“Oh my god!” I gasped, looking at Jake. “Did you know?”
He shook his head as the reality hit us. “You are free to return to the states, Anna. And to Las Vegas. Giuseppe has assured me his deals with Lotus will not interfere with your livelihood.”
“I can go back to the states,” I muttered, covering my mouth as the tears trickled over my cheeks. “I can go home.”
“Yes, my French doll, you can go home,” Luca teasingly whispered as he stroked beneath my chin. “But I have one final request. Pietro and Paloma Veramonte will be coming to Boston tomorrow with me. I would like you to…”
With his hand tucked beneath his chin, he paused with a smile. “You want me to entertain them, Sir?”
“Yes, Anna,” he replied, taking a sip of his wine. “Specifically Paloma, as she is uncertain of the entire arrangement and I need you to, shall we say, comfort her?”
“I’ll take her for shopping and dinner late this afternoon.”
“You have a hotel suite waiting,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it. “And there are plenty of clothes that will be to your liking as well as money for your purchases.”
I glanced between the men. “… Where will you be?”
“Jake, Pietro, and I will be doing some negotiating of our own.”
I never imagined months of training would render a Sir dripping from my lips to Luca Raniero, but he was as charming as ever.
And I was a submissive for the right man.
* * *
Paloma Silvestri-Veramonte.
For years, I shivered at the sound of her name as the thought of her goddess left me breathless.
To you, she was your Nonna.
But to me, she was the grand dam of the Veramonte clan. With long dark hair and rich lips, Paloma had eyes that wept with sensuality. I believed for the longest time, Paloma could’ve stolen Jake away from me. She was devastatingly beautiful with an hourglass figure—round hips and a full bosom.
You knew her as your maternal Grandmother, but I—I knew her when she was an absolute sex kitten — a woman to behold in every sense of the word. There are moments when I see her in you, Salvatore.
I had all of one evening to spend with Paloma, and I wouldn’t see her again until you came into my world and she threatened me.
We didn’t speak much because while she had agreed with her husband, Pietro, she never wanted to give her youngest daughter—your mother, Lucilla—up to a Raniero, least of all Cesario. She was racist and became more vocal about it as she aged. She was a good Italian; they were bad Sicilians. And what happened for the sake of business never should have come to pass because it cost her more than anyone else.
I know very little about her aside from how she embraced a somewhat eclectic style with bright colors and bold patterns. And how she loved all things French—from wine to bread to the people. Or how she acted when I took her to the hotel suite and gave her a night of pure ecstasy all for the sake of my loyalty to Luca Raniero.
I’m confident you do not want to hear my tales of how I found bliss in a woman like Paloma. I loved women, but Lele was never my type. Your grandmother—she had my number. And had things been different, we would have been the best of friends. Had anyone known that Cesario would grow into such an asshole, I do not think Luca would’ve ever agreed to the arranged marriage.
People hope for the best and learn to accept the worst.
When I encouraged Luca to give Campanelli’s shares to Paloma Silvestri-Veramonte, I did it for a reason. I had a crush on her, and I knew how the actions of men had caused her a lifetime of suffering. She deserved every penny just as I did.
We paid the price.
And I made sure we reaped the rewards.
She would decry the Veramonte involvement with the mafia because it was a tarnish to the family name, but her children—Tiziana, Vincenzo, and Lucilla would tell you a different story. Cesario would end up partnering with your Uncle Vinny and together, they built the Raniero Fisheries into what it is today.
After moving to the states, Pietro Veramonte would eventually pass on, and Paloma remained alone for many years. Pietro and Luca got along fabulously despite the one bad seed of Cesario, but his actions caused many a war between your grandmothers—Viola and Paloma.
At the wedding of your parents—Cesario and Lucilla, Paloma ripped a chunk of Viola’s hair out. I only know because I kept my relationship with Luca sacred. He often confessed how terrible he felt for Paloma as she had to endure watching Cesario abuse Lucilla and her grandchildren—you and your sisters, but by that point, there was nothing he could do to change any of it.
The merging of the Raniero-Veramonte clan was a horrid idea. Thankfully, I stayed far removed from the chaos and under the protection of Luca. This may not mean much, but my relationship with Paloma would form the foundation of my future.
Chance encounters could turn life into a complete and utter derailment.
* * *
After Paloma left my hotel suite, I took a bath. I had just gotten out of the tub when I heard the boys—Jake and Luca—come in. They were intoxicated and reeked of cigar smoke amidst the laughter of a promising future. We had no reason to believe anything would ever go wrong, so we celebrated.
The suit came off of Luca Raniero as Jake Ballister orchestrated the entire eve. It was such an easy going night with champagne flowing and delicious kisses being exchanged.
I remember standing by a chair and gazing out at the City of Lights when Luca mumbled, “… Can I have Anna for the night?”
With a slightly drunken slur, Jake said, “Go right ahead. Take Anna.”
I wanted to argue, but I knew better. Jake promised me I was his; my pussy was his. He lied. And I died. I had no idea why he agreed to it, so I stayed silent.
Bending over the chair, I welcomed Luca’s penetration because if Jake was going to share me, I was going to shove my love for Luca straight up his ass.
Luca would've never done something so cold and distant as doggy style. I'm sure he took great offense to the idea. He was turned on by keeping his eyes on me—in the cafe, in the hotel in Vegas, in the suite. If I was in the room, he adhered himself to me.
Our chemistry was like no other, and it didn’t help that he was as unwavering as they came. He set his goals and crossed the finish line.
Of every single race but one—me.
In his arms, he spun my body around and placed my ass on the back of the chair. Thrusting his cock inside of me slow, Luca was precise and thoughtful as we rocked to a place of agonizing love. His lips captured my tongue as we kissed with no regard. My hands slid to his buttocks as I urged his deep dance within my womb. His mouth flicked over my nipples as I gasped and drooled.
Jake watched it all.
He knew the haunting look of love on me, and that he wasn’t the only man. By that point, it was too late. But I didn't care. He hurt me; I hurt him worse.
“I love how you flutter, my Little Butterfly.”
Drops dripped from my eyes and the lights turned to diamonds as Luca soared us to another time and place where we were one. Where we were in love. Where there were no Suits. Where we were making new love beyond all that we were or could ever be. Luca Raniero was the devil grinning, and I was his angel unraveling in his soft, subtle hands in a hazy flurry of desperation.
We were making love in lights.
We were making love in tears.
We were making love in Paris.
His robust, throbbing cock had very little do with who Luca was, but he touched my soul and enraptured my spirit in a way that no other man ever could. His movements sent my mind into a trance-like place where I could talk to God. He was the love drug-induced high to satiate my craving. Making love with Luca was a religious experience as he was heaven sent, and he made me believe that I was, too.
Luca was my Romeo and me, his Juliet.
And my relationship with my Dominant would never be the same as I became nothing more than a shell. The g
host of my former submissive existed for one Master—one Master Raniero.
Luca Raniero loved a Little Butterfly.
Bloom
CHAPTER 13
Evolution was a peculiar thing. We could research in texts and see it over time, but looking at our growth was full of lamenting, heavy labor-intensive work that often led to despair and bouts of depression.
We returned to L’Académie and had a successful Grand Opening Gala, but things were never the same. The school did wonderfully under Sir Dane’s direction. He had hired a new headmistress—Anne Miller. With years of high protocol teaching under her belt, she and her husband, Elmer, moved from California for the opportunity.
I was secretly jealous of the relationship between Anne and Elmer and longed to return my relationship to a place of thriving instead of merely surviving. Jake and I continued to forge ahead, believed in our success, but a nagging pestilence existed between us.
We fought like bitter enemies only to make up in the throes of sex. We didn’t fight fair or play nice as cruelty became the name of his game. My punishments became far more severe, bordering on toxicity close to Angelo Gennaro. Any love Jake had for me dissipated in Paris amidst the glow of lights and streams of Luca’s pearls claiming his beloved homeland.
My pussy became the grounds for a war I didn’t start, but our downward spiral continued as he allowed members to have their way with me. Sir Dane looked on with concern. One night, he even stepped in to stop it.
“That’s enough,” he said as I had been whipped on the rack for hours. He dismissed the patrons as Jake snarled and took off. “Anna is done.”
“He hates me.”
“He hates himself,” Sir Dane comforted, releasing me. “He is just taking it out on you.”
A Little Butterfly emerged in the glory of an orgasm from another man. Jake witnessed Luca loving me, and he could never forgive himself. Not because of the act itself, but because of how pure and radiant our love was. Jake couldn’t love me like Luca, and that infuriated him. With razor-sharp stings, I struggled to fight through the days.
The night in the hotel suite never should’ve occurred. Jake never should’ve agreed to it, but he did. He dropped his responsibility for one-second, and I paid with heartache for years. Sometimes, we couldn’t erase the memories from our mind, no matter how hard we tried.
We continued at Les Pétales for almost another year before we decided it was time to leave. With Luca’s deal in play, we were free and clear to go to wherever we chose.
We decided to stop by England on our way back to the states for a visit with Wilma Manley. We held hands and feigned the role of lovers, but we were broken—shattered—in such a way that I didn’t think any amount of glue could ever repair us.
“Wil,” Jake boomed, kissing her cheek as we entered into the foyer of Highlandale Hawthorne.
A clobbering noise distracted me as I looked to one of her students in strange shoes. “Why are they wearing those?” I curiously asked Wilma as Jake smirked on. “They are rather odd.”
“We are starting some pony demonstrations,” she elaborated with a smile. “I’m so glad you both could come.”
Highlandale Hawthorne was nothing like L’Académie. With the Tudor-styled estate and green grounds everywhere, Manley’s beloved school was unlike anything I had ever experienced. And the best part—under Wilma Manley’s rule in her school—everyone wore clothes. Not just clothes, but uniforms. Her members wore the latest couture, and I was on fashion cloud nine.
“Celia will see you up to your room,” Wilma said, taking my hand. “Come walk with me, princess.”
We strolled around the grounds like old friends as she laced her arm around my elbow. Submissives were milling about everywhere, and we recognized one another with furtive glances and winks. It was a shock to my system and my already unstable equilibrium.
“What do you think of my school, Anna?”
“It’s marvelous,” I admired as we sat on a bench beneath a large tree. I watched the horses running across the countryside. “Why don’t you stay for a stint? Let Jake return home to the states.”
“I can’t,” I excused as the water rose in my eyes. “We aren’t doing well.”
“Perhaps some time apart would do you well,” she suggested, grasping my hand. “You could wear one of our uniforms.”
I considered her offer as I shook my head and remembered the schoolgirl get up that I shredded for my meeting on the terrace with Sir Dane and Sir Jake. Things were so much different then.
“He changed me,” I announced, unable to breathe.
“Yes, he did,” she consoled as if someone passed away. I never knew the sadness I felt was mourning for the girl I once knew. “He broke you into a thousand pieces. And he feels terrible about all of it. You need to let him go.”
I gasped, knowing the secrets he kept—like telling Wilma Manley of our difficulties. “I love him so much.”
“Sometimes it isn’t about love, Anna. It is about how much you can withstand before your dam collapses.”
“He told Luca to do it,” I argued in disbelief. I couldn’t believe we were having the conversation.
She peered down her nose at me. “And you let him, like the wicked bitch you’ve always been.”
With what I assumed to be the disappointment on her face from my actions, I ran off. I never bothered to ask if being a wicked bitch was a good thing.
Or just another personality trait of a bad girl.
* * *
Sprinting to the stables, I thought I could escape from Jake and Wilma but mostly myself. I needed to be alone. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the touch of Luca and the night that changed my life.
I believed I ruined our love and stained what we had with an addiction I could never have again. Flopping into a giant mess of hay, I covered my face and wailed.
“Why are you here?”
I recognized the voice as I dropped my hands. “Lele, what are you doing here?”
“Wilma forgave me,” she said with a shrug as I stared in awe at the harness and black riding boots on her splendid silhouette. “I’ve been here for about six months now. But why are you here?”
“Because I fucked everything up,” I cried as she sat beside me. “I hurt Jake because I did what he told me to.”
Cuddling my shoulders, she frowned. “If you did what your Dominant told you to do, you didn’t fuck up. He did. Don’t be carrying that blame.”
“I feel so terrible,” I confessed, trusting Lele. “And all I can think about is what happened.”
“I don’t know the details, but your heart knows what to do. Follow your instincts.”
I sniffled as my eyes scanned over her sensual skin locked beneath the straps. “You look so beautiful. Make it go away.”
Her lips pressed to mine as she took the lead. She was not my favorite female lover. I doubted if I would even rank her in the top five, but the one thing Lele could do better than most was make me forget whatever was bothering me.
With her tongue on my slit and my hands tucked under her leather, she did just that until I heard, “Miss Ford, get to my office now!”
An hour later, I was standing in Headmistress Manley’s office. The dark woods lent to an edgy, dangerous mystique as she paced behind me. “There will be no running on my grounds or in my estate or away from me, Anna.”
“Do you want that on a chalkboard?” I hissed with a maniacal grin.
Her ruler came down hard on my bare buttocks. “No, I want you back to your former deviant, detention-determined self. I do not know what happened with you and Mr. Ballister, but he has destroyed you.”
Another swat to my ass brought the tears to my cheeks. “Must we be doing this?”
“Yes,” she distinctly answered. “And you will not see him again. I have to bring you back where I had you before I left.”
“He promised we would never get here…”
Rubbing my swollen cheek, she snorted. “Promises
quickly become lies when left unguarded.”
“I feel so terrible,” I uncontrollably sobbed.
“You must recover, Anna. You have too much potential to fall prey to another’s issues.”
While I thought she was right, it didn’t make it any easier. I was the girl caught in the throes of Jake’s issues. They weren’t mine, but I alone would suffer through the consequences. The complexity of our relationship served up more tears than joy after Paris.
Wilma sent Jake home to the states. I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye. She maintained I was in a perpetual subdrop in his presence. I shook with a tremor for days after he left, like a junkie with no hit. I was getting sober from a man I loved, from the dangerous, abusive pattern we slipped into. He never hurt me physically, but it might have been easier if he had. He crossed over the limits of Dominance and submission, and I vowed that I would never allow it to happen again.
Kneeling was one thing, being held down to drown quite another.
I questioned if my love of the fetish was even worth it as I cried in Wilma’s room for weeks. She loved me like a mother and nursed my broken heart to heal. She maintained a vigil over my rotting hollowed soul as I accepted how fucked up things had been since we went to Paris. We had no base for which to build a D/s relationship of that magnitude upon.
No safety. No sanity. No consent.
Jake abducted me from an airport and admitted he took me because he could. He stole my freedom along with my heart. I hated who I had become—a dependent, shriveling mess of a woman on the floor.
On our one month anniversary apart, I received the call from an old friend that hurt like nothing else. I picked up the phone, and Sally Jane admitted to sleeping with Jake upon his return and wanted to apologize. I remember calling her a fucking whore and slamming the phone down. I stayed in bed for days refusing to eat.
Jake called. I ignored him. Jake called again. I ignored him still as I hastily dressed and took off running in the cold rain. I was back to where I started as the infected wounds festered and bled. There was no hope of reconciliation.
Bad Girl (Les Pétales) Page 13