He reaches me. The candlelight dances across his handsome face. His eyes are soft with emotion.
He opens the box.
In it sits a necklace with a charm; small diamonds forming the shape of a tiny sword.
A memory flashes in my mind. Me, complimenting Mary on her necklace, the very same one that Bronson now holds. She had said thank you, giving me a wink.
Her small gesture suddenly made sense.
She must have known this day would come.
Bronson speaks, his gaze fixed on mine. “All Bachman women wear this necklace. It is a symbol of our creed, the way we live our lives, the eternal care of a man for a woman. For as long as the stars have lit the sky, men have cared for and loved the woman they have pledged their lives to. And women have loved and obeyed those men, accepting them as the headship of their family. Choosing to give the gift of their submission to these men—men who would lay down their lives for the ones they love. The sword is our symbol—the length we are willing to go to, the sacrifice we would willingly make.”
Bronson hands Carter the candle and the box. Bronson holds the necklace.
He steps around me. His body brushes up against my back. He brings the chain around my neck. The little sword rests on my chest. His fingers are at the back of my neck, clasping the delicate necklace into place. His hands rest on my shoulders. “Paige, I freely give you this symbol, and pledge my very life to you. Do you accept?”
“I do.”
My fingers go to the charm. It’s cool to my touch. I want to thank him but the words lodge in my throat. He’s before me now, and I chose to speak my heart through my kiss. My lips meet his and I kiss him deeply, all feeling and senses melting into the intimate gesture.
When my eyes open, I find each Bachman holding an unlit candle. Bronson turns to Carter, taking back his candle and lighting Carter’s. Carter lights Sasha’s, and the gesture continues down the line until there are dozens of twinkling lights dotting the rooftop.
A voice rises from the altar. The man I earlier assumed to be a preacher has shed his robes. He now stands before us in a dark suit. He must be a Bachman. He has a candle in his own hand, holding it high as he speaks. “Fire, also as timeless as the Earth, symbolizes the Bachman families pledge to one another. To guide, care for, and protect one another above all others. Bachmans, do you accept the union of Paige and Bronson?”
We do, the hushed voices reply.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“And Bachmans, do you pledge to care for and protect Paige and Bronson, as you would your own blood?” he asks.
We do.
“And how long will you hold Paige and Bronson in your care?”
Forever.
He turns to me. “Welcome to the Bachman family, Paige.”
The quiet reverence of the evening is broken with rowdy cheers.
Bronson hugs me tightly, kissing my cheeks. He releases me and I’m passed from person to person. Hugs, kisses, words of congratulations wash over me, welcoming me.
Bringing me home.
I officially belong to a family. One that has adopted me.
Mrs. Bronson Bachman.
Chapter Eleven
A few months later
Bronson
With every lick, every taste, every touch, two words caress my mind.
My wife.
I had observed, coveted, and envied the Bachman men for their adoring wives for so long.
Always waiting, always wanting.
Always knowing my day would never come.
That fate had destined me to be a lifelong bachelor.
Then... Paige.
I still have to remind myself it’s real. That I’ve found the one who makes my heart beat faster. Makes my mind wander. The one I’d give my life for.
Since the wedding, I’ve been delighted at how easily Paige has adjusted to becoming, as she says, a Bachman Beauty. With her wit and big heart, she has been quickly embraced by the other women.
She was born to be one of us.
And from fiancée to wife, she’s only become more adorable to me. When she attempts to cook, oh my, I want to laugh out loud. But when I see the tears brimming up in those big brown eyes, I have to gather her right up into my arms before I even disarm the fire alarm or clear the smoke from the room.
She strives to be the perfect wife.
She’s anything but perfect.
But my God, she’s perfect to me.
There have been a few bumps in the road. John’s assured me that’s quite normal—he should know, having been married to Mary for quite some time. Paige and I have had to find a balance—me wanting to spank that gorgeous ass for every single infraction, and her wanting to maintain some sense of independence and keep her strong will.
I’ve conceded. Several times.
She’s been over my knee. Several times.
But I’m sure she’d tell you she’s benefited from the sessions.
The way her pussy gushes from her spankings tells me I’m doing something right.
The one subject we can’t seem to see eye to eye on is how much I work. Since marrying Paige, I’ve cut back quite a bit. But an empire doesn’t run itself. After our extended honeymoon, it was back to the grindstone for me.
She’s been left to set up house. Get to know the ladies of the Village. Volunteer at her old home.
And shop. Endlessly shop.
But it’s not enough. I’m not enough. She needs something all her own. And that’s why I’ve decided to give her a gift.
Bachman’s.
She has impeccable taste. She can sniff a thief from a mile away, she says. Something to do with her past, perhaps? And customers adore her almost as much as I do.
It will give her purpose, drive, something to fill the hours when I must work.
And she’ll be far better at running the store than I ever was.
Can you believe I’ve never done a lick of paperwork in my life?
* * *
Paige
He’s given me everything.
Now, he’s given me the store.
I, Paige Bachman, am an entrepreneur.
It feels amazing.
Of course, with all the money my husband made from investing, our main source of income is now completely legit from stocks.
Any revenue I make from Bachman’s jewelers will go directly to helping the elderly in New York. Bronson and I have no need for more money. Once he agrees to my plan, just knowing who I’ll be helping lights a fire in my belly and gives me a drive to perform—to earn.
And I do.
Customers seem to like me. We’re now getting a much younger, even wealthier crowd since I’ve taken over the buying. My new customers think nothing of dropping ten grand on a gift. I just help them choose which one.
Every item that lines my closet was paid for by my husband. I’ve sold all my stolen goods. I took all my stolen merchandise and sold it on auctions on eBay. I’m sure you can guess who got the proceeds.
Being a married woman is nothing like I’d dreamed it would be. Probably because the man of my dreams is so different than any man I’ve ever met.
To be a Bachman... it’s thrilling.
And at times, infuriating. Every once in a while, my ugly temper will rear its head. And you know exactly where that lands me.
Not that I don’t love it.
Except when I don’t.
For example, right this minute.
Bronson has gotten it into his mind that it’s not safe from me to be at the jewelers alone after hours. But I’m a working woman. Just like him, I need time after the hectic day has died down to wrap up loose ends. And forgive me, but I do get sucked into the buying end of things. There are just so many gorgeous lines of jewelry to sort through.
Do I forget to lock the doors some nights?
Sure.
Am I alone, working in the back office some nights?
Of course.
I don’t understand what the big
deal is. Everyone respects the Bachman name. No one would dare to break in.
Except for my husband.
Bronson comes bursting through the doors at seven oh eight p.m., demanding, “What the hell are you thinking, working after hours with the door unlocked and the alarm not set?”
“Um. I’m working.”
“And you can’t work with the door locked and the alarm on?” He stands before me, fuming. I swear if clouds of smoke could float out of his ears, they would.
“I’m working,” I say. Bronson has a terrible habit of interrupting me when I’m knee deep in jewel catalogues.
“Working on finding your way to a smacked bottom.”
I shut the glossy book with a snap. “I told you, I’m fine here. I was just about to set the alarm—”
“Do not lie to me, young lady. You’ll find yourself with a sore bottom, inside and out.”
I gulp. Bronson has recently introduced me to a new punishment plug. It’s bigger than the one he put in my bottom in the office that day before we were dating. He likes to pop it into my bottom before a spanking. I hate that thing. And it’s a pretty little thing too. Platinum with a swirly engraved capital ‘B’ on it. Shame it’s so beautiful and for such a nasty purpose.
My ass clenches just thinking about it. Time to play nice. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re right. I’ll just lock up and we’ll be out of here.” I stand from my seat, tidying up and slipping the catalogue back into the stack.
“Too late.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You’ve been given several warnings. All that you’ve completely ignored. Obviously, my words alone are not getting through to you. You will have to be punished.”
I say, “But Brauny... I’m just working so hard and sometimes I forget to lock the door.” I bat my eyes, racking my brain for Sasha’s tips on getting out of a spanking. Though judging by the way she’s been standing a lot lately, refusing to take a seat that’s offered to her, I have a feeling her days of ruling Carter are over.
“Don’t Brauny me. It will be sir to you until you’ve been thoroughly punished. Is that clear?”
It was hopeless. I’ve been caught. And he’s going to punish me. Right here in this office. Just like the first day we met and he’d caught me stealing from him. “Yes, sir.”
My tummy tightens, my buttocks clenching. Despite the impending dread that washes over me, my pussy has a mind of her own. Bronson’s commanding words, the way he stands, looming over me, his dark brow arching in disapproval, has her positively weeping with desire.
He pulls something from his breast pocket.
Damn.
It’s the little silver bullet butt plug, the one marked with a B for Bachman—all us beauties have one. He withdraws a tube of lube. The light green one. It has just a touch of menthol in it. To enhance the experience.
I gulp.
My hands go to my bottom, my puckered hole tightening in memory of that burning lube. “I’m really sorry, Bronson. I should have respected your request the first time. It will never happen again. Let’s forget this ever happened and go home and I’ll try and cook you that chicken you like. The one I burned to a crisp last time? I’m sure I can get it right this time—”
“Quiet.” He’s over to me in three strides. His huge hands rest on my shoulders. His dark eyes burn into mine. “Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what could happen to you if someone were to break in here? And if you don’t care for your own life, think of mine. It would be over if anything were to happen to you. I can’t stomach the idea of one hair on your head being harmed.”
Guilt washes over me. It was a stupid move. This is New York City, after all. And I was alone, surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. But not sorry enough to not let it happen again. Yet.”
He grabs my hips. He spins me around. My hipbones dig into the edge of the desk. My hands press into the desktop as he places a hand on my back, bending me over. His hands go to the hem of my skirt, pushing the fabric up and over my waist. In a flash, my panties are down, gathering around the tops of my thighs.
He commands me to spread my legs.
I obey. To my humiliation, the scent of my arousal fills the office.
“Someone’s already wet. Naughty girl. Just can’t help yourself, can you?”
My face burns. He parts my ass cheeks. A moment later the icy cold tip of the metal bullet presses against my unwilling entrance. I receive a sharp slap on my ass that has me sucking in my breath between my teeth. I relax my muscles, accepting the tool that is being placed to punish me.
The bullet slides into my ass. At first, the menthol jelly feels cold, almost refreshing. But then, it turns to a slow burn. One that has me squirming. One that confuses my body. It’s... stimulating. But in a way that drives me to distraction. It makes my ass clench.
My ass is stretching, burning and uncomfortable from the minty intrusion. My pussy is aching, throbbing, wanting from his dominance and the stimulation. The pressure and pleasure I need is nowhere in sight.
I moan.
He gives my bare ass cheeks a few hard smacks. My panties are snapped back into place. My dress smoothed down over my stinging, burning ass.
He’s not done with me. “Let’s go to dinner.”
I gasp. “I can’t sit through dinner with this... thing in me!”
“You can. And you will. A good reminder for the next time you should be locking up for the night.”
I give him a pitiful look. I whine, “Brauny, please!”
It does nothing. He’s immovable.
“I’ve already locked up the front. Come on, now, let’s go. We’re expected at Carter’s in ten minutes.”
I will have to walk to their house. Sit through dinner, making small talk, the burning bullet filling my ass. Knowing I’m to be taken home and soundly spanked.
Why hadn’t I just locked the damn door like he’d asked me to?
He grabs my hand in his, leading me out of the office.
Walking is pain. Each step I take seems to stretch the muscles in my bottom, a constant reminder of the punishing plug.
And my pussy. Oh, how it aches and begs to be filled.
We arrive at Carter and Sasha’s. Carter opens the door, greeting us. A subdued Sasha politely welcomes us. She’s much quieter than usual. I can’t help but notice, she walks almost on tiptoe, as if trying not to move her hips too much as she goes along.
Much like I am.
We make polite chatter about our days, the weather. The men step out to the back garden to share a whiskey. As soon as they are out of earshot, I grab her arm, whispering in her ear, “Are you... plugged, right now?”
She gives an exasperated groan. “Is it that obvious?”
“What did you do?” I ask, taking a sip from the wine she just poured me.
“Same old, same old. Just being myself. Only this time... this time... he put this... thing in me. And you wouldn’t believe the stuff he lubed it up with—”
“Mint!” I say.
“Oh, my God, yes! It burns like holy hell. But it also makes me feel all funny. Like I want him, but I’m pissed at him and my ass is on fire. You know what I mean?”
“I’m afraid I do—I’m wearing a Bachman bullet as we speak,” I say.
“You’re too funny with all your Bachman terms you make up. What are you in for?”
I shrug. “Not setting the alarm when I’m at the store by myself after hours.”
Sasha gives me a look. “Come on, Paige. Even I wouldn’t pull a stunt like that. What are you in there with? Millions of dollars of diamonds? Seriously, I can see where Bronson is coming from.”
“Sasha—you’re supposed to be on my side,” I say.
“Not this time, Paige. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Maybe I’ve finally started to become a little bit submissive, but I’m starting to see why these guys are the way they are. You should get your ass spanked for t
hat.”
I’m shocked. This is Sasha—the one who was always teaching me how to manipulate, to get out of trouble. “Well, I hope you get the same.” I take a gulp of my wine.
She gives me another look. “That’s not very nice. I’m going to tell Bronson on you.”
I narrow my brow at her.
“I’m kidding, Paige! God, you should see your face. You know I’m always on your side. But seriously, for the love of everything that is Bachman—lock that door at night.”
We ‘cheers’ our glasses, laughing. I’m glad to see Sasha is finally coming around. I know Bronson worried about her and Carter in the past.
The men return and we have a wonderful dinner—takeout that Sasha serves on china. The only downside is how much Sasha and I are squirming in our chairs and the smug looks on the faces of our men. The time flies by and after midnight, it’s time to head home.
Sasha gives me a tight hug, whispering into my ear, “Good luck tonight.”
“You too.”
Bronson takes my hand and leads me home.
We’re only in the foyer, the door just clicked shut behind us, when I jump his bones.
My hands wind into his hair, my leg wrapping around his as I kiss him.
He pulls back, not unpleased, just surprised. “What was that for?”
“Just... just...” His face is handsome in the evening light, his arms so strong around me.
His plug within me, marking me, stretching me for his pleasure.
My mouth finds his. My wordless answer showing him my love. My desire.
I have to have him, now.
“Just spank me and get it over with. I’m dying to have you.” My fingertips go to his belt, unlatching it.
His hands go to mine, locking around my wrists. “Not so fast.”
A chill runs down my spine. He’s still angry.
“You’ve crossed a line. Put yourself in danger. There are consequences.”
“I know. And I’m ready to face them. I’m just more ready for what happens afterwards.”
“Maybe a more suitable punishment would be to sleep apart. And let your poor little pussy go unattended for the evening.”
Dread pools in my stomach. That would be way worse than a spanking.
Bronson: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 16