Surrender
By
Shanna Handel
Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Shanna Handel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Handel, Shanna
Surrender
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Image by DepositPhotos/VitalikRadko
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
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Prologue
Nicholas
What do you do when the love of your life—the one who got away—shows up on your turf?
I know what I want to do.
I want to kiss her. I want to hold her.
Then take her over my knee and spank her. Punish her for leaving without so much as a goodbye.
Feel the sting on my palm, spanking that smooth round bottom. Turn her skin from creamy milk to a ripe red cherry. See her feet kick in protest. Feel her fight and wiggle over my lap, my cock hardening beneath her. Wrap my arm tighter around her waist. Pin her into place. Punish her till she’s saying sorry. Till she’s promising to be my very good girl.
Then hold her on my lap, her throbbing ass pressed into my thighs. Cuddle her and kiss the tears from her cheeks. Lay her down and thrust my cock into that sweet wet pussy. Feel it tighten around my shaft until I’m about to come. Flip her over the bed and take her in that perfect little ass.
Spilling my seed down her thigh.
Marking her as mine.
Punish her. Pleasure her.
Claiming every inch of her body.
That is what I want to do to her.
Will I get the chance? Or once again will she disappear in the night, taking my heart with her as she goes?
Chapter One
Three years earlier
Hannah
I should have stayed in the library. Just me, myself, and eyefuls of research. But I didn’t, and now I’m crammed into a tiny seat, pressing shoulders with a sleeping stranger on a New York City bus.
I’ve been a terrible friend. Guilt was the driving force that finally had me packing my trusty duffle bag and hiking it to the bus station. My childhood best friend, Adrianna, had moved to the city and met and married the man of her dreams. And I missed the wedding.
But then I was recently accepted into the doctorate program at Columbia, and I knew it was the perfect time to make the trip to meet her new family; soon, my course load will make it impossible to get away.
Adrianna became a Bachman. The way she speaks of her new family, they may as well be American Royalty. Wealthy men and women living in a little place they call the Village. A hidden community tucked away in the upper West Side. She’s texted me a few pics of herself partying with them, and they’re all quite gorgeous. But when I ask for details about the family, she’s elusive. I find it all quite mysterious.
Adrianna wanted to send a limo, but I told her very clearly, no limos, and insisted on paying my own way. Times are tight on my meager intern salary, hence, the bus ticket.
Luckily, the long ride is finally over. The exhaust-puffing monster pulls to the curb. As it slows to a stop, it’s suddenly filled with the high-pitched squeals of females. I want to put my hands over my ears to muffle the sounds. What is going on?
Then it hits me: the reason for the women on this bus going primal—the Bachmans must have already arrived to meet me. The occupants of the bus are stretching over one another as they hoot and holler. Their comments come in a jumbled rush, but I hear them all.
A woman wearing a bright purple dress howls, “Did we just pull up to Mt. Olympus? Damn—I thought we were on the West Side.”
“—Is that the guy that played the vampire in that movie?”
“—Nah. He’s too tan to be him. And better looking!”
“—It should be illegal to be packing heat like those guns. What does that guy do for a living? Own a gym?”
I smile. Adrianna may have mentioned the family owned a gym, among other thriving businesses.
I rise from my seat, craning my neck to get a better look. The pics I’ve seen have not done these men justice. I find my own jaw hanging open.
Shoulder to shoulder stand a group of men that could be reincarnated Greek gods. They’re sharply dressed, wearing crisp shirts in tones that complement their deep olive complexions, cut to show off their trim physiques. Tall, dark, and handsome never looked so good.
Nerves settle in my stomach—I’ve got to get off this bus and meet these supernatural beings. Taking a deep breath, I excuse myself and squeeze past my sleeping seat mate. I grab my duffle bag from the overhead storage. I try to make my way down the crowded aisle. It’s no use. As per usual with my small stature, no one notices me. “Excuse me, this is my stop.”
I’m ignored by Purple Dress who’s standing in the center of the aisle, blocking my way. She’s shouting, “There’s another one. How many is that? Six? Seven? And not a woman among them.”
A perky teen suggests, “Maybe they’re a boyband?”
“Oh, yeah! That’s it. They have that look, don’t they?” Purple Dress agrees.
I hold my bag against my chest, moving slowly as I push past her and inch my way toward the door.
“I still don’t see a woman with them. Maybe they’re all dating each other?”
A voice cries out from the back, “Wouldn’t stop me from making a move!” Catcalls rise from the seats.
A few more steps and I’ll be free of this crowd.
That’s when I hear the gasp. Signaling that my childhood best friend must have finally made her appearance.
I stand on tiptoe gazing over the onlookers and sure enough through the smudged glass, I see Adrianna gliding past her male bodyguards—she always was overprotected by the men in her life. Her dark hair shines like the sea as it streams behind her. Those long gazelle-like legs carry her slender designer-clad limbs toward me. She’s waving her hand in the air, the delicate curve of her chin turns up as she searches for me.
One woman shouts, “Save some for the rest of us, lady!” The group gives a good-natured laugh.
Following Adrianna, a handful of stunning women emerge from behind the guys. A disappointed moan rises from my fellow passengers—these men are obviously spoken for. Excitement over, people make their way back to their seats and I’m finally able to get down the aisle. I’m the only one getting off at this stop. I wait at the top of the stairs for the doors to open.
From behind me I hear the woman in the purple dress say, “Who’s the lucky duck on this bus, meeting that crew?”
I turn to face her. “Me.” I flash her a cheeky grin.
She smiles and gives me a wink. “Good for you, girl.” A congratulatory applause rises from the bus, making me laugh.
<
br /> I catch a glance of my reflection in the glass just before the doors open. I look nothing like the gods and goddesses who adorn the sidewalk. I’m short. And roundish. Dirty blonde waves tumble over my shoulders. No amount of product could tame my tresses and make them shine like Adrianna’s. Not that she hasn’t tried.
Born in England, grade school in Italy then college in the states, my accent and my fashion are an eclectic mix—at times I sound as American as my fellow classmates, other times they tease me for my posh accent, asking me if I’d like a spot of tea.
And I can’t seem to figure out what continent my style is from. Today, my outfit consists of a simple black A-line dress that’s a bit tighter than when I last remember wearing it, matched with Doc Marten boots. I have no idea if my clothing is acceptable and I don’t really care as I’ve always been more into studying than primping, valuing education over fashion.
My makeup-free skin drives Adrianna crazy. She lives to moisturize, contour, and paint every inch of her flawless face. Me, I wake up, splash a little water on my face and tug a brush through my hair. I’ll never be a great beauty and I don’t let it bother me.
I’ll always be Hannah—the hardworking one. The smart one.
The short one.
The doors open. My reflection disappears. And she’s standing right before me.
“Adri!” I leap from the stairs into her arms. She laughs and takes a step backwards as she catches me. I hug her, hard. Any hesitation I had over making the trip instantly melts away. “God, I’ve missed you so much!”
“Oh, Hannie! I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been dying for you to meet everyone.” She lifts me from the ground with her tinkling bell of a laugh. Twirls me around and deposits me back onto the sidewalk.
I laugh with her, saying, “Please don’t introduce me to your family with that silly nickname you gave me in first grade.”
“I’ll try not to—but no promises.”
She steps back elegantly waving her arm in front of the Bachman family. Standing this close to them, I feel pricks of sweat rising beneath my arms.
They’re an intimidating crowd.
I guess that’s what good genes, hard work, and a lot of money get you.
“Um... hello?” I give a small wave, addressing them as a group.
They all smile back. One by one they take me in their arms, giving me huge hugs. Welcoming me. Kissing my cheeks. By the time they pass me back to Adrianna, my face is flushed, my palms damp.
I must look as overwhelmed as I feel because one of the men steps apart from the group and takes my arm in his. Steadying me.
His flesh is warm against mine as I raise my eyes to meet his. Baby blues that sparkle with mischief. His face is framed by a shock of dark, tousled hair, quite a contrast to his light eyes. His jawline forms a hard edge but then he smiles and dimples appear, instantly disarming me.
He leans down and whispers into my ear, “You okay? We can be a bit much.”
I smile up at him. “I’m good. But thanks for asking. I’m used to it. I practically grew up with Adrianna’s family.”
“Ah, so you understand the nature of the big Italian and Greek families?”
“Pretty much. As kids we ran around with her cousins. There were always more of them than I could count.”
“If you grew up with Adrianna then you’ve met the head of the Village, Rockland?”
Head of the Village? How peculiar that this family would have its own leader. “I’ve met him but never spent much time with him. He was a few years older than us.”
“He’ll be happy to see you. You’ll be reacquainted when we get home. My name’s Nicholas. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Adrianna’s been talking about you nonstop.” Without asking, Nicholas lifts my bag from the sidewalk and flings it over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.
I’m unnerved by the crowd and want the familiar weight of my bag on my shoulder. I reach my hand out to take it from him. “I can get that.”
He bats me away, flashing me a wink. “Here at the Village the men do the heavy lifting.”
“I carried it this far. I’m quite capable of making it another few blocks—” I shoot my hand past his, wrapping my fingers around the bag’s strap and giving it a good tug.
He untangles my hand from the bag, leaving it at my side. His face is suddenly inches from mine. The scent of his cologne swirls around me. “No need to prove your strength to me.”
I keep my voice even though he’s towering over me. “Says who?”
“Says me.”
I flinch backwards in shock as he wraps his hand around the back of my neck. His touch is light, but firm. I freeze like prey in the hands of a predator.
He leans in further, so close I feel his breath caress my ear. “And what I say, goes.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. I find my words, wiggling from his hold. “Just give me my bag, alright?”
He lowers his hand. Those steely blue eyes lock on mine. Sending quivers through my belly. “You have a problem with authority, don’t you?”
“And just what authority do you have over me?”
“I’ve been asked to escort you.” He steps by, his shoulder brushing me roughly as he passes. His scent lingers in the air as he calls over his shoulder, “You have a lot to learn about the Village, little girl.”
I watch him go. “What was that?” I whisper to myself. I blink my eyes, hard. Exhale out a deep breath. Give my head a shake. What the hell just happened? Before I can overthink the exchange, Adrianna appears by my side.
She’s beaming at me. “That’s Nicholas. He’s cute, right?”
“I found him to be a bit rude.”
Her sunny gaze clouds over. “I thought you’d like him.”
“He refused to let me carry my bag. Told me I’ve got a problem with authority,” I leave out the part about calling me a little girl—I’m still blushing over it and don’t want to repeat it, “and I’ve only just met him.”
“Oh... shoot.”
“What is it?” I ask, staring angrily after him. He’s strolling down the sidewalk, my bag slung over his shoulder.
“It’s just that...” The waver in her voice pulls my attention to her face. She twists a strand of hair around her finger. Bites her bottom lip. Nervously, she fingers the gorgeous pendant—emeralds in the shape of a sword—that hangs around her neck.
She’s holding something back. Hand on my hip, I demand, “Spit it out, Adri.”
She speaks frantically, using her hands as she talks. “It’s just that we aren’t really allowed to have nonfamily members visit at the Village. But I wanted you to meet everyone, so I had to beg Rockland. He gave me permission, but only because he knew you back home—”
“Permission to visit?” They really are the American Royals. “Is this a family or a monarchy?”
“Oh, my. A monarchy—isn’t that a romantic thought! Can you imagine living in a castle, wearing those gorgeous dresses—” Her eyes turn toward the sky and I know she’s lost in a fantasy world from one of her historical romances.
I grasp her shoulders, bringing her back from dreamland. “Adri!”
“Sorry... as I was saying, he gave his permission but only under one condition...”
“Which was?”
“He said that anytime you are in the Village and not with me—like right by my side—you have to be escorted.”
“By Nicholas?”
Her nose wrinkles adorably. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Yes, it is in fact a problem.” A picture of Rockland floods my mind. Caught somewhere between a surfer and a samurai, he’s tanned, muscular—and deadly looking. And though Nicholas has an easier way about him, he seems no less authoritarian. I either cancel my visit or obey their orders.
There’s no other option.
But I still protest. “I don’t want to be under the authority of some guy I don’t even know.”
“I get it... I really do... but this was the only way. Please, please,
please. Say yes. Say you’ll stay. Nicholas is great. He’s a real gentleman as long as...”
“You obey his orders?”
The look on her face tells me I’m not wrong. “Kind of?”
“Is this truly the only way I’ll be able to stay?” I ask. I want to say, hell, no. Get right back on that bus. But now that I’m with Adrianna, I’m eager to spend time with her and I promised myself I would take a break from research and have some fun.
“Uh-huh.” She’s giving me that pleading look. The one I’ve not yet been able to say no to.
I imagine myself temporarily retiring my feminist card, slipping it into my dress pocket. It’s only a few days. What’s the worst that could happen? “Okay, alright. I’ll play along. But please know—I don’t like this. Not one bit. I’m only agreeing to this because I love you so much.”
“Yay! Thank you, Hannie! We’re going to have so much fun!” She gives me a tight squeeze. Spins on her heel and flits off into the crowd.
Leaving me alone. “Where are you going?” I stand on tiptoe, craning to see over the crowd, but I lose sight of her. A moment later, from across the street, I hear her calling my name. I stretch my neck in search of her and finally spot her. And my heart drops from my chest into my boots.
She’s climbing on the back of a motorcycle.
The handsome green-eyed driver I recognize as her husband, Dante, the first of the men I was introduced to. She pulls a helmet over her gleaming hair and points over my shoulder. “Get on!”
Dread fills my stomach. I look further down the street where Nicholas is sitting on top of his own motorcycle. Helmet in place. A second, smaller helmet rests in his hands. Shiny and fire engine red.
And meant for me.
“Motorcycles? Seriously, Adrianna?” I shout over the roar.
She shrugs. “You said no limos.” She gives me a wave then wraps her arms around her husband’s trim waist. And is gone.
What does she expect me to do? Climb behind this misogynistic man—a guy who thinks it’s okay to call me little girl within five minutes of meeting me—wrap my arms around his muscled body, and hold on for dear life as we tear through the city streets?
Surrender: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 1
