Page 15 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

It’s fucking weird the way everything hasn’t stopped for the most important event of my life. Presumably, the clouds are still zooming across the sky, uncaring that I’m cracked open and drained. I’m a shell, only good for loving this one woman.

I think of the engagement ring in my pocket. Is now the right moment? It doesn’t happen in the book, so perhaps not? Solene and Rovaj, don’t get married. Being fated mates is enough. They have their mate tattoos, and that’s it.

But I want Emily to be my wife.

I ease back just enough to focus, and she looks up at me. I don’t ever want to stop falling into her gold and brown eyes. They’re trusting.

This is perfect. For once, there’s genuinely no need for words, because I remember what happens next in the book.

My heart squeezes as I wait for it, and pray she sees that this is what I can’t say myself, but mean.

“Because I love you,” he whispers.

I tighten my grip on her hair. Warm silk. The best thing in the world, apart from all the other parts of her.

“Rovaj, I?—”

Brrrrrrrr!

Fuck. FUCK.

Both of us look to the side, where Emily’s phone is vibrating on the desk, the audiobook silenced, and an incoming call displayed on the screen.

Mum.

5

EMILY

He reaches for my phone, and for a second, I’m sure he’ll hurl it out of the window.

He’s stillinsideme.

The moment he taps the answer button happens in horrifying slow motion, like a train crash.

My heart and stomach collide in my throat.

Will the first word I hear Markov Lunacharski say be to my mother, while he’s fucking me? But instead, he quirks up one black eyebrow and places the phone into my hand.

The speaker makes indistinct squawking, and I slowly bring it to my ear.

“Hi,” I croak.

“Oh thank goodness, darling. I’m so unwell today…”

I’m utterly frozen, because Markov eases his big cock out of me and it’s all I can not to moan. I’m throbbing between the legs, made anew, gaped with the space he created for himself inside me. Changed irrevocably. Forever.

And no wonder, because that thing is massive. Huge.

And smeared with creamy white with a hint of pink down the underside. Blood. An involuntary sound of embarrassment emits from my throat.

“Don’t you think?” my mother demands.

“Yes,” I say faintly, and that’s enough to set her off again. A call from my mother is usually how Markov and my mornings end. She’s whatever the audiobook and crush equivalent of a cock-blocker is.

She’s still talking as he tucks the enormous trouser-snake back into his plain black boxer briefs. And I guess there’s just that one pink smear on the side of his cock that he doesn’t see, because his expression remains the same.

I sit up, sweeping my skirt down, my cheeks flaring. Thankfully, Markov doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness as he calmly does up his belt and leans down to retrieve his tie.