His Italian Wife Novels & Stories

"Fuck! Wife, how are you so tight still? Fuck, yes! I love this naughty pussy of yours! Squeezing your husband's cock harder, huh?!" She turned wetter. My words working on her like magic. With her tied hands, she was so vulnerable under my control. It was making her so needy and confident at the same time, while she desperately wanted to touch me. And I was obsessed with her. She looked so fucking beautiful under my mercy. I hold her legs and spin her on her stomach, Bending her on four and again slamming inside her, wrapping my fingers on her throat. We were fucking like two addicts with no sense. It was more like a punishment to her because she turned very naughty these days! We came to It

she clarified, “You really should learn some Italian, my dear. It’s impractical for the new Don’s wife not to understand the language,” she said with a smile. I nodded, “I’ll try.” I heard Kayla snort gently before Isabella excused herself and left. Kayla turned to me, her true expression all over her face, “So you’re playing house with Adrian now? How quaint," she sneered. I ignored her words and smiled, “I’m not playing house Kayla, I’m married to him. Between the two of us, you’re the one playing house with a baby on the way with no husband.” I shot back.

Alexi sneered. Luca glared at Alexi furiously. Alexi looked uncomfortable but tried to maintain his composure. "If you ever disrespect my wife again, then I will kill you, Alexi" Luca warned him coldly. "Wife?" They all asked in confusion and shock. Luca is satisfied with their expression. "Yes, this is Emma Vitiello and she is my wife. Having the same first name doesn't make her Frank's daughter" Luca snapped. Frank paled hearing to this.

Isabella moved past me like I didn't exist and César was pulling her into a hug, one of those everyday embraces that spoke of years of closeness. And they were talking quick Italian that I couldn't follow, laughing about something I didn't understand, and I just stood there holding the door open feeling like an intruder in my own house. "Come in," César said, finally remembering I existed. "Anya, this is Isabella Marchetti. Isa, this is Anya. My wife." The way he said wife made something in my chest clench, possessive and proud, like he was claiming me in front of this woman who clearly knew him in ways I didn't.

he said looking away from her. "I’m okay.." she spoke walking to the closet to get her clothes. Zeke walked out of the room as he sighed heavily closing his eyes before opening the door to his office room. His thoughts wander around Danica as he massaged his temples, taking a seat on the chair. He felt awkward that his wife is okay with him being with another girl. That isn't what it is supposed to be like. Is the marriage failing because of his lack of attention to it? Sighing again he looked up as he heard a knock on door. Permitting the person to come in, he sat in a straight posture.

[My rebellious little wife. I’d always wanted to be called ‘wife’. But nothing irritated my soul and ruined that dream more than hearing the word from him. “Don’t ever call me that, you nasty old man.” He gave a low rumble. “Did you receive my text?” “Is it your first time sending one?” I asked angrily. “And why would you send me to Italy to do your dirty work?” “You’re the perfect person for this, Isabella.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at my door to make sure I wasn’t hearing any footsteps. Nobody else had to hear that conversation.

Adriano was quietly laughing into his hand. I flushed and quickly corrected myself. “Food. I meant Italian food. I love eating Italian food.” His father just sighed, like I’d personally failed the Virgin Mary. “A wife should know how to feed her husband. That’s all I’m saying. My mother made veal saltimbocca on her second day after marriage from scratch. And she was seventeen.” “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Alessia snapped from the far end of the room, stepping in with a silk robe cinched tight and espresso in hand, “Don’t you start with her, Sal. She's not a housemaid.”

I had searched every inch of Russia but I could not find my love, it was because my wife was trapped in Italy now. This call was planned and my poor baby could not decipher it as they had acted out nicely to pretend they were still in Russia but it did not matter because I had already known their location before the call. I was near her, my wife. I will reach you soon, love. And you shall be in my arms. I was miserable through this whole week and I knew who was involved in all the ruckus, the Italian mafia. I should never have offered a friendly hand to those bastards. I will kill him, Elion Marini and Magnum, you have both invited death.

Belle added a smile. It’s Leo’s story to tell. He seems decent, almost nice enough to be her friend. Knowing his story would help her understand him more. “There’s not much to tell. I already have a family.” He added. It was like a rehearsed line, he said again and again. “But once upon a time, there was this lady, from a wealthy clan, who married an Italian entrepreneur. They were happy. It was a perfect marriage. In their world, there was nothing money couldn’t buy… and yet, a love match was a luxury. And they had it, not instantly, though.

I let out a low chuckle, my hands on my waist in disbelief. “I’m married, Carlo.” “To a Romano! Eso no es matrimonio!” He raised his voice. (That’s not marriage) “I’m not having this conversation with you Carlo. Isabella es mi esposa. I don’t even know your daughter,” (Isabella is my wife.)