Angelina broke the kiss and stepped back. “I’ll join you in bed after I take a shower.” She hadn’t bothered to dress from their time in the tower room. Watching her strut toward the head gave him a renewed sense of pride in the red marks he’d placed on her ass. The sashaying of her hips conveyed her pleasure in them, too. Angelina brought out the Dom in him as no woman had before.
He began undressing and hanging up his clothes as he continued to analyze what had him so off-kilter. Dinner with Angelina’s family had gone well, considering her brothers didn’t think much of anyone she dated. The setting had been the picture-perfect, Italian-American family gathering. Shit, despite his being born in Italy, that dinner had been an eye-opener. Meals with his family were formal, stately affairs—seating charts, waitstaff, and course after course served precisely on time. The Giardanos, however, sat wherever they liked at the table for eight after filling their plates to overflowing from a buffet stocked with enough food to feed a platoon of Marines.
The noise level had been mind-numbing, too. At one point, Angelina interjected a comment into a conversation happening at the opposite end of the table before going right back to her discussion with her youngest brother, Tony, seated next to her. How she had picked up on two separate conversations at once without missing a beat both impressed and confounded Marc.
Still, nothing that would account for the way he felt. They’d come home to top off the day with an intense, satisfying session in the playroom. He loved getting kinky with his girl. It relaxed them both. So why did he feel…disconnected?
He loved Angelina and wanted her in his life more than his next breath—no, not wanted, needed. What was keeping him from proposing? Angelina had made no mention of leaving him, and yet the thought haunted him, as if he expected it to happen any day.
Tonight, he planned to focus on her completely, worshiping her body. Reminded how sore her ass would be, he walked over to her vanity and retrieved the tube of lido.
Beside her hair clip, he noticed her red hairbrush had been replaced by one with a wooden handle and back. A vague feeling he couldn’t even name washed over him, and he picked it up. His friend Luke had branded his artist’s mark on the front of the wooden handle.
“Marco, spazzolami i capelli.” The older woman’s disembodied voice asking him to brush her hair sounded oddly familiar, as if coming from a place deep inside him. Who was she? Definitely not Mama’s voice.
“I’m sorry, little one…you didn’t mean for me to get hurt.”
His chest grew tight, and he dropped the brush as if it had grown red hot. But the voice echoed in his head.
* * *
Angelina, don’t even go there.
Marc had seemed so distant when she’d come out of the shower. He’d applied the soothing ointment to her burning butt. However, before they could make love, he pleaded exhaustion and rolled over. His uneven breathing made her doubt he slept despite the hours they’d lain here, which only left her to wonder what had changed his mood.
The day had been so good. Even her four brothers had played nice at Mama’s for Christmas dinner. Although they never liked anyone she dated, they knew she was more serious about Marc than she had been about any past relationships.
So why did she get the feeling Marc was retreating from her?
From the night they’d met at Rico’s, he’d gone hot and cold on her. Sometimes she wondered if planning a future for them might just lead to heartache. Could he ever commit to something more than living together?
She reminded herself again not to be so pessimistic. Marc just happened to be a very private man. He shared himself with her in amazing ways, becoming more creative the better they got to know each other. Hard to believe they were living together already having only met in September, well not counting that time she had no memory of in August.
Maybe they’d just moved too quickly. She yawned, and her eyelids drooped. She’d give him time…
“Mamma, no!”
Angelina jolted awake and turned to find Marc lying on his stomach, punching at the pillow underneath his head.
“Scusami! Scusami!”
“Marc, wake up! You’re dreaming.”
Her words had no effect. His face turned toward her, perspiration plastering his hair to his forehead. The light from the bathroom showed the torment on his face.
Marc had always been plagued by nightmares but had never called out to anyone in Italian before. Other nights, she’d always thought he was remembering combat duty in Iraq. He’d taught her soon after she moved in here never to touch him while he slept without announcing herself, but his continued thrashing told her he wasn’t hearing her.
Without warning, he rolled toward her and onto his back. His swinging arm sucker punched her. Regaining her breath after a moment, she straddled his waist, her sore butt burning against his skin as he tried to buck her off.
She grabbed his wrists to hold him down. “Marc! Wake up! You’re scaring me!”
His brows scrunched in confusion. Had he heard her now? His eyelids fluttered open, and he stopped struggling. He’d come out of it. Thank God.
“You had a nightmare.”
He reached up to brush the hair from her face. “Are you okay, cara?”
“I’m fine, but you scared the crap out of me. What was that all about?”
His face grew puzzled. “Strangest dream. A woman I called mamma who wasn’t Mama. And Gino and I were in combat but on opposing sides. Then there was a wolf.”
She grinned at him. “No more leftover lasagna before bedtime.” She bent to place a kiss on his cheek before stretching out beside him. She needed to comfort him rather than go back to sleep, as if she could sleep now anyway.
He stroked her belly, and she winced when he touched where he’d punched her.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
Angelina stroked his chest, fingers running through the sprinkling of hair. “I’m fine, Marc. You scared me more than anything. I’ve never heard you talk in your sleep before. Or scream like that.”
“What did I say?”
“Mostly yelling at your mama not to leave you. You said you had a different mama in the dream?”
He nodded before shrugging. “Maybe not. She looked a bit like Mama, only…younger than I can remember her.”
She felt his heartbeat returning to normal under her hand. “Oh, and you kept saying you were sorry about something.”
He stopped breathing. “Did I say who I was speaking to?”
“No. Do you remember from the dream?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t remember much of anything now.” He turned on his side and pulled her against him. “Sorry I woke you, cara. Let’s go back to sleep.”
A kiss on her shoulder blade sent a thrill down her spine. Did he really want to sleep—or was he finally going to make love to her the way she’d hoped he would after her shower?
The way his arm grew heavier gave her the answer. Soon his breathing was slow and even.
At least one of them could sleep. Visions of a wolf now invaded her thoughts—specifically, the wolf mask Marc wore the night he rescued her at the club. She hadn’t told him what she’d done to it yet. He hadn’t replaced it, thank goodness.
Maybe Marc’s days of wearing a mask were over. Dio, she hoped so. Slowly over the months he’d given her more and more tiny glimpses into his soul while still keeping so much to himself. The man was more private than anyone she’d ever met.
What secrets does that mind of yours hold back from me, Sir?
Chapter One
Angelina’s heart fluttered wildly as she got out of Marc’s Porsche. She stared up at the imposing resort lodge while Marc gave the keys to the valet. So far out of her league. What if they didn’t like her?
“Breathe, cara,” Marc whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her against his side.
She gained courage from his touch but couldn’t remain plastered to him all weekend. With a smile, she
glanced up at him. “I’ll be fine.”
“They’re going to love you, amore. Stop worrying.”
Easy for him to say when he belonged here. He’d grown up in this place; she was the interloper. What if his family thought she’d just latched onto Marc for his money? Or worse, that she was a kinky deviant? After all, they already knew about his predilection to kink, from what Marc had told her.
Had he told his mama where he’d met Angelina? Her heart thudded to a momentary halt. They weren’t going to like her. Not one bit.
“Here they come.”
She spotted a doorman approaching before noticing Marc’s gaze was focused on the driveway where Savi Baker’s car was pulling up, driven by Damián. Reinforcements. They could help convince his family she was a nice, normal, loving person.
Of course, as the Masters at Arms Club’s sadist Service Top, Damián might not be the best one to vouch for normal. She smiled, remembering the first time she’d seen Damián at the club that disastrous night Allen Martin had taken Angelina there to introduce her to his twisted brand of BDSM. Now she understood Allen’s actions were nothing short of abuse. When she shuddered, Marc drew her even closer. She’d been forbidden to think about Allen again, so she’d let him believe she was just chilled by the mountain air.
Luckily, their friends provided an excellent distraction. With a wave, Damián handed his keys to the valet and immediately moved to the open trunk to remove his family’s luggage before the bellman came back with a cart.
Marc cleared his throat. “Damián, why don’t we all get checked into our rooms and meet down here again in about two hours?” He squeezed Angelina’s hand and grinned at her before leaning down to whisper in her ear. “That should give us time to relieve some of your tension, amore.”
Angelina’s clit sparked to life as heat infused her face, and her body began anticipating his offer of some much-needed release during those two hours. At the thought of being turned over his knee for an erotic spanking, she relaxed a little and grinned. She’d come to love those for…stress relief. Just what she needed—provided her screams didn’t bring any family members running to the rescue.
She turned and watched Savi brush Marisol’s bangs away from her eyes. What a beautiful little girl. Savi turned her gaze toward Angelina and Marc. “Perfect. Mari’s been so wound up about this trip; she could use a little rest before we take to the slopes or whatever it is you all want to do.” She looked at Damián, who only nodded. Skiing wasn’t an option for him, but the proud new papa insisted that Marisol take a lesson or two from Marc on the bunny slope.
Twenty minutes later, they were upstairs in their suite. Angelina released a huge sigh. Everyone in the lobby had seemed to be watching her. Uncertain which were Marc’s family members, if any, and which were hotel staff or resort guests, she’d felt even more lost. Apparently, the family hadn’t been alerted about their time of arrival. Odd, but it wasn’t as if they had shown up unannounced at Mama’s little house in Aspen Corners. The Bella Montagna resort was huge, opulent even by Aspen standards. They could probably hide out on the grounds for a week without being found.
Wishing such a thing was useless, though. Sooner or later, she’d have to face his family. Dinner tonight, Marc had said.
“Enough.”
Angelina looked up at Marc, furrowing her eyebrows. “Enough what?”
“Enough worrying. They are going to love you as much as I do, cara. This tug-of-war in your head has to end. Now.”
“But…”
“The only butt I want right now is yours over my knee. Strip.”
Her heart thudded, and her coat puddled at her feet. “Yes, Sir.”
She pulled the heavy sweater over her head, hearing the static crackling through her hair. He’d insisted she go braless this morning—and he’d copped a few feels on the drive to Aspen. In seconds, she was half naked. His gaze lowered to her breasts, and her nipples puckered.
Marc reached out to touch one. The buildup of static electricity discharged, causing her to inhale sharply and jerk away from the pain. He laughed. “We’ll have to explore the violet wand in the playroom or club sometime.”
While not on her list of hard limits, she’d never liked the idea of Marc using kinky electricity on her body. If that tiny spark had hurt so much, imagine what it would feel like with heavier currents coursing through her!
Angelina shuddered, reaching for her pleated skirt’s waistband before he stayed her hand. “Leave the skirt. Lose the tights.”
Her pussy muscles tightened. Mio Dio. At the thought of his hand on her bare butt, her breathing became rapid and shallow. She needed this badly after stressing since Christmas over meeting his family. Well, she’d stressed about it long before Christmas.
Reaching beneath her skirt, she snagged the waistband of her black tights with her thumbs and quickly shimmied them over her butt to her knees. She plunked down on the four-poster bed to remove her shoes and take the tights the rest of the way off. She wore no panties, another of Marc’s commands this morning cluing her in that he intended to play at some point today. But on cold days like this one, he allowed her to wear tights if they’d be outside.
He always seemed to know how uncomfortable and unsteady she was in fuck-me stiletto heels, though, and never asked her to wear them. A very considerate Dom.
When she dropped the tights onto the floor, his gaze roamed over her bare breasts and legs, heating her.
“Stand and present yourself.”
Angelina stood, cast her gaze to the floor in front of her, and planted her feet slightly more than shoulder-width apart. She grasped her elbows behind her back, causing her breasts to jut out. Marc’s warm hands cupped them, and he pinched her nipples until she hissed.
“I love your tits.”
So I’ve noticed. “Thank you, Sir.”
Marc lowered his mouth to one, taking the nipple between his teeth and tugging until she nearly lost her footing. He straightened and sighed, as if he, too, regretted not having time to continue his exploration. Walking over to his toy bag, he pulled out one of his paddles. She almost took an involuntary step back. The paddle? Why? She hadn’t been bad.
Marc sat down on the edge of the mattress and laid the wooden paddle beside him. The turquoise-colored duvet enhanced the mirror image of the word “M-I-N-E.” That word would soon be imprinted on her butt. She hated the sting of that paddle. Damn Luke for making it. But she couldn’t put all of the blame on him; Angelina had chosen to present the gift to her Sir on Christmas night. She could have withheld it, but the sentiment seemed sweet at the time. Someday she would get her revenge on dear, sweet Luke.
“Kneel.” He tossed a pillow from the bed down in front of him, between his feet.
She was permitted to use her hands to get into a new position, so she released her elbows and eased herself down onto the pillow. Once steady, she clasped her hands behind her back again.
“Remove my shoes and take care of your clothing.” She reached out to untie and slip off the Guccis he rarely wore, setting them aside. Then she neatly folded her coat and sweater and placed them on the chair before resuming her position. Marc was particular about not leaving things lying around.
After reminding her of their safeword, as if she’d need it for one of his spankings, he said, “You need to take your mind off dinner tonight. Please me with your mouth.”
Releasing her elbows again, she eased down the zipper of his black Armani pants and pulled out his penis. She’d never grow tired of the sight of him, large and stiff for her.
Leaning back on his elbows, he grinned down at her. “No hands.”
Angelina scooted closer to better control the depth at which he could penetrate her mouth. No point letting her gag reflex steal the scene. As if licking a melting ice-cream cone, she let the tip of her tongue trace the engorged vein along the length of him before returning to the head. His hiss and the bobbing of his penis told her she’d pleased him. Maybe he was a little tense abou
t this visit, too, and needed this session as much as she did.
Banishing from her mind all thoughts of meeting his family, Angelina leaned forward as far as she could and wrapped her lips around the head of his penis. Her mouth pulled him toward her as she sucked him deeper. At this angle, it would be difficult to bring him as deeply down her throat as she’d like, so she concentrated on flicking her tongue around the rim and paying special attention to the sensitive notch on the underside. His cock bobbed again, and she tasted his salty pre-cum. She grew wet thinking about having him inside her. Soon, she hoped.
“Your mouth is so hot, amore.”
Emboldened by his words, she sucked him harder, and he hissed again, pumping his hips up until the tip of his penis hit the roof of her mouth. She loved pleasing her Dom this way.
Suddenly, he placed his hands on either side of her face and moved her off of him. Puzzled, she blinked and looked up.
“I don’t want to come in your mouth or on your face. We don’t have a lot of time to clean up before you meet my family.”
The man’s ability to postpone coming was much stronger than hers. She hoped they’d have time for her to reach orgasm.
“Stand, pet.”
She maneuvered herself to her feet and took a step back before resuming her presentation stance, unsure what he wanted her to do next.
Marc stood as well, kicking away the pillow and unbuckling his belt. He released the button and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Remove my pants.”
Unclasping her hands, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his pants and lowered them, taking his boxer briefs in the same motion. His penis bobbed out, fierce and erect, surrounded by tufts of dark curly hair. Impulsively, she placed a kiss on the tip as she continued to remove his pants.
“You did not have permission to do that, pet.”
“Sorry, Sir.” Not really.
Marc sat down so she could shuck the pant legs the rest of the way off. She fought the urge to straddle him, because they were being formal now. Living with him these last few months, she’d learned a lot about discipline. He’d trained her to do as she was told during a scene, not to allow her impulses to get the better of her and not to clutter her mind with thoughts that pulled her out of the scene. Otherwise, there would be consequences. She glanced at the paddle again. Sometimes, though, she couldn’t help letting her inner brat out to play.
Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) Page 2