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 6
THE LINE THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST
ISABELLA
“You’re in the wrong wing.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried anyway, steady and controlled, like everything about him. My brain finally rebooted, just enough to remember how humiliation worked. “I…” I swallowed. “I didn’t know.” Brilliant. Absolutely groundbreaking response, Isabella.
Alexander moved to pick up another towel from where it was, forgetting the one he used to dry his hair and adjusted it around his waist, not rushed, not flustered. Just… deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world and I was the one out of place. Which, to be fair, I was.
“This part of the house is private,” he continued, stepping past me toward the dresser. “Camille should have mentioned that.”
“She probably did,” I muttered. “I just… didn’t think I’d end up here.” His reflection caught mine in the mirror. That same sharp, assessing look. Like he was trying to figure something out and I was the problem he hadn’t solved yet.
“You seem to have a habit of wandering into places you shouldn’t be.” My chest tightened.
“That sounds like an accusation.”
“It’s an observation.” Silence stretched again, thick and uncomfortable and charged with something I didn’t want to name. I should leave. I didn’t move. He noticed. Of course he noticed. “Isabella.” The way he said my name this time was different. Quieter. Firmer. A warning. “You should go.”
I nodded quickly, turning toward the door before my body could betray me again. But my hand paused on the handle. Because something in me, reckless, curious, completely unhinged, needed to know.
“Did you mean it?” I didn’t turn around.
“Mean what?”
“That night,” I said, my voice barely steady. “When you said it would be complicated.” A pause. Then…
“Yes.” Simple. Direct. Final. That should have been enough. It wasn’t.
“Is that why you left?” I asked. This time I did turn. He was watching me again. Not amused. Not soft. Something heavier.
“I left because I had work,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked.” His jaw tightened slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for me.
“You’re looking for answers you won’t like,” he said.
“Try me.” Another step closer. Not touching. Never touching. Just close enough that I could feel it.
“This doesn’t end well for you,” he said quietly. Not for us. For you. That landed harder than I expected.
“And for you?” I asked. A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Gone just as quickly.
“I don’t lose control,” he said. There it was. The lie. Or maybe not a lie. Maybe just something he believed. My heart was beating too fast. My thoughts are louder than they should be.
“Then why do I feel like you already have?” I don’t know what possessed me to say that. I really don’t. Some part of my brain clearly clocked out and left chaos in charge. For the first time since I met him…
He didn’t respond immediately. And that silence? That was my answer. It was everything I needed to know and I was somehow content with that.
I opened the door before I could say anything worse. “Goodnight, Mr. Moreau.” There was a pause. Then, behind me, he said, “Alexander.” I froze.
“If you’re going to keep finding your way into my space,” he added calmly, “you should at least use my name.” My grip tightened on the door handle. This man was going to ruin my life. I could feel it. And the worst part? I didn’t think I wanted to stop him.
I stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind me a little too quickly, like it might burn me if I stayed any longer. My lungs finally remembered their job. Air rushed in, sharp and uneven, like I’d been underwater and had only just surfaced. What the hell was that?
I leaned back against the wall, pressing my palms flat against the cool wood as if it could steady something inside me that had gone completely off balance. Alexander. Not Mr. Moreau anymore. That felt… dangerous. It shouldn’t matter. It was just a name. Just a small shift. But it didn’t feel small. It felt like a line had been moved, quietly, deliberately, and I had stepped over it without even noticing. Or worse…I had noticed. And I’d stepped anyway.
I pushed myself off the wall and started walking, faster than necessary, like distance might fix whatever had just happened in that room. It didn’t. Because his voice followed me.
If you’re going to keep finding your way into my space…
Like this was inevitable. Like this was already a pattern. My chest tightened. No. It wasn’t. This was a mistake. One wrong turn. One moment of curiosity that had gotten out of hand. That was all. Except it didn’t feel like all.
By the time I reached my room, my pulse still hadn’t settled. I shut the door behind me, twisting the lock with more force than necessary, like that would somehow keep everything else out. Him out. The thought almost made me laugh. As if a door could do that.
I crossed to the bed and sat down, staring at nothing, my mind replaying every second on a loop I couldn’t shut off. The way he looked at me. The way he didn’t move away. The way he said my name. Alexander. I dropped back onto the mattress with a groan, dragging a pillow over my face.
“This is insane,” I muttered into the fabric. It was. I had a boyfriend. A life. A version of myself that made sense. And somehow, in less than a few days, all of that felt… distant. Faded at the edges. Replaced by something sharper. Louder. More dangerous.
I turned onto my side, staring at my phone on the nightstand. No new messages. Good. I didn’t need one. I already knew. This wasn’t going away. Whatever this was…It had already started. And the worst part? I hadn’t even tried to stop it.
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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."