Manacled in Monaco

by Jianne Carlo

  Would she lose her place in Tony’s life?

  A clicking sound preceded Rolan’s entrance through the doorway. Their eyes met in the dresser’s mirror.

  “Butterflies?” he asked, while striding up behind her. His hands cupped her bare shoulders. “I’m feeling them too. Figured if we shared them, maybe they’d go away.”

  One thumb danced a lazy circle on her shoulder blade.

  “Wait till you see Tony in his tux. He’s one terrific kid, Sarita honey. You did a great job. Thank you.”

  He brushed his lips against her temple. She wanted to lean back into him, absorb his strength, let him take the burden for a while, but squared her shoulders instead.

  “You know where I came from, Rolan. I don’t have your country club background, I’m not sure I can fit into your life.” She gritted her teeth and continued. “You, you’re famous. I’m no one. A short order cook in a diner. What happens when you become bored with me and Tony?”

  “He’s my son. I could never become bored with him. Do you know the one thing that stands out? He said, now I can go to father and son night at school. Jesus, I felt like such a prick. You two haven’t had it easy, have you? Not in Orangeville. I’d forgotten about small town prejudice.”

  “It won’t go away, Rolan. They’ll all know the real reason you married me, and they’ll never let me forget it.”

  “And what’s the real reason I’m marrying you? Since you seem to have everything pegged, answer that question.”

  “Joint custody.”

  “And yesterday? Last night? Those hot sex scenes in the bathroom? On the deck? Where do all of those fit into your tidy little mind?”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes then and studied the strappy white sandals, her newly pedicured feet, and the scarlet toenails. It all seemed like a vulgar joke.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never felt like that before. I mean, that first time ten years ago, it was sort of a blur. And then I had too much to worry about to concentrate on it.”

  “Sarita honey,” he tipped her chin up, and cupped her jaw. “Are you telling me you’ve never? Not since that night?”

  Her whole face heated, and she wanted nothing more than to vanish into oblivion. “I had to drop out of high school, then my mother died and I got fired. Sex was the last thing I thought about.”

  “Then your wedding night will be very special, I promise.”

  “I think it might be best if we didn’t get married. I’m not very sophisticated, Rolan. If you sleep with me, I’ll expect you not to sleep with anyone else.” She angled her jaw out of his reach. “In fact, I just might turn into Lorena Bobbitt if you did.”

  He grinned a slow devilish beam and nipped her shoulder, a short sharp bite.

  “We have a deal, little lady. You Bobbitt me if I break the rules. What happens if you do?”

  She snorted. “I said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not the straying kind.”

  “You’d never had an orgasm before the last couple of days either. Take it from one who’s experienced more than his share, they’re addictive.”

  That one she believed.

  “And that little red number you wore for lunch gets banished to the bedroom.”

  “Who says?” She folded her arms.

  “I do. And in a few minutes, you’re promising to love and obey.”

  “It’s the year 2008, Rolan, not the Stone Age. I will omit that word.”

  “Get one thing straight, Sarita. I am your husband and you will not wear that dress, or any other like it, in public.”

  “Really?” One eyebrow arched. “And what happens if I do?”

  “You get spanked.”

  She snorted.

  “Actually, I’ve already fantasized about spanking that pert little backside. Want to get married with a little tar on your ass?”

  “You’re joking, aren’t you?” She never expected what followed.

  For an answer, he swept his hands under her knees, scooped her into his arms, stalked over to the bed, and sat down. Holding her gaze, he edged her long ivory gown over naked thighs until he reached a pink and blue flowered garter belt. “I bet Yvonne had to bully you into wearing this. Did she?”

  Dazed and somewhat apprehensive, she nodded.

  “I gave her strict instructions about your undergarments. No underwear, right?”

  Almost in a drunken stupor, she nodded again.

  “And are you very very wet here?”

  He knew the answer to that as he stroked a long, thick finger into her center.

  “And you’re ready, Sarita honey, really ready.” He flipped her onto the bed, straddled her thighs, and spanked her. It happened so fast she didn’t absorb it for a few seconds.

  A single stinging connection, hand to bare ass.

  “Ten should do it. I want you thinking of me every minute of the ceremony, knowing I’m going to do this again before I give you a wedding night you’re never going to forget.”

  Another spank. A brush of his lips on her bottom.

  Spank. Her cheeks flamed.

  He licked his way up the center of her ass, his tongue delving deep into the crevice.

  Slap, two palms. This time his mouth firmed in the hollow of her back, nibbling, nipping.

  By the tenth spank, Sarita’s mind had stopped functioning and her ass arched into his palms, begging for more.

  He pulled down her satin wedding dress and the cool material burned her flesh. With the utmost gentleness, he turned her onto her side. Taking one palm between his, he slid her hand inside his pants and curled her fingers around his hot, rigid prick.

  “Twice you’ve had me so hot, I came in my pants. Your ass is burning now, but by the time you say I do, it will be the least of your worries.”

  “Rolan, you’re scaring me a little.”

  “Sarita honey, you shouldn’t be afraid at all. You know I’d never do anything but bring you pleasure. Don’t you?”

  Did she?

  “You’re not sure. Okay, was there anything we’ve done you haven’t enjoyed? Are you afraid that you’ll like it?”

  “I said that aloud, didn’t I? I don’t think I could ever look a Bailey’s bottle in the face again.” At his wide grin, she added, “You know what I mean. Spanking, Rolan?”

  “How did it make you feel? Be honest now.” One thumb brushed her cheek.

  “Surprised. Naughty, kind of breathless. A little afraid.”

  “Did it hurt you either physically or emotionally?”

  “Not really.” Startled, she realized the truth of her admission.

  “Anything else?”

  His emerald eyes hunted for some nebulous response from her. “It made me wet.”

  “Ah, that’s what it’s supposed to do, Sarita honey, It’s all for your pleasure. You haven’t had any real sexual experience until the last couple of days, so we’ll explore different aspects of sex. Think of it as a tasting menu, you pick the dishes you like and have them regularly. What you don’t like, you don’t eat. Okay?”

  Three hard knocks sounded on the door.

  “That’s Madame Yvonne. She’s waiting outside. Ten to one Austen’s hovering around her. He’s smitten.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t make love to you until after the ceremony, but I want you focused on me, on wedding night sex. Every time you see me, I want you to picture how much I love Bailey’s flavored pussy. And I want you to think of rules and consequences. Rule one, no sitting during the ceremony or the reception. I’m going to have you so wet that if you sit, this lovely dress will stain. If I see you sit once tonight, I’ll haul you into the men’s room and add another ten spanks to your hot little ass.”

  Sliding her palm out of his pants, he nipped her lower lip, shot her a Satanic grin, and stalked out of the room like a Bengal tiger hunting deer.

  Rear end on fire, embarrassed to the gills, Sarita let Madame Yvonne hover and fuss without a murmur, too caught u
p in this strange side of Rolan to worry about the marriage ceremony. She’d never dreamed, not once in the last ten years, he’d be like this. He liked to spank, no that was too mild, he reveled in it. Was she marrying a sadist?

  At precisely seven-thirty, Austen drove her and Tony to the Hotel de Paris. Its imposing, almost forbidding, exterior intimidated the daylights out of her. Not so Tony. No, her young son seemed to the manor born, exiting the Lamborghini as if he had rights to it. Leading her up the marble steps, he lifted an arrogant brow when one of the bellhops inquired as to their destination.

  “We’re with the Paxton party. The private elevator.”

  She slanted a stunned glance at this imperial version of her ten-year-old-child.

  Tony caught her confused look, grinned, and whispered, “Dad said he didn’t want anyone crashing the wedding, so we have a private elevator. He says if you act like you own the world, then you do. Stick your nose in the air, Mom. You’re going to be Mrs. Rolan Paxton, wife of a three-time Super Bowler.”

  And a spanker.

  She should start running now and never stop.

  Rolan held sway over the private elevator, greeting them as the doors opened. “Thank you for delivering her, son. Now she’s all mine.”

  “She’s still my mom, Dad.”

  “You can have her back after the honeymoon. Okay?”

  “How long’s the honeymoon?”

  “Two nights, three days.”

  “Okay, I can handle that, I guess. Where’re you two staying?”

  “At a small castle in the Italian mountains. You have my cell programmed into yours, right? Just call if you need anything.”

  “You gave Tony a cell phone?”

  “You’re starting to get a little antsy there, woman. Should we head to the bathroom?” he murmured into one ear, his warm breath tickling her lobe.

  “Rolan,” she said, grabbed his arm, and tiptoed as the elevator doors closed, blocking Tony’s tuxedoed form. “Is spanking it? Or is there more?”

  “Much more, Sarita honey. I’m guessing I’ve piqued your curiosity?” He had the clean-cut good looks of the boy next door. But underneath that bland exterior lived a predatory marauder with strange appetites.

  “Scared the daylights out of me’s more like it. Are you a pervert or not?” Her stomach did a crazed flip-flop when Sarita realized she didn’t care.

  He collapsed against the elevator wall chortling so hard tears sprang from his jade eyes. At first chagrined, Sarita couldn’t prevent the slight twitching of her lips and she surrendered to his infectious mirth, laughing aloud with him.

  The elevator doors opened, and a wall of maître d’s and waiters and sommeliers faced them. Rolan didn’t bother to apologize for his inability to speak as he swiped the moisture off his cheeks. Then he tucked her hand into the crook of one elbow and whispered in her ear, “I’ll share my innermost secret. I like, no love, no adore, sex. All positions, every variety. Love doing it in public. Think an orgasm is the only way to begin each new day.”

  They reached a hors d’oeuvres-laden table. Sarita slumped into a Queen Anne velvet-lined chair wondering if madness ran in the Paxton family.

  He bent over, laid two heated palms on her shoulders, and muttered, “Ah, Sarita honey, you forgot my warning.”

  As if that clarified anything.

  She raised confused eyes to his.

  “You sat. The Men’s room in ten minutes. If you’re not there, I’ll haul you in before everyone, including our son.”

  “Rolan, you can’t be serious.”

  “Think so?” And he lifted one arrogant straw eyebrow, the exact gesture Tony mimicked earlier in the lobby.

  She snuck a glance at the clock, almost nine, grabbed a champagne glass, and downed its contents. Hovering near the men’s room, she scrutinized the crowd of wedding guests, most of them strangers to her, and hoped Rolan would forget his threat.

  As the tenth minute crawled by, he materialized at her side. “You first.”

  Would anyone notice? Her heartbeat sounded like African drums in her ears. Back against the door, she hipped it open, sidled in, and halted, staring. No urinals in this luxurious bathroom, instead three discrete wallpapered stalls with wooden doors. A glance to the right showed an oversized armchair with a footstool. The sound of the door clicking shut brought her attention to Rolan, who stuck a chair under the doorknob.

  His lips curled at the corners and those verdant eyes twinkled. One finger crooked and her feet obeyed the implicit command, moving forward until they stood mere inches apart.

  “I’m not a pervert, Sarita. But I do like sex and I like to push the boundaries. After last night, you know me well enough to understand that.”

  He smiled again and she loved the way the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. Tanned nut brown, the contrast of his complexion with his blond hair had her melting.

  Lacing their fingers together, he tongued the center of her palm and tugged her over to the enormous chair.

  “I’m going to spank you and make sure you’re so hot and ready, you won’t be nervous about the wedding or about our future. You do this part voluntarily. Sarita, lift your dress and bend over my thighs.”

  She studied his somber expression for a few minutes, shrugged the thin spaghetti straps off her shoulders, and let the gown slide down her body. His jaw dropped open when he caught sight of her nipples and the dangling rings keeping them hard.

  Cheeks on fire at her audacity in wearing the bonus payment from a bridal shower she’d catered ages ago, Sarita couldn’t meet Rolan’s gaze. She’d wanted to throw him off balance, and from his audible inhale, she had surprised him, if nothing else. Cutting him a quick peek, she caught him licking his lips.

  “Those weren’t part of my instructions.”

  “They were my idea. And you don’t get to touch, not now anyway.”

  “My palms are itching, Sarita honey.”

  He put pressure into the first whack.

  She moaned and her thighs fell apart, showing him the pearly dew coating her folds.

  An unspoken rule prevented any touching other than the spanking, but she tried to tease him to break it by spreading her legs further apart.

  His jade eyes followed every movement, and his chest rose and fell faster.

  His hand fell in rapid sequence, punishing, stinging, and she relished every minute. He lifted her to her feet and turned her sideways. “Look,” he said and pointed to the floor-length mirror. “Look how beautiful you are. See how pink your butt cheeks are. As much as I love a woman’s breasts, it’s the ass that draws me. Those four Saturdays in detention, I went home hard as a rock, dreaming about your ass, wanting to do exactly what I’ve done twice today. Sarita honey, you’re going to have to learn to like this because I intend to do it regularly.”

  Their gaze locked in the mirror.

  “Speak to me,” he said.

  “I didn’t forget,” she replied. At his lifted eyebrow, she smiled and explained. “About sitting, I didn’t forget.”

  He kissed her, a slow drugged penetration of her mouth, his tongue slithering and sliding a sensuous journey, her naked, him clothed. Two warm palms kneaded her burning cheeks and a finger scraped along the crevice. Breaking their fused lips, he licked the corner of one eyebrow and said, “Let’s get you dressed, woman. I’m very anxious to be wed.”

  She slipped out of the room first and it seemed her disappearance had gone unnoticed. Every inch of flesh tingled and when the men’s door creaked open, she felt his gaze like a burst of hot steam.

  “They’re gonna open the roof, Mom.” As usual, Tony skidded to a halt next to her. “Look. See, it’s going.” He pointed at the painted ceiling.

  A midnight sky, populated with stars and streaks and a sliver of a moon, unraveled as the roof peeled away. The brine of the sea competed with the sweet aroma of the hundreds of vases of fragrant white roses scattered throughout the restaurant. In one corner of the room, a classical band played
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and Sarita recognized the bubbling notes of Spring.

  Her breath hitched as she tried to absorb it all, her wedding night, the prince she’d always dreamed of, and her son. Heaven’s perfection.

  Rolan had arranged for a priest to perform the ceremony, a bow to her Irish mother. When she hesitated over the word ‘obey,’ he gave her fingers a little squeeze. She sighed and said it, her mind jumping from tangent to tangent.

  The hours flew by with murmured congratulations, hand shaking, hugs from strangers. At midnight Rolan had her throw the orchid bouquet he’d ordered. The only hint of imperfection came when she noticed a certain familiarity about the woman who caught it.

  “Are we really going to a castle?” she asked as he hustled her out of the lobby and into his waiting metallic black Lamborghini.

  He started the car and they left the Hotel de Paris.

  “’Course. I’ll warn you though, there’s no staff. The place has a heated pool in the basement and I wanted privacy.”

  “So you can spank me again?” The fear had left her and a playful teasing took its place. A wormier thought snaked into her mind. Had he spanked the blonde from yesterday, too?

  “What’s wrong? I can see that mind ticking away. Let’s make a pact, Mrs. Paxton, no secrets, not during the next three days anyway. Let’s start this marriage with honesty. What made you frown?”

  “Did you spank Blondie, too?” she blurted and bit her lip.

  “Not a chance. Let’s set the record clear here. Most of my sexual adventures happened in more of a group format. In the grotto at the Mansion at midnight, baby oil parties after football season. No one woman has held my attention for very long. As arrogant as it sounds, when you’re a football star, you pretty much can name your fancy and it happens. The last ten years have been about football. The only woman that I’ve spanked that I could put a face to is you.”

  She frowned in disbelief. “You dated that Italian supermodel often over the years.”

  “A hookup buddy, Sarita honey, nothing more. We were compatible sexually. Neither of us wanted a commitment, but when either of us needed a good romp, we saw each other. And it certainly wasn’t exclusive.”