All Chapters of The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal.: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

“Each time I touch you, you get tighter, sweeter. This body of yours is a drug and I can’t quit." His words were raw as he bit my thighs.His hand slid down, his fingers grazing my clitoral area, making my body jolt, heat exploding within me. My muffled cries fought the tight gag over my lips.He doesn’t slip a finger in yet but flicks my clit—relentless, precise—making my body tremble. The strap around my waist holds me down, shockwaves pulsing through me.Every time I try to close my legs, his grip holds me open, fingers digging in, pushing me closer to the edge.My bound hands jerked against the straps as his other hand found my breasts.“You look like sin laid bare, spread out, and needy. The best part? You’re only like this for me.”His breath grew heavier and faster like mine, his grip tightening, his body moving with no hesitation.I could barely see him, my eyes rolling back into my head, but I felt his hands moving fast as he stared at my pussycat, jerking to himself.“Today’

“How long has he been coming?” I asked, my voice low and firm, turning away from the row of CCTV screens. The space I stood in was well-furnished but eerily quiet—an expensive building tucked into the heart of my dock. From the outside, it seemed typical: shipping containers, the distant hum of water, and workers moving cargo. But beneath it all? Secrets—hidden vaults of cash, crates of unregistered weapons, and enough firepower for a militia.Fang, a few feet behind me, shifted and said, “A few weeks now. He’s been asking for your number. Claims he has a business but won’t share details—just says he wants to order goods.”I sighed and glanced back at the screens. The cameras captured every inch of my dock: stacked containers, dark alleys, and the waters leading to the National City Marine Terminal. The man sat in one of our waiting areas for strangers, not my office—no one entered there unless I allowed it. This was a neutral space, neither welcoming nor hostile, just unsettling enou

I sit in the foyer, numb to the cold leather chair beneath me. My thumb brushes over my phone screen, but my mind is blank. All I can think about is her. Every time I think about her, it’s like my lungs forget how to breathe.Her face, her body, her scent—they’re all I can think about. They cloud my mind, pull me under, and I can’t escape it. Since walking in, I’ve only wanted to storm into her room, hear her voice, and feel her presence. Pathetic, but true.The day she was brought to the mansion, I should’ve told Clayton that I would be the one to take her. I would be the one to claim her as part of our usual routine—sleeping with any woman trafficked by us. But something about her innocence, the purity in her, held me back.The next morning, when Clayton briefed me, laughing about how tight her virgin body was, how her cunt gripped his rod, something inside me snapped. I almost hit him, the anger boiling over, but I stopped myself. It was normal. But in that moment, I swore to mysel

The docks were quiet at this hour but bright from the lights all around. The hum of cargo ships in the distance blended with the rhythmic lapping of water against steel. I stood at the edge of the pier, puffing on a cigarette. The glow of the lighter flickered before the smoke curled into the night.I thought back to the message I’d gotten earlier this afternoon, just before I’d left the office. The goods that landed when my men texted me weren’t mine. They weren’t contraband, but they weren’t my goods either.A car rolled in, headlights cutting through the mist. As it pulled up, my men swarmed the vehicle, surrounding it, not even letting the driver step out. I stood there, watching it all unfold. My phone buzzed in my pocket.“Yes?” I spoke into the phone without taking my eyes off the scene.“Allow him in,” I said, nodding toward the gate. “Let him come.”I stayed put, letting my men handle the visitor. Within moments, the car door opened, and the stranger stepped out, walking towa

His piercing gaze froze me, his imposing frame dominating the room.“You want the truth, Dontrell?” I demanded, stepping closer.“Here it is: I’ve been lonely. Lonely because my husband, the man who swore to cherish and protect me, is barely ever here. And the one time I try to do something for myself—stretching, doing yoga, taking care of myself—you barge in, accusing me of something? It’s pathetic.” His jaw tightened, but I didn’t falter. “What exactly do you think you need to ‘handle,’ Dontrell? Because I’d love to know. Go on, tell me what your *situation* is.”I tilted my head, my tone dripping with challenge. “Am I the situation you need to ‘handle,’ Dontrell? Like one of your warehouse goods? Because that’s how you treat me—like something you own.”“Watch your tone, woman,” Dontrell warned, his voice low and steady.“Watch my tone?” I snapped, stepping closer. “How about you watch how you treat your wife? Dontrell flinched, his confidence wavering for just a moment. I smirked