Sweet Cruelty: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 3

  She inhaled sharply.

  “I haven’t begun to take what I want, моя крошка.”

  Chapter 4

  I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you. - Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Emma

  He would kill me.

  This was the price I would pay for my misadventure.

  I didn’t dare breathe or even tear my gaze away from his stormy one. The metal point of the ice pick pressed against my skin. It then traced a line down to just between my breasts. I kept my fists clasped there, the sheet twisted between my fingers.

  His eyes hardened to the color of dark steel.

  The sharp edge of the ice pick sank slightly into my flesh. Not sufficient to break skin, but just enough to threaten. With a cry, I dropped my hands. The tip of the makeshift blade pressed down against the balled-up sheets, pushing the fabric to my lap and exposing my breasts. Looking down, a rush of fresh humiliation washed over me at the sight of my erect nipples.

  Wasn’t it enough I had practically clawed at him like a cat in heat once my body had adjusted to the feel of his cock? I didn’t recognize the wanton being I had become. It was as if all rational thought had abandoned me, leaving me a quivering tangle of sensitive nerves.

  He was just so big and powerful. It was as if he had stepped out of the pages of one of those bodice-rippers I secretly kept stashed in a box beneath my bed. A marauding pirate or pillaging Viking. And that accent! Oh, God, his accent. It was a deep, sexual purr of dark promises and deeds.

  Could I be blamed if I thought for once in my life I would make a poor decision?

  For once, I would let myself lose control and give in.

  It was not like I had a line of men banging on my door hoping to be my boyfriend.

  It wasn’t true what they said in the movies. The nerdy, shy girl doesn’t get the boy.

  What she gets is to be in her twenties and still a virgin.

  While this wouldn’t have been my first choice, I couldn’t regret what had happened.

  Finally!

  Finally, I had experienced in life what I had only until this point read about.

  Passion.

  True, unadulterated passion.

  I’d now experienced what it felt like to be wanted and taken by a man… a real man.

  Except now the heat of passion had worn off, leaving me feeling chilled and vulnerable.

  Cold, hard reasoning had returned.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I’d be lucky if he didn’t kill me!

  “You owe me an explanation,” he intoned, his gaze still on my exposed breasts as he circled each erect nipple with the metal tip of the ice pick. On his knuckles I could see tattoos representing each suit from a deck of cards. Even I knew only very dangerous people had both neck and hand tattoos. It meant they didn’t care what society thought or how they were judged. It meant they didn’t live by or obey society’s rules.

  Still, he said I owed him an explanation for how tonight had gone so horribly sideways.

  Owed him?

  I think I had paid enough already.

  Besides, some rebellious part of me wanted him to continue thinking I was some femme fatale playing a sexy Catholic schoolgirl game. Instead of admitting I was a dead-broke student here begging for tuition money. I didn’t want to think about how humiliating it would be to admit I was some stupid, sheltered virgin who had gotten swept away at the first authentic touch of a man.

  I opened my mouth to say something to appease him. Tell him enough of a lie to convince him to just let me grab my clothes and slink off with recriminations and guilt over what I had allowed to happen.

  “If you open that mouth to lie to me, I will put it to better use.”

  My eyes widened. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was referring to, but I wasn’t so naïve as to not pick up on the sexual threat. With his Russian accent, everything sounded like a sexual threat.

  My mouth snapped shut.

  “I take it you are not from the escort agency?”

  If this hadn’t been such a dangerous situation, I would have almost laughed at little mousy me being mistaken for an exotic escort. Knowing he was expecting an answer but unable to speak past my suddenly dry tongue, I just shook my head.

  “You said you were here for the money. What money?”

  I lowered my head, realizing my foolish outburst about needing money had sealed my fate over this dreadful miscommunication. He would not let me go with my dignity intact. I would have to admit the truth.

  He reached over and gave my nipple a quick pinch.

  I sat up straighter as I covered my breasts with my arms. “Ow!”

  He dropped his hand onto the bed, pressing it against my hip as he leaned in closer. His dark brow lowered as his jaw tightened. “Answer me. Why do you need money? Are you in trouble?”

  More trouble than I’m in now? Naked in this man’s bed?

  This would be the moment to channel some witty, sassy retort like the heroines in my books. To put him in his place as I brazenly talked my way out. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of those heroines. I was just me. And this man frightened and intimidated me as much as he enthralled me.

  My voice sounded weak and pathetic to my ears as I hesitantly said, “I thought this was the house of Mr. Linus Fitzgerald III. I came here tonight to beg him to give me the grant tuition money promised to me so I could finish my degree.”

  He abruptly rose. Raising his arm, he threw the metal ice pick across the room till it smashed against a mirror, cracking its surface as he spit out something in Russian that sounded like proklyat. Before I could wonder what he’d just said, he repeated it in English. “Goddamn it.”

  His heavy footfalls took him back to the bar cabinet.

  His entire back was covered in a massive dragon tattoo. It looked like a piece of Russian folk art and was colored in with crimson reds and rich greens and golds. The jewel tones shifted as his heavily muscled back moved with his arms as he poured himself another drink. Among his super-scary tattoos, he had one that didn’t make sense. High on his left shoulder there was a tattoo of a cute cartoon bear holding an orange. It seemed out of place with the dragons, symbols, and dagger. I didn’t have the courage to boldly ask him about it.

  Unable to stop myself, I peeked lower. He had a great ass.

  He pivoted, and without warning my view was filled with the sight of his heavily engorged cock. I couldn’t believe that thing fit inside of me. Without thinking, I pressed a protective palm between my legs.

  “So you just knocked on a strange man’s door in the middle of the night? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? A little girl like you all alone? Unprotected!” he raged as he swallowed the contents of his glass before slamming it down onto the counter so hard I heard the crystal crack.

  Was he serious?

  Forgetting all about my fear, my humiliation, and my naked state, I rose onto my knees. “You!” I accused, pointing a finger at him. “You happened to me! And it wasn’t in the middle of the night!” I finished petulantly, my lower lip sticking out as I put my hands on my hips.

  He moved so swiftly I didn’t have a chance to escape.

  Wrapping his fist in my curls, he wrenched my head back as he pulled me against his warm body. Aware of my naked breasts brushing against the dark hair on his chest, my heart thumped wildly.

  His dark eyes narrowed as his lips twisted into a sneer. “And what were you going to do, детка? Beg him prettily on your knees for the money?” The angrier he got, the thicker his Russian accent became. His voice was nothing but a low guttural growl to my untrained ears, but I understood enough.

  With a cry of rage, my arm flew up, ready to slap him and damn the consequences.

  A vise snapped around my thin wrist. In one smooth move, he had my arm locked behind my back.

  “Perhaps I should make you beg me for the money?”
>
  My vision blurred.

  “Would you do that, детка, my sweet little baby girl? Would you get on your knees and open that beautiful mouth for me?”

  My body’s reaction to his dark threat was nothing short of sick and twisted. I felt the rush of heat between my legs. I clenched my thighs at the thought of being submissively prostrate in front of this dangerously powerful man. My mouth open and begging for his… his… oh, God! Heat rose on my cheeks as the wanton image played behind my eyes.

  Without thinking, my tongue darted out to wet my lips.

  Pressed close to his chest, I felt the vibrations from his growl.

  His other arm swept against my upper thighs just under my ass as he lifted me off the bed. Carrying me before him, he strode across the room. Pressing my hands against his shoulders, I squirmed in his embrace. “Where are you taking me?” I demanded.

  Ignoring my question, he carried me over the threshold of the bathroom. Like the entryway, the full space was covered in creamy white marble. Shifting my weight to one arm as if I were nothing more than a small sack of sugar, he opened a massive glass door and stepped inside. My gaze darting around, I realized we were in some sort of shower chamber. There were marble benches and countless brass showerheads and nozzles. The entire space was bigger than my apartment bedroom.

  He pressed me against the chilled marble wall. I cried out at the impact of the cold stone and arched my back. The movement only inflamed him more as it pushed my breasts against him. Stretching his arm out to the right, he slammed his palm against a large metal button.

  With a loud hiss, water burst from the showerheads lined along the wall and ceiling.

  His massive body curved over mine, protecting me from the initially frigid spray of water.

  As the water warmed, his lips skimmed across my cheek to my mouth.

  In desperation, I shifted my head to the right.

  I didn’t want him to kiss me.

  If he kissed me, I would respond and forget all the very real reasons I shouldn’t.

  Steam rose to fill the glass chamber. His hand slid around my waist as he pulled my hips against his own. I could feel the threatening press of his cock against my stomach. His teeth scraped along the column of my neck. My heart beat faster. Between the vodka, the scalding water, and his touch, my head spun.

  “Don’t make me force you, моя крошка, because I will.”

  My fingers splayed across his chest, feeling the water as it skimmed over his skin, making his tattoos glisten. I looked at the ominous dagger that appeared to strike him through the throat, the point dripping with blood. A person didn’t get a tattoo like that unless it had some kind of meaning. A deadly meaning.

  A rush of fear coursed over my body to settle in my belly. It was strange how fear could make arousal feel even more intense. Perhaps that’s why books called an orgasm the little death?

  Unable to fight him, I submitted. His mouth claimed mine in a bruising kiss filled with dark promise.

  As I leaned weakly against the now warm, wet-slicked shower wall, I watched through half-closed lids as he poured body wash into his palm. The creamy sandalwood-scented lather bubbled up as he rubbed his palms together.

  Placing his hands on my shoulders, he turned me till my back was pressed against his front. With one hand on my breast, his other hand skimmed over my belly to cup my sex. My head fell back as I rose on my toes, unable to stifle a whimper of pain as he caressed my bruised flesh. He shifted our bodies to the right till we were under a massive circular showerhead directly above us. The water falling down like rain, he caressed my skin as his hands moved over every inch of my body, washing away the last remnants of soap that was tinged slightly pink, evidence of my now lost virginity.

  He guided me back to the shower wall as if I were only a doll for him to manipulate and move. Towering over me, his gaze was fierce and intense as it captured my own.

  “I’ll kiss the pain away.”

  His head lowered, but instead of capturing my mouth as I assumed he would, he bent lower. Suddenly this beast of a man was on his knees before me, yet there was nothing submissive about him.

  My arms flew out to grip the slippery walls for purchase as he draped one leg then the other over his massive shoulders. His hands cupped my ass.

  Startled, I looked down my body to see his face nestled between my now stretched-open thighs.

  “Oh, God!”

  His sensuous mouth twisted into a slight smile. “That’s right, little one. Keep crying out my name.”

  With humiliating horror, I watched the tip of his tongue flick out to trace the seam of my pussy lips.

  This isn’t happening.

  Oh, God!

  “Please! You can’t! This is… please!”

  The rough touch of his goatee against my sensitive clit as he pushed his tongue inside my still-swollen cunt nearly sent me over the edge. It was such a decadent mixture of pleasure and pain. My fingertips clawed uselessly at the marble tiles as he played my body like an instrument.

  He thrust one thick finger inside of me, and I was lost.

  My orgasmic scream echoed around the steam-filled chamber.

  Just as my spent and weak body slid to the side, he rose and swept me into his arms. Taking a few steps to the left, he sat down on the marble bench, nestling me on his lap.

  Using his fingertips to push the wet curls away from my cheeks and neck, he murmured against my forehead, “Ты мой, мой маленький.”

  I did not understand what he said. It sounded like Ty moy, moy malen’kiy.

  Whatever it was… it probably wasn’t good.

  This was bad… really bad.

  An hour later, I was finally allowed to dress.

  It was the middle of the night. My roommate was probably worried sick and had already called the cops since I never stayed out this late. How pathetic was that? That my roommate would freak out over me staying out past midnight on a Friday night. Still, I guess I wouldn’t be able to claim my life was sheltered and boring after the events of tonight.

  A quick inspection showed there was no food in the kitchen. Apparently he traveled quite a bit with whatever business he was in. He announced he was taking me to the Golden Apple, an all-night diner down the street off Lincoln Avenue.

  Like Cinderella, I knew this strange night must end.

  This wasn’t the real me.

  I didn’t have sex with random, criminal-looking strangers!

  I was a librarian student, for heaven’s sake!

  Besides, who was to say he was taking me out for something to eat? Maybe he was taking me some place to kill me with that evil-looking ice pick and then dump my body in Lake Michigan.

  He was Russian. Russians knew about these sorts of things if basically every book and every movie I had ever seen with a Russian villain was to be believed.

  So when he said he needed to retrieve his car keys from upstairs, I didn’t think twice. I grabbed my abandoned backpack from the hallway and threw the front door open.

  “Don’t take one more step, моя крошка,” he warned from the top of the stairs.

  Busted!

  After throwing a frightened look over my shoulder, I took flight.

  I tore down the dark street, the sound of his heavy footfalls in pursuit pounding in my ears.

  Chapter 5

  He’s always, always in my mind—not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself—but, as my own being. - Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  Emma

  My clunky Mary Janes slowed me down as I tore down Burling Street toward Halsted. I knew that street would be busy despite the late hour and my best chance of getting a cab. I didn’t dare risk a glance back. I could no longer hear him shout but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind he still pursued me… silently, like a hunter.

  “Taxi! Taxi! Taxi!” I frantically waved my arms in the air as I screamed for a taxi.

  As one pulled over to the curb, a cou
ple who were both unsteady on their feet hobbled toward it. Shouldering them out of the way, I wrenched the back passenger door open and hopped in.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” I shouted at the confused pair of drunks through the closed window. My heavy breathing fogged up the glass as the cab pulled away.

  “Where to, miss?”

  “Edgewater. Winthrop Avenue.”

  A taxi all the way to my apartment was an extravagance I couldn’t afford, but I had no choice. Twisting at the waist, I stared out through the grimy rear window, half expecting to see him clinging to the trunk hood like some action movie hero.

  The cacophony of red, green, and white lights of the city blurred as I squinted at every car that pulled up behind my cab.

  The car took a left-hand turn onto my quiet residential street. Overgrown trees smothered most of the light from the street lamps.

  Digging into the front pocket of my backpack, I pulled out a few crumpled bills and tossed them to the driver. “Keep the change,” I tossed over my shoulder as if I could afford it. What I really couldn’t afford was staying out on the street for one minute longer than necessary.

  Hugging my backpack to my chest, my gaze darted down both sides of the street. Everything was quiet and still.

  As I stepped onto the weed-littered walkway leading to my apartment building, careful not to trip over the parts of the cement that had cracked and raised up, I tried to listen past the pounding of my heart for any unusual sounds.

  Just as I reached the outer door, there was a muted roar of an engine as a large black SUV turned onto my street. Transfixed, I stared at the bright headlights as it rolled closer and closer to me. Visions of the SUV careening up onto the lawn, the door swinging open and my being pulled into the dark interior by a pissed-off Russian, never to be seen again, taunted me.

  The SUV slowed as it approached my building.

  My lungs screamed for air as I forgot to breathe.

  My limbs went numb as a cold shiver of fear ran its fingertips up my spine.

  The SUV drove past.