by Kiera Silver
“Come along, Gio. I’m sure the lovebirds wish to be alone.” The man took a step aside for the younger man before pausing again near Patrick. “I look forward to receiving an invitation.”
“Of course,” said Patrick, and she didn’t think the other two realized just how reluctant Patrick was to give the confirmation.
Once they had moved away, their bodyguards gathering around them in a protective half-circle as two more men in suits joined the small group at the exit, she watched them leave. It was only after the door closed behind them that she released a shuddering breath and allowed herself to relax. “Who were they?”
Patrick hesitated for a moment, seeming to be debating something. “Those are associates of mine, I guess you could say. That was Sal Peretti, and his nephew, Gio. When Sal kicks off or finally retires, Gio will be the one taking over.”
“Do you have to work with them very often?” The thought made her anxious.
“More than I’d like,” he said softly, his gaze moving around the tables near them to ensure no one was listening. He leaned closer, even though everyone near them seemed engrossed in each other and not them. “They’re the Italian head.” He must’ve seen her look of incomprehension, because he expounded coyly. “Like I’m the Irish head. Get it?”
She nodded as it clicked in place. “And you all work together?”
He laughed, but didn’t sound completely amused. “We do a damn good impression of doing so, but I don’t know how much togetherness there really is in our little truce. Still, it minimizes the bloodshed of the Irish, Italian, and Russians by all cooperating with each other. Things have been tense with the Perettis for the past eighteen months.”
Reluctantly fascinated, though part of her urged not to learn anything more about Patrick’s criminal activities than she had to, she leaned closer to him too. “What happened?”
“We haven’t had the best relationship for the past five years as it was, but things escalated when one of my men went up against his grandson for a woman. It ended up with violence and bloodshed, and Aldo Peretti was dead. No big loss.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I might not have been as neutral about my position as I should have been, but I couldn’t help rooting for Shane. I gave Mia the knife she used to kill Aldo.”
They were so close now that anyone looking at them would have assumed they were sharing the whispers of lovers, speaking of naughty acts they wanted to do to each other in the dark. She made a note to ask for more details later, but decided now wasn’t the time in the present circumstances. “So what happens if your truce falls apart?”
He let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a grunt. “Total fucking chaos, Lauren. War on a massive scale, the kind that money can’t cover up, the kind that draws the feds. We have incentives to keep the peace.”
She leaned back, nodding. “We should do whatever we have to then to make sure that happens.”
He seemed slightly amused by her use of we, but he nodded. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
She nodded, but another chill went down her spine a moment later when he reminded her of something she had forgotten.
“After all, there’s still a punishment ahead of you.”
She shivered, torn between excitement and a touch of fear. Just what did he have in mind?
Back at his home, Patrick took her to his room instead of hers. She stepped through to find the lavatory, but the open closet door caught her attention. She walked by and looked in, drawing in a deep breath when she saw her clothes hanging on one side of the closet. Someone on the staff had moved her things from the room she’d always used to his while they were gone. Her heart pounded with excitement to know she was going to be sharing his bed now, instead of being forced to wait until they were married.
The feel of his hands on her upper arms took some of her excitement when she once again remembered something unknown faced her. “I’m not sure I like this punishment idea.”
“Too bad.” He said it sternly, but his lips were tender as they brushed the strong column of her throat after he shoved her hair aside. “I won’t have you lying to me.”
“But I’m not some child who needs to be disciplined or punished.”
He turned her in his arms suddenly, and she collided with him. His strong chest cushioned the blow, and she was plastered against him as she stared up at him. “No, you aren’t a child, but you’re my wife. Or you will be, and you won’t ever lie to me.” To emphasize his words, he tangled his hands in her hair and tugged sharply, forcing her neck backward and exposing every square inch of the vulnerable skin to the sharp nibble of his teeth, interspersed with forceful section from his mouth.
It hurt, but also felt amazing. She shivered under the sensation, not certain how she should feel or react. “I promise I won’t fib to you again.”
He chuckled softly, the sound making his lips vibrate against the skin of her neck. “Let’s just make sure of that, shall we?”
She wasn’t certain whether she should keep protesting, and she decided to stand still as he unzipped the exquisite gown to let it fall to her feet. It was too beautiful to risk anything happening to it in a frenzied moment or if they were playing rough. After it was off, she stepped out of the pool of fabric and bent to retrieve it. Patrick watched with hooded eyes as she took the dress and folded it over the chair at the vanity table. Then she came back to him, straightened her shoulders, and met his gaze. “Should I have a safe word?”
He flashed her a grin. “You’re always safe with me, honey. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hand cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger fastening around her nipple. He suddenly tugged sharply enough to make her cry out. “Much, anyway.”
She was still fearful, but staring into his eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to actually, truly be afraid of him or what he had planned. Patrick had done nothing but take care of her since she had become his ward four-and-a-half years ago. He had been good to her, and he was still taking care of her even now. She wasn’t certain she approved of or cared for this aspect of his care, but she was willing to see where it went. “If I say stop…?”
“No.”
Why did that simple, stark word make her tremble with desire instead of shudder with fear? “Is this a trust thing?”
“Yes. I need to trust you, and you need to trust me. You need to trust that I won’t hurt you, and I have your best interests at heart.” He pinched her nipple again, eliciting another sharp cry from her from the discomfort in her nipple, even as a spark of pleasure made her thighs clench around her tingling pussy.
“What are you going to do?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Stand there.”
She forced herself to remain utterly still as Patrick disrobed, standing near enough that she could have reached out to touch his body, but she didn’t. She was doing her best to go along with whatever Patrick wanted from her.
He didn’t stop taking off his clothes until he wore nothing. She was still in lace-trimmed thigh-highs, pumps, and skimpy panties, but nothing else.
“Lay on the bed, on your stomach.”
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she walked the distance to the bed in the high heels, torn between kicking them off or leaving them on. Finally, she decided to keep them on since they were so sexy. Anything that distracted Patrick from his little discipline lesson could only help, right? She sprawled on the bed with a dramatic collapse, until she was lying right in the center on her stomach, head cradled by a pillow, with her arms and legs spread wide.
“I do love that look.” He moved, the rustle of fabric revealing he was doing something, but she wasn’t certain what. The anticipation was driving her insane, and she assumed it was part of her punishment. Maybe it was even the majority of her punishment, to guess and wonder and fear what was coming next, even as she longed for it.
“This is a new belt.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he was sharing fashion information with her, but the realization filtered
through her brain at the same time the first sharp sting of leather against her cheeks shot through her. She yelped her protest and went to turn over, but his hand on the middle of her back, lodged firmly between her shoulder blades, prevented her from moving. “I don’t like this, Patrick.”
“Who likes punishment, my love?” He ended the question by swatting lightly on her other cheek. She realized his motions were far gentler than she had first assumed. The sting was already fading, and it was the sound more than anything that had given her the impression of true pain for a moment. She had expected it, so she had found it.
As he struck again, this time in a different spot on her other cheek, she felt the sting again, but it wasn’t terribly painful. In fact, her pussy was suddenly flooded with moisture, and she squirmed on the bed, unable to find relief as he continued to spank her with the leather belt. She lost count of how many times he stroked the belt across her ass, too caught up in arousal and need to worry about trivial things like counting.
She was vaguely aware of his breath growing heavier, his exhales more ragged, but he never lost control. Each lick of the belt hit with exactly the same amount of force as the one before it, and she was surprised at herself to feel the sting of disappointment when the blows stopped, and the buckle made a clanging sound as it hit the floor.
“Is that all?” Was that really her voice, so thick and full of passion, coarse with need that she had barely been able to keep from screaming aloud, demanding release?
“Yes.” He walked away from her, and she remained lying still, uncertain if she should move. Was he going to leave her sexually frustrated as part of her punishment? That seemed far more cruel than the belt he had taken to her butt. She whimpered in her distress, relieved to hear him approaching a moment later, his bare feet padding softly across the hardwood floor.
“That is a beautiful sight.” The flash of a camera startled her, but she didn’t utter a protest. What was the point? He probably wouldn’t listen, and it didn’t matter. Her face wasn’t in the photo. “I want you to see how gorgeous you little red ass is, striped with my belt. Next time, I’ll use my hand. I love the sight of white flesh contrasting with a red handprint.”
“There won’t be a next time, because I won’t lie again.” She couldn’t believe it, but a dart of disappointment shot through her as she uttered the words. Did she seriously want him to spank her? The tightening in her pussy told her yes, she did. She craved it as a sex game, but not as discipline from her fiancé. That thought still didn’t sit well with her.
She let out a gasp of surprise a second later when something smooth and silky fell across her ass. She stiffened in surprise. “What’s that?”
“Lotion.” He smoothed it over her taut cheeks, soothing the reddened areas with gentle caresses. “It should help minimize bruising, if I hit you hard enough to leave more than a fading red mark.”
She closed her eyes, startled by the realization that she had almost told him she wanted to bruise. She wanted to see the proof remaining tomorrow of what he had done tonight. It was an insane reaction, but she couldn’t deny it made her even more aroused to think of him marring her skin.
She didn’t want him to actually hurt her in a serious way, but his idea of discipline was sexy and fun, and it touched a side of her she had not known existed until this very night. The side of her that longed for dark and dangerous, probably the part of her that had been drawn to Patrick to start with and wouldn’t be dissuaded by the knowledge he was a mafia man.
She stiffened when his thumb slipped between her cheeks, probing at the taut rosette there. “I’ve never done that, Patrick.”
He chuckled softly. “I didn’t think you had. I know it’s somewhat fashionable for young ladies who are saving themselves to offer up their black cherry instead, but I just couldn’t see my girl doing something like that.” His thumb pressed insistently at the resistant ring of muscle, sliding deeper inside her when it yielded. “At least, not with anyone but me.”
She shook her head against the pillow before using it to muffle a moan as his thumb wiggled inside her. “I’m not going to like it.”
He laughed again. “That’s what you said about spanking.” No further clarification was needed when he easily slipped two fingers inside her slick folds.
She writhed under the dual attention of his fingers inside her slit, coupled with the thumb in her backside. He was thrusting them together in concert, occasionally tightening or squeezing his hand in a way that sent her jumping off the bed each time he did it. Her nerve endings buzzed with intense pleasure, and she could feel an orgasm approaching as he continued to strum her with his expert touch.
She couldn’t stave it off anymore, and her pussy clamped tight around his fingers, drawing them in deeper. Her back passage did the same, and he let out a groan that sounded like he was almost in pain as she cried his name while she climaxed.
Seconds later, his hand was gone, and he lifted her onto her knees. There was no time to adjust, but no adjustment was necessary as he lined up his pulsing cock with her opening and pushed inside her forcefully. Patrick tangled a hand in her hair, forcing her head backward and her back to arch for him. She screamed as he pounded into her, but it was a scream of primal pleasure, not one of fear or pain. She had never imagined sex could be like this, and she’d read her share of erotic romances. It was animalistic and raw, and she knew he wasn’t holding anything back. Neither was she, and she strove to meet his every wild, deep, and demanding thrust.
The room was filled with the sounds of their passionate onslaught against each other, peppered with cries, moans, grunts, and the sweet slap of flesh against flesh.
He jerked harder on her hair, likely without thought, when he started to come. She strained backward against him as much as she could, bringing a hand between her thighs to rub her clit. It only took a couple of strokes to send her over the edge, and she convulsed around him.
Afterward, they collapsed into a sweaty heap, and she found it almost impossible to move. “Patrick?”
“Yes, Lauren?” He sounded as exhausted she felt.
“If that was your idea of punishment, feel free to discipline me anytime.” She said it playfully, because she didn’t want him to think she was actually okay with him punishing her.
He laughed softly before pressing a kiss to her shoulder and pulling her closer to him. “Let’s just call that fun and remove discipline completely from the picture.”
She liked that idea, but she hoped fun would still include the occasional spanking, because it had been delightfully wicked pleasure, much to her surprise. The entire experience had been surprising, full of revelations, and she couldn’t wait to do it again.
Chapter Eight
They had chosen to have a moderate-sized wedding, since he had people that must be invited. The invitations had gone out, and the ceremony was in four weeks. He had wanted desperately to accidentally forget to send Peretti an invitation, but it was a slight that wouldn’t be easily forgiven. Especially since Alexei Varnakov would be in attendance, having already RSVPed to attend in his father’s place.
Patrick was reluctant to have the other man at his wedding, not just because he loathed Peretti, but also because he wanted to keep Lauren as far away from the Perettis as possible. He was sweating bullets that the other man might recognize her maiden name. At least he had managed to have the invitations altered at the last minute to remove her father’s name. She had insisted on the invitations reading “daughter of Howard Welsh,” and he’d pretended to go along with it, but there was no way in hell he was going to have that man’s name on the invitations for the Perettis to see.
She had been understandably upset and disappointed with the final product, when the invitations had arrived without her father’s name on them. Lauren had seemed to accept easily that it was just a mistake on the printer’s part, and when she had suggested they delay the wedding by a week to allow time for reprinting, he had pointed out their deposit was nonrefu
ndable, and most of the invitations had already been sent by his efficient assistant. He’d kissed away her disappointment, hating to cause her pain, but having good reason to shield her connection to Howard Welsh.
Assuming the matter settled, it was disconcerting to have her come bouncing happily into his study just a few days later, a new box of invitations in her hand. “What’s that?”
“Mementos for the wedding.” She passed him one. “They’ll double as placemats.”
He exhaled softly, relieved to find out they weren’t new invitations with her father’s name. The relief lasted until he opened the one she handed him, finding a collage of photos inside. At first glance, it was simply the two of them, but as he peered closer, his stomach dipped with dread to see pictures of his mother and father and himself as a younger man, his younger brothers and his two sisters, and of course, pictures scattered throughout of her with her father too.
They were small images, and he only prayed Peretti or one of his people wouldn’t pay much attention to the souvenir. After all, he could think of no good reason not to leave these at the place settings for their guests. It was a beautiful idea, a way to bring family that was gone into the wedding too, and he couldn’t destroy the pleasure in her eyes by insisting she not go ahead with the plan.
As he drew her onto his lap, his hand sliding under her skirt automatically to stroke her thigh, he consoled himself with the knowledge that Peretti wouldn’t find out about the connection, but if he did, it wouldn’t be until she was already a Murphy. When she bore his name, there was no way Peretti would come after her. When she was his wife, she would be safe.
Her dress was everything she’d hoped it would be. Lauren stared at herself in the mirror, awaiting the final fitting, entranced by the vision before her. She looked like a princess with yards of lace and satin flowing around her. The seamstress was on her knees to tackle an errant seam that had dared come undone, so she was allowed an undisturbed few minutes to just stare at herself. She was like a princess from a fairytale.
