Say Daddy: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  A girl deserves a good night of sex once in a while, doesn’t she? I promise myself that if I allow a romp with Luke, it will be an exception to my rule.

  One night. No strings.

  Then back to my mission of becoming a Beauty.

  We reach the door to the Bachman-owned gym, Barbells. “What are we doing here?”

  He leads me to a red door in the alleyway beside the gym. “This is me.”

  I look up to where he points. Facing the street, about three stories up, over the glowing pink letters of the sign for the gym, are four large windows overlooking the street. “That’s your apartment? Up there?”

  “Yes.”

  I laugh. “Damn. I thought Rockland was paying me well.”

  He gives me that cool shrug of his. “They’ve been more than generous.”

  We enter his place. Though my mind was on him, I’m now distracted by the view before me. As he said, the Bachmans have been more than generous.

  The apartment is huge. You could fit four of my tiny shoeboxes inside of this space.

  The compensation of this apartment—I can’t imagine what the rent would be. Luke must be a valuable asset to the family. He can end a disagreement with the raise of his brow. If things are heated, he uses a few firm words. His manner is authoritative, commanding, and self-confident, as if he knows he’ll be respected and obeyed.

  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on, watching him take charge at the bar. Though I wish keeping the peace at Gotcha’s didn’t mean him blocking me from my husband hunt.

  It’s one large room overlooking the street. The soft neon from the Barbells sign below makes a soft pink glow through the room. The walls are exposed brick. The ceiling is insanely high, metal ductwork exposed above dark wood beams. The scuffed oak floors are stained dark. There’s a small industrial-style kitchen with dark wood and stainless-steel counters.

  There’s a red Persian rug in the center of the room and off to one side, a black leather sofa with a huge round arm. On the other side is a king-sized bed. White sheets. Fluffy white comforters. Stacks of white pillows.

  Such an innocent color for what I assume to be a bed that sees the same amount of action as a piece of furniture in the Playboy mansion.

  He shuts the door. Locks it. Slips his shoes off.

  I do the same, telling myself I’m doing so because I’m not wanting to be impolite, not because I’m eager to undress. “So, this is my prison for the night?”

  “It looks that way.” He comes over to me. Instead of offering me a drink, his hands cup my waist. “And I’m your prison guard.”

  The sexual tension between us is electrified; it looks like I’m not the only one who’s turned on. He pulls me into him, our bodies pressing together. His hungry gaze devours me, leaving me feeling weak in his arms. Wrapping one hand around my waist, the other slides around the back of my neck as he brings my face to meet his.

  I know he’s going to kiss me, but the moment his lips meet mine, I’m still surprised. A tingling shoots through my lips and my entire body liquifies.

  Luke is kissing me. And he’s damn good at it.

  He’s mastered the delicate balance between control and gentleness that’s necessary for any first kiss worth having. In his kiss is desire, passion, and the promise of the most decent night of sex I’ll have had in a very long time.

  Holding in a moan, I open my lips, his tongue slipping in and exploring my mouth. As he kisses, his hold on the back of my neck tightens. His hand sneaks around to my lower back and he pulls me in closer.

  This man knows what he’s doing.

  Winding my hands around him, I melt further against him. My breasts press against his chest, my nipples hardening as they make contact with his body. My core tightens, releasing a gush of arousal.

  His hands move to the hem of my shirt. Lifting it over my skin. Exposing my belly.

  Things are moving faster than I would have dreamed, than I ever allow, but the chemistry between us is explosive, demanding me to give into it. I’ve been alone for so long, living in a fantasy world, convincing myself I don’t need or want a man.

  All the while, forgetting the magical, spellbinding, wonderful things only a man can offer a woman.

  My shirt is gone, my sheer pink bra barely covering my breasts, the tips of my pink nipples shining through, eager for his touch.

  I return the favor, helping him remove his shirt. His chest is tan and smooth, the muscles carved like a statue.

  Our gazes dance over one another’s bodies. The feel of his eyes gliding over my chest makes me ache, my nipples further pebbling against the thin fabric of my bra.

  His stare is appreciation, desire, wanting.

  But we need to make one thing clear before we go any further; he will not be spanking my ass again. “This is nice but I think we need to lay some ground rules.”

  “Like what?” He nibbles at the lobe of my ear.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press my breasts against his chest. “Like the fact that your little discipline session in that closet will not be repeated.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist, claiming me, holding me to him. He places a soft kiss on my lips. Then moves his mouth to my ear, whispering, “You disrespect me? You get your ass lit up.”

  He must be joking.

  I pull away. Stare into his eyes. His face is only inches from mine, his steady gaze making my heart beat harder in my chest. The teasing, flirty look is gone.

  He’s not joking.

  Mustering up every ounce of woman power in my body, I state, “I’m telling you—you will not be spanking me again.”

  His hands slip to my hips, holding me firm in place as if what he’s about to say might make me run. He gives me a cocky, smoldering grin. “Be a good girl and I won’t have to.”

  My brow furrows as I pull my head back. “Are you for real, right now?”

  His grip tightens on my hips. With stone-cold eyes, he says, “Yes.”

  The authority in his voice, the memory of the spanking in the closet, all cumulate, making my panties damp and causing a growing throbbing between my legs.

  But he’s crossed a line, confusing his co-worker responsibilities with the right to stake a claim on me. To correct me.

  Anger rises in me. He lets me wriggle from his hold. I take three steps back, sure that I’m out of his reach. I throw my hands on my hips. “You don’t own me.”

  He’s so calm, it only makes me madder. He gives me an ice-cold look. “I don’t know how to make this clearer—you disrespect me, you get spanked.”

  My temper flares. “But I was pissed, and I had every right to be. You told the men to stay away from me! That was none of your business.”

  “I was just doing my job. Keeping trouble away. And yes, you are turning out to be a lot of trouble.”

  I can’t believe two minutes ago I was kissing this man, letting him take my shirt off, getting ready to give him my body. Fury rises in my chest. I could pummel him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  He shakes his head, making a tsk tsk sound. “Such ugly language for such a pretty mouth. I ought to take you over my knee for speaking like that.”

  “How dare you!” Blinded by rage, I make a foolish decision; I’m going to slap him.

  I pull my arm back, open my palm, and aim for the cheek of his cocky face. “You had no right!”

  He’s so fast, again, like in the closet, his reflexes seem superhuman. Before my hand even comes within a foot of his face, he’s towering over me, my wrist trapped in the circle of his hand. Fury flashes in his eyes. His irate words send a shiver down my spine as he growls, “Do you really think I would let you slap me, little girl?”

  I’m trembling with anger, with fear. The hold he has on me is strong and I can’t think. I stand there, frozen.

  “Apologize.” He tightens his hold and his fingers dig into my wrist as his gaze bears down heavily on mine.

  His commanding actions, his rough hol
d, they make my body respond in a shameful, unexpected way. A gush of arousal leaves me, my core hot, pulsing for touch.

  Physically, I’m powerless but finally my brain comes to, engaging the weapon of my sharp tongue. “I never apologize to assholes!”

  He raises one brow in a threat, lifting my wrist higher in the air. “Then I’ll make you.”

  What is he going to do to me? How stupid was I to come to his apartment, alone, to get involved with a man I obviously didn’t know as well as I thought? My heart pounds in my chest, the blood whooshing past my ears.

  I ask, “What are you going to do?”

  An angry smirk plays at his lips. “Spank you till you’re very, very sorry.”

  My pussy is suddenly as hot as my face. A strange combination of fury and desire burns through my body. “I’ve already told you—that’s not happening again. Besides, what man spanks a grown ass woman?”

  “A Bachman man. But I guess you didn’t know that little secret about being a Beauty, did you? That their husbands punish them anytime they please? Take them over their knees and spank their asses until they’re promising to be good. Let’s give you another taste of Bachman discipline and see if you still want to be one, after all.”

  He releases my wrist. He grabs my waist. Lifts me right up into the air and throws me over his shoulder.

  “No!” I cry.

  But it’s too late. I’m powerless against his large frame, his huge muscles. He carries me over to the bed as I pound his back with my fists.

  I’m kicking and screaming, fighting him as best I can, but he’s too strong. In moments, he’s sitting on the bed, pulling me down from his shoulder and tugging me over his lap. He flings one strong leg over mine, pinning me into place.

  I throw my hands behind me, trying to protect my bottom. Those too are overtaken, pinned to my lower back with one of his big hands.

  The other comes crashing down on the center of my bottom; my only defense is my tiny skirt. The pain bursts over my ass. “Ow! You son of a bitch!”

  He spanks me again, right in the same spot, the sting spreading like wildfire. “Language like that gets you spanked on the bare, young lady.”

  “Young lady? Who do you think you’re talking to!” But his choice of words is soon forgotten because now, he’s spanking me harder, faster, alternating cheeks. “Stop that!”

  “Make me,” he chuckles, his palm coming down with a sharp smack.

  I try to wriggle off his lap, but it only causes him to tighten his hold on me. “Let me go!”

  He spanks me again. “I will once you’ve apologized for trying to slap me.”

  I scream, “Tell me, Einstein, in your messed-up mind, how does a woman trying to slap you give you the right to spank her?”

  He spanks my right cheek again, then my left, asking me, “You want to be a Beauty?”

  I clench my teeth in pain. “Yes?”

  “Then you should understand how the Bachman male mind works. You behave, or you get punished. And attempting to slap a man will always land you over his lap. He’d probably plug your naughty bottom as punishment as well.”

  A plug in my bottom?

  My ass cheeks clench together.

  I’ve never seen one in person but I’ve gotten emails from friends trying to sell me sex toys online. Shaped with a narrow tip, progressively getting wider, then tapering off into a handle of some sort, just looking at the plugs made my bottom quiver.

  A fire rises in my cheeks at the thought of him slipping a plug into my ass. “Since when is it your job to school me on such matters?”

  “Since you came under my wing.” The spanking continues, lower now, right at the curve where my bottom meets the tops of my thighs.

  “Training me at work does not constitute me coming under your wing!”

  “It does if I say so.” He spanks me again, lighter this time, creating a rhythm, right, left, right, left. My bottom stings and with it a growing warmth spreads across my slick heat.

  My submissive little pussy betrays my strong womanhood, reacting foolishly to his rough treatment. Moisture gathers and there’s a pulsing that has me wanting to press my thighs together for some pitiful ounce of relief.

  The spanking turns from pain to... pleasure.

  Soft pats land one after the other. I’m suddenly more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life—lying over the hard thigh of this man, his hand lightly spanking my ass, one that he’s made hot and stingy with his earlier, punishing spanks.

  He loosens his hold on my wrists and I bring my hands to either side of my face, resting them on the bed. Despite my earlier protest, I find my bottom rising slightly in the air, eager to meet his hand. I ask, “So you think you’re in charge of me now?”

  “It looks that way.” He continues to spank me, causing desire to continue to grow in my core. But now, his fingers are creeping to the hem of my skirt. “Let’s get this pesky skirt out of the way. Little girls with dirty mouths get spanked on the bare.”

  My protests stick in my throat as he tugs my skirt over my hips, exposing my matching sheer pink panties. He’s already seen my bare bottom in the closet, but now, here in his apartment, it feels more intimate, more exposed. I think of the view he has, the cleft of my ass visible through those panties, and heat rises in my face.

  His hand smooths over my panties and I sigh, stretching out over his thigh. Goosebumps rise on my flesh at his gentle touch.

  “Such a pretty girl. So submissive for me.” He gives my ass a slap, making tingles dance over my skin. His voice husky and honeyed, he says, “I think we ought to get rid of these panties next. Don’t you?”

  Torn between losing my last ounce of modesty and dying to know what he has planned for me, I breathe, “I don’t—don’t know.”

  He spanks me over my panties. His hand landing on the center of my bottom, the curve of my bottom. Hard, then soft, leaving me guessing, not knowing whether each spank will bring pain or pleasure.

  It’s mind-blowing. I can barely exhale as I lie there, wanting more.

  “I want to see everything. I want to see how wet I make you.” His hands slip under the waist of my panties. He’s peeling them down, baring my skin to him. Over my thighs, down past my knees, over my feet... then gone.

  His hand smooths over my bare skin, igniting a fire between my legs. Now his fingers are walking up my thigh, pressing my legs apart. I open my legs, eager, hoping he will do something, anything to dull the ache growing inside of me.

  To my deepest delight, he slips a finger inside my slick entrance. His touch is explosive, sending a thrill through my whole body. The pleasure is intense, necessary, but it comes with a blanket of shame when he says, “So wet for me. Naughty girl likes her spankings, doesn’t she?”

  I moan, “Fuck me.”

  He chuckles, “I’d love to, but I’m afraid you’ll have to apologize first, you naughty girl.”

  “Never,” I whisper, a slow smile spreading on my lips as he adds a second finger to his welcome intrusion. “You’ll have to spank me all night.”

  “Such a bad little girl. So disobedient. Someone ought to teach you a lesson.” With that, he plunges his two fingers deep inside of my pussy.

  I cry out, my muscles clenching down on his invading digits. He pushes in, then pulls them out, massaging my slick folds, running their pads over my swollen clit, then plunging within me again. He has a magic touch, keeping his fingers together like two little soldiers battling for my pleasure.

  He repeats the process once more and I’m about to come. “Holy shit, I’m going to—”

  “Don’t you have something to say first?” he asks, cutting off my words. His fingers freeze.

  I gasp as my impending orgasm begins to ebb from my body. My head flies over my shoulders. “That’s torture—that’s abuse. You can’t... do that!”

  “Do what?” he asks.

  “Withhold an orgasm!”

  His slips his fingers back inside of me and I moan, melting back o
ver his lap in relief.

  He asks, “Is this what you wanted?”

  The climax builds once more and I croon, “Yes, yes, yes.”

  His fingers pause, no longer moving inside me. “Then what do you say, little girl?”

  It’s so humiliating, being made to apologize like this but buried under the shame is a delicious tinge of sexiness that makes my pussy quiver. “I-I’m sorry for trying to slap you.”

  I’m rewarded with another round of pressure, friction, and massaging. My climax grows.

  He asks, “And are you going to be a very good little girl now?”

  Oh, his words, his filthy words!

  They make me want to come. I breathe, “Yes,” as the pads of his fingers caress my clit.

  “You’re getting wetter and wetter. Are you thinking of my cock right here—” he fucks me with his fingers, leaving me gasping for air.

  “Ah—yes!” There’s a tightening inside me, causing desperation—I need to come.

  He leans down and the skin of his bare chest is hot as it wraps around my side. His mouth finds my ear, his breath tickling my lobe. “And are you going to keep your temper under control?”

  Can I? I want him too badly; I’ll have to lie.

  His fingers plunge inside me. His touch forces the answer from my lips. “Yes, yes, I will!”

  He asks, “You want me to make you come, little girl?”

  I’m so close—that heavenly burst of relief is edging toward me! My pussy tightens, gushing as I cry, “Yes, oh, God, yes!”

  “Then come for me, baby girl.” He keeps working his magic as he croons to me, “Come so hard for me.”

  My legs splay and his palm cups my bare, spanked ass as his fingers fuck me till I’m bucking and spasming over his lap. I’m coming in a burst of light and ecstasy and submission, giving him full control over my body as he masters it, tames it, with just his two fingers.

  As I lie limp over him, panting and recovering from my orgasm, I wonder, what can this man do with his cock?