That part I believe. He definitely seems to relish this role. The guy’s a kinky bastard, for sure.
“I’m going to take care of you.”
My hands come up to his chest, the chiseled muscle of his pectorals standing out in stark relief. I stare at his sensuous lips, the sturdy, clean-shaven jaw, the scars that only make him more appealing—a thin line under his left eye, the slight crook in his aquiline nose, the scar on his left ear. I’m not sure how using his belt on my ass is taking care of me, but somehow, I believe him.
“You know you can trust me, don’t you, principessa?”
I melt against his sturdy frame. Again, it seems like Carlo actually cares about me, and the need in me that produces burns like a knife through my gut. I have to harden my heart against his intoxicating interest. Just because he cares doesn’t mean...well, it could mean anything. Carlo’s a player, as far as I can tell. He’s never had a girlfriend. I’m not sure he ever has more than one-night stands when it comes to women.
So maybe that’s what this is. I’m cool with that. Anything to make him keep the secret about my job at The Candy Shop.
He releases me and tilts his head toward the arm of the sofa.
Stomach fluttering, I fold my body over it, presenting my ass to him. Having him fully dressed while I lie bared to him heightens everything.
He picks up my wrists and bends them behind my back, gently pinning them there.
“Carlo?” My nerves resonate in the syllable.
“Was this what you wanted, principessa?”
I relax a little more. He’s verifying my consent. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just a little pain at the hands of a very hot man who will enjoy delivering it.
I learned pain is pleasure the first time I put on pointe shoes. I can definitely take it. More than that, I will probably love it.
“Yes,” I affirm, my uncertainty gone.
He swings the belt, and the leather slaps against my flesh. I gulp and squeeze my cheeks together. Three seconds later a line of pure fire registers.
Carlo
If all my blood hadn’t rushed south to my dick the first moment Summer suggested I punish her, I would know I’m crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed.
I have the don’s daughter stripped down to a bra and panties, folded over the arm of her sofa, and I just laid a gorgeous red stripe across her perfect ass.
But even if I wanted to—even if I were capable of pulling back—it’s too late now. I am all in with Summer LaTorre.
She wants me to give her a spanking? Hell, yes. I’m the man to do it. I’ve been on a tight leash with this girl for the past four years, and the tether to my control just fully snapped.
“This is for disrespecting yourself and your family.” I slap the belt across her ass again. The G-string makes a pretty sight threaded between her cheeks, as do the twin welts I laid down. Looking at her makes my cock ache.
I’ve spanked my share of women—I definitely like to play bossman in the bedroom—but none like Summer. She’s special—a class act. Smart, sassy, drop-dead gorgeous. She used to be confident before that coglione of an ex-boyfriend did a mind-fuck on her.
I bring the leather strap down across her buttocks again. I go easy on her—allowing her flesh time to warm up before I increase the speed and intensity.
Next time I spank Summer, it will be an intimate, over-the-knee spanking with my hand on her bare ass. No, wait. There won’t be a next time. At least, there shouldn’t be. Summer isn’t mine.
Except every part of me rebels at that idea.
Isn’t she? Clearly, she’s offering herself up to me right now.
I continue slapping the leather down with a regular rhythm, giving her time to catch her breath between each one. When her ass turns a rosy shade of pink, I increase the intensity.
Summer lets out little cries and tries to roll away, but I hold her by her wrists.
“Hold still for your spanking, Summer.” I use my velvety dom voice. “You asked me to give this to you.”
She pants a moment. “Sorry.”
My dick surges against my pants.
Damn. I suspected that under her sass, she’d be sugar-sweet. She was always standoffish with me, which was fine because the boss’ daughter is one hundred percent off-limits. Courting her would’ve had me evicted from Don Alberto’s organization faster than an eject button. Part of me wonders if she understood that—knew better than to flirt with one of her father’s men, for their own good. I like to think so, anyway. Because over the years, I’ve caught her looking at me in a way that said she’s as attracted to me as I am to her.