Page 16 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

I can’t listen. I can’t think. All my brain cells are fried by the heat of what Markov did to me.

That really happened, and I’m now listening to my mother, the most verbal person in the world. Markov, though, still hasn’t said a word.

I peek up at him and he runs a possessive hand down my side, fingers curling and squeezing my waist.

“Can you believe it?”

The pause in my mother’s speech clearly is expecting a response.

“Yeah, that’s…” I can’t bring myself to say bad, because what if Markov thinks I mean him?

His gaze meets mine, and it’s even more inscrutable than usual. Markov’s grey eyes dip to my mouth, and he reaches out as my mother continues talking, brushing his thumb over my kiss-swollen bottom lip. Then he turns, and walks out of the office without a backwards glance, like he has every day since we met.

And my stomach falls to the floor.

I watch him leave even as my clit throbs and my pussy tingles, not having got the message that magic-time is over. I can still feel the echo of him inside me.

I squash my phone to my ear with my shoulder, and pull my knickers up. Immediately, a wet, stickiness seeps in.

Oh god. There is my boss’ semen soaking into the cotton, as I listen to my mother. I attempt to clean the desk of evidence of the fact I was doing not-safe-for-work activities on it, and open the window a crack to get some airflow, because I bet the room smells of sex.

There’s a high probability that I smell of sweat and arousal. The proof of what we did is slippery between my legs, a reminder that’s not entirely unpleasant. That was real.

It’s only when my mother begins on her next topic and I realise vaguely that my phone is hot against my ear that I pull it away and see the time.

Shit. Five to nine. My manager is about to arrive.

Panic spikes my blood.

I haven’t done any of the work I would usually have, because instead of working while we listened to the audiobook, my insanely sexy, older, silent boss took my virginity on my desk.

My head swims.

“I have to go,” I beg.

“Your things are so much more important than I am, I know,” my mother says, sounding hard-done-by and hurt.

Denis will be here any minute.

“It’s work—” God, why do we have to always have this argument? Especially today.

“And I’m your mother!”

A door opens down the corridor, and cold digs into my spine.

“I’ll call you later!” I squeak and hang up. In a second, I’m at my desk, logging into my computer, and staring helplessly at the spreadsheet.

“Did you get the work done?” Denis makes me jump as he lumbers into the archive room.

“Nearly,” I say chirpily, even as foreboding drips down my back. No, because instead my boss rearranged my insides. Remade me as his, forever.

Denis grabs the notebook I’m working on, and sneers. “You must be further along than this.” He taps the number on it.

“I’ll catch up!” I assure him. Seriously, I might not go home this evening because I’m so eager to see Markov tomorrow. A Monday morning has never been as good as this one in the history of the world. Apart from my mother interrupting, but I can’t be upset about that, not really.

But I’ll die if I have to wait longer than strictly necessary to feel Markov’s lips on mine again.

I hide a smile of secret happiness as Denis straightens.