89

Summer
After I shower and dress, I call Maggie to come over and visit while I pack.
“We went to Toronto’s last night.” Maggie names the bar-lounge where our friends often go to listen to live bands and hang out. I haven’t been there much since I broke up with John because it took a lot of getting psyched up in case he was there. The last time I went, I spent three hours picking out the perfect outfit and primping only to show up to a totally dead night with none of our friends there.
“Did John go?” I don’t why I askmore habit than anything. A pattern of thinking I haven’t been able to break. Looping thoughts-I can’t seem to stop. I have to say, though, that familiar locking in my chest when I bring him up isn’t there this time. Something’s changed.
I know exactly why.
It has everything to do with my beautiful Italian lover.
Maggie purses her lips. “Actually yes.” I wait for her to say more, but she walks to the kitchen to help herself to a glass of water.
“And?” Jesus. Why am I still picking this scab?
“What do you want to hear, Summer?” She sounds exasperated.
“I know. I don’t even care. I don’t know why I’m asking.”
“Are you sure you don’t care? Here you are, getting packed for your sex therapy with a totally hot guy, who you claim you just had the world’s best sex with, and you’re asking about John?”
I feel slightly nauseous. She’s right. I hate how wounded I was by him. It’s not even about himit’s about my own feelings of self-worth. Somehow, they got tied up with him.
“I definitely don’t care.”
“I don’t think you’re over him. So maybe you’d better put the brakes on the new relationship before you screw things up.”
The knot in my stomach twists tighter. Maggie’s wrong. But even if she were right, I sure as hell am not going to give up this thing with Carlo. Still, I suspect she’s hiding something, and that’s why she doesn’t like me asking. “Was he with someone?”
Maggie rolls her eyes and huffs but doesn’t answer.
Ugh. I don’t care. I totally don’t care, except it twists the part of me that still feels inadequate. Not good enough.
“He was, wasn’t he?”
“So?”
“Who was he with?”
Reluctance flits across Maggie’s face. “Someone I’d never seen before. She looks like you, actually. Her name is Shelly.”
I can’t decide whether to be flattered or pissed that he picked someone who looks like me. Does it mean he really did like my looks, despite all the criticism? Or just that he has a type? Does he pick apart Shelly the way he pointed out all my flaws?
I experience a stab of jealousy-not for Shelly, but for my old life when I hung out at Toronto’s with friends and had a boyfriend (even if he was a dick). Instead, last night, I was hiding from a stalker at a nightclub with no friends worth keeping.
Of course, the ending to the night had more than made up for it. I had Carlo’s hot hands and lips and tongue all over my body. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to be at Toronto’s, watching John waltz in with a new girl on his arm.
I’m not jealous. This is just what it feels like to let go of the old me. My old life.
I turn to my closet and start pulling out clothes. “I don’t even know how long to pack for,” I complain, getting a little manic as I toss clothes from my closet into a suitcase. “I mean, is this, like, a week-long thing? Or just for the weekend? Or…?”
Secretly, I want it to be a forever thing, but that can’t be what Carlo has in mind.
Like he said, my dad would kill him.
Besides, who would invite someone to move in permanently after having sex one time? Certainly not a player like Carlo. He hasn’t lived with a girl in the four years he’s been here.
Everything about this situation is just plain bizarre, including my own reaction to being punished by a hot and kinky alpha male. It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess the kinky part to Maggie, but every time I start to say something, I bite it back.
Maggie’s very liberal. And while she’s sex-positive, she’s also a feminist. I don’t know if she would take Carlo’s new self-appointed role as my keeper as kinky or old-world patriarchal. Plus, she might think my acceptance of all this is related to my damaged self-esteem. How can I explain the way my body turns to molten liquid every time he starts bossing me around?
How much I want to have him in charge of me.
Protecting me. Punishing me.
Pleasuring me.
“Just bring enough for the rest of the weekend. It would be weird to assume any longer, and besides, you can always come back and get more stuff Monday if you decide to stay, but Summer-” she levels me with a concerned-friend look-“this is all going too fast.”
My gut clenches because Maggie’s right. I’m being impulsive and crazy. To assume anything long-term will come out of this thing with Carlo is laughable. “I’m just having fun. I promise.” I cross my heart with my forefinger. “I deserve some hot sex right now.”
A sympathetic smile stretches Maggie’s lips. “You do.”
“Do you?” Carlo’s deep voice startles us both, and I shriek and whirl. His eyes glitter like dark jades, and while his expression is inscrutable, there’s a dark, dangerous air to him.
Did he hear what I was saying? Well, it’s not a lie. My face heats. “Don’t I?” I reach for coy.
One corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided smirk. “That depends. Are you in the habit of keeping your door unlocked, so strange men can walk in at will?”
Excitement flaps in my belly at the scolding. He’s looking for new reasons to punish me. To assert his will. It’s a game he loves playing, and I love being his partner in it.
I dart a glance at Maggie to see how she takes the scolding, but she simply grins and looks between us as if fascinated by our exchange.
“You’re not a strange man.”
He leans in the doorway, his broad shoulders and tall frame as elegant in jeans and a t-shirt as it is in a fine Italian suit. “I could be.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re here to protect me, then.”
“Hi Maggie.” Carlo moves in to give her a cheek kiss, his European habit of greeting.
“Hi, Carlo.” Maggie waggles her eyebrows in my direction when Carlo turns away.
I grin back.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Call me later, Summer,” Maggie calls as she heads for the door.
“See you.”
Carlo stalks toward me, his eyes dark with intent.
I stand rooted to the spot, excitement sparking in every cell.
Carlo bends and tosses me over his shoulder.
I shriek and pound on his back, giggling. “What are you doing?”
“I believe I owe you a punishment, principessa.”
I laugh and kick my feet in a show of resistance, but my giggles give me away.
As smoothly as if it were choreographed, Carlo drops me to my feet, sits on my sofa, and pulls me across his lap.
Yummy.
He peppers my ass with playful smacks. They’re hard enough to sting, even through my jeans, but light enough to leave me needy for more. I lift my ass to him. He continues to warm it with quick spanks, then he lifts me to stand between his knees.
“Pull down your pants.”
I flush, glancing toward the door. Maggie could walk back in at any second.
He jerks his head in that direction, guessing my thoughts. “Go lock it.”
“Thanks.” I exhale and dart over to turn the lock. When I return, my heartbeat kicks up speed.
Carlo reaches for the waistband of my jeans and tugs me forward, unbuttoning the jeans himself. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic of my panties, he pulls both down until they drop at my ankles, and I step out of them.
Feeling vulnerable, I practically dive over his lap, eager to hide my face in the cushions.
He runs his warm hand over my bare ass, caressing my curves.
I shiver.
“This is for leaving without permission this morning.” He smacks my ass again, harder this time. Another slap. Then another.
I squeeze my cheeks together and wriggle.
“You might have thought I was kidding, but I wasn’t. I’m completely serious. Until I’m sure you’re back on track, I need to know where you are at every moment. You don’t run to Starbucks, you don’t go to the grocery, you don’t take a walk without first asking my permission.”
“That’s… ridiculous,” I pant, the pain starting to register now. Heat builds on the surface of my ass, tingling.
He stops and rubs. “You may think it’s ridiculous, but it’s a rule you’re going to follow, or there’ll be consequences.”
I’m not sure I mind his consequences all that much. Well, I would if they were like that first punishment with his belt. Except even that experience was hot.
“Do you understand me?”
“Oof. Yeah, I understand.”
He slaps the back of my thigh, which makes me yelp. “That is not the proper answer.”
My brain muddles with dealing with the sensation, so it takes four more slaps before I yelp, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir, I understand!”
He stops and runs his palm over my heated cheeks. “Good girl. And now I want to have a talk about what you were doing at The Candy Store.”
I start to push myself up, but he pushes me back over his knees and gives me a couple more slaps. “This is what I call an over-the-knee discussion. You’re bared to me in a humbling position, so I can correct you immediately if I don’t think you’re being honest.”
Oh, God. Carlo is beyond kinky. He’s downright depraved. And I am freaking here for it.
He brushes a finger between my legs.
My pussy immediately plumps open, dripping wet for him.
“If you answer me well, I will reward you. If you fail to satisfy, your gorgeous ass is going to be rosy red. Capisce?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why do you want to strip?”
My clit pulses between my legs, needy for more of his touch. “It makes-I mean, made-me feel sexy.” I have to admit, being over his knees where I don’t have to look him in the eye and can hide my face makes it safer to share my feelings.
I expect him to scoff at my answer or at least discount the reason as unimportant, but he says nothing at all. He strokes my burning ass, tickling my inner thighs with his fingertips, but scrupulously avoiding my needy core.
“And I miss performing.”
Again, no snort that stripping was a far cry from dancing professionally.
“It built my confidence.”
When I don’t add anything more, his fingers burrow into my hair, and he leans over, speaking into my ear. “Thank you, cara, for explaining it to me.”
“Do I get a reward now?” I open my thighs as far as I can with the restriction of my shorts and panties at my thighs.
His finger brushes the outer lips of my sex again, making my inner thighs quiver. “Not yet, principessa.” Another brush.
I gnash my teeth, my clit aching for his touch.
To my dismay, he pulls up my panties and shorts and helps me up to straddle his lap. Cupping both my breasts, he kneads one as he applies his teeth to my nipple through the layers of my thin t-shirt and bra.
I yelp.
“Do you feel sexy now?”
I flush and look down at the place our bodies conjoin.
He puts a finger under my chin and lifts it. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I say softly. “You make me feel sexy.”
He looks genuinely pleased. “Good.” He squeezes my ass possessively. “My job will be to make sure you always know how incredible you are. How beautiful and talented. And absolutely perfect. Your job will be to obey. Do you think you can do that?”