The Italian Heartthrob Novels & Stories

She'd let her attraction cloud her judgment, and now she realized that the object of her desire was a notorious Italian Mafia kingpin. The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd always prided herself on her tough exterior and her ability to see through facades. But Stefan, or Stefano, had gotten past her defenses. She felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she thought about the danger she'd unknowingly flirted with. The enemy of everything she stood for had captivated her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been played.

I glanced at him, covering his body with my towering frame. “Young love.” He chuckled, clapping his hands in amusement, “Who would have guessed the powerful Cristiano Vito would fall in love?” “Shut up, and look at the door.” I snapped, pointing towards the door. He spun around slowly, his eyes rounding in shock in seeing Lorenzo, and my men in the gaped doors. “How did you…” the words choked in his throat as a red dart shone on his chest. The corner of my lips curled up into a mocking smile, flickering my eyes towards the window, and staring at my best sniper—Luca.

My heart pounded as he guided me onto the dance floor, where couples were already swaying to the slow, seductive melody playing in the background. “Marco, I don’t—” “Just follow my lead,” he interrupted, his voice low as he pulled me flush against him. A sharp inhale escaped me at the feel of his body against mine—warm, firm, utterly in control. One of his hands settled on my lower back, the other capturing my fingers in a loose but unyielding grip. And then we moved. The world around us faded as he led me in a slow, deliberate dance, each step measured, each movement drawing me deeper into the dangerous web that was Marco Valentino. His touch burned through the fabric of my dress, his scent

Then he spoke, voice rough and quiet. “Do you ever think about what life was like before this place?” “All the time,” I said honestly. He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I used to think I was untouchable. People used to stop me on the street. Ask for pictures. Interviews. I was… a name. A face. Then one day, it was all gone.” I hesitated. I remembered now. Years ago, I saw him on TV. Francesco Marino, the actor, is the golden boy of Italian cinema. I remembered sitting in my small apartment, watching one of his movies. I’d thought he looked too perfect to be real. Confidence. Elegant. Always smiling.

Yeah, Talia could see how the hypocrisy could be amusing. “Hold up. You left the office like the devil was nipping at your ass to find Delicioso about your proposal, so… it’s him isn’t it?” Talia took a frustrated sip out of her martini glass and said, “He’s Italian.” “Reigning from the same hot species. Is it him or not?” she shot back. Talia cleared her throat, turned her head away to the side, her left hand rising to rub at her cheek and ear. She jumped when Carrie screamed, quickly turning to face her.

"Are you sure? Let me get you to the bathroom then. I will be in the room . Let me know if you need help with anything." He never ceases to amaze me. I see more and more of who he really is behind that thick cloud of arrogant behavior. Tell me, which lady in her rightful mind wouldn't fall in love with such an amazing man? He is sweet, caring, soft hearted , rich and to top it all, he is forbiddenly handsome and sexy . I soaked myself inside the scented water he prepared for my bath and I dozed off in the bathtub with my head up. "Jesus Christ mia, do you want to get yourself killed with pneumonia?" I heard him shout in panic. He used the towel and wrapped it around me as he lifted me off fr

I yelped as his open palm followed landing with a loud crack that made me jump. “Cristo sei perfetta. Così fottutamente perfetta.” (Christ you're perfect. So fucking perfect.)” He growled through his teeth and his voice was low and threatening. The filthy Italian poured from his mouth in rough clipped syllables that made my toes curl. He knew I always loved it when he talks in Italian. It makes me clench him harder in my pussy. He flipped me onto my back and yanked off the bra completely and kissed me like he wanted to break me. He bit my lips then my throat and up my shoulder and I laughed breathlessly because I feel overwhelmes and possessed.

It’s madness, his body caging mine against the hood like I’m a secret he wants to carve into steel. His knee presses between my thighs, nudging them apart. “Kidnap? That’s some fancy word, bambina.” He growls as his mouth travels down my cheek. “I wasn’t planning to initially, but guess what?” His hand squeezes the flesh. And I feel the pressure inside me. It’s scorching hot, glacial cold and unexplainable. If someone told me years ago that I would be cornered by Massimo Bianchi, Italy’s heartthrob, I would’ve laughed. Or maybe I would’ve spent the entire week fantasising about him like I did in earlier days.

Just then, Don Luciano walked out, dressed in a tight fitting sitting with a tie dancing on his neck. "I am shocked to find out that, that Italian singer is your crush." He smirked at me and my heart skipped a beat.

Who will tame her stone heart? He should come sooner before it's too late to save her from herself. I'm scared that something might happen to her before she smiles and before she falls in love. **ITALY, ROME** In a certain hotel room in Genzalo di Roma, helpless moans filled the room along with constant slapping on skin contacts. "Sí... Sí... Sí..." Yes. The Italian brunette moaned in pleasure as she reached her climax and the black curled hair man with chocolate eyes roared as he spilled his seeds on the brunette's stomach and she giggled.