Carlo
Summer wears a just-fucked look even though she hasn’t gotten off yet. It makes me want to throw her onto the floor and ravish her in every way imaginable.
Her tongue darts out and licks her lower lip. “I don’t know.”
I smile at her honesty. “If you fail, I’ll punish you. But I think you might enjoy your discipline as much as I like giving it, so that won’t be so bad.”
A gorgeous pink stains her cheeks.
“I won’t let you fall, principessa. I’ll always catch you. I may spank you until your perfect ass wears my handprint, but you’ll be safe with me. Do you believe that?”
She drags her lower lip between her teeth. “Yes.”
“If you need reassurance, if you need some sugar, even if it’s in the middle of a punishment, you can always ask for it.”
“What if I change my mind?”
“About what?”
She lifts one delicate shoulder. “About any of it.”
“Are you asking me for a safe word?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I brush her jaw with my knuckles. “Bambina, I would know you were struggling long before you used a safe word. I’m going to pay attention to you. But if you want out at any point, just say that.”
“Say what?”
“Say you want out. I would never violate your wishes.”
Summer’s shoulders relax. She lifts her eyes again, the coquette returning. I’ve seen more facets of Summer in the past few days than in the four years I’ve known her. Her submissive side is the most surprising, but I also love the sex pot, the ingenue, the vulnerable young woman. I love them as much as I love the sassy, stuck-up mafia princess who never gave me the time of day and expected my service when her father snapped his fingers.
“Carlo?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Do you do this with all your...I mean—” Embarrassment scrawls across her face.
“I’ve played dominant before if that’s what you’re asking. It’s my personality, and I like the fetish, too, but I could live without it if my girl wasn’t into it.” I meet her gaze, trying to convey that she’s my girl. The one I would change everything to please, if she needed me to. That this isn’t a requirement, even though I love it.
I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “But you are, aren’t you, tesoro mio?”
The copper eyes lift. “Am I your girl?”
“You are. I thought I made that clear last night. You’re mine now.”
Her full lips quirk into a smile. “Yes. Yours to punish and to pleasure.”
I return the grin. “That’s right.” I have a thousand wicked plans for both those activities. If Summer needs to feel sexy, I will make sure she does. I’ll keep her turned on, objectified, worshipped, degraded and generally sexed every minute of the day until she learns how fucking desirable she really is.
That part seems easy. Figuring out how to handle the don is another story. Because I sure as hell can’t run back to Sicily if things go south here.
Chapter Eight
Summer
Carlo carries my suitcases down to the street and drives me to his apartment. It’s farther from NYU, but I don’t mind. I have a nice car. I valet park, even in the city. My dad doesn’t like me taking the subway, so I’m well-practiced at driving in and out of the city.
I’m thrilled to be staying with Carlo.
You’re mine now.
The words pierce my armor like a flaming arrow. They burn and cut. I want them to be true. God, how I want them to be true. But how can they be? I sit next to Carlo in the passenger seat of his beautiful car, which he keeps neat as a pin, unlike my car, which is pretty on the outside and a rumpled mess on the inside. Kinda like me.
What does Carlo mean by all this? Is he really trying to “fix” me? Or just playing kinky games? Either way, I shouldn’t get too attached. He’s not the kind of guy who plays for keeps.
Besides, it would be incredibly awkward if my parents found out. My mom would probably disapprove, as much as she loves Carlo. She wants a banker or lawyer for me. And my dad... he’s a dangerous man. He’s been a dick to every guy I’ve dated, but he would take personal offense to one of his own men touching me. He would see it as a sign of disrespect. A claiming what supposedly belongs to him. As if I’m a possession to be given or granted.
Which is why I plan on keeping the whole thing on the down low.
I study Carlo when he’s not looking, admiring the proud angles of his bone structure. I wonder how he got the tattered ear. A knife? Bullet wound? Teeth? He’s certainly a warrior. I wonder how many men he’s killed.
He navigates traffic with ease, his hands relaxed on the wheel. I don’t mistake the relaxed exterior for easy-going, though. His is a practiced calm; power and force rippling just below the surface. He’s strong and capable, like my dad. I feel safe when he’s near and sorry for anyone who gets in his way.