Another harder swat across both butt cheeks this time left her ass on fire, and she gasped.
“Two.”
This time he hit the crease where her thighs met her behind, and the pain made her scream.
“Three. Ow.”
She received a moment of respite when his large hands soothed the painful sting away, and then he turned her head and swiped her hair out of her perspiration soaked face.
“Good girl, you’re doing very well. Keep counting and breathe. It will help.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She offered him a wobbly smile, which earned her a kiss on the nose, and then he was back pummeling her behind.
By the time she breathed fifteen she was back floating, the pain in her ass having morphed into heat so arousing she knew it wouldn’t take much for her to tumble head over heels into a climax so intense she wasn’t entirely sure she’d survive it.
Sir’s large hands massaged her smarting globes, and she whimpered her need when he cupped her sodden slit.
“So very needy aren’t you, my lovely. Soon, I promise, but first.”
Something cold dribbled down her butt crack, and she groaned when Sir pushed what felt like his finger through her anus.
“Relax now, baby breathe out, that’s it.” Blunt pressure followed his request, and there was a moment of panic as he inserted what felt like something utterly huge and cold. It burned, and just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore the widest part of said object was through and her muscles snapped closed behind it.
“Hmm, so fucking hot, seeing you with a plug up your ass. Makes me want to do this.”
There was the snap of foil and seconds later an incredible feeling of fullness as Sir pushed his sheathed cock into her wet pussy. Her sore tissues protested, and she whimpered her distress, only for that to turn into pleasure so intense she could barely breathe, when he at long last bottomed out.
“That’s it, I’m in. Fuck you feel incredible around my dick. So fucking tight.”
She clenched involuntarily, and they groaned in unison when he started to thrust. Slowly at first, awakening nerve endings she didn’t even know she had. So full, so stretched, so incredibly filled. Circles of ever tightening tingles of bliss threatened to pull her under, but before she could reach that pinnacle she was striving toward, Sir pulled out of her.
Before she could even voice her protest, he was back to pummeling her ass. Every carefully placed open handed swat set her behind on fire, and pushed that plug in deeper, or so it seemed. When he stopped this time, and removed the plug, before inserting a much bigger one and then thrust back into her pussy, Nicoletta screamed her release. Muscles tightened, and her body quivered and contracted around him in helpless shakes and shivers. She wasn’t sure what spilled out of her mouth, as pleasure sucked her in and spewed her back out again, gasping in breath as the seemingly never-ending contractions of multiple orgasms rocked her body.
She was dimly aware of Sir swearing, and few more swats across her backside, and the searing pain of his removing yet another plug from her ass, before the warmth pushing into her backside told her this time it was him.
“Fuck, yeah, this ass is mine. You’re mine, bellissima. I own you. Do you hear me? You’re mine. Tell me.” Every guttural shout was reiterated by a thrust into her ass, fingers digging into her hips, with enough force to leave bruises and Nicole lapped it all up. It was dirty, and animalistic, and so very wrong, but she loved it.
“Say. It. Girl. Say. You. Are. Mine.”
Through the haze of pleasure clouding her brain, she whispered the words.
“Yes, Sir, I’m yours. I’m oh … not again.”
Another orgasm rocked through her as Sir thrust in deep once more, knocking the wind out of her lungs with the sheer force behind it, and then he pulled out. Wetness coated her smarting ass cheeks, and then the world went black for a while.
When she came back to the land of the living, it was to find Sir unraveling the ropes from around her breasts while murmuring to her, and then she was in his arms, being carried back to bed, while he kissed her.
This was a kiss like no other, claiming her, branding her, until she never wanted it to end. He stole her breath and her heart in one fell swoop, and rather than owning up to that terrifying dawning realization, she screwed her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep when he came back to the bed, having deposited her on it and walked away.
“And she sleeps.” She heard the humor in his voice, and she couldn’t help her gasp at the feel of the warm washcloth on her skin, as Sir set himself to the task of cleaning her up.
“There, almost done. I’m sorry, my sweet girl. Go back to sleep now. That’s my girl.”
She heard him move away, the toilet flushed, and then he was back. His warmth against her back a comforting presence, and this time she didn’t need to fake sleep. Utterly exhausted after the multiple orgasms he’d wrung from her, she fell into a deep sleep.
So deep that when she woke with a start much later, she couldn’t remember where she was for a moment. Something hard was digging into her sore ass, and a heavy mass pinned her down. She wriggled her butt, gasped at the soreness and the warm, almost suffocating presence lifted off her as Jamie rolled on his back.
Jamie, of course.
Nicole gave herself a mental slap as the events leading up to her waking up out of a comatose state in this opulent suite came back to her in breathtaking clarity. She winced anew when she, too, rolled, careful to not disturb the sleeping man next to her. The action made the sheet covering them both slip, and her mouth went dry as she took in the breathtaking masculine beauty that was her escort for the night.
Even in her mind she tripped up over that word, but she had to be realistic. It was still dark outside meaning it was either the middle of the night, or very early morning. Either way she had to leave, so as to not blow her cover story. If her maid came to wake her in the morning, and found her not in her bed she was duty bound to inform her Papa.
Nicoletta felt bad enough about lying to her in the first place. She had given her the night off, saying she would be late home, as she was meeting friends after her spa date. A vague cover story she intended to stick to, as long as her bodyguards had not raised the alarm. Then again, she’d left the same message with the staff at the spa, should her goons enquire after her, and as they wouldn’t want to incur the Don’s wrath, they’d go along with that, as long as she turned back up again safe and sound. After all she had given them the slip a lot lately, in preparation for tonight.
Jamie stirred in his sleep, and she forced herself to take one long last look at the man who’d quite literally turned her world upside down in just a few short hours.
He looked younger in his sleep, less forbidding, the sharp angles of his face softened in sleep. His stubble was almost a beard and felt rough under her fingertips when she couldn’t resist the temptation to touch him one last time.
It reminded her of the texture of the ropes with which he’d bound her. Faint crisscross marks still remained on her arms, and she smiled as she followed them with her eyes.
So much pleasure. Her heart twisted painfully when he turned away from her in a far too symbolic gesture. He wasn’t hers, never had been and despite the possessive words they’d both uttered in the heat of the moment, despite the tenderness he’d showed to her afterward, it had never been more than an illusion. A fantasy, bought and paid for by her, one sweet, hot memory, to sustain her as she got on with the life of being Don Cabrizi’s daughter.
Quietly, so as not to disturb the man sleeping in the huge bed, she set about collecting her things. Having drunk a gallon of water to counteract the headache she was brewing, tied her hair back in a ponytail, and used the mini bar to great effect to splash alcohol on her clothing until she reeked like a fucking brewery, she closed her hold all with the crumpled dress on top. Next came the note she’d written, which she placed on her side of the bed, so that he would see it when he woke up.
>
I’m sorry, I had to run. Thank you for a memorable night. Please get rid of the hold-all, and don’t worry about me. By the time you read this, I’ll be back home, having been picked up out of the gutter by my trusty bodyguards. They’ll think I went out drinking, that’s all.
NC
That note seemed too cold to convey everything that had passed between them, and she resisted the urge to add some kisses. That would give entirely the wrong impression, and besides, she didn’t really owe him an explanation, did she?
He’d been paid handsomely for his services after all. It was her own stupid fault that she had … no, she wouldn’t allow herself to put a label to the emotions battering her soul right now. They were merely the byproduct of her inexperience in such matters, that’s all. Everyone knew that a girl always remembered her first time. That was after all why she’d chosen to do it this way. On her terms and her terms alone.
With a heavy heart Nicole pushed the door guarding the suite closed behind her. As she did not wish to encounter any nosy lift attendants she took the stairs down, and switched her phone back on in the process.
The barrage of angry text messages and voice mails from her bodyguards came as no surprise. They’d be going out of their mind, and—Nicole winced as she checked the time—4:00 AM—this had been the longest she had ever managed to evade them.
Keeping her head low, as she hurried through the foyer, she still felt the curious glances of the night staff behind reception on her. There were far too polite to comment, of course, and once she cleared the entrance door and rounded the corner she breathed much easier. No sooner had she fired off a suitably jumbled text message to her goons, bearing in mind that she was supposed to be intoxicated, a black Mercedes screeched to a halt behind her.
Nicoletta didn’t have to act very much, because their fast appearance made her stumble and she’d have face planted into the pavement had Luigi not yanked her to her feet.
“Che cazzo, Nicoletta, what have you done now? Get in, now.”
Nicole was spared from having to say anything at all, as Luigi launched into a litany of furious Italian, which she only caught half of. Stefano, goon #2 as she called him in her head, glared at her through the rearview mirror, and pulled away from the curb as though they were chased by a bunch of pitchfork waving villagers outraged at the immorality of Nicole’s behavior. That ridiculous notion made her giggle, and caused her stern faced protectors to lapse into a strained silence while they regarded her warily, as though she might turn into a poisonous snake. Poor goons. She had given them nothing but trouble, she supposed, and it would be their heads on the line if anything was ever to happen to her. The Don didn’t give second chances. She knew that, and that’s why Mama had run after all, or so she’d said. Something about that didn’t ring quite true now. After all the Don had the power to have had Mama killed, yet he hadn’t. Not for the first time, Nicole wondered about that. It didn’t make any sense, not the way Mama had eventually told Nicole her version of events.
Closing her eyes, Nicole feigned sleep, while inside her mind was racing, and memories bombarded her. Memories she kept a tight lid on usually, because they were simply too painful to contemplate, but in her exhausted, emotional state she couldn’t keep them at bay.
Mama had married Papa after a whirlwind romance. Too late she’d realized who he was, and once she found out that she was expecting Nicole she’d run away. At least that was the story she’d always told her until that fateful time.
“I didn’t want that life for you, but perhaps I was wrong to keep him from you. He could have had me killed, yet he didn’t. I’m sorry, I …I wronged both of you.”
Those had been the last words Mama had ever spoken to her. They’d made no sense at the time, not until Luigi and Stefano had turned up with Don Cabrizi at her mum’s funeral. Nicole had had no idea who the silver haired man laying a huge wreath at her mother’s freshly dug grave had been, until the two goons had stopped her from leaving and she’d been invited to ride in her father’s limo.
A ride which had ended up with her installed at his South London mansion, and just like they had done then, the wrought iron gates shut behind them with ominous silence as they pulled up the long drive.
It wasn’t until Nicole was safely back in her own rooms and standing under the power shower that she allowed her tears to fall.
Jamie had said that her father loved in his own way, and perhaps he did. He certainly had gone out of his way to make her feel welcome, and to get to know her. It had been a huge shock to see her mother smile down at her from the life sized portrait in the Don’s study. She’d looked so young and happy. Likewise in her wedding pictures and the video which Papa had shared with her, but perhaps the biggest shock had been the phone call she’d had just two months into living her new life. Lord only knew how they got her new number, but she recognized the voice on the phone straight away. Growing up she had only known him as Uncle John, an old friend of her mother’s, who showed up from time to time, usually to help them move at short notice. Only Uncle John turned out to have been her mother’s handler.
Anna Simpson had been placed in witness protection for testifying against her husband, and Papa had served twenty years in prison, having been released a mere eighteen months before her death. Uncle John wanted to make sure Nicole was okay, and not in duress.
It had been all far too much to take in, and for the longest time Nicole hadn’t known what to think. She still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of any of this, but one thing was becoming abundantly clear. Love made people do the strangest things, and Papa, at least, must have truly loved Mama to not seek revenge for her actions. As for her Mama… Nicole had loved her dearly, and it hurt, truly hurt to acknowledge the fact that her mother had not simply been an innocent party in all this. She must have known, on an instinctive level, at least, who the Don was when she’d married him. No one was that naïve.
Jamie had called Nicole naïve, but she wasn’t—not really. She’d known what the consequences of her actions would be. She just hadn’t expected for them to hurt that much. Maybe, for Mama, love had not been enough to see past the Don’s business. Nicole suppressed another sob at the thought. She didn’t want to think ill of her mother. If only she could ask her what to do.
Chapter Seven
“Oh, you look beautiful, radiant even. Bellissima, Nicoletta.”
Her maid’s enthusiastic praise made Nicole want to cry. She’d done far too much of that over the last three days, leading up to her wedding. But hearing Lisetta call her bellissima… It was too much.
“Now, there, don’t cry. Your groom, he will be so pleased.”
Nicole snorted her disgust at that, and Lisetta took a step back and threw her hands into the air in such a manner only a true Italian could. Despite the situation it made Nicole smile. Lisetta had been with the Cabrizis forever. She’d been her mother’s maid once she’d married Don Cabrizi and had been overjoyed when Nicole had been returned to them as she put it. Fiercely loyal to the Don, he could do no wrong in her eyes, and vice versa. Lisetta was the one person who dared approach the Don when he was in one of his black moods, and watching the elderly woman now, Nicole blurted out her feelings.
“I can’t marry him.”
Lisetta shook her head and looked all set to argue, but something in her expression must have stopped her, because her maid frowned and murmured to herself in Italian.
“If you are worried about the wedding, night, cara mia, then there is no need. Mr. Jamison, he experienced man, he make it right for you, he—”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not that. I…”
Nicole looked around her room, and spotting the makeup remover on her dressing table, squeezed a generous dollop onto a cotton pad, and rubbing her neck revealed the still far too visible bite mark there. One she’d been at pains to cover up for the last few days, lest anyone see. Lisetta’s sharp intake of breath spoke volumes as did the hasty sign of the cross she made,
while muttering to herself in Italian.
Then much to her surprise she engulfed Nicole in a bear hug.
“Oh, cara, you should have said. It changes nothing. The Don, he’ll make this right. That figlio di puttana,” she pulled back and actually spat on the floor, “he’ll not get away with this.” At the same time she ran her hands all over Nicole as though to check for any other injuries, and Nicole pulled back, as the horrifying realization dawned on her that Lisetta had gotten entirely the wrong end of the stick. Then again, to a fiercely loyal, devout Catholic like her it would never occur that Nicole might have consented to anything like this.
“No, God, no. It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t assaulted, Lisetta.” Lisetta crossed herself again, and just to prove the point home, because the other woman still looked far too worried, Nicole clarified further. “Or raped, or whatever scenario your mind can conjure up. I chose this. I wanted … I wanted … well I thought … damn it.”
Nicole couldn’t continue, because if she did, if she put it into words then the tears she was desperately holding in would start and she would never stop.
“Let Papa disown me. But I can’t marry a man I’ve never met. Not when I love another, I just can’t.”
A furious string of inventive Italian swear words erupted from Lisetta, and in any other circumstances Nicole would have found Lisetta’s sudden potty mouth most amusing, as the woman never used a cuss word, normally.
However, this just brought home how royally Nicole had fucked up, and Lisetta’s anger would be nothing compared to her father’s. Her foolish actions might well place Jamie in real danger, and while he clearly could look after himself and seemed to have experience at dealing with men like her father, it didn’t bode well, if the Don ever found out who had dishonored his daughter. And seeing Lisetta struggling to compose herself, Nicole knew that’s exactly how her father would see things. She had been so utterly selfish to think she would ever get away with this.
Having seemingly gotten her volatile temper under control, Lisetta turned to her, and patted her arm.
On Her Terms (Premiere Companions Book 2) Page 7