Owned By Massimo

Isabella's Pov

I've always been drawn to the edge of danger, the kind that makes your pulse race and your skin flush with heat. The forbidden. The taboo. The thought of being claimed, used, treated like a filthy little slut—it’s what keeps me awake at night, my fingers slipping between my thighs as I imagine a man like ‘him’ taking control. Not just any man.

Don Massimo.

The mafia king whose name alone sends shivers down my spine and makes my pussy throb with need. I’ve dreamed of him for months, ever since I first heard the whispers about him in the shadowed corners of my father’s mansion. A man who owns everything he touches. A man who could break me, ruin me, and make me beg for more.

Tonight, I’m done dreaming. Tonight, I’m making it real.

I stand in front of my full-length mirror, my heart pounding as I adjust the scandalous lingerie clinging to my curves. The black lace barely covers my full, heavy breasts, the plunging neckline leaving little to the imagination. The thong is a whisper of fabric, soaked already from the thought of what’s to come.

My long brown hair cascades over my shoulders, framing my body like a siren’s call. I slip on a long trench coat, cinching it tight to hide the sin underneath, and grab my heels—strappy, sky-high, perfect for what I have planned.

My reflection smirks back at me. I look like temptation incarnate, and I feel it. Every nerve in my body is alight with anticipation, my clit pulsing with every step I take toward my bedroom door.

The mansion is silent, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like it’s holding its breath. My family is asleep, oblivious to the fact that their precious daughter is about to sneak out and throw herself into the arms of the most dangerous man in the city.

I tiptoe down the grand staircase, my bare feet silent on the cold marble, my heels dangling from my fingers. My breath catches at every creak of the house, every distant sound that could be a guard or my father waking up. But I’m too far gone to turn back now.

The thought of Don Massimo’s piercing blue eyes, his rough hands, his commanding presence—it’s all I can think about. My pussy clenches at the idea of him seeing me like this, knowing I’m his to take.

I reach the side gate, the one the guards barely watch, and slip through into the night. The cool air hits my skin, making my nipples harden beneath the lace. I can’t help but grin, a giddy rush of adrenaline flooding my veins.

I’m free. I’m his.

I pull out my phone and book a taxi, my fingers trembling as I type the address of the club—the one everyone warns girls like me to stay away from.

The driver’s eyes widen when I slide into the backseat, my coat parting just enough to reveal a glimpse of thigh. “You sure about this, miss?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror and smile.

“Never been more sure of anything.”

The drive to the club is a blur of city lights and pulsing need. My thighs press together, trying to ease the ache between them, but it’s no use. I’m dripping, the thin strip of my thong doing nothing to contain the slick heat pooling there. I imagine Massimo’s hands on me, tearing the lace from my body, his mouth claiming every inch of me. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, my fingers itching to slip beneath my coat and touch myself, but I resist. Not yet. I want to be desperate for him, aching, when he finally takes me.

The club looms ahead, a fortress of sin tucked away in the city’s underbelly. The guards at the entrance eye me as I step out of the taxi, their gazes lingering on the way my coat hugs my curves.

I don’t flinch. I want them to look. I want everyone to know I’m here for one man and one man only. The bouncer at the door raises an eyebrow, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. I let my coat fall open just enough to reveal the lace barely containing my breasts, and his eyes darken. He steps aside without a word.

The moment I step inside, the air changes. It’s thick with lust, power, and danger. The bass of the music thrums through my body, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. Heads turn as I walk through the crowd, my heels clicking against the polished floor now that I’ve slipped them on. Men stare, their eyes hungry, their lips curling into smirks. Women glare, their jealousy palpable. I don’t care. Let them look. Let them want. I’m not here for them.

I’m here for him.

The forbidden room is at the back of the club, a place whispered about in hushed tones. Mafia men only. No one gets in unless they’re invited—or unless they’re bold enough to demand entry. I’m both. My heart races as I approach the guarded door, my body humming with anticipation. The guard, a mountain of a man with a scar running down his cheek, blocks my path. “No women allowed,” he grunts, his eyes flicking over me dismissively.

But I only smirk.

Because—

Hell no.

Nobody was stopping me from seeing Don Massimo tonight.