All Chapters of My Neighbour's Wife: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I didn’t know her name, but I knew every inch of her body. I knew what she looked like when she came—heart shaped lips parted, nostrils flared, cheeks flush with color and sweat, grey doe eyes crossed…and on some occasions, rolled back in her head, her back arched, her nipples hard and glistening with saliva, and more importantly, there was something about her long, black hair clinging to her sweaty skin, to the odd but sexy dip in her hip that made me want to masturbate.I didn’t know his name either, but he fucked her a lot. And hit her a lot. She took each beating as perfectly as she took his dick in her mouth—like a good girl, but I wondered if he saw the hate that flashed in her eyes sometimes. I wondered if he saw how many times her gaze flicked to the hammer she kept at the top of her dresser every time he slapped her.She never left the house. He never let her. They fought too many times on that issue, loud enough to stir me from sleep. She wanted to see the world. She wanted

Their sex tonight time is different. Rougher. They are in her bedroom and she is bent over the arm of a green, plush couch, her hair pulled back by his fist as he rams his dick into her, punishing her, hitting her. Her eyes aren’t closed. No, she’s gazing out the window and my blood heats when she narrows her eyes at me, standing by my window. Surprise shines in her eyes, and I expect her to scream. Instead, her lips part, and her eyelashes flutter, a lustful haze darkening her eyes. And she smirks at me, biting her bottom lip as she comes. “Fuck,” I breathe, stepping away from the window, hands instinctively hiding my erection. There’s no way she sees me. My windows are one way through. There is no fucking way she saw me. Heart seconds away from exploding, I flee into the bathtub, stepping into the shower without taking off my clothes. I’m unsure how long I let the downpour drench me. I don’t get out until my teeth is clattering and my lips are blue. I’m s

She’s asleep in the backseat, in my fucking coat. So much for wanting to flee from the sight of her and there she lies, snoring softly, her nightdress covering absolutely nothing as she turns, trying to get comfortable amongst my luggage. Bloody, flying fuck. “Sir, if I may—” I raise a tired hand to the new chauffeur. “Leave it. Have the first room in the guest wing tidied.” I groan at the thought of her in my sheets, in my bed, in my fucking house, without clothes. “No, the last room should do. Have it freezing cold. Disconnect the heater.” The middle-aged man arches a brow at me as I meet out more instructions, but he doesn’t ask questions as he hurries across the yard, past the front doors. With a ragged sigh, I get out of the car and pull her door open. “Mrs. Hawke?” I call out. Her lips remain parted and her features peaceful. There are purple bruises along her cheekbones and cuts on her neck and arm

I was defiant for the first few months and my stepmother punished me for it. It was never the kind of punishments that marred my skin. After all, I had to look perfect for the men. My body had to be perfect, my skin a blank canvas for them to paint with c*m and bruises.My stepmother’s punishments were the kind that stained one’s soul with an oily darkness that could never be washed away; the kind that broke one’s will.“Don’t speak a single word, not even when you are spoken to.”It’s the first word Zefiro has said to me since “Cazzo”. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged my presence or looked my way in over ten hours. Agreeing to help me doesn’t include talking to me, I suppose. I just wish I’d brought a book with me or something. I’d been wound up too tight to sleep in the jet and when I asked the cabin hostess to help me set up the display, she had outrightly snubbed me and walked over to Zefiro’s seat way behind me and spoken something Italian to him with the sultriest smile I’v

I gave Adrianna one order: keep Susanna the f*ck away from me. I didn’t care if she went to the ranch and cleaned out horseshit or sat in the kitchen for hours. I didn’t want to see her long hair, or her grey eyes, and Christ, her *ss in that uniform.Apparently, no one listens to me because there she is, serving our guests who do not have the same reservations as me when it comes to looking at her. They make jokes about f*ck*ng her in the *ss in Italian, and none the wiser, she smiles politely responding to their requests in English professionally. No matter that the only reason they ask her to get more salt is to watch her *ss jiggle and peer under her skirt as she bends.“Zefiro?”I tear my gaze away from the latest object of my nightmares and obsession and give my attention to Valentina Morreti. Beautiful, siren green eyes, plump lips, sinful curves—not Susanna. Dio.For a week, I have been on too many blind dates to count, all at my grandmother’s behest. With Enzo in a coma and a