Page 26 of Forbidden Vows

I tell him the half-truth. “I want no part of your mafia life. You knew that I disagreed when you joined.”

He leans down, our faces side by side, his cheek gently grazing against mine as his words tickle my ear. “I understand that. But you’re family. You’re already involved.”

I need to break out of the prison of his arms, the safety of his hold, the heat of his body against mine. It takes all the resistance I can muster to wriggle and untangle myself from his arms.

No luck. The man is a human vice. I’ve got to talk some sense into him.Cleo, think from the head, not the bed. Focus.I need to get out of this locked room.

It’s time to get mean. Sometimes, it takes grit to get your point across when you’re a tiny woman standing up to a large, hot man. “Blaze Bachman, you made your choices. I made mine. And I will not let your life decisions define my future.”

Finally, he releases me. I exhale with relief.

Strong hands grab my shoulders, turning me to face him. I gasp aloud at the look on his face. His eyes are filled with determination, and his jaw is set in challenge. “Our ties were formed long ago when our parents first married. Whether you agree with my choices, this is where we are now. You’re going to march your adorable ass back intothat party, laugh at my mom’s friends’ jokes, eat a meal, and then get on that plane with me.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “Or. What?”

His tone changes to something dark. “Only one thing will change your mind, little girl. And that’s going over my lap for a spanking.”

My mouth goes dry, like a big mouthful of burnt toast without a hint of jam. Taking full advantage, he uses one arm as a correctional officer around my waist, tightening his hold, and the other smooths its naughty way down my belly, massaging my pussy over my clothes.

“Or you can say, yes, sir, I’ll go with you, like a good little girl,” he offers while touching me. “If you do that, then I’ll reward you with an orgasm, a powerful burst of ecstasy.”

My limbs are useless. This is a fight-or-flight moment, and they’ve turned to oozy liquid on me. Where is my sharp tongue? Where has my inner feminist ranting monologue gone? Where is my quick turn, knee to the nuts, foot stop door rush, and telling the lobby to call the cops moment?

I’m so disappointed in myself right now.

I can almost hear Seraphina laughing at me.

Finally, I give a defiant little growl. “Neither.” Evoking my inner Kung-Fu Panda, I plan my attack. My best chance at freedom is to go for the family jewels. Who am I kidding? I’d never kick someone in the genitals. A blow too low. Pun. Makes me think of Seraphina. What would she do if she were here? What would she say to him?

She’d put Blaze in his place with a witty remark, storm out the door, and never look back.

But all thoughts of her are gone as he drags me to the black leather bench. He sits down, pulling me onto his lap. I wiggle and fight, trying to free myself, but he’s too strong. He wraps an arm around my waist, kicking a heavy leg around mine, pinning me in place over his lap. My upper body rests over his right thigh, and my hands press into the leather bench to hold myself up. I balance my weight by pressing my feet into the floor.

Cue the self-loathing. Where is my resistance? Where is my inner strength?

His hands are on my ass, over my dress. He’s rubbing, kneading, and palming the curves like he’s trying to memorize every angle. He gives these soft, playful, teasing little spanks that send a shock under my skin, a delicious shiver along my spine. Then he grabs an ass cheek again, but this time he holds it, squeezing as if he wants me to feel the imprint of his fingers even after he lets go. He keeps a rhythm, alternating the sexy little stings with the gripping massage over and over, the heat of his palms spreading through me.

His breathing remains steady and focused until he disrupts the pattern, shifting his hands across my hips. He leans down, and I can feel his breath on my shoulder, the warmth of him close. He trails kisses, his lips brushing against my skin, causing me to tremble.

Now he’s kissing my neck. I give a deep, traitorous moan. “Oh…oh…”His kisses find the weak spot on my earlobe.He cups my ass in his palm. “What do you think, baby? Are you going to get on that plane?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have to convince you. Won’t I?” He grabs the hem of my dress. “Let’s get this pretty little skirt up and out of the way, shall we?”

I gasp as he lifts the fabric, gathering it around my waist. Cool air rushes over my now bare upper thighs, but my focus is on what panties he’s looking at. Please don’t let them be the days of the week, one a student gifted me. No, I wore my white push-up bra for the low neckline of this dress. I went with the matching panties.

White. Pure. Virginal.

Judging by the hardness poking in my belly, he likes what he sees.

“What cute little panties.” He smooths his hand over my panty-covered curves. “And so soft.”

He goes back to his light pats, spanking me in a way that makes my core throb. I’ve never been spanked, and this is nothing like I expected. Instead of pain, I’m experiencing torture. Everything about the way he has me positioned, his palm cupping, kneading, and spanking my bottom. Wetness pools between my thighs, a heatwave enhancing my desire. The craving he’s causing makes me wriggle against him, wanting rough friction inside me, a contrast to these teasing touches.

“Still don’t wanna come?” he asks, his tone light.

“I mean, I want to come if that’s what you’re asking, but not to Italy.”

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