Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  “Better. Good girl.” He pats my thigh underneath the table. His hand stays there.

  Even the gentle weight of his hand on my leg is making me wet. I cross my legs, tightening the pressure between my thighs.

  He moves on. “Rule two. Obey my authority.”

  “Check,” I say. That should be easy enough. After my weeks apart from Carter, I’ll do anything to keep him.

  He says, “Rule three. Submit yourself to discipline when necessary.”

  I see one of the other patrons peeking at us curiously. I guess this isn’t an appropriate time to tell off a stranger—he never likes when I do that. Instead, I turn toward Carter, blocking their view with my back. My face is suddenly very hot. I lean forward and whisper, “What all does that entail?”

  He says, “Depends. Up to my discretion.”

  I have to know. I’ve heard stories from the wives. Tales of things that make me shiver. That make my ass quiver. Surely Carter wouldn’t do those things to me... would he? Flush creeps up from my chest. I stretch closer, my voice barely audible. “But are we talking... just a spanking? And that leather thing that was on the dresser?”

  “Depends. Up to my discretion.” He slaps the book shut. He gives me a wink. “I think that just about covers it.”

  He’s not going to tell me—he’s going to leave me to think about it, worry over it. My stomach tightens. I need to keep him here a little longer. At least get information from him. I say, “But wait? Aren’t there more rules? Guidelines? Don’t you have any rules? Does the brotherhood?”

  His eyes lock on mine. That little muscle in his jaw twitches. When he speaks, his tone is that of the new Carter—the dangerous one with the paddle palm. “My rule is to protect you, care for you, and lay down my life for you if necessary. Haven’t you found over the past two years, I’ve done that?” His brow narrows and he’s searching my face.

  I quickly tell him yes. That he’s taken better care of me than any woman on this planet has ever been cared for. I’ve been spoiled. Perhaps a little too much. That I love him, and he’s done everything for me.

  He says, “Then I’m the one who’s held up their end of the bargain. Aren’t I?”

  I nod. I bite the flesh of my bottom lip. My hand finds my hair.

  He leans in. He speaks and his voice is thick, rough. “So which of the two of us is the one that needs rules? Punishments? Their naughty bottom spanked till they cry?”

  I’m aching for him. My nipples tighten uncomfortably in my bra. I say, “Me.” I’m sweating.

  “And what happens to your pretty little cunny when I spank your bottom?”

  My face is suddenly burning. I shift in my chair, clenching my legs together. “It gets... wet.”

  A wicked smile flashes across his face. “That’s the way of the Bachman brotherhood.”

  My mouth opens to speak. No words come out. I put the tip of my thumb in it, biting my nail.

  He give me a look—conversation closed. He says, “Like I said, I think we’ve covered it.” He slips his notebook and pen back into his bag.

  I stare at him. I’m biting off my nail. I’m tugging at the end of my ponytail. I wait for him to speak.

  I want him to tell me to come home.

  But he’s not.

  My heart sinks as he says, “Sasha, you’re going to stay at the hotel. One more night. To let everything set in. I want you ready. Once we begin our new life, there’s no turning back.”

  The thought of another night without him kills me. And the way he has me so riled up—I want him to alleviate the burning in my core. The tightness in my pussy. Pinch my achy nipples. “But, Carter, I thought—”

  He holds his hand up to stop me. “We’re done for today. And Sasha, when you come home tomorrow, we pick up right where we left off.” His right brow raises at me. His mouth a firm line.

  The punishment that I had waiting for me when we got back from the club. The one I ran out on.

  He gets up from his chair, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He holds his hand out for me. I stand, my knees shaky. He wraps his arm around me. He kisses the top of my head.

  He walks me out of the café. Our untouched drinks sit at the table. When we reach the sidewalk, his driver is already waiting. He opens the door for me. Waits for me to get in.

  He hasn’t even given me a proper kiss since we’ve gotten back together.

  And he’s not going to.

  Why?

  I search his gaze, but his hand is on the door. Waiting.

  I climb in the car. We exchange goodbyes. As the driver waits for the traffic to clear, I watch Carter walk down the sidewalk.

  That confident gait. His broad shoulders rolling as he walks. The muscles in his back just visible through his thin shirt. He’s going about his day. It’s as if I don’t exist.

  But I’m stuck in his car, headed to the hotel.

  Like a good girl.

  I want him so badly.

  I want to be home.

  Why is he sending me to the hotel to think?

  Is he afraid I’ll leave again? That I can’t handle being Bachman?

  He has another think coming.

  I’m going to be the best damn submissive the Village has ever seen.

  I’m just going to need a little help.

  Chapter Four

  Sasha

  I’m wearing all black—as usual. Tonight, it’s a help to me.

  I’m sneaking into the Village.

  I was delighted to find my thumb print hadn’t yet been erased from the gates. Otherwise, my plan would be over before it began. I’m tiptoeing along the stone wall. My heart is going crazy against my ribcage. I’m breathing hard and stumbling over the landscaping.

  I shouldn’t be here. Carter hasn’t officially invited me back yet. But I have to see Mary. I’m getting closer to her house. I scurry beyond the wall, bending my body behind a tree. I crane my neck around its trunk. I can see her in the window. John won’t be home from work yet—I’ve timed this out perfectly. She’s got her pink flower apron on and she’s stirring her big mixing bowl. She dips her fingers within and takes a taste. Chocolate.

  I groan—she’s making her brownies. The ones having me teaching back-to-back classes the day after she bakes them. She holds the bowl up, scraping the sides and pours the batter into the pan. She’s using a red spatula.

  The spatula.

  I feel my throat tightens and I gulp. She’s told me stories about that particular cooking utensil. Ones that have my already sore butt cheeks clenching, now.

  Can I really do this? Can I be a spanked woman?

  Remembering my mission, I press forward. I step out from behind my tree and into her back garden. The motion sensing light flickers on. Alerted by the light, she turns, looking into the yard. Her eyes lock on mine. Shock, then delight, covers her face.

  The back door swings open, and she’s ushering me in. “Come, come, Sasha. Has anyone seen you?”

  She’s pulling me into a warm hug. She smells like vanilla and chocolate and... Mary. A pang hits my heart. Tears prick in my eyes. I’ve missed her.

  Her hands move to my shoulders, and she’s holding me at arm’s length, looking me over. Inspecting me for damage. The wounds I have aren’t visible. Tears form in my eyes.

  “Oh, honey, don’t cry! We’ve all been missing you so much.” She pulls me into another hug.

  She sits me down at her kitchen table and goes to put her kettle on. Mary is always good for a cup of tea when you’re upset. “I’m so sorry we weren’t able to contact you—you know how it is. But lord, it just broke my heart every time I thought of you and couldn’t see you, much less shoot you a text!”

  “It’s okay, I understand,” I say sheepishly. I know I shouldn’t be here. My visit could Mary get into trouble. “I’m sorry to sneak over here like this, but I need advice.”

  She gives me what can only be described as a no-nonsense look. “Of course you do, honey. You’ve pushed your way up against th
e wall and now you’ve got to turn around and face the music or climb on up and skedaddle over. Not an easy decision.”

  My eyes glance over her. She’s the perfect picture of domesticity. “Why was the decision so easy for you to make? Look at you, in your apron, baking for your man. You never had a moment of doubt. Why can’t I be like that? Why do I have to be so damn...”

  She smiles. “Sasha-ish?”

  I laugh. “Yes, I guess that’s what you could call it. Others call it stubborn. Or worse.”

  She says, “Because that’s just who you are, honey. You like to test the limits. As absolutely far as they will go. And, finally, you’ve found them.”

  I say, “And now that I’m at the end, I’m scared I won’t be able to live within them. I’ve committed, I’ve told Carter I’m all in. Now I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

  She opens her mouth to answer me, but we’re interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. We both freeze.

  Damn, he’s home early. I cringe as John’s voice calls, “Honey, I’m home.”

  Mary’s eyes widen. She’s not expecting him for at least another hour. I am not supposed to be here. She’s breaking a rule, helping me.

  He’s in the doorframe of the kitchen before I can think to move. Run. Hide.

  His left brow raises in a high arch. He says my name like an accusation. “Sasha.” His gaze turns to Mary. I see a blush rise in her cheeks. My stomach twists in knots. I look at that red spatula-paddle, sitting on the counter.

  I stand from my chair. I say, “I was just leaving. I needed some advice and I’m afraid I snuck into the Village. I must have scared Mary half to death when I came popping up in her backyard.”

  He looks to Mary.

  “I wasn’t expecting her,” she says. “But I’m glad she came,” she adds, a firmness in her tone.

  She gives John a long, hard look. Something unspoken passes between the two of them. He gives a nod.

  Mary smiles. I think—I hope—that means she’s off the hook.

  His attention turns toward me. “Let me take you home,” he says.

  My knotted stomach clenches. I’m not sure I’m ready for a Bachman lecture right now. It’s been an emotional evening. I inch toward the door, saying, “I can find my own way back to the hotel, thanks.”

  John thinks not.

  His car keys are in his hands—the only Bachman who’s refused a driver. He loves navigating the city streets. He loves the control of it. He twirls the keyring round on his fingers. They clank quietly as they spin. His eyes lock on mine. “Alright then, I’ll just give Carter a call, so he knows you’re on the way.” His brow raises once more.

  He knows Carter doesn’t know I’m here. He knows what will happen if he finds out.

  I could lose everything I’m trying to rebuild with Carter. “You know what... would you mind giving me a ride? I hate to inconvenience you, but I’d love one. I hear you have a new car. I’d like to check it out.”

  John, a lover of fine automobiles, says, “Yes. You really should see it.”

  He steps over to me. He holds his arm out to me. He’s going to escort me. Ensure I don’t run off. I link my arm in his, shooting a farewell look to Mary. She pats my free arm, kissing my cheek softly. I get another whiff of her homey scent.

  Making me yearn for home.

  Only one more night in the hotel. I hope. If I survive the ride.

  John sees me out to the sleek black car. Lucky for me their house is not in view of Carter’s. He opens my door for me. Closes it firmly behind me. I watch him as he walks around the car. The headlights had turned on when he first unlocked the door, and I can see him clearly. He’s a powerful man. He works in local politics, ruling from the inside out to be sure the Village stays safe from prying eyes.

  He wears a charcoal gray suit and a crisp white button-down. The sleeves are rolled to the elbows. A heavy silver watch circles his wrist.

  He slides into the driver seat.

  He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eye. One that tells me Carter and Bronson aren’t the only Bachman men who’ve become annoyed by my antics.

  He turns the key and the engine roars to life. He pulls away from the curb, fast. I fly back, pressing into my seat.

  He gives me another one of those glances.

  I shift in my seat. I tug at my hair.

  He snaps, “Stop.”

  “What am I doing?” I ask. My heart is beating hard against my ribs.

  “Stop with your hair. Be still and listen to what I have to say to you.”

  My hand drops to my lap.

  I’ve heard whispers in the Village that he’s the strictest of the husbands. I can picture it. Chills run down my spine.

  He drives up to the first gate, the one behind the bakery he and Mary own. We pull through. Then we pass the second gate. We’re on the street. He pulls out into traffic, gunning the engine and taking off.

  I watch the street signs pass. I wait for him to speak.

  Finally, he says, “There’s something you don’t know about Carter.”

  I shift in my seat. “What’s that?” I ask.

  “He’s my brother. All Bachman men are to consider one another brothers, so Carter and I don’t bring it up, but we are related. By blood,” he says.

  “Oh.” Carter doesn’t talk about his past family much. Most Bachmans don’t. My words sound dumb in my ears, as I say, “That’s nice.”

  He gives me that look.

  My stomach turns to ice. I’ve no doubt—he’s the strict one.

  His voice is smooth as he navigates the streets. “When Carter first met you, Sasha, he’d come undone. I’ve never seen a man so in love, other than myself when I’d met Mary. I was so happy for him—so excited to meet you. Then I did.”

  I don’t like where this is going. My hand is on the arm of his door. I dig my fingernail into it. When I lift it, there’s a small indention in the smooth leather. Making a tiny crescent-shaped rebellion.

  He says, “I knew immediately, Carter wasn’t going to be able to handle you.” Our turn comes, and he takes it too fast, but the sleek black car handles the curve.

  My blood boils. “He doesn’t need to handle me—”

  “Be. Quiet.”

  My words stick in my throat. I reach for my ponytail, then remember and drop my hand.

  “There’s a good girl.” His words make me feel queer. Somewhere caught between anger and wanting to please. He continues, “As I was saying, Carter is my younger brother. I love him very much. I’ll do anything for him. Anything.”

  My stomach is sinking. Sweat breaks out over my forehead.

  Anything?

  As in, get rid of me? Make Carter’s little problem go away so he can move on. Get the right girl? One that would make a better wife for this precious family?

  My hand goes to the handle of the door. I look up at the streetlight, hoping it turns red.

  He catches the corner of my eye. His gaze is cutting, dangerous. “Take your hand down from that door, or I swear on my life I will pull this car over and spank your ass right over the hood of this car. For all of New York to see.”

  My hand hovers. I think I might prefer murder to him following through with his threat. I decide to fold my hands neatly in my lap.

  “You are a quick learner, aren’t you?” he says.

  I want to roll my eyes. But I’m looking over that shiny black hood in front of me, picturing my ass perched over it. I know he would have no problem doing what he says. I play nice.

  I retort, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was such a pain.”

  “Don’t be sassy. That will also earn you a trip over my hood.” He turns another corner.

  I swallow hard. I ask, “What would your brother say? About you spanking his fiancée?”

  “You don’t know, do you? Of course you don’t—you haven’t yet been inducted.” He gives a sigh, almost of relief. Like it was a good thing that I hadn’t yet been inducted.


  “Know what?” I ask.

  He gives an exasperated sigh. “Why not, we’ve already broken rules for you.” His eyes cut to mine, and he says, “About the hierarchy.”

  His tone is so cold, I felt my hands start to tremble. I clench them together in my lap. Making my voice steady, even, I say, “Please. Enlighten me.”

  “When Bronson told Carter he’d spank you, that day, he meant it. Bronson holds total reign over the Village. He uses his discretion—and has never crossed that line, taking another man’s woman into his control. But I think you should know—you were the first he’d considered enacting it for.”

  “Am I that bad?” I murmur.

  He answers without missing a beat. “Yes.”

  I sigh.

  He continues, “The hierarchy is in place, in case a Bachman man ever kicks the bucket. We want to be sure every Bachman woman is cared for. Bronson is head of the entire family, but within the family is a hierarchy. And as Carter’s blood brother, if you two were to wed, you would fall under my jurisdiction, should anything happen to Carter. I believe that is why Mary feels such a strong connection to you. She’s always felt like she needed to care for you, like a daughter.”

  “She’s not that much older than me,” I say.

  “I know. But age doesn’t matter. The hierarchy is what matters.”

  The Bachman men hate me. “So you don’t want Carter to marry me, because you don’t want to be stuck with me if something happens to him?” My heart stings. Does no one want me in this family?

  He says, “Quite the opposite.”

  His answer has my head spinning. I grunt, “Huh?”

  “I want you to be with Carter. And I want it to work. As does Mary. As does Carter.”

  “Oh.” I have no idea how to respond. This is all news to me.

  John says, “But Sasha. You seriously have to stop dicking around now. It’s time to shit or get off the pot. Either you commit to the Bachman way, or you walk. And you need to know—this is your final chance. I know you came to Mary tonight for advice. Which I will let slide—this once. It gives me hope that you want this. Do you?”

  I nod, biting my lip.

  He says, “Words, Sasha. Big girls use words.”