Claiming The Don’s Daughter Page 13

  She peeked over her shoulder, blushing. So damn sweet.

  * * *

  Oh the torture. Every bit of her was on fire, burning for him. Her ass was hot and uncomfortable, her swollen clit throbbed. The plug gave her a feeling of fullness and her pussy, well, her pussy just felt empty. She would give anything to have Carlo’s cock in it right now. Or at least to have his powerful hands on her again, teasing, torturing, delivering pain and pleasure mixed into one.

  But that didn’t seem to be part of his plan. She was about to lose her anal virginity, which terrified her. But she needed release. Desperately. How long would he make her wait? How much more torture could she take before she lost her mind?

  “All right, amore, back over my lap.”

  Oh God, more spanking? His hand hurt as badly as his belt, especially when he spanked fast and hard. Had he been truly angry? She became confused in the middle of it, because he’d been so relentless. But no, she didn’t think so. This was sex for him. A game. He hadn’t even touched her when she’d been angry earlier. His only concern had been to soothe her, to heal the rift between them. Now, though... now he was teaching her a lesson. Bringing them closer by demanding her vulnerability and trust.

  She shuffled back to him, the plug in her ass making her acutely aware of each step.

  “I changed my mind.” His face was unreadable. “Get down on your hands and forearms and present that ass to me.”

  Hot shame flooded her face, but she obeyed, lowering herself to the humiliating position on his soft plush rug. She was close enough to him that she could smell his intoxicating scent, feel his body heat, his magnetic presence.

  He seized her ankles and yanked them up, splaying her legs to straddle his waist.

  “Carlo,” she squeaked in alarm. She was totally bared to him, her ass and pussy opened and centered over his lap, every private part of her accessible. The exposure, the humiliation only made her need flame hotter.

  He gripped the plug in her ass and pushed it in and out, fucking her with it.

  She bucked, squeezing her inner thighs together, finding his hard cock with her mons and rubbing her clit over it.

  “Naughty girl,” he murmured, pulling the wicked plug out to stretch her wide, then shoving it in, over and over again.

  “Carlo…Carlo, please.” She needed him, needed him so badly.

  He stuffed two fingers in her pussy and she came, bucking and shivering, tears leaking from her eyes.

  The moment the orgasm stopped, he started spanking her again. It hurt even worse now, perhaps because of the orgasm, and yet she would have let him do anything to her in that moment. As the pain and heat grew louder, she began to hump his clothed cock again, a second orgasm built from spanking alone.

  Tears ran from her eyes—not of pain, simply from need for release. She needed more, wanted more. Carlo couldn’t hurt her enough. Each slap brought her closer and closer to ecstasy, jostling the plug in her ass until she thrashed her legs, squeezing his waist and rubbing shamelessly.

  Before she came a second time, he stopped. Pulling out the plug, he rubbed her hot cheeks, squeezed and gripped her ass with a possessive, punitive grasp.

  “Oh please…”

  “Get up.” His voice was rough. “Your little ass needs fucking.”

  She orgasmed just from his words—a small little ripple of clenching in her core. Without his strong arm around her waist, helping her up, she might not have found her way back to vertical. She barely saw the living room as he guided her through and to the bedroom.

  “On your hands and knees on the bed.”

  She moved without hesitation. Probably if he told her to throw herself off a rooftop at that point, she would’ve jumped without even looking first.

  She heard him rustling in a drawer and then his hand gripped her ankle. He fastened some kind of leather cuff around it.

  “Spread your knees wider.” She did so and he slapped her inner thigh. The other ankle received a similar cuff. “Crawl to the center of the bed.”

  When she moved to obey, she realized he’d attached a bar between the two ankles, keeping her knees spread wide. The idea sent a fresh surge of lust rocketing through her.

  “Face down on the bed.”

  She lowered herself to her forearms and rested her forehead on the bed.

  “Give me your wrists.”

  Oh God. This was beyond vulnerable. It was depraved. And of course, as frightening as she found it, she trembled with excitement. She turned her face to the side and reached back with her arms, bringing her wrists to her ankles.

  He cuffed them both, attaching them to the same bar. Her ass cheeks were spread wide for him now. His finger slid over her clit again, with more pressure this time—enough to pull a throaty cry from her.

  Lube landed on her already stretched anus and then Carlo was behind her, on his knees. He continued to tease her clit with an expert touch as he stroked his cock with more lubricant.

  Thank God.

  Her pussy quivered and clenched. She panted in anticipation. How badly would it hurt? Would he stop if she couldn’t take it? Or just go on as he did when spanking her? A sudden urge to crawl away came over her, but of course, she couldn’t move—not even an inch.

  Fresh tears squeezed from her eyes.

  Carlo pushed the head of his cock against her entrance. “Deep breath in.”

  She sucked in air in a shaky gulp.

  “Blow it out, slowly.”

  As she exhaled, he pressed forward, prying her open with his huge cock.

  She stopped breathing and tightened against the intrusion, which of course, made her anus burn.

  “Take me.”

  Two words. A simple command, and yet it made her thoughts spin out of her mind. Her bottom relaxed and he pressed forward, stretching her, filling her.

  “Jesus, you’re tight.” His voice was low and gravelly. “So fucking tight.” His hand wrapped in her hair and pulled up while the fingers of his other hand still rubbed her clit. She could not be more owned by Carlo Romano than she was in that moment. And yes, she loved it.

  He eased back and pushed in, bumping her ass with his pelvis and pushing her face into the covers. He filled and emptied her over and over again. It was far too much stimulation and yet somehow still not enough.

  A high-pitched keening reached her ears, but she hadn’t been aware of making any sounds, her sensations awash in color and light. His thrusts came faster and her squeals grew louder.

  He abandoned her clit and pinched one nipple. The other hand threaded under her waist and slapped her pussy, spanking her wet folds until she screamed her orgasm. Carlo muttered a curse in Italian and shoved deep inside her, the heat of his cum filling her.

  Somehow, he must’ve unbuckled her wrists because he guided her down to her belly. He shoved his cock even deeper, using his weight to sink into her, his fingers stroking her slit now.

  He bit her neck, her ear, sucked at her neck, his breath hot with passion. He murmured something in Italian that sounded like an endearment.

  If she could move or speak, she would’ve asked him what he’d said, but she was incapable of anything at the moment.

  “Did you learn your lesson, bambina?” He eased out of her and rolled her to face him.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, reaching for him because already, he was too far away.

  Chapter Six

  Summer scrolled through her email on her phone as she sat on a bench between classes. The sun was out and the Northwestern campus glimmered in burnished reds, amber and gold. Fallen leaves decorated the sidewalks and lawns, their smell evoking fall.

  An email popped into her inbox—from Ana Bernstein, her old dance teacher. She had written her a long email, apologizing for leaving so abruptly and thanking her for the excellent technical base she’d provided. She filled her in on the details of her career since she left, ending with her unfortunate choice to enroll at Kellogg Business School.

  She nibbled on her
lower lip and opened the email.

  Summer, It’s nice to hear from you. Why don’t you come and guest teach for the teen jazz/hip hop class this week?

  That was it. Short and to the point. So was this an audition for teaching more? Or just a one-time deal? The flutters of excitement surprised her. Teens would be fun. Jazz/hip hop would be easy—with all her experience with River East, she’d have no trouble giving the girls a class they’d love. Hopefully they’d beg Ms. Ana to have her back and she’d have a job. Not that teaching one or two classes a week would pay her bills, but at least she’d be back to dance—doing what she loved. Choreographing, even, which she’d always wanted to do but had been too intimidated to try in a professional setting. At a dance studio, though, it would be easy. They’d need recital pieces and she wouldn’t need to worry about her professors or professional colleagues showing up and criticizing.

  The more she thought about it, the more she really hoped this gig would work out. Even if she stayed in grad school and slowly killed her soul. At least she’d have this one creative outlet.

  Her phone rang and Maggie’s picture appeared on the screen.

  “Hey girl.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Nothing, just sitting on campus, killing time between classes. How about you?”

  “Well, it’s Pete’s birthday this weekend, so I’m throwing him a party. Saturday at eight at our place.”

  “Oh.” Pete was friends with John, which meant he’d be there. In the close confines of their apartment.”

  “Come on, Summer. Don’t be a chicken.”

  Of course Maggie understood why she hesitated.

  “Why don’t you bring Carlo?”

  Something in her solar plexus tightened. Bring Carlo? To Maggie and Pete’s? That would be like throwing a boxer on stage with ballerinas. Just... too different. Carlo looked mafia. He came from Sicily, for God’s sake. He spoke with an accent (albeit a sexy one) and he dressed in fine Italian suits. And he carried a gun most of the time, as far as she could tell.

  Anyone who hadn’t guessed her family was Family with a capital “F” would get it when they saw her with him.

  “I don’t know, Maggie... I’m not sure how he’d mix.”

  “Oh come on, what’s the big deal? He’s totally hot, and he has great manners. He’d get along fine.”

  She wasn’t sure if she could handle her worlds colliding that way. The two separate sides of her crashing together.

  “It would burn John up to see you with a new sexy man. Make him sorry he lost you.”

  Now that was tempting. But John knew Carlo. They’d met at the few family dinners she’d brought him to. He might think she was dragging a cousin in and pretending to date him. The thought was humiliating.

  “Summer... I miss you. The whole gang misses you. Pete really wants you to come to the party. He asked specifically. He always asks how you’re doing. Everyone does.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’ll ask Carlo.” As soon as she said it, a fresh wave of anxiety rushed over her. She couldn’t decide which was worse—going alone or going with Carlo.

  “Awesome. I’m so glad. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Well, I didn’t say I’d be there for sure.”

  “Please, Summer?”

  “Dang, you’re not taking no for an answer are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, I’ll figure it out. I’ll be there. Just don’t be mad if I don’t stay too long.”

  “I won’t. Don’t worry, it will be fine. You need to get over John. Pretend it never happened. He can’t hurt you unless you let him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, counselor.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to see one, you know.”

  “Ugh, enough, already. I’ll be there. See you Saturday.” She hit the end button before Maggie could annoy her further.

  Crap. This party had disaster written all over it.

  * * *

  Every year a dozen lavender roses arrived for Mario’s mother without a card. She always cried and made a big deal about it, going on about how his father must have arranged it before he died, but they both knew that wasn’t true. Carlo sent the flowers.

  No one ever spoke about what happened to his youngest brother. Word had got around, probably even back to his mother about the circumstances around his disappearance. For the past eight years, they’d pretended like the guy had never existed. His mother would stop herself from saying his name, or turn her back abruptly to hide her tears when something reminded her.

  His brothers, his cousins, they all kept their mouths shut. Ferdi had looked over his shoulder, jumpy-like for a few years after he left, but Mario knew that if Carlo had wanted him dead, he would’ve done it while he had the chance. He wasn’t going to come back and cap him after thinking things over.

  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up to exact revenge on Mario someday. Frankly, he was surprised it hadn’t happened yet. He’d thought for sure it would’ve happened by now. Or at least that he would’ve heard something—that Carlo had joined a rival organization, or had married a famous model. The guy wasn’t a coward, so he couldn’t still be hiding. He must have found success somewhere else.

  He’d tried to trace the flowers the first couple years, but each year the credit card holder had a different name and location. Dummy accounts. Carlo wasn’t stupid. That had never been his problem.

  But perhaps he just hadn’t dug deep enough. It was time to get to the bottom of this. He couldn’t have this Carlo-situation hanging over his head for the rest of his life. Picking up the delivery notice from the florist, he headed out to pay them a visit. Someone had to know something. And he certainly had ways of making people talk.

  * * *

  She put on a micro-skirt and fitted top with the draped neckline. It hugged her breasts and showed off her cleavage while still looking relatively classy. She donned a pair of brown leather high heel boots and surveyed herself in the mirror. Eat your heart out John Jackson.

  When she came out to the living room where Carlo waited, he raised one eyebrow.

  She stopped in her tracks and cocked a hip, her high-heeled boot jutting out to the side. “What?”

  He pursed his lips. “I’m going to let that outfit slide, since you’ll be on my arm, and I know how important looking sexy is to you. But let me just tell you right now, if you ever go out dressed like that without me, I will take a strap to your ass. Do you understand me, little girl?”

  His dominant act annoyed her at the moment. “What’s the big deal?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t play games with me. You look like you’re going out trolling. In this case, people will assume it’s to please me, and I hope to God it is.” He looked doubtful.

  Heat crept up her neck. Damn his ability to see through her. “Of course it is,” she said breezily, walking past him to the door. “Are you ready?”

  He frowned but said nothing, reaching past her to hold the door open, as he always did. The perfect gentleman. The gentleman who holds doors open and ties women to the bedframe at night.

  The party was already happening when they got there. She’d purposely timed it for them to arrive late, not wanting to suffer the early awkward part of the party when you have to actually talk to people. Music was pumping, as loud as they could play it without getting complaints from their neighbors.

  “You’re here!” Maggie was a little tipsy. She looked radiant in a red V-neck blouse and skinny jeans.

  “I’m here. We’re here,” she amended.

  Carlo’s hand was at her low back. While she usually liked the gesture from him, it seemed too possessive now.

  “Hey Summer! Where have you been?” A friend, Jenny, rushed over and threw her arms around her. “It’s great to see you.” She peered up at Carlo with admiration.

  “This is Carlo.” She didn’t add “my boyfriend.” It wasn’t because she was worried that Carlo didn’t consider them a couple
. He’d called her his girl, after all. It was more... well, she didn’t want to think about it now.

  She glanced around the apartment, trying not to flinch when she caught sight of John in the living room, sitting on the couch with his arm around a girl. Lifting her sternum, she adjusted her blouse, glancing down to remind herself how hot her cleavage looked. She wanted to go in there, but not necessarily with Carlo. She didn’t think Carlo would make John jealous, but if some of the other guys—John’s friends—flirted with her, he would definitely take notice.

  “What would you like to drink?” Carlo murmured.

  “Red wine, please. I’m just going to say hi to some friends,” she said, nodding toward the living room. “I’ll meet you in there.” She rubbed her lips together and waltzed in, a bright smile on her face. Inserting herself in the middle of the scene, she greeted her old group of friends.

  “Heeeey, it’s Summer,” Pete said, picking her up and squeezing her. He was definitely already drunk.

  “Happy birthday, champ,” she said, giggling and enjoying the attention.

  “Look everyone, Summerlicious finally showed up. It’s about time.”

  She was included in several simultaneous conversations and she completely forgot about Carlo until he shouldered his way through and handed her a plastic cup of wine. “Thanks, hon. You’re a peach.”

  Okay, Carlo wasn’t really the kinda guy you called hon, but she was in the alternate Summer world. The one where she and John—the lousy cheat—had called each other sweetie and hon.

  She didn’t really pay attention to his reaction, which was one of many mistakes she made that night, none of which she’d realized until it was far too late. Instead, she went on, like the spoiled princess she’d always been, accepting his service but not giving anything back. Ignoring him while she flirted with the guys around her, watching only for John’s reaction--which had never come. He’d been friendly, he said “hi,” but John paid her no special attention. It was like they’d never been a couple. Or like he’d never cared at all. Which he probably hadn’t.