And the other 'D' word was demented. I was that person, allowing my guard to fall. He'd seduced me with his velveteen voice and his rugged body. His hands had caressed in a manner that almost brought me to an orgasm the first night. The second had been carnal passion, releasing the inner bad girl. He'd nearly split me in two. I bit my lip, falling over on the bed, yanking the pillow between my legs. The subtle words about discipline couldn't have turned me on. But they had. A wash of heat rolled up from the base of my neck, guilt and shame filtering into what little rational mind I had left.
Yet I could still feel his giant hands caressing my skin and his fingers touching my pussy. And the kisses. Magic.
Powerful.
Dominant.
"Oh, God."
My thoughts shifted to the political gala. I should have known then that I hadn't seen the last of him. I still couldn't believe he'd actually spanked me in the bathroom, treating me like a misbehaving child. I'd been mortified, angry, and ready to scratch out his eyes.
I'd also been wet, my panties soaked from the ridiculous event. I hadn't uttered a word of the incident to my girlfriends, although they'd bugged the hell out of me to tell them what had occurred.
"He's sexy as hell!"
"I could do that man in a heartbeat."
"If you don't want him, I do."
The comments had come fast and furious. They had no idea what kind of man he truly was.
Laughing, I closed my eyes, envisioning him one last time then that was it. We'd had our moment-correction, moments including a wicked and sinful tryst. I could still see flecks of paint in my hair, the hard fucking the most animalistic I could ever imagine.
I could almost care about this man, enjoying hours of his domination. I had to be crazy, nuts to think this way. He was a monster after all. Then why do you crave him?
I was as much to blame for his barbarian-like actions, egging him on with my childish behavior, as he was for calling me on it. He'd simply asked me to share a drink and I'd acted like some child in need of discipline. He'd taken it further with the belt last night; the soreness I would feel for some time to come. Hell, no. No man was ever going to lay a hand on me that way.
Again.
What continued to trouble me was that I'd seen him from somewhere. His familiarity was almost haunting. But from where and why? My father seemed to know him as well, and given the harsh looks he'd slanted Dominick's way, that meant Daddy dearest couldn't stand him.
All the more reason to see if I could find the mystery man again.
Perhaps my thoughts were evil, but I was tired of being under my father's thumb, performing like a good little girl in front of the press. I wanted my own life, free from the public eye. I'd been able to ignore my father and his world while attending school far away. Now that he was running for president, the pressure to perform would be worse. Daddy expected that I'd be by his side, performing just like my mother would have.
I missed my mother terribly, her death so unexpected, the call coming in the middle of the night. I'd been away at college, even forced to miss her funeral because of exams. I'd never forgive him for going ahead with her funeral without me. God, I hated the man, loathed him and all he stood for. My mother had warned me about my father's benevolence, celebrating the fact I'd gotten out of his grasp. She would despise everything that was happening in her house, my father losing his battle with his sins.
Sins.
While every word Dominick had said was indeed a riddle, he was correct in his jaded thinking. Power and greed had corrupted my father, allowing him to succumb to a life that my mother had never wanted. Everything had changed in only a few short years. And it was about to get worse.
I couldn't get the nagging feeling regarding Dominick out of my mind. Who the hell was he? Grabbing my iPad, I leaned against the headboard, scouring the internet. Within a few seconds, his gorgeous face and roughhewn body splashed across the screen. A cold chill shifted down my spine, the headlines damning. "No. Fucking. Way."
Mafia kingpin son, Dominick Lugiano, arrested for murder.
Mafia turf wars spark deadly melee in the streets of New York.
Federal agents investigate Lugiano family for extortion.
I yanked the pillow closer to my chest, trying to figure out if this was some ridiculous joke. I knew about organized crime. Who the hell didn't? I just never thought anyone living that kind of sordid life would ever enter mine. I was close to hyperventilating, another volley of shame rushing into my system. Calming my nerves, I read as much as I could find.
The articles were horrific, citing countless acts of violence, witnesses disappearing, and appalling pictures that cut through me like a razor-sharp knife. The Lugiano family had absolute control of New York and the surrounding states and there was nothing the FBI or local law enforcement had been able to do about their reign of terror.
"Fuck. Me." My mouth was suddenly dry, a hint of fear slithering into my system. Was my father actually associated with this... monster? I glanced again, unable to take my eyes off Dominick's handsome face. His utter dominance was easily evident.
I was shaking, unable to believe I'd fallen for the man's bullshit. And you allowed him to fuck you. "Jesus. No." Men like that never let go. Or maybe I was fooling myself. I was nothing to him but some tramp who'd fucked him. I wiggled, the pain coursing across my bottom a scathing reminder of my blatant stupidity.
Hearing the knock on my door, I bristled, biting back a cry. I dared not even bother asking if my father knew him. That would be considered blasphemous.
"Caroline. Are you in there?" My father's husky voice asked through the thick wooden door.
I was certain there would be a schedule of events that I was required to attend, parties to plan and new etiquette to follow. My father had ignored me for a full day, keeping to himself. A golf game with his buddies. A luncheon with his press secretary. I'd enjoyed every minute of peace and quiet until the art showing. "Just a minute." I was still in my pajamas and it was almost noon. A big no-no while I was living under his roof.
What he didn't know was that was about to change. The check from the art sale would be deposited on Monday and the first and last month on the apartment paid. And there was nothing that my father could do to stop me.
Including running for president.
I opened the door only a crack, expecting to see his face reddened with anger. Instead, he was smiling. What in the hell was he up to? "Dad? Do you need something?"
"How did the art show go?" While he asked the question, I could tell he was distracted.
"Well. I sold a couple pieces." As if I was going to tell him about the check I'd hidden away.
"How nice," he said absently. "I thought you and I could go to lunch together today, you know, father and daughter."
Opening the door further, I narrowed my eyes. He never had time for family gatherings or holidays, always working on upgrading his career. "O-kay. Why?"
He laughed, the same deep baritone I remembered as a child, but I sensed there was an underlying emotion. Fear. The concept floored me. My father wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. "Can't a father ask his daughter to lunch every once in a while?"