Devil (The DiFiore Mafia Family #2)

by Joel Abernathy

There was a scream inside me that had been threatening to come out for longer than I cared to admit, and I knew everything—including my sanity—depended on keeping it there.

what could possibly go wrong when you put the wolf in charge of the lamb?

the thought of throwing him onto the bed and having my way with him. From that first startled cry to the subsequent moans of pleasure and pain I could draw from him in such perfect symphony, if given the chance.

The nerve, though. He sure as fuck had that.

Guess I just seemed like the kind of kid that would get into a stranger’s van on the promise of puppies and candy. Who was I fucking kidding? If there was a puppy and candy van, I'd get in it now.

It was the fact that he or anyone else thought they were entitled to touch what was mine. And Valentine was mine. Mine to protect, mine to punish, and mine to keep as long as I damn well pleased.

“I know,” he continued, because he clearly didn’t need this conversation to have two sides. My body was carrying enough of it, though.

One look in those eyes, and I knew exactly why they called this man Devil. And I had just sold myself to him, body, soul, and all.

"Your Daddy," I answered.

I didn’t dare respond because I knew anything I said could and would be used against me in the Devil’s court, where Malcolm was judge, jury, and executioner.

All that mattered was the fact that at this very moment, choking me breathless and fucking me senseless, he was mine. My Master. My Daddy. My worst nightmare and my filthiest dream all wrapped up in one person.

when I was his, it was the closest my world had ever been to sane.

I didn’t want to die anymore, and I really wasn’t sure when that had happened, but the thought of it ending like this was still far more palatable than the thought of this ending at all.

I died in his arms, and I was reborn in them, too. As he held me, stroking my hair down to the marks that had to be forming on my throat, the perfect blend of tenderness and pain seemed to draw it all out indefinitely.

I could get used to both sides of him. If I was being honest with myself, I already had.

That person—that unfortunate object of our fixation—became the central sun in our universe. Enzo was his. Valentine was mine.

He was my drug. My addiction. My complete and utter downfall. And I didn't have a single fucking regret.

Valentine was my pet, my boy, my best friend, and my lover. He was all those things and so much more, and I wanted him to be all those things whether we were in bed or out in the street. I wanted to own every part of him in all the ways I could, and I wanted the world to know it, too.

“You’re mine, Valentine,” I whispered into another kiss as I pinned him against the door again. “Every part of you. Always. Forever. There’s no escape.”