Devil Mine: A Dark Cartel Romance (London Underworld Book 1)

The next morning, I’m finishing up breakfast at the kitchen island when Diana walks in carrying three very full and very obviously heavy shopping bags. 

“Oh, let me help you with those!” I say, walking up to her and taking two out of her hands.C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

“Thank you, señora, that’s very kind.”

“It’s the bare minimum,” I say, setting the bags down on the counter. “Gosh, these are heavy. What did you even need to buy this early in the morning?”

As I ask, I open the first bag to start putting away the groceries and pause when I see its contents. There are half a dozen pints of rocky road ice cream of three different brands in it. In the second bag, I find yet another half dozen pints, also of different brands.

I throw Diana a puzzled look as she starts pulling even more tubs out of the third bag.

“First thing this morning, Diablo texted me a list of ten different brands of rocky road ice cream he wanted me to keep stocked in the freezer. He didn’t elaborate on why he needed it so I don’t know, but I have a feeling you might,” she adds with a cheeky smile. “You’ll have to tell him which one was your favorite once you’ve tried them all.”

“I…I don’t even know what to say,” I say, staring at the pints I’m holding in each hand, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry he made you do that this morning, I can’t even imagine how many stores you had to go to to find all of these.”

Diana takes my hand and pats it in her warm, calloused ones. “Don’t be. He hasn’t been the same since Adriana died, but I saw the way he looked at you Friday. It’s good to see someone bringing a smile to his face and maybe healing his broken heart.”

The smile slips off my own face and I yank my hand out of hers, startling her. Bitterness swells like poison in my gut at her words. I’m not surprised Diana would know about Thiago’s lost love, but I hate the ease with which she just brought her up to me. Am I meant to live with the ghost of her, competing for position in this house?

I refuse to.

The ice cream can go straight to the trash for all I care, the gesture is meaningless.

“Please don’t speak to me about Adriana again, Diana. I don’t want to hear it.”

Guilt lances through me at her reaction to my harsh tone, but I turn away from her confounded, hurt expression.

“Oh. All right.”

“Thank you for buying the ice cream,” I say, grabbing my purse off a nearby chair. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I walk out of the kitchen without waiting for a response, my gait stiff and uneven. Annoyance hazes my vision. I hate that anything to do with Thiago can impact my mood this way.

I need to get out of this house before I erupt.

“Where do you think you’re going, Barbie?” a rude voice asks from behind me.

Five minutes ago, I likely would have been able to ignore and brush off the sneered nickname. But fresh off my conversation with Diana, I’m spoiling for a fight.

Turning, I come face to face with Paunchy Guy, who I now know is called Arturo. He’s the man who caught me listening at the door at the museum, the one who’s glared at me every single time we’ve made eye contact since, and now the one getting in my way.

“My name is Tess,” I say through gritted teeth, my fists clenching at my sides. “And I’m going to work.”

“No, you’re not.”

Visions of my father’s volatile mood swings flash through my eyes. The fear that I might inherit those genes is always in the back of my mind. I’m forever conscious of my outward reactions and largely favor rational responses, always working to control my temper when it arises so I don’t spiral into an emotional reaction, but I’m on edge right now.

I squeeze my fists to keep myself collected.

“Listen, Arturo. I understand you don’t like me. The feeling is entirely mutual, although I’m not sure what your issue is with me, whereas you’ve pointed a gun at me, kidnapped me and are now trying to hold me captive. Regardless, you’re out of your mind if you think you’re going to stop me from going to work.”

With that, I turn my back on him and reach for the front door. The handle doesn’t budge an inch. It’s locked from the inside.

Slowly, I face him once more.

“Open this door.”

“Go back to your room, Barbie. It’s safer for you there.”

“What do you think your boss is going to say when I tell him you stopped me from leaving?”

He throws his head back in an open-throated laugh. The longer he mocks me, the more I feel the blood draining from my face and my anger rising to replace it.

Finally, he stops. Takes a step towards me.

“Who do you think told me to keep you here?”

And I snap.

I shove my bag at Arturo, catching him off guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and take off for the stairs.

I came willingly as promised, I didn’t put up a fight, I even stayed put over the weekend when Thiago left, but I won’t be held prisoner here.

I’ve had enough.

“Stop.” Arturo calls out after me. My anger renders me deaf and blind to anything but tracking down my either soon to be dead or ex husband. “Joder, stop!”

When I’m on the second floor, I fly down the hall to his study where I know I’ll find him. My strides are long and determined despite my tight, pink skirt and matching heels. My chest heaves against my white blouse, stretching the fabric.

I don’t stop to think about the wisdom of my decision, that rational part of me gone for now. I barge into his study without knocking instead. The door flies open with such force that it bounces off the wall with a deafening bang.

“I won’t be controlled like my father controls my mother, Thiago. Like he’s controlled me my whole life. I need my independence. If you think you’re going to make me give up my job, you can go screw yourself. I won’t do it!”

Deafening silence meets my tirade as I come to a stop in the middle of his office. I’m met with half a dozen pairs of eyes looking back at me in shock. Thiago sits behind his desk surrounded by a group of his men, each looking more dangerous than the next. Each looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have because the deadly quiet has a dousing effect on my anger.

It’s so silent that my ears pick up a passing breeze in the room. The soldiers seem both frozen in disbelief and tensed, as if bracing themselves for a cataclysmic explosion.

“Sorry, jefe,” Arturo says out of breath, having finally caught up with me. “She wouldn’t listen.”

Thiago’s gaze is pitch black as it bores into me, his face grim. “Lárguese,” he orders. 

His men shuffle towards the exit and my bravery leaves the room with them. Marco gives me a pitying look on his way out. The door clicks softly closed behind the last of them and I’m left alone with the giant, angry bear I just cattle prodded.

The air feels thin all of a sudden, like I’m bartering for oxygen with every breath I pull in as the weight of his dark glare crushes my lungs.

Dark eyes track me. “Fine.”

I startle. That’s the very last thing I expected him to say. “‘Fine’?”

He remains seated, settling back into his chair in a deceptively relaxed manner. I know better than to let my own guard down, however. “Yes, fine. No one asked you to give up your job.”

I stalk up to his desk and scowl at him.

“Stop lying to me. Arturo just stopped me from leaving and said you ordered him to keep me here.”

He narrows his eyes on me, clearly not liking my tone. “Because it’s our honeymoon. What kind of bride goes to work the week after getting married? This marriage serves a purpose. We need to keep up appearances outside these four walls — we wouldn’t want people thinking this is anything other than a happy union, would we?”

I don’t let him see the stung expression on my face. I thought it was pure interest driving him to find me, it never dawned on me that he might want to marry me for reasons of social advancement.

Stupid and naive of me really, he’s told me from the beginning that all he cares about is power.

Still it’s unexpected, the sharp pain that claws at my chest. Unexpected and unwanted.  

Leaning forward, I place my palms on his desk and bring our faces level with each other’s.

“You left for two days the second we set foot in England,” I accuse. “Tell me how that helped with this fictional image of a happy union?”

“No one except my most trusted men knew I was gone. To everybody else we were both home, fucking like rabbits in happily wedded bliss.” His jaw works and I can tell he’s holding himself back. “Obviously, your little performance just now will require damage control.” His voice dips. “You’ll help me fix your mess.”

Straightening, I cross my arms once more and give him an uncertain look. “You’re really fine with having a wife who works?” I ask distrustfully.

“I told you you’d be my queen, Tess.” He knows how to punish me with harmless words. He hasn’t called me anything but ‘amor’ or ‘preciosa’ since our encounter at my father’s house, so his use of my name feels like a reproach. It makes me dig my nails into my palms. “The queen is the most powerful piece on the board. I’d be a fool to get in her way. You can return to work in two weeks.” 

“That’s a surprisingly advanced train of thought for someone in your position.”

“Half of my lieutenants are women and the vast majority of them are far more valuable to me than their male counterparts. Only idiots underestimate the limitless potential of female rage. I choose to weaponize it.”

Inexplicable jealousy burns hot red in my veins, catching me off guard. Just exactly how are these women making themselves valuable to him?

Conflicting emotions constantly war for dominance inside me. One minute I loathe him, the next I’m possessive of him. I go from pleasantly surprised, to hopeful, to hurt and disappointed like the swing of a pendulum. It’s been three days and I’m already doing a piss poor job of protecting myself against him.

“Okay then, so long as we understand each other.” I nod sharply and turn on my heel, intent on ending this conversation, happy to be getting out of there unscathed.

“Tess.”

This time, my name feels like the lash of a whip against my back. I wish he’d stop saying it like that. Or saying it at all.

When I turn, he’s rounding his desk and coming towards me. It dawns on me that I was a fool to think he’d just sit there and quietly take my anger.

His hand finds my throat, the collar closing around my skin, and he squeezes. He shoves me backwards until I hit the study wall where he locks me in with his other hand above my shoulder.

Eyes darken on me and his tongue turns lethal. “Watch the way you fucking speak to me.”

Turning my face, I avert my eyes. He grips my jaw and forces me to look back at him instead. Chaotic golden eyes meet mine, demented energy swirling in his irises.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Thiago. This is who you married, so I’ll talk to you how I like. If you don’t like it, then feel free to let me go.”

Fingers cuff my throat once more, too comfortable with the controlling, dominating gesture.

“In private, maybe.” His face hardens, his jaw setting. “In public, you’ll obey.”

“I–”

“Or you’ll learn to take public punishments too.”

My throat dries, the meaning of his words making my eyes widen. Swallowing is difficult around the mass in my throat.

“I give you a long leash because your mouth amuses me, but don’t forget who I am. Disrespect me in front of my men again and I’ll fix your attitude for you while they watch.” He squeezes my throat and I whimper. “Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, turn around. Face the wall.”

He releases me. Dizzying arousal makes me do what he orders without even questioning it. I press my cheek against the wall and wait for him to tell me what to do next.

Wait for him to hopefully touch me.

The hum that comes from deep within his chest tells me he approves.

“Lift up your skirt.”

I grab the hem and shimmy it up my thighs, shaking my hips to make the tight fabric go over my cheeks.

“You like my attitude,” I argue defiantly.

His eyes are stuck on my backside, unblinking. “What was that?”

I bunch my skirt around my waist, revealing my ass in a pair of cheeky lace undies.

“You like my attitude,” I repeat, the note of defiance louder this time. 

A sharp slap lands swiftly on my cheek, connecting with one of the still healing welts, and I yelp.

“I do,” he purrs. Thiago’s face comes, his mouth hovering over my ear. “Are you trying to use that pretty mouth to provoke me into fucking you?” I hear the smirk in his voice, the cocky bastard. “Is that what you’re hoping will happen?”

There’s a sound of a buckle opening, followed by a zipper coming down. My stomach flips. Another hard slap falls on my cheek, making me cry out.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“That’s too bad,” he rumbles disappointedly. Another slap. The sting radiates through my cheek. “Because I’m dying to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock.”

And then I feel his length pressing against my ass. I’m panting, my breaths coming in ragged, excited exhales.

Thiago carefully fingers the line of my panties on my cheek, driving me wildly impatient, until a finger curls under the fabric and he lifts it. I feel him push his cock into the opening, then remove his finger so that he’s held snugly against my ass by my lace underwear.

He grabs my waist with both hands and repositions himself until his chest is glued against my back. The move shifts his cock and it slips between the cheeks of my ass, slotting in perfectly like a key sliding into a lock. He groans loudly, the rough, guttural sound hitting my ear and raising goosebumps all over my skin.

“Hands together above your head,” he orders. When I do as he asks, he grabs my wrists with one hand and cuffs the back of my neck with the other, pressing me even more firmly against the wall.

And then he starts moving. He rocks his hips, splitting my cheeks with every back and forth movement, my panties keeping his dick in place. The sensation of his thick cock pumping obscenely between the lobes of my ass and forcing my cheeks to part has my eyes rolling back into my head. Desire coils hot and needy in my belly.

“Ask me,” he grunts.

His thrusts are rough and fast, his quest for pleasure mindless. This is purely selfish, purely for him. He uses my body to get himself off, uncaring of my own arousal, his groans turning more and more chaotic the faster he thrusts up between my cheeks. Still it feels like my blood is boiling in my veins.

He slaps my ass again when I don’t answer, the sting traveling down and straight to my clit. “Come on, ask me to fuck you,” he coaxes. “Ask me.”

Knowing just standing like this is enough to get him to act like a complete animal, one devoid of any humanity who ruts mindlessly against me to get off, makes me feel powerful and aroused beyond measure.

I shake my head weakly.

He snarls in response, using his hold on my nape to twist my neck to the side. The muscles of his stomach tighten and when he pauses at the top of a thrust, his mouth comes down onto the slope of my shoulder. He bares his teeth and drives them deeply into my throat, breaking the skin and staying locked there as his climax hits.

I scream at the pain of his bite, but he doesn’t let go. The suction of his mouth and the laps of his tongue offset the ache caused by his teeth. His entire body shudders as he comes endlessly, covering my entire ass and lower back in jets of his cum. His teeth are buried so deep inside my flesh, I’m sure the mark they’re going to leave will be permanent.

Finally, he releases my throat and wrists. He squeezes my reddened cheeks painfully then grabs my skirt where it’s still bunched at my waist and tugs it back down over my butt, trapping the mess of his cum on my ass and panties beneath it. He smooths a hand down my covered backside, ensuring the skirt sticks to the proof of his pleasure.

“Don’t clean up, I want you to wear this all day. Every time you feel my cum on your cheeks or sliding down your thighs, think about how you arched your back and shook your ass so your husband could get off.”

“I’m not—”

“Disobey me and I’ll do it again, except this time I’ll make you walk around this house naked with my cum dried on your lips, tits, and your ass.”

I’m panting, a coiled live wire of frustrated arousal desperately needing relief. But I know he won’t give me any unless I ask.

When I turn around, there’s blood on his teeth and lips. My fingers lift to brush against the raw skin where my neck meets my shoulder and come away with red on them.

The psycho drew blood.

His eyes darken to black, something scarily possessive shining in them as he watches a drop of blood roll down my neck. He picks it up on his index and stares at it before sucking his finger deeply into his mouth.

“It’s sealed in blood. You’re officially claimed, amor.”