LOGINThree weeks after the wedding, I stopped pretending I still had a choice.Luciano never asked if I wanted him. He simply took—in the mornings before he left for meetings, in the evenings when he returned smelling of cigars and power, in the middle of the night when he reached for me in the dark like it was his right. Which, according to every paper I had signed, it was.I learned the shape of his hunger. The way he preferred me on my back so he could watch my face. The way he liked to pin my wrists and make me say his name when I came. The way he would press two fingers inside me afterward, pushing his own release deeper, and murmur, “Stay full for me.”I also learned that the cold, untouchable Mafia King had cracks.One night I woke to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the city through the dark glass. I sat up slowly. The sheet slipped to my waist. He didn’t look at me.“My first wife died because of a man like your stepfather,” he said quietly.
I was in his bed by midnight, just as he ordered.The connecting door had been left open. I walked through it on bare feet, wearing only the thin silk robe that had been left on my bed after the shower. Luciano was already there, sitting in a low armchair by the window with a glass of whiskey, shirt unbuttoned, watching the city lights far below.He didn’t look at me right away. He finished the drink, set the glass down, and then turned his head.“Come here.”I went.He pulled me between his spread knees, hands settling on my hips over the silk. His thumbs stroked slow circles against the bone. Up close I could see the faint scar along his jaw, the silver threading through the dark hair at his temples, the absolute certainty in his eyes.“You’re trembling again,” he said.“I’m cold.”“You’re not.” He tugged the belt of the robe loose. The silk parted. Cool air kissed my skin. His gaze dropped, taking in every inch of me with open possession. “You’re exactly where you belong.”He stood
I barely slept.Every time I closed my eyes I saw his face—the cold, assessing stare, the way his fingers had brushed my collarbone like he was already cataloguing what belonged to him. When the first gray light slipped through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I was already awake, sitting on the edge of the massive bed in the same thin white slip I had worn the night before.A soft knock came at the main door. A young woman in a black uniform entered without waiting for an answer, carrying a garment bag and a small tray of coffee and fruit.“Mr. Voss requests you dress and come downstairs,” she said quietly. “The lawyer arrives in one hour.”She hung the garment bag on a hook, set the tray on the nightstand, and left.Inside the bag was a simple black dress—expensive, modest, and clearly chosen to make me look older than my twenty-two years. Matching heels. No underwear. I dressed slowly, hands shaking only a little, and forced down half a cup of coffee before I left the room.Luciano wa
The first time I saw him, I was already bought and paid for.The auction room smelled of expensive cigars, whiskey, and fear. Crystal chandeliers threw cold light over the long table where men in tailored suits sat like they owned the world. I stood on the raised platform in a thin white slip that left almost nothing to the imagination, wrists bound loosely in front of me with black silk. My stepfather had sold me an hour ago for three million dollars and a debt wiped clean.I kept my eyes on the floor until the room went quiet.Then I looked up.He was seated at the head of the table, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, a glass of something dark in his hand. Older than the others—mid-forties, maybe. Black hair streaked with silver at the temples. Sharp jaw. Eyes the color of wet asphalt. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He simply watched me the way a man watches something he has already decided to take apart.Luciano Voss.The Mafia King of the East Coast. The man whose name mad
My father left at dawn.I stood at the upstairs window and watched his car disappear down the long driveway. The moment the gates closed behind him, the house felt different—emptier, heavier, charged with something that made my skin prickle.They were already waiting in the kitchen when I came downstairs.Cassian leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, watching me over the rim of the mug. Dominic sat at the island, scrolling through something on his phone. Rhett stood by the refrigerator, shirtless, drinking straight from a carton of orange juice like he owned the place.Three pairs of silver eyes lifted the second I appeared.“Three days,” Cassian said quietly. “No interruptions. No one coming home early.”My pulse jumped.Rhett set the carton down and crossed the kitchen in three long strides. He cupped the back of my neck and kissed me hard, tasting like citrus and heat. When he pulled back, his eyes were already darker.“Bedroom,” he said. “Now.”I didn’t argue.They followed
The house was quiet when they returned.My father had gone to bed early after a long day of meetings. I heard his bedroom door close just after ten. Twenty minutes later the soft click of the back door told me they were here.I was already waiting in my room, heart hammering, wearing nothing but one of Cassian’s shirts that I had stolen from the guest room earlier. The fabric still smelled like him—woodsmoke and something darker—and it barely reached mid-thigh.Cassian entered first. Dominic and Rhett followed, closing the door quietly behind them. The lock turned with a soft snick.No one spoke at first.Cassian’s eyes moved over me slowly, taking in the way the shirt hung off one shoulder and the fresh bruises still visible on my thighs. His expression darkened with approval.“You kept it on,” he said quietly.I nodded.Rhett crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me against him. His mouth found mine in a deep, claiming kiss while his hands slid under the shirt, palms spa
He kissed her neck, open-mouthed and hot, sucking lightly on her pulse point. Lila’s knees weakened. She clutched his shoulders for support, feeling the hard muscle beneath her fingers."Tell me to stop," he challenged, even as his hand slid down her waist to grip her full hip. "Tell me you don’t w
Lila Harper had always been the good girl.At nineteen, she still blushed at the mere mention of anything intimate. Raised by a single mother who drilled modesty and purity into her, Lila had never touched herself, never watched anything forbidden, and certainly never imagined the things that happe
Lila stumbled back into the venue, rain-soaked and trembling. The thin yellow sundress clung to her curvy body like a second skin, outlining every heavy swell of her breasts and the flare of her wide hips. The vibrator inside her virgin pussy buzzed mercilessly, intensifying with every step she too
Lila woke up with a gasp, her body still humming from the shameful secret she had committed in the kitchen the night before. Sunlight filtered through her curtains, but the pink vibrator hidden under her pillow felt like it was burning a hole through her thoughts.Her phone buzzed on the nightstand







