by Renee Rose
He sucked at the place where neck met shoulder, then bit down. “You’re doing very well, amore mio. Now stand still and get your reward.”
Forcing her arms back up straight, she locked her knees.
Carlo returned to his position at her feet. Reaching between her legs, he cradled her buttocks as he licked along the seam of her pussy.
She thrust her pelvis forward. “Oh…”
He sought her back hole with one finger and massaged the burning oil into the tight ring of muscle.
She was close to spontaneous combustion. Her nipples and asshole burned, her pussy pulsed with desperate need. Her arms ached and the blood had run out of her hands, making it more difficult to keep the pressure on the dimes. On top of it all, lust had made her lightheaded, so she feared she might just fall over in a faint at any moment.
“Carlo, Carlo, Carlo, please.”
He chuckled. “That’s it, doll. Beg for it.” He circled her clit with his tongue, then drew the little button into his mouth, sucking hard. At the same time, he breached her back hole with one finger.
She screamed, her arms jerking, almost losing control of her precious coins. “Please, please, please. Oh God, Carlo, please.”
His thumb entered her pussy, pumping in and out rapidly.
“Oh yes, oh yes, oh please.” She needed it faster, harder. She needed more. She was so. Damn. Close. Desperate for release. Desperate to drop her arms from their arduous task.
Carlo continued sucking, alternately pumping one finger into her ass and the thumb into her pussy.
She lost it. Her scream filled the room as she lost everything—the dimes crashing down to the floor, her legs turning to jelly as her pussy spasmed in wave after wave of violent release.
Carlo held her up, still pumping his fingers, still sucking until she had fallen over him, her hands on his shoulders, her body limp as a rag doll.
* * *
Carlo stared down at Summer’s youthful face, nestled on his shoulder in slumber. After last night, he was completely lost. There had been a reason he’d always wanted Summer, and it was because she was the perfect match for him.
Submissive to the core, she responded to his commands like violin strings to a bow. Her little body shook, her pussy dripped, her eyes rolled back in her head at his every touch. He’d whipped her the night before, just because he’d wanted to, and she’d taken it, her arms bent behind her back, her little cries of pain making his cock harder than a rock. When he’d finally taken her from behind, gripping her elbows and fucking her hard, she’d come all over his cock, her tight cunt squeezing and milking his dick until he roared his release.
Afterward, when she lay in his arms, still trembling, she’d looked up at him with worship and wonder on her face and he nearly fell apart himself, wondering how he’d deserved such a gift.
He stroked the silky strands of her chestnut hair back from her face. His little Summer girl. He had to figure out how to keep her. How to make this thing stick.
Despite the fact that Summer gave herself over completely in the bedroom, or maybe because she did, he worried that she wasn’t solid yet. She’d given herself too easily, without enough caution or thought. Which either meant she didn’t consider this thing to be permanent or that her emotional/mental state was still weak from her recent break-up and she’d simply allowed herself to be carried off by his strong personality. Probably both.
And damn, if that didn’t make him feel guilty as hell. He hadn’t meant to take advantage of her. God, he’d only wanted to help her—to show her how fucking beautiful he found her, to teach her what an incredible woman she was. But maybe this all just further damaged her psyche. Yes, she said she wanted to feel sexy, but he feared he’d just traded one evil for another—objectification in a strip club for humiliation in his bedroom. Perhaps it wasn’t a sexual healing she needed at all, but help with her busted career.
She stirred against him and his erection lengthened and leaned in her direction, already anxious for another round. Her eyes blinked open and she stared at him. He thought she might look shy, but it was the bold Summer who met his gaze, the confident girl he remembered.
She shifted and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and rubbing her bare core over his cock.
He groaned.
Her lips curved into a sultry smile as her hand came down and grasped the base of his length and she lifted her hips, ready to impale herself on it.
“Condom,” he managed to choke.
She paused. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. I got checked after—”
“I’m clean,” he interrupted, not wanting her to remember her fuck of a cheating ex.
“Good.” She angled the head of his cock at her entrance and took him in, her pussy already slick and ready. Had she been dreaming about him? The thought made him thrust up, hard.
Her breath caught.
“Just because you’re on top, doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” he growled. Not that he didn’t like to see the confident, seductive side of his lover, he just wanted to see the effect of his words on her. It felt incredible to be inside her unsheathed, her moist heat squeezing his cock like a glove.
As expected, her eyes glazed and she increased the rhythm of her thrusts. Her breasts bounced with the movement, the dusky rose tips stiff.
He gripped her ass and dug his fingers in, yanking her over his cock.
She moaned, breath turning ragged.
“Who do you belong to?”
She blinked. “You.” Her voice sounded hoarse and throaty, so fucking sexy.
He was going to come already—he had no control in the morning. He brought his thumb to her clit and rubbed.
She shrieked and arched, her head falling back so her long hair swept over his thighs and her tits pointed to the ceiling. Her internal muscles spasmed around his cock and he speared her, driving up as he yanked her hips down. He bucked, cum shooting into her. A shudder and another long release and she collapsed on top of him, panting, her silky hair falling in a curtain across his face.
He rolled them both out of bed and carried her to the shower, where he washed every centimeter of her lithe body. Yeah, he could definitely get used to having Summer La Torre staying in his place.
After they dressed, he made her a veggie omelet, and slid it in front of her. She had brought her espresso machine over to his house, and she made them both caffe lattes.
“I don’t usually eat breakfast,” she said, squaring her shoulders for a fight.
He’d watched this battle between her and her mother for years. They argued over food—over how much she ate, what she ate. Over their differing opinions on nutrition. Summer didn’t like carbs or fat, although she could go to town on dessert when she lost her resolve.
“I’m not going to get into it with you over eating, bambi. I’ll just tell you this—I love your body and I would like it even better if there was just a little more to fill my hands. So make me happy and eat what I cook for you. It’s high protein, low fat. No cheese. Mangia.”
Her cheeks tinged with pink and her lips parted. Why the blush? She dropped her head and took a bite. “It’s delicious, Carlo, thank you.” Sweet as pie. He could definitely get used to that.
He sat down across from her and forked his own omelet. “Speaking of getting into it, I want to talk to you about something.”
She stiffened.
“I’ll tell you right now, if you pull out that bitchy tone you use with your mom, it’s going to be an over-the-knee discussion. Capisce?”
This time he understood the flush and the frown. “What is it?” Her voice was tight.
“What’s the deal with school?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “How’s it going? You seem stressed but unfocused.”
She stabbed her egg and shoved a huge bite in her mouth, chewing slowly.
He waited.
“I hate it.”
Not surprised.
“I’m pr
obably going to get put on probation if I don’t pull my grades up.” He could see the conflict on her face—misery combined with defiance. She’d always been a straight A student, graduating at the top of her class in high school and undergrad. “I don’t belong there. I didn’t even think I’d get in when I agreed to apply. I bet my mom made my dad pull strings with someone.”
“So quit.”
Her jaw thrust forward and her eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah—”
“I’m warning you.” He held up a finger at the tight voice.
Her jaw dropped. Confusion flickered across her features and then her shoulders slumped, tears swimming in her eyes. She pushed her chair back and surged to her feet.
“No.” He moved quickly to catch her around the waist and haul her back against his body. Plopping down in her seat, he pulled her to sit on his lap. “We’re talking about this. You’re going to figure out how to speak respectfully and still tell me your feelings.”
Tears splashed down her cheeks and she glared at him. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“I’m your keeper, so everything about you is my business.”
“I want out.”
Ah. Her safe words. Stubborn little vixen. “No, you don’t.”
The defiance wavered once again, crumpling to tears. She slapped her hand against his chest. “Why are you doing this?”
He pulled her face down into his neck and stroked the back of her head. “Hush bambina. You know why. Because I care.”
* * *
She lost it then, her breath turning to sobs, hot tears dripping onto Carlo’s neck and running to the collar of his shirt. He kissed her neck, his large hand rubbing circles on her back.
“Why do you care?” Her words were muffled against his neck.
He pried her off him and cupped her chin. His gold-flecked green eyes roved over her face. His expression was soft and serious and he opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to change his mind, closing it again.
“I just do,” he said easily. “Now stop deflecting and tell me why you can’t quit grad school.”
Said the king of deflection himself. Her stomach bunched up in knots. “Can we please not talk about this?”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to lose my breakfast.”
He stroked her cheek and the look of sympathy made her feel stupid. “I think you got railroaded into this by your mom and you don’t believe you can convince her this isn’t the best choice.”
“Right,” she said, relieved he understood.
“But, cara, you’re 24 years old. Your mother shouldn’t be making major life decisions for you anymore.”
The stone in her stomach got heavier. “Yeah, but my parents still support me. Which means either I need to find a great job and break those ties or I have to do what they say. And it’s pretty hard to find a lucrative job with a dance degree. Even when I was performing they paid my rent and credit card bill. It’s like I’ve had my chance to be frivolous, but the party’s over and I have to grow up and work for corporate America.”
“Do you think they would want you to be miserable?”
“I’m actually not sure that matters.”
“I disagree.”
It was strange and comforting to have a conversation about this with someone who actually knew her parents as well as she did. She and Maggie had hashed this out a dozen times, but Maggie couldn’t disagree with her opinions of how her family worked. Hearing Carlo weigh in helped.
“I’d like you to talk to them on this Sunday. I’ll be there with you, if you want, to lend support.”
“Carlo... I can’t.”
He regarded her without expression.
“I’m serious.”
Her tummy fluttered when she realized he wasn’t asking. He truly demanded this of her, as her implacable self-proclaimed “keeper.” He hadn’t threatened a consequence for disobedience, perhaps because this was real-life, not fetish. Even so, he showed no sign of backing down, demanding she yield to his indomitable will. It almost outweighed her anxiety over talking to her parents. Almost.
“I’ll try.”
“What does Yoda say about try?”
She rolled her eyes. It sometimes surprised her how much American pop-culture he had absorbed when he hadn’t grown up here. But she supposed they watched Star Wars in Italy, too.
“Sunday dinner. Alone or with me there, it needs to be done.”
“Carlo,” she spread her fingers, “I can’t just go in there and say I want to quit. I’ll need a plan to present them or something.” Her voice had gone screechy again and she caught the warning look.
More flutters in her belly. His demands for her respect reminded her once more of who, or what, he was. A powerful, dangerous man. The kind of man who didn’t accept shit from anyone except her dad. He’d never shown her this side, but seeing it only heightened his appeal.
She fantasized briefly about being his wife, imagining him bending her over in the kitchen and spanking her with a wooden spoon when she bit his head off at the end of a stressful day. Holding her accountable. The idea made her insides turn to liquid. Heat crept up her neck. She should apologize but it seemed harder than it should. More humbling. She’d always believed using that tone of voice was warranted when she was wound up. No one had ever called her on it like this. She drew a breath. “I’m sorry.”
Carlo’s face didn’t change. The expression wasn’t easy-going. It was flinty and hard. “I’ll let it slide this time,” he said after a silence that had her squirming. “Next time, it’s a spanking.”
She swallowed. It was much, much harder to be submissive when they were talking real-life stuff. Her pride begged her to stand up and flounce away. Maybe slam a few doors while she was at it. Her inner submissive thought she should say, “thank you, sir.”
She did neither. She curled her fingers into fists and stared down at them.
Carlo gripped her jaw, with his thumb on one side and fingers on the other. It was a dominating grasp, although he didn’t squeeze hard. “Try it again—you need to present a plan?”
Her vision swam and she tried to nod. Realizing she couldn’t, she answered, “Yes…sir.”
He rewarded her with the glimmer of a smile.
“I should tell them what I’ll do instead, though, and stripping at The Candy Store probably won’t fit the bill.”
“How about teaching?”
Her lip curled. It was what everyone suggested, but she didn’t think she knew enough to teach dance yet. At Columbia, she’d specialized in performance, not pedagogy. “I don’t think I could.”
“Because you’re not interested or because you’re afraid?”
Very perceptive. Who the hell was this guy anyway, and how did he manage to get in her head? She didn’t particularly want to answer that question, which he also seemed to guess because he put a finger under her chin to lift it.
“The truth.”
“I—I just wouldn’t know what I was doing.”
“Right, because 20 years of dance training hasn’t prepared you well enough.”
She giggled. “Well…”
“How about if you just tell your parents you’re going to look into your options for teaching, and then you can face your fears after you’ve cleared your plate of this school nonsense.”
She giggled at the word nonsense—the exact opposite of what her mother considered it. “Okay,” she said finally.
Carlo smiled. “Good girl.” He lifted her off his lap and plunked her down. “And now your eggs are cold. Remind me next time not to challenge you before you’ve eaten.”
She laughed again, warmth infusing her chest. The guy did care. She couldn’t deny that. Why, she still couldn’t understand. Maybe he was just that nice of a guy.
Chapter Five
Carlo chewed the end of a cigar and looked at his cards. The truth was, he didn’t love cigars. But it was part of the male bonding. It was Tuesday night poker night at Joey
’s place, and all the guys were there. Joey had the window cracked and a fan blowing the smoke out in addition to the fancy ventilation system he’d installed. All concessions to his beautiful wife, Sophie, Carlo presumed.
The atmosphere of this game was night and day different from his high-stakes game. That one was business, this was pleasure. Loud voices filled the room, men talking with their hands, boasting and bragging, razzing each other in a good-natured way.
“So, Carlo, you got a new girlfriend?”
Fucking Vince.
Some heads swiveled in his direction.
“No.”
“No? Really? I thought you had a girl there when I stopped by Saturday.” The guy’s eyes swiveled to Don Al.
Carlo worked hard not to visibly stiffen. What the hell? Did Vinny figure out he’d had Summer over at his place? How? Could he have recognized her car out on the street? That’s the only way he could imagine.
He wanted to say, “Just a piece of ass,” to shut him up, but if Vinny thought it was Summer, he wasn’t going to disrespect her that way.
Al eyed him, probably picking up his discomfort. The guy was good at reading people. “Do you have a new girlfriend?”
“No.” He needed to tread carefully here. If—when—it came out later he was dating Summer, he didn’t want to be guilty of any lies. “I’ve been seeing someone. Not officially a girlfriend yet, but I’m working on it.”
Al’s face broke into a broad smile and guilt made him queasy. “So she’s girlfriend material? It’s about time you made a real connection. You’d be more respectable if you had a woman.”
Yeah, especially if that woman is the Don’s daughter. Unless the Don objected, in which case his ass was grass, as the saying went. Funny how his original attraction to Summer had been the very fact that she was the mafia princess, and now it was what gave him nightmares. It wasn’t about marrying into the family anymore. That had been a foolish ambition of his youth. No, now it was just about Summer. The woman who captured everything for him.