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CHAPTER 44: SHAKY AND TIRING RIDE
Last Updated:
2025-06-03 22:48:26
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Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession CHAPTER 100: SORE BODY, HURT SOUL
TRISTAN'S POVThe first thing that registered was the searing pain. A deep, throbbing ache that radiated from the very core of my being, encompassing every muscle, every bone. My eyes fluttered open to the familiar softness of my bed, the morning light filtering through curtains.I tried to shift, a low hiss escaping my lips as the pain flared, protesting even the slightest movement. My body felt like a battlefield, a testament to Giovanni’s… wildness from the night before.The fountain in the garden maze. The chill of the water against my skin, the rough stone pressing into my back, the relentless, punishing thrusts that had me gasping for air, for release, for anything but the brutal ecstasy he extracted.It was all a hazy, nightmarish blur now. I remembered the desperate struggle to pull my torn clothes back on, the fabric clinging to my sweat-slicked skin, the shame already settling deep in my gut. After that, nothing. A blank. I must have passed out, completely,
Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession CHAPTER 99: PUNISHED AND MARKED
GIOVANNI'S POVI stood there, my chest heaving with a tempest of emotions.... anger, jealousy, and a possessive lust that had been simmering for three long days.My eyes, dark and unyielding, were fixed on the red marks that striped Tristan’s exposed ass, the result of the harsh whipping I had delivered with my belt. The image of him naked, another woman’s hands stroking his cock, then a few minutes ago... Tristan's laughter mingling with the voice of another man, replayed in my mind like a curse. It was a betrayal I couldn’t forgive, yet my desire for him only deepened with every memory.Tristan lay bent over the garden fountain, his body trembling, tears streaming down his face. The marble beneath him was cold, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. The garden maze, once a place of tranquility, now felt like a cage, its high hedges closing in around us, trapping us in this moment of raw, unfiltered emotion. I stepped closer, my boots crunching on the gravel path. My
Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession CHAPTER 98: PITCHED BLACK
TRISTAN'S POVThe cool evening air of the garden, which had moments ago kissed my skin with the promise of a peaceful respite, now felt like a shroud. The scent of jasmine and damp earth, usually so comforting, twisted into something terrifying, choked by the sudden, suffocating presence of him.Giovanni.I saw the black on his demeanor, a darkness so profound it seemed to leach the colour from the vibrant surroundings. His eyes were now chips of obsidian, devoid of warmth, reflecting only a searing, unadulterated rage. He stood by the arched trellises, framed by climbing roses, but he looked less like a figure in a romantic painting and more like a predator, coiled and ready to strike. My heart, a panicked bird, hammered against my ribs, an urgent, frantic rhythm that felt impossibly loud in the gathering silence.He was seething, I knew it. Every fibre of his being vibrated with anger, with that raw, untamed jealousy that always simmered just beneath the surfa
Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession CHAPTER 97: UNENDING JEALOUSY
GIOVANNI'S POVThe phone felt like a live coal in my hand, burning, scorching, fueling a rage that simmered beneath my skin, threatening to boil over. Juliana’s message, a vile, taunting package of pixels, was seared into my brain. The photo: Tristan, my Tristan, sprawled on a bed, his body so utterly naked, so shamelessly exposed. The video: Ksenia, Juliana’s conniving friend, her hand stroking… stroking him.“Fuck!” The word tore from my throat, a guttural roar that echoed in the sterile silence of my Italian villa study. My knuckles were white, pressing the phone so hard I feared it might shatter, just as my composure threatened to. Tristan. My Tristan. Letting someone else touch him, pleasure him, while I was a world away, my own body a taut, aching mess of unfulfilled desire. It felt like a betrayal so profound it was physical, a knife twisting in my gut.Just last night, at the bar, the women had practically thrown themselves at me, their eyes promises of fleeting release, but
Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession CHAPTER 96: HE IS BACK
TRISTAN'S POVThe sterile white sheets of the bed felt impossibly heavy, suffocating me with the lingering phantom touch of Ksenia.Anastasia, her face a storm of fury barely contained, stood over me, her sharp gaze pinning me down. “Please, Anastasia,” I managed, my voice raspy, a desperate croak that barely escaped my throat. I shook my head, avoiding her piercing stare, my gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the duvet. “Please don’t tell Giovanni what Juliana did to me.”Her breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke of disbelief and incandescent rage. When she spoke, her voice was low, laced with a dangerous edge that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Why, Tristan? Why you don’t want Giovanni to know what his scheming fiancée did to you? You were almost violated by a different person if I hadn’t intervened.”The words struck me like physical blows.Violated.The truth of it, delivered so bluntly, made my skin crawl. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, fighting
Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession CHAPTER 95: SOKOLOV-PAVELLI DEAL
GIOVANNI'S POVThe ache was a dull throb, a constant, insidious reminder of unfulfilled desire, a phantom limb of frustration that clung to me even after a cold shower. It was the second day away from him, and every nerve ending in my body felt raw, exposed. Drying myself with a rough towel, I caught my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. My eyes, usually sharp and calculating, held a restless hunger. Tristan.The name was a silent curse, a whispered prayer. I swore, then and there, that the moment I stepped back into the Sokolov estate, I would flood his mouth and his hole with my cum. I didn’t give a damn if we soaked the bedsheets till they were a sodden mess. All that mattered was that Tristan’s body would be soft as jelly, boneless and pliant, after I had bent all my pent-up frustration into him.“Fuck!” I muttered, the word a rasp against the silence of the Italian villa’s opulent bathroom.My imagination, a treacherous ally, was already painting vivid scenes: Tristan beneat
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