The Bossman (8 page)

She nodded, reluctantly. “You said you’d bend for me. But then you didn’t ask if I really didn’t want to go.”

A flare of irritation erupted. “What is so hard about showing up at a barbecue and just being gracious for two short hours?”

She turned her head and looked pointedly away. He started to snap at her to look at him but stopped when he realized she was blinking back tears. He put a finger on the side of her chin to gently turn her face back to him. She drew in a breath, recovered.

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Her expression closed. She stared at him a long moment, then turned the tables. “Was my father’s killer there?”

He exhaled. “It was an
accident,
Sophie. No one murdered him in cold blood.”

“Was he, or wasn’t he?”

“Dammit, I never should have told you!” he exploded, standing up to pace again. In the back of his mind he registered she’d just redirected the conversation, but he’d lost the thread, angry with himself for opening this can of worms with her. He stopped and pointed a finger at her. “You’d better keep your mouth shut about it, for your own sake.”

She stood up, flushing. “Are you threatening me?”

“No!” he snapped. “You could get both of us killed if you pop your mouth off about it.”

Her flush faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her pale and horror-struck. Finally, she seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. She ran at him, her small fists flailing, though with no real intent. They struck his chest the way a toddler’s might strike the floor in a tantrum. He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she twisted away with a ferocity that took him aback.

He hesitated. Did she
want
him to spank her? Did she need it? Was this the way she asked for it? She certainly needed some kind of release. But if he took her in hand when she really needed a serving of compassion, then he’d be the biggest asshole on earth. He gritted his teeth. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her off her feet, not surprised when she thrashed and kicked. He carried her into the bedroom, stood her on her feet, and reached down to unbutton her jeans. Her breathing was heavy but she didn’t move to stop him. Maybe it was just because he was looking for it, but he thought he sensed complicity, like she
wanted
to be forced, to have her will taken away from her this way. He pulled down the jeans and panties and still received no protest. He pushed her torso down on the bed. She turned her head to the side with an angry expression but she lay perfectly still for him.

Spanking with his hand did not seem to match the intensity of her emotions. It was not that he thought she deserved the belt. Hell, he hadn’t planned on punishing her at all. It was that she seemed to need it. As he wrapped the buckle end of the leather belt around his fist, he prayed he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

She bucked at the first stripe and listed to one side, giving a little cry. He gave her another, and then another, applying them with intensity, but giving her ample time between each one for the pain to set in.

She would tell him to fuck off if she really didn’t want this,
he told himself, still questioning his judgment. He continued to spank her at the same steady pace. It seemed to be true. Though she was very vocal with her cries of pain, she did not tell him to stop, nor beg for mercy.

Chapter Six

Just. Need. To cry.

The pain satisfied a craving in her--overpowering her senses, providing a focus for her emotions. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her, but she’d felt out of control since the moment they’d arrived at the barbecue and now she was finally channeling it out. Or she was close to channeling it out. She sensed it like a giant bubble of pressure in her chest, moving up her throat, choking her with its darkness.

She wanted him to spank her harder, faster, imagining each strike of his belt propelled the suffocating feelings upward and outward. Her breath shuddered, voice emitted little cries and moans until it finally erupted. One sob. Then another. He continued spanking her, though it seemed like he lightened the intensity.

She felt distant from him--like this wasn’t a thing between the two of them, but rather, her own conflict, and she was using him to get what she needed. The same way another might use their partner for sex to release their tension. She’d never known she needed this sort of thing, but the relief poured out in tears on her bedspread. And she’d certainly picked the right man for it. What other guy would take off his belt and spank his girlfriend when she grew hysterical? It was so not politically correct, it was laughable.

She hadn’t noticed the spanking had stopped until Joey rolled her to her side and wrapped his strong arms around her from behind. She continued weeping, letting out every last bit of darkness within her. The truth was she didn’t know what it was all about--why she had been so rude, or had goaded Joey into a fight by leaving. All she knew was it was about her parents and something she’d buried without examination when she was fifteen. Something she still didn't want to examine.

She drifted off to sleep, completely spent. When she woke, her panties were up and her jeans were off, but otherwise nothing had changed. She still lay on top of the covers of the bed, Joey’s body still curled around hers from behind. It’s funny; she wouldn’t have thought a big Sicilian man would be so into cuddling. She loved that he was interested in being close even if it wasn’t just for sex.

Slipping out of his arms, she sat up and looked at her mafia man. He wore nothing but his boxer briefs and her eye traced his muscles with appreciation. If they lived centuries earlier, he would have been revered as a fierce warrior, a man who lived by a code of honor and unflinchingly protected and provided for his family. That’s really what the Mafioso were--throwbacks from another age. And she had to admit, it made her toes curl. Which didn’t mean she condoned any of it.

A scar across his ribs stood out, pale and raised against his olive skin. She imagined it was a knife wound. She brought her fingers to it, working the tissue lightly to engage the fascia and help it reabsorb. Joey’s eyes blinked open and his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Are you okay?” The deep line between his brow indicated genuine concern, causing her heart to flutter.

“Yeah,” she said, embarrassed about everything that had transpired the previous day, including the way it had ended.

“Are we okay?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes sliding away.

“Please look at me.” He spoke it as a request, not an order, and she lifted her eyes reluctantly. “Are you sure? We’re okay?”

She nodded, feeling her face grow warm.

“Are you still mad at me?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really mad at you. I guess I was mad at myself.”

“What for?”

She shrugged, which was really just one shoulder since she was lying on her side. “I don’t know. For not being able to handle myself over there. I felt awkward it had been so long, like everyone was going to be talking about me and grumbling about how I disappeared after my dad died. So I guess I was defensive.”

Joey pulled her closer and kissed the bridge of her nose. “Sweetheart,” he murmured tenderly, “you are unbelievably deep.”

She snorted. “Deep?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, leaning up on his elbow. “Smart. Self-aware. Amazing.”

That’s just because you’ve only dated bimbos.
“Are you still mad at me?”

“I wasn’t mad at you.”

“Yeah, right,” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t,” he insisted.

“Well, you do the stern lecture pretty well.”

“What, at the barbecue?”

“Yeah.”

He made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, and all it did was piss you off.”

She climbed on top of him, pinning his forearms to the bed and rubbing her panty-clad pussy over his cock. “No, it was scary, you big Neanderthal.”

He studied her, looking as if he wanted to ask something. His hands squeezed her ass and she winced. He immediately released her bottom. “Are you still sore?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Is it all right?”

She understood he was asking something more than the state of her ass. He was asking if the spanking had been all right, making sure she didn’t hold a grudge. She leaned down and kissed his lips, teasing them with her tongue, enjoying the feel of dominating him by holding his arms down, even though he could probably flip her over in two seconds flat. “You were great,” she whispered in his ear.

And then he did flip her over in two seconds flat and she was glad her period was late so she could show her appreciation fully.

“Hey, Al, what’s up?”

Joey answered his phone while driving over to Sophie’s house for another one of her homemade meals. The woman could cook and she seemed to enjoy serving him, offering for at least half their dates.

“Your girlfriend called me.”

He went cold.
Shit. What now?
“Oh yeah?”

“Well, she called Carmen at the house to apologize for leaving the barbecue early. And when Sophie asked Carmen to pass along her apologies to me, she handed me the phone.”

His gut clenched. His brother could be a real asshole, and Sophie really did not deserve his crap. “Did you give her a hard time?”

“No,” Al said with a touch of belligerence, as if he never gave anyone a hard time. “Not really. She said she was sorry for being a bitch. Said she felt guilty she hadn’t been around and, when I called her on it she was defensive.”

He felt a surge of pride for Sophie. She’d really put on her big-girl panties to humble herself to Al--
Al
, of all people. God, he hoped Al hadn’t pissed on her. “What did you say?”

“I said 'apology accepted'.”

He blew his breath out in relief. “Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“Carmen invited her over here for Angela’s baby shower. She’s made it her mission to get Sophie back into the fold, I think.”

“Tell her thanks.”

“Nah, it’s not for you, little brother. It’s for her. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.”

He pulled up at Sophie’s and tested the knob, happy to find it locked. He knocked.

When she answered, he pulled her against him, squeezing her ass as he gave her a kiss. “Hey, when are you going to give me a key?”

She looked askance. “A key?”

“Yeah. A key. So I can let myself in.”

Her eyes darted to the side and she swallowed. “Well, let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

He stiffened. Her rejection hurt more than it should. All his efforts to steer her into a relationship were met with solid resistance. “Yeah, okay,” he said, trying to sound casual.

She led him to the kitchen where a brown box stood open on the table. He peered inside. “That’s for you. Well, sort of,” she said, looking embarrassed.

He reached in and pulled out a cellophane wrapped object. Inside were two stainless steel objects in different sizes with pink round jewels on one end and bulb tapering to a point on the other.

“They’re butt plugs,” she said, noticing his confusion.

His cock hardened. “Oh yeah?” he said appreciatively.

“There’s something else, too.”

He reached in the box and removed long wooden paddle. “Oh sweetheart, I don’t think you’re going to like this as much as you think you are.”

She put her hands on her hips, offended. “What do you mean?”

He turned the paddle over in his hands. It had holes in it to decrease wind resistance and was ¾ inch thick, 6 inches wide and at least 20 inches long. “Baby, this will
hurt.
”

She looked disappointed.

“We’ll save this for when you’re really bad,” he said with a grin, enjoying the blush that answered him. “And these,” he said tossing the package of butt plugs in the air and catching them, “I can’t wait to play with.”

She sidled closer and pressed her body against his. “I was thinking we could start something spanking couples do called ‘maintenance night.’ It’s where you spank me once a week and tell me what you want me to work on.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like a sexy spanking?”

“No...well, yes. I mean, it could be.” She looked embarrassed. “But the purpose is more like to affirm your dominance.”

He gave her an “are you crazy?” look. “Soph, I think this is one of those things--like the paddle--where it sounds better in your imagination than it does in real life. You can’t stand when I act dominant.”

He realized immediately he screwed up. She gave a huff and whirled around, stomping back to her dinner preparations in the kitchen, which she carried out with more force than necessary. Damn.
Note to self--do not put down girlfriend’s fantasies.
He sighed, watching as she continued banging cupboards and rattling pots. Scrubbing the already clean counter tops. He leaned his hip against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “All right, little girl. That’s enough of a fit. Knock it off or you’re getting your maintenance right now.”

She stood still for a moment, but didn’t look at him, then resumed her manic cleaning. He walked over to her and turned the flame off on the burner, taking her arm. “You asked for it,” he said, pulling her toward the bedroom.

Like the last time he spanked her, she offered resistance and compliance at the same time. She walked slowly enough that he had to really tug her arm, but she didn’t say a word against it.

He didn’t delay, pulling her directly over his lap and starting to spank with his hand, fast and hard. She lay still for the first dozen and then started to wiggle. “All right, little girl. Now you’re going to tell me all your spanking fantasies. And I promise not to disparage. I’m sorry I offended.”

He pulled her up to stand between his legs, unbuttoning her pants as he looked up into her flushed face. He pulled her pants and panties down to mid-thigh, then let his thumb swipe between her labia, eliciting a delicious gasp. She was wet and he could feel a little tremor in her thighs. “If you can’t do it standing up, you’ll have to do it over my knee,” he said, and almost laughed when he saw relief on her face. She’d clearly rather be face down for this discussion. He pulled her back over and re-warmed her bottom with his hand and then stopped, rubbing the heat. “Talk to me, little girl, or I’ll go get that brand
spanking
new paddle. What sorts of things are you imagining I’ll do to you on these maintenance nights?”