Mob Mistress (13 page)

“I’m sorry!” she repeated.

“Sorry for what?” he asked, stopping the spanking and tracing a circle around her ass with the smooth surface of the back of the hairbrush.

“Sorry for pissing you off?”

“Wrong answer,” he said grimly, resuming the steady tattoo on her already sore ass. “Sorry for pissing me off means you don’t think you did anything wrong.”

She kicked her legs, panicked, certain she could not take any more. He clamped one leg over the top of hers to pin them down, locking her in place for his discipline.

“Bobby!” she shrieked. “I’m sorry!” She searched for the right words, her brain too occupied with the fire on her ass to work straight. “I’m sorry I cursed?” She kept groping. “Sorry I disrespected you! I do respect you, Bobby, I do! I respect you more than anyone!” Tears choked her voice, not from the paddling, but from remorse. “I don’t want you mad at me,” she said, a sob breaking free. “Please don’t be mad at me!”

He did not pause in the spanking, but he lightened the force, not that each strike did not still send ripples of pain when applied to her swollen, tender flesh. She lay still for it, giving up on her useless resistance, accepting whatever punishment he had to give.

“I’m sorry.” She wept, letting go completely as the torrent of tears and sobs released. She did not notice the spanking had stopped until Bobby’s hand tangled in her hair in an unhurried caress that seemed to tell her to go on bawling, that he accepted her tears as penance.

I gave the spanking, I can take the tears.

She had never let herself cry so much in front of a boyfriend before. The intensity of this relationship matched no other. With Bobby, she had been her most vulnerable and found in him more concern, attention and caring than she’d ever received from a man. He handled intimacy better than anyone she knew — hell, he demanded it from her. And he proved himself worthy of it, again and again.

When her tears had slowed to sniffs, Bobby lifted her to his lap, cradling her in his arms, pressing her cheek against his chest.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t want you mad at me,” she sniffed, though in heart, she already knew he held nothing but tenderness for her. Still, she wanted to hear it.

“I’m not mad,” he murmured in her hair.

He also didn’t seem turned on, and where before it had been important for her to know his propensity to spank was kink-related, this time she didn’t care. If he wanted to resolve their differences with spanking, she would take it.

“Am I still your girl?” she prompted, still needing reassurance.

He lifted her face away from his chest, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “You know you are.” He kissed her, his lips soft and undemanding, almost reverent, as if she were a fragile treasure he cherished.

“Are you going to... fuck me?” she asked, the word sounding too harsh. Not that she considered Bobby the “making love” type.

“Most decidedly,” he said, touching her nose. “But not tonight.” He slipped his arm under her knees and stood, still cradling her. He carried her to the bedroom and her mind rebelled, not wanting him to leave before they’d had their make-up sex.

He laid her in the bed and left, returning with his phone. He took off his shoes, pants and shirt, crawling over to sit beside her.

“Go to sleep, angel,” he murmured, tucking her against his hip and tracing her ear with his fingertip while he checked messages on his phone. She sighed, exhausted but oddly content, despite the throbbing reminder of her spanking.

Chapter Nine

He spent the night with Lexi, unwilling to leave her after delivering such a firm punishment. He texted Juliana and Janine to let them know he would not be home.

Waking before Lexi, he leaned up on one elbow to study her as she slept. Her thick shiny hair fanned out across her pillow, her lashes long and dark against delicate skin. She had the sort of beauty that would last into old age — fine bone structure, big eyes and a generous smile.

He had to resist the urge to caress her face, not wanting to wake her.

Her lashes fluttered open and she stared at him, surprise dawning. Her face split into a wide grin. “You stayed!”

“I wasn’t going to run off after spanking you like that.”

She threw a leg over his and ground her mons against his thigh. “If I’d known you were going to spank me like that, I never would’ve sent you a snotty message.”

He reached down and cupped her ass, squeezing and kneading it.

“Ooh,” she squirmed.

“Still sore?”

“A little.”

“Good. Every time you sit down today, you’ll remember who is the boss of you.”

She ground harder on his thigh.

“Listen, Lexi. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t ever get mad at me, or express your feelings. Just do it respectfully, okay?”

“So... no cursing?”

“I’m not going to set rules about it. You know what’s respectful and what isn’t,” he said, sounding shorter than he meant to.

She stopped the grinding. “Sorry,” she said.

“No,” he said, annoyed with himself. “I don’t mean to keep lecturing you. It’s definitely over and forgiven.”

She slid her hand over his chest, resuming a slow undulation with her pelvis. “I wonder if this is something...
cultural
I didn’t account for.”

He smiled faintly, appreciating she remembered not to use the word
mafia
. He supposed she was right. He’d been raised to follow of a chain of command, to give respect to those above him and to demand it from anyone at his level or below him. Had he taken too much offense from her text? A sense of dread crept in. God, he never meant to be a bully to her. Not to Lexi.

He cupped her chin. “Did you think it was unfair?”

She squirmed away and hid her face, kissing his chest for distraction, as if the question made her uncomfortable. Or as if she did not like to see him doubting himself. “You’re the boss,” she said softly.

He laughed and patted her ass, picking up the cue. “That’s right, little girl. I get to spank as I see fit.”

The juices from her pussy dampened his leg. She got up to her hands and knees and crawled down over him. “May I suck your dick?”

His cock, already standing at attention, surged with delight. “Be my guest.”

She opened her mouth, swirling her tongue over the head of his penis. She lifted her eyes to his at the moment she took his full length into her mouth, making him shudder with pleasure.

“Lexi…” he muttered, his voice thick.

“Mmm hmm?” she hummed, sliding his cock into the pocket of her cheek, then down the back of her throat. She gave the best head, and she knew it, her confidence adding to the full experience.

She began to work her hands in a twisting motion at the base of his cock, dragging one up toward the head while the other gripped the base in a tight squeeze.

He groaned. When she picked up the pace, he started to come apart, fisting her hair to control her head. He moved her up and down until he pulled her off, shouting, “God, yes” as he came.

Not wanting to make Lexi wait to get off, he grabbed her and pulled her down next to him, spreading her thighs to return the favor. He licked into her, swirling his tongue around her clit, sucking the little nub, using his fingers to plunge inside.

Lexi lay back, making encouraging noises, but not really getting anywhere.

“Do you ever come when someone licks your pussy, Lexi?”

She shook her head. “No... I mean, it’s great! It feels good, but…”

He remembered their first night, at Plush, when she seemed doubtful he could get her off. He crawled over her. “How about missionary style? Do you ever orgasm in that position?”

Again she shook her head, then shrugged. “I never have, but maybe with you.”

He grinned, honored by her confidence in his abilities. “All right, I’ll take that challenge.”

He crawled off the bed and opened a dresser drawer, pulling out one of her bras.

“What are you doing?” she giggled.

He slid the arm loop of her bra over one of the posts of the bed, then grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head, knotting the bra around them.

“Ooh,” she squealed. “I’m not sure it counts as missionary if my hands are bound.”

Hoisting her legs into the air, he held her ankles with one hand and gave her ass a hard slap.

“Ack!” she cried in surprise, squirming against the grip.

“Who is in charge?”

“You are! You are!”

He lowered her hips, running his thumb along her glossy slit. “Good girl. I make the rules here. You lie back and take it. And right now, you’re going to take it in missionary position.”

She bucked even more at his fondling and his words, her hips bobbing under his thumb.

He eased her feet back to the bed. “Now, open your knees, girl.”

She stood her feet on the bed, knees bent and feet wide apart, arching her pelvis in his direction.

“Oh, now you’re begging for it, aren’t you?” he asked, slapping her pussy.

She shrieked, but didn’t close her legs, just panted, watching him with excitement.

“You’re going to want to come the second my cock penetrates that pretty little pussy of yours, but you can’t. Not until I say you can.” He slapped her pussy again. “Understand, little girl?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good girl.” He insinuated himself between her knees and shoved into her, deep enough to make her grunt. “That’s right,” he murmured, sliding out and repeating the aggressive plunge. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you will always remember who owns you.”

She moaned, arching up, her eyelashes fluttering.

As he continued to plumb her depths, he bent his head to one nipple, teasing it with his tongue, then nipping it with his teeth. He pushed back and slapped her breast, making her give a little scream, her pussy gushing, her hips gyrating in a frantic rhythm beneath him.

Using one hand to press her bound wrists down into the bed, he gave her face a gentle slap — not enough to even sting, more symbolic than anything.

She gasped, lifting her legs in the air and pushing up at him with her pelvis. He stayed with that rhythm, letting her rock her clit against him on each in-stroke until her cries became desperate.

“Do you want to come now, Lexi?” he asked, slapping her breast again. “Do you?”

“Yesssss. God, yes!” she cried.

He gripped her shoulders, bracing her as he slammed inside her over and over again until his own orgasm crested. “Now, Lexi!” he shouted when he reached climax.

She went wild beneath him, wriggling against him, coming with a screech and a shudder.

“I think,” he mused, freeing her wrists as she recovered beneath him, “You just need it rough.”

“I think I just need you,” she said.

His heart lurched.

She blushed, as if realizing she’d shown him all her cards.

He wanted to tell her he needed her too, but revealing his hand weakened his position. He settled for expressing the depth of his emotion for her with the most tender kiss.

* * * * *

She floated through the next week. What happened between her and Bobby — spanking as real discipline as opposed to for sex — wasn’t the sort of thing she’d want to admit to a friend, but she came out the other side of it feeling rock solid with him. She loved him more for it, though she could not explain why. Perhaps it was just the intimacy of being pushed past all her defenses until she broke like an egg, and then being held up and supported through it. Perhaps it was the continued appeal of a man so clearly in charge of her and the world around him. Or maybe it was as he said, she just needed it a little rough.

He’d had a box delivered by courier to her salon the following day with a dozen pair of expensive panties from Victoria’s Secret. The note read,

Sorry about ripping your panties last night, hope these make up for it. Can’t wait to see you again.

They were exactly her size and the style she tended to wear.

She had seen him the following two nights, and had another date scheduled with him for that night.

“Excuse me, Lexi?” the receptionist interrupted her while she cut a client’s hair. “You just had a walk-in who requested you. Can you fit them in?”

“Them?” she asked, glancing toward the waiting area where two beautiful young women stood. They looked like twins.

“Well, just one of them wants a cut. But they came in together.”

“Sure, I can squeeze her in. Tell her it will be twenty minutes.”

The receptionist left and she finished trimming her client’s hair, then styled it with the blow dryer and brush. After cleaning up her station, she ushered the girls back. One of them plunked down in her seat and the other sat in the hood dryer seat beside her station to watch.

“Just a trim,” the pretty brunette said.

“Keep the layers? Just the way it is?” The girl didn’t appear to need a cut, but she wasn’t going to argue.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, come on back for a shampoo,” she said.

She wrapped a towel around her neck and clipped it in place, then led her back to the sinks to wash and condition her hair.

When they returned to her station, the girl met her eye in the mirror. “You don’t know who we are, do you?”

She frowned, looking from one face in the mirror, to the identical one sitting nearby.

“Should I?”

“I’m Juliana Manghini, and this is my sister, Janine.”

Her heart stopped and her mouth went dry.

“Bobby is our dad. He didn’t tell you about us?”

She took a breath and willed herself to speak. “Uh, n-no. I mean, I knew he had kids, but I didn’t know the specifics.”

The girls beamed, as if they were pleased with themselves for finding her. She wondered if they had some wicked retribution in mind.

“H-how did you find me?”

“Our Aunt Sophie gave me your card.”

“She’s a cousin,” Janine corrected her.

“Right. Whatever. She said she met you at a Cubs game?”

“Uh... yeah,” she managed. Her hands thankfully operated on their own accord, combing Juliana’s hair and parting out sections to trim. “Does your mom know?”