Or maybe there’s nothing to pull back from.
No, that’s bullshit. He’s into me. He’s been into me since we first met. And we’ve already had sex.
Holy shit—what was I thinking? I can’t believe I had sex with Junior Tacone. This morning seems so long ago. But when I remember how blistering hot it was, my body flushes with the desire for more.
I want Tacone’s authoritative hands controlling my body again. Want him talking dirty, making all my fantasies come true as he pretends to take me against my will. I think of the way he pulled me against him when his brothers were here, the soft growl of his warning voice right against my ear.
I make it through a couple TV shows, but my mind is on sex. It’s on Junior’s threat to punish me again.
Did he forget? Is he waiting for something?
Maybe I need to go downstairs to get his attention.
I’m tempted to leave the TV on so Gio can’t hear if I make noise but then I wouldn’t be able to hear him if he needs anything. He’s too out of it to hear anything, anyway.
I brush my teeth and pad down the stairs.
I hear Junior on the phone. He’s not in the living room or the kitchen. I peek around behind the staircase and see a light on in what must be his office. He’s sitting behind a desk, a glass of scotch in his hand as he speaks into the phone.
He catches sight of me and stops, gesturing with his tumbler, eyes boring a hole right through me.
Oh lordy. He hasn’t forgotten. I definitely see dark promise brimming in the depths of those chocolate browns.
I spin on my heel, like a scared rabbit and beeline it for the kitchen. Turns out Junior’s offer to clean up wasn’t legit. He put our dishes in the dishwasher but the pots and pans are still on the stove and nothing’s been wiped down.
I’d be annoyed except it’s not my kitchen and not my job, so I don’t have to clean it.
But I’m totally going to because it gives me something to do. I wash the pots and spray and wipe the table, then the countertops.
Junior’s voice goes silent and I hear his soft tread as he comes down the hall and into the kitchen. My heart rate picks up. I don’t turn around even though I know he’s standing in the doorway.
Probably looking at my ass.
He comes closer.
I still don’t acknowledge his presence.
“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for forty seconds now.” His baritone rolls through my body like dark sunshine.
“You’re counting?” My voice sounds husky and foreign. I stop and toss the balled up paper towel into the garbage, still not turning around. “I thought you were supposed to clean up.”
“There you go again, running that mouth.” He cages me against the counter, my back to him. His teeth sink into my shoulder.
My knees nearly buckle. He grasps both my wrists and pins them to the counter, moving at a leisurely pace. My breath catches. Anticipation buzzes. He reaches past me and pulls a wooden spoon out of the canister.
When he smacks me with it, I yelp. It’s way sexier as a thought than a reality. It freaking hurts.
He’s going fast, whacking my ass right and left and I immediately fight him, trying to scoot out of the way.
“Ow—whoa!” My brain spins around how to stop it. “Peanut butter.”
The spoon immediately clatters on the counter in front of me. “Okay, no spoon. But you don’t get to safe word out of taking my cock.”
My brain stutters on that for just a moment—because, yeah—I do. But I decide he’s just dirty talking and I definitely don’t want him to stop. Not when I’m already soaking my panties.
He cups my ass and squeezes roughly. It diminishes the sting of the spanking he just gave me. I push back into his touch. He pops my ass with the flat of his hand. It feels delicious. So much better than the damn spoon.
“Okay, doll. I know you’re terrible at following orders, but I’m giving you one now. You have three seconds for those panties to hit the floor or I pick that wooden spoon back up.”
“You can’t—”
“One.”
Crazy fucking Italian. I yank my scrubs and panties down, kicking out of my shoes at the same time.
“Two.”
“I said peanut butter to the spoon,” I complain as I hop on one foot to get out of the leg of my scrubs.
Junior’s rolling up his sleeves with a stern daddy look as he watches me. “Three.”
I kick off the other leg and the panties go flying with the scrubs. I point. “Panties are on the floor. See?”
I love the ghost of a smile dancing over his lips. “Brava ragazza.” He steps in and pulls my scrub top over my head.