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I froze.
What the absolute fuck?
“What are you doing?” I squeaked, my voice far too high pitched for my liking.
“Teaching you a well-earned lesson, naughty girl. That’s twice you’ve attacked me unprovoked,” he scolded, and I tried to push up against the bed, only his hand wound around my hips and pinned me back in place. I kicked, but that did nothing. I rocked my hips back and forth, trying to throw myself off him, but it did no good.
I had no leverage. I was trapped.
He had me right where he wanted me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
I wasn’t an idiot. There was only one reason a man would put a woman over his knee.
He was going to spank me.
Like a fucking child.
I renewed my efforts to fight him off, but he was so much bigger than me and nothing I did seemed to gain me even an inch of control. I turned my head and my eyes caught Rafael’s, his genuine warmth almost more than I could bear.
“Help me,” I tried. My eyes pleaded with him, but it wasn’t enough.
He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat when he cocked his head. Fuck me. He was enjoying the show. He wasn’t going to raise even a finger to stop this.
Fucking great.
I was really on my own here with two strange men, one that seemed hell-bent on punishing me like an errant toddler and the other one standing by while it all happened right in front of him.
The problem was that a certain deep dark part of me was enjoying this too. Even now, I knew my panties were wet and I didn’t understand why. Sure, I’d touched myself in the past to several different dirty romance novels where the male lead spanked his girl, but that was something entirely different, right?
Those were just fantasy.
This was fucking real.
It shouldn’t be turning me on. I shouldn’t want to know what his hand feels like against my ass, let alone my bare ass.
Fuck.
I was really losing it.
“Do you have any idea of who you’re dealing with?” Rafael finally said. I stilled, the insinuation making my blood run cold.
Rafael’s question hung heavy in the air, a warning laced with much darker implications. His gaze was piercing, expecting an answer that I wasn’t sure I was ready to give, but I opened my mouth and answered anyway.
“Dante?” My voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of curiosity and dread. My words died on my tongue before it finally hit me.
The moment the name left my lips, realization dawned on me, cold and sharp.
Oh fuck.
Dante.
The Dante.
He wasn’t just any mafia boss, but Dante Romano, a name that was whispered fearfully into the night, a name even Marco spoke of with a mix of respect and trepidation.
That Dante.
My mind reeled as I connected the dots. Marco had often mentioned Dante in hushed tones, painting him as a shadowy figure of immense power and ruthlessness, a man who controlled the criminal underworld with an iron fist.
