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 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DANGLING BY A THREAD
Camille's voice disrupted the whole air, seeping into my ears. "Izzy? Are you up?"
I jumped back so fast I slammed into the counter. The pain barely registered; all I could feel was the space between us now.
Alexander moved like water, calm and controlled, and by the time Camille's footsteps reached the doorway, he was leaning against the far counter, glass in hand with a perfectly neutral expression.
"There you are." Camille appeared in the doorway, squinting against the light. Her eyes bounced between us. "What's going on?"
"I couldn't sleep." My voice came out too high, so I cleared my throat. "Came to get water."
"Both of you?"
"Your father was already here." I forced a laugh. "Scared the hell out of me, actually. Walked in and there he was, all..." I gestured vaguely at his chest, then remembered he'd put on a shirt. Thank God. "You know."
Camille's gaze lingered on her father, then she yawned. "This house is huge, and you two manage to pick the same room at 3 AM. Typical."
"Great minds," Alexander said smoothly. "Your friend was just leaving."
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, for show, and headed for the door.
I didn't sleep.
At 7 AM, I gave up and dragged myself to the terrace. The sunrise was obscene, all gold and pink and purple, like the universe was showing off. I slumped into a lounge chair and pressed my palms against my eyes.
What do you want, Isabella?
His voice echoed in my head repeatedly. I knew what I wanted; that was the problem.
"You look like death."
I dropped my hands to see Camille holding two cups of coffee. She handed me one and collapsed into the chair beside me.
"Couldn't sleep either?" I asked.
"Woke up and couldn't get back." She sipped her coffee. "Why couldn't you sleep? Everything okay?"
No, everything is not okay. I think I'm obsessed with your father.
"Fine," I said. "Just jet lag still."
"Mmm." She was quiet for a moment before disappointing words left her mouth.
"My father's leaving today."
My heart dropped instantly to the pit of my stomach. "What?"
"Business in Paris. He has an emergency meeting with the foundation board. He'll be gone a few days." She shrugged. "Probably for the best; he's intense to have around."
He was just going to disappear for a few days?
Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest. " When?"
"This afternoon." She stretched. "Which means we have the house to ourselves again. Pool day?"
"Sure," I heard myself agree, but my brain was stuck on loop.
He's leaving. He's leaving, and I won't see him for days. That should be good, right? I mean, distance is good. Then why did it feel like losing something I never had?
I spent the day avoiding thoughts of him.
Pool. Lunch. More pool. Camille talked about her painter, I pretended to listen, and every time a car passed on the road below, my head snapped up like a trained dog.
You're pathetic, Isla.
At 4 PM, I heard the low sound of an engine and the crunch of gravel.
I ran to the window like a child deprived of freedom. But I stopped just before I got to the glass. I didn't need to look as pathetic as I felt.
He stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, leather bag slung over one shoulder. He was saying something in French, then he paused and looked up. Straight at me.
Even from this distance, even through the heat shimmer rising from the driveway, I felt the weight of that look.
He didn't wave-not like I expected him to. He didn't smile either; he just held my gaze for one endless second before turning toward the house.
___
"You came here for a vacation, and all you want to do is stay cooped up in this room?" Camille asked for the hundredth time because I refused to go with her to a party.
"That's not what it is. I'm just not in the mood for a party," I said for the hundredth time.
She hummed, squinting her eyes as she used her index finger to tap her chin like she was in a deep thought.
"Being too long in a relationship with Julien is beginning to rub off on you."
I rolled my eyes and just kept quiet. I had run out of answers to give to her.
"Fine. Soothe yourself. Marry your sheets."
Finally, she walked out, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I'd barely gotten two thoughts in when my phone began to buzz.
I picked it up, and it was... Julien?
"Hey, baby."
He sounded so foreign to my ears.
"Umm... hi, I didn't expect to see your call."
He let out a sigh. "I know. I just felt guilty for the way I wrote you off. I'm sorry, my love."
His words instantly placed a smile on my face, and I was reminded why I was still in a relationship with him. Reminded that he was all I needed.
"It's been barely three days, and I miss you already."
I hugged my pillow at his words, tucking my hair behind my ear. Julien and I spoke for the longest time. Twenty minutes! And we were still going.
Then my phone buzzed with an indication of a text message. I pulled my phone away from my ear with a frown on my face and placed Julien's call on loudspeaker.
The message was from an unknown number. My frown deepened.
Unknown number: I'll be back before you know it. Stay out of trouble.
I stared at the message and instantly knew who it was from. He'd gotten my number. From Camille? From somewhere else? And he texted me?
He sounded like we had done something when we didn't. We only exchanged about fifty words and stood close in a kitchen.
That was all.
So why the hell do I feel excited? And my resolve had flown through the window.
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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."