I let out a groan, rubbing soothing circles on my right ass cheek as I stop in the hallway outside of Joseph’s room.  

I’m sore all over.  From being used.  Deliciously used.  But I need more of whatever it is he rubs on my ass after he’s done spanking me.  

Over the past several days, Joseph’s given me nothing but sessions of rough, pleasurable sex. At this point, I can’t tell if I’m aching from one of his spankings or his thick cock.  I smile at the memory of this morning.  No doubt the spanking when it comes to my ass.

It’s a good problem to have. And I could definitely learn to love it. I just wish I didn’t feel it right now. It’s getting in the way of my snooping.  A mischievous grin slips into place.  I know I’m being a bit bad, but technically there’s no rule against it.  

For the past hour, I’ve been looking around the house, trying to figure out what Joseph’s hiding. I know he’s hiding something. A part of me is scared to find out.  And the other part of me is hoping that I’m just being paranoid.  I bite down on the inside of my cheek.  He won’t tell me about his past.  Or whatever the hell makes him hide away in his study.  I’m sure as fuck not gonna sit around waiting.

The wooden floor creaks in the hallway under my weight the second I slip out of my room.  Dammit.  I’m not the best at being quiet.  My heart stills and I stand frozen in the hallway, glaring at the wooden floorboards.  After a moment, I straighten and continue on into his room.  I practically tiptoe, my tongue stuck between my teeth as I sneak into his room.  I love it in here.  It’s so... him.  

Furtively I look around, wondering where I should start first, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t have much time. I don’t know when Joseph will come out of his study, so I need to move quickly.  I should hear him, I keep telling myself.  I will definitely hear him when he comes up the stairs.  

I purse my lips as I walk over to his dresser and start digging through it. I go through five drawers, but don’t find anything but neatly folded clothes. Where else do people hide shit? I figured the dresser would be a gold mine.  That’s where I hide all my shit.  I shut the last drawer gently, feeling a little let down.  I look up and spot his bed, a smile curling on my lips.  The mattress.  I search underneath the bed and then push my hand below the mattress, between the box spring and the frame.  I’m weak as shit, and holding it up actually makes me winded. Nothing.

“Come on,” I mutter, looking around the room frantically, “Everyone hides something under the mattress.”

I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed again. He’s gotta have something somewhere.

I search the nightstands. Nothing again.

Frustrated, I stop and place my hands on my hips, biting my lower lip and thinking.

If I had a big house like this, would I hide anything in my bedroom? I mean, how stupid would that be?  Maybe I’m in the wrong room.  I sure as fuck can’t search his study though.  Not while he’s in there at least.  

I’m about to give up and leave the room when my eyes fall on the closet.  The door is slightly ajar, and the light is on inside.  My pulse picks up speed as I stare at it. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it already.  I used to hide in the closets.  The thought makes my heart hurt.  

It’s where I found my mother.  I think she wanted me to find her before my father did.  

He used to tell me how much I looked like her, until she killed herself.  Then I would see that pained look in his eyes, and I knew it was what he was thinking, but he never said it again.  

I know that’s why he doesn’t see me much; I remind him of her.  I know it hurts him.  I understand it.  He still loves me, and I love him.  Even if our family is scarred from what my mother did.  

I bite my lower lip, shoving the sad memory back where it belongs, in the past, debating on whether I should go digging around more. I’ve already been looking for the past half hour, and Joseph doesn’t spend very long on his own.

I should leave, I tell myself. I’m not going to find anything in there anyway.

I start to walk out of the room, but when I reach the doorway, I can’t bring myself to leave without at least checking the closet. Though I know I probably won’t find anything, who knows when I’ll have another chance like this?

I spin around on my heel and walk quickly to the closet, swinging the door wide as I walk inside. It bangs against the wall, and I wince at the sound.  I don’t think he’ll hear it though.  Damn my eager ass.

Not wasting a second, I quickly go about inspecting the large closet, but I have to pause to suck in a sharp breath at the sight before me. Jesus Christ.  He has so many suits. And they all look so fucking expensive.  Who owns suits like these?  I want to run my hands down all of the fine clothing, but I’m not here to look at his wardrobe.  Focus, Lilly!

I go through several of the suits, checking in all the pockets, looking for something, anything that will tell me something about the past I feel Joseph is hiding. I come up empty. I look around, looking for a safe, some sort of bag, anything where something can be hidden. But I don’t see a damn thing.

I’m about to leave the room when my eyes fall on a shoe box that’s sitting inconspicuously next to a row of shoes. Looking at it, I know it’s probably just shoes in there, but I can’t help myself. I rush forward, nearly tripping to get to the box, and grab it.  My heart stutters in my chest at the bit of racket I’m making.  I only need one more minute.  

Yes!  Finally!  There’s a leather-bound book inside with a worn gold latch. I take it out, marveling at the high quality feel.

I open it, quickly glancing over my shoulder as I sit on the floor of his closet, to see pages filled with neat handwriting.  One name keeps popping up off the page; Passerotto.  I say it over and over again, whispering under my breath.  I don’t know what it means.  I have no idea, but it definitely sounds Italian. I try to read some of the entries, and it’s hard to keep up, but there’s a lot mentioning of the familia. What the hell? Joseph is part of the Mafia? My heart beats faster, and my anxiety starts to grow.  

I read a little bit further and find out that he’s left the family, but it doesn’t give me any relief. I scan an entry, my heart breaking in my chest.  He watched his mother being beaten.  He didn’t do anything.  I can tell by the way he’s written it, he blames himself.  

I get several more paragraphs in, so absorbed in the moment that I forget the time and where I am.  I can feel my heart breaking as tears cloud my eyes.  Joseph.  I can’t believe what he’s been through.  

A loud sound of footsteps coming up the stairs pulls my gaze from the pages of the book and a curse spills from my lips, “Oh shit!” I throw the book back into the shoe box and quickly set it back in its original place.

I’m about to run from the room when I knock over several suits on the clothing rack. My clumsy ass.  Dammit.  I’m the worst at this.  Crap. I bend over to pick them up, but a metal glint catches my eye.

Holy fuck.

My heart jumps in my chest at the sight before me. A gun rack, hidden behind the fallen suits. It’s filled with all sorts of guns.

“Tsk tsk,” says a deep voice from the closet doorway.

I spin around, my heart pounding in my chest to see Joseph leaning against the doorjamb, gazing at me with amusement.  I swear my heart wants to run away, and it chooses to try by climbing up my throat.  

“Bad girl, my flower,” he says playfully, a twinkle in his eye.

My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I know I will be punished for this. And I know it will be the cage. I try desperately to come up with an excuse.  Something.  Anything.  But I’m in his closet.  

“Please sir,” I plead, holding my hands out imploringly, “I was just looking around –” My throat is so dry as I speak.  My body is tingling with fear.  

“It’s all right, flower,” he says easily, surprising me.  My heart doesn’t believe him though, and it’s still fighting to leave my body, ruled by fear.  “There’s nothing wrong with you having a little look. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I’m sorry sir,” I say softly, relief slowly coursing through my blood.

Joseph motions at me. “Come here.”

I look down at his suits that are on the floor, swallowing and bend to pick them up, but Joseph stops me with a terse, “Now.”

That tone he uses makes me walk to him immediately, cringing as I step around his expensive suits left on the floor. He leads me back into the bedroom, pulling me by the hand and sitting me down on the bed. Gazing into my eyes, he gently strokes the side of my cheek, making my skin prickle all up and down my arms.  I can still hardly breathe.  I’m waiting for the other foot to drop, waiting for a punishment or admonishment.  I knew what I was doing was bad.  …I also know I’m not really sorry.  I’m only sorry I got caught.  And I bet he knows that, too.  

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, flower,” he tells me softly as if reading my mind.  He pauses, and then gives me a playful nudge with his nose. “Unless you want to be sorry that you weren’t waiting on my bed for me, naked with your legs spread wide.”

A smile spreads across my face, and I let out a girlish giggle at his playful words. I really love these moments, when his playful side shines through. It’s so different from the dark, dominating Master side. And I want more of it.  I cup his face in my hand, looking deep into his eyes and rubbing my thumb across his stubble.  

“I like you like this,” I say softly, still not quite sure if he’s really not mad at me.  Maybe he knew I’d be looking.  He always seems to know what I’m up to.  

“Like what?” Joseph asks.

“I don’t know, just when you’re kind and playful.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he responds, “Those words aren’t used to describe me very often.”

“I really like this side of you,” I say, placing my hand on his. A moment of silence falls over us, and I feel compelled to ask, “Passerotto?”  I’m not sure if I pronounced it correctly.  Or if me prodding is going to tip him to the point of being pissed off.  But I want to talk.  It’s in my nature.  

Joseph hesitates for a moment, and I fear he might close himself off. But instead he grabs onto my waist and pulls me onto his lap.  I gasp and hold onto him, not expecting it.  He seems to pull me into his lap whenever we “talk.”  I like it.  Yet another thing to add to my Things-I-Like-About-Joseph-Levi-list.  I nestle into his lap and wait patiently.

“Yes.  It means little sparrow.”

“Who did that journal belong to?” I ask, although I’m certain it’s his.

“My mother gave it to me when I was little…” Joseph’s eyes are distant as his voice trails off. I place my cheek on his hot chest, listening to his heart and playing with the smattering of chest hair peeking through his unbuttoned shirt.  I can sense that this is something he doesn’t want to talk about, but I don’t want to lose the opportunity to get him to open up.

“Go on… Please,” I say very softly, stroking his hand and pulling away from him enough to look him in the eyes.

Joseph swallows audibly. But I’m pleased when he continues speaking. “I don’t like talking about my past, but you seem to make me talk, my flower. I’ve had a fucked up life. There were a lot of times where I thought I wouldn’t make it after the shit I had been through, after the shit I seen.”  He runs a hand down his face and looks past me.  

The pain in his words pulls at my heartstrings.

“What did you see?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.  I just want him to open up to me.  

There’s a long pause, and I can actually feel Joseph’s heart pounding against my hand still at his chest.  “A lot of death.  A lot of murder.”

I bring a hand to my lips in horror. “I’m sorry,” I say in a choked voice, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

“It’s okay,” he replies thickly. But I know it’s not. He’s fucking hurting, and it tears me up. “I’d just rather not talk about it.”  My eyes flicker down to my lap, then back to his.  I want him to talk.  I want him to open up to me.  

I know how he feels, not wanting to talk about things.  But it helped me, so much that I know for sure I wouldn’t be the person I am without having someone to confide in.  Even if it was just a counselor at school.  It’s good to talk it out.  

“Please?” I plead with him.  

He shakes his head, and the look in his eyes tells me not to push him.  I nod, trying not to feel like he’s pushing me away.  My eyes focus on the closet, where the journal is.  Maybe that’s his way.  

I glance over at the closet. “Can I read it?”

“The journal?” he asks, and I immediately nod my head.  “You can read it any time you wish.”

We sit together in silence, and I swear I can hear Joseph’s heart beating in tandem with mine. After a moment I turn in his lap, looking him in the eyes. I see the pain in his dark gaze, and I hate that I’ve partly caused it by bringing up the subject. I just want to help make it go away.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, rubbing his arm.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans down and kisses me on the lips very gently. Emotions swell up from my stomach and I find myself wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into me, smashing my lips into his with fiery passion.

I feel him hesitate for a moment, but it only lasts for an instant. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back into the bed.

I’ve never felt more connected to anyone in my life.  The more I learn about Joseph, the more I want him.

The more I fall for him.

And that could be a very dangerous thing.

* * *

Although her hips are steadied by the bench in front of her, the rope tying her wrists behind her back and hanging from the ceiling is what’s keeping her upright. Her ankles are bound to the bench and spread for me. Her hips are tied down as well. She’s dangling naked, completely at my mercy. With the blindfold on, she doesn’t know where I am. Each time my feet smack on the floor, her fingers twitch slightly. Her shoulders are going to be hurting her soon. This has to come to an end soon enough. I pull back on the blow as I smack the riding crop against her ass one last time. She yelps as her upper body is swaying, although her lower body is tied so tightly she doesn’t move from the waist down.

Her ass is a beautiful shade of red. Some spots are a bit darker than the others. I trail the leather up the middle of her back; her body shivers, and her rose petal-colored nipples harden that much more. As I get to her arms and move forward, gently flicking the riding crop against her hard nipples, she moans.

It’s only been thirty minutes, but she’s so wet that her arousal is dripping down her thighs. I move the head of the riding crop up her neck and to her chin as I pull the blindfold off of her. The bright light startles her, and she sways away from me for just a moment as she closes her eyes. I allow it. Once she looks back at me, I bring my face closer to hers and plant a gentle kiss against her lips.

This is all because she got up from the table without asking for permission. Realistically, this isn’t a punishment. I know she loved every minute of it. But that’s what we’re calling it.

“You do realize I own you,” I tell her, my lips just an inch from hers. “You belong to me. Your freedom belongs to me.” She holds my gaze as I speak to her. Her lips part in that beautiful way I’ve become addicted to.

She says her answer so sweetly, “Yes, Sir.”

I walk around her, dropping the riding crop as I go and stroking my hard cock. I grip her hip in one hand although I don’t need to, since she’s not going anywhere.

I don’t hold back when I fuck her.

And she takes it.