by Renee Rose
She blocked Carlo when he reached to open the car door, getting a whiff of his cologne and underneath it, his decidedly masculine scent. He towered over her, his hard-muscled body so close heat registered along her skin. “Don’t tell him.”
He shook his dark head. “You know I can’t do that.”
* * *
Gesù, if it hadn’t have been so wrong, seeing Summer La Torre on that stage would’ve been a wet dream come true. Her legs looked impossibly long under the miniscule skirt, her breasts lush and ripe, pushed up by the tiny bikini top under her white blouse. This couldn’t be the same spoiled little princess he’d sat across from on Sunday meals at her father’s house.
She gripped his shirt, her beautiful copper-brown eyes bright with tears. “You can’t tell him. Please don’t tell him.”
If she had any idea how much her tearful begging turned him on, she’d run back for the protection of that jackass bouncer in a heartbeat. Or she should, anyway.
He forced himself to ignore his growing hard-on. Her skimpy outfit didn’t help matters. But then, he’d always had a difficult time keeping his thoughts pure when it came to Summer La Torre. Gesù, when he’d seen her thrashing her hips around up on that stage… But turned on or not, the fact that the Don’s daughter was taking her clothes off for money was a serious problem. He suspected the reason behind it would be even more unsettling than catching her in the act.
He covered her little fists with his hands. “Summer, you know where my loyalty lies. I can’t keep this from him.”
“Please, Carlo, you have to.”
Damn, she was cute when she turned those puppy dog eyes on him. But no, he couldn’t let this go. “Listen, doll, what you were doing in there”—he jerked his thumb toward the strip club—“isn’t right. You need someone to straighten you the fuck out.”
Summer blinked rapidly.
“You’ve been a hot mess ever since you broke up with your douchebag boyfriend.”
Her eyes widened, as if shocked that he’d noticed she hadn’t been herself for the past five months. Tears spilled from her eyes and streaked down her face. He looked away before he went soft on her.
The damn bouncer stood in the doorway, watching them.
“I don’t want my dad to know. Please don’t tell him.” The puppy-dog eyes pleaded. “I quit, okay? You heard me quit, right? I won’t go back, I promise.”
He shook his head, steeling himself against the urge to give her anything and everything she asked for. Don Alberto would kill him for keeping something important like this from him. Hell, Don Alberto would kill him just for having seen his daughter practically nude. Besides, Summer needed help. She’d lost her way and allowing her to keep going down this path of self-destruction wouldn’t do her any favors. She needed to be taken in hand, in a big way.
“I’m sorry, doll. You need guidance. If you ask me, someone needs to take a belt to your ass to teach you a lesson in self-respect.” Okay, he didn’t even know where that came from. It must be the Catholic schoolgirl outfit tweaking his inner dom.
Unbelievably, she gazed up at him with her big doe eyes and said, “Okay.”
He cocked a brow. “Okay?”
She swallowed. “You can do it.”
Why did she actually look hopeful about the prospect?
His cock surged against his pants and his suit jacket suddenly felt too hot. He stared at her, trying to deny the appeal of bending her over and lifting that miniscule plaid skirt of hers to deliver a spanking. “You want me to punish you?”
She nodded.
He pushed her back against the car, pinning her too-thin body between the BMW and his larger frame. She released his shirt and he grasped her wrists, pulling them together, tucked against his chest.
She’d stopped breathing. Her nipples protruded through her blouse and her lush mouth opened.
God, how he wanted to take it, possess her glossy lips. Own her. He forced some self-control. “No, cara mia. I can’t.”
Her face fell. “Why not?”
He pictured her ass bared for him, his little princess to punish and protect. His gaze slid away, down the row of cars, and one corner of his mouth kicked up as he considered the truth. “I’m afraid I would like it.” He looked back down at her and she flushed, eyes dilating. Her chest rose and fell, drawing his gaze down to her apple-sized breasts.
“You would like punishing me?” Her voice cracked.
He looked her square in the face. “Yeah.”
Damn if she didn’t look excited. Fuck if she didn’t push her abdomen back at his bulging cock, rocking her pelvis up. A low growl rose in his throat.
“I guess I’d prefer it that way.”
Oh, this was too. Fucking. Tempting.
“Look, you know this would kill my dad. He thinks of me as his perfect little princess. His good girl. The one who’s going to marry a lawyer or be a congressman’s wife. Not only would it destroy him to know about this, but he’d be sick about the fact that you and, um…”
“Sonny.” He supplied the name of his soldier.
“Yeah, that you and Sonny saw me. That would really piss him off.”
She was absolutely right about that. He put a finger under her chin. “Summer, I’m not kidding around about punishing you. It wouldn’t be a game. I would spank you until you couldn’t sit down.”
She sucked on her lower lip. “Okay.” Gesù Cristo. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. He’d never touched her this way before, even though he’d always considered Summer to be his—someday. As underboss to the La Torre family business at the tender age of 31, he stood to inherit the kingdom—and that meant he got the princess. That’s how it worked in his head, anyway. He was pretty sure Don Alberto saw it differently, though.
When he didn’t speak, she added, “Please, Carlo?”
His breath stalled. When it started again, his heart had taken off at a gallop. “You’re giving yourself to me? For my correction?” Did she have any idea what she was getting herself into?
She sucked on her lip again and nodded. “Yes.”
He looked skyward. He should tell her no. This wouldn’t work. A) Don Alberto would kill him. B) Don Alberto would kill him again, and C) If he went home with her, he’d never want to leave.
But he was already touching her. Her scent filled his nostrils, the warmth of her soft flesh ignited every cell in his body. He didn’t want to tell her no. He didn’t want to take her to Don Al and Carmen and tell them what he’d seen that night, to bring hurt and disappointment to the couple who’d become surrogate parents to him. And now that he could practically taste Summer, he sure as hell didn’t want to give up this window of opportunity.
He who hesitates is lost. Every time.
He blew out his breath. Releasing her wrists, he stepped back and opened her car door. When she turned to get in, he gave her delicious ass a smack.
“Ow.” She scrambled in.
He climbed in the driver’s side and adjusted the seat back as far as it went to make room for his long legs. “You’re going to get me killed.”
She unbuckled her high heels and toed them off. “Better you than me.”
* * *
Carlo didn’t speak on the ride to the apartment he and her father had helped her move into after she left John. She stole glances at him as he drove, noting the firm set of his square jaw, the furrow between his brows. Was he angry with her? Or just acting angry on behalf of her father?
She’d been shocked to hear his opinion that she needed help. She’d thought she’d been putting on a decent front since she broke up with John. She hadn’t thought Carlo paid any attention to her mental state. Knowing he did sent a shot of longing through her so deep and drastic that part of her wanted to tell him to pull the car over so she could run away. Because he was right—she was that fragile right now. And it wouldn’t take any coaxing at all for her to fall hopelessly for the guy she’d been secretly lusting after for the past eight years.
He p
ulled up in front of her apartment and parallel parked in a tight space without having to maneuver the car back and forth. But Carlo pretty much did everything well. At least from what she’d seen. He probably wouldn’t treat her with scorn because she was horrid at parallel parking, either. Carlo had never been derisive like John had. No, she’d bet he was secure enough in his manhood that he wouldn’t need to pick apart his girlfriend to make sure she measured up. Or to cheat.
She opened the door and climbed out in her bare feet. Her injured ankle throbbed from wearing the high heels. She tugged her short skirt down. Funny how what felt empowering and sexy in the club now seemed shameful. Another time, after Carlo had carried through with whatever his plans were for her, she might challenge him on his antiquated beliefs about women. But not tonight. Tonight she was just happy to have dodged a bullet.
Carlo met her on the sidewalk and escorted her up the stairs with a hand at her lower back. She liked the way it felt—gentlemanly and courteous, as if they were a couple, rather than like family. The door to her place was thick and solid. Her father had it replaced for security measures, complete with a heavy-duty lock. Carlo still had her keys and didn’t bother to ask which one opened the door, just picked one and tried it. He picked correctly. The door swung open and he gestured for her to enter first.
She set her purse and shoes down. Carlo slid off his Italian suit jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. When he slowly rolled up his sleeves, the butterflies dancing in her stomach took flight.
This was really happening. He planned to whip her with his belt. Of course she’d believed him—Carlo wasn’t the type to threaten a consequence and not follow through, but the reality of it made her dizzy.
He walked over to her, a glint in his eye that she didn’t recognize. Dark and serious. Dangerous. He reached for the top button on her blouse and unfastened it.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“I’m going to punish you in the state of undress you were in at the club.”
She drew a breath, then another, gulping air to clear her head.
Carlo’s deft fingers moved down her buttons, then pulled her blouse down over her shoulders. She shook her arms out from it.
He twirled his finger in the air, indicating she should turn around.
Her heart thudded against her chest. She turned, looking at her foster brother. Maybe she should stop thinking of him that way. They weren’t related, after all. Her father called himself his godfather, but she didn’t even think that was true. Carlo was the relation of a relation, sent to America when things got too hot in Sicily, if she understood correctly. Not that anyone had ever said as much to her, but she’d gleaned enough from overheard conversations.
Carlo’s expression remained unfathomable, but she swore she saw heat in his eyes as he reached for the zipper at the back of her skirt. God, he was handsome—olive skin, green eyes, dark, wavy hair worn on the longer side for a man. He stood 6’ 2” and was built of solid muscle, but moved with a feline grace.
Heat swirled in her pelvis, flushed up her torso and chest. The skirt fell to her feet in a puddle. She stood in nothing but her white lace G-string and bikini top, goosebumps rising on her flesh. She clasped her fingers together and twisted them.
Carlo took her elbow and guided her to the arm of her overstuffed sofa. “Bend over.”
Her panties grew damp. She looked at the rounded cushion. While she understood what he wanted from her, her body wouldn’t move. She stood frozen, watching as he slowly unbuckled his belt. Breath coming in short little gasps, she willed herself to calm down. Hyperventilation wouldn’t be a good look for her.
She hadn’t been spanked since she was a child. Her bottom crawled now, wondering what a belt would feel like across her bare cheeks.
Carlo moved with his signature confidence, pulling the belt from its loops in one smooth motion. He turned it over in his large palm, examining the edges and weighing the heft and thickness. She had to wonder how often he’d done this. When his attention returned to her, he frowned. He wound the buckle end of the belt around his fist. “When I give you an order,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I expect it to be obeyed.”
Her nipples tightened at his threatening growl but her body quaked like an aspen.
He cupped her chin with his free hand and studied her face. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?”
She gave a single nod.
“Yes, sir,” he corrected. “When you’re in trouble with me, I expect you to answer me with respect.”
Holy shit. Yep, he definitely knew what he was doing. If possible, her trembling kicked up another notch. This wasn’t the affable, charming Carlo she knew. This was his other side—the dangerous side she’d known existed but hadn’t seen before.
He dropped her chin and wrapped his hand around her nape, pulling her face right up to his. “You’re not afraid of me,” he said softly, his beautiful hazel eyes locked on hers. His clean, masculine scent filled her nostrils.
Her hands came up to his chest, the chiseled muscle of his pectorals standing out in stark relief. She stared at his sensuous lips, the sturdy, clean-shaven jaw, the scars that only made him more appealing—a thin line under his left eye, the slight crook in his aquiline nose, the scar on his left ear.
“You know I would never do anything that wasn’t for your own good.”
The knot in her solar plexus loosened. Tears smarted her eyes and she blinked them back. Again, it seemed like Carlo actually cared about her, and the need in her that produced burned like a knife through her gut. She had to harden her pathetic heart against his intoxicating interest in her. Just because he cared didn’t mean... well, it could mean anything. And the point was, she was not in the state of mind to be able to decipher his intentions.
He released her and tilted his head toward the arm of the sofa.
Her stomach roiling, she folded her body over it, presenting her ass to him. Something about having him fully dressed while she lay bared to him made it all the worse. The humiliation of the position sent ripples of vulnerability running through her. How would she ever look Carlo in the eye after this?
He picked up her wrists and bent them behind her back, pinning them there. That scared her even more than watching him take off his belt or bending over the arm of the sofa. This was serious and she suddenly wasn’t sure she could take it.
“Carlo?” Panic resonated in the last syllable.
He answered with the whoosh of the belt swinging through the air, the slap of leather against flesh. She gulped and squeezed her cheeks together. Three seconds later a line of pure fire registered.
* * *
“This spanking is for disrespecting yourself, and your family.” Carlo snapped the belt across her ass again. The G-string made a pretty sight threaded between her cheeks, as did the twin welts he’d laid down. Looking at her made his cock ache.
He meant to get real with this spanking, though, which probably meant by the time he finished, he wouldn’t be turned on. Hurting Summer, bringing her to tears, would be difficult for him, and that said a lot considering in his 31 years he’d been on the giving and receiving end of violence on a fairly regular basis. Not that any of that involved women.
Well, sure, he had spanked his share of women, both for pleasure and for punishment, but none like Summer. She was special—a class act. Smart, sassy, drop-dead gorgeous. She used to be confident before Douchebag did a mind-fuck on her.
He brought the leather strap down across her buttocks again. He went easy on her—allowing her flesh time to warm up to the abuse before he let the real punishment start. If he had his preference, this would be an intimate, over-the-knee spanking with his hand on her bare ass. But he wasn’t her boyfriend and this needed to be memorable.
He continued tanning her, slapping the leather down with a regular rhythm, giving her time to catch her breath between each one. When her bottom had turned a rosy shade of pink, he increased the intensity.
Summe
r screamed in her throat and tried to roll away, but he held her by her wrists.
“Hold still for your spanking, Summer. You asked me to give this to you.”
She panted a moment. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled that she remembered to call him sir. Damn. He’d suspected that under her sass, she’d be sugar-sweet. She’d always been standoffish with him, which had been fine, because the boss’ daughter is 100% off-limits. Courting her would’ve had him evicted from Don Alberto’s house faster than an eject button. Part of him wondered if she understood that—knew better than to flirt with any of her father’s men, for their own good. He liked to think so, anyway. Because over the years, he’d occasionally caught her looking at him in a way that said she was as attracted to him as he was to her.
“You have 20 more. I want you sore enough to remember this lesson tomorrow. Cry if you need to, bambina, I’m expecting it.”
She shot a fearful look over her shoulder and he gave her hands a squeeze to reassure her. The room filled with the sound of leather slapping flesh and Summer’s little cries, but she didn’t break down into tears. He watched her carefully to judge how much more she could take. By the time he’d given her a dozen hard strokes, she stopped bucking and struggling against his hold. She turned her face into the cushions and gave a low wail, surrendering. He finished the spanking, gritting his teeth at the end because he knew he’d broken her.
The belt flew through the air behind him and he pulled her up, sweeping an arm under her knees to scoop her up. She tucked her head into his shoulder. Her breath came in sobs now. He carried her into her bedroom and laid her down on her belly, sitting beside her. He wanted to rub her welted ass, but it would be too intimate.
She turned her face to him. Her eyes were dry, even though she still hiccupped as if she’d been crying.
He said nothing, just burrowed his fingers into her thick, glossy hair, stroking it and massaging her scalp.