She’s fuming. Her arms cross over her chest.
I stand behind the desk, directly across from her. I let the incident with Tiffany slide. Sasha won’t be working here much longer, so it’s irrelevant. “We need to talk.”
She’s not meeting my gaze. Her shoulders hunch as she slouches down further into the chair. “I’m under contract. You’re not firing me.” Her voice is so quiet, I’m not sure I heard her right.
“Come again?” I say.
“You. Can’t. Fire. Me. I knew when Leslie said you were waiting to talk to me, that you were going to try and get rid of me. But you can’t. I’m under contract.” She peeks up at me. Her gaze quickly falls back to her lap.
“What contract?”
“The one you made me sign when you first hired me,” she says.
I calculate the time that’s passed. “Two years ago? That thing can’t still be good.”
She raises her chin to meet my eyes. “It was for three years. A commitment made in exchange for paying off a percentage of my student loans. I still have six months left.” She’s not budging.
We Bachmans are wealthy. We try to be generous. I’d forgotten all about the program I’d created to help kinesiology students fight their way out of debt. Sasha was the last person I took on. I scanned my mind, thinking over the terms of the contract. They were solid, locking the employee in for the entirety of the term.
I’m infuriated she won’t leave. And I’m livid with myself because now there’s a deep welling brewing in my chest at her stubbornness—a feeling of wanting. It makes me more unsettled. I take a breath. I run my fingers through my hair. “Then I release you from it. I’ll call my lawyer and have him draft a document stating—”
She speaks calmly, calculated. “I don’t want to be released. I want to finish out my time.”
“I’ve already paid off your loans—the day I proposed, in fact. So there’s no need for you to stay on.” I glance at the clock over her head. It’s eleven-thirty. I’ve got to get out of here. I need to get onto that plane and as far away from her as possible.
I can feel the sun on my skin. Taste the icy piña colada—
Her eyes lock on mine. “No. No way in hell. I’m not leaving.” Her hands go to the arms of the chair. Her fingers curve around the wood. Her knuckles turn white.
I can’t take it anymore. I’m inches from her face. She flinches as I shout, “Damn it, Sasha. You can’t work here. Don’t you understand?”
She has the audacity to raise her brow at me. “I’m good at my job. I love it here. If you can’t handle me being here, why don’t you leave?”
Unbelievable. “Leave my own gym? The business I’ve built with my blood, sweat, my hard-earned money?” I point to the door and growl, “Never. Get out.”
Her eyes flash as she dares me. “Make me.”
I no longer care that she’s my ex.
That she broke my heart.
That legally, she’s an employee of mine.
I’m going to make her cry.
I come around the desk. I grab both her arms and rip her from the chair. She’s so surprised by the force, her hands slip right off the armrests she was holding onto so tightly.
I rest my glutes on the edge of the desk. I plant my right foot onto the seat of the chair. I fling her over my right thigh. She’s grabbing at the desk, trying to maintain her balance. My hand comes down on the center of her spandex-covered curves with a loud thwack! My palm stings, but not nearly as bad as her ass must. She howls.
“You ready to leave now?”
“No!” She’s holding onto the edge of my desk. She’s stretched up on tiptoe. Her ass is perfectly centered over my upper thigh.
I bring my hand down again, harder, right in the same spot. Her body jumps at the impact. “How about now?”
“No! I told you, I’m not leaving, and you can take that to the bank! Ow!”
I spank her right cheek, her left cheek, her right cheek, her left cheek. My hand comes up and down in quick succession. My palm hurts. Her ass must be on fire by now. Her hand comes back to block the blows. She’s wriggling her hips, trying to get away. I solve both problems at once. I grab her wrist with my left hand, pinning it to her back. My arm locks her hips in tight.
I spank as I talk. Good, hard smacks that cover every inch of her ass. “This is my gym. We are broken up and you no longer work here. Is that clear?”
She cranes her neck, trying to look at me over her shoulder as she shouts, “I shouldn’t have to give up my career just because you can’t be friends!”
“How can you expect me to go from planning on you being my wife, to be your friend? You ask for too much, Sasha. It’s always about you.” The memories of all the times she fought me, getting her way, come flooding back. Fury fills me.
I want the satisfaction of seeing my efforts turn her skin an angry red.
I tug at the tight elastic of her pants. I get them pulled down to just below the curve of her ass. She’s wearing a black thong, as she always is. I ignore the hardening in my cock. I slap her bare bottom. She yells my name in anger, and I slap it again. Her ass is getting pink and it jiggles when I smack it.
I know despite her pain, she’s getting wet. That her little cunny is throbbing underneath that thong. I know her taste, her scent. But it doesn’t unmoor my resolve.
I will make her leave. And not come back.
I focus on that delicate skin where the tops of her thighs meet the curve of her bottom. I spank hard. My red handprint pops up on her skin as she wails. When she sits down tomorrow, she’ll be reminded—best obey.
My fury turns to the center of her round cheeks. They are going from pink to a fiery red. I spank her hard, and she yells my name.
But it’s not in anger.
She’s begging. Wanting me to stop. I won’t until I know she’s gotten the message. It’s over. I raise my hand to spank again—
She yells my name. This time, in defeat. It’s pitiful.
Carter!
My hand freezes in midair, hovering over her. A dull pain rips through my chest, taking away my breath. I feel as if the wind’s been knocked from me. My gut twists. Then she’s saying my name, over and over, like she’s begging for something. Sobs rack her body. She cries out, keening.
Carter. Carter. Carter.
I’ve never seen her like this. I can’t withstand it. Every time she says my name is like a stab from a dull knife going right through my heart.
I put my leg back down on the floor. I grab her shoulders. I pull her up to face me. Her eyes are filled with tears and she won’t meet my gaze. She covers her face with her hands. She’s sobbing. Her whimpering voice whispers,
“Carter, please, take me back.”
I’m broken. I’m barely breathing. My eyes burn. My throat swells.
I press her to my chest. My touch makes her cry harder. She’s gasping for breath and she whispers,
“Take me back.”
Her fingers clutch at the collar of my shirt. I know she wants me to hold her tighter. My arms obey, wrapping around her further. Embracing her so hard I can feel her heartbeat fluttering against my chest. She burrows into me. Her hands are balled up in front of her face, holding my damp shirt in her fists. She’s curled against me, hiding in the cocoon my arms and shoulders form around her.
My voice is thick as I whisper, “Hush. Hush. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby girl.” Tears prick at my eyes, threatening to fall.
My words make her cry even harder. Sasha is undone. A sense of honor washes over me as I realize what I’m experiencing. This is the raw center of her despair. My tough girl is gone. Sasha has hit a place she has never been before. Absolutely and totally out of control. Run completely out of hardness, the tigress nowhere to be found.
Only I can calm her. Tell her it will all be alright. That she will be my baby girl and I will love her, and we will never be apart for another minute. Another second. As long as I have breath in my body,
she will be mine.
But I can’t do that.
Not if she’s unwilling to make changes.
Instead, I hold her, swaying gently. Whispering words to soothe her.
“Remember when we took that picnic to Central Park? And you told me it was going to rain, but I made you go anyway? And we got so soaked. And then we went for drinks at the bar across the street and we were dripping all over the floor. And the bartender tried to yell at us, but we just laughed and ordered another shot?”
She nods, still crying.
“Remember when you told me you’d never ridden a Ferris wheel? And we drove three hours just to get to that county fair? And we ate fried candy bars and rode that damn thing seven times?”
She gulps her breath, trying to calm herself. She rubs at her eyes and nods again.
“Remember when I brought you to the Village for the first time? And you thought you were dreaming? You made me pinch you so you knew it was real? The women all wanted to meet you—they loved you as much as I did.”
She sniffles, nodding.
“Remember when we drove up to the mountains for the weekend? And you saw that woman selling quilts by the side of the road and you made me pull over so you could buy one? And you’ve slept under it every night since?”
Her body shudders. She stammers, “N-no... not—every night since.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, smoothing her hair. I rub her back, finding a less upsetting avenue. “What about the time we went to Greece to see your parents. Remember? You said it was the most romantic trip you’d ever been on. That your parents loved me. We had so much fun together.”
“You proposed the week we got back,” she says through her tears. Her shoulders are shaking.
“On the rooftop. The weather was perfect and—”
“But it was all a lie!” she cries.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
She’s crying and hiccupping, and her nose is running. “You told me the truth, the night we broke up—Bronson didn’t want us to get married. He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you. He told you not to marry me and you just let him. You should have punched him right in the nose. How could you let him say that about me!”
“First of all, punching the head of the family in the nose would get me killed,” I say, trying to make a joke. It falls flat. She’s still crying. Then I tell the truth. My voice is soft as I hold her shoulders. “Second, he was right. He said he had concerns about you following through.”
“That bastard—”
“My little tiger is coming back and I need to tame her.”
I put my hand on her still bared ass, squeezing gently. It’s warm to the touch. I say, “Careful, baby.”
She winces. “Sorry. But he’s wrong! I did everything that was asked of me. I followed through with the security clearance. I signed all the documents. I’ve upheld my pledge to keep everything secret—”
I press my hands into her shoulders again, this time steadying her. I search her face until I hold her gaze. Locking my eyes on her, I say, “But you didn’t follow through when it came to the lifestyle. Sure, you’ve adopted all the Bachman ways... save for one.”
She looks up at me from beneath her lashes. Her bottom lip trembles. She doesn’t want to say the word. I find her stubbornness so adorable, I almost smile. My face quickly falls as I remember her stubbornness could be what ends us.
Finally, she looks away and whispers, “Submission?”
After what we’ve been through, I’ll take what I can get for a starting point. I lower my voice, softly say, “That’s right. And to live the Bachman way, you must live it fully.”
She says, “I was so angry that night. When you told me you’d asked Bronson’s permission, and he didn’t want me. I spun out of control. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that he didn’t want you. He was just afraid of—”
Before I can finish, she looks up, eyes locked on mine. They’re red from crying. There’s dark circles beneath them. But within those captivating irises, I recognize a flash of that famous Sasha determination that I love so much.
She says, “I accept the ways of the Bachman women.”
My heart stops. My fingers clutch around her shoulders, holding her as if I’m afraid she’ll change her mind. Run off.
“Sasha—”
She straightens her spine. She lets go of my shirt; her hands go to my waist. Her eyes are clear. Her voice rises. Her words are tinged with desperation. “I mean everything. Every bit of it. I’m so lost without you, Carter. You were my love, my best friend, my everything. I can’t be apart from you another minute. I want the wedding. I want the future. I want to be a member of the Village. And I want it to be in the right way. The way it was meant to be. You’ll have to be patient with me, and it’s going to take a long time for me to get it right. But, please, you have to let me try.”
Her eyes are holding mine, begging me. Her hands tighten on my torso.
I’m going to miss my flight. My stomach is in knots. My heart is on fire for her. My mind is cloudy, and I can’t focus on anything but her beautiful, tearstained face and the way it feels to have her fingers touching me.
She’s my baby. She’s my baby girl.
And I’m lost without her. I read her expression and everything in it tells me what I need to know; she’s finally ready.
I take her face in my hands. Her eyes close, her chin tilts toward me.
But I can’t kiss her. Not yet.
My hands drop from her face.
She looks at me, confused. I untangle myself from her. I leave her standing there, her pants still rolled underneath her punished ass. I walk around behind the desk. I open the drawer. Hope wells in my chest at the sight of the sparkling diamond. I pick up her ring. It feels cold in my hand. The metal is warm when she wears it.
I’ve kept it here since our breakup—not bearing to have it at home, but not yet willing to admit it was truly over and time to sell it back to Bronson.
I hold it up. It catches the light. She gives a small gasp at the sight of it, her hands covering her mouth.
I take her left ring finger in my hand. I say, “Sasha Lazio, would you do me the honor of entering into a truly Bachman engagement with me?”
She bites her bottom lip. She’s nervous, but she’s going to do this. “Yes.”
I slip the ring on her finger. She’s smiling, her eyes shining.
I’m not going to kiss her, not yet.
I reach around her bottom. I pull her pants up and snap them into place. I grab her hand and pull her toward the door of my office. I grab my workbag from the hook and sling it over my shoulder. I flash her a smile and ask her if she’s ready. Her face is a mask of confusion as she stutters, “I guess?”
I move my hand, making our fingers interlock. Her ring presses into my skin and I breathe deeply, contentment filling me. People look at us as we leave the gym. She’s sniffling and smiling and I’m grinning ear to ear.
We have much to discuss.
* * *
Sasha
My eyes ache as badly as my ass. I’m sure my face is a fright, but I don’t care because my ring is gorgeous as hell and it’s back on my finger.
He’s taking me back.
My heart is so full I feel like the Grinch when his grows three sizes bigger that day. In fact, I might be the Grinch. A cold-hearted bitch who put herself first and took her amazing fiancé for granted. Only, it didn’t take the Who’s down in Whoville singing Christmas songs for me to change my tune.
Just a heartbreaking dose of you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Oh, and a good old-fashioned spanking to give me the sense to tell him I want him back.
Thank the gods, I get a second chance. That I’m not too late. Not everyone is so lucky in love. I take a deep breath, gazing at Carter. He’s taken me to a coffee shop I’ve never been to before. He’s ordering us both cappuccinos.
He sits at the table, and I smile, relaxing into m
y chair.
Everything is going to be alright.
At least... I think it is... but now he’s pulling a notebook and pen from his bag.
It’s like he’s preparing for a business meeting. I don’t care what he wants to do, as long as we are back together. The weight of my ring makes me feel like me again. I let him do his thing and I watch my diamond glitter under the lights. Marking me as his.
Carter Bachman’s baby.
His gaze grabs my attention. It’s serious, heavy. “I need to make a few things clear.”
“About what?” I ask. I turn my hand under the light, watching the jewel shoot rainbows across the café. A celebration of our reunion.
“Sasha. Put your hand in your lap and look at me.” His stern tone snaps me out of my bubble of happiness. I quickly obey.
He says, “Good girl.”
Which... makes me ridiculously wet. I squirm in my chair, but then my bottom reminds me of my punishment. Making me even wetter. I press my thighs together. Clench my pussy and tell her to get control of herself.
He says, “Each Bachman marriage is different. Some men are stricter than others.” He gives me a look that makes my tummy feel funny and makes me think we are going to end up on the stricter side. A shiver runs through me. Right down to my pulsing cunny.
“Okay, I can handle that,” I say sweetly.
He looks at me. He scribbles in the notebook. “Number one, respecting authority. That seems to be the one you need to work on most. And it includes all authority. Not just me. When you speak of Bronson, you will speak with respect.”
Bronson, ugh. I roll my eyes.
His brow raises. “That includes eye rolls.” He glances behind us. “I’m going to take you into the bathroom in the back of this café and spank you if I see that again.”
I sit up a little straighter. Try to hold my gaze straight forward.
It’s not enough. He’s glancing behind him. His palm is patting his thigh.
I gulp.
I look around the café. It’s pretty busy and I think people would notice if he drags me off to the bathroom. My face flushes, remembering all eyes on me at Gotcha’s. I smile and say, “Yes, sir. What’s rule two?”
Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 5