Owned By Massimo

Kidnapped by Choice

I don’t speak. I don’t need to. I let my coat slip from my shoulders, pooling at my feet in a puddle of fabric. The air hits my skin, and I feel alive, exposed, wanted.

The lingerie leaves nothing to the imagination—my n*****s are hard, straining against the lace, and the wet trail of my arousal glistens on my inner thighs. The guard’s eyes widen, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He coughs, stepping aside without another word.

I step into the room, and the world shifts.

Every eye is on me. The air is heavy with cigar smoke, the clink of glasses, and the low murmur of powerful men. But I only see him. Don Massimo sits at the center of the room, a king on his throne, his broad shoulders filling out a tailored black suit. His dark hair is slicked back, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. And those eyes—God, those piercing blue eyes—lock onto me the moment I enter. They’re cold, predatory, and so f*****g intense I feel like I’m burning under his gaze.

I force myself to move, my hips swaying as I cross the room. Men whistle, catcalling, inviting me to their tables, but I ignore them. My focus is singular. I slide into the seat beside Massimo, close enough that my thigh brushes against his. No woman dares sit this close to him, and I can feel the shock ripple through the room. His cologne hits me—dark, spicy, intoxicating—and I have to bite back a moan. He tenses beside me, his jaw clenching, but he doesn’t push me away.

The men are playing cards, stacks of cash piled high on the table. Massimo is winning, his movements precise, his presence commanding. He’s untouchable, a god among men, and I’m practically vibrating with the need to be his. I lean in, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper, “You’re unstoppable tonight, aren’t you?”

His head turns, those blue eyes pinning me in place. My spine tingles, my p***y clenching at the raw power radiating from him. My hand finds his thigh under the table, my fingers grazing the hard muscle beneath his pants. He tenses again, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t stop me. Emboldened, I slide my hand higher, inching toward the bulge I know is there. His hand clamps down on my wrist, firm but not painful, and I gasp, the sound swallowed by the noise of the room.

Before I can react, chaos erupts. Gunshots ring out, sharp and deafening. Screams fill the air as people scatter, tables overturning, glasses shattering. My heart lurches, but I don’t freeze. This is it—this is my chance. I try to pull away, to run with the crowd, but Massimo’s grip is iron. He yanks me to his side, his other hand drawing a gun with terrifying ease. He fires with precision, his body shielding mine as he drags me through the chaos.

I pretend to struggle, tugging against his hold, but it’s all part of the plan. I want him to take me. I want him to think I’m his to claim, his to punish. His grip tightens, his fingers digging into my arm, and a thrill shoots through me. He pulls me into a side room, slamming the door shut behind us. The sounds of gunfire fade, replaced by the pounding of my heart and the ragged sound of my breathing.

“Let me go!” I cry, thrashing against him, but it’s a lie. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want him to pin me down, to rip this lingerie from my body and f**k me until I can’t think straight.

He doesn’t speak. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and so f*****g cold it makes my knees weak. He backs me against the wall, his body crowding mine, his gun still in one hand. I’m trapped, and I’ve never been wetter. “You think you can walk into my world and play games, little girl?” he growls, his voice low and rough, sending a jolt straight to my clit.

I bite my lip, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I want to play,” I whisper, my voice dripping with challenge.

His eyes flash, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, f**k me right here against the wall. But then his hand moves, quick and precise, pressing a cloth over my nose and mouth. The scent is sharp, chemical, and my head spins. I claw at his arm, my struggles weakening as darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. The last thing I see is his face—those blue eyes burning into mine, promising everything I’ve ever wanted.

And then, nothing.