Page 6

Chapter Six

Cleopatra

I stand there, speechless and damp between my thighs while he talks on the phone.

His stern words leave me tingling down there. He’s always ignited me with his naughty, sexy threats of spanking, making me wonder what it would be like if we ever crossed that line.

Kisses with him have been hotter than any sex with Keith. Sometimes, just the way Blaze looks at me makes me wet, leaving me aching with need. I can’t imagine what would happen if I ever let him loose….

The delicious tingling fades slowly as something shifts in Blaze’s expression while he listens to whoever is on the other end of his phone.

Blaze’s voice deepens as he asks whoever is on the other end of the phone, “When did you hear this? ”

His dark brow furrows, making his handsome face appear even more striking. His jaw tightens while his eyes take in the room. Tension creeps into his shoulders as he straightens beneath his tailored suit jacket.

“What’s happening?” I whisper to him.

His scanning gaze lands on me. He responds to someone else, “I understand." His eyes remain locked with mine.

No longer the playful sex god, he’s gone all hardcore mafia on me, eyes like coal, jaw locked with tension. Classic Blaze: When you think the man can’t get hotter, he cranks up the heat.

He hangs up the phone.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“We need to get everyone out of the church,” he commands. “Now.”

Evacuate the church? This is serious. Fear prickles at the back of my neck. “What? Why?”

He grabs my hand without answering and swiftly guides us around the chapel, gathering the small crowd and hurrying them out of the back of the church.

His mom gives him a confused look. “Blaze, what’s going on?”

“Why are we leaving? What have you heard?” Dad wraps his arm around her shoulders, protective and loving.

Blaze, a pillar of composure, directs the group. “I will explain shortly; however, at this moment, get your asses through those doors as quickly as possible. ”

My nature is to investigate. Pepper him with questions. Get him to repeat every word exchanged in that intense phone conversation.

Something in the firmness of the way he’s holding my hand, the depth of his tone as he commands the room, leaves me meek, quiet, and obedient instead.

So not like me.

He leads the wedding party through the solid oak doors that my dad now holds open for everyone. We step out into the fresh air and sunlight, joining Sharon on the pavement while leaving behind any lurking dangers in the shadows of the church. However, we are not yet out of harm’s way, as Blaze is addressing the group. “This way! Follow me. Move quickly.”

“Let’s go, people!” Jogging beside him, I grip his arm firmly, depending on his strength to steady me as I attempt to navigate the soft earth in my heels.

I glance at my dad and Sharon, ensuring they’re safe. Sharon’s heels have gotten stuck in the soft ground. Dad slips a strong arm under the backs of her thighs, swooping her up in his arms. She gives a little cry of giddy surprise, clutching at his shoulders like a young bride as he carries her over the lawn. Dad manages to haul Sharon to the parking lot where Blaze is directing us.

Kinda cute. I’m coming around.

A few harried moments later, Blaze had everyone standing on the sidewalk by the road, explaining that there was a threat of a gas leak in the chapel. I can read him like a book—I always could—and I know he’s lying to keep everyone calm. It isn't the time to investigate right now, but I will uncover the truth.

A troop of sleek black Escalades lines the curb like a presidential motorcade. How he arranged so many vehicles to meet us here this quickly is impressive. Mafia mischief is afoot! Thrilling, yes, but it's another reminder not to get too comfortable with him. I’m a safety-first kinda gal after all.

We’re all set and heading to the party that was planned for afterwards. However, it has now been moved from the small room at the back of the church to a restaurant. Blaze is currently on the phone, making last-minute arrangements.

Dad pushes in as we climb into the back of the Escalade, tugging me into the backseat and sandwiching me between him and Sharon. Great. I’m in a cloud of her perfume, my bare arm sticking to his leather blazer. Blaze takes the passenger seat two rows up from me. He feels distant. I can’t help but think how nice it would be if he were sitting next to me. Instead of Dad. And Sharon.

The two other ladies ask questions. Blaze keeps his answers vague. I remain silent. I plan to switch into my detective mode when we’re alone. I'll gently nudge him until he feels comfortable sharing the real story.

The whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help him. I will annoy the bejesus out of him.

Our SUV halts before a towering white hotel adorned with intricate stone carvings and arched windows. Majestic columns rise to polished mahogany double doors. The grandeur feels intimidating for a Burger Stop Queens girl like me .

The woman sitting in the captain’s chair directly in front of me is adorned in a lacy pink hat and matching tights. She casts an impressed glance at Blaze. Her eyes widen with admiration as she takes in the hotel.

“The Wellington,” she breathes, her voice filled with awe. “How did you manage to secure us a spot here? And at the last minute, no less.”

Sharon wraps her arm around my shoulder to pat Dad on the shoulder while giving a proud smile. “My boy has important ties in the city.”

Organized crime, vigilante justice, the black silk Armani tie kind of ties.

This hook-up has Bachman written all over it in invisible ink. I don’t mind enjoying the benefits of his crimes as we exit the car. Blaze strides over, takes my hand, and helps me onto the sidewalk. He doesn't let go once my feet are safely on the pavement.

I like his power more than I should. I like his protection more than I should.

I stay close by his side as he leads me into the hotel.

I gawk as we enter. Beautiful people glide through the spotless glass doors, a ballet of elegance and finery that eludes me, their heels clicking and clacking rhythmically over the white marble lobby floors. Opulence drips from the chandeliers, and gold accents glisten like stars. Everyone seems to know where they are headed. Confidence floats through the air like perfume, making me feel even more out of place .

I’m just a smudge on the lobby’s perfect sheen, a stray note in an otherwise pristine symphony of beauty and wealth. I remember the Amazon supermodel leaving his lavish hotel room the other day. I glance down at my now silly-looking light blue dress, so out of place, wishing I could change into something that doesn’t make me look like an impostor crashing high society.

“I’m not dressed for this place,” I whisper to him.

“What are you talking about?” His eyes travel from my face, up and down my body, leaving tingling in their wake. Open honesty glides through his voice, almost convincing me of his words. “You’re beautiful. My Queen from Queens.”

Of course, I blush as always.

The hostess greets him by name, already expecting us. Blaze hovers, clutching my hands, while everyone is seated at oval tables covered in white linen and set with crystal glasses.

Feeling out of place standing here, I ask, “Should we sit?”

“Soon.” He gives my hand a firm squeeze. “First, I need a word with you. In private.”

Finally! I’m going to find out what went down. A hint of pride wells in my chest, knowing I’m the only one he trusts with the truth. Off we go, an unstoppable team. He’s pulling me through the dining room, down a hallway off the lobby.

Just being alone with this man makes my heart race. He looks and smells that good. “Where are we going? ”

“Here.” He opens a door, pulling me into a small windowless room with gray walls and minimal furniture. He flips the deadbolt, locking everyone out. He gives me an intense look. “I’m not telling the others what's gone on—not yet. Ma and your dad are the only ones who need to know, so I’m going to let them enjoy this party, say goodbye to their guests, and then we are out of here.”

A million questions zing in my brain. “Out of here? Where are we going?”

“The four of us. On the Bachman jet and getting out of New York. You’re all coming back to Italy with me. I know change is difficult for you, but it’s what’s best for now.”

Suddenly, the mafia stuff isn’t so fun. “Blaze, you’re not making any sense. And what happened back there at the church? Where did all those SUVs come from? Why did we have to get out of there so fast?”

“Haze called and told me about a threat at the church.” His hands rest on my shoulders, their warm weight bringing me comfort. His intense green eyes lock with mine. “I need you to trust me.”

Have you ever noticed how rare green eyes are? Not like the hazel-flecked ones, but pure green eyes like his. I have only seen them in the movies.

He gives me a little shake. “Cleo?”

“Yeah?” I blink out of my sexy man trance, coming back to the present situation.

“Do you trust me?” His brows raise, and his earnest look does something to me .

Not sure what, but I want to keep feeling it. “I trust you,” I say.

“Good. Thanks.” He shakes his head, relieved. “I thought you were going to have an issue with going?—”

“I trust you, Blaze. But I’m not going to Italy with you,” I clarify. “That’s crazy.”

“You’re coming with me.” His hand drops to his side. He narrows his gaze, his tone heating to hot coals. “And that’s the end of the discussion.”

“Can’t you just ask one of your mafia lackeys to drive by Seraphina’s occasionally?” I offer.

He moves in, his hand cupping my face as he intensifies his gaze. “Do you think there’s a world where I leave you unprotected for even a moment?”

The cup of his palm tingles my skin as he stares into my eyes a beat too long. I’m the first to break our gaze. “I…um...I appreciate that you care. I can’t just pick up my entire life and move to Italy.”

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine.” His eyes flash, daring me to challenge him. “And I’ve already made my decision. You’re not safe here. You’re going with me. And you’ll be under my eye and by my side every moment until I know you’re out of danger.”

And while this all sounds very sexy in a screwed-up kind of way, “I’m not going, Blaze. I’m sorry. I’ll check in with you daily, so you don’t have to worry, but I’m not leaving the city. ”

“I know I can’t tell you more right now, but I’m telling you two things, and you need to trust me. You are in danger. You are going with me.”

I do not appreciate how his stern words make my knees go weak and my heart pound in my ears. But now the heat is starting to turn into annoyance—even anger.

I may have been weak with Keith, trying to stay when he didn’t want me, but that sad little Cleo is gone.

I’m named after a strong queen, and I have a backbone. I straighten my spine to prove it, pulling to my full height (still a foot shorter than him), plant my hands on my hips, and stare up at him with determined eyes.

Steadying my voice to match his commanding confidence, I say, “Blaze Bachman, I am not going with you.” I give a curt nod, a final period on my statement, and turn on the heel of my ballet slipper shoe.

My fingers are brushing against the cool handle of the door when strong hands grab me around the waist, pulling me back. He holds me against him, my back pressed into his chest, my ass precariously close to his cock.

His arms wind around me, a prison of muscle and Armani, and the clean, intoxicating scent of cologne and him—a smell I got pretty used to when we lived together. He has his scent, warm skin, and man and sex, and the smell makes me remember who gave me my newfound strength.

It's intoxicating. When I was a teenager, it confused me. Now, as a woman, his scent enraptures me. Body heat, protection, safety—but I can’t let him tell me what to do .

I know he wants to keep me safe, but my life is already too upside down with the breakup, the revenge porn, our parents’ surprise second marriage, and whatever the heck organized crime debacle happened at the church.

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 into that 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.”

“I can make both happen for you. That’s up to you. But you’re definitely leaving here with me tonight.” He chuckles, hooking his fingers in my waistband. “Let’s get these panties off and change your mind.”

The idea of having my bare ass exposed to him, and in this place where a door could open at any moment has my full body clenching. “No. Blaze. You leave those right where they are.”

But he’s already pulling them down, tucking them around the tops of my thighs. The gesture is so humiliating it makes me moan, low and long. “What are you doing!”

“I’m spanking this beautiful bottom of yours till you agree to my demands.” His hand comes down on my bare skin, a smarting spank blooming over my ass. It feels good. Nice and stingy, the feeling somehow traveling straight to my pussy. “Say yes, and I’ll slip my fingers into your panties and make you come.”

He’s playing oh so dirty, using my desire against me. I hate myself for being so weak. At least I can do one thing to stand up for myself.

“If I say yes, I have one demand,” I say. “And it’s not negotiable.”