Sweet Cruelty: A Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  Sweet Cruelty

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  Zoe Blake

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  About Zoe Blake

  Also by Zoe Blake

  Thank you!

  Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Zoe Blake

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Blake, Zoe

  Sweet Cruelty

  Cover Design by Dark City Designs

  Image by James Critchley Photography

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter 1

  No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be a heroine. - Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

  Emma

  I had run out of time… and options.

  Tuition was due next week.

  I had no choice but to beg for the money tonight, or I’d be kicked out of school.

  I gripped the cold, wrought-iron fence railing and tried to calm my breathing. I reached up to straighten my bangs as I checked to make sure the topknot securing my hair was still in place. Normally, I just threw my hair up in a messy bun with two twists of a scrunchy, but today I had taken the care to smooth it into a tight, elegant bun. I had hoped it would make me look older and studious. The effect was almost worth the headache the tight hairband and bobby pins were giving me. I couldn’t wait for this to be over. The first thing I would do would be to take my hair down.

  Giving myself one last inspection, I bent down to wipe a small smudge off the toe of my Doc Marten Mary Janes before straightening my pink plaid skirt.

  Hefting my leather backpack onto my shoulder, I swung open the gate. Wincing as it squeaked, I paused, waiting for… I’m not sure what. The sounds of angry dogs barking? A warning gunshot over my head?

  Sliding first one foot along the brick-paved walkway, then the other, I forced myself to walk up the short set of stairs.

  Rolling my eyes, I sighed. The house would have an imposing glossy black door with a massive brass lion’s head clasping a heavy ring in its jaws for a door knocker. All I was missing was some misty fog and the sound of the Thames lapping at the shore and I’d be in some Dickens novel with me playing the part of the poor urchin begging for scraps.

  No!

  I wasn’t the poor urchin.

  Squaring my shoulders, I reminded myself I was the heroine of my story. And like most of Austen’s heroines, this particular heroine desperately needed this man’s money! As Lizzie Bennet said to the arrogant Mr. Darcy: My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.

  With more boldness than I felt, I raised my arm to grasp the metal ring. Before I could, the door swung open with such force, a blast of air ruffled my bangs.

  With a small cry, I took a step back.

  In my vivid imagination, the person seemed more beast than man.

  With his legs planted wide, his shaved head barely missed hitting the top of the doorway. The black goatee covering his upper lip and chin only highlighted the sharp planes of his jaw and nose. Beneath his right eye there was some sort of slash mark or scar, which gave the already pretty freaking scary-looking man an even more ominous appearance. Naked from the waist up, his muscled chest was covered in brightly colored tattoos. Good Lord! Was that an image of a dagger dripping with blood on his neck?

  A grim scowl clouded his features as he stared down at me with cold, stormy eyes.

  “I… I… I…” My brain froze. My jaw was too stiff to form any words.

  “You’re late.”

  In reality, I knew he had spoken some normal, English-language words, but all I heard emanating from his lips was the deep, threatening growl of a beast. It didn’t help that he had the distinctive guttural purr of a Russian accent.

  This man was definitely not Mr. Linus Fitzgerald III, elderly son of my former benefactor!

  My tongue felt thick and awkward in my mouth. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a mistake.”

  My body jerked off-balance as my heel slid out over the edge of the top step in my effort to back slowly away from the angry, bear-like man.

  His giant paw snatched me by the upper arm and dragged me over the threshold. I fell against the hard heat of his body.

  “There is no mistake, моя крошка. You’re mine for the night.”

  The heavy black door swung shut, cutting me off from the safe sounds of civilization.

  “No! Wait!”

  It was too late.

  I was alone with the Russian beast… inside his lair.

  Chapter 2

  If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad. - Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

  Emma

  This was bad… really bad.

  Stunned, I stood there pressed against his chest. I must have been out of my mind because for the briefest moment, all I could think about was how warm and oddly safe it felt. There was just something about the protective feel of a powerful man’s arms wrapped around me. I had never experienced it before, but I’d read about it in countless books. It was jarring to realize that what I had read in books didn’t come close to how it truly felt.

  The heat of his skin. The steady thump of his heartbeat. The way his hands pressed against my lower back. The spicy scent of sandalwood cologne mixed with tobacco. It was all so… intoxicating.

  This was madness.

  This man was a stranger.

  A tattooed stranger with a freaking scar on his face like a freaking pirate!

  He had the image of a bloody dagger sticking through his throat, for heaven’s sake!

  What was I doing?

  Placing my hands against a solid wall of muscle, I pushed free… or at least tried to.

  His arms tightened around me. A frisson of alarm ran up my spine like the crawl of cold fingertips over my skin.

  “There’s been a mistake.” I couldn’t meet his gaze. My eyes stayed trained on the center of his chest.

  “What is your name, моя крошка?”

  Shaking my head, my heart raced as my gaze darted about the entry hall. Everywhere I looked there was Chantilly cream-colored marble, from the floors to the sweeping staircase off to the side. There was a lit fireplace, which under any other circumstances would have seemed warm and inviting. Except for a hastily added Persian rug, the space was bare with no artwork or any other furniture, as if someone had just moved in.

  It also felt empty. There were no indistinct noises c
oming from a television in another room or the close of a cabinet or clink of a glass from the unseen kitchen. The bustling soft sounds you normally heard when other people were in a house.

  Strong fingers cupped my jaw as he turned my head back to him, forcing my gaze to meet his own.

  I had never seen eyes the color of his before. They were a stark steel grey, but with tiny flecks of dark blue. The directness of his stare was unsettling.

  “моя крошка, I’m not a patient man. Tell me your name.”

  His Russian accent was unmistakable. The inflection midsentence, with softly rolling vowels. The way each word sounded like melting dark chocolate.

  “What is that phrase you keep saying? Moya kroshka?”

  The pad of his thumb caressed my bottom lip as if he wanted to feel as well as hear the words on my lips.

  “моя крошка? It means my little one.”

  Watching his lips as they moved, the corners turned up ever so slightly as he softened the harsh English vowels to a purr, leetle une.

  I pulled my lip between my teeth, tasting the salty tang from his touch. It was odd how such an innocent endearment could sound so sensual. My stomach twisted. I may never have had a boyfriend, but I wasn’t so naïve as to not recognize the hidden sexual threat of his words.

  “That is the game you are playing tonight, no? Naughty little schoolgirl.”

  His gaze lowered to my chest. Looking down, my mouth opened on a horrified gasp. The neckline of my pink cashmere sweater, one of my favorite thrift store finds, had shifted as I pressed against him. The deep V-neck now exposed the top of my white lace bra. Even worse, the delicate weave did nothing to hide the sharp buds of my erect nipples.

  Shocked and humiliated that I would respond so blatantly to the touch of a complete stranger—and a very scary criminal-looking one at that—I tried to escape his embrace once more.

  His hand on my jaw forced my head all the way back as his long fingers wrapped around my throat. “Stop your struggles.”

  Without warning, his mouth claimed mine. The hard press of his lips forced my own against my teeth. The tips of his fingers dug into my jaw till my mouth opened for his assault. When his tongue swept in, I could taste a hint of tobacco and mint mixed with the sharp tang of my blood. I had never been kissed like this in my life. The bold sweep of his tongue swirled and teased my own. It was as if he were pulling the very breath from my body till it forced me to breathe in his own air to live. The hard bristle of his goatee scraped against the delicate skin of my cheeks and chin, increasing the powerful masculine feel of his embrace. If it hadn’t been for the press of his body, I didn’t think I would still be standing. The taste and touch of him was overwhelming. It consumed me.

  This must be what it felt like to be kissed by a pirate rogue. To know that you were in a threatening situation and to know that it was terribly, terribly wrong… and yet to respond to his touch anyway. It was as if all reason and logic had fled, leaving me at the mercy of my primal self. The dark portion of my soul that craved adventure, passion, and yes… maybe even a little danger. The part of me that responded to a powerful man just reaching out and taking what he wanted and the thrill of knowing that what he wanted was me!

  No one ever wanted me before… not like this.

  A warm, dizzying sensation crept over me to settle between my legs as a soft mew escaped my lips. I was a taut bowstring humming with tension just waiting to be stroked. Was it madness to actually want this powerful stranger to ease the building ache inside of me? My rational mind warred with my affection-starved body.

  Finally, he took mercy on me and released my mouth, but not before pulling the scrunchy and bobby pins out of my hair. The tight bun released and the soft curls tumbled over my shoulders and down my back.

  Driving his fingers into my hair, he pulled tight as his lips pressed lightly against my cheek before moving to my earlobe. The sharp edges of his teeth along the delicate shell of my ear had me clenching my thighs.

  “Such a chaste kiss. You play the innocent very well. I will let the agency know I’m pleased.”

  Chaste? He called that chaste?

  Wait… agency? What agency?

  Before I could even force my shattered senses to respond, the hard press of his erect cock against my abdomen set alarms bells off.

  This is bad… really bad.

  “Please. You don’t understand. I’m just here for the money,” I blurted out.

  His head snapped back. His grey gaze turned cold and stormy. “Well then, I better see you earn it.”

  Snatching my forgotten backpack off my shoulder, he tossed it onto the floor near the door.

  For the briefest of seconds, his arms set me free. My body swayed, as if I had forgotten how to support myself without the help of his firm grip. Before I could do anything else, he bent in half and pressed his heavy shoulder against my stomach and lifted me high.

  I cried out as I splayed my hands across his back, hoping to get some purchase as the room rocked and spun.

  “What are you doing? Wait! Stop!” I tried to push the hair out of my eyes to see where he was taking me.

  My cheeks flamed as a hot band of iron pressed under my skirt to wrap tightly around my upper thighs.

  My world teetered as he moved toward the staircase.

  “Stop!”

  My legs kicked out. I could hear the beast grunt as the heavy rubber sole of one of my Doc Marten Mary Janes connected with his midsection.

  With his free hand, he easily captured my left foot and pulled first that shoe, then my right shoe, off. As he tossed them aside, I watched as my only pitiful weapons tumbled down the marble steps to land uselessly at the bottom.

  In desperation, I reached out to grasp the black wrought-iron railing that curved alongside the staircase.

  For my efforts, I received a sharp slap on my ass. Even through the wool fabric of my skirt, it stung and burned. Tears blurred my vision. Several fell to stain the denim of his jeans a darker blue. We arrived at the top of the stairs. My chances of escape were dwindling, especially if he got me inside his bedroom.

  With renewed ferocity, I tried clawing at his back. It did nothing. I stared at my bright pink nails in dismay. Why did I always have to keep my nails short?

  He only laughed at my attempts. “мой маленький котенок trying to use her little claws. Don’t worry. You can draw your nails down my back all you want once my cock is deep inside you.”

  The dizzying sway of his body as his hard shoulder pressed into my stomach made me feel sick and disoriented. My world tilted again as he swung me onto the bed.

  My body sank deep into the luxurious thickness of his bedcovers. The emerald and gold down was so heavy it took some effort to rise onto my knees.

  His back was turned to me as I heard the unmistakable click of the door lock. Panicked, my eyes searched the room for some other escape route. Like the hallway below, the room was in warm creams with an added touch of gold and dark emerald on both the bed and the upholstered chairs that sat before another roaring fire.

  There was an open doorway to the right, but from the rows of hanging suits, I could easily see that it must lead to a walk-in closet. Another door across the room was slightly ajar. I didn’t have to see inside to know it was probably a bathroom. It wasn’t an escape, but perhaps I could lock myself in and call for help?

  Stumbling off the bed, I threw my body forward as I tried to reach that door.

  The breath was knocked out of my lungs with a sudden swoosh as his arm wrapped tightly around my middle. He pressed my back against the naked warmth of his chest.

  His hand stole around my throat, pushing my head back against him. I wasn’t considered tall, but I was by no means short, and yet this man made me feel like the little girl endearment he called me. My height was no match for his towering frame. The top of my head barely reached his shoulder.

  The open palm of his other hand ran down my belly to settle under my sk
irts. Cupping me between the legs, he growled into my ear, “So you want to play the shy virgin game? Then let’s play.”

  His grip shifted till his skin was against my own. The tips of his fingers moved beneath the waistband of my panties.

  A high-pitched whimper escaped my lips as I stood, too shocked from my fierce arousal at his touch to move.

  One long finger pressed between the seam of my lower lips to tease my clit.

  Pressing my eyes tightly closed, a tear ran down my cheek. Whether it was from fear, or the humiliation of this stranger feeling the warm wetness of my arousal, I didn’t know.

  How could this possibly be arousing me?

  I had dreamt of this moment countless times, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I had wanted it to be special, with a man who cared about me. It seemed my body was tired of waiting for the book boyfriend who would probably never appear.

  Wetting my dry lips, my voice sounded weak and breathless to my ears. “Please, you don’t understand. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “I know precisely who… and what… you are, моя крошка. Mine for the night.” He ran his mouth along the column of my neck, punctuating his possessive claim by pushing the tip of his finger inside of me.

  Rising up on my toes, I tried to escape the invasive touch, but his arm around my waist prevented it.

  Lifting me up, he walked a few steps backwards and tossed me once more onto the bed. Getting on my hands and knees facing away from him, I looked over my shoulder.