“I’ll consider allowing them to come to the ceremony.”
“Fine,” she says, then tacks on with a sarcastic flair, “Sir.Or do you preferYour Highness?”
Ah, so we’ve gotten there already. Didn’t take her long.
Cristiano chuckles on the line. I disconnect the call, slide the phone into my pocket, and reach for her wrist. I spread my knees, and without warning, tug her fully over my lap.
“Hey!” she protests, her eyes wide with alarm. “Hey, this is not fair. Don’t youdare!”
Too late. I’ve already dared, my palm already stinging from the first smack of my palm across her ass. I give her six searing swats without pausing for her to catch a breath, then unceremoniously dump her back beside me as we pull into the terminal.
Her cheeks are flushed, her hair askew. Before she can speak, I reach for her chin and hold it firmly. “Apologize, or we do that again and the next time will be your bare ass over my knee.”
I watch as her eyes smolder with anger and pent-up frustration.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. Eying me, she moves further away as if to distance herself from me.
“Don’t you dare. Get over here.”
Slowly, she moves back closer to me. I take her wrist and pin it to my side as we cruise to a stop.
I don’t waste my breath lecturing her. Marialena was raised Rossi and knows from her brothers what’s expected of her.
It’s a good start. Now she’ll learn frommewhat’s expected.
Outside the tinted window, I see our jet waiting. I get out first, then reach my hand to her. She looks as if she’d rather grab a python but takes it when I narrow my eyes at her. Hanging her head, she obeys, likely only meek because of the brief punishment she earned.
Still, I don’t give her a chance. I don’t know who’s watching us, but I want her and any onlooker to know that I’m literally carrying this woman home as my prize.
So as soon as she gets out of the car, I yank her over to me. She stumbles and gasps when I dip, lift her up, and toss her over my shoulder.
“What are you—how—why—Salvatore!”
Ah. It’s the first time she’s called me by name. I love the way she pronounces it without the American plainness, the roll of therlike a good girl who knows her Italian upbringing.
Salva-TOR-ay.
I stand and steady myself with her over my shoulder.
“Put me down,” she says softly, in a pleading voice.
“No.”
“I don’t want to be—”
With her conveniently over my shoulder, it’s an easy matter to crack my palm against her ass to silence her. She’s instantly subdued. Hell, yeah. I likethat.
“I didn’t ask you what you wanted,” I tell her as we march toward the open door of our waiting plane. “I told you what you can expect. I have a statement to make, and I’ll make that right here, right now.” I squeeze her ass as a reminder that she belongs to me now, and when we get to the tarmac, I slide her down, her body pressed up against mine.
I wrap my fingers around her neck and yank her to me. When her mouth falls open in protest, I kiss her. Hard and punishing, my lips pry hers open as my tongue invades her mouth. She tastes like wine and berries, her lips so soft I groan into her mouth. Her hands fly up to push me away, but her efforts are fruitless. I easily deflect her protest and guide her hands back to her sides.
I kiss her until she submits. Until her knees go weak and she slumps against me.
I kiss her until she kisses me back.
I pull back and hold her gaze, her jaw still tight in my grip.
“I hate you,” she whispers, but her words bely the heat and hunger in her eyes.