Carter
By
Shanna Handel
Copyright © 2019 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
Carter
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Image by Shutterstock/kiuikson
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
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
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Chapter One
Carter
Sasha’s being difficult.
Again.
I can’t believe we’re having this discussion.
Again.
There is no way for me to hold off any longer. I’ve been patient. I’ve been understanding. I’ve waited for her to uphold her end of the bargain.
To become the submissive woman she’s promised me she’d be.
Being one of the top tier men in the exclusive family of crime I belong to, I can have it no other way. Our Village—a secret world of philanthropic billionaires hidden in plain sight in New York City—demands it be this way. Our way of life only works if our delicate balance is upheld.
The men dominate, the women submit.
It’s how we keep them safe in this dangerous world that we’ve created.
But Sasha—she’s so headstrong. I can’t seem to get it through to her that submitting to me doesn’t make her weak. The opposite in fact. She’s a strong woman choosing to allow a man to lead her.
Why have I waited so long to demand she live the lifestyle she’s committed to?
I run my hand through my hair and one word creeps into my mind.
Fear.
Fear of losing my beloved Sasha. She’s a tigress, born of sheer will and determination. I didn’t want to push her, for fear I’d made a mistake—that I’d chosen poorly and the woman I love can’t abide the life I’ve chosen. The vow I’ve made to my brotherhood. The vow I made when I became a Bachman.
And we Bachman men have a very special way of dealing with errant women.
I fear I’ve waited too long to introduce her to our ways.
I know she thinks I’m too weak to take her in hand. That it isn’t in her sweet boyfriend’s nature.
I’ve never bothered to correct her. To tell her that though I’m kind, she’s gotten the whole picture terribly confused.
I didn’t want to scare her away.
The truth is, I’ve been holding back. Refraining from showing her that side of me.
The dark side. My true Bachman nature.
The desire to dominate. To punish. It runs hot through my blood. I want to throw her over my lap and spank her till she cries. Fuck her so hard she’s screaming my name with tears streaming down her cheeks. Push her to the edge—find the boundary where pain becomes pleasure.
But I haven’t.
And now, I’m regretting my decision to wait. As I look her over, my blood is boiling. She’s such a fucking brat right now, my palm is beginning to itch. And my cock is pulsing. Her hands are on her hips. She stomps her foot. “I said, I want to go out. The clubs are just opening and you’re trying to have us go home for the night.”
I run my hands through my hair. “Be reasonable, Sasha. We have an early morning. You will not be teaching spin at five a.m. hung over and cranky.”
Tossing me a look of annoyance, she flips her ponytail over her shoulder. It takes every ounce of my self-control to not grab the end of it and yank... hard.
“Fine. I’ll go out on my own and you can stay home.” She turns, bouncing up the stairs. The black spandex of her workout pants strains against her tight ass.
An ass I’m going to smack. Over and over again until the palm of my hand stops twitching and her skin is red hot. I want her crying, begging me to stop. Promising me through her tears that she’ll be my good girl.
The door slams.
I’m left standing on the street.
Enough is enough. Tonight, I will introduce her to the real Carter Bachman. I will spank her for the first time, and it will surely not be the last. I go to make my move, follow that curving ass up the stairs so I can punish it.
As I go, my eye catches Bronson’s—the head of our family. He stands beside a woman I’ve never seen before. A pretty girl with dark hair and eyes, like Sasha. She sees me staring and ducks behind his broad shoulders, as if to hide.
By the look on his face, he’s witnessed the whole fight. I hear him say to the girl, “If you’ll excuse me just a moment.”
She gives a small nod. She shoots me a curious look as Bronson walks over to me.
His stride radiates power. Control.
He stops, standing less than a foot before me. He rests one hand on my shoulder. The other, he offers to me in greeting.
“Hey, Bronson,” I say, taking his hand and shaking it. He gives me the famous Bronson shake—firm grip.
His eyes lock on mine, holding my gaze as he releases my hand. The hand on my shoulder remains, heavy. Steadying me for the weight of what he’s about to say. His gaze leaves mine as he leans in. He brings his mouth close to my ear.
He says, “If you don’t spank her, I will.”
His words hit me. Tightening my gut. I envision him, Sasha thrown over his knee, his hand punishing her ass. It makes my blood boil. If I didn’t respect him so much—and it wouldn’t get me killed—I might even throw a punch.
My body tenses. I’m one rigid muscle.
He pulls away. His eyes are so dark they look black. I stare back, reading his expression. Concern is etched in his features. Worry flashes in his gaze.
In that moment, I remember: This man loves me. He’s my brother.
My anger toward him dissipates. As always, he’s only looking out for me. For the Village.
I don’t bother to tell him that’s just what I’m off to do. A waste of words. He needs only a nod from me, and I give it to him. My silent promise to right this wrong. To bring balance back to our family.
I take the stairs two at a time.
I barge through the door. When I call her name, my voice bellows. “Sasha!”
* * *
Sasha
Carter actually thinks he’s going to put me over his knee and spank me.
Boy, does he have another think coming.
Had he missed me teaching kickboxing this morning? One swift kick, right to the family jewels. That’s all it will take to bring him to his knees.
One kick.
Sure, Carter’s six foot five and built of nothing but solid muscle. But I’m strong—he should know, he’s the one who’d trained me at Barbells, the gym he owns, the one we will soon co-own. And I’m faster than him.
Disciplining me just isn’t... him. He’s a sweetheart. A dedicated boyfriend. Holds the door for me, talks to my mother on the phone when she calls, helping her with her
broken English. Runs to the store for chocolate and Midol at that time of the month.
Tells me I’m beautiful even when I have the flu.
I stopped wearing makeup when we first began dating because he loved the look of my bare face so much.
He adores me.
And... the proposal.
I was the envy of all the Bachman women.
He’d rented the entire rooftop bar, just for us. The diamond is a three-carat, marquise-cut beauty, on a raised platinum band. It had been ethically mined—that’s just the kind of guy Carter is—by a man in Africa who’d personally earned half the money Carter had paid for it.
After reciting a tear-jerking poem he’d written for me, he asked for my hand, and I’d accepted.
Carter and I love to celebrate. Immediately after I’d said yes, he surprised me by having the entire Bachman clan came up from our Village and party the night away. My favorite champagne flowed like water from fountains. Platters of sashimi—no carbs, no guilt—had just been flown in that morning. It had been the Bachman party of the year.
Wait till the girls see the wedding I planned. Not even Bronson’s wife—if he ever found a woman he thought worthy of his love—will have a celebration as big as mine.
And Carter will let me have whatever I want.
Carter and I’ve been dating for one year, engaged for another, and I’ve run the show the entire time.
That’s just how we work.
If I don’t get what I want, I throw a fit. If that doesn’t work, I play the sex kitten. He caves.
Every time.
Tonight, for example, I want to go out. I can practically hear the beat of the club music thumping through my veins. All my friends will be there, and I just found that lost, slinky little black dress hiding in the back of my closet. The one that barely covers my ass and will send Carter into a fit of rage if he sees me wear it out.
Which he won’t.
Because I’m going to sneak out.
Sure, I have a five a.m. spin class teaching the elite housewives of New York City how to cycle their already skinny asses off. I’m only going to have a few drinks and dance for a couple of hours. That still leaves three hours for sleep.
I’ll be fine.
Tonight, we’ve been fighting, as usual. Carter telling me no. Me telling him I’ll do what I please. As with any other fight, I will win. Either by using the charms of my sweet little cunny on him, or the power of my sheer will.
No one tells me no.
Things are going as per our usual.
But then, Bronson Bachman came over, whispering something in Carter’s ear just as I was stomping up the steps. The way Bronson eyed me, contempt flashing in his dark irises, made a shiver run down my spine.
The nerve.
Who does he think he is? Giving me those dirty looks?
I guess he is the head of the Bachman clan. One of, if not the singular most powerful men in New York City.
But he needs to mind his own business.
This is between me and Carter.
When I get through the door, I slam it behind me for good measure.
I run up the stairs to the second floor and watch Carter from the window. Bronson says a few words. Carter gives Bronson a nod, then comes flying up the porch steps, two at a time.
Carter busts through the front door, shouting my name. There’s an edge to his voice I don’t recognize. Bronson must have gotten him riled up pretty good.
Nothing I can’t handle.
I step out from where I’m watching in the living room window. I lean one hand on the frame of the doorway that connects the living room to the stairwell, where he stands below.
I look down, batting my eyelashes and sweetly say, “Yes, my love?” I put my other hand on my hip, turning my body. I know my shirt is rising, showing off my toned midriff. I know that when I turn just so, the curve of my ass is sticking out. Luring him in.
He’s not buying it.
He narrows his eyes at me. “That’s enough, Sasha. It’s time I took you over my knee and taught you a lesson about respect.”
I almost laugh out loud. Despite my best efforts to hide my amusement, a smirk plays at my lips.
But something changes in his face. His features turn to stone. His gaze hardens in a way that makes me tremble.
A shiver of fear runs down my spine.
Seconds later he’s up the stairs, next to me on the landing. He grabs my upper arm. His fingers tighten around my bicep. I give a little gasp—I’m surprised by the pain of his hold. He yanks me toward him. His face is inches from mine. Heat and anger radiate from him. There’s queer tightening in my stomach and I feel as if I’ll start sweating. I try to tug my arm away, but he’s holding me too tightly.
I stare into his eyes and what I see there makes me freeze.
He wants to hurt me.
When he speaks, his tone makes me tremble. “I mean it. Get yourself upstairs, right now.”
His fingers dig into my flesh. His broad shoulders seem even larger as he looms over me. Fire flashes in his eyes.
To my surprise, I’m hit by an intense wave of desire. My nipples tighten, my core turns to lava. I’ve never seen him this way and it’s turning me on. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Up to the bedroom. Right now.”
“But Carter, I—”
His words are cut from steel. “Not another word. Get up there and wait for me. It’s time you and I had a little chat.”
I’ve been around the Bachman wives long enough to know what talk and little chat are code for.
He thinks he’s going to beat my ass.
And there’s no way I’m going to let it happen.
First, I have to play nice. Arranging my features into an apologetic face, I say, “Oh, Carter. Has it really come to that?” I look at him from beneath my dark lashes and give him the teensiest, tiniest pout. He’s already starting to cave. His eyes soften. His jaw loosens.
His voice is apologetic when he speaks. “I’m afraid so.”
He lets me go.
I humbly slide up the stairs. I roll my hips as I make my way. I’m just a naughty little sex kitten going upstairs for her punishment. And he’s buying it.
Once inside the third-floor master bedroom, I quickly start changing. Stripping out of my black spandex workout clothes, I slide into the tiny dress—the short black and silver striped number that barely covers my ass. I slip into black strappy sandals. My ponytail from the gym will have to do. Pretty soon I’ll be dancing and sweating anyway.
It’d been less than three minutes since Carter sent me up, and I’m ready to go.
I told you I’m fast.
I go to the doors that lead to the balcony overlooking the back garden. Down the narrow steps of the fire escape I fly—all the Bachman rowhomes have one; you can never have enough getaway routes. My feet hit the street and I take off in a run. My sandals kiss the pavement lightly, barely making a noise.
I get to our back gate, press my thumb against the keypad. Through the first gate, then the second. Into the back of Barbells, our gym. One more keypad and I’m through the side door and onto the New York City streets.
It’s too chilly of a night for such a dress, but I’m plenty warm from my escape. Two blocks later, I’m smiling at Manny, the bouncer blocking the door of my favorite club.
Gotcha’s.
I couldn’t grab my purse with my cash and ID. It was on the first floor with Carter. But they know me here. Manny pulls the black velvet rope back for me. He winks. “Evening, Sasha. No Carter, tonight?”
“Nope. I’m flying solo.” I flash him my most charming grin. With a swish of my long ponytail, I sashay into the club.
It will only take a minute to find a man to buy me a drink in this dress. Who needs a purse?
But before the drink, one quick dance.
Not bothering to find my friends yet, I elbow my way through the crowd, right to the center of the floor. The room is dark, the colorful lights f
licker and swirl over the black walls and ground. The music thumps a steady rhythm that overtakes my body. My eyes close; my arms reach up over my head. The sound reverberates through my limbs. I sway back and forth, my hips gyrating to the beat.
It’s one of my favorite songs—one I play when I teach my Zumba classes. I’m finding myself doing exactly what I tell my class to do: let go and release your inner sex goddess. I can feel others’ gazes devouring me as I lift my arms higher. Shake my ass harder—
Suddenly, I’m ripped from my meditative dance—someone’s grabbing my arm and yanking me hard. I lurch from the center of the floor.
“What the hell—” I start to scream. Then I stop.
I’m staring into the face of my fiancé. For the second time tonight, I’m gasping from the pain of his grip.
His blond hair stands on end. His chiseled jaw is clenched.
His green eyes are normally happy, sparkling. Now they flash at me, daring me to speak. He turns, pulling me further from the dance floor.
Fear rips through my body. What is he going to do to me? Should I call for Manny?
He’s hurting my arm. I’m stumbling behind him, trying to keep up. I’m afraid I’ll fall and he’ll drag me across the club.
Everyone around us stops dancing. Watching as he pulls me into a dark corner. Holding my arm with one hand, he grabs the back of an empty chair with his other. With a bang, he turns the chair around, so it is facing the back corner of the room. He sits down and tugs me roughly over his lap.
I’m in shock. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Oomph!” I land over his thighs. My hands grasp for something, anything other than the sticky floor. I settle on wrapping my fingers around the legs of the chair. Luckily, thanks to my yoga classes, I’m able to balance my weight. I quickly press my tiptoes into the floor behind me, performing some kind of new downward dog.
Once I’m positioned and not fearing falling, reality strikes me.
I’m lying over Carter’s lap.
In the club.
Surrounded by people.
All my friends are here.
They are all watching.
He’s finally going to give me the spanking he’s been threatening me with for years.
My face burns with humiliation. Sure, we’re in a dark corner, but I can feel the curious gazes on me. I hear the hushed whispers. I picture their faces—pretending not to stare, politely not observing the spectacle before their eyes.
Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 1
