by Marian Tee
My Italian Beast (Part One)
Marian Tee
Contents
Book Description
About the Book
Also by Marian Tee
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Dear Reader,
Also by Marian Tee
About the Author
Book Description
I had always been okay at being boring and ordinary, of always doing the right thing and playing it safe. But when Marcus Ravelli came to live with us that one summer, the wildly sensual and dangerously handsome Italian bad boy made me yearn for the impossible. And everything changed.
Fast forward nine years later, and Marcus and I were about to meet again. I convinced myself that I would be able to handle it. But I was wrong. I still ended up acting like a docile little lamb in his presence, still ended up saying yes to his every suggestion---
No matter how foolish or dangerous.
No matter if it involved marriage.
I thought I understood how things were between us. I thought that because he was my friend, he knew better than to hurt me again.
But I was wrong about this, too.
So, so wrong.
Note: This is Book 1 of a two-part serial. Expect graphic scenes, heartbreak, and a painful cliffhanger.
About the Book
Marcus’ dark eyes continued to follow my now-trembling hands as I once again reached for his zip. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes.” My voice was strained. “It’s been…a while.”
Like nine-years-kind-of-while.
I carefully pulled his zip down, and my heart started to beat a familiar rhythm---
Crap. This was really going to happen. Crap.
Fast, hard, and erratic---
Crap, crap, crap.
And then I was pulling Marcus’ cock out---
Crap. Oh crap. Oh God. Oh crap.
Although Marcus had let me touch him once, it had only been over his pants. I hadn’t actually seen his erection until now---
Craaaaaaaaap.
And it was huge. It was really huge.
“You know you can do more than stare, don’t you?” Marcus’ tone was harsh, and the sound made me recover myself.
Right. Do more than stare. Crap. Could I really do more than stare?
Taking a deep breath, I started to stroke him, and my eyes widened when Marcus’ cock actually became harder and larger---
How much bigger could his cock get?
I heard Marcus choke.
Oh!
Had I accidentally said the words out loud?
When my eyes jerked to his, he rasped out, “Try finding out with your mouth.”
Also by Marian Tee
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Standalone Novels
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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
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When I Moan
When I Hurt
When I Love
Play With Me (Standalone)
This Round I’m Yours (Standalone)
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My Italian Beast
By Marian Tee
Copyright 2016 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.
Prologue
Marcus
The team of lawyers fa
cing Marcus Ravelli did their best not to quake at the sight of his fury, all of them valiantly reminding themselves that they were full-fledged adults and considered the most accomplished in their industry.
But none of it did any good. The moment the high-powered CEO’s cold gaze settled on them, everyone jerked to attention.
Although Marcus Ravelli was relatively younger than most tycoons at twenty-six, his age was made inconsequential by the ease in which he wielded his power, accorded to him by the billion-dollar fortune that he had skillfully managed ever since graduating from college.
“Well then…”
The lawyers started perspiring upon hearing the strong accent that underlined their client’s words. It was a well-known fact that Marcus Ravelli had been educated in Europe’s best international schools from since he was a child. His command of English as well as other major languages in the continent was superb, and the only time his Italian accent became a little more pronounced than usual---
“Are you telling me that none of you can do anything to circumvent this?”
---was when his displeasure was of an unfortunate magnitude.
“Anything at all?”
The words, grated out in an undertone laced with fury, had everyone flinching.
When no one spoke, Marcus Ravelli bit out, “Somebody say something or you’re all fired.”
Everyone started talking, excuses and apologies pouring forth as the two teams of lawyers – one based in Italy, the other based in America – rushed to defend their inability to provide worthwhile solutions.
The contract was airtight, said the Italian team. Because Marcus Ravelli’s late grandmother fully owned rights to the business, and her grandson was not being forced to abide by the conditions set in her will, there was no way to nullify it.
Challenging its validity in court could be costly and take years, said the American team. Even worse, management of businesses subject to court disposition might temporarily revert to the government.
“It’s possible,” said one of the American lawyers with a gulp, “that you might lose control of the business---”
“Enough.”
The other man quickly shut up.
“You’re all dismissed.” Marcus Ravelli didn’t need to say another word, the fifteen or so lawyers bumping into each other as they hurried towards the door, eager to escape the suffocating, nerve-wracking atmosphere inside the conference room.
As silence descended, Marcus swung his seat around, facing the windows, which boasted of an ample view of the city.
Perche, nonna?
Marriage had always been more a curse than a blessing for the Ravellis. His own grandfather had cheated on his grandmother. Marcus’ own father had died in his mistress’ bed, while his mother was now on her fourth marriage, one that was also likely to end in divorce.
Marriage was not for his family, so why would his grandmother force him to marry just to keep control of their estate?
Anneke
No, it can’t be. It just can’t be.
My eyes started to tear up as I browsed the pictures and read the RIP tweets.
But it was.
“Ms. de Konigh?”
I looked up and found the flight attendant gazing at me with obvious worry.
Crap. I quickly switched my phone off to hide photographic evidence of my mourning.
“Is alles goed, mevrouw?” Is everything okay, miss?
“Sorry, yes, everything’s okay.” I forced a smile. It wasn’t her fault that Paul Walker’s death was killing me. “I was just thinking about work.” Not. But of course this was just a reputation-saving lie. As one of the executives in De Konigh Enterprises, there were things that I could and couldn’t do, and shedding actual tears for a celebrity I hadn’t ever met was definitely one of the latter.
Marie’s expression cleared, and she gave me an understanding smile. ““Perhaps a cup of coffee would be helpful, mevrouw?” Her thoughtful gesture and efficiency came as a no surprise. My eldest brother Willem was horribly picky when it came to his staff, and he only hired the best and the smartest.
“A cup would be great. Thank you, Marie.”
The rest of the flight to Florida went by quickly, and soon enough I was once again basking in the delicious warmth of Miami. When I stepped outside the airport, not a single reporter came to bother me, and even now the fact brought a wry smile to my lips. Every little thing a de Konigh did always made headlines in Europe, but it was different here in America. Being wealthy or having the right name wasn’t enough. One had to be gorgeous and interesting, too---
“Too bad she’s not like any of her sibs.”
“Good fashion sense, but kinda blah, if you know what I mean.”
“She’s got to be the most boring socialite we’ve ever covered.”
And I was obviously neither.
“Those dimples are nice, though.”
I almost, almost rolled my eyes. Dimples. It always came down to the dimples, like those two dots in my cheeks saved me from being monstrous.
The men nonchalantly taking my photos continued on, loudly dissecting my looks like I was deaf. Or maybe they just didn’t know they were supposed to care about how their words could hurt people.
It was probably the latter, but I was long past the point of even caring. When one grew up with parents as dysfunctional as mine, another person’s penchant to inflict pain rarely surprised me.
My phone started to ring as soon as Anthony, my regular chauffeur in this side of the world, opened the door for me. In the act of stepping inside the limousine, I made the mistake of checking who the caller was---
Marcus.
My heart didn’t just skip a beat as his photo popped up on the screen. It skipped an entire meter, and I ended up miscalculating the distance between my foot and the floor of the limousine. My step landed on thin air, and I let out a cry as I lost my balance. I tumbled face down, half of my body inside the car, the other half still out, and my butt up for the world to gawk at.
Not a second had passed when excited noise erupted behind me, reporters clamoring for the best shot. For once in my life, I’d probably make it to TMZ.
Guess I’m not so boring now.
Hurriedly righting myself, I got the rest of my body inside the limousine, and as soon as I pulled the door shut, Anthony had the limo moving. The older man shot me a mournful look through the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, miss.”
“It’s alright. I’ll live.” It was no one’s fault my orderly life tended to, well, not be orderly whenever Marcus Ravelli was concerned. Reaching for my phone, I typed my reply to his text.
Anneke: I’ll be there in thirty.
Marcus: I look forward to discussing the merger with you.
Merger, huh?
Riiiiiiiiight.
I supposed that was another way of describing things.
Merger it was, I thought.
And I couldn’t wait for some, err, merging to take place.
Chapter One
Ten years ago
Summer for my family typically meant weeks spent in the country, an arrangement that the lord of the house – aka Willem, the Good-Hearted Tyrant – insisted on. We could party if we wanted during the weekends, but we still had to make it back to the country. No sleeping over in anyone else’s place or even in our house in Amsterdam. It was a rule I had no problems following since I loved our estate in Bruin Hemel, but my other siblings were a different matter.
Speak of the devil, I thought.
The double doors to the family room had swung open and my brother Jaak, older than me by a year, came strolling in, looking his usual gorgeous self but a little hung over.
“Make yourself at home.”
I blinked. “Huh?” This was our home. Was he drunk?
Jaak laughed at my bewildered expression. “I wasn’t talking to you, idiot.” He nodded towards the still-open doors as he threw himself beside me on the couch, saying, “I was talking to him.”
I followed his gaze, just in time to see a stranger enter the family room.
Oh.
I had seen my fair share of beautiful men in my life. Heck, I had lived with three of the world’s most beautiful men my entire life, but even so there was just something about the stranger that called out to me, making him different, and his looks more…potent. I had never used that word to describe a man before, but for him it seemed fitting, with the way every little thing about him had a tremendous impact on my senses.
He was tall and powerfully built, the outline of his biceps made more prominent with how the sleeves of his white buttoned-up shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Faded jeans completed his casual look, but the way he carried himself made his clothes seem more elegant than a ten-thousand-dollar suit.
His raven black hair wasn’t so different from Jaak’s, but unlike my brother’s blue eyes – an all-famous de Konigh trademark – the other man’s eyes were exceptionally dark, deep-set, and exotic. His skin was a deep shade of bronze, the kind only Mediterranean men seemed naturally blessed with, and the way he moved was so very…Italian.
I couldn’t quite explain it, but I was sure anyone who watched the way this man moved would know what I mean. There was a certain kind of sensuality about him - almost forbidden in its explicitness – that literally made me hot all over.
I had never felt anything like it before. It should have terrified me, but instead I let it draw me in, the unusual heat he exuded making me lick my lips---