78

Summer
Carlo doesn’t speak on the ride to the apartment he and my father helped me move into. I steal glances at him as he drives, noting the firm set of his square jaw, the furrow between his brows. Is he actually mad at me? Or just acting stern on behalf of my father?
I was surprised to hear his opinion that I need help. I thought I’ve been putting on a decent front since I broke up with John. I didn’t know Carlo paid any attention to my mental state. Knowing he does sends a shot of longing through me so deep and drastic that part of me wants to tell him to pull the car over, so I can run away. Because he’s right-I am fragile right now. And it wouldn’t take any coaxing at all for me to fall hopelessly for the guy I’ve been secretly lusting after for the past four years.
He pulls up in front of my apartment and parallel parks in a tight space without having to maneuver the car back and forth. But Carlo pretty much does everything well. At least from what I’ve seen. He probably wouldn’t treat me with scorn because I’m horrid at parallel parking, either. Carlo is never derisive like John. No, I’ll bet he’s secure enough in his manhood that he wouldn’t need to pick apart his girlfriend to make sure she measures up. Or to cheat.
I open the door and climb out in my bare feet. My injured foot throbs from wearing the high heels.
I tug my short skirt down. Funny how what felt empowering and sexy in the club now seems shameful. At least it does until I catch the appreciative once over from Carlo when he meets me on the sidewalk.
Ok. He’s not going to shame me. He likes what he sees.
Which means… this punishment might be more pleasure than pain.
Then again, it might not. I suspect one of the reasons Carlo has risen to power so quickly in my father’s organization is his ruthlessness. I’ve even heard it mentioned he has a sadistic streak.
So pleasure for him. Pain for me.
I can work with that. I’m a dancerwe’re natural masochists.
Carlo escorts me up the stairs with a hand at my lower back. I like the way it feels-gentlemanly and courteous like we’re a couple. Like he’s not leading me upstairs to do terribly kinky things with me.
The door to my place is thick and solid. My dad had it replaced for security measures, complete with a heavy-duty lock. Carlo still has my set of keys and doesn’t bother to ask which one opens the door, just picks one and tries it. He chooses correctly. The door swings open, and he gestures for me to enter first.
I set my purse and heels down. Carlo slides off his tailored Italian suit jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. When he slowly rolls up his sleeves, the butterflies dancing in my stomach take flight.
This is really happening. He plans to punish me. And enjoy it.
I wonder why that idea turns me on.
He walks over to me, a glint in his eye that I don’t recognize. Dark and serious. Dangerous. He reaches for the top button on my blouse and unfastens it.
Oh God. The flesh between my legs clenches and lifts.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“I’m going to punish you in the state of undress you were in at the club.” His voice is dark and velvety. He stands so close, I can see the stubble of his five o’clock shadow in contrast to the soft pillows of his sensual lips.
I gulp air to clear my head. Hot. This is super hot.
Carlo’s deft fingers move down my buttons then pull my blouse down over my shoulders. I shake my arms out from it.
He twirls his finger in the air, indicating I should turn around.
My heart thuds against my chest. I turn then look over my shoulder at my father’s soldier. The young man who came in and instantly made a place for himself. Carlo’s the relation of a relation, sent to America when things got too hot in Sicily if I understand correctly. Not that anyone has ever said as much to me, but that’s what I’ve gleaned from overheard conversations.
Carlo’s expression remains unfathomable, but I see heat in his eyes as he reaches for the zipper at the back of my skirt. God, he’s handsome-olive skin, green eyes, dark, wavy hair worn on the longer side for a man. He stands six foot two and is built of solid muscle but moves with feline grace.
Heat swirls in my pelvis, flushes up my torso and chest. The skirt falls to my feet in a puddle. I stand in nothing but my white lace G-string and bikini top, goosebumps rising on my flesh.
Carlo takes my elbow and guides me to the arm of my overstuffed sofa. “Bend over.”
My panties grow damp. I look at the rounded cushion. While I understand what he wants from me, my body won’t move. I stand frozen, watching as he slowly unbuckles his belt. Breath coming in short little gasps, I will myself to calm down. Hyperventilation wouldn’t be a good look for me.
Carlo moves with his signature confidence, pulling the belt from its loops in one smooth motion. He turns it over in his large palm, examining the edges and weighing the heft and thickness. I have to wonder how often he’s done this. How many other women? He definitely seems like he knows what he’s doing.
When his attention returns to me, he frowns. He winds the buckle end of the belt around his fist. “When I give you an order,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, “I expect it to be obeyed.”
My nipples tighten at his threatening growl, but for a moment, I’m suddenly not sure about any of this. I don’t know this Carlohe’s acting so different from the charming, easy-going guy who sits at my parents’ dining room table on Sundays. I’m not sure whether I want to go through with it. Whether I trust Carlo. How serious he is about this.
He steps closer, right into my space and wraps his hand around my nape, pulling my face right up to his. “Don’t be scared, Summer,” he says softly, his beautiful hazel gaze locked on mine. His clean, masculine scent filled my nostrils. “I know what I’m doing.”
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.