My Italian Beast (Part Two): Contemporary Billionaire Romance (Beasts in Bed Book 4)
Page 1
My Italian Beast Part 2
Marian Tee
Contents
Blurb
Also by Marian Tee
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Dear Reader,
Also by Marian Tee
About the Author
Blurb
Determined to put her short-lived marriage completely behind her, Anneke de Konigh files for divorce, believing she would have no trouble getting the court to grant it. After all, only her Italian billionaire husband could stand in her way, but why would he when he had thrown her away first?
Marcus Ravelli wants his wife back, but he also knows it’s going to be a treacherously uphill battle to earn back Anneke’s trust – and especially when his estranged wife comes to know the devastating truth about his past.
Also by Marian Tee
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Standalone Novels
Captivated: 4-in-1 Friends Romance Boxed Set – Enjoy four standalone romances between passionate, domineering billionaires and the women who were their friends first before becoming their lovers.
All stories have either happy-ever-after or happy-for-now endings.
His Fair Lady – Prince Julian knows the blind fortune teller Cass is everything he wants in a woman, but she can never be his bride.
Devoured — Cynical Italian billionaire Luca Valencia buys himself a wife in order to give his little girl the mother she needed and deserved. His choice: innocent Vivian Day, who he knew could ill afford to reject his proposition.
Greek Billionaire Romance Serials
The Art of Catching a Greek Billionaire (FREE!)
The Art of Trusting a Greek Billionaire
The Art of Loving a Greek Billionaire
The Art of Forgiving a Greek Billionaire
The Art of Wedding a Greek Billionaire
The Art of Kissing a Greek Billionaire (FREE!)
The Greek Billionaire and I (Standalone)
The Greek Billionaire and His Secretary Series
The Greek Billionaire and His Secretary (FREE)
Dear Greek Billionaire
Love, Your Greek Billionaire
Forever and Ever, My Greek Billionaire
That One Time (Standalone)
My Dutch Billionaire Trilogy
Part 1 (FREE)
Part 2
Part 3
Pollyanna and the Greek Billionaire Trilogy (Innocent and Betrayed)
Part 1 (FREE)
Part 2
Part 3
How Not to be Seduced Series / Mediterranean Affairs (According to Reading Order)
Nik & Daria
A Fling with the Greek Billionaire: Prequel (FREE)
A Fling with the Greek Billionaire: Standalone
Eternally Seduced: Contemporary Romance (7-in-1 Boxed set)
Included in this bundle: How Not to be Seduced by Billionaires, How Not to be Seduced by Rockstars, How Not to be Seduced by Dukes Part 1
The Ice Around My Heart (How Not to be Seduced by Dukes Part 2)
The Rockstar and His Fangirl (Standalone)
The Rockstar I’ve Loved for So Long (Standalone)
BBF Series: Christopoulos University (According to Reading Order)
Warning: Love Moderately Duology (Derek & Jaike)
Unwillingly Yours (FREE!)
Meant to Be Yours
Park & Violet (Standalone)
Nick & Lilac (Standalone)
Jason & Keanne (Standalone)
Prince of Darkness Duology
Part 1
Part 2
For Angelo (Standalone)
BEASTS Series (All Standalone Books)
My Russian Beast (Sergei & Fredericka)
My Greek Beast (Alyx & Nathan)
My Italian Beast (Anneke & Marcus)
Heart Racer – Billionaire Biker Romance Series: Christopoulos University (According to Reading Order)
Leandro & Bobby: Duology
Heart Racer (FREE!)
Driven by Love
Helios & MJ Trilogy
Swish (FREE!)
Burn
Click
Kellion & Aria (Standalone)
Yuri & Kalli (Standalone)
Drawn / Russian Stepbrother Romance / Play With Me Sports Romance Series: Christopoulos University (According to Reading Order)
Drawn (Standalone)
Russian Stepbrother Romance Trilogy
When I Moan
When I Hurt
When I Love
Play With Me (Standalone)
This Round I’m Yours (Standalone)
Visit Marian Tee’s website for her other titles.
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My Italian Beast Part 2
By Marian Tee
Copyright 2017 by Streak Digital Publishing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Part I
The man was tall, black-haired, and sensually beautiful. He was completely naked, and so was the woman in front of him. Chains suspended from the ceiling kept her arms bound over her head, and with every lash of the flogger against her ass, she would shudder and moan.
“Please.”
The man didn’t say a word, his handsome face clenched hard as he flogged her, over and over. And as the moans became louder, the man started stroking himself furiously.
Lash. Moan. Stroke.
Everything about this was wrong, but the man couldn’t help himself. For years he had done his best to bury this sickness inside of him, this need to taint everything and everyone in his life with depravity.
But he could no longer help himself.
Even knowing he was destroying everything with this one single act, hurting the one innocent person in his life – the one person who still thought the world of him –
It was too late.
Lash. Moan. Stroke.
With every instance the cycle repeated, the air became thicker with lust and all things that were vile and immoral…and it was liberating. With every second that passed, it was as if the burden of decency was being lifted off him---
Lash. Moan. Stroke.
“I’m coming,” the woman sobbed. “Oh God, I’m coming.”
And so she did, and he came with her, their spiraling descent culminating into a shared orgasm. Cum started spewing everywhere – the carpet, the edge of the bed, the legs of
the chair –
It was one gloriously repulsive mess, and even knowing that he had to be irredeemably sick to allow such a thing to happen, the man couldn’t help shuddering in delirious pleasure at the sight.
Almost half an hour passed by the time the man was finally spent, and he reluctantly let go of his limp dick. Walking towards the chained woman, he kissed her on the mouth, whispering against her lips, “Brava ragazza.” Good girl.
His wife only trembled against him, and looking over her shoulder, the man saw that the boy was still there.
And so it was done, the man thought.
The boy was half-naked, with his pajama bottoms pooled around his ankles and his dick hanging out. He, too, had spent himself.
The man searched inside of himself for regret but found he had none – and that he liked it that way. His lips widened into a smile. “Bravo ragazzo.” He went to ruffle his son’s head but stopped when the boy flinched at his approach. The man laughed. “Don’t be like that. Don’t you see you’re exactly like me?”
The boy didn't say anything as he slowly pulled his pajama bottoms back up.
When his son started walking towards the door, the man shook his head, muttering, “You should be glad I’m starting you early.”
The boy kept walking.
The man growled, “Dove vai?” Where are you going?
The boy stilled, his hand on the doorknob. “Dormire, Papa.”
“Look at me when you’re talking. Have we not taught you better?”
The boy turned…and wished he hadn’t.
The man laughed at the expression on his son’s face. He turned his wife around, exposing her body completely to her son even as he continued stroking her folds. She moaned, the sound a mixture of agony and arousal, and yet her pussy didn’t stop quivering under his fingers.
“Why leave now? The fun has just started, mio figlio.”
The boy shook his head. “I’m tired, Papa.” His voice shook. “May I g-go now?”
The man dismissed him with a scathing wave of his hand.
And as the boy turned away, he heard his father mutter under his breath.
Go to hell, you fucking faggot.
The words didn’t quite make sense to the boy’s sheltered eight-year-old mind, but he was also smart enough to know that the words weren’t any good---
Just like what his father had forced him to do.
The boy’s legs started trembling the moment he stepped out to the hallway, and by the time he made it to his bedroom, his heart was pounding so hard and fear was clawing painfully at his guts.
After clumsily locking the door, he dashed to the en-suite bathroom and threw up on the sink, chest heaving hard. Any moment, he expected his father or mother to come after him---
But there was just silence.
And darkness.
Too much darkness, outside and inside of him, and the boy wondered numbly if it were something he would have to live with for the rest of his life.
The boy swayed on his feet when his stomach finally settled down. He badly wanted to cry, but he could not. He had lost count of the number of times he had received a thrashing every time he made the mistake of shedding tears in front of his father.
Pale, tense, and dry-eyed, the boy walked back to his bedroom and reached for the phone.
The call to the emergency hotline connected immediately, and the boy said shakily in Italian, “My name is Marcus Ravelli.”
The woman at the other end of the line gasped, recognizing the famous surname. When the boy finished providing his address, the woman asked carefully, “What would you like to report?”
The boy didn’t answer right away.
What should he report?
That his father told him he would become a man if he touched himself – and that he would be very angry with Marcus if he didn’t?
That at first he didn’t understand why his parents were naked, and his mother bound in chains?
That everything his parents did made him feel strange?
That in the end he had done what his father did---
Touching himself----
And now he didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore.
The boy hung up.
Even so, only minutes passed when the boy heard the wail of sirens.
Papa would be mad at him, the boy thought.
Curling himself into a ball, he covered his ears, knowing it was only a matter of time---
Heavy fists suddenly pounded his door, and the boy jerked.
It was his Papa, and he was calling Marcus all sorts of names.
The boy pressed his hands closer to his ears, but it was no use. He could still hear the sound of his father’s murderous rage, and the boy started hyperventilating. As the pounding worsened, his lips started to move in silent prayer, reciting the words that his grandmother had taught him.
Outside his room, a loud fight ensued, and angry voices filled the hallway. Someone started breaking down the door.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and prayed harder.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…
The noise suddenly died.
Amen.
A happy-ever-after should have followed, or so the boy thought, until life showed him at an early age that such things only tended to happen in fairytales.
Locked in his room, he waited vainly for someone to bring him to someplace safe – anywhere away from his parents, who no longer seemed or felt like his mother and father – but no one did. From his bedroom window, he watched the police cars leave one by one, their sirens fading into silence, and as night gave way to dawn – the boy found himself alone again.
And he was terrified.
He waited and waited, and sometimes the waiting itself became such a torture that the boy almost wished something would happen. When the knock finally came on his door, the boy was actually relieved.
Finally.
He was still afraid, still confused, but at least now he would know what the rest of his life would be.
There was another knock before the door slowly opened. The boy immediately stiffened, thinking it would be either of his parents, but a stranger entered instead. The woman was dressed like a doctor, and after giving him a reassuring smile, she told him that she was so.
“And I’m here to help you,” the doctor told him.
The boy wanted to believe her. He truly did. And in the beginning, he managed to convince himself that she meant to keep her promise. He allowed himself to trust the good doctor until the boy, who was no fool, realized that her way of helping him was quite different from what he had imagined.
This doctor’s definition of “help” meant that he would be locked in his room for days, starved for hours, until he told her what she asked, and it was that nothing happened. Over and over, the doctor would “help” him by hammering this over and over in the boy’s mind until the boy almost believed it himself.
Nothing happened.
Nothing.
Nothing.
But on the day the woman presented the boy to his parents, and he saw his father seated at the head of the table, his large hand cradling a wine glass---
A different image projected itself on the boy’s mind.
And it wasn’t a glass that his father was holding, but his veined dick---
The boy whitened.
He looked at his mother, smiling at him, but this, too, his mind replaced with something else.
And instead the boy saw his mother, naked and in chains, moaning out sounds that didn’t make her sound like a mother---
The boy’s skin became clammy, and the sick feeling in his stomach was back again.
Nothing happened, nothing happened, the boy thought desperately.
He wanted to believe this. He needed to believe this.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened.
And yet the boy couldn’t stop himself from shaking, and he was doing h
is best not to throw up as something like terror started squeezing his throat---
He heard his father curse
He heard his mother cry out.
He heard his doctor hurriedly promise to “help” him some more.
The boy couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about…until he looked down and realized that he had peed himself.
When the boy’s mother saw the look in her husband’s eyes, she knew she had to act fast. Federico would never allow his name to be tainted in any way, and she was certain he was cold-blooded enough to murder his own son to prevent word from getting out about his sexual deviation.
And so the first chance she got, she called her mother-in-law and confessed the entire truth. “Please take him away,” she said hoarsely. “This is the only thing…the best thing I can do for him.”
Her words didn’t fall on deaf ears. Before the day was over, the Ravelli family’s powerful matriarch swept in and took her grandson away. And when they were alone, Marcia had asked the boy in a pained, broken voice, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
And because she didn’t quite know what to do in such a situation, Marcia simply acceded to her grandson’s wish. If she were to be honest, she was relieved that it was so. What could one say when it was her own son who had abused her grandson?
Years passed. The boy became a man, and memories of that night gradually blurred until they had been reduced into a distant fragment. By the time Marcus Ravelli was sixteen years old, he had already convinced himself he had made it all up – a childish attempt to get his parents to take notice of him.
But nothing happened.