One word, yet it sounds so darn loud, echoing off the ceilings and making my ears grow hot.
Through half-lidded eyes, I look up at Angelo and swallow. Not even for a second can I convince myself that I’ve got the wrong idea. Not when I see the storm raging behind his eyes, nor when the line of his jaw sharpens as he clenches it.
He takes a step forward. I take one back. This amuses him, thinning his lips and making his gaze shine as black and slick as an oil spill.
Finally, I find my voice, although it’s not as strong as I’d hoped. “Do you mean…?”
He pauses. Cocks a brow. My cheeks grow hot. He’s waiting for me to say it. But I can’t. The idea is so obscene that I can’t physically put the word out in the open.
“Do you mean what I think you mean?”
“I’m not psychic, Aurora. What do you think I mean?”
I grind my jaw, irritated at how much he’s enjoying this. Well, I won’t give him the satisfaction. Sucking in a lungful of air, I roll back my shoulders and match his gaze. “Spanking me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, but his expression remains neutral. “Another gold star for Rory.”
My eyes flutter shut at the sound of my real name. It’s the first time he’s used it, and I hate how it warms the pit of my stomach.
“Well?”
My gaze snaps back to him.
“Well what?” I snap back. “You can’t spank me. Christ, you’re not even allowed to touch me.”
But even as my protests slip through my lips, my heart starts to thump wildly, and a new pulse I’ve never felt before pounds behind my clit. In a sick, twisted way, the idea excites me.
He looks bored, like I’m too stupid for him to engage with. “So I won’t.”
Confusion crinkles my features for a split second, but then when I realize what he means, my blood turns to ice. It’s instinctive for my gaze to drop to his belt. Then, to the bulge straining against the fabric underneath it.
Holy crow. Angelo Visconti wants to spank me with his belt and he’s hard at the thought of it. My head spins, perhaps because I keep forgetting to breathe. I turn around, placing my hands against the altar to steady myself. Staring at the glossy wood surface, I beg myself to claw back some sort of composure.
But I can’t think. I’m now delirious, drunk on the thought of Angelo’s cold belt grazing over my bottom. Why the hell does it turn me on so much? I can already feel the wetness pooling in the fabric of my panties.
“Okay.”
I agree before my brain can sign off on it. Like there’s a visceral urge deep within my being, so desperate that it spoke on my behalf.
Crackling heat brushes against my back, making my nipples tighten. Large hands come to rest on the altar on either side of mine.
Angelo’s breath coasts over the shell of my ear. “Okay?”
I swallow. Nod.
A slow, dark chuckle comes from behind me, coasting up my spine and forcing all my hairs to stand to attention. “Rory.” Angelo’s voice drips in syrup. “Okay is not good enough.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Silly girl,” he murmurs, “Did your mother never teach you to say please?”
My breath catches in my throat. My eyes fall shut and I grip the edge of the table. “You’re really going to make me ask you to spank me?” I ask with a little laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” he growls.
I should shove him away from me. This is so wrong on so many different levels. But I’m in too deep; I’ve walked too far into the danger zone. And it’s made me feel so alive.
Pulse pounding in my temples, I stare up at the image of the Virgin Mary above the altar. Shake my head in disbelief. Forgive me.
“I want you to spank me. Please.”
Behind me, Angelo breaths deep, and a small jolt of satisfaction stabs me in my gut. Of course he didn’t think this “silly little girl” would really go through with it. He didn’t think I’d call his bluff.
But my smugness is fleeting, evaporating the moment I hear the clink of his belt buckle. The thwap as he slides the leather out of the loops of his slacks.
Something rough catches in his tone. “Bend over.”
The pulse in my neck quickens. Slowly, I bend over the altar, pressing my cheek against the cold wood.
Angelo clears his throat. Then, his voice drops an octave. “Now, I need you to reach down and pull your leggings and your panties down.”
All of my muscles recoil, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh, swan. This is really happening. But there’s no turning back now, even if I wanted to. Which, I know in my heart of hearts, I don’t.
Nobody will find out.
Trembling, I hitch my thumbs into my waistband and roll the fabric over the curve of my ass.
Bent over and exposed to Angelo, I’ve never felt so vulnerable. So alive. The anticipation makes my skin prickle, and when he finally lets out a low, lustful groan, I bask in it, letting it warm my skin like sun rays.
“Fuck,” he breathes, gripping the back of my hoodie. “Your pussy is the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.” The fronts of his thighs graze against the back of mine, and the feeling of cold, soft fabric sends a shock of pleasure up to my clit.
He steels his tone. “This is going to hurt. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. If you don’t, then…” I shiver as he drags the folded belt down my spine. “I’ll stop when I see fit. Understood?”
I nod.
“No,” he growls, pushing his weight against me, bending over so his breath scorches my ear again. “Use your words.”
“Yes,” I croak. “I understand.”
My mouth is watering. My heart is slamming against the altar. The wait is agonizing and—
The belt whistles in the air and comes down fast and unexpected on my ass. The pain explodes on my skin, the welt throbbing and stinging at the same time. A scream bubbles up my throat and spills out over the altar.
Behind me, Angelo stills. “Use your words, Rory.”
Clenching my molars together, I take a few moments to steady my breathing. The throbbing on my cheek melts into a dull ache, and to my surprise, a wave of pleasure washes over me.
“Again.”
A groan rumbles deep in Angelo’s chest, and my pussy clenches around it. Without another word, he kicks his foot against mine, forcing me to spread my legs wider, and then his belt hits again. This time, I jerk forward, moaning at the feeling of my nipples rubbing against the lining of my hoodie. My pussy aches for the same type of friction, and I find myself on my tip-toes, arching my back toward the belt.
“I think you like being punished,” he drawls. He kicks my foot again, and this time, I open my legs so wide that a cool breeze coasts over my wet lips. Behind me, the floorboards creak. Then I feel a whisper of a breath against my clit; a graze of stubble against my inner thigh.
Oh, holy crow. Angelo’s on his knees behind me, his mouth just millimeters from my pussy. It’s instinctive to arch my back and lower myself onto him. But a strong hand grips the top of my thigh long before I get to feel the heat of his lips on my clit.
“Now, now, Rory,” he rasps, voice strangled with lust, “that would count as touching. And it’d be wrong to touch you, wouldn’t it? You’re a taken woman.” His voice darkens. “Reach over and spread yourself for me.”
Panting, I do as I’m told, reaching around and pulling my cheeks apart. My knees buckle under the vibrations of his moan against my pussy. “You like atoning for your sins, don’t you, baby?” I rake my teeth over my lip. Christ, I like it when he calls me baby. “You know how I can tell?”
“How?” I croak, although I know what he’s going to say. Because I can feel it. Carving a wet, hot trail down the seam of my leg.
There’s a rustle, and then suddenly, something soft and silky cups my sex, dragging over my clit and through the folds of my pussy. With a strong finger behind it, it swirls the entrance of my hole, lighting every nerve ending in my body on fire.
Angelo extends to his full height, then tosses something in front of me on the altar. It’s his silk pocket square, and to my embarrassment, the pale blue fabric is now stained dark navy with my juices.
“Getting so wet for a man that isn’t your fiance?” He leans over, holding the fabric and bringing it up to my face. “That deserves another spanking.”
He whips me again without warning, and white, hot pain shoots through me in the most delicious of ways. What the hell is going on? But now that I’ve felt the cocktail of pain and pleasure swirl through my veins like an I.V., I crave more.
When a breeze flutters over my flesh as he brings the belt back into position, I brace myself again. But then, it falls lax against the curve of my ass.
“I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day, Rory,” Angelo whispers, malice lacing his voice.
Already? “No,” I beg. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can feel the start of an orgasm cresting, and I’d give anything, do anything, to see it through. “Don’t stop.”
“One more whip of my belt, and you’ll be coming in a church. No amount of confessing can save your soul from that.”
In the aching silence, I hear the rustle of his slacks. The clink of his belt fastening. Then his heavy footsteps taking the stairs, growing quieter as he heads toward the door.
Is he seriously leaving me like this?
His deep, commanding voice echoes down the aisle. It has a harsh edge to it. “Do what you have to do, whether that’s finish yourself off or use the confession booth. I’ll meet you in the car.”
And then with the heavy thump of a door closing, he’s gone.
