock thrusting inside her.

A glimmer of a smile appears on her lips. She puts her hand in mine, I tug at it, and she allows herself to tumble against my body. Her body is softly curving and immediately molds itself into the hardness of mine. Her perfume rises up and fills my nostrils. I breathe it in. It’s been a long time, in fact, I can’t remember the last time a woman could disarm me in this way. 
But she only wants dirty sex with you. She is yours only tonight.

‘Are you wet?’ I ask, my voice harsh.

She shakes her head, her eyes huge.

My eyebrows rise. ‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes.’ Defiant.

Without warning I grab her round ass and stick my other hand under her chaste dress. She struggles, but I tighten my hold, making her efforts puny and useless. Her eyes flash as my hand slips beneath her panties and touches her bare pussy. I plunge two fingers into her cunt. She gasps and goes rigid.

‘Then …’ I extract my fingers from inside her. ‘What the fuck is this?’ I ask softly as I wipe my fingers on her downy cheek.

Her amazing eyes flicker.

I bend my head and lick her cheek where I smeared her slick juices. She tastes like musky honey. Unforgettable. I already know I’ll miss her taste when she leaves in the early morning hours. Deeply inhaling the scent of her I force my tongue into her mouth. At first she doesn’t do anything, and then she starts to suck it.
Fuck, this woman drives me
crazy.
I withdraw my tongue and look at her. My cock is straining against the zipper of my jeans.

‘You’re never going to have another night like this so no more coy games and no more lies tonight, understood?
’

She nods silently.

‘Are you wet?’

‘Yes.’

‘How wet?’

‘Dripping,’ she says hoarsely.

I smile faintly. ‘Will you do anything I ask tonight?’

‘Yes. Anything.’

Tasha Evanoff

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6G10QgJm1o

Wet

H
e steps away from me suddenly and I feel as if someone just replaced my kneecaps with Rowntree jelly sweets. He walks to his desk, leans his slim hips against the edge and crosses his arms over his chest.

Under the overhead light his black hair glints, but his eyes are shadowy and hooded, impossible to tell the expression in them, but I feel their sultry gaze unhurriedly travel over my body. Raw, feral animal magnetism rolls out of him in waves that hit me and bring a rush of heat to my belly. I become as vulnerable and exposed as if I am naked.

‘Take your panties off.’ His voice is pleasant, but throbs with heat.

My breath speeds. Surely he doesn’t mean for us to do it here. Maybe he imagines he can degrade me as if I was some sort of prostitute he has hired for the night just because I offered my body. I won’t have it. My spine straightens.

‘Are we going to … um … do it here?’

‘No.’

‘Then why?’

He remains motionless. ‘Because I want you to.’

No one has ever spoken to me with such fearless disrespect, uncaring if they might hurt my father’s feelings. A thrill of excitement goes through me. The air crackles with sexual tension as I slowly, deliberately, slip my hands under the hem of my dress and drag my underwear down my legs. I let them fall to the ground and step out of them.

‘Bring them to me,’ he barks.

I bend down, pick up the lacy scrap, and dangling them on one finger walk up to him. He puts his hand out, the palm outstretched and I drop the lace into it.

He smiles, his eyes smooth like wet marble, the skin at the outer corners crinkling. He blinks—he has eyelashes a girl would kill for—and my breath catches in my throat. I feel as if he’s cast a magic spell on me. I can hardly think. The air seems thick and every breath I suck in is difficult and noisy.

The intoxication is so complete I don’t see what he does with my underwear. One moment he is holding it and the next his empty hand is touching my lip. The skin on his thumb is rough.

‘Tasha Evanoff,’ he breathes softly.

My lips part.

His hand gently releases my clips. ‘You won’t need any of these where we are going.’ The clips fall noiselessly to the carpet.

He tunnels his hand into my hair, fists it at my nape, and pulls so the curve of my throat is exposed to him. My belly tightens with the look of pure lust that comes into his eyes. He pulls me toward him with a fierceness that startles me. I fall onto his hard body and stare mesmerized up into the scorching depths of his black eyes. Feverish excitement races through me. Between my legs I glow and pulse. Lord, I’ve
never
wanted a man like this.

‘Fuck, there is not enough of the night left for what I want to do to you,’ he says suddenly, and in one smooth movement straightens, pulling me upright with him.  

He phones someone called Viktor and tells him to pick him up at the backdoor. Then we go out through the back of his nightclub, my body stiff with tension. Sometimes his hand arrives on the small of my back to guide me in the right direction. He puts out a big hand and pushes open the double doors of the kitchen. Every man in that kitchen gapes at the sight of Noah and me. I guess he doesn’t make a habit of going out through the back with his women. Outside it is chilly and I shiver.

‘Cold?’ he asks, looking down at me

‘A little.’

A car is waiting, and the driver, presumably Viktor, is standing beside the open back door. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me before he blanks them of all expression. I wonder if he has recognized me, but it is extremely unlikely. My father keeps me well out of his world. I thank him and get in while Noah walks around to the other side and slides in beside me.

‘Turn the heating up,’ he tells the driver.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

He turns to look at me, his strong cheekbones catching the light from the streetlamps and the look in his eyes makes me lick my lips.

Noah Abramovich

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvvX5QM4z3Y

Wicked Game

M
y eyes drop to her plump lower lip, to the way it glistens enticingly in the darkness. It fucks me up some. I tell myself, stay cool, but excitement is like an electric current in my blood, zipping through my veins. Fuck, I have never known such blind urgency.

I want to grab her and take her there and then. And damn if it won’t feel good.

I clench my jaw and turn away. There’s a jeering voice in my head.
Stay firm, Noah. It’s just one fucking night. Don’t get your knickers in a twist
. I stare out of the window as the familiar streets rush by. I have done this journey thousands of times, but there is something surreal about this night.

Its name is Tasha Evanoff. Her perfume. Her presence, the creamy whiteness of her soft skin, the innocence in her wide eyes. I am a monster. I can bring her nothing but pain and ruin.  Even touching the Princess would be defiling her, and yet, I cannot stop myself.

She is my one weakness. The beloved daughter of the Mafia king is about to become my worst fucking nightmare. I cannot resist her call. I’ve played this out in my fantasies too many times. Just one night. It’s just lust. When the sun comes up it will be over. I won’t chase her. I won’t ruin her life. Just one night.

As the car eats up the miles, every cell in my body heats up, becomes super alert. Like a wolf I can hear her heartbeat, feel the heat coming from her body.

The car comes to a smooth stop.
Here we are Noah, you and your fantasy woman.
I get out and Viktor rushes to open the door for her. She gets out and looks at me. I thank Viktor and he drives off.

Cold wind drags at her clothes and hair. She hugs herself.

‘My place,’ I say softly.

‘It’s nice,’ she replies without sarcasm. It’s just a six-bedroom Regency town house with high ceilings and tall windows. But modest. Certainly nothing compared to the gold and marble palace she lives in. Russians with money are like Arabs. Flashy. They invest in ostentation.

‘Sure you want to do this?’

She reaches out a hand and, with her thumb and forefinger, picks something from my right cheek. Staring at me she holds it in front of my lips. It is an old Russian superstition: if an eyelash falls out you will receive a gift. My chest feels tight. My mother used to do this to me, take the eyelash, and let me blow it away while making a wish.

I blow. Strands of her blonde hair lift away from her neck.

She blinks. ‘Did you make a wish?’

I nod. How surprised she would be if she knew what I wished for. How surprised I am at my fucking wish. None of the wishes I made when my mother held the eyelash ever came true. There is absolutely no way this one is going to either.

We walk up the steps and I put the key in my door. I close the door and watch her look at her surroundings.

‘Want a drink?’ I offer.

‘If you’ll have one too?’

I walk to the first reception room and switch on the light.

She laughs, a breathless sound. ‘Wow, it’s beautiful.’

I look at the decor as if for the first time. Through her eyes. I never notice it anymore. I follow her eyes as she takes in the pale ice cream colors on the walls, the charcoal grey floor, and the dark silk curtains. There are red velvet cushions on the white fainting couch. She moves deeper into the room to stand on the soft-lilac shag carpet.

‘I never would have imagined you lived in a house like this.’

I shrug casually. This is my house, but it is not a home. I don’t really live here. In fact, I hardly come. Often I crash in the apartment above my restaurant. ‘I didn’t actually decorate it. I hired someone.’

‘Of course, I knew that, but you approved her design.’

‘When I buy a dog I tend not to bark myself.’

She laughs again, but this time it is for real. A lovely sound. It’s the way I thought she might sound. Rich, sexy, and exhilarating. ‘I just expected more black leather and chrome somehow.’ She stops and shrugs. ‘I mean being
bratva
and all
.
’

‘I’m not in the brotherhood anymore,’ I say quietly.

She cocks an eyebrow. ‘Oh, since when?’

‘Years,’ I say simply.

‘So you just walked away from it?’ she asks curiously.

‘You never walk away from it. It walks beside you.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Your sins, every one of them, they never leave you, no matter how far you run, or how long you live.’

She stares at me.

‘But you didn’t come here to talk about my sins.’

She doesn’t say anything so I move to the drinks cabinet and pour us each a large measure of cognac. She takes hers from my hand and raises it.

‘To tonight,’ she says.

‘Tonight,’ I reply and we both drink.

To my surprise she knocks it back as fast as me. She is so beautiful she makes my cock weep. I want to tear the clothes off her, but she will need to go home in them before the sun rises again. The thought doesn’t sit well. I already dread having to let her go tomorrow. Once I possess her …

She reaches out a hand and unbuttons my shirt, exposing my chest. Her pale finger, the nail painted pearly pink, traces the tattoo of a roaring tiger on my chest.

‘
Oskal
(bared teeth) You were a thief,’ she breathes.

I don’t say anything. My tattoos tell their own tale of bloodshed, violence, and the unspoken moral code of my past. My time of treading a fine line between life and death. The punishment for getting a tattoo you have not earned is severe so they work as my CV, and being the daughter of a mafia king she can read each letter and design like a language.

She undoes the rest of the buttons on my shirt, pulls the shirttails out, and slips it off me. I watch her eyes hungrily take in the width of me, before her eyes alight on the tattoo of an epaulette inked onto my right shoulder.

‘High ranking,’ she whispers.

She rises to her tiptoes and kisses me right on the skull in the middle of the epaulette. It is a gesture of approval. She knows it signifies that I am not, or will ever be a slave to anyone.

I stand as still as a statue when she touches the rose. So many memories come crowding back. No other woman has touched it quite the same way. It is Delilah holding Samson’s hair.

‘You spent your eighteenth birthday in prison,’ she notes. Her voice grave.

Then her finger delicately trails the blade of a dagger. ‘You have taken life.’ She touches the drops of blood as she counts aloud the lives I have taken. ‘One, two, three, four …’ There are more drops, but she doesn’t go on. She looks up at me, our gazes touch, and she exhales a long breath. It sounds like regret or pain.  

She walks around the back and looks at the massive tattoo of the Madonna and Child surrounded by saints and angels. In the background a cathedral. It is a thieves’ talisman.
I know I am a sinner but protect me, guide me, bring me luck.

‘So … you were a thief from an early age,’ she deciphers. I feel her breath warm on my back.

‘Fifteen,’ I say quietly.

‘Mmmm.’ She lays her palm on my back and I close my eyes at the incredible softness of her skin.

She reads aloud the Russian words.
Oh Lord, forgive me for the tears of my mother.

I twist around and grab her wrist. ‘That’s enough.’

Something flashes in her eyes, but it’s not fear.

‘So now you know all about me,’ I say. ‘What is there to know about Tasha Evanoff?’

‘There is only one thing you need to know about me. Tonight I am yours.’

‘Let me see what is mine tonight, then,’ I say.

Pink rushes up her neck and cheeks. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and holds her empty glass out to me. I take it from her and she steps out of her shoes. How cute. No other woman I know would dream of taking her shoes off first. Every one of them is sophisticated enough to know a naked woman wearing nothing but her high heels is the ultimate sexual turn on.

She takes her cardigan off and folds it before laying it neatly over the edge of the couch closest to her. As her hands move to the back of her dress, I see them shake and realize she is nervous as hell. She unzips her dress and lowers it slowly. Underneath is only the lacy white bra. She doesn’t try to fold the dress as it pools around her ankles. Swallowing hard, she removes her last item of clothing and lets it drop to the carpet.

And I behold a body of classical proportions.

My fingers tighten around the glasses in my hands. A word I don’t think I have ever used comes into my head. Willowy. Her breasts are small and round, the nipples pink and erect, and her waist gently flares out into delicious curves that part into slender thighs. And between them pink folds protrude.

Other than the hair on her head she is completely hairless. Her flawless pale skin shimmers gently in the soft light. There is not a single mark on her body. As if she never fell over as a child and grazed her knees or hurt her elbows. Lost in awe I drag my eyes back to her face.

Anticipation and excitement have made her eyes glitter a brilliant blue. Here she is, on the wrong side of respectability, with the baddest of the bad boys. A dangerous, cold-blooded killer. It is in her eyes: the good girl is expecting a dirty, thrilling, wild, forbidden night of lust and passion.

A night like no other.

And she will get it.

Looking into her shining eyes, I remember the birthday present Vasily and the rest of my staff gave me. It was meant to be a joke. Like a blow up doll only better. Much better. Even I had been surprised by how incredibly real it looked when they presented it amongst blankets, but I never thought I’d have use for it.

Until tonight …

I scoop her up, she weighs so little. I carry her upstairs and lay her on the bed. She looks up at me with huge eyes. She appears so innocent and beautiful I almost cannot bear to look at her. The simple truth is I cannot bear to return her tomorrow.

I feel anger grow from deep inside me that she cannot be mine. Not just for tonight, but forever.

I’ve always wanted her, and now I’m being offered one little taste before she is yanked away and given to a bully who does not deserve her.

I already know what he will do. He will break her with neglect.

She, who is mine.