Page 5 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss (Oops Baby #1)

“Where is it, Solene?” Rovaj pulls back only an inch, his face shadowed in the firelight. “Show me your mate mark.” Lidded eyes spear mine, hazy with desire.

Heat blooms over my limbs. Then his questing hand discovers skin, and I can’t restrain the moan of pleasure as he caresses my hip.

At the same time, Markov touches my tummy, his fingers gentle, as though he can hardly believe I’m allowing this. I’m not capable of anything but continuing to melt. I think I’m held up by the magnetic force between us, and my inability to move for fear that this could all be a fever dream.

“I don’t have a mate mark.” I’m panting, almost incoherent. “Because you’re not my mate.”

Rovaj is my enemy, he can’t be my mate.

I’d know, wouldn’t I?

But this fae world I’ve stumbled into has far deeper magic than I understand.

“You think I’m not your mate?” Rovaj draws our hands down, dragging his tunic further open and revealing a pulsing mark on his chest, black lines in swirls that seem to get darker with every beat of my heart.

The audiobook narrator’s voice has gone soft and breathy. Sweeping his hands over my body, Markov gives a groan and pulls me close. I gasp as the outline of his cock presses into my tummy. Then he lifts me onto my desk, his thigh immediately pushing my knees apart.

“This is the mate mark you put on me, Solene. For now, it’s only here when our skin makes contact. But the more we touch, the more permanent it is. Where’s yours?”

“I’m not telling you.” I’m so childish.

His hands move slowly, teasingly. Rovaj hums against my throat. “When I find it, I’m going to lick every line. I’ve been longing to taste you.”

I shudder with desire.

“Everywhere,” he says, sounding undone. “Your mate mark, but all the rest too. Particularly between your legs.”

He pushes my pants from my hips, and I don’t object. I just keep staring at that delicate black pattern, marvelling at the way it responds to my touch.

Markov’s fingers bunch up my sensible grey skirt, and I’m panting with desire. And when he drags down my knickers, I let him, despite the tremor of fear that the mark on my thigh will disgust him.

I’m somehow hyperaware of his skin on mine and also observing from outside of myself. I think I’d go along with anything this man did, whatever the risk.

Rovaj slides down the sleeping mats, rucking up the blankets and settling his wide shoulders over my hips.

Watching my face intently, Markov kneels, nudging my legs wider to accommodate his big body. Then his gaze dips to where he’s bared me, white cotton knickers dangling off the toe of one foot.

Anxiety grips my throat.

“There it is,” he says reverently, smoothing his palm over the black lines on my thigh. My inner thigh. “So pretty with my marks.”

High on my leg is a Café au lait mark the size of a coin. Light-brown, like a wash of spilt milky coffee on my skin. The girls in my hometown used to call me dirty and lazy that I didn’t clean it off.

I’m frozen, watching Markov’s face for his response.

His mouth goes slack as he examines my open pussy, that birthmark, and the creamy skin around it with hooded eyes.

A quick glance up, then he drags his full lips from my knee to between my legs, slowing over the birthmark to press a kiss into that spot. He makes a raw, hoarse sound from the back of his throat, his tongue slipping over my sensitised skin.

A shiver of excitement goes up my spine.

The first press of Rovaj’s mouth is so unexpected, I jump.

He chuckles, and continues. His beard—from many days of travel—rubs over the pulsing patterns. He flicks out his tongue and I nearly scream, clapping my hand over my mouth.

Markov is peppering the area around my pussy lips with kisses that trail inwards, until his tongue sweeps over my folds and flares pleasure right into me.

At the back of my mind there’s shock that he isn’t disgusted by the birthmark, but I can’t focus on anything but Markov.

My body is vibrating with a craving I’ve never felt before.

I don’t know where to put my hands, and my torso is disintegrating like I’m made of sugar and Markov is licking it all up.

“I’m starving for you. So sweet, so unbelievably delicious.”

Markov makes a contented purring sound that I feel more than hear, then he covers my pussy with his mouth and thrusts his tongue right into my passage. I squeak, and he does it again, but harder, with a harsh groan. His top lip rubs over my clit and I’m trembling, on the edge of orgasm already.

“You’re soaking wet for me, mate, and I love your taste.”

I grip the table helplessly. Markov is holding my thighs now, pushing them out to give him more access to where he’s ruining me. His tongue is insistent, slippery and hot, fucking into me like he can’t get enough.

Then he shifts to eating me greedily, every part of my pussy getting his attention. Firm licks and soft bites, as though he wants to devour me. And it’s heavenly everywhere, but when he sucks my clit, it’s bright lights and electric energy. I can’t help but buck and cry out.

“That’s it. Take what you need, mate. Come for me. Come on my face.”

Markov braces his arm over my hips, holding me down and swiping his tongue over my clit, over and over without stopping. I’m sobbing. Everything inside me pulls tight, then snaps, sending pleasure spinning out down my arms and legs.

I drag Rovaj up my body with the last of my bliss-sapped strength, and he obeys with a throaty chuckle, covering me.

Markov pushes to his feet. His face is slick, with what I realise with a start is not saliva, but my juices. My cheeks flame.

He’s still in his suit, but his shirt is open, and his hair is rumpled. My gaze dips to Markov’s waist.

With impatient fingers, I rip at Rovaj’s pants and tunic. They’re in the way.

Markov’s erection is huge, pushing against the charcoal fabric of his trousers, but the aftershocks of my orgasm have me flying high on courage and horniness. He might be an intimidating mafia boss, but I want him. In my hands, my mouth, my pussy. Deep inside me, losing himself in my body.

My legs are spread and between them is an embarrassingly wet mess. I don’t care. I need all of that slipperiness to take this man, whose cock is as big as my arm.

I shake as I reach for his belt. It’s black leather, and chunky. So unfamiliar. Then his fingers are over mine. I continue to fumble with his clothes that seem intent on being inconvenient.

“I love you, mate. You’re the stars in the sky for me. In the dark, you’re a miracle.”

Then Markov is helping me, making quick work of the buttons and claps and shoving down the soft, clinging black fabric of his boxers to reveal his length. I gasp, and go lightheaded.

He’s beautiful. There’s no other word. Proud, elegant, jutting, masculine. The head is smooth, almost shiny and there’s a smeared drop of liquid that as I stare at, I want to lick. My mouth waters.

It’s also massive.

That can’t possibly fit as it’s meant to, he’ll break me for sure. But hey, it was a good life, and this is a great way to die.

Markov grips it in his big, tattooed hand, and strokes up and down.

“You want my cock, my cruel, beautiful mate?”

“Yes.” There’s no lying now. All our defences are gone. The fire that has smouldered between us from the beginning is an all-consuming inferno. It’s as though the mate bond has flicked a spark onto oil, and it’s burning out of control.

Markov’s enormous cock presses between my legs, the length of it against my slit, rocking slightly back and forward with his hips, sparking new pleasure in me. He holds my hip with one hand and runs the fingers of the other down my hair and looks into my eyes.

“You’re my mate. I’ll get you pregnant.”

“Might,” I reply. It’s not a certain thing, even between fated couples. “Now, Rovaj.”

“Call me, mate,” he demands huskily.

I let my eyelids flutter closed and drag his head down to mine, swallowing the word in a kiss. As though if I don’t see and the words pass straight from my mouth to his without ever reaching the cold night air, I don’t have to admit this is really happening.

“Mate. Please. Now.”

Rovaj groans and slides into me with one powerful thrust.

Markov pauses with his crown at the place where I’m soaked and aching and empty, clenching around nothing. I need him so badly.

And despite the way the audiobook has moved on, we’re frozen, as though he understands this is my first time and it’s a big deal for me.

But I want this.

He fills me deep, the narrator says.

We’re a bit behind the audiobook’s events, and I crave what the heroine in the story has.

The man she needs, the one she doesn’t think she likes, but probably already loves at a soul level, inside her.

“Markov,” I whisper. “Please.” It’s no more than a breath. “Take me.”

His grey eyes go wide, and I gasp as he pushes in.