Italian Short Stories Novels & Stories

***** POWER AND TEMPTATION MAFIA SERIES( romance/erotic/betrayal)************ - BOOK 1 ITALIAN MAFIA -ITALIAN MAFIA 2/ SHES'S STILL MINE ************INDIVIDUAL STORIES************* - FEARLESS LUNA (WEREWOLF SEXY ROMANCE STORY) ***************A****N KINDLE / KINDLE UNLIMITED************************** - IVANOV, RUSSIAN MAFIA -FEARLESS LUNA T H A N K Y O U L A R A S O U L T A K E R

“a beautiful woman like you, shouldn’t be sitting alone looking lost in a place like this” She’d heard that line before, she swallowed the last of her drink. “let me get you another one”, he signaled the waiter and a got a bottle, he opened the bottle and poured her a drink in the gentle manly way. “here”. “so tell me, Amore mio, what is your name”, he said. Oh god, another Italian, what was it with her and Italian men for goodness sake “only if you tell me yours”, dear lord was she flirting, she never thought she still had it in her but screw it, Domingo was having fun with a bimbo, she might as well have fun and sharpen her skills, who knows may be she stills got it.

BEFORE YOU READ Some debts can’t be paid with money. This story features a possessive anti-hero, kidnapping, and gun play. It blurs the lines between fear and arousal. If you enjoy dangerous men who take exactly what they want, welcome to Roman’s world. (***) Mia "Open the door, you fucking asshole! Let me out!" I screamed, pounding the solid wood until my knuckles burned. The silence on the other side was absolute, dense. Defeated by exhaustion, I stepped away from the entrance, running my fingers through my messy hair in frustration.

TALES OF INSTANT LUST - SHORT READS Preface Greetings, Reader Welcome to a world where passion flares up in the most unexpected places, where lust takes the stage, and where desire never waits. The concept behind "Tales of Instant Lust" was that not all love stories have to be quiet or poetic. Irresistible chemistry, unsaid tension, and raw hunger can sometimes express more than a thousand romantic words ever could. Designed for people who want their fantasies to be served quickly, hot, and unrestrained, these stories are brief, intense, and explicitly sexy.

"Meet Elena Moretti. Or rather, Elena De Luca now. Her father offered her untouched body to clear his fifteen million debt to our family. I accepted. And last night, and again this morning, I thoroughly broke her in." A ripple of dark laughter and appreciative murmurs spread through the room. One of the men, a broad shouldered brute with a scar across his eyebrow, leaned forward with a leer. "She looks even better up close, Rafael. Those tits are fucking perfect. Mind if we get a better look?" Rafael's hand slid lower, gripping my ass possessively as he pulled me tighter against his side. "Look all you want. Touching is off limits unless I say otherwise. But Elena will answer any questions y

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.

Joe loved what was happening to them at that moment as it was something that he had thought would only ever occupy his wildest dreams. He loved the tight feel of the cunt on his finger, and it felt much tighter than most of the other Italian pussies that he’d had flings with while in Italy, or maybe it was just an illusion because he was in love with the woman. He finally pulled his finger out of her cunt, and taking her clit out of his mouth, he stuck his tongue into the depths of her pussy and started giving her a tongue job, tongue fucking her as she moaned even louder, her Italian accent echoing in the compound to the extent where neighbors would hear, but neither of them gave a fuck.

At sixteen! As if Juliette was going to sleep with Old Man Carrozzo who ran the Italian sandwich shop down the street from her high school, and whose wife personally made the mozzarella for the shop. But, the point remained and Juliette’s mother had instilled values that she had clean forgotten this morning. She leaned back against the head rest and sighed.

A small tattoo he’d never noticed before peeked above the waistband of her shorts—some delicate script in Hindi. “Smells amazing,” he said, sliding onto a stool at the island. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “You always say that. Even when you were little and barely ate anything but rice.” They ate at the small dining table like old times. She asked about college, about girls, about his plans after graduation. He kept answers short, distracted by the way she licked sauce from her thumb. The way her foot accidentally brushed his under the table and stayed there a moment before pulling away.

“I… I don't remember much. He was… an Italian. He spoke with an accent. Didn't say his name, and I didn't ask. I only cared about money.” Honestly, I would have been surprised if he knew the guy's name, but I had to ask. I watched him cradle the broken finger and smirked. The sight was quite satisfying, although the fucker surely deserved to have every single bone broken. “What did this Italian tell you to do?” “Well…” He blew out a breath. “He wanted me to kill a kid, a blond-haired girl.” Cold chills rushed down my spine. The old reporter had done an amazing job finding that fucker. Too bad he hadn't lived long enough to write an article about it. “Who was that girl?”