Chapter 2 #3
“How dare you pull down my panties, you… you… brute!” My sweaty palms press into the countertop as the belt comes down, right across my bare bottom.
The crack of the leather reverberates through the room.
I hear the sound before I feel the pain.
“Ouch!” I scream. The sting burns across the fullest part of my bottom, hip to hip. “That hurt!”
“Are you ready to accompany me up to your room?”
My ass is burning but it’s not yet enough to stop my tongue. “Never. You big… bully!”
He brings the belt down again and over the loud snap of the leather I think I hear a chuckle.
He’s hit the same spot as before and now I’m on the tips of my toes, howling in pain.
I know I’m overacting but this whole being thrown over your kitchen counter and whipped with leather is new to me and my skin is on fire.
I cry out, “Okay, okay! You win. I’ll do whatever you want. ”
The belt lands on the floor with a thud.
He snaps up my panties, drops the hem of my dress.
He whips me around to face him. His hands are on my shoulders, heavy and holding me in place.
His gaze locks on mine, those golden eyes flashing.
His jaw clenches. But he’s studying my face and now, I’m surprised to see a hint of compassion break through his stony mask.
There’s warmth within his words when he says, “Where do you think you’re going, Tess? The Village needs you today. Brett needs you today. You need to honor his memory in a way you’ll be proud of. I can’t leave you to your own devices. Let you spin out of control. You’ll regret it.”
He’s right. He knows what I need. I know what I need.
But how? How does Rockland know me so well? All day, he’s anticipated my every move. Been so rough with me when most widows would need and want softness, sympathy. I study his eyes, his face. There’s a dark look that passes between us.
There’s an energy at play that I can’t deny.
One that has always danced unspoken between us.
A hateful, raw energy that makes my blood boil and my brain go numb.
I’ve got to get him out of here.
I know what I must do.
Rockland
She’s walking up to the third-floor master bedroom. She’s acting compliant but I’m sure the little hellcat has tricks up her sleeve. I’m behind her and I’ve got a view of her perfect ass as it moves against the fabric of her gown.
I avert my eyes.
Focus on the task at hand.
We reach her bedroom. It’s already been cleared of all of Brett’s things. The faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air.
She stops when she reaches the carpet in the center of the room.
She crosses her arms over her chest. Juts one of those sassy hips out at me.
Locks eyes with me. She says, “I’ve done the numbers.
Even with the billions Brett has donated in his passing, I’m a millionaire now.
I think you know that as well as I do. So, what’s it going to take to get rid of you? ” she sneers.
For a moment I don’t understand her meaning.
I scratch at my beard. As much as I want to punish her, I’m ready to be done with this chaos and get back to Greece where my life makes sense.
Before I can speak, she’s stomping over to her closet.
She says, “Tell me, Rockland. What will it take? What’s your number? Half a million? A million?”
Now she’s on her hands and knees, tossing shoeboxes, scarves, purses to her right and left.
They fall to the floor in discarded piles.
Many items still have tags hanging from them.
She’s pulling something from the back of the closet.
She holds several rectangular packages in her hands.
She’s walking toward me, holding them out to me.
“Take them. Then get the hell out of here.”
It’s cash. Hundreds of thousands of bills wrapped in plastic and formed into compact bricks. She’s never been to my island and has made enough snide remarks about ‘uncivilized tribal life’ that I assume she thinks this is more cash than I’ve ever seen.
She throws one of them at me. It hits me squarely in the chest, then falls to the floor at my feet.
She thinks I’m here for her money. That she can buy me off. Bribe me to leave her alone. Literally throw it at me and I’ll retrieve it like a dog.
Fury rises from my gut.
Tess—always buying her way out of trouble. Throw a few Benjamins at the problem and it will disappear.
Not this time, sweetheart.
I’ve got all the money I need. Yes, I’m located remotely, caretaker of a society who prefers a simpler way of life, but I’m still a Bachman man. And my offshore accounts in the parish—of which she has no access to—add up in the billions.
But even if I was penniless, I wouldn’t touch her money.
My patience is gone. I’ve given her an appropriate amount of grace.
It’s time to give her what she needs. What Bronson has brought me here for.
Daggers shoot from her eyes. She’s got another block of cash in her other hand. Aimed right at my forehead.
“Throw that and you’ll not sit down for a week,” I say.
She pulls her arm back and her face narrows with determination. She flings it.
My arm shoots up, my hand opening. The brick hits my palm with a loud thwack.
Maybe I will keep this one.
So I can burn it.
I toss it to the floor with the other one.
Out of ammunition, she’s eyeing me leerily. I can tell by the blush rising in her face, she’s considering the repercussions of her actions. Her hands go to her already striped bottom, as if there’s anything she can do to protect it from me.
I take a step toward her.
She backs away, cornering herself in the room.
She’s pressed between the two walls. Her hands raise before her, guarding herself from me.
I loom over her. I must be a full foot taller than her. Her hands go to my chest. Attempting to push me away.
A dark chuckle erupts from my chest.
I grab her shoulders. I give her a shake. I demand, “Look at me.”
Her eyes flit to mine. Full of misplaced anger and dredges of fear. She’s shaking. Saying, “Just take the money and get the hell out.”
“You know that’s not going to happen, Tess.” When I say her name, she gives a little shiver. “I know you’re grieving, but you’ve crossed a hard line.”
She’s quiet now. I’ll start off soft.
I take her hand. I pull her toward the bed. I don’t give her time to think, to protest. I know what she needs. In seconds, I’ve got her pulled over my lap, her bottom perfectly perched over my thigh. I say, “Tess, you’re out of control.”
“Of course I am—I’ve just lost my husband—” Her shouting is cut off by her gasping breath. I’ve laid a single, hard smack on the center of her ass. The same spot I gave her a taste of my belt. She cries out, “Hey! That hurt!”
“As it should, young lady. The purpose of a spanking is to leave a naughty girl with a burning bottom that makes her consider the consequences of her actions.” I spank again, harder, right in the center of her left cheek. “You always needed more than you got.”
She squirms, crying out, “Who are you to say?”
I spank her right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, ensuring each smack is perfectly placed, perfectly timed. Each punishing spank bringing her right where I want her. I say, “That’s why you were spanked so often. You’ve never been punished thoroughly enough to make you truly consider your actions.”
“I’ve heard you whispering that behind my back, thank you very much. It was none of your business how your brother handled me!”
“It’s my business now.” I pepper her bottom with short, stinging spanks.
She whines and moans and squirms over my lap.
Her dress is inching up and I pull it back down into place—I’m a gentleman after all.
Her hand comes behind her and she’s flailing it about to protect her bottom.
I grab it in my wrist, pinning it to her lower back.
I spank her harder, saying, “You know you need this.”
At that, a sob escapes her lips. A few more good hearty swats and the tension drains from her muscles.
I’ll not be so lenient next time, but for today, I’ve punished her enough.
Especially since she’s never been properly spanked before.
One more good smack and she’s right where I want her—lying limply over my lap, the fight drained from her.
All her anger gone. I help her up and stand her before me.
She looks down at me, those big brown eyes pitiful.
She’s wiping her eyes, her full bottom lip pouting at me.
She says, “You’ve punished me. You can go now.
” Her beautiful face is blotched with pink. Her skin stained with her tears.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Hold her gaze though it makes a thick welling rise in my chest. When I speak, my voice is thick. I say, “I’ve made a vow. I obey the rules of the family and the Brotherhood. Bronson’s given me a command, and I will carry it out… to its fullest.”
I stand, the need to touch her, comfort her, suddenly overwhelming me. I choose to place my hands on her shoulders.
She says, “I don’t need you. I don’t need the Brotherhood. I only need—” Her words drop off. Her eyes are now soft, full of sadness and fresh, unshed tears.
Beneath the weight of my heavy hands, her shoulders begin to shake.
I know not what I do but somehow, now I’ve got her pressed against my chest. One hand pulls her toward me, flat against her lower back, holding her to me.
My other finds her hair, stroking the soft red locks, smoothing them down.
I feel her spine through the fabric of her dress, her fiery mane and ass.
From deep within my belly, the feeling arises.
One I’m all too familiar with.
One I only feel… whenever I’m alone with Tess.
Desire.
In the past I’d made it a point to never be alone with her. If ever we were at a family gathering, the two of us the last to leave a room, I’d feel the tug, the pang. It hurt so good. And made me feel as though I was losing my sanity. I’d exit as quickly as possible.
For she was always my brother’s wife.