Little Dove

by Layla Frost

  “Shamus owed. Shamus. Yet you stuck your knife in his daughter.” I buried mine to the hilt. “You couldn’t take an old man so you went after a teenager?”

  “What’s she have to do with you?” he asked before he gave a weak smile. “You nailing the frigid bitch? I’m sure that uptight, barely legal cunt is worth a lot, but is it worth going against the Sullivans?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  “You gonna dump me at the bar as a warning? A declaration of war?” There was more than a hint of hope in his pale face, and, fuck me, I loved crushing it.

  “No. I’m going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. I just wanted to make sure you went to hell knowing why.”

  “The Sullivans will come after you.”

  I smirked. “Who do you think told us where to find you?”

  I’d been prepared to go to war, but when I’d gone to their bar, Patrick had eagerly turned on Jack Murphy. Unlike their watered-down drinks, Jack paired up with a different kind of coke, and he’d been dipping into their supply. They were happy to have their headache gone.

  And I was happy to accommodate.

  Murphy’s mouth opened and closed—betrayal and anger mixed with pain in his expression before it grew frantic. He tried to throw his boss under the bus. “Patrick’s the one who sent me after her.”

  Patrick said he’d sent Murphy to give Juliet a verbal message to pass to Shamus. He’d wanted Shamus to know he could reach her but had sworn it’d been an empty threat.

  Murphy’s knife work had come after Juliet had rejected him in a loud, insulting, and embarrassing way.

  That was my ballsy girl.

  Before I’d left the bar, I’d made it clear to Patrick and his brothers that Juliet was off-limits. If having Juliet’s ass on my lap at the fight hadn’t spread that message, Patrick Sullivan’s big mouth would.

  “I can get you information,” Murphy tried. “An in with the Sullivans. Loans, drugs, enforcers.”

  I looked back at Ash. “Why does every shithead think I want that garbage in my resorts?”

  Ash scowled at Murphy. “And why the hell is he trying to outsource my job?” He scoffed. “I’m sitting here reading NFL trade rumors and he’s hanging from the ceiling. You tell me who the better enforcer is.”

  Done talking, I sliced across the shitty Clip-Art tattoo that covered Murphy’s gut. I moved to his back, carefully carving before grabbing the container of salt behind me. Scooping a handful, I pressed it against the bloody wounds that made up the abstract dove.

  It wasn’t perfect since my canvas pissed himself and kept choking on his own vomit, but I knew what it was supposed to be.

  I methodically sliced. I stabbed. I carved. I gave him breaks, ensuring he didn’t pass out from the pain or bleed out, only to start again.

  After what likely felt like an eternity to Jack Murphy, I was done.

  I buried my knife deep in his side, right at the spot where he’d stabbed Juliet. I twisted it and left it there as he took his final breath.

  “The dump idea isn’t a bad one,” Ash pointed out as he stood. “Make sure the Sullivans got your message.”

  It was tempting, but not worth it. For the Sullivans, the connection to my casinos was worth far more than Murphy’s life. They wouldn’t risk severing it to avenge a fucker they wanted dead, too.

  I pulled my bloodied gloves and apron off. “They got it.”

  “Disposal it is,” Ash said as he circled around to get his first view of Murphy’s back. He laughed, shaking his head. “A dove? Christ, you’re sick. And you’ve got it bad.”

  I didn’t bother to argue.

  He was right on both counts.

  Juliet

  When I’d closed the door, I’d asked myself what the worst that could happen was.

  Hours later—how many, I wasn’t sure because I’d stupidly lost track of time—I learned what.

  Because Maximo was glowering at me from the doorway.

  Glowering.

  I took my headphones off to hear him ask, “What did I say about this door, Juliet?”

  Oh no.

  Shrugging, I went for evasive, but it came out like a question. “I don’t remember?”

  “Really? Because it seems like you do. Which means along with me spanking your ass for disobeying, I’d be forced to spank it again for lying.”

  Spank?

  Yes, please.

  I mean, no way.

  “Why did you close it?”

  I shrugged. “I felt weird with it open.”

  His body went rigid. “Why?”

  “I was self-conscious.”

  His shoulders dropped a little, but he still didn’t look happy. “Get over it.”

  He did not…

  “Did you just tell me to get over it?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered at him. “You can’t just tell me how to feel.”

  “That’s exactly what you agreed to when you came to my office. It’s what you agreed to again when you gave me you.”

  I hadn’t thought Maximo would notice the door being closed, and I definitely hadn’t thought it was a spankable offense.

  But the hardness in his eyes told me I was wrong.

  “Let’s go, little dove.”

  I swallowed hard. “W-where?”

  “Our room.”

  My stomach would’ve gone all swoony at him calling it our room had it not been for the impending punishment.

  When I didn’t move, he tilted his head, thoughtful for a moment. “I could always bend you over the desk and do it in here.”

  He’s not really going to…

  Right?

  Yeah, there’s no way.

  He’s just trying to scare me.

  “I won’t close it again,” I promised.

  “Good.”

  Relief and a surprising surge of disappointment warred within me. I didn’t want to be in pain, but at the same time, I was intrigued by being spanked.

  Maybe even looking forward to it.

  I was granted a reprieve, so why am I thinking of asking for my punishment anyway?

  I’ve clearly lost my mind.

  “Here or our room?” Maximo asked, making me realize my internal dilemma was for nothing. I wasn’t being spared at all.

  My brows shot up as my relief and disappointment quickly pivoted to dread and excitement. “I said I wouldn’t do it again.”

  “Which is good. But I told you to keep the door open. You didn’t listen. You earned these consequences. Now, I’ll ask you one last time. Here or our room?”

  “How about I stay in here and you go—”

  “Juliet.”

  “Our room works.”

  Just like me, he seemed to like the sounds of that.

  Either that, or I’d made him develop a tic that tipped his lips.

  Grabbing my hand, he pulled me from the room, unfazed by my slow, trudging steps. He closed us into the room and sat on the bench in front of his bed. “Pull your pants and panties down.”

  I didn’t do as ordered and instead tried to bargain. “How about if we just forget this happened and start fresh? Clear the slate.”

  He studied me, his gaze too intent and sharp. “Do you not want this?

  I wasn’t sure if ‘this’ was referring to the punishment or the whole dynamic.

  Either way, my answer was the same. “I do. I’m just nervous. This is all unknown territory for me.” I inhaled before softly admitting, “And I feel wrong for wanting it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not… typical.”

  “Fuck typical. Fuck normal. Fuck what anyone else says. The only person who can tell you what to do is me. And I said pants and panties down.”

  His words quieted the nagging voice of doubt in my head. Actually, his words held a pillow over doubt’s face and smothered it.

  Because he was right. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. A
ll that mattered was what we wanted. And, even though I was unsure I’d enjoy it, I wanted to try.

  Since I wasn’t wearing any panties, I eagerly shoved the joggers off.

  Maximo’s gaze followed the fabric, before shooting back up. Finding me bare, he said, “Wouldn’t have been able to leave had I known you were wearing my pants with nothing underneath.” He reached his hand out. “Come here.”

  A shiver of lust and fear and anticipation went through me.

  What the hell am I doing?

  But even as I thought it, my feet carried me to him. My body was stiff, but he easily bent me over his knee.

  Maximo’s large palm gently stroked my ass. It felt good, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. His cock grew hard under me, pushing against my belly.

  I raised my head to look over my shoulder, but he put his hand on my back, keeping me in place.

  “I’m going to go easy for your first time and only give you five for closing the door,” he said.

  Five. Five’s not so bad.

  Probably.

  Maybe?

  “And then ten for lying,” he continued.

  “Fifteen? That’s not going easy!”

  “I can make it an even twenty if you’d prefer.”

  I bit my lip to keep any further complaints to myself before I made things worse.

  “Fuck, I love this ass.” I lost his soothing strokes just before his palm came down.

  Hard.

  “Ow!”

  The sting radiated and increased when his hand landed again.

  He wasn’t deterred by my pained cries. No, he enjoyed them. His cock jerked with each one.

  I didn’t try to hold in my sobs. It was impossible. Every time his palm connected, the sting and burn grew—especially when he hit an already heated spot. I lost count of how many he’d delivered and panic set in.

  What if he lost track, too?

  What if he gets carried away?

  I’ll never be able to sit again!

  But with one last smack, Maximo stopped. He rearranged me so I was sitting upright in his lap, and I hissed at the roughness of his slacks against my raw ass.

  And my ass wasn’t the only thing that was raw. My emotions were flayed open and whatever dam held my tears broke. I wasn’t sure the last time I’d really bawled, but all of a sudden, I couldn’t stop.

  Needing to be closer, I straddled Maximo so I could bury my face in his chest, huge sobs wracking my body. The more I tried to choke them down, the worse they became.

  He tenderly rubbed my back and whispered, “You did good, little dove. So good.”

  It was stupid to be delighted by praise for my ability to take a palm to my butt, but that didn’t stop me from feeling proud. His words warmed my insides almost as much as his hand had warmed my ass.

  Getting control of my tears with only a few shuddering hiccups remaining, I whispered, “I’m never breaking the rules again.”

  Maximo chuckled. “Somehow I don’t believe that.” He cupped my head and leaned me back so he could study me. After the pain he’d enjoyed inflicting, it was unexpected to see such deep concern. “How’re you feeling?”

  That was a good question.

  I was starving.

  Exhausted.

  And, surprisingly, horny.

  Even more surprising, however, was the feeling of peace that’d settled into my soul. I was content, the cathartic cry had washed away years of emotional drought.

  “I’m fine,” I told him honestly.

  “I need more than that.”

  “It hurt worse than I expected, but at the same time, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” I fell forward, resting my forehead on his chest. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does.” His hand rubbed down my back, over my heated cheeks, ending between my thighs. He slid a finger through the arousal that pooled there. I stiffened in his hold, but he just wrapped his other arm around my waist. “Shh. Let me take care of you.”

  From behind, two of his fingers pumped into me until I was rocking against him. Fucking myself on his fingers.

  I was close, but I needed more.

  Slipping his fingers free, he used the wetness that coated them to circle my clit. It wasn’t long before the pleasure zipped through me, not canceling out the pain, but mixing with it. Like two sides of a coin, one couldn’t exist without the other.

  I came hard until I was a boneless mess, leaning on him to stay upright.

  “Better?” Maximo rumbled.

  “Mmhmm.”

  Setting me on the bench, he grabbed the joggers from the floor and crouched, slipping them up my legs. He stood and pulled me up before securing the oversized pants around my hips. “Let’s go feed you.”

  “‘Kay.”

  “You’re agreeable after you’ve come. I’ll have to remember that.”

  That could be bad.

  Really, really good, but then bad.

  Walking downstairs, dinner was already on the table. My stomach growled at the scent. I started pulling out my chair, but Maximo snagged me first, tugging me into his lap.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked.

  Keeping an arm around me, he used his free one to grab his fork. “I like you on my lap.”

  “Another rule?”

  “Yes.”

  I reached for my fork and froze.

  My place setting was already in front of me. Not at the other chair but positioned right next to Maximo’s. Like Freddy knew I’d be sitting on Maximo’s lap.

  How often has this happened?

  Jealousy swelled in my stomach, the black tendrils weaving through me, its roots taking hold. No matter how much I tried to shake the thoughts, they burrowed deeper.

  I had no clue how many partners he’d had or how many other little doves he’d been Daddy to. I didn’t want to know. But the idea it’d been a regular enough occurrence that Freddy knew to rearrange the settings bothered me.

  A lot.

  It doesn’t matter.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Don’t be stupid and dramatic.

  He hasn’t been with anyone for a year. What happened before me doesn’t matter.

  “What’s wrong?” Of course he noticed my body going tense.

  Forcing myself to loosen, I picked up my fork and stabbed the salad. “Nothing, why?”

  “You know how I feel about lying. Do you need another ten?”

  “Nope, definitely not.”

  Curling his hand around the side of my neck, he tilted my head so I was forced to meet his eyes. “Then what’s wrong?”

  I scrambled for an excuse. Anything. Literally, any half-plausible reason would work.

  But I came up empty.

  “I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

  Unable to meet his eyes, I focused to the side when I muttered, “My place setting was already here.”

  “And? Juliet, I told you things would be done my way. I’m not going to ask unless it’s something major and even then, I likely won’t.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Jealous—and frustrated with myself for being jealous—I explained, “Freddy knew to put my plate here.”

  “Yes, because I told him to.”

  “You did?”

  “I knew you closed the door, which meant I knew dinner would be delayed. I told him we’d be a half-hour late and how to set the table. What does that have to do with why you’re upset?”

  “I thought…” I averted my eyes again as I rushed, “I thought he set it like this because it was your usual routine.”

  His brows lowered before understanding hit him.

  And when his stupid sexy mouth curved in a stupid sexy smirk, I wanted to hit him, too.

  “You were jealous,” he stated.

  I opened my mouth to deny it, but then I caught the expectant gleam in his eyes.

  He wanted me to lie because he wanted to punish me.

  I pressed my lips together.

&
nbsp; “Lies by omission are still lies, Juliet.”

  “You didn’t ask a question,” I pointed out.

  “True. Were you jealous?”

  Shit.

  “Yes.”

  But he didn’t leave it at that. “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t like the idea this has happened with other women so frequently, Freddy knew what to do.” Despite not having eaten the bite on my fork, I stabbed more lettuce just for an excuse to stab something.

  “I like you jealous.”

  My startled gaze shot to him to see if he was being sarcastic. “You do?”

  He lifted his chin. “It’s good for my unreal, massive ego to know you’re as possessive of me as I am of you.”

  “You get jealous?”

  I wasn’t sure why that surprised me so much. Maybe because he was usually so cool and collected to the point of frigid aloofness. Or because he could get any woman he wanted with a crook of his skilled finger and smirk of his sinful lips. Actually, it wouldn’t even take that much.

  Or because he was all he was and I was just… well, me.

  His thumb rubbed along my jaw. “Of everyone who’s lucky enough to look at you.”

  The tendrils of jealousy in my stomach turned to melty goodness at his sweet words.

  But he wasn’t done. “I told you I’ve never slept in the same bed with a woman, which was easy because I’ve never brought women here. Not for dinner or anything else. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Even though I like your jealousy, I don’t like you upset. Talk to me. Don’t let shit fester.”

  After a moment, I asked, “You already knew I closed the door?” At his chin lift, I asked, “How?”

  “Marco.”

  That rat.

  He dropped his hand from my neck and picked his fork up. Tapping my plate, he ordered, “Eat.”

  I finally ate the salad I’d been murdering. After a few silent minutes, I opened my mouth to ask about his day.

  That was what I’d intended to ask.

  But what shot out was, “Did you call other women little dove, too?”

  I didn’t have time to regret asking because his patient answer was instantaneous. “Never. Not even dove. That’s all yours.”

  The last of the tension flowed from my body. Past or not, I wanted to be his only dove.

  I hoped my voice was nonchalant and super casual when I said, “Cool.”

  Nailed it.