I Slept With My Ex's Mafia Stepdad
Joy Brown · Completed · 8.6k Words
Introduction
I ducked into a bar, slamming back whiskey, when this guy in a sharp black suit sidles up, his voice smooth as silk laced with bourbon. I spat out, "Help me forget him," but ended up totally lost in the presidential suite. He backed me against the wall, tore open my blouse, his tongue circling my nipple before biting down hard, leaving me breathless. "You taste like candy, baby—tonight, I'm gonna eat you up."
But then my boyfriend FaceTimes, spots the guy behind me, and loses it, screaming, "Dad!"
I went ice-cold—my hookup was my boyfriend's stepdad? Even worse, this thirty-three-year-old powerhouse was Brooklyn's deadliest mob boss.
What began as a vengeful fling spiraled into a forbidden nightmare?
Chapter 1
Isabella
I carefully balanced the tiramisu in my hands, my heart racing as I stood outside Marco's apartment.
"Happy birthday, baby! I made your favorite—" The words caught in my throat the moment I pushed open the door.
Low moans echoed from the bedroom—not sounds of pain, but... that kind of sound.
The world collapsed around me as I pushed the bedroom door open.
Marco's naked body was pressed against a blonde woman, their limbs entangled in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Various colored lingerie was scattered across the bed—black, red, pink—clearly belonging to more than one woman.
The cake slipped from my hands, crashing onto the floor, cream splattering everywhere.
"Shit! Isabella? What the hell are you doing here?" Marco jerked his head up, his eyes showing no guilt, only annoyance.
The blonde woman actually laughed, slowly getting up, deliberately flaunting her perfect body in front of me. What broke my heart even more was seeing her slip on the shirt hanging by the bed—the one I had given Marco as an early birthday present last month.
"Oh, so this is the bakery girl you mentioned?" she drawled, looking at me like I was some kind of joke.
Tears began to blur my vision, but I fought them back desperately. I wouldn't give this bitch the satisfaction.
Marco wrapped the sheet around himself as he stood up, wearing a cold smirk I'd never seen before. "Isabella, did you seriously think I was going to get serious with some bakery chick? Come on, I was just having fun. You thought making a few cakes would buy my heart?"
Each word cut into me like a knife. We had been together for two years. Two years! I thought he loved me, thought we had a future...
"You've been lying to me from the beginning?" My voice trembled.
"Lying? I never forced you into bed." Marco shrugged, completely indifferent to my tears. "Just get out, Isabella. Don't make this uglier than it needs to be."
I turned and ran, tears finally breaking free. Behind me, I could hear the woman's piercing laughter and Marco's careless cursing.
Three hours later, I sat in a Lower East Side bar called "Dark Night," with my fifth whiskey in front of me. The alcohol burned my throat, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.
"Damn Marco... damn everything..." I muttered, tears dripping into my glass.
"Looks like you're having a rough night."
A deep, magnetic voice sounded beside me. I looked up to see an incredibly handsome man sitting at the other end of the bar. He wore an expensive black suit and had deep brown eyes and sharply defined features. Mature, dangerous, yet strangely alluring.
"Were you watching me?" I asked, the alcohol making me bold.
"Hard not to." He raised his glass. "A toast to your tears?"
I wiped the tear tracks from my face roughly. "Stay with me tonight. Help me forget that asshole. I want him to know I'm not someone to be messed with!"
Surprise flashed in the man's eyes, followed by an amused smile. "Are you sure? Little girl, I'm not exactly a good guy."
"I don't care." I downed the rest of my whiskey in one gulp, feeling it burn in my stomach. "Tonight, I want to be a bad girl."
The luxurious décor of the presidential suite left me dizzy with awe, but what fascinated me more was this mysterious man. He had introduced himself as Vito, offering nothing more.
"Relax. Let me take care of you," his voice was as deep as whiskey.
His kisses were skilled and dominating, completely different from Marco's youthful enthusiasm. He knew how to touch a woman, knew how to set my body on fire.
He pinned me against the wall of the presidential suite, his hands rough but precise as they ripped open my top, exposing my perky tits.
His mouth latched onto my nipple right away, tongue sucking hard, teeth nipping just enough to make me gasp. "You taste like honey, baby girl, but tonight I'm gonna devour every inch of you," Vito growled, his voice dripping with that commanding edge I couldn't resist.
I panted back, "Then do it... let me use my body to get back at that asshole."
He dropped to his knees, yanking down my skirt, fingers spreading my pussy lips as his tongue flicked over my clit, wet and frantic, making my thighs quake.
"Oh, fuck... your tongue... it's incredible!" I moaned, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.
He stood up, shucking off his pants to reveal his thick, long cock, the head already leaking pre-cum. He spun me around, back to him, and slid into my pussy from behind, inch by inch, filling my tightness completely.
"So fucking tight... you need to be conquered, don't you?" he asked, slapping my ass as he picked up the pace, each thrust slamming deep and making me scream.
"Yes... fuck me harder! Make me forget him!" I cried, twisting to kiss him. He pounded faster, hands groping my tits, his cock rubbing all my sensitive spots inside.
We tumbled onto the bed, me straddling him, my pussy swallowing his dick as I bounced up and down.
He groaned, "Ride it hard... you're mine tonight."
Orgasm hit me like a wave, my body convulsing and squirting, him following right after, pumping hot cum deep inside me.
We collapsed together, sweat and juices mingling in a sticky mess.
Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the bed, where I lay half-naked and languid on silk sheets. It was the best sleep of my life, despite barely getting any.
Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a video call from Marco.
I hesitated for a second, then smiled viciously. Time for revenge.
"Baby, I was wrong last night, let's talk—" Marco's voice came through the phone, but he stopped abruptly when he saw my current state.
I deliberately let the camera capture my bare shoulders and messy hair. "Oh, Marco, isn't it a little late for this?"
"Wait, who's that next to you?" Marco's voice turned sharp.
Behind me, Vito had just turned toward the camera, and when he saw Marco on the screen, all three of us froze simultaneously.
"Dad?! What the actual fuck?!" Marco's voice was almost a scream.
My blood instantly turned to ice.
Dad? What did Marco just call this man?
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The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates
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I fall forward onto the bed then turn around to stare at him. The dark tattoos of Domonic's chiseled shoulders, quiver and and expand with the heave of his chest. His deep dimpled smile is full of arrogance as he reaches behind himself to lock the door.
Biting his lip, he stalks toward me, his hand going to the seam of his pants and the thickening bulge there.
"Are you sure you don't want me to touch you?" He whispers, untying the knot and slipping a hand inside. "Because I swear to God, that is all I have been wanting to do. Every single day from the moment you stepped in our bar and I smelled your perfect flavor from across the room."
New to the world of shifters, Draven is human on the run. A beautiful girl who no one could protect. Domonic is the cold Alpha of the Red Wolf Pack. A brotherhood of twelve wolves that live by twelve rules. Rules which they vowed could NEVER be broken.
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Let Them Kneel
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Her body ignites. Her instincts scream. And something primal stirs beneath her skin—
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When loyalty is everything and love can cost your life, will Wren risk her heart on the one man she was never meant to love?
