His Forbidden Obsession: Tempting The Devil I Can't Have
BLURB
"Beg for it, Bella," his rasped voice whispered against my ears as his dick rubbed against my thighs.
"I want you to f**k me until my tongue knows nothing but your name. Please, Daddy," I begged shamelessly until he finally slipped into me.
-
The first time I saw him, I understood why people ruin their lives for dicks.
He was standing in the sunlight, watching me like he already knew how the story would end. I had a boyfriend. He was my best friend's father. And ninety days should have been easy to survive.
Then I opened the wrong door, and after everything burned.
Alexander Moreau doesn't touch you first. He studies you, learns you, and makes you feel like the only person in the room. And somewhere between midnight swims and locked doors, I stopped pretending I didn't want him.
I'd go through hell and come back friends with the devil if it would mean him sticking his dick inside me again.
But houses made of glass don't protect secrets, and by the time summer ended, I had lost my best friend, my relationship, my future, and the version of myself I thought I was. Because falling for Alexander Moreau wasn't the danger.
His ex-wife was.
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Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
PLAYING WITH FIRE
I forgot how to breathe.
Alexander Moreau stood three feet away, bare-chested in the moonlight, and my lungs simply stopped working. It was like my lungs had decided oxygen was optional now that he was in the room.
His eyes hadn't left mine.
"Isabella," he said my name again, slower this time. "It's three in the morning."
"I know what time it is."
"Then what are you doing here?"
I should have lied and mumbled something about water and fled back to my room like any sane person would. But my mouth was faster than my brain.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Why?"
Because I can't stop thinking about you, and you've invaded my brain like a virus.
"I just..." I gestured vaguely. "Jet lag. New place. You know how it is."
"No." He set down his glass and turned fully toward me. "I don't. Tell me."
I crossed my arms over my chest, which only drew his eyes there for half a second before they snapped back to my face.
"You're staring," I said.
"So are you."
He wasn't wrong. I couldn't stop. I mean, he was a whole meal.
"Everyone stares at you," I managed. "Camille said you have that effect."
"Camille talks too much."
"She loves you."
Something flickered in his expression. That father love was so clear in his eyes it made me jealous.
"I know."
Silence hit the room, and I knew deep within me that I should go, but my feet refused to move. And again, my mouth worked before my brain did.
"You should put on a shirt."
His eyebrows rose, complete surprise crossing his face. I had no idea where those words came from.
"Should I?"
"It's distracting."
Oh God... shut up, Izzy.
"Noted." He said without making a move. "You should tie your robe properly."
I looked down. The sash had come loose somewhere between my room and here. The fabric gaped, revealing the thin material of my nightgown, the curve of my...
I yanked it closed so fast I nearly tripped as his smile widened.
"Now we're even," he said.
"That wasn't-I didn't mean to-"
"I know." He picked up his glass again, took a slow sip, and watched me over the rim.
I let out a slow breath to loosen the knot that was tightening in my lower abdomen.
"What are you doing awake? Couldn't sleep either?"
"No."
"Why?"
He considered me for a long moment, long enough that I felt it in my chest, that slow, assessing gaze that made me feel like the only person in the world.
"Business," he said finally. "Complicated business. A phone call I didn't want Camille to hear."
"Your ex-wife?"
His eyes darkened. "How do you know about Élise?"
"Camille talks. Remember?"
"Right." He set down the glass again and crossed his arms over that ridiculous chest, which only made the muscles shift in ways that should be illegal. "What else has Camille told you?"
"That you're her favorite person, your divorce was brutal, you work too much, and you don't date enough."
"Don't date enough?" A genuine smile escaped his mouth. "My daughter worries about my love life?"
"She worries about you. There's a difference."
He studied me again, longer than I expected, and I had to shift on my feet to feel comfortable under his gaze.
"You're different than I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone quieter. Someone who'd look away."
"I looked away."
"No." He stepped closer. Just one step, but it felt like ten. "You stared. You're still staring. You've been staring since you walked through that door."
My heart hammered. "So have you."
"True." He took another step and moved closer, close enough that I could smell him-soap and something darker, something that made my knees weak. "But I'm old enough to know better."
"Are you?"
"Apparently not." His eyes dropped to my lips. Just for a second. "You should go back to bed, Isabella."
I should. I absolutely should.
"What if I don't want to?"
The words came out before I could stop them. Bold, stupid, and honest. Something shifted in his expression; the controlled mask cracked, and underneath it was hunger. Raw and barely leashed.
"Isabella." His voice had dropped. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Then tell me."
"You're my daughter's best friend."
"I know."
"You're twenty-four."
"I know that too."
"You have a boyfriend."
That seemed to strike a guilt chord, and I winced, something he noticed.
"For now," I whispered.
His jaw tightened. "That doesn't matter; none of it does. I can't have anything to do with you. It'll be-"
"What?"
"Complicated." He stepped back, putting distance between us. "More complicated than you want to deal with."
I should have let it go, nodded, smiled, and retreated. Instead, I stepped forward.
"What if I don't care about complicated?"
"Then you're naive."
"Maybe." I took another step closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Or maybe I just know what I want."
His breath caught, and I saw the smallest crack in that perfect control.
"What do you want, Isabella?"
The question hung in the air between us. It was heavy, electrifying, and terrifying at the same time.
What do I want? Him to break his restraint and do exactly what I've been thinking since I laid eyes on him? Have him on top of me and have me squirm beneath him like I wasn't his daughter's best friend?
What are you even doing, Izzy? You have a boyfriend, remember!
My head was swimming with different questions at once, and the last two were trying to be as loud as they possibly could.
Before I opened my mouth to speak again, he stepped closer, leaving no space between us. His natural scent invaded my nostrils, and my brain shut down again.
His voice was thick and dark with everything I wanted. "What do you want, Isabella?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but a door opened somewhere down the hall.
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8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.
7.3
e didn't come to stop my wedding to Daniel. He came to claim me for himself.
One moment I was walking toward "I do" - toward Daniel, my safe, predictable future. Next, his men stormed the church, and I was dragged from the altar in my lace dress, veil torn, dreams shattered. I became the prize of the most dangerous man in the city.
Eric Moretti. The Mafia King. Cold eyes. Sinful mouth. Hands that have ended lives... and now own mine.
"Daniel can't protect you," he growled against my ear that first night, locking me in his penthouse. "He never could. But me, Seraphina? I'll owe you. Cherish you. Destroy anyone who looks at you twice. You're mine now."
I fought him. I screamed. I clawed.
He pinned my wrists above my head and showed me exactly what resistance costs.
But somewhere between the silk sheets and the dangerous midnight confessions, hate began to blur with something far more terrifying-need. His touch sets my skin on fire. His voice commands my pulse. And when he looks at me like I'm the only light in his dark world, I forget Daniel's name. I forget I was ever meant to be someone else's bride.
"I should let you go," he admits one night, lips trailing down my throat. "Send you back to your safe little life with Daniel. But I'm a selfish bastard. And you... You've gotten under my skin, Bella."
But in his world, love is a death sentence. Enemies circle. Betrayal festers. And when they come for him, they'll have to go through me-the bride who stopped being a captive the moment I chose to stay.
They say the Mafia King has no heart. They're wrong. He gave it to me-and I'll burn this city down before I let anyone take it from him.me to add more tension between Eric and Daniel, or make Daniel a bigger threat?
9.0
"You and your baby are mine whether you want it or not."
Renata Neroni's life was shattered the moment she discovered her boyfriend and stepsister's betrayal. In a rare lapse of judgment fueled by grief and alcohol, she spent a single, anonymous night with a stranger, unaware that she had just surrendered herself to Domenico Veronesi, the most formidable figure in the global underworld.
That night left Renata with more than just a memory; she was pregnant with the heir to a mafia empire.
As her father, desperate to free himself from the debts, prepares to marry her off to a man nearly his own age, Renata finds herself trapped. Her only escape arrives in the form of Domenico himself. Asserting his claim, he interrupts the arrangement and brings Renata to his secluded estate.
Within the fortified walls of the Veronesi estate, the man known for his cold, merciless exterior reveals a singular obsession: the protection of Renata and their unborn child.
However, Domenico's readiness to provide is met with a wall of ice.
Despite his efforts to provide for her, Renata's resentment initially hardens into a wall of silence.
To her, Domenico is simply another powerful man attempting to control her fate. However, as she is forced to navigate the inner workings of his life within the mafia world, she begins to see the man behind the fearsome reputation.
Renata discovers the deeper layers of Domenico, a loyalty and a hidden vulnerability regarding their child, and the fear that once defined her begins to dissolve.
8.0
For five years, my husband kept me in a dog cage because he believed I murdered his fiancée, my stepsister Kinsley.
He stripped me of my dignity, my name, and my humanity, all to avenge a woman who wasn't even dead.
When Kinsley finally returned, alive and smiling, I thought my nightmare was over.
Instead, she framed me again.
Right in front of Courtland, she pushed my little brother down the stone steps of the estate.
I held my brother's broken body in the rain, screaming for help.
But Courtland just stood there, shielding Kinsley under his umbrella, looking at me with cold indifference.
He chose the monster over his wife.
That night, I realized love wasn't enough to save me.
So, I stood on the edge of the hospital roof and let gravity take me.
I wanted him to mourn. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to burn.
Three years later, at a gala in New York, the Ice King dropped his champagne glass.
He stared at me—the woman in the red dress, the fiancée of his rival.
I looked him dead in the eye and smiled like a stranger.
He cornered me later, his voice trembling with rage and obsession.
"Death is the only divorce in my world, Anastasia. And you are still very much alive."
8.3
I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.
Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.
"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."
I froze.
My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.
He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."
I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.
Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.
He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.
Then, he pushed me off the edge.
As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.
I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.
But he forgot that I knew his secrets.
I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.
"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt."
9.0
I spent a year scrubbing floors in my fiancé’s club, hiding my identity as the daughter of the Capo dei Capi.
I needed to know if Connor Bishop was a King worth merging empires with, or just a puppet.
The answer came walking in wearing a neon pink dress.
Jaden Juarez, a civilian he was infatuated with, didn't just treat me like a servant; she deliberately poured scalding espresso over my hand because I refused to be her valet.
The pain was blinding, my skin blistering instantly.
I video-called Connor, showing him the burn, expecting him to enforce the code of our world.
Instead, seeing his investors watching, he panicked.
He chose to sacrifice me to save face.
"Get on your knees," he roared through the speaker. "Beg her pardon. Show her the respect she deserves."
He wanted the daughter of the most dangerous man on the East Coast to kneel to his mistress.
He thought he was showing strength.
He didn't realize he was looking at a woman who could burn his entire world to ash with a single phone call.
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
I simply hung up the phone and locked the kitchen doors.
Then, I dialed the one number everyone in the underworld feared.
"Dad," I said, my voice cold as steel. "Code Black. Bring the papers."
"And send the wolves."