by Renee Rose
“So how is your mother?” Doña Teresa asked.
“She’s well. She lives in Florida now.”
“So I heard. Remarried, eh?”
She nodded, willing the knots in her belly to release. She was fairly certain Teresa disliked her mother, which caused her to remember, with a sharp pain in the chest, that her mother had been the cause of her father’s death. She wondered who here knew. Probably none of the women. But how many of the men? Pauly? Sammy? Tony? Was his killer here tonight?
“Do you like him?” Doña Teresa asked. “The new husband?”
She chewed her lip and shrugged. “Not so much. But he makes my mom happy.”
“Ah,” said the older woman with a glint in her eye. “That’s important.”
“Hey, Joey,” Sammy called to him. “Come on, Al’s breaking out the cigars.”
Joey patted her on the knee. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” he said, getting up and leaving without waiting for her reply. Even though she’d been the one avoiding him before they sat down, his abandonment irritated her. But hell, this wasn’t a date. This was a family gathering, one of hundreds she’d attended over her lifetime. She certainly didn’t need him to hold her hand.
“I’m taking off, Doña Teresa,” a young college aged man said, leaning down to kiss her.
She didn’t need him to hold her hand, and she didn’t need to wait for him to take her home, either. “Are you driving past Oak Park?” she asked, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Doña Teresa.
“Yeah, you need a ride?”
“Yes, please,” she said, jumping up to grab her purse and give her Aunt Marie a quick kiss.
Fuck Joey and this stupid barbecue.
“You seen Sophie?” he asked his mother, not spotting her anywhere when he returned.
“She left with Eddie,” his mother announced, looking delighted at the drama.
He scowled. “What? When?”
“Right after you left.”
He swore.
“She’s beautiful. But she doesn’t love you.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve only been dating her for a week, Ma. Of course she doesn’t love me.”
“I mean, I don’t think she ever will. It has nothing to do with you-- it’s about who you are. She can’t handle Cosa Nostra,” she said, referring to the Mob family. “She’s just like her mother.”
“She’s not like her mother,” he hissed for the second time that night, although he grew tired of defending her. Maybe they were right. But even if they were, he wasn’t writing her off, not when this thing between them felt so deep.
He said his goodbyes and drove straight to Sophie’s where he tested the door and found it locked. His first thought was to be pleased she remembered to lock it followed by a fear she wasn’t home yet, that she’d gone somewhere with Eddie. But that was stupid. He pounded on the door with his fist, knowing it sounded overly-aggressive, but unable to stop himself.
He waited a few beats and repeated the pounding. Though he heard nothing, he sensed she was inside. Why wouldn’t she answer? Probably because he was banging on her door like he was going to break it down. She put on a good show, but he knew she was scared of him, still.
“Sophie?” he called. “I just want to talk to you. Open up.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Sophie looked wary, but stepped back to let him in.
“Thank you for locking the door,” he said, making a mental note to get a key.
She looked surprised at his thanks, clearly expecting a tirade.
“Did you leave because you were mad?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did you leave to get away from me or to prove something to me?”
Her brow furrowed as if she were considering the difference. “Prove something to you,” she admitted.
He ran a hand through his hair, more relieved than annoyed by her answer. She’d wanted him to follow.
He paced the length of living room. “I’m not happy with you,” he told her. “What the hell were you trying to prove? You don’t show up at the Don’s house, insult him and then leave without saying goodbye. And you don’t walk out on a date with--”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted.
He stopped his lecture, surprised. “Yeah?” he said doubtfully.
“Yeah,” she said heavily. Her hair was falling in her face and she didn’t brush it back, letting it curtain her expression. Her eyes danced around at the level of his chest, not quite meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to be there,” she confessed. “But that was no excuse for being rude, or for blaming you for it.”
He opened his arms wide and it was her turn to show surprise. She stumbled into them with a look of relief. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the faint smell of citrus in her hair. When they pulled apart, he led her toward the sofa.
“Please don’t use your belt.”
By some miracle, he managed to hide his surprise. She expected punishment? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, as irritated as he’d been. But it was her fetish, and he knew from being capo you never miss giving a consequence when it is expected.
“I decide if and how you’re punished,” he said evenly. “But right now we’re going to talk about why you were mad at me.”
He pulled her sit beside him, waiting to see if she would offer any explanation.
She rubbed a thumb over the side stitching on her jeans. “I guess I felt like you dragged me somewhere I didn’t want to go, but I know that’s not really true.”
“It’s not true I dragged you?”
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 re
ceived 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, squ
eezing 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.”
