Claiming The Devil’s Wife

~ALESSIA~ ——— Alessandro comes with a groan, pushing deeper inside me. I stare blankly at the ceiling as his weight slump over me. I am relieved that it is over. That is all I feel. “We should’ve used more lube.” He mutters, pulling out and catching his breath. “Maybe if you’d touched me properly, I wouldn’t have been so dry.” I say in my head, not making the mistake to say it out loud. I stay curled up on the bed, completely naked, as I watch him get dressed. His muscles move with every shift, flexing his perfect build. Usually, if you have s*x, the room smells of arousal. But in my case, it smells of her. Becca. My slutty cousin/his damn mistress. That scent had clung to his skin the moment he walked inside my room. Two hours earlier, I had dolled myself up and wore my favorite lingerie after learning that he would be returning from his business trip today. But he didn’t come to my room after returning. After waiting for long minutes, I got impatient and had gone to check on him in his room. Only to peek into the scene of Bianca riding him like a s*x-starved b***h. Alessandro hadn’t noticed me walk in, but Bianca had. And she had smirked at me as she f****d my husband right in front of me. It felt like a knife was being twisted into my heart. And as I stood there, watching her walls clench around Alessandro’s c**k like a perfect fit made in heaven, I felt like I was the outsider in my own marriage. Not like their affair was ever a secret. Alessandro never hid it. I had heard them more times than I can count—their moans, the bed creaking, Becca’s high-pitched voice calling his name. But I had never seen it with my own eyes. Until today. No matter how I try, I cannot scrub that image from my mind. “I have someone to introduce to you,” Alessandro says, buttoning his shirt. “But first, I need to speak with my men. I’ll be right back. Clean up.” And then, he leaves. I stay in bed only for a moment before standing. I pull a soft robe around my nakedness and walk into the second bedroom. My room inside his mansion is like an apartment on its own. Perfect example of a pretty doll locked in her own display box. That is what I am to him anyway. Inside my room, I head straight for the dresser and pull out the only thing that ever gives me real pleasure. The only thing that listens to me, responds to me, and obeys my needs. My dildo. I lie back on the bed and spread my thighs. One soft gasp leaves my lips as I ease it inside me, letting it stretch and fill me the way Alessandro never does. I move it slowly, steadily, every pump stroking the fire of rage and arousal in me. Fuck Alessandro! Pump. Fuck Becca! Pump. Fuck this godforsaken marriage! Faster now. My legs tremble as the wave builds higher. The images of Becca and Alessandro flood my mind. The way she bounced on him, while he gripped her so tightly to himself. His careless moans. More anger floods inside me. And so does the pleasure. My body burns, my eyes rolling back. With one final thrust, I come hard, biting down on a gasp as my release washes over me. I stay like that for a long time, eyes shut, chest rising and falling as I try to find something close to peace. But all I feel is emptiness. Unsatisfaction. Sure, I’ve reached my release, but the ache between my thighs still pulses, hungrier than ever. A deep kind of need that I know can never get quenched. Because in this mafia world where men chase guns, blood, and dirty money like oxygen, a woman’s satisfaction doesn’t even make the list. Men are to be worshipped. Women are just expected to submit. And over time, we learned to accept it. For the hundredth time, regret sinks its claws into my chest. If only my parents had let me marry my college sweetheart; Bradley, instead of trading me off like a business deal, I wouldn’t be trapped in this prison called marriage. But Alessandro had set eyes on me, declared he wanted me, and made an irresistible offer to my parents. The offer aside, he is the mafia king, and denying him his wants would be the same as asking to have your head for breakfast. And so, I was married off to him. Alessandro Mancini. A man who sees women as collectibles, trophies to keep in golden cages. The devil himself. A soft sound echoes from the living room. Footsteps. I don’t need anyone to tell me he is back. Quickly, I toss the toy aside and grab a long satin robe from the closet, wrapping it around myself before stepping out. But when I walk into the living room, it isn’t Alessandro who greets me. The sight of the stranger in front of me makes me stop dead in my tracks. He is standing at the far end of the room, right beside my art collection, holding a small sculpture I’d brought home from Milan. But he isn’t just any man. He looks like something straight out of a sin-soaked myth. Like Hades, dressed in temptation. He is tall with a lethal build. His black suit is sharp. The white shirt clings to his chest, outlining thick, sculpted muscle. A shadow of stubble frames his strong jaw. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, eyes wide, and mouth slightly parted. Shamelessly staring. Until his voice finally pulls me back to earth. “My apologies, Mrs. Mancini. I didn’t know you were in there.” Fuck me. That voice. Smooth. Deep. With a seductive threat hidden underneath. Was he even real? “Oh. Right.” I blink, nodding awkwardly. My throat has gone dry, my heart beating far too fast. I suddenly become hyper-aware of what I am wearing. Or more accurately, what I am not wearing. I pull the silk fabric tighter around my body, heat crawling up my neck. I freeze suddenly. Wait… had he heard me? The toy. The sounds. The moans… “Have you… been here long?” I ask, my voice barely stable. God, Alessia. You should have asked who he was first! He gives me a small, knowing smirk. The kind that said yes, but promises your secrets are safe with him. That is when I notice the color of his eyes. They’re steel blue. Or maybe storm gray. I cannot tell. But all I know is that they’re beautiful. Mesmerizing. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hear a thing. But not to worry. I am no blabbermouth.” His tone is unbothered, and amused. I hate how cool he sounds. As if overhearing me in my most… intimate moment is the most casual thing ever. Just then, the door opens again, revealing Alessandro who has finally decided to show up. “You’re already here?” he says, stepping into the room. He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me tight in that same old possessive grip he always used when someone new is around. As if reminding the world that I belong to him. Only him. It makes my stomach turn. “I see you’ve met my wife.” He adds, his voice light but territorial. Hot Guy gives Alessandro a short, polite nod. His arms clasps behind his back. “Yes, Mr. Mancini.” he says simply. Alessandro glances down at me. “Remember I told you I had someone I wanted to introduce you to?” I nod, forcing my lips into a neutral line. But my treacherous eyes drift back to Hot Guy. A flicker of heat sparkles inside me just looking at him. I can feel the ache between my thighs coil tighter, burning for a man I have no business even thinking about. Not even my husband can get me wet, and yet, just the sight of this stranger could? He screams danger. Temptation. And I cannot wait to get him out of here and never see him again. “This is Nico Rossi,” Alessandro introduces. “Nico, meet Alessia. Nico’s your new personal bodyguard, honey.” The world stops spiraling. My breath pauses momentarily. And so, today being the fifteenth of July 2023, marks the day temptation came to stay with us.