Page 16 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss (Oops Baby #1)

MARKOV

I spent weeks making this for her. Months.

I listened and hoped and looked in online book groups to understand more about what she would like.

The answer? Morally grey men. No problem there, I have that down. Special editions with coloured edges to the pages and sparkling text, and libraries with ladders. Oh, and indulgently comfortable chairs that are basically beds. And sweet treats.

“I knew,” I say dryly.

She’s so gorgeous in that pink dress, and gold in her eyes as she looks at me. Despite all the shiny objects that could distract her, she gazes at me as though I’m a book she can’t stop reading. Compulsive.

I bring my hand to her free one, and take it to the ladder above her head.

“Hold,” I direct. My voice is low and raspy from being used more than usual.

Her expression goes quizzical, but she does as I say.

“Good girl.”

Her mouth falls open, and her eyes go wide. But not in a bad way. In a glowing, shyly pleased way. Like I’ve given her a gift.

Huh. Guess the meme on the book group was right. I’m looking forward to trying the next versions of that phrase.

“Don’t let go.” I sound as though I’ve been smoking Cuban cigars since I was a toddler.

She lets out a high-pitched mewl as I bring my hands to her dress, and slowly drag it up her thighs, revealing creamy skin, and fuck I’ve missed her so much. She’s even more perfect than I remember, and my cock is throbbing with desperation to be buried inside her.

Her exposed legs are good, but I have to see higher. I almost moan as the silky fabric reveals innocent white knickers. I brush my knuckles over the cotton with a promise. I’ll come back for you.

“Markov,” Emily says nervously as I go on exposing her.

I lift my head and gaze into her uncertain but aroused—with a layer of trust, because I note that she hasn’t moved her hands—eyes.

Leaning in, I place a gentle kiss on her lips. It’s a lie. I want to ravish her. But there are things to do first.

Underneath the fabric, my fingers continue a few more inches until I can feel the defined curve of her bump.

My baby. She belongs to me, and this is my baby. I smooth my palms over her belly, and if possible, my cock engorges further, getting thicker and longer as I touch the result of my breeding her.

“Good girl,” I murmur, and hell, her pleased expression makes me want to say more to her. Talking dirty. Whispering filthy things into her ear as I pound into her. Telling her how I dreamed, over and over, of the day I fucked her, filled her up, and bred her.

How it wasn’t enough. A lifetime could never be enough.

I dip my head with honey-slow deliberateness, and then my lips touch the swell of the top of her breast. I breathe out slowly as she shudders, her hips shifting beneath my hands.

I love this girl. I’m going to spend the rest of my life worshipping her.

Nudging down the neckline, I reveal one breast—naked, no bra—and groan as I take the nipple into my mouth and suck.

She cries out, and I smirk as I get my teeth on the pert little nub.

Yes. Yes. This.

I torture first one then the other of her lovely tits.

I keep my hands on where I’ve put my baby in her.

She’s writhing and shaking by the time I fall to my knees.

My hands drop to her knickers again, and I take this chance to look at where she’s swollen with the baby I gave her.

The skin of her abdomen is taut silk, stretched.

Warm and made for my hands to cover and caress.

I rub over the bump, learning its shape and every detail.

I won’t miss another day with Emily and the child she’s making, I swear as my fingers nudge the cotton of her knickers down, then further, constantly stroking just her belly as though that’s all I intend.

She’s so lush and ripe. Perfect. I’m starving for her. But it’s a deeper hunger than it was before. There’s urgency, yes, but I have her now, in body if not fully in heart. Yet. She’s pregnant with my child, and she’s here in my house. There’s satisfaction in my ownership of her.

But I’m a greedy fucker, so I crave more. And I’m going to take it.

I cup between her legs and grin up at her when I find the cotton soaked.

She wants me. Wants this. The thrill as I pull the fabric down her thighs is beyond anything. Taking over a mafia? Pah. Killing multiple men? Nothing compared to her.

The innocent panties slip down, and I flip her skirt to get my head where I need to be. My mouth waters when I see her pussy.

“Open,” I growl, and she whimpers.

“Markov!” There’s a note of laughter as she says my name, and she grasps for her dress.

“Hands,” I demand. She’s on a ladder, and we’re both distracted. There’s no way I’m allowing anything to happen to my love and my baby. The risk of such a short fall is minimal, but above zero is too high. She’s going to hold on tight while I lick her and make her come.

I nod approvingly as she grips the ladder above her head again. Pressing my hand into the small gap between her thighs, I push outwards, showing her what she has to do to be a good girl for me.

One foot slides to the side, then the other, and her body partially opens for me, her knickers at her ankles restricting movement.

For now, it’s enough, as at the sight of her pink folds something in my chest loosens that has been tight since I found her gone those months ago.

Bracing her with one arm, I hold her pussy open and get my face right between her legs.

“What are you doing?” she gasps.

“Need to suck your little clit till you come on my face.” I look up and find her cheeks pink and flushed. So gratifying. There might only be one thing in the world that can convince me to talk more—the way Emily responds as I whisper filth into her ear.

“Wet,” I breathe, then skim my finger over where she’s slick and juicy. She makes a sound of agreement, and I take it as permission. There will be time enough to admire every inch of her. Right now, I have to get my mouth on her before I faint with longing.

Her cream and her yielding pink flesh are just as delicious as I remember. Salty and sweet and when she moans as I thrust my tongue between her pussy lips my cock throbs in sympathy.

I understand, darling. I lick her with all the devotion of months of yearning for her. I’ve missed you, too. So much. More than you’ll ever know.

I’m here, and I’m going to treat you as you deserve .

But she’s not quite splayed enough for my greed and urgency. Gripping her waist tighter, I move my lips off her just sufficiently to mutter, “Leg. Shoulder. Now.”

When she hesitates, I grab her thigh and urge it up, until it’s pressed to the side of my neck.

“That’s my good girl.”

She shudders at my words.

A second to ensure she’s stable, then I plunge back in. I devour her. This angle is so much better, and I can get fully into tasting her.

I lick and suck, and what I lack in experience I like to feel I make up for in enthusiasm and being utterly focused on her.

Every shift and twitch. The gasps and the breathy sighs.

The first time I did this it was for me.

I was greedy for her, desperate to discover all the parts of her sweet body with my tongue and fingers and cock.

I craved her orgasm too, and having felt her break for me once, I need that again. So I chase her pleasure.

The movements that make her crazy, I do more, licking over her clit in firm, fast sweeps, pressing my arm to her waist to keep her upright when she slumps. The ladder provides the perfect offset for our height difference, and I take advantage of the access.

Wetness coats her thighs and my cheeks, chin, lips. Hell, I probably have her cream on my eyebrows. It’s messy and decadent and animalistic.

I fucking love it.

The first time she comes is a surprise to both of us, I think. I’m intent on my worship of her, pleased by the keening noise emerging from her mouth, when she detonates. Her hips rock, and her pussy spasms on my tongue.

She screams, and convulses, and fuck, there is nothing better in the world than the taste and feel and sound of her breaking with the orgasm that I gave her.

I feel like a god.

I slow the speed and pressure of my licks, and swap sucks for wet, sliding kisses and breaths over her clit.

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” I murmur, but I don’t stop. This isn’t like our first time together, when a fictional sex scene was setting the pace. No, this is real, and it’s only her and me, and I’m going to make up for our three months apart.

“Markov, you don’t need...” Her words fade into a pant of renewed desire, and I re-intensify my efforts.

I make her come with my tongue and fingers three times, until I’m genuinely concerned that she might fall off the ladder because she’s that wrecked.

She’s putty in my hands as I stand and lift her into my arms. She’s limp with pleasure.

Exactly how I want her, because there’s more.