Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

Rage. Jealousy. A primal pull to assert dominance over what is mine.

The rational part of me, or at least what’s left of it, isn’t really functioning at the moment. All I can focus on, all I can see is Tempest, sauntering basically naked out of the bathroom looking for another man.

Not just any man.

I’ve been tracking Robert Mouret for a year. Usually, he rarely leaves his estate in the English countryside, and he’s got a twenty-four-hour personal security detail that watches his every step.

When he popped up on my radar as shopping for penthouses in New York, and then applied for a membership at Venom a few months ago, I started to pay attention.

He only knows me as the charming proprietor of the club. I know him as a predator.

Tonight started off badly, when Mr. Mouret cancelled on my dinner invitation, leaving me to entertain the three other couples Tempest and I went out with, none of whom I have any interest in.

However, despite a rocky start, tonight has turned out splendidly. Because while Robert might not have been hungry for cigars and a Michelin starred dinner, he does seem to have an appetite for pussy tonight.

Rich and powerful as Mr. Mouret is, being the son of an actual duke and worth north of two billion from his family’s mineral mines in South Africa, he’s embarrassed about his sexual needs, and to be here at Venom. So tonight, he threw off his own security, giving them the slip and letting them follow a town car he wasn’t in all over Manhattan. Meanwhile, he hired a second car to bring him here for an evening of acting on his carnal urges.

That was his first mistake.

The bigger one, though, was laying hands on Tempest.

It’s a jealousy I wasn’t aware I was capable of feeling.

Venom has about eight-hundred current members, and a third of those are here maybe twice a year at most. So it’s not as if I recognize everyone, but something about the particularly thin, waifish redhead that Robert was talking to tickled my brain.

So I had one of my people walk past them and discreetly scan her wristband to find out who it was. Imagine my surprise when the system told me Taylor Crown was having a conversation with Mr. Mouret.

One, I’d literally just spoken to Taylor on the phone an hour previously, from her office. And two, that girl was not Taylor Crown. It wasn’t until the redhead happened to look squarely at one of my hidden security cameras that I realized the truth.

Tempest.

Here, pretending to be Taylor and going with that motherfucker to a private room.

The dent in the wall next to my office door will linger as a testament to my wrath.

Meanwhile, Robert’s been relocated elsewhere. And if I’m being honest, he’ll never leave that place. But that is not what I’m focused on right now.

Tempest shivers, her eyes fearful behind her mask. Her hands suddenly fly up to cover herself, like she’s just remembered that she’s virtually naked.

I stop that with a shake of my head.

“Uh-uh,” I growl, closing the distance between us and yanking her arm down, revealing her soft breasts with those mouthwateringly pale pink nipples to me.

“You don’t get to do that, little hurricane,” I growl darkly. “If he was going to get to enjoy the view, I damn well will.”

“Dante—”

“You will not fucking speak until I tell you to.”

Tempest’s nipples tighten to points as she shivers under my fierce gaze.

Furious as this situation has me, the sight of her has me rock fucking hard.

“What were you going to do with him?”

Her eyes widen. “N-nothing, I⁠—”

“Just some light conversation?” I snap coldly. “Maybe call the front desk for a fucking Monopoly board and play a quick game?”

She quails under my wrathful gaze, shrinking against the back of the couch.

“Nothing. I wasn’t going to touch him,” she chokes, a sour look on her face.

“No?” I murmur darkly. “Then why the fuck are you in a private fucking room with him, dressed. Like. That.”

Tempest says nothing, and her eyes narrow behind the mask as her lips purse.

“I’m waiting…Taylor.”

The color drains from her face, her greenish-hazel eyes sparking as they lock with mine in the low, sultry light of the room.

Her lips curl into a sneer.

“As someone pointed out earlier, I’m not a prisoner, am I?”

“Careful, little hurricane.”

“So what I do with my time, and where I spend it, and with whom, is none of your business⁠—”

“We are literally standing in my business,” I snap, surging into her and wrapping my fingers around her throat. Tempest’s eyes go wide, and her pulse throbs. Her entire body trembles, and I bite back a groan as I feel the hard pebbles of her nipples against my chest through my shirt.

“In case it’s slipped your mind,” I growl, “you’re my fucking wife. So you can drop the bullshit attitude.”

Tempest snorts, knocking my hand away from her.

“Oh, is that what I am?!”

My voice is a snarl. “Careful. Don’t go there. I can only tell you so many times that you made this bed yourself⁠—”

“Dante,” she continues, looking triumphant. “I don’t have to be careful at all. You’re the one who needs me in order to keep this place.”

I chuckle darkly. “That’s not the mic drop you think it is. It’s not exactly a state secret. What I fucking want right now is an answer from my fucking wife. Why the fuck are you pretending to be Taylor and coming back here to private fucking rooms with⁠—”

“I’m not your wife.”

Jesus, this woman’s constant need to sass back. There’s a burning desire in me to put her on her knees right now and fill that mouth with something other than her need to have the last word.

“Our marriage certificate suggests otherwise.”

“I’m not talking about a piece of paper, Dante,” Tempest spits back. “I’m talking really being married, the way two people usually are. That isn’t us by a fucking mile.”

“Why, because I haven’t bought you flowers?” I snap. “Are you wanting breakfast in fucking bed?!”

She glares coldly at me.

“Elaborate for me, Tempest. Should we get a fucking dog together? Is there a lack of back rubs in your life?!”

“Please,” she laughs coldly, rolling her eyes. “You barely touch me.”

The room goes silent. Tempest’s back snaps tight, her eyes widening and her face turning pink as the full weight of what she’s just said hits her. My lips curl dangerously as I move closer to her. She shivers, her breath hitching as I reach up and take her jaw, tilting her face up to mine.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Get away from me⁠—”

She whimpers as I hook two fingers from my other hand into the front waist of her lacy black panties, pulling them toward me.

“Is that it, Tempest?” I growl quietly. I lower my mouth to hers, darting to the side at the last second and relishing the way she bites her bottom lip as I hover by her ear. “Do you just need to get fucked?”

A soft whimper half escapes her mouth before she tries to bite it back. Her body trembles under my touch, and I grit my teeth.

‘Is that what you wanted from him?”

“Why?” she sneers quietly, pulling her face back and levelling her eyes with mine. “Jealous, Dante?”

I chuckle darkly. “No, little hurricane,” I murmur. “Not jealous.”

She moans as I suddenly grab a fistful of her hair and tug, forcing her face to look up at mine at the exact moment my hand slips into her panties. My fingers sink between her slick, velvety lips, and curl deep in her hot, messy little cunt.

“In charge,” I rasp into her ear. “You’re in my house here, and you’ll play by the house rules, because they’re my fucking rules. And I’ll have your obedience, wife—either standing proud and tall, or on your knees, or over mine.”

She shivers, her breath coming ragged as I roughly thrust my two fingers in and out of her eager little pussy. Her slickness coats my hand, the wet squelching sounds music to my ears as I bite down hard on her earlobe.

“In this case, Tempest,” I growl. “I’m going to make the choice for you. And since you can’t seem to stop with that fucking mouth of yours, I’m going to have to fill it with something.”

Her legs start to shake as I finger her faster and grind my palm harder against her throbbing clit.

“So get on your fucking knees, baby girl,” I murmur. “And then look up, open those pretty lips, and say please, unless you want me to spank your ass until you can’t sit for a fucking week. Are. We. Clear?”

She whimpers, panting and trembling as I finger her pussy toward release. I slide my other hand down her back, hooking a finger under the tiny little triangle of lace at the back of her thong and letting it slide down between the tight globes of her ass. Tempest stiffens, her breath catching. When she moans as my fingers tease over her tight little puckered hole, I groan to myself.

“Answer me, little hurricane.”

There’s no way she can. Her eyes roll back in her head and her mouth falls open as I start to swirl my fingertip around her asshole as my two other fingers curl deep against her g-spot. My palm rubs against her throbbing clit, and my cock swells to iron as I feel her body quiver and tense.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

A raw, broken moan rips from her throat.

“Please…” she chokes.

“That’s a good rehearsal. But for the actual performance, you’ll be on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my dick when you say your line. Now, stop trying to fight it and come on my fucking fingers like the greedy little girl you are.”

My finger sinks into her ass just as I stroke against her g-spot and grind her clit mercilessly. With a cry, Tempest suddenly grips my wrist, her nails digging into me. A moan rips from her lips as she drops her head back, her body twisting and shuddering, her legs almost buckling as she sags against me.

My hand slips into her hair, tangling it in a fist. I let her down slowly, her shaky legs giving way as she drops to her knees, looking up at me with fire in her eyes.

“You want to play husband and wife, little hurricane?” I growl darkly, undoing my belt. “Start by showing me what a good little wife you can be.”