Page 16 of Hot for Her Italian Mafia
“Punishment?” I crook a brow. His stern features don’t break to tell me this is a laughing matter.
Without another word, Luca takes a step back. The warmth of his body moves with him, and for the first time since we walked into the night, the chilly sting of ice-cold wind blows against my skin.
Luca’s head twists to a dilapidated chair, with a broken backrest and bent metal legs.
“You’re going to bend over on that,” he says, hands grabbing at the buckle of his shiny leather belt.
Heat rushes to my face and my heart beats in my ears. The ambient noise of the street goes silent behind the thumping, and the pit in my belly swirls more intensely, leaving a puddle in my cotton panties.
Demeaning, degrading, and so damn hot.
Luca Palermo in a nutshell, I’m starting to realize.
“Yes, sir.” Now the words struggle to leave my lips. Between the butterflies and my own twisted excitement for what’s about to happen, I can’t stop the quivering lower lip.
He unclasps his belt and pulls it through the loops of his trousers, while I make my way to the chair. I grab at the rusty metal beams that make up the backrest support, and the crumpled legs shift under my weight.
“Good girl,” Luca says. The words warm my freezing core.
It makes me wonder if I ever had the control I believed I did. Was Luca always holding all the cards and just didn’t show his hand? Or is this a reaction to what I put in front of him? Does it even matter? Deep down I knew Luca was going to take it back once he had the chance. The little power I thought I held was a necessary boost of confidence, but it was never going to be mine for long.
“Spread your legs, stick your ass in the air,” he orders, and I obey.
He mutters an obscenity under his voice before his calloused fingers run along the smooth skin of my thigh exposed by my shorts. They don’t stop there, trailing the hemline to the front of my body.
What comes next? The words are on the tip of my tongue but don’t dare pass my lips.
Luca’s hand finds its way between my legs, and an instant and intense wave of pleasure rips through every fiber of my being. My knees buckle and a soft moan emits from my lips.
He’s a man on a mission, and I want him to conquer it.
“I’m going to undo your pants.” He doesn’t wait for a response before fingers that moments ago tickled my most sensitive spot fiddle with the button on my daisy dukes. “And then I’m going to drop them to your knees.”
His voice is deep, sultry, alluring, and filthy all at once. The rich aroma of his musky cologne wafts in my direction with every action he takes. After a little fiddling, the button releases its hold. A fiercely cold wind blows in from the street and makes its way straight through the newly formed opening. But the heat of my loins quells the cold, feverishly excited for my punishment.
“Why are you taking my pants off?” Is it because he’s going to be taking his off next? I look at him over my shoulder, but I don’t think the words even hit his ear. His golden eyes are locked on my body, drinking in every inch of it.
A fist tightens in the back of my shorts, and with a single tug, they drop, getting caught in the angle of my spread legs just above the knee. Luca’s hand finds its way to my skin again, this time gripping my ass and squeezing the meat.
“And now, your panties.”
I choke on a breath while his hands begin their intimate dance. It’s slower than with my pants. He’s feeling and caressing whatever skin he can on his way to the waistband, but those eyes never waiver. He’s fixated on the little dark spot between my legs, where my eagerness to feel his touch has betrayed the cocky confidence I put on display. His neck tenses and flexes from a hard swallow as he nears his destination.
An elaborate scheme to see me without clothes on? If only he knew, I’d have stripped down to nothing at his request.
“Face the wall and close your eyes.”
Another command I follow without hesitation.
Luca peels the fabric down my ass, and another noise escapes me before I can stop it. Somewhere between a word I’d have said if I was brave and a moan from the feeling of a man—my man—taking what he wants.
“It’s going to sting,” he says.
“What is?”
That’s when I feel it. The crack of leather against my flesh. I got so lost in my twisted fantasy that I forgot what spurred the whole thing on. And he’s not wrong, it stings. The cold makes it worse, but the cold also soothes the now-searing heat. I wince, biting back tears by chewing on my inner cheek.
Sure, it hurts, but the pleasure it’s caused is tenfold the sting.