Page 41 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

She’s so perfect and I crave her so much I can hardly breathe. She’s here. Finally. The woman I love is in my bed, pregnant with my child, and isn’t objecting as I stealthily push into her body. I can’t be inside her enough, need to claim her in every single way.

I try to go slowly, drawing out the bliss until it’s almost torture. She’s so important. My whole life now is pleasuring her so thoroughly she’ll never want to leave me. That she’ll never doubt that she belongs to me, and I to her. My body urges me to take her harder and faster, to use her body for my own gratification, but I hold back.

“You feel so good,” I rasp. “Hot. Wet. Tight.” I love how soaked she is for me, in particular. How welcome she makes me in her perfect little cunt.

“You make me this way.” She squeaks and hides her face on my shoulder. “I’ve never been like this before.”

“When you touch yourself and thought of me?” It’s not quite a question, and she clenches around my length, nearly tipping me over.

“Did you?” I demand, but I know the answer. She couldn’t have helped the wave of need any more than I could.

Her only response is a whimper.

I take that as a yes, and drive into her again.

It’s hours later, after I’ve worshipped and defiled her over and over, that we finally have breakfast.

We had an unsuccessful first attempt involving her eating strawberries and me devouring her delicious cunt, but now she’s munching toast covered with chocolate spread.

“I was thinking, we should talk about?—”

I tense up.

“Whether I can have my old job back,” she finishes in a rush.

I’m shaking my head, but she continues.

“Since Denis doesn’t work for you anymore, maybe my sacking could be reviewed?”

“You don’t need to work,” I say bluntly.

I don’t add that her job now is to be barefoot and pregnant. Her job is to be protected by me, and find all the ways she can be happy. None of which involves typing numbers into spreadsheets at seven in the morning. Unless that really brings her joy.

“I’d like to, though.”

Fine. I don’t like it, but I’ll listen. “What would you like to do?”

She tugs at the cuffs of my shirt that I got her for while we ate breakfast. “I have a degree in library science.”

“Open a library.”

She laughs, assuming incorrectly that I’m joking. “I was thinking of having my old position back, and maybe I could improve the way the records are dealt with at Mortlake.”

She could have Denis’ job.

“If that’s what you want,” I reply carefully. Is this why people use words? I’d like to just say no, and that would be the end of it, but more than that, I need her to be happy. Preferably with me.

“Great! We can go now once I’ve changed?—”

“No.” This I’m not compromising on. “You’re busy today.”

“What?”

“And so am I.”

16

EMILY