Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Read online

  I know otherwise.

  They’re all watching. Loving every minute of it. And no one will dare to stop a Bachman. Everyone here knows who Carter is and the powerful men who back him. Hell—half the people here tonight are Bachmans.

  I’m lying over his lap. His huge arm locks around my waist. Pinning me to him. The heat from his body radiates through my thin dress. I’m unable to move. His voice is low, furious. “Why are you wearing such a slutty little dress when you’re engaged to me?”

  I freeze. We don’t typically use such words. My shock melts into anger. Who does he think he is? He knows exactly where I stand when it comes to woman’s rights and shaming them for clothing choices. “Slutty? How dare you use that word. Women can wear whatever they want, no matter—” My speech is cut off with a sharp smack landing on my ass.

  I’ve never been spanked before.

  The pain is shocking. The spot on my ass cheek where his hand spanked me is stinging, burning. I try to wiggle my hips. To get away. His arm locks tighter. “Carter!”

  “Women can wear whatever they want. But not my woman. You aren’t some single girl milling around the club, looking for a hookup. How dare you wear such a slutty little dress out. Shaking your ass all over the dance floor like you’re trying to find a man.” His hand comes down again, even harder, smacking a different part of my ass. The matching print burns as badly as the first one had.

  He’s so fucking mad.

  And I’m more embarrassed than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m a grown woman. Lying over my man’s lap. Getting my bottom spanked. At my favorite club. In front of everyone.

  And it hurts!

  I feel my bottom lip tremble. I want to cry.

  Then the punishment begins in earnest, making the first few spanks seem like a light pat. Each time he speaks, he brings his hand down, right, then left. Punctuating his words. “You. Are. Engaged. To. Me. This ass is mine.”

  Tears pop up in my eyes. I’m humiliated. And my bottom is hurting so badly. Despite his ever-tightening grip, I twist my hips, trying to free myself. The spanking stops for a moment. His hand brushes against the hem of my barely there skirt, pushing it up over my hot, stinging ass. He sucks in air between his teeth—the noise he makes tells me he’s beyond pissed. “No panties?”

  Oh, shit.

  “They leave a line. Like I said—I’ll wear what I want—”

  Another spank falls, this time on my bare skin. The material of the dress is thin but it was giving me a slight buffer from his stinging palm. I can’t believe how much pain I’m in. Or how loud the echo of his hand smacking my bare ass is.

  He spanks me again. I’m on fire.

  “What the hell! That hurts, Carter!”

  “We haven’t even started.”

  I gulp.

  Fury wells in his voice. I’d never before pushed Carter this far. He’s not the jealous type. And he’s certainly not one to slut shame a woman. My actions tonight have sent him into another realm. I’m torn between my independence and the pain in my ass. I want to fight but I’m confused by my burning flesh and the shame I’m feeling.

  His hand slaps, five times, in fast succession. “You just wanted to shake your shit, grinding on the dance floor, knowing your skirt would ride up and show all the men this pretty backside. Didn’t you? You knew they’d be watching. You don’t care if your fiancé’s sitting at home, thinking you are safe upstairs. You just want to show it off and get all the attention you crave. Having one man’s desire isn’t enough for you, is it, Sasha?”

  “I... ah...” Why had I done what I did? Now it seemed like a terrible idea. I murmur, “No... I, it didn’t even cross my mind. I just wanted to look nice—” Two hard swats make me suck a breath in between my teeth.

  “You’re lying. You wanted everyone to see your ass, and now, you’re getting your wish.” My dress is suddenly bunched high around my waist, exposing way more of my naked skin to the club. The air that had felt so warm a moment ago suddenly seems cool. Goosebumps dot my flesh and a rush of air dances over my trembling body.

  “Carter, I—”

  His open palm comes down with a loud crack. The pain is blinding. Tears fall from my eyes.

  It hurts.

  It really hurts.

  I never even imagined him spanking me before—I never thought it would come to this, much less what it would feel like. Now I want to scream, cry, beg him to stop. My ass is throbbing as his hand comes down again. Loud and punishing. The new sting turns to burning turns to throbbing.

  The pain is everywhere. Then I notice another sensation.

  My pussy is beginning to pulse.

  I feel slick juices forming between my thighs. The walls of my pussy do that clenching thing they do whenever I get horny. Beneath my dress, my braless breasts hang heavy, my nipples tight against the rough fabric.

  I’m so fucking turned on.

  It’s humiliating.

  He spanks me again. “When I get you home, that dress goes straight into the trash.”

  I love this dress. I wore it when I was single, and all the boys loved it too. I feel an argument bubbling in my throat but I’m shocked when the words slip from my mouth. Two words I’ve never, ever said before. Not even to my own father.

  “Yes, sir.”

  My quiet response must shock him as well because the spanking stops. Gently, he brushes his palm over my bottom. My aching skin tingles. Maybe he’s finished.

  His husky voice demands, “Spread your legs and show me your cunny.”

  My breath catches in my throat. White-hot heat covers my face. He can’t be serious. But I can feel him waiting for me to comply. “No... please!” A rain of fast, hard spanks falls. My aching bottom feels blistered. I can’t take anymore. I quickly obey, spreading my legs. Parting my thighs.

  Exposing myself to him.

  And whoever else is watching.

  Cool air caresses my slick folds. My pussy throbs, longing for his cock to be buried deep within me.

  He rumbles, “So. Wet.”

  I gulp. What can I say?

  He growls, “I should turn this chair around and have you spread your legs for the whole club. Let them all see how wet you are from having your naughty little ass spanked. You’ve already shown everyone your ass. Shouldn’t they get to see your cunny, too?”

  I let out a whimper. “No, please, Carter. Don’t!”

  “I don’t know. It’s such a pretty sight. Seems a shame to keep it all to myself,” he muses. His fingertips trail over my punished skin.

  I cry, “Take me home—do anything you want to me—just don’t do that!”

  He’s spreading my legs, examining my pussy. My mind is in chaos, the connection between the pain, the desire, the shame and humiliation—I don’t even know what I’m feeling. When he speaks, a gush rushes from me. “What I want is to plunge my fingers in that sweet little pussy. Eat you out from behind and taste your juices.”

  My pussy aches. “Oh, my God. Please, yes. Let’s do that—”

  Smack. I yelp.

  His hands are nowhere near where I want them. Spectators be damned. The tension in between my legs is unbearable. His hands leave my bottom and he says, “Instead, I have to take you home and put you in the corner to think about what you’ve done.”

  Put me in the corner? My tummy turns. To be put in the corner, my ass on display, it’s humiliating. It sounds worse than being spanked. Fear strikes my heart. “But haven’t you already... punished me enough?”

  “That little spanking? That was just for going out in public in that scrap of fabric you call a dress.” As he speaks, he spanks me. With my legs open wide, my wet pussy for all the world to see. “We haven’t even addressed the fact you disrespected me,” smack, “disobeyed me,” smack, “and ran away.”

  My ass cheeks clench. I’m in so much pain. “Carter, I’m sorry. Truly I am—”

  He says, “There’s a special little present for you. Waiting in the bedroom, at home.” He brings my dr
ess back down. It hovers mid-ass, covering not much, but I’ll take it. I snap my legs shut as he says, “Let’s go. Unless... you want to stay and show the boys your ass a little more? It’s such a pretty red color. I think they’d enjoy seeing it.”

  “No! Let’s go. I’m ready to go!” I cry.

  He allows me to stand up. I quickly tug at the hem of my skirt, pulling it down over my throbbing bottom. Sniffling, I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. I don’t want Carter to see the tears that are welling up in my eyes.

  My ass stings. My pussy burns for him. My nipples are hard as they strain against my dress.

  He takes my hand in his. I wrap my fingers around it, tightly. I lean in close to him as he leads me out of the club. A desire to be as near him as possible wells up within me. My other hand finds his forearm, holding it as we walk.

  His head is high, his jaw jutted out—daring anyone to stop him.

  Walking through that club, right past all the people who’ve just seen me get spanked is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Too ashamed to make eye contact with anyone, I keep my eyes trained on the floor. I think I hear Manny chuckle at me as we walk out the door.

  Just a few minutes ago, I had been so confident, so carefree. Grinding away on the dance floor.

  Then... Carter.

  He was right. I had purposely worn a short dress and no panties. I was engaged to be married yet had wanted to give the guys a glimpse of my ass. I’d told myself, why work out as much as I do and not show it off a little? Get a guy to buy me a drink.

  Now, with my aching bottom and Carter’s big, strong hand holding mine, I feel ashamed. Small. I would have hated it to show up to a club and have seen Carter behaving single, the way I had been.

  And maybe, just maybe, if I’m being completely honest with myself, a teeny tiny bit of me wants Carter to come after me. To chase me down.

  To take control of me.

  To teach me a lesson.

  Guilt washes over me. I tug on Carter’s hand.

  He looks down at me. His gaze locks on mine.

  My voice is soft, tiny. “I’m really sorry, Carter.”

  Surprise flashes in his eyes. I’m not usually so docile. He simply replies, “Good.”

  My heart sinks. He’s still mad.

  And I’m still being punished.

  My teeth bite into my bottom lip. My free hand tugs at the end of my long ponytail.

  My tummy flip-flops, wondering what awaits me at home.

  Chapter Two

  Carter

  My palm stings. My cock is straining uncomfortably hard against my trousers.

  She’s tugging at the end of her hair. She’s biting her lip. She doesn’t want me to see the tears that are brimming in her eyes.

  She’s sorry. She’s my sweet Sasha.

  I want to gather her up into my arms. Tell her it’s going to be alright. Eat her wet cunny and make her scream my name.

  But I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I don’t know that everything is going to be alright. That will be up to her.

  Her hand is trembling in mine as I take her up the front steps. As I press my thumb against the security keypad, I see a new wreath hanging on our door—I’d missed it earlier. It’s made of cranberries and mums. She’s hung it for fall. A sharp pain tears through my chest.

  I can’t imagine living here without Sasha.

  But I will.

  I’ve made a commitment to the Bachman name, and I’ll uphold it.

  Once a Bachman, always a Bachman.

  I’d thought I could change her. Make her see our way.

  Hell—the real truth was that I thought I could let her be herself and we would be fine.

  I’d been kidding myself. You can’t live the Bachman life without the Bachman lifestyle.

  The men, dominant. The women, submissive.

  Sasha is about as far from submissive as a woman can be.

  Except right now.

  The door opens. She waits for me to direct her where to go.

  This is new.

  “Go have a seat on the couch. We need to talk,” I say.

  The pitiful glance she gives me almost breaks my heart. “Carter, I—”

  “Now.” I will be strong. I will be the man that I know I’ve not been.

  I’ll be a Bachman. I’ll uphold my vow.

  Whether she chooses to accept, that will be up to her.

  We go up the stairs to the living room. She sits on the couch. Her face winces as her poor bottom contacts the cushion.

  I’d spanked her hard. I had to. I came up to our room, expecting her to be there, and then she wasn’t. And that dress with no panties? Ridiculous. What was she thinking? I only wish I spanked her sooner.

  When I saw her on the dance floor, grinding her hips, the hem of her skirt inching up, up, up, exposing what was for my eyes only, I saw red. She’s lucky I didn’t rip my belt off in that club and whip her ass in front of everyone.

  I sit beside her.

  Her gaze is soft. Sorry. She sniffles.

  She looks so small. Vulnerable. My throat feels tight. “Sasha, do you like living here in the Village?”

  Her fingertips reach for her ponytail. She tugs on the end of it. I don’t even think she’s aware she has the habit. “Y-yes?”

  “Do you like living with me?” I ask.

  “Of course! I love living with you.”

  My chest is tight. I can barely speak. But I have to say the words. “Do you love me?”

  Her eyes widen. She’s shocked I would ask such a thing. “You know I love you, Carter. Why’d you even ask something like that? Do you... do you not love me anymore?”

  She’s crying.

  I look away. I can’t watch her cry—I’ll gather her in my arms, and we’ll be right back where we started.

  Nowhere.

  I say, “I love you more than anything. But I’ve made a vow.”

  “To the Bachmans? I know. You told me all about it when we got engaged. And I’ll make the same vow when we get married.”

  I lock eyes with her.

  She goes to speak but her words catch in her throat. A sudden recognition flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m about to give her an ultimatum.

  I drop the bomb. “I can’t marry you. Not unless we both truly adopt the Bachman lifestyle.”

  Her brow furrows. She doesn’t understand. “But you’ve spanked me. We made it through that. I can... do that again.” She squirms in her chair. A flash of the sight of her exposed cunny, the memory of the scent of her arousal hits me. My cock hardens.

  Down, boy.

  Shoving aside my desire, I press on. I need to say my most important piece. “It’s not the spanking. It’s your submission. We’ve gone on too long, doing things your way. I say no, you fight and argue until I cave, and you get your way. It’s causing a strain on our relationship. It’s causing a strain for the Village. You must choose to submit your will to me and choose me to be the head of this household. Or it’s over.”

  She’s quiet. One hand picks at a sequin on the hem of her dress. One hand twirls and tugs at her hair. She won’t look at me.

  It’s time to tell her the truth. The whole truth. I say, “Who do you think I asked for permission to marry you?”

  Her eyes meet mine. Her brow knits. “My father? You called him... I remember because you were unsure the country code for Greece—”

  “A formality. I went to Bachman’s Jewelers for the ring. Before I bought it. I asked Bronson’s permission. He has the final say of who can enter the family. And he had reservations. But I promised him that you were meant to be a Bachman. I told him how much I love you. Trust you.”

  “He didn’t want you to marry me?” Anger wells in her voice.

  And that quickly, sweet Sasha is gone.

  I steady my voice, keeping it level. “No. He didn’t. He said you wouldn’t be able to commit to the lifestyle. But I told him he was wrong. And that I can’t live without you.�
� Was I the one who was wrong about you?

  Her brow narrows. Her eyes flash. When she speaks, her words are quiet. Cold. Calculated.

  “Well, it looks like you’ll have to find a way to live without me, after all.”

  My world comes crashing down.

  Her words are a punch and it lands in my chest, knocking the wind from me. I can barely breathe. I feel the blood draining from my face.

  I’ve seen this coming.

  It’s been like a small tugging in my gut for some time. A nagging doubt. My instincts telling me how it really is between us. I just didn’t want to listen. I let my love for her cloud the reality of the situation.

  Bronson’s right—Sasha is never going to give me the gift of her submission.

  I stand, staring down at her. I say, “It’s over.”

  She’s sitting there on the couch. Furious. Her dress has ridden up around her hips. The way she’s sitting, I can see a peek of that perfect cunt that I know is dripping wet. Leaving a spot on my couch. Right underneath the ass I’ve just reddened.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. Her breasts rise, bare beneath her dress.

  She pouts. This simple gesture is my undoing.

  I have to have her, one last time.

  A goodbye fuck.

  Whether she wants it or not.

  I reach down, grabbing her around her waist. I pull her up from the couch and she cries out, “What are you doing?”

  She’s so lithe—she’s long and lean, but so easy to control in my arms. She’s pushing at me angrily, but her arms are powerless against my muscles. For once in this relationship, I’m going to take what I want.

  I push her up against the wall. My hand goes to the center of her chest. Pinning her into place. Her eyes flash at me. She’s furious, but the fury is clouded with desire. She’s breathing hard. I can feel her heart banging against her chest. She’s biting her bottom lip.

  I leave my hand, holding her there. With my other, I grab that ponytail. The one she’s so often swinging around in her sassy manner. I wrap my fingers around it and pull.