MasukValentina whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re two? Like two different men?” Massimo stepped closer with a dark smirk. “Took you long enough, little queen.” Marcello spoke in a low, slow voice. “Every night you screamed for ‘him’… it was us. Switching. Sharing.” Valentina’s eyes widened. “The bruises… the whispers… two different men?” Massimo grabbed her wrist firmly. “One hard, one slow. Both filling you. Both owning you.” Marcello’s fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back. “You came harder knowing deep down, didn’t you?” Valentina breathed shakily. “You monsters.” Massimo pressed his chest against her and moved slowly. “Your monsters. Say it.” Marcello brushed his lips against her neck. “Say you want both of us again. Right here. Right now.” Valentina’s thighs clenched. “I want both of you.” Massimo’s dark smirk deepened. “Good girl. Spread for your kings.” Valentina Ferraro was the invisible outcast until her jealous sister drugged her and delivered her straight to the Caruso twins. Massimo and Marcello, ruthless mafia kings, identical in looks and cruelty. They have watched her for months. Obsessed. Waiting. When scandalous photos explode across Italy, her father disowns her. The twins claim her as payment. Now she is their contract wife in a cliffside villa. One rule: every day she spreads for them until she carries their heir. Massimo takes her hard. Marcello takes her slow. They mark her. Fill her. Own her. But the twins knew she was drugged that first night… and they did not stop. Secrets bleed. Revenge burns. A rival strikes. When the real pregnancy test turns positive, the monsters kneel. From captive to queen, Valentina rises. In Naples’ shadows, she is no longer forgotten. She is bred. She is claimed. She is theirs.
Lihat lebih banyakMy phone buzzed on the nightstand just after noon. I had barely slept since returning home, body still aching from the twins and the long drive back in borrowed clothes. I reached for it without thinking, expecting another message from Lucia or a worried text from one of the household staff. Instead the screen filled with notifications from every gossip site and tabloid in Italy.The first headline hit like a slap: “Ferraro Heiress in Threesome with Mafia Kings!”I sat up fast. The soreness between my legs flared, a sharp reminder of the night before. My fingers trembled as I tapped the link. The article loaded with blurry photos taken from the hallway outside that private suite. They were grainy but unmistakable. My midnight dress hiked up around my waist. Two tall identical men with me on the black silk sheets. One pinning my wrists while the other moved between my spread thighs. Another shot showed me arched back, mouth open in what could only be a scream of pleasure. The captions
It was morning. I had no idea when because I didn't remember shutting my eyes. I stood in my bedroom with a small leather bag open on the bed, hands shaking as I folded the few things I dared take. One spare dress, a pair of jeans, two plain shirts, underwear, and the black wool coat that still carried the faint scent of the twins. No jewelry. No credit cards. No cash except the few euros I found scattered in a drawer. Victor had already canceled everything in my name. My phone was the only thing left that connected me to the world, and even that felt like a weapon pointed at my chest. Every movement sent fresh reminders through my body. The soreness between my legs had settled into a deep, constant ache. Bruises on my inner thighs brushed against the fabric of my clothes with every step. Bite marks on my neck stung when the collar of my shirt shifted. I moved slowly, carefully, trying not to think about how those marks had gotten there or how loudly I had moaned while they were made
My phone buzzed on the nightstand just after noon. I had barely slept since returning home, body still aching from the twins and the long drive back in borrowed clothes. I reached for it without thinking, expecting another message from Lucia or a worried text from one of the household staff. Instead the screen filled with notifications from every gossip site and tabloid in Italy. The first headline hit like a slap: “Ferraro Heiress in Threesome with cheap men!” I sat up fast. The soreness between my legs flared, a sharp reminder of the night before. My fingers trembled as I tapped the link. The article loaded with blurry photos taken from the hallway outside that private suite. They were grainy but unmistakable. My midnight dress hiked up around my waist. Two tall identical men with me on the black silk sheets. One pinning my wrists while the other moved between my spread thighs. Another shot showed me arched back, mouth open in what could only be a scream of pleasure. The captions w
Sunlight slipped through the tall glass wall like it had a personal grudge, slicing across my closed eyelids and forcing me awake with a jolt. My heart slammed against my ribs before my mind even caught up. The black silk sheets clung to my damp skin, cool in places, sticky in others. Every muscle protested as I tried to move. Deep, throbbing soreness pulsed between my thighs, sharp twinges in my hips, faint bruises blooming along my neck, breasts, and the tender insides of my legs like dark, possessive flowers someone had pressed into my flesh while I slept.I was alone.The bed stretched endlessly on both sides. No solid warmth pressed against my back. No low voices murmuring praise or possession against my ear. Only the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood, smoke, clean sweat, and sex. Cum had dried in tacky patches between my thighs, flaking when I shifted. My inner thighs stuck together with every tiny movement. Bite marks stung when the air touched them. My nipples were still sw
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