All Chapters of Entangled With The Merciless Mafia Don : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

SAMANTHA His hand slides into my hair, his fingers tangling gently as he tilts my head, guiding me the way he wants. His other hand finds my waist, his palm spreading across my side with a firm, claiming touch that leaves no room for doubt.It isn’t enough.Without thinking, I reach for him. My hands grab at his shirt, pulling him closer until his chest presses against mine. The heat from his body seeps through the thin fabric between us, making my skin burn.Davon lets out a low growl deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips. The kiss shifts—no longer careful, but hungry. His tongue meets mine in a rhythm that leaves me lightheaded, dizzy with wanting more.His teeth catch my lower lip, teasing me, and I gasp softly. He uses that moment to deepen the kiss, his mouth moving over mine with a hunger that steals my breath.His hand slides down from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me against him until I can feel every hard line of his body. His other hand tighten

DAVONSamantha’s trembling, her hands gripping the bedsheet so tightly her knuckles are white. Her breath comes in uneven gasps. “Please, let me come,” she begs, her voice breaking as her body tightens around my fingers.“Not yet,” I whisper against her ear, my voice low and firm. I keep moving inside her, slow and steady, teasing her until she’s on the edge again and again. One minute. Then two. Then five.“Please!” Her voice rises, sharp and desperate.And then it happens. Her body shudders violently, unable to hold back any longer. That’s when I push inside her—slow, deep, deliberate. The moment I do, she falls apart completely, trembling around me, her whole body shaking as she cries out my name.I hold her close, pulling her into me as I thrust harder, deeper, chasing the rhythm that ties us together. She moves against me, wild and beautiful, her hair falling over her face as she takes control, whispering words that burn into my skin.I flip her beneath me, and she gasps when I e

SAMANTHA “Look at me,” Davon says, his voice low and rough, carrying a power that leaves no room to disobey. “I want to see your face when I take you.”His words send a shiver through me. I lift my gaze, meeting his eyes, and the heat there makes my breath catch. The look in them steals every thought, every bit of control I thought I had left.He pushes into me with one hard, sure motion. A cry escapes my lips before I can stop it. The stretch is sharp but thrilling, and soon, pleasure drowns everything else. The water around us ripples with every movement as he begins to move, deep and steady, his rhythm fierce and commanding.His hands grip my thighs, holding me in place as he drives into me with deliberate force. His lips find my neck, my jaw, my mouth—every inch of me he can reach.“You take me so perfectly,” he whispers against my lips, his voice raw, his breath heavy. “Like you were made for me.”I can’t form words. My body trembles beneath his control, every motion sending me

DAVON“Cut the sentimental bullshit and give me the numbers,” I say, my voice slicing through the room, edged with irritation. We’re in my office inside the estate. The long table is crowded with reports and bank statements. Breakfast this morning was a mess because that bastard jumped to a rival family and did it cleanly. The look on Samantha’s face after I handled him didn’t help. She’s still new to this life; I don’t blame her for being rattled. But being my wife means she must face all of it — the beauty, the privilege, and the moments when loyalty must be backed by steel.Brad’s hand freezes mid-gesture, the unlit cigarette balanced between his fingers hovering above a neat stack of papers. His sharp blue eyes flick to me, narrowing slightly, then he leans back with careful calm. “Four million,” he says flatly, “lost last quarter. At least half of that’s on the Griss interference.”The Griss Family are old money from Naples, the kind who survived by shaking the right hands and bu

SAMANTHA Davon Rancho has always been calm—too calm sometimes.He’s the man who can pull a trigger at lunch and then go back to his meal as if nothing happened.But tonight, that mask of control is cracked.He’s staring at me like a wounded lion, proud but bleeding.The blood on his shoulder doesn’t compare to the pain in his eyes.That pain… it’s heavier than any wound.For a man like Davon, hurt usually rolls off like rain on armor, but tonight it clings to him.The sharp lines of power and control that I’m used to seeing in him are softer, dulled by exhaustion and something I can’t name.And before I can stop myself, I’m moving toward him.Every logical thought tells me to keep my distance, but my heart—or maybe something else entirely—refuses to listen.My hand brushes his arm carefully, as if I might set off a bomb.He freezes.His eyes meet mine.They’re darker than usual, the green dulled by pain, but still piercing.“I’ve got this,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, like g