Bad Boys of London: The Complete GYPSY HEROES Collection (88 page)

‘But—’

She holds up her hand. ‘Don’t say it. I know. It’s stupid and it’s crazy, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I can’t let go. Not yet. One day I’ll eventually leave, I know that, but just not quite yet, OK?’

‘OK.’

One corner of her mouth lifts. ‘So you’ll do it?’

Now I am torn between feeling horribly sorry for her and not wanting to be manipulated into massaging her Russian. ‘I do want to help, Stella, but I can’t. I’m not qualified. I wouldn’t know what to do or say to someone like that.’ 

‘You don’t even have to talk to him. He never says a word. Just comes in and lies there, and after I’ve finished, I turn down the lights and leave. He doesn’t even lift up his head to say goodbye.’

Ugh, sounds like a horrible man. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. ‘I think this is a really bad idea,’ I say, but my voice is weak. Both of us know that she has won.

‘Yes, you can. It’s a plain massage. Nothing fancy. Just basic moves. You could do it with your eyes closed. All you have to remember is that he likes it hard.’

I stare at her indecisively.

‘Remember three months of no cleaning.’

‘Stella,’ I groan.

‘Oh, thank you. Thank you. I promise you’ll never regret it. I owe you one.’

I sigh. ‘I’m already regretting it.’

‘Come on. Let’s get you into one of my uniforms.’

We go into her room and I take my T-shirt off and slip into her white uniform. It has a black collar and black buttons all the way down, but because my boobs are so much bigger than hers I cannot button all the way.

‘Now what?’ I ask.

Her head disappears into her closet. She comes out with a scarf, hooks it around the back of my neck tucks it into the front of her uniform.

I look at myself in the mirror.

‘I really don’t know about this, Stella,’ I say doubtfully.

‘Are you kidding? You absolutely look the part.’

‘Are you mad. This uniform is too tight.’

‘No, no, you look great,’ she says quickly and bundles me out of her room. ‘Look, you best get going or you’ll be late. The car will be here anytime now.’ She grabs my handbag from the dining table, presses it into my hands and practically pushes me out of the front door. Holding on to my elbow she rushes me down the corridor. We go into the lift together and as she said, there is a black Mercedes with tinted windows waiting outside. She opens the back door and manhandles me into it.

‘See you later,’ she calls cheerily as she closes the door with a thick click.

The driver glances at me in the mirror.

 ‘You all right Miss.’

‘Yeah, I’m all right?’ I say with a sigh. Looks like I’m massaging the man Stella is in love with.’

Hey, I heard you are a wild one, wild one, wild one.

Chapter Two

Dahlia Fury

T
he Mafia boss’s house is in Park Lane. A dour, deeply tanned man in a black suit and a white shirt opens the door and raises his eyebrows. He is wearing an earpiece.

‘Stella can’t make it. I’m taking her place,’ I explain shortly

‘We do body searches on people we don’t know,’ he says, his eyes travelling down my length.

‘The fuck you are,’ I tell him rudely.

He grins suddenly. ‘I like you. You’ve got balls.’

‘Whatever,’ I say in a bored voice.

His grin widens. He’s got good strong teeth. ‘If you’ve got a weapon hidden in that tight dress you deserve to kill him.’

‘It’s a uniform,’ I say stiffly.

‘No kidding,’ he leers.

I look at him with raised eyebrows.

‘Come with me.’

I step into the mansion, he closes the door, and I follow him into the Mafia Don’s residence. What can I say? Wow? Crime really does pay?  Yeah, must be nice to have so much. Polished granite, marble columns, fantastic lighting, touches of platinum, sleek black leather trimmings. Nope, not my thing, nevertheless very, very impressive in a cold, masculine sort of way. He takes me up a sprawling staircase to the massage room.

He flicks his wrist, looks at his watch, and says. ‘He’ll be with you in five minutes.’

Then he winks and disappears. I look around the dimly lit room. Opera music is being piped in through hidden speakers, and it is wonderfully warm. I walk towards the massage table. All the different oils are in a kind of bain-marie on a trolley next to it.

Shit. Suddenly I feel really nervous.

I’ve never massaged anyone other than Stella and my sister. I take a deep breath. No, I can do this. I will tell my grandchildren about the day I massaged a Russian Mafia boss. I smile to myself. I pick up a bottle of oil. I twist the cap and smell it. Oooo… lavender, musk and something else… Rosemary?

I pour some on my palm and rub my hands together. The smell surrounds me. Very nice. I adjust my clothes. I know exactly why the black suit had been staring at me. The uniform is way too tight. I hear a sound outside the door and quickly put my hands to my sides and look towards it.

The door opens and this huge hunk of a man with a small towel slung around his hips comes in. Whoa! I inhale in slow motion. Jesus! No wonder Stella is all tied up in knots. He excludes pure sexual energy. Let me describe him to you. The first thing that hits me after his height and breath are his incredible tattoos. They cover his body and they are not an untidy collection of random images, but each one subtly connected to the others. To give you an example, an angel smiles at a tiger tearing into an impala, above their heads are intricate images of stars, demons and other strange creatures. On his shoulder a cobra hisses dangerously its mouth and hood open.

The next thing that floors you are his eyes.  You know those crazy drawings of Nordic aliens, their ice-blue eyes. That’s what his are like. Piercing and magnetic. Shit. I couldn’t stop staring. Those crazy eyes slide over me, lingering on my breasts, and then pulling back, and narrowing on my face.

I want to smile, but I am frozen.

‘Where is…’ he makes a rolling motion with his big, powerful hand. Stella was right, after six months, twice a week, she has not even registered enough for him to even remember her name.

‘Stella,’ I supply helpfully.

‘Where is … Stella,’ he asks quietly. His voice is deep and the accent is strong and actually extremely sexy.

I clear my throat. ‘She couldn’t make it. I’m here to take her place.’

He nods. ‘Ok,’ and going to the massage table lies on it face down.

I gaze at the splendid body, the muscles, gleaming in the dim room and think of Stella. God, I’m not surprised she’s all in love. I am vaguely aware of a kind of animal attraction. I want to touch him. The sexual desire is so strong, it is as unsettling as a fingernail on a blackboard. It sets my teeth on edge. It’s almost like making love. I take a deep breath. Right. Swedish. Make it hard, Stella is saying in my head.

There is a strange feeling inside my belly. I feel hot and excited. A light sheen of sweat starts on my body. I wipe my brow with the back of my forearm. I flex my fingers and move forward.

I pick up the oil that has been warming in the hot water. Jesus, suddenly the smell of oil feels too musky and erotic. I gaze at his sinewy neck and feel the hair at the back of my own rise. He is like an animal, a big cat. Sleek and dangerous. I put musky oil back down and pick up a random bottle.

I pour the warm, lemon scented oil on the plateau at the base of his spine. I watch it pool. Then I take a deep breath and open the massage with a long, slow stroke. He doesn’t react. I shift my hands down to the two mounds of the gluteal muscles. They are firm strong and tight … and bulging insolently.

Make it hard. He likes it hard.

I dig down and get to work, careful not to make the mistakes that amateurs make – work too fast. My breathing rate increases, but the man does nothing. Just lies there silently. I move to the front of him, grab his shoulders and push down his back with my thumbs and finger pads..

Smooth and sensuous.

My hands roll back. It is almost hypnotic to feel my palms sliding down the tatted skin, and feel the muscles underneath move. By now sweat is running down my back. I have been so caught up in the job I do not see his hands move, but they are without warning cupping my buttocks. For a few second I freeze, more in shock than anything else.

The inert body moved!

Then I jump back in horror. ‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’

He lifts his head and looks at me with those wicked eyes. Vaguely my eyes register the white scar that starts at the edge of one eye and runs down the side of his face.

‘I figured since you are not a real masseuse you were a hooker.’

‘What gave you that crazy impression?’ I demand outraged. How dare he?

His eyes slide down to my breasts. I look down and the scarf is dislodged and my breasts are practically spilling out of my uniform. My ears burn as I pull the scarf upwards and clutch it against my chest.

‘Well, I’m not a prostitute,’ I deny hotly.

His reaction is swift and smooth. He rolls to his side and lands lightly on his feet like a cat or someone with some kind of stealth training. He straightens. Naked and utter unashamed of his body he takes a step towards me. Shocked and a little frightened I take a step back, but the wall pulls me up short. He stops a foot away from me. His palms land on either side of me.

I gaze at him with wide eyes.

‘Then why did you massage me like that?’ he asks hoarsely,

The breath escapes me in a rush. ‘Like what?’ I whisper.

‘Like you want to taste my cock.’

‘I didn’t. I don’t,’ I stutter.

‘Then why are you fucking wet?’ he asks softly. His eyes drop to my mouth.

‘I’m not,’ I say clearly.

His hands leave the wall and grab my hips. ‘Do you want me to make a liar of out of you?’ he asks.

‘Don’t touch me,’ I spit.

He pulls me towards his naked body until his rock hard cock twitches against my belly.

A strange languor overtakes me, and I am suddenly struck by the desire to submit. To let him have his way. To let him fuck me hard. Because I know it will be a hard fuck. Yes, I’d be just a nameless fuck, and yes, there will be the walk of shame afterwards, but I can live with all of that. The thing that stops me is the thought of facing Stella.

‘How dare you?’ I gasp, outraged.

He laughs, a humorless, cold laugh. ‘Is that a challenge or a fucking invitation?’

‘It’s a fucking warning,’ I say furiously.

Ignoring my fury, he runs his fingers along my inner thigh.

I draw in a sharp breath. ‘Let go of me or I’ll scream.’

His eyes light up. They are like the underside of certain fish, slivery blue. He lets go of my hips. One of his hands comes up to my face. He drags his thumb along my lower lip while I stare up at him, mesmerized by the naked lust in his eyes. The fingers of his other hand arrive at the apex of my thighs.

‘Don’t,’ I whisper.

He brushes his fingers along the crotch of my panties. There is no expression at all in his face when he finds them soaking wet. Without a word he pushes the material aside and inserts a long finger into me.

Holy fuck. My body starts trembling.

‘Don’t. I don’t want you to,’ I order, but even I can hear how weak my voice sounds. My brain is already thinking of his thick girth pounding mercilessly into me. 

He withdraws the finger and jams it back in. ’Don’t?’ he taunts.

Blood rushes to my head and pounds so hard I can’t even think.

‘I … we … oh … ah … shouldn’t.’

He doesn’t even bother to answer me. Just keeps up the steady finger fucking. I am so excited I feel as if I already at the point of no return. To my utter shame and humiliation I climax, and really hard too, all over his finger.

He smiles, a condescending, triumphant smile.

And suddenly I feel sick at what I have just allowed him to do to me. Jesus, I have behaved like a cheap slut. I swallow hard. I can’t even look him in the eye. How could this have happened to me? He made me come with one finger! And that digit is still inside me and my muscles are contracting helplessly around his finger.

‘Take your finger out of me now,’ I say in a cold, hard voice.

‘Why? Are you ready for me to replace it with my cock?’ he mocks insolently.

I am so inflamed that it seems natural that he should bear the brunt of my fury. My right hand flies up towards his cheek. It never connects. Instead a band of steel curls around my forearm.

‘Don’t ever do that again. I don’t like it,’ he says very softly.

I try to wrench my hand out of his grasp, but it like someone has poured concrete around it.  His impassive eyes watch my puny struggles almost curiously. Like a child watching an insect it has caught before it pulls its wings off.

I take a deep breath. ‘Let me go,’ I cry.

He curls his finger and starts stroking my inside walls and I automatically feel my body begin to respond to his manipulation. Oh no. I can’t allow him to take total control of my body again. I stare into his eyes.

‘Please,’ I beg. My voice sounds strange and strangled.

One corner of his mouth lifts. It makes him look at once beautiful and cruel. He pulls his finger out of me and releases my hand. ‘Fly away little bird,’ he says dismissively.

I feel so ashamed I am almost tearful. No man has even reduced me to a feeling of such utter lack of worth. To him I am nothing but a sexual object. He thought I was offering myself, and he just helped himself even after I objected. And now he is just getting rid of me. My knees feel like jelly.

I press my lips together and take a sideways step. Some part of my brain tries to make sense of what has just happened. It’s OK, you’ll never see him again. No one will ever know what happened here today. It’s just one of those inexplicable moments that you have never experienced before. A powerful man totally floors an inexperienced idiot!

I straighten my spine. You know what. I can do the walk of shame. So what. I take one step in the direction of the door and another step and then another step. I put my hand on the handle and his voice, like warm honey, pours into my ears.