Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  Hard.

  She gives a shocked gasp and her head rolls back. I lean down, my face beside hers. My mouth finds her ear. “I’m going to have what I want.” I take the delicate lobe between my teeth and bite. She cries out.

  The tip of my tongue trails downward, finding that delicate spot on her neck she so loves to have kissed... softly. Instead, I zero in on it, biting then sucking.

  She cries out again. Her fingers find my shoulders, the tips of her nails bury into my flesh. My mouth forms an unbreakable bond with her delicate skin and I mark her. I can picture the purple bruise that will arise for all to see. My goodbye kiss.

  “Carter.” The sound of her raspy voice stops me in my tracks.

  She’s pleading.

  I release her hair. My mouth leaves her neck. I take my hand down from her chest and take a step back.

  What have I done?

  Her eyes find mine. I’m not sure what to say.

  Before I can speak, her mouth is on mine. Her hands are around my neck, in my hair, clawing, grasping. She kisses me with an intensity that makes my gut clench. My cock hardens and rises and presses against the fabric that constricts it, until it’s painful.

  My hands find her ass. Bare under her almost nothing dress. Still warm from my striking palm. I clutch her curves, digging my fingers into her flesh until she breaks the kiss to cry out in pain. Then I’m shoving the fabric up over her hips. Her fingers fumble to undo my belt, push away my pants.

  My cock lunges from its cage. Long and hard and ready to conquer.

  I grab her waist. My fingers wrap so tightly, her hipbones lock into my palms. I push her ass up against the wall. I bend my knees, shoving my cock to her pussy. I find her entrance. She groans as I press against her.

  My hands go beneath her thighs. In one fluid movement, I lift her up, her legs wrapping tightly around my waist, and I plunge inside of her hot, wet sex.

  Again, I tug on her hair. Bring her long ponytail down. This time, I pin the end of it against her lower back.

  She cries out and the walls of her pussy constrict around my rock-hard cock. I thrust my hips forward, driving my full length inside of her. She gasps. I pull back and go again. She’s screaming my name and I’m relentless. Her hands wrap around my shoulders, her nails scratch my back, my chest.

  I just keep fucking.

  Her legs wrap tighter around my waist. She buries her face between my neck and my shoulder. She’s getting tighter, wetter. I know her signs and she can’t take much more. I give three more hard thrusts, then I hear it. That familiar mewing noise she makes just before she comes. Just at the sound of her, my balls constrict, the base of my cock tightens. My mind goes blank and my only existence is the place we are joined and how damn good it feels to be coming inside of her. My hot seed fills her and I give one last thrust. My entire body tingles as I release her from my grasp, sliding her legs down to the floor. Her hands are on my shoulders. She catches my eyes, then looks away. We stand like this for a moment.

  Her before me. My hands still on her waist.

  An awkward silence hangs between us.

  I drop my hands. I leave her, pulling up my pants.

  We avoid one another’s gaze. Put ourselves back together.

  She’s straightening her dress. Smoothing back her hair. I tuck my shirt into my pants. Zip my fly and buckle my belt.

  When we are done, we linger. The space between us is only a few feet but seems vast. Impossible to close. After what we’ve just done, I find it so strange that I feel I can’t touch her. That I need to keep my distance from her.

  Finally, she looks up at me. She clears her throat. She bites her lip. She says, “So where do we stand, now?”

  My heart grows cold, hard. “Do you submit yourself to me?”

  Her brow narrows, as if something about this very simple premise—the one my world is built on, the one she was supposed to commit to—is confusing her. She shakes her head. “No. Hell, no.”

  The room is filled with the familiar scent of our fucking. My cock is still wet, from me. From her.

  I say, “Then it’s over.”

  Her anger melts. She looks up at me with wide eyes.

  I have to get out of here. I can’t be in the same room as her. I need to see my brother. Be with him and his wife to get my head together. Holding my voice steady, I say, “I’ll be at John and Mary’s. You have the night to get your stuff out of here.”

  “Where will I go? What will I do? Carter?” She reaches for my hand.

  I slip my fingers from her. My heart tears in two as I turn my back on her. I leave the house.

  My house. Where I now live alone.

  * * *

  Sasha

  I’m packing my things. I’m doing as best I can with tears blurring my vision, streaming down my face. I’m throwing my clothes into a duffle bag. I leave the dresser drawers hanging open.

  Let him clean it up.

  Then I see it.

  The thing that he said was waiting for me in the bedroom.

  On the top of the dresser sits a wide strap of brown leather. The word Sasha is engraved on it in swirling letters.

  I sneer at it, disgusted, backing away from it.

  I go to my dressing table, throw all my lotions and potions in another bag. Try to ignore its presence. But I can’t help myself. I sneak a little peek at the strap.

  My tummy clenches. My little cunny, so wet from my earlier spanking—then the angry farewell fucking—is now positively soaking.

  I need panties.

  I want to take a shower. Scrub every bit of him away from me. But I have to get the hell out of here. I clean up best I can with a damp washcloth, leaving that on the floor, too. I slip into my thong and my usual workout gear.

  The offending dress lays on the floor. Taunting me.

  What do I do with the stupid thing? I’d said I’d throw it away.

  That was before he told me I wasn’t good enough to be a Bachman. That Bronson didn’t want me to be a member of their precious family.

  I imagine taking the dress, throwing it in the middle of his backyard, and setting it on fire. As satisfying at that would be, the very idea strikes fear in my heart—you don’t start fires in Bachman Village and get away with it. Despite my fury, I find myself picking it up and throwing in into the small bathroom trashcan. Where I know he will see it.

  As I drop it into the basket, my ring catches my eye.

  Such a gorgeous jewel.

  But he’d bought it from Bronson. And we are over. Two reasons to leave it.

  I take it off. I walk over to the dresser. I place the ring down on top of the strap. Right into the first letter a in Sasha.

  It’s done.

  Glancing around the room, I grab my bags.

  Everything here is his. The furniture. The paintings. The sculptures. All the decorating I did, I did with his money. He willingly shelled out every penny I requested. Generous with his wealth, I never wanted for anything.

  He told me it made him happy to have my feminine touches around the place.

  That it made him happy to see me happy.

  That he wanted me to feel at home here.

  And I did. Every minute.

  Except for now.

  I press the brimming tears from my eyes. I jog down the two flights of stairs. I pause in the foyer. I press my forehead against the back of the closed front door, saying a silent ‘goodbye’ to the beautiful rowhome that was my—our house for the past year. I open the door and step out onto the stoop, shutting it quietly behind me.

  The night air is cool, almost cold. My bags hang from my shoulders. I wrap my arms around myself.

  I have nowhere to go.

  In a daze, I make my way down the front stairs. I stand on the street, utterly bewildered.

  A fresh set of tears begin streaming from my eyes.

  All my girlfriends are Bachman. They live in the Village. My parents live in Greece, where I was born and resided until I went to colle
ge in New York. I met Carter at his gym, and the rest was history.

  And now, my life is history.

  I have to start from scratch. Or go back to my parents.

  I can’t face the idea of leaving the city I’ve grown to love.

  I can’t even process the fact that I’ve lost the Village.

  The biggest loss of all. I’ve lost him.

  What have I done?

  A sob escapes from my throat. My hand goes to my mouth, covering it. I take one deep breath.

  I have nothing but the bags on my arms.

  Before I can truly break down, I set my jaw and head off to Barbells. I’ll sleep there. I’ll teach my class at five a.m. I’ll take a hot shower, then I’ll figure out this mess.

  Wait—I still work for him. He’s my boss.

  How am I going to make it through the day, an hour—hell, even a couple of minutes—in his presence?

  I walk down the street, tears falling, nose running, heart aching.

  I’m going to have to find a job, a place to live.

  My thumb hits the keypad. I go through the first gate.

  He was my best friend.

  My thumb presses the second keypad. I’m on the streets of the city.

  He was my everything.

  I press my thumb on the side entry pad of Barbells.

  I thought we were soulmates. Destined by the stars to be together. Forever.

  What. Have. I. Done.

  Exhausted, drained, I pass through the door of the gym. The lock clicks behind me. I find a mat in the corner of the room. I dump my bags on the floor. I curl up on top of the mat, shoving the duffle bag underneath my head for a pillow.

  I cry myself to sleep.

  * * *

  Carter

  I’ll have to teach her class today. There’s no way she’ll show up after last night.

  She was so... angry.

  I was devastated we were breaking up. She was furious.

  Sometimes I just don’t understand her.

  It’s four forty-five a.m., and I’m unlocking the door of Barbells. I’m exhausted, drained. I didn’t have the heart to tell John and Mary what had happened, so I just waited, watching from the back garden as Sasha packed her things.

  Through the window, I saw her face when she spotted what awaited her on the dresser. The look of disgust was so clear. In that moment I knew this breakup was for good. That the Bachman lifestyle would never be for her. She stormed out the gate and was gone.

  The room was trashed. Her ring sat on her name on the strap.

  I bought the brown leather beauty months ago. Hid it in the back of the closet. Restrained myself—so many times—from taking it out and lashing her behind. Thinking she wasn’t quite ready. Had I waited too long to present it? Or had it been too soon?

  My heart told me it wasn’t the when of it all—it just wasn’t meant to be.

  Hindsight is twenty-twenty. If I’d known then what I know now, perhaps things would have ended differently. But there is only one thing I’m sure of in this whole mess—it’s over.

  I’ve barely slept.

  I walk into the gym and my breath catches in my throat. Sasha is curled up in a ball, sleeping on a mat. Her bags are everywhere. The duffle she’d packed last night is resting under her head. I step closer. Her face is tearstained. Her closed eyes look puffy. Her nose red.

  She looks so pitiful, I long to carry her home. Wrap her in her favorite quilt. Make her hot chocolate. The kind with the whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles on top that she loves so damn much. Her lower lip pouts if I forget to put them on.

  My baby girl.

  My gut tightens. A pang zings through my chest. She’s not mine anymore.

  She’s just another employee. I nudge her with my foot. I growl, “Get up.”

  She startles at my abrupt wakeup. Her eyes blink open. She sleepily yawns. “Carter?”

  The way she says my name, it’s like nothing’s changed.

  I want to hold her. Take her. Right there on the mat. Put her on her hands and knees, dig my fingers into her hips and fuck all this nonsense right out of her. Instead, I flick all the switches up. The room floods with bright light. “Get the hell up. You have a class arriving in ten minutes.”

  I don’t even look at her. I leave her in the gym. Head to my office in the back of the building.

  I slam the door. I sit at the desk. I put my head in my hands.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here today.

  I wasn’t supposed to have to see her again.

  It’d been stupid of me to assume she wouldn’t come to work. She has no other job, no connections in the city.

  And now, she has nowhere to stay.

  Pain rips through me. My baby girl slept on the floor. Not in our bed, piled high with the feather pillows and comforters she was so fond of. Me not there to gently wake her, my hand on her side, caressing her, whispering in her ear, time to get up. Her, snuggling in deeper and telling me, one more minute.

  I won’t let it happen another night. I’ll have a hotel room arranged for her. Just until she can get on her feet.

  Nothing more.

  The thump of her favorite warmup tunes fill the quiet building. She’s getting her room ready for spin. She may be running on little sleep, but one thing about Sasha—she delivers a killer class no matter what her nights have been like. I can attest to that. When we were dating, we’d go out all night. Drinking, dancing, fucking. Then, before the sun, we’d be in the gym, sweating it out.

  The women come from all over the city to take her classes. Sasha has an exotic beauty and a lithe body, her muscles long and lean. Her dark hair is always tied back in a ponytail, swishing against her bronzed skin as she pedals. She yells at the women, “Faster! Harder.” You’d think the women would dislike her, be envious of her, avoid her. But she has such a disarming way with them, they all love her.

  And so do the Bachman women.

  I groan. My hands run through my hair. I’m going to have to tell them that Sasha and I are over. That she’s left the Village. They’re going to blame me. Why didn’t you just take her over your knee sooner? It would have fixed everything. Now we have to lose her, too.

  When their anger melts away, that’s when the casseroles and cookies will start rolling in.

  Because they know better than anyone—it’s completely Sasha’s choice. The women have all the power. They decide if this is a relationship they want.

  They chose yes. She chose no.

  There’s laughter, joking. High voices carry through my closed door. The ladies are arriving for class.

  Time to work.

  The day is grueling. Sunday is our busiest day. I teach a couple of back-to-back CrossFit classes, filling in for instructors who are out of town. I interview two job applicants, hire them both on the spot. I place their paperwork on Sasha’s desk for processing. Funny how even that small gesture has me finding it hard to breathe. I give ten tours to potential members. Sign up seven. More paperwork delivery, my chest tight.

  I’ve managed to avoid seeing her, even once, all day.

  Now it’s time to close. I just want to pick up Chinese and take it home. Have a long, hot shower, then watch cheesy romantic comedies and eat the food. It’s Sasha’s and my ritual to end the week. Just thinking about it makes my gut twist in knots.

  I’ll be going home alone. I’ll skip dinner and pass out in my empty bed. I just hope the word hasn’t gotten out to the women of the Village yet. I’m not up for company, their chatter, their condolences, or their casseroles.

  I start the shutdown process. I’m turning off lights, doing a final walkthrough of the men’s locker rooms. I pick up a discarded NYU Law sweatshirt for the lost and found. It’s probably Jake’s. He’s been asking around about our Village and recently got a membership here. Good kid. Has potential. And you can never have too many lawyers on your side in this business. I throw the shirt over my shoulder. I close a locker door that’s hanging open.

&nb
sp; Sasha’s already left, and it’s usually her gig, so I do the woman’s locker room too.

  The women are so much neater than the men. The cleaning crew will have half the work to do in here. I unplug the hair dryers, pick up the mats for the janitors to buff the floors.

  I hear a sniffle.

  “Hello? Anyone in here?” I call.

  Sometimes we’ll have a member who’s taken too long of a shower, lost track of time, and is dawdling in the locker rooms. That’s why we always walk through before locking up. No member left behind.

  No one answers me.

  The bathroom is in the back of the room. I head back there, calling again, “Barbells staff. Anyone in here? We’re closing up now.”

  There it is again. The tiniest little sniffle.

  I look underneath the stalls.

  Sasha’s black sneakers with the hot pink swoosh.

  I ignore the tug at my heart and tell myself I’m not in the mood for her games. “Sasha. I know you’re in here. Come out, now.”

  The stall door unlocks. She steps out.

  She’s a wreck.

  Her hair is falling down around her shoulders. Her face is red. Her eyes puffy. When she holds her left hand up to wipe away a tear, the sight of her ringless finger makes my gut clench.

  I keep my distance. I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you to leave,” she whispers.

  “Why? So you can sleep on a mat again?” I ask.

  She won’t look at me. “All my friends are... in the Village. You know I can’t go there.”

  I say, “I’ve already booked you a hotel. I was going to text you the details as soon as I locked up.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell them to me in person?” she asks.

  I don’t answer.

  Her gaze searches mine. I can’t hide my sadness as I look back at her. She replies with a soft, “Oh.”

  “Let’s go. I’m ready to go home,” I say.

  Home.

  The word hangs in the air between us.

  Every night before we leave, I say, “Let’s go, baby girl. I’m ready to take you home.” But I can’t say that now. And, I realize what I’ve just said is... just too close to that. “I meant...”

  “I know what you meant,” she says.

  “I’ll take you to the hotel,” I offer.