Don’t Make Me (Made Men #3) Read Online Renee Rose

Categories Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Made Men Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
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“You may not come.” I yank her panties down to her ankles and make her step out of them.

“What happens if I do?” Her voice is husky with desire.

“You’ll be punished.” Shoving the wad of lace and silk in her mouth, I tap open her thighs and spank her clit.

She moans and pants as I slap her juicy folds again and again. When her cries grow more desperate, I stop and release her wrists and step back.

“You do not have permission to touch yourself on the way home.”

Her face clouds as she realizes I’m not going to get her off.

“Now get in your car and drive straight there,” I murmur. “I want to find you naked, on your knees in the corner when I get back, or you’ll be in even more trouble than you already are. Got it?” I pluck the panties out of her mouth and tuck them in my pocket.

Her eyes follow them with a pleading look.

I shake my head. “No panties for you. And no touching. I need to hear a yes, sir.”

Her throat works as she swallows. She shoves her skirt down and straightens her shirt, looking thoroughly turned on. “Yes, sir.”

I snatch her up with an arm around her waist and yank her body into mine. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll be sore for a week.”

Her arms come around my neck, and she lifts those sweet berry lips for a kiss, lust still swirling in her copper-flecked eyes.

I nip her lips instead. “Bad girls don’t get kissed. They get fucked. Hard.” I squeeze her ass. “Now get home and prepare yourself for me.”

Chapter Ten

Summer

I’ve never been so turned on in my life. My bare pussy lips rub together as I drive, begging to be touched, but I won’t disobey Carlo, even though he’d never know the difference.

My emotions are a jumbled mess. Even though it’s just a game, his mock sternness has me desperate to win my approbation. I truly feel like a sorry, chastised sex slave. If sorry, chastised slaves are also one stroke away from an orgasm.

I use the key he gave me and let myself into his apartment, breathing in his scent. I’ve already come to love the place. Just being here arouses me, making me feel submissive, owned.

And cared for.

That is the part I can’t get over. Carlo Romano is as sweet as he is dominant. Between torturing me with his flogger, using his clever mouth and tongue between my legs, and shoving his cock into my mouth, he pushed sips of water and checked my wrist cuffs to make sure they weren’t leaving marks. He watched me intently with those hazel eyes, monitoring my reactions, really seeing me.

I’m not sure anyone has ever truly seen me before. Not my parents, who want me to fit into an ideal they have for me. Certainly not John, who saw me through poop-colored glasses. Maggie knows me, but not like this. Carlo looks into my very soul...and doesn’t find me lacking. His intense gazes are hard to read, but I never sense condemnation from him, never criticism.

I strip out of my clothes and eye the various corners of the bedroom. I choose the one directly to the right, so he’ll have the full view of me when he walks in. Kneeling on the hard wood, I settle my bare butt on my feet, my pussy still buzzing from the spanking and my own erotic thoughts.

The key turns in the lock, and I straighten, folding my hands in my lap and staring at the corner. I listen to Carlo’s footsteps as he enters the bedroom, the sound of him emptying his pockets onto the dresser, the clink of change.

“You were a very naughty girl tonight, Summer.”

My pelvic floor lifts, pussy clenching. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t lie, bambi. You’re not sorry.”

My breasts ache, nipples tight, hardened points. Of course, he’s right. I’m not sorry at all. I’m very pleased with myself.

“Come to me.”

I stand, easing my weight off my swollen foot gently.

“Your foot is hurting you.” He sits on the bed, his face shadowy in the lamplight.

I lift my shoulders. “A little.”

“No more high heels. No more ignoring the pain. If it’s swelling, you pay attention—put it up, ice it, go see your physical therapist.”

I want him to stop talking about my foot and get back to the good stuff, but to avoid irritating him, I give a submissive. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrow as if he knows I’m blowing smoke up his ass. “Okay, how about this—if I see that foot swollen and you not doing something about it, I’m going to punish you.”

“Carl-o,” I protest.

“I’m serious, principessa.” He raises a stern eyebrow.

This time I do roll my eyes, which is probably not my smartest move. In a flash, I find myself over his lap with his hand slapping my ass. Considering my state of need, the pain hardly registers. I lift my butt to his hand, squirming and fighting, just to see what he’ll do.


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