My Sexy Sassy Boss
May Boston is a sassy, powerful woman who owns the biggest fashion agency in the city. Her perfectly controlled world is thrown into chaos when she crosses paths with Luca, a homeless man suffering from amnesia.
Out of pity, and curiosity, she lets him live with her. What she does not expect is to be bossed around in her own house, treated like a subordinate, and willingly doing everything he asks. Slowly, without realizing it, May falls deeply in love with him.
That turns out to be her greatest mistake.
Because before Luca lost his memory, he was the ruthless king of the largest Mafia group in Italy, Oliver de Luca
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Chapter 5
Night finally gave May what the day hadn't.
Silence.
The house was dim, lights low, the city outside reduced to a distant hum. Luca had fallen asleep on the couch earlier than she expected, exhaustion finally winning over whatever force kept him alert through the day. She had watched him for a moment longer than necessary before retreating to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.
For the first time since the accident, she was alone with her thoughts.
She sat on her bed, robe loose around her shoulders, tablet balanced on her knees as she scrolled absently at first...emails she ignored, notifications she dismissed, messages she would deal with tomorrow. Then a headline caught her attention.
Explosion on Los Angeles Highway...Driver Still Missing.
Her fingers stilled.
She tapped it.
The article was brief, frustratingly so. A luxury sports car had been rammed by a trailer late at night, the impact triggering a violent explosion. Authorities believed the driver may have been ejected from the vehicle, but no body had been found. Investigations were ongoing.
The date stared back at her.
The same night.
Her stomach tightened slightly.
She scrolled through the images, blurred photos of twisted metal, scorched asphalt, flashing lights frozen mid-chaos. Something about it felt...off. Too violent for a random accident. Too cleanly unexplained.
Her gaze drifted away from the screen, mind replaying Luca's calm authority, the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he ordered without effort. He didn't behave like a man who had lived modestly. He didn't think like one either. His instincts were expensive...taste refined, posture disciplined, confidence unshakable.
Wealth wasn't learned overnight.
She frowned.
If he had been involved in something like that...if he was the missing driver...why hadn't his name been everywhere? No frantic family statements, no media frenzy, no background pieces dissecting his life. People with money made noise when they disappeared.
She typed his name into the search bar.
Luca.
Too vague.
She refined it.
Luca Los Angeles accident.
Nothing useful.
She tried again.
Luca Italian.
Profiles flooded the screen...models, chefs, athletes, businessmen, social media influencers. Different faces, different lives, none of them him. She scrolled, brows knitting together as irritation slowly gave way to unease.
She added more details...keywords she wasn't sure why she was choosing.
Luxury car explosion driver.
Still nothing.
If he was someone important, someone with influence or wealth, the media would have eaten the story alive. Yet the article treated it like a footnote, a brief interruption between politics and celebrity gossip.
It didn't make sense.
She leaned back against the headboard, tablet resting loosely in her hands, thoughts spiraling quietly. Luca was a contradiction...commanding yet lost, polished yet displaced, dangerous in ways she couldn't yet name. Amnesia explained the gaps, but not the instincts, not the ease with which he slipped into dominance, not the way people unconsciously responded to him.
Her gaze drifted toward the door, beyond it, toward the living room where he slept.
Who are you...really?
The question lingered unanswered.
She locked the tablet and set it aside, sleep still far from her reach, unease settling deep in her chest. Somewhere between the explosion, the missing driver, and the man under her roof, May Boston knew one thing with unsettling clarity.
Luca was not just a stranger who had wandered into her life by accident.
*
Morning came in a blink.
May didn't overthink it.
Luca couldn't keep wearing the same clothes, and she was tired of pretending the situation was temporary when it clearly wasn't. After a quick shower and a strong cup of coffee, she told him they were going out.
"Where?" he asked, pulling on the jacket Pete had brought days ago.
"Shopping," she replied. "Unless you plan on haunting my house in that outfit forever."
He glanced down at himself, then at her. "I don't mind."
"Well, I do."
They drove to one of her private clothing stores, a sleek glass-fronted building nestled between luxury boutiques, understated yet unmistakably expensive. Inside, the space was curated, not crowded...neutral tones, clean lines, racks spaced deliberately to let each piece breathe.
Luca stepped in and paused.
He didn't gawk, didn't rush, just skimmed his gaze across the store like someone assessing territory he already understood. He moved with ease, fingers brushing fabrics, eyes sharp, dismissing some pieces instantly, lingering on others without touching them.
May watched him quietly.
As a fashion executive, she trusted her instincts, and she selected items she knew would suit him...tailored trousers, structured jackets, shirts cut to frame his shoulders. He accepted them without comment, neither impressed nor dismissive.
Then he stopped.
In front of a display case sat a designer shirt, minimalist, rare, outrageously priced.
Luca stared at it.
May followed his gaze and raised a brow. "You like it?"
"It's fake," he said calmly.
She laughed. "That's a one of one," she said. "Designed by Alessandro Vitale from Italy. It never went into mass production."
"I know," Luca replied. "I'm looking at it because it's fake."
She turned to him, amusement still lingering. "And how would you know that?"
He looked at her then, expression unreadable. "Because I bought the original."
Her smile faltered slightly. "That's funny."
"I'm not joking."
She crossed her arms. "Prove it."
He leaned closer to the glass, pointing without touching. "The stitching at the inner collar is wrong. Vitale hand-finishes his seams, this one was machine-locked. The dye gradient is off by two shades, and the fabric blend is incorrect. The original uses untreated silk-cotton, this one has a synthetic thread woven through it."
May's breath caught.
She called over the store manager, asked questions casually, masked her interest. Within minutes, confirmation came in awkward silence.
The shirt wasn't authentic.
She dismissed the staff and turned back to Luca slowly, studying him like a puzzle she hadn't realized she wanted to solve.
"You knew all that," she said quietly.
He shrugged. "It felt obvious."
Her mind raced.
This wasn't instinct alone. This was familiarity, ownership, authority. Whatever life Luca had lived before had brushed shoulders with power, money, exclusivity...maybe even ruled over it.
As she watched him walk toward the fitting rooms, unbothered, unconcerned, a thought crossed her mind, sharp and dangerous.
Maybe she could use him.
And for the first time since bringing him home, May Boston smiled with intention.
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7.9
Rose was so naive that she didn't know Jonah, her ex-fiancé, was cheating on her even before her wedding day. On the night before her wedding, she caught him cheating on her with the last person she would ever expect him to be with, Rebecca.
Out of anger and spite, she cursed at them and left, then went and got herself drunk and made out with a mafia don, who, oblivious to her, was her fiancé's stepbrother and his boss.
On the day of the wedding, she stormed in and canceled it, calling Jonah out. After the embarrassment, Jonah vowed to make her life miserable. She tried to get a job, but it was almost impossible because of the influence Jonah had.
So she went to the greatest mafia don that her friend Lucy recommended to her. When she went to ask for his help, the don turned out to be the mysterious man who had been showing interest in her, but she had kept declining. Unbeknownst to her, he was her ex-fiancé's boss and stepbrother.
She asked for his help, and he offered it, of course, but on one condition.that she would be his mistress !.
8.7
"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?
8.1
Warning 🔞
"So wet for the enemy", he taunted, scissoring inside me and stretching my walls.
I moaned, throwing my head back and riding his hand. When he withdrew his fingers, I moaned at the loss. Adrian took his fingers to his mouth and wiped off my juices.
Fuck!
_______
EROTICA COLLECTION!!!
Sinful Desires (Volume 1)
Ten dangerously addictive steamy romances that will leave you breathless.
From enemies to lovers, bodyguard protectors, CEO obsessions, mafia claims, and passionate vacation affair, Sinful Desires Volume 1 brings together ten standalone romances filled with steam and unforgettable Passion.
You'll meet...
A bodyguard who can't stay professional.
A CEO who risks his empire for an intern.
A mafia boss who softens only for one woman
A firefighter who turns healing into desire.
And more.
In the next collection, temptation becomes even more forbidden, desires become more dangerous, and love crosses lines it was never supposed to touch.
If you thought Volume 1 was sinful, you're not ready for what comes next so get ready because the sins only grow darker from here...
Stay tuned for Sinful Desires (Volume 2)
8.0
For ten years, I played the safe, "wolfless" emotional support animal for my werewolf best friend, Finn, secretly loving him while he chased his toxic ex.
When she got engaged to a rival Alpha, he dragged me across the country to crash the mating ceremony, only to abandon me at the airport.
His terrifying older brother, Alpha Knox, picked me up instead and shattered my world with one sentence: Finn had always known how I felt, and he intentionally weaponized my devotion.
To prove how little I meant to him, Knox orchestrated a cruel test at a seedy Rogue club.
While I sat right next to Finn in a sticky booth, Knox sent over a stripper.
"You don't mind, right, Sloane? It's just a gift," Finn slurred.
Without hesitating, he let the stripper straddle him right in front of me, burying his face in her neck to chase away the pain of his ex.
A decade of my blind loyalty turned to ash in that smoke-filled room.
I hated my defective, wolfless biology, but I hated him more for treating me like a stray dog begging for scraps.
Why did I waste my entire youth protecting a male who didn't even see me as a woman?
Suffocating on shame and fury, I fled to the cramped club bathroom to hide.
*Click.*
The deadbolt slid into place, and the intoxicating scent of a violent thunderstorm and spent gunpowder swallowed me whole.
Alpha Knox Crawford stood against the locked door, his merciless eyes pinning me to the sink.
9.0
My father arranged a marriage for my half-sister, Emmalee, with Don Damian Griffith, the ruthless "King of New York." But Emmalee, in love with a penniless lawyer, refused and, weeping, pointed at me, the illegitimate daughter, offering me as the sacrifice.
My stepmother packed cheap plastic pearls and copper chains, and my father coldly told me to "bleed quietly" if the Don decided to cut me.
"Don't think you've won, Isabell," Emmalee hissed, handing me a shimmering emerald gown, the signature color of the Don's volatile mistress-a clear death trap. Why did my own family want me dead?
As the armored car pulled away, I dumped the green silk, put on a dress of pure ivory, and fastened our family's stolen midnight-blue sapphires around my neck. They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter, but I was walking into the lion's den with a hidden blade.
8.2
I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him—my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit—watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London—an exile disguised as a severance package—I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.