Obsession (Sinners of New Orleans #3)

Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Madi

W hen I wake up, I’m alone in the king-sized bed. Something I feel grateful for as the onslaught of memories from last night crashes over me.

My husband made me come repeatedly in this very bed.

Shame clings to my skin, making me feel itchy. I wanted to make him miserable, not let him eat me out until I cried his name.

I go to the shower in the master bath first, hoping to wash the remnants of his touch from my body. Then I take my time getting ready, slathering my face with moisturizer and throwing on shorts and a loose t-shirt. I’m hoping I’ve wasted enough time that my husband will be long gone when I go downstairs in search of coffee.

If he is gone, I’ll use the opportunity to walk the couple of blocks down to my studio and let out some of my aggression on the pottery wheel.

“Good morning, Mrs. Russo.” The warm and gentle voice greeting me belongs to an older woman with graying hair standing in the middle of Adrian’s kitchen. I jolt to a stop when I see her. “I’m Beverly Sinclair, the house manager for Mr. Russo’s estate. Lovely to meet you.”

Somehow, I manage to nod. “Nice to meet you, too,” I say tentatively. I don’t know why I’m shocked to see staff in Adrian’s house, considering my own home had a slew of people working there.

“This is Bea.” Ms. Sinclair gestures to a smaller, slight woman with blonde hair dressed in black slacks and a tucked-in white shirt. “She’s the housekeeper. If you need anything, you let one of us know, yes?”

“Sure.” I manage another nod.

“Mr. Russo is in the dining room having breakfast. I’ll bring you out a plate.”

I’m in a daze as I move into the dining room. Adrian’s sitting at the head of the table, fully dressed in another one of his suits with a newspaper open.

“I didn’t realize people even read those anymore,” I say, watching as the newspaper is lowered and Adrian looks at me. His eyes rake over my body, taking in the plain, comfy outfit. I feel hot under his gaze, waiting for him to scold my appearance. My mother would be disgusted to see me in something so simple, expecting me instead to be dressed to the nines every day. But Adrian doesn’t say a word about it.

“You don’t read the news?” One eyebrow quirks with the question.

“Not with that.” I gesture to the paper as I wiggle my phone. “Everything’s online.”

Adrian sighs, as if that’s the most uncultured thing I could have said.

“Are you fifty?” I ask as I slip into the seat across from him. “Only old people read the paper these days.”

“Are you done insulting me, or do you want to go a few more rounds?”

“Hmm…I think I could go a few more rounds, old man.”

He folds the paper in front of him, setting it down on the table slowly. “You should know then that every insult earns you a punishment, and I won’t be as gentle as I was last night. I’d tread carefully if I were you.”

There’s a glint in his dark eyes, something devilish and promising. His words should turn me off, send me running, or at least make me shut my goddamn mouth. But they do the opposite, instead bolstering me to be worse, more annoying. Test his limits until I can see what he’s made of.

I twist my lips into a wide smile and put on my best demure look. “Sorry, grandpa, I couldn’t hear you over the rustling of all that paper.”

Adrian doesn’t look mad, no, his lips turn upward as he slides his chair back a few inches. I brace for him to come over here, scream in my face or slap me around, but he doesn’t.

“Come.” He says the word calmly as his fingers bend, indicating I should move to him. I stay seated.

“What?”

“Come here, Madi. Now.”

It’s a command spoken with ease, his promise coming true. Slowly, I rise from my seat, heart pounding as I make my way toward my new husband until I stop right in front of him.

“Turn around,” he orders in a deepening tone.

Swallowing hard, I do. I’m facing away from him, unable to see what he’s doing as he moves behind me. But I can feel him. His hands find my hips, and he stands with his body against my back. His breath skates across my ear and a shiver ripples down my spine.

“You’re a brat, Madi,” he says, so sure and confident. “And if you want to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like a brat. Now bend over.”

I don’t have a chance to process before his hand is on my spine, pushing me down until my upper body is laid out on the dining room table and my ass is out for him. A chill runs over me at the lewd position, but from the soft groan I hear, Adrian must like what he sees.

“Now, we’re going to start slow, but know that if you continue to be a little brat, I’ll take that as an invitation to go harder next time. Understood?”

The question hangs between us. No, I don’t understand. “What are you going to do to me?” I ask, breathier than I intend them to be.

“I’m going to punish you, princess. And you’re going to do your best to be a good girl and take it for me, yes?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to fuck off when his hands reach for the band of my pants, pulling the shorts and underwear down at the same time. My ass hangs off the end of the dining room table, completely exposed to him. On instinct, I go to move, to cover myself, but Adrian’s palm lands on my back, keeping me pinned to the table.

“What the fuck-”

“Shh,” he cuts me off. “None of that.”

Heat flushes my body as his palm caresses my exposed flesh. It shouldn’t feel good, but it has me relaxing, my muscles unclenching one by one. I should hate this. On some level, I do, I think. But then again, I don’t. The memory of what felt like a million orgasms last night hangs in the air, and I know if nothing else, Adrian sure knows how to make me come. The motion feels so good and Adrian’s palm on my low back keeps me still. I should be begging him to stop, pleading with him. But I don’t.

“Good girl,” he whispers while he practically pets me. Those words shouldn’t make me feel as good as they do. “Now, I think five spanks should cover your outburst this a.m. Has anyone ever spanked you, Madi?”

When I don’t immediately answer, he slaps my ass softly, and I gasp.

“No,” I sputter.

“I didn’t think so. Why don’t we start with five and see how you’re doing, hmm?”

I think I must nod, because Adrian doesn’t ask again, moving forward with the punishment. I hear rustling as he takes the newspaper from the table, but it’s not clear to me what he’s doing.

“You’ll count after each one,” he tells me, and then quickly lands the first blow. He must have rolled up the newspaper because I hear the swish of it before it hits my bottom with a loud smack. It’s not anything like the little slap he gave me when I didn’t answer. This one stings my right cheek. I yelp and instinctively try to pull my body away from him, but that hand on my back keeps me in place.

“Say one,” Adrian orders.

“One,” I squeak.

Adrian hits my other cheek with the paper next, restarting the process where I yelp and squirm and he has to remind me to count again.

“Two.” Another squeak from my lips.

We continue through three and four, and finally, when he lands the fifth blow, I yell, “five” while panting.

“Good job.” The softened praise, a contrast from the man who was just spanking me. He rubs his hand over the reddened flesh softly. “How do you feel, princess?”

“I-I don’t know.” My head is hazy and my ass hurts, but my core throbs in a way I’ve never felt before. Mortification strikes me as I want nothing more than for Adrian to move those fingers lower and lower until he reaches the part of me that is aching.

I hear the paper again, and then I feel something against my sex. Shame coats me in red as I realize what he’s doing, running the newspaper along my pussy. My wet pussy. Did I really get turned on by his spanking? And is the evidence of my arousal about to be all over the paper I just made fun of him for?

Adrian chuckles his amusement as he pulls the paper from between my legs.

“I’d say you liked that.”

“No-”

“It’s okay, princess. You don’t have to lie to me, not when your body speaks the truth.”

I whimper my response. I’m not sure what I want right now.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just drags my panties and pants back up my legs and pats my ass. It takes me a moment to right myself, even with Adrian helping me to do so.

“Sit down,” he orders. “I’ll have Ms. Sinclair bring out your breakfast now.” And then he’s off into the kitchen like he didn’t just spank me and leave me wet and wanting.

I feel like a fool sitting, waiting for breakfast.

Even worse, when he returns and opens up the paper to continue his reading, a large wet spot glares at me from across the table.