Page 82 of Bronson

Then, his hand finds my hair, gathering it behind my neck. He pulls hard, bringing my head back toward him.

It’s too much.

The guttural cry comes from deep within my belly. I moan. I shout his name. My core tightens, twists, then explodes. His cock is filling me. He gives another tug of my hair, another thrust of his cock, another slap on my aching ass. Everything within me pulses and throbs as I come again and again. My mouth gapes, my jaw slack. My body shudders and trembles.

He gives a carnal groan of his own. He whispers Paige, my love. His hands leave my hair, find my hips, his fingertips dig in so hard I will find bruises there on my wedding day. I feel his hot seed filling me. It spills from my bottom, running down my thigh.

Marking me punished.

Marking me as his.

I lie over the bench, unable to move.

I feel a cloth running up my leg, cleaning me.

“Good thing I’ve always carried handkerchiefs. I’ve wondered why my tailor insisted I have one in my suit jacket—now I know. Very handy.”

My dress is pulled down and smoothed into place.

His hand grabs mine, pulling my limp, unwilling body to my feet.

“You’re no child. You’re a strong, beautiful woman.” He gathers me into his chest, kissing the top of my head. “You may be small, but you’re mighty.”

I’m overwhelmed by so many emotions. Contentment, satisfaction, love.

Submissiveness.

And… embarrassment.

“Mighty? I don’t think so.” I whisper, “How on Earth can I go back in there?”

He looks over me. His eyes are caring. “Would it help you to know that everyone from your family will be thinking, My God, I haven’t had food like this in years, and everyone from my family will be thinking, Poor girl, been there, done that, welcome to the Bachmans?”

He smiles.

I give a sniffle. It’s true. All the people from home would only be focused on the food; my bridesmaids, save for two, will be stuffing rolls in their purses for later.

And the Bachmans… well, I don’t really know them yet. But I trust the women have all been in my position before.

Oh, well, such is life.

And I’ve chosen this life. Time to start living it.

Hand in hand, we walk back out to the dining room. Amazingly, I feel a million times better. More like myself. The chastisement has placed me in a much healthier mind frame. The painful spanking cleared my head and mended my attitude.

And the sex.

Let’s just say my ass has been fully punished. And it was the best medicine.

I wince when I sit down in the chair Bronson pulls out for me.

Sasha gives me a knowing glance. Mary pats my hand. She leans over, whispering in my ear, “We’ve all been there, darling. Welcome to the family. Try the pasta. It’s delicious.”

No one else pays me much mind. They are all too busy eating. Drinking. Laughing. The dinner continues. There are many, many champagne toasts, all made by the Bachman men. I try to keep up with their names, but there are too many. Carter, John, Patrick, Elliot, Ian, Thomas, Rockland… the list goes on.

The men are all very different. But all have one clear characteristic in common.

Their demeanors.