Page 17 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss (Oops Baby #1)

EMILY

He holds my legs to his waist, and I instinctively clench my thighs to him. Even so, when he lifts me, I squeak with surprise. But he has me held securely, one strong hand on my bottom and the other at my back.

I’m so safe in his arms. And no, he hasn’t said anything, but he doesn’t need to. He carries me downstairs, his eyes on my face.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but he takes me into the audiobook nook in the library and to the huge armchair, carefully kneeling so he places me in the middle, and leaning me back onto the soft blanket.

His gaze doesn’t leave me as he strips off his clothes, revealing tattoos that rise over his chest and arms like water, intermixed with symbols of death.

Skulls, pomegranates, and an hourglass down one bicep that flows into the dark ripples of a lake.

The grim images should be scary, but I only feel safer with him.

He might be deadly, but not to me. He’s life.

Reverently, he peels my dress off, leaving kisses on every part he exposes. And when he lingers over my belly, a rush of affection so strong I cannot call it anything but love washes over me.

I love him.

Then his weight is on me—not all of it, since I think my silent giant would crush me to death if he did that, but he’s on his forearms and knees—and I’ve never felt so protected and cherished.

And frankly, turned on.

My arms go to his shoulders and my legs around his waist, and as his mouth finds mine, kissing me, and the blunt end of him notches where I’m aching for him, his breath hitches. He pushes, and he’s inside me again. No twinge of discomfort this time, it’s all slick and easy between us.

Markov’s cock is a revelation. I shift my hips, desperate for him to move when he seems quite content to just be lodged in me as deep as he can get.

He sweeps his forearm around to grab the hair at the back of my head, and I moan as his grip tightens. Then he brings his lips down to my neck and it’s all I can do not to melt into a puddle as he kisses and bites, as though he wants to consume me. This feels so good.

Then he makes it even better.

“Want it?” he rasps into my ear, before nipping my earlobe.

“Yes. Yes, please. Markov, please,” I beg.

He withdraws the smallest amount then shoves hard back in, hitting the top of me, and yes, it’s too much, but it’s the best sort of low, solid discomfort as my body tries to accommodate him, and I whimper.

“Mine,” he mutters savagely. “You. Baby. Mine .”

I’m clinging to his shoulders as tightly as I did when he carried me, as he thrusts again, this time allowing more.

“Need. Want . You. You .” He punctuates each broken word with another pump of his swollen cock into me.

He’s talking to me. I asked, and he’s trying.

He gave me this whole library, and it’s wonderful. But all I really wish for are three specific little words.