by Renee Rose
“Carlo?”
“Shh.” He pressed her head back down on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” He didn’t want to hear her explanation or apology. He understood exactly where they stood. She was afraid to be alone. She needed him. He may not be the man she wished was in her life, but he was the one her father could make stay. It was enough for him. Enough for now. Maybe she’d grow to love him over time.
The sliding glass door opened. “Carlo, are you staying for dinner?” Carmen asked, poking her head out.
He craned his neck to see around Summer’s head. “Yes, please.”
“All right, come on in, then. It’s ready.”
Summer clung more tightly to his neck, forcing him to pry her arms off him to help her stand up on her own feet. He escorted her in and held out a chair for her.
Madison and the twins looked at them curiously. Dona Teresa, Al’s mother, observed them with a sharp eye, but he thought he detected a nod of satisfaction from her. Don Alberto glowered at him, which he chose to ignore. If the Don wasn’t holding a gun, they were probably okay. He could take a few punches and his piss and vinegar.
Carmen acted overly bright, setting a dish of primavera with shrimp and angel hair pasta in front of Al. “Madison, you can start on the salad. Tommy, where does your napkin go?”
The 11 year-old snatched his napkin from the table and spread it on his lap, grabbing the garlic bread at the same time his brother did and wrestling him for it.
Carlo pulled Summer’s chair closer to his and draped his arm around the back of it, tickling her neck with the tip of her finger.
She reached for his knee under the table.
Her siblings gaped. Al and Carmen pretended nothing new had happened. It was not a bad turn of events, really. His worry over Al and Carmen accepting him for Summer had been turned on its head, not that he imagined his trouble with either of them was through.
Summer said little during the meal, but her noisy family filled the gaps in conversation. When the meal ended and they had cleared the dishes, they stood in the living room. She leaned toward him. “Are you taking me home with you?”
“Yes, bambina. I’m taking you home where you belong.”
She lifted her face to him, tears glittering in her eyes. He cupped it and kissed her forehead. “I’m not going to walk away from you again. I promise.”
* * *
Al watched the exchange between his daughter and Carlo. It was hard to deny they had a genuine emotional connection.
“Carlo, I need a word with you.”
Summer stiffened, glancing at the bruise still coloring Carlo’s eye and warily back at him. “Is it about me?”
“It’s between me and Carlo.” He edged his voice with authority.
“If this is about me, then I’m going to be there.” She thrust her chin forward with the stubborn look she often took with her mother but rarely with him.
“Summer.” Carlo cupped her chin and turned her focus to him. The defiance drained away under his gentle but quelling look. He pointed to the sofa. “Sit down and wait for me, bambina.”
She looked from him to Carlo, uncertain.
He wasn’t sure what amused him more—that Carlo cocked a stern eyebrow at her or how quickly she obeyed him. So, his little princess had found a man who could handle her. Had he not seen how tenderly Carlo had just treated her, he would have kicked his ass for bossing his baby girl around. But clearly they had something special going on.
He led him to his study and shut the door, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re going to marry her.” It wasn’t like she was pregnant and they weren’t in the 1950’s, but the underboss fucking the boss’ daughter is disrespectful, to say the least. Carlo would have to prove his intentions were pure.
“Damn straight I am,” Carlo snapped. He paced the room like a caged tiger.
Al raised his eyebrows. The kid had never once spoken sharply to him in the eight years he’d been here. He’d never smarted off or been disrespectful, never surly. Never sulked, never got angry. And they’d been involved in some heavy shit.
The fact that he was agitated now only confirmed the depth of his feelings for Summer. He’d been willing to risk his position as underboss for her.
Al pulled out two cigars and trimmed them. Handing one to Carlo, he lit his and passed the lighter. Carlo took it, his face composed again into a blank mask.
“Sit down.”
Carlo sank into a leather captain’s chair but didn’t puff the cigar.
He chewed on the end of his and contemplated the young man he’d come to think of as family. He’d trusted Carlo implicitly. Thought he’d known him through and through. He knew the kid’s weaknesses, which were also his strengths. He saw the way Carlo looked over his shoulder at the other men, never trusting anyone but Al. And maybe Joey, because he wasn’t a threat. Even if his Zia Maria hadn’t told him why the boy had to come to America, he would’ve known he carried baggage related to trusting those closest to him.
But this thing with Summer had come as a shock. Al never saw this one coming. But he supposed he’d been blind, because his ma said she’d always known the kid loved her.
“I wouldn’t have picked you for her.”
Carlo looked unperturbed, his usual cool demeanor returning. “I know.”
Al waited to see if Carlo had anything to say for himself.
Picking up the cue, as he always did, Carlo leaned his elbows on his knees and spread his hands. “I told you before, I’m not fucking with Summer. I will honor her and treat her like a princess until the day I die. I won’t cheat. I won’t let her down. You can count on me to take care of her and give her everything I have.”
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “You ever plan on moving back to Sicily?”
Carlo didn’t hesitate. “You know I don’t.”
“She loves you.” He had to admit the truth of what he’d seen.
He shrugged. “She might. She might just think she needs me. But I love her.”
“No. She loves you. She didn’t cry like her world was going to end when she finished things with the douchebag. And I saw her with you. She’s in love.”
He wasn’t ready for Summer to be married, but then, he hadn’t been ready for her to graduate high school either. Or college. Or to move in with her asshole ex. Carmen wouldn’t be crazy about Summer’s life continuing to be entrenched in the family business, but she loved Carlo as much as he did.
“I’ve always considered you to be like a son.”
Carlo didn’t move. His face didn’t change, but Al suspected the kid wasn’t breathing.
“I’d be proud to have that relationship formalized with marriage.”
A muscle near Carlo’s eye jumped and he moved swiftly to his feet, probably to cover the emotion. He extended his hand.
Al stood up and ignored the hand, embracing him and kissing him on both cheeks, Sicilian style. He clapped him on the cheek. “I love you, kid. I know you’ll take good care of her.”
When they pulled away, Carlo was blinking rapidly.
“But if she ever shows up here crying her eyes out over you again—”
“It won’t happen.”
“I don’t care whose fault it was, I don’t want to see her like that.”
“I know, I know.” Carlo shook his head. “That was my mistake. I didn’t think she—”
He waved off the explanation. He really didn’t want to get in the middle of it. Clearly what Carlo and Summer had going was deep and intimate and not something in which he ought to be interfering. “I don’t need to hear it. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Lo giuro su Dio.” I swear to God. Carlo’s face turned apologetic. “But we may need to talk about this grad school thing.”
Al chuckled. “It’s not her, is it?” Carmen had forced the idea upon their daughter and he had stood back. He knew better than to interfere with an Italian mama. Bu
t now that Carlo mentioned it, he recognized what he’d been ignoring—Summer had been suffering. “Does she want to quit?”
“Yeah. She hates it.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Carmen. It may take some time for her to give up on her dreams for our daughter, but she’ll come around.” He smiled at Carlo. “I’m glad Summer has you to look after her.”
Carlo’s eyes reddened and he stepped back. “She’ll stand on her own two feet again soon.”
His chest tightened and he pulled Carlo in for another back thumping hug.
* * *
Summer’s Nonna settled next to her on the couch and picked up her book of Sudoku puzzles. She flipped open the book and tapped her pencil on one of the pages. “He’s a good catch, Summer.”
“Non-na.” She gave her a warning look.
“What? The boy loves you. He always has. You’ve been too wrapped up in your other friends, you forget about La Famiglia.”
She bit her lip, one part of her smarting at the scolding, the other part thrilled to hear her Nonna say Carlo had always loved her. Could it be true? I’ve cared about you for years.
Why hadn’t she seen it? She’d been too busy pretending not to notice him, because she’d thought he was off-limits. Or maybe she thought he was unattainable. Yes, she’d found him beautiful and sexy and exactly the kind of man who could melt her like butter. She’d feared that allure. Men like him were heartbreakers in her experience.
And he had nearly broken her heart. But only because she’d failed to notice that he cared and acknowledge how much he meant to her.
Her father’s door swung open and the men emerged. With some relief, she noted that Carlo did not sport any new bruises. She’d been paranoid to think her father would be angry.
“Ready, angel?”
She stood up and grabbed her purse, rushing to his side. She still couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t be too near him. He seemed to understand, because he touched her more than usual, keeping her close in a protective or reassuring way.
He walked her to her car and opened the driver’s side door for her.
“Are you going to punish me?
His lips twitched. “Probably.” He kissed her nose. “But not because I’m angry. Just because I like to have you naked and squirming underneath my hands.”
She pressed herself against him, her breasts flattening against his ribs. “I would rather have had a hundred punishments than have you break up with me. Don’t do that again.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I won’t. I’m going to marry you, bambina.”
She stiffened. “Because my father said you had to?”
“No. Because you belong to me. Now go home and get ready. I want you naked and on your knees when I get home.”
Her belly dropped and a zing of excitement shot straight to her core.
She drove home, the words you belong to me filling all the empty places in her soul. All her confusion about who she was, or what her future ought to hold fell away. None of it mattered when she belonged to Carlo, because he had the ability to make everything perfect. To make it right. To help her figure out her life and hold her to the highest standard. He knew her. He understood who she really was, perhaps better than she understood herself. So if she belonged to a man like that, she had nothing to fear.
She slipped inside his apartment and dropped her things. I want you naked and on your knees when I get home.
What she really needed was a shower. She’d have to make it quick. Dashing into the bathroom, she turned the water on hot and stripped. When she stepped under the spray, she groaned. It felt so good, shedding the entire week of heartache under the spray of water. She didn’t dare stay in until the mirrors were fogged, though. Turning off the water, she stepped out and toweled off, then wrapped the towel around her head to dry her thick hair.
Hearing the key turn in the lock, she tossed the towel back into the bathroom and dropped to her knees, palms up on her thighs, waiting.
Carlo took his time coming in. She heard the sound of dropping keys, of envelopes being ripped open.
Her heart pitter-patted in fluttery anticipation.
At last he came in, sauntering up in front of her and shoving his fingers through her damp hair. “Good girl.” He grasped the hair and pulled her head back. “Who do you belong to?”
“You, Carlo. I belong to you.”
He pinched both her nipples, pulling up. “Does this body belong to me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When I give you an order, what do you do?”
“Obey.” The word alone carried a charge for her, sending streaks of fire to her pussy.
He unzipped his pants and let his cock spring out. “Who do you serve?”
Her breasts ached as she reached for him, gripping the base and squeezing, hard. “You, sir.”
“Good girl. Suck me off.”
She swirled her tongue around the underside of the head of his cock, flicked the tip and blew on it to let it cool, then engulfed him completely. He groaned, his fist tightening in her hair. He let her set the pace for a while and then he began thrusting, holding her head immobile and using her like a fuck hole. She gagged and her eyes watered and the degradation made her wetter than a faucet.
“That’s it, bambi, take my cock like a good girl.”
She may have orgasmed a little just from his words. Her pussy pulsed in time with her heartbeat, her clit throbbed with need. Empty, empty. Her pussy felt so empty. She hollowed out her cheeks and sucked hard, even with his hectic thrusts.
“I’m going to come,” he warned and she sucked even harder, accepting the hot salty offering and swallowing it down.
When he slid out of her mouth, she nearly collapsed, her thigh muscles straining, her knees stiff. He grasped her upper arms and lifted her to his chest, holding her against him and kissing her damp head. His warm hands stroked down her naked back, cupping and kneading her ass.
“What do you think, bambi? Do I punish you by sending you to bed without your orgasm?”
Her head jerked back to look at him. “You wouldn’t.”
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “No?”
“Please don’t, Carlo, that would be cruel. I can just use my fingers, you don’t have to do anything.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. “You do not have permission to touch yourself.” He picked her up and tossed her backwards, onto the bed. Crawling over her, he pinned her arms up by her head. “If you get off, it will be because I punish you with my cock.”
She arched, lifting her lips and moaning wantonly.
“You want that?”
She licked her lips. “Yes, sir.”
“I will fuck you to shreds,” he warned. “I’ll pound into that greedy little pussy until you can’t walk straight.”
“Oh God.” She struggled against his grasp on her wrist, thrust her pussy toward his cock. “Do it now, Carlo.”
A smile glimmered on his face. “After your clit torture.” He released her wrists and crawled down between her legs, wrapping his arms around her thighs to hold them open. He licked and flicked, sucked and nibbled at her clit until she writhed in agony, desperate for release. She knew it probably served to give him time to get hard again after his climax, but it seemed so cruel when she was desperate for him.
“Penetration. I need you inside me. Oh please, Carlo, why won’t you fuck me?”
He chuckled. “I’ll fuck you, bambina. I want to feel your hot little cunt squeezing my cock.”
“Now, Carlo.”
He grabbed both her ankles in one large hand and lifted them in the air, delivering a flurry of sharp slaps to her exposed ass. “Do you get to order me around, bambina?”
She was babbling incoherently now, her brain disconnected, or maybe it had just traveled south to her pussy. “No, sir. No, I don’t. Please just fuck me. Oh why won’t you just fuck me?”
He continued to warm her ass with painful smacks, making her dance und
er the onslaught. His palm connected with her pussy, spanking the delicate folds of her labia along with the lowest portion of her ass.
The heat, the impact, the state of her dizzying arousal all came to a crisis point and she squirted in an embarrassing display of female ejaculation. Even then, she couldn’t stop begging, couldn’t stop writhing for him to take her.
Finally, he obliged, dropping her ankles and flipping her over. “Up on your knees and forearms,” he commanded. Grasping her hips, he buried his cock in one deep stroke, but there was no pain. She was long past wet and ready. She was the slip and slide at the waterpark and he was pumping into her, the slick sounds of their contact accented with the smack of flesh against flesh.
He did punish her with his cock, fucking her hard, fucking her ruthlessly. He bent her wrists behind her back and gripped her elbows for leverage, giving the feeling of a forced sex act.
Her eyes rolled back in her head. Even before her orgasm, she rocketed to outer space, losing all rational thought, all coherency, flying higher and higher until he cracked her open and she exploded into pure sensation—ripples of release, even more gushing fluid, the endless squeezing of her muscles around his cock.
He gave a shout and found his own finish, buried balls deep, pushing her down to her belly, where he covered her like a blanket.
“Mine,” he murmured.
“Yours.”
He eased out of her eventually and gathered her up into his arms.
When words and thought returned to her, she murmured, “You were wrong.”
“Mmm?”
“About my heart.”
He stiffened.
“I don’t love John. I don’t think I ever did. I thought I did. I thought he mattered, but I was wrong. I was totally wrong. And I’m sorry it took almost losing you for me to figure that out.” She felt like crying, but the tears wouldn’t come. The orgasm had vanquished them, or maybe she’d just cried them all out that week.
“It’s forgotten. Forgiven. I don’t want to talk about it again.”