Claiming The Don’s Daughter Read online

  “Did you enjoy it?” she asked when her breath had calmed.

  “Actually no.” He wanted her to understand the truth. “I didn’t punish you to get my kicks, cara mia. I punished you because I care and I hate to see you screwing up your life.” The tears that had been absent sprang into her eyes and her lips trembled.

  Gathering her back up into his arms, he ran his thumb over her lower lip. “You and I both know that you aren’t right. You’ve lost weight, you’re jumpy and if you’re spending your free time stripping, I doubt your studies are going well.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Carlo—” she choked.

  He waited but she didn’t go on. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she finished crying, letting him thumb away the tears as they fell.

  She looked fucking beautiful, even with her eyes red and puffy. He didn’t mean to do it—taking advantage of her in this state would be cruel, and then there was the issue of her being the Don’s daughter. But her lips looked so damn kissable. Without his permission, his head bent and he claimed her mouth.

  It wasn’t a soft kiss, either. He went in hot, with the tension of eight years’ frustrated desire burning behind him. His tongue forced its way between her lips as his hand held her head in place for his plunder. At the same time, he caught her breast, crushing it possessively, sliding his hand inside her little bikini top and thumbing her nipple.

  He almost jizzed when she opened to him, lifting her face and kissing him back. Her tongue darted out and he lost whatever control remained. His fingers abandoned her breast and went straight for her core, fingering her over her panties, and when he found them damp, slipping inside.

  He stroked her dripping pussy, running two fingers along the length of her slit twice, then pushing his middle finger inside her.

  She jerked and arched, breaking the kiss, but it wasn’t shock written on her face. It was lust. And damn if her knees didn’t fall open in a clear invitation for more.

  He molded his hand to her mons, using the heel of his palm against her clit as he stroked inside her. He added a second finger, then a third.

  Summer arched and rocked her pelvis into him, pushing for release. Her hands clutched around his neck, her head dropped back. The tingling burn of her fingernails pressing into his flesh made his cock throb. He wrapped his fist in her hair and tugged her head back while he pumped his fingers in and out of her dripping pussy.

  She thrashed underneath him, her legs sliding up and down as wanton noises escaped her lips.

  He finger-fucked her harder, letting his knuckles bump into her with force until her vocalizations reached a high-pitched keen. She cried out and, clutching at his fingers between her legs, shoved them deeper and held them in. Her muscles spasmed around his digits, squeezing and milking them, making him wish it was his cock inside her.

  Five seconds, ten. Her orgasm went on and on. When she finished, she looked up at him with glassy eyes, her expression dazed. He eased his fingers out and kissed her again, showing no mercy. He wasn’t through with her. Not by a long shot. His brain conjured all kinds of images involving her stripped naked and bound, at his mercy. But... no. He needed to get control. This couldn’t happen.

  Summer wasn’t his. She was about as far from his as a girl could get, considering she was the boss’ daughter. And he had just disrespected her in a multitude of ways. And the fact that she’d let him... hell, that bothered him more than anything else. Because if she was selling her body for dances down at The Candy Store, chances were good she would also make herself available to any man who came along. So her giving herself to him wasn’t about an attraction to him—it was about her neediness. He should not have taken advantage. The poor girl was on the rebound—she definitely didn’t need him to add to her confusion.

  Besides, he wanted Summer for keeps. And he’d probably just spoiled any chance he had.

  * * *

  Summer’s body buzzed from the unexpected orgasm, her mouth and pussy tingling, swollen from being so thoroughly taken. Her heart pattered against her chest with a strangely lightened beat, as if one encounter with Carlo had added an optimism that had been missing since her breakup with John.

  She blinked up at her gorgeous... what? He was like family, but they actually weren’t related at all. And friend did not seem to be the right term after what had just happened. But he wasn’t her lover or her boyfriend either. And he certainly was beautiful. His green eyes and dark, curling lashes set off against the olive skin made him movie star sexy.

  God, she remembered all those nights after he’d first moved in with them. She’d been just 17—still in high school. He came in like a long-lost son. Her father had just fractured his skull in a bombing and her Uncle Joey had pulled back from the business. Not that anyone ever told her that. They didn’t talk about business with the women in the family. But that’s what she’d gleaned. Anyway, Carlo had come when her father needed someone he could trust and lean on.

  Her mother loved him, too. He was charming and respectful. He praised her mother’s cooking and tussled with her younger siblings. Summer had been the only one in the family who hadn’t fawned all over him, and the only reason she feigned total disinterest was that she was afraid if she spent any time with him, she’d end up throwing herself at him. And that would’ve been... awkward.

  Kinda like what she’d just done.

  A furrow had developed between Carlo’s brows as he gazed down at her. “We’ll add this to the list of things we’re not telling your father, no?”

  She had to giggle. Yeah, her dad would probably kill Carlo if he found out about this. “Agreed.” Her tummy still fluttered with the memory of his fingers pressing inside her, and the way he’d ordered her over the arm of the sofa for the spanking. Carlo was a real man. Or at least what she considered to be masculine. He oozed authority and power, with that ever-present hint of danger. Well, they say a girl falls for a man like her father. Carlo certainly had many of the same qualities. And he came in such a beautiful package.

  He looked at her, his expression turned serious. “Summer, tell me something.”

  When can we return to making out? How about now? “What?”

  “Have you—? Do you do this often?”

  She stiffened, glaring. What in the hell was he asking her? If she’d become a total whore? She drew her hand back and slapped him.

  Carlo caught her wrist before her palm reached his cheek. He’d moved lightning fast, reminding her he was a fighter, a dangerous man. His tight grip immediately loosened and he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “I will let that slide because I pissed you off, but the next time you raise a hand to me, you’ll find yourself standing in the corner with a plug in your ass.”

  Her eyes flew wide and her pussy clenched. Jesus, Carlo was a kinky bastard. How had she never known? Then again, why would she? People don’t just talk about their sexual proclivities at the Sunday dinner table.

  His words jolted her into equal parts lust and anger. Her palm still itched to slap him, which he must have known, since her wrist remained caged in his large hand.

  “Are you calling me a slut?”

  He released her wrist and sat back. “No. I—” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, bambina, it was a stupid thing to ask.”

  She frowned, not willing to let it go. “What did you mean by that?”

  His forehead creased with regret. “I guess I’m the bastard who’s hoping no one else has taken advantage of you the way I just did.”

  She flushed. Had he taken advantage? She hadn’t viewed it that way. He hadn’t gotten off—she had. The way she saw it, he’d administered the punishment they’d agreed upon and then he gave her a little pleasure to go with it. It hadn’t seemed like such a bad bargain to her. So what was his problem? Was he fishing to find out if she was seeing anyone?

  “I haven’t been with anyone since John.”

  His shoulders relaxed. Reaching to cradle her face, he touched his forehead to hers.
“No hard feelings?”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant about insinuating she was a slut, taking advantage or the punishment itself, but it didn’t matter. Even if she’d been steaming mad, it would have been impossible to stay angry, centimeters away from Carlo’s glittering hazel gaze.

  “No hard feelings.” Hurt feelings, yes, but she wasn’t going to keep acting like a baby.

  He lifted her from his lap and sat her down on the mattress, pulling the covers out from underneath her. “Buona notte, cara mia.” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he tucked her bedspread up to her waist. “I’ll drop your car back in the morning, okay? Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

  She shook her head, experiencing a sharp disappointment at his departure.

  He cupped her chin and lifted her face. “Are you okay?”

  Her face heated and she dropped her eyes. Did he mean was her ass okay? Because, well, it still throbbed. Or did he mean was her pride intact? Not really. Not at all. But yeah... the orgasm had gone a long way to help.

  “Look at me, bambina.”

  Damn, that Italian accent always melted her. If possible, she flushed even more. With great effort, she lifted her gaze.

  His dark-lashed eyes held warmth. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Are you?”

  It didn’t matter, suddenly, that he’d humiliated the hell out of her by bending her over the sofa and whipping her like a naughty schoolgirl. Or even that he believed he’d taken advantage of her, which really meant he had no interest in pursuing a relationship. Because the way he was looking at her showed her that he cared and that made up for everything else.

  She turned her cheek into his hand and closed her eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  Chapter Two

  The cold metal of a gun muzzle pressed against his temple.

  “You fucked her, didn’t you?”

  He blinked up at his brother in the dim room, cold sweat trickling down his ribs. “Who?”

  “My girl. Summer. You fucked her.”

  He moved to sit up, but Mario pushed the gun into his head with bruising force, pinning him in place. “I didn’t,” he croaked. “I didn’t mean to…” He reached out to touch the gun and then he was grabbing it away, pointing it at a terrified Ferdi, whose face he’d already bloodied.

  “I was just following orders, kid.” Ferdi had the gall to call their new Consiglieri kid. Well, he had the gall to attempt to kill his own cousin, too.

  “Whose orders?”

  “Mario’s.”

  Carlo shot up out of bed, the gun he kept beside the bed already in his hand. He peered into the darkness, his shirt drenched in sweat.

  Gesù Cristo.

  Eight years and the dreams still haunted him. Not that he had any doubt what inspired this one.

  He’d betrayed Don Alberto by fooling around with Summer. No matter how he tried to frame it that he was doing her a favor, he’d debased her. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he walked to the shower and turned the water on cold. He’d be taking cold showers from now on, until he got the image of Summer La Torre’s face during orgasm out of his head. Which may be never.

  He toweled off and dressed in a pair of jeans and black T-shirt. Picking up his phone, he called Sonny. “I need you to meet me at Summer’s.”

  “No problem, boss.”

  “I’ll text you the address when I’m ready and then I’ll expect you there in 20 minutes. Got it?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Listen, Sonny. You tell anyone who we saw last night?”

  “Absolutely not, boss.”

  “Keep it that way. You hear? Not a word to anyone, not even in the Family, capisce?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Thanks, Sonny. I’ll see you in a bit.” He hung up and texted Summer. On my way.

  She didn’t reply. Well, if she was still asleep, he could always wake her when he got there. He headed out of his brownstone and got into Summer’s BMW. The car smelled like her—a rich, vanilla scent, exotic and feminine. Unbidden, images of Summer bent over the arm of the couch flooded his brain. The memory of the way she’d squirmed, moaning in his arms as he plunged his fingers in and out of her made his cock harden so he had to adjust himself in his seat.

  Stop thinking about her. Just stop.

  But that seemed an impossibility. The harder he tried, the more she infiltrated his every pore, until he breathed her in with each inhalation. He ground his molars and parked the car, glancing up toward her window. At the front door, he pushed the button for her apartment.

  “Carlo?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  The door buzzed and he swung it open. He remembered Don Al having a fit over the fact that she didn’t have a live doorman for security here, but Summer had insisted on this place because her best friend Maggie lived in the same complex. In the end, Summer had won out, mostly because Don Al figured she needed to be close to her friend considering the state of her broken heart.

  Thinking about her douchebag ex made his fists clenched. He’d offered to teach the guy a lesson when Don Al had told him what happened, but Al had refused. “Believe me, I’m thinking the same thing, but no. Carmen would kill me for interfering that way. She wants our kids to be normal—not part of the Family business. It was one of her stipulations when we married. So I’m gonna let it lie. Unless he shows up in her life again. Then I’ll kill the coglione myself.”

  “I can hassle him a little—you know, let the air out of his tires or key his paint job.”

  Don Al had grinned. “I’m supposed to be letting her grow up and solve her own problems. But if his car got towed or something, it wouldn’t be any sweat off my back.”

  So he’d had the stronzo’s car towed. Not that it taught Douchebag any lessons, since he didn’t get to claim responsibility. Still, he’d liked giving the asswipe a headache.

  Summer opened her door wearing a miniscule pink cami and boy shorts.

  His cock hardened at the sight of her breasts shifting beneath the thin fabric.

  She caught him looking and her nipples popped out, as if eager for his touch. His fingers itched to discipline her responsive little twins, squeezing and pinching them until she writhed for more. He wondered if she was the sort of girl who could come from breast play alone.

  Stop. Now. He shook his head to clear it.

  “Come on in,” she said, her gaze not making it higher than his collar. “I made you some coffee.”

  So she had known he was coming. She’d made him coffee, but hadn’t put any clothes on. Which meant she’d wanted him to see her that way. His hard-on worsened. He purposely avoided glancing at the sofa where he’d bent her over last night.

  She hadn’t just made coffee, she’d brewed a caffe latte with her own fancy espresso machine. Something warm filled his chest. Had she remembered that he hated American coffee? Or was this just the way she liked it?

  She offered the cup. Once more, she failed to meet his eye.

  He closed his hand around hers, trapping it around the warm mug. “Summer.”

  She swallowed and lifted her gaze.

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not with me.” He pulled her closer, keeping her hand prisoner as he took a sip of the frothy milk-topped liquid.

  Her lips had parted. Glossy lips. She’d put on makeup for him. The urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to her bedroom came on fast and hard. He’d rip her clothes off and spread her legs…

  He shoved his dirty thoughts away.

  “You promise you’re not going to tell my dad?”

  “Cross my heart, bambina. You promise you’re going to get yourself back on track?”

  Her gaze slid away and his heart squeezed for her. Where in the hell had all her confidence gone? He wanted to kill her ex all over again. Maybe have a few words with her parents, too, for shoving the grad school thing down her throat. He’d like to take her back to his place where he could help her sort out her shit. But none of those things we
re going to happen.

  She pulled her fingers out from under his. “Look... I’m not even going to try to explain to you why I started stripping, because you’re not going to understand.”

  Her words lanced him through the chest. “Try me.”

  She shook her head, a stubborn set coming to her shoulders. “I’m not going to do it again, so you did your job.”

  He winced. Had he inadvertently hurt her? Made her think he only acted for Al?

  Setting down his coffee mug, he picked her up by the waist and carried her to the counter, plopping her down. “Piccolina, I work for your father, yes. We’re like family, you and I. But…” He swallowed, unsure what exactly he meant to tell her. That he’d always had a place-holder in his heart for her?

  Her breasts were at eye-level now, begging to be licked, teased, tortured. Punished.

  “I know I should stay away from you…” His voice sounded hoarse. Had he said that out loud?

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  His hands roamed up her thighs, exploring the smoothness of her skin. “Would you believe me if I told you—” He stopped. This time he couldn’t meet her eye. He swallowed and looked to the side.

  Somehow caution returned. Reason returned. He forced himself to take his hands off her and step back. “I’d better go.” He held her keys up and laid them on the table, not even trusting himself to hand them to her. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

  Yeah, he was running like a nancy right now. Scared of a beautiful, off-limits girl and his overwhelming desire to take her in every manner of speaking.

  * * *

  Summer sat on her kitchen counter, her heart pounding. What had just happened? What was Carlo going to tell her? He wanted her? Or he couldn’t be with her?

  She scooted off and dropped to her left foot, favoring the right. Her ankle stiffened during the night, making it hard to walk without looking like a gimp.

  After she had finished physical therapy, she had returned to ballet classes and made it through the beginning barre, but once they moved to “across the floor” exercises, she had to drop out because the pain became too much. Now with grad school, she didn’t even have time to get herself back in shape and rehab her ankle. She figured returning to River East was impossible, but that didn’t mean she didn’t still want to be a dancer. Without dance... hell. She walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower.