Transgressions by Carolyn Faulkner (thriller books to read .TXT) 📗

"And I could barely understand what you said, which, as far as I'm concerned, is no better than not asking me at all."

She sighed heavily against his chest and he knew she wanted to protest against what he'd said, but she knew better.

"So you're not allowed to do that again, I'm afraid."

Her "Yes, Sir," was quiet and meek, almost defeated, which was the opposite of how he wanted her submission to feel.

"So, let me see if I got what you said at all. You and Tanya D'Agostino—and probably that whole gaggle of your friends—are going to see those male strippers in town?"

She nodded.

"And you made the plans before we got together, huh?"

"Yes, Sir."

Sometimes, he was—very pleasantly—surprised by the depth of her submission. She was a strong woman, and yet there were days—and he had his own somewhat chauvinistic theory that it had a lot to do with when she was in her cycle—when she seemed even more vulnerable to him. They were also the days when he could challenge her—physically or sexually—and pretty much be sure that she would meet or exceed any goal he set.

Other times, not so much. But he enjoyed challenging her. He intended to help her stretch her boundaries. It was good for her to occasionally really have to think—and think hard—about the choice she'd made to become his.

Chapter 7

"Male strippers, huh?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes."

He felt torn. He really didn't like the idea of her ogling other men—especially, not other men who were ripped and oiled up and who were quite likely to shake their junk in front of her face.

But he also tried to be scrupulously careful not to overtake her life. It was a distinct danger in this type of relationship that he would become her whole world outside of her work, and, as much as he liked the idea of that, it wouldn't be healthy for either of them, but most definitely not for her. He wanted Ally to have friends and go and do things without him—as long as she'd cleared it with him first.

And it wasn't as if he hadn't spent a huge amount of time in strip clubs in his day—less so now—but when the boys went out, he went with them, although he rarely did anything but look, even before they'd gotten together. Nowadays, he wouldn't even do that. He had everything he needed at home.

"You can go. I want you to have fun. When is it?"

She gave him the date, but he wanted to know what hours.

"Nine to eleven."

"So you should be back here no later than, say, one a.m.?"

She sat up a bit, looking down into his eyes. "You're giving me a curfew?" she asked. She didn't sound upset about it but more curious.

"Yes. I don't want you out on the roads at all hours of the night. How are you getting there?"

"I'm not sure. I was going to offer my limo—"

"I'll take care of that. Then I don't have to worry about any of you girls getting drunk or you getting into trouble if I find out you let someone who was drunk drive you home. I'll have it stocked with the best champagne, flowers, and a nosh bar, in case you get hungry on your way to or from the city."

She pouted, which was something she rarely did, thankfully. But she did look pretty doing it.

"Allegra…" he warned

"You want us to use your limo so that you can keep tabs on me and spoil my fun," she not quite whined. He had a very stringent no whining rule.

To her surprise, Enzo laughed. "Honey, I'll always keep tabs on you. I've already made provisions in my will so that, even if I'm gone, someone I trust will be looking out for you."

Her stunned surprise showed on her face, and she tucked that bit of information aside to mull over later. "But I want to use my own limo and driver."

Enzo tilted his head and laid a finger along her jaw. "My limo, my driver, or you don't go at all."

Her lower lip became quite prominent and threatened to quiver, and he had to hide a smile at how cute she looked, but he didn't need her to know that he thought that.

Instead, he pushed her to make a decision quickly. In some ways, he coddled her surprisingly well—practically waiting on her hand and foot if she wasn't feeling well, which she hadn't thought at the time was very Dommish, but she'd reconsidered that opinion. She was his, and he took care of what was his. "What's your decision? Are you going to go or not? Make it now, or I'll make it for you."

Sometimes, him pushing her to submit made her feel even more submissive. Sometimes not. This was definitely one of the latter times. Her face went dark with anger. She wanted to stomp her foot. She wanted to yell at him that she'd decide in her own good time—what difference did it make to him when she decided? She wanted to hit him, so much so that her hands balled into fists. Both actions would get her into deep trouble, of course.

And she knew he would be even less likely to wait for her to make up her mind than he was to wait for her to ask anything. "Oh, all right, I'll go," she said ungraciously.

"Allegra!" he chided strongly. "Do I need to blister your behind for the fourth time today? It sounds very much like I do."

"No, Sir, please!" She would do anything to avoid another spanking today, although she knew that she had no control over whether or not he bent her over and paddled her bottom again, regardless of how well behaved she was. But it didn't help her to do things that she knew he wouldn't like. "Thank you for permission to go out with my friends, Sir," she said, sincerely contrite.

"That's better. But I think you need a lesson,