Made for Him: A Mafia Baby Romance

by Rae Lynn Blaise

  “Say something,” he orders, leaning back and crossing his legs.

  “I—” What the hell to even say to that? Especially with what I originally came to tell him? “I’ve thought a lot about that night too.”

  “You let me come inside you,” he says, his jaw clenching. “Five times. You screamed my name so much your voice was hoarse. Now you’re telling me that not only did you wait three weeks to call, but that you’ve only thought about me?”

  I bite my lip and look at this man I barely know. Barely know and yet also know all the most intimate things about, just as he knows all the intimate things about me. But as for anything other than who he is in the bedroom, I have no clue. He’s a businessman, obviously, but he said nothing about his company or his business background the night we met. In fact, he said barely anything at all, merely signaling to the bartender to get me a drink when I stepped up to the bar, flushed and glowing from trying to drown my recent breakup in gin and flirting with co-workers. He watched me drink the martini with hungry eyes, and then he pinned me against the bar.

  “Want to get out of here?” he murmured in my ear. And despite the fact that I’d just been cheated on and dumped, despite the fact that I’d had three martinis and probably wasn’t in the best place to make judgement calls, despite the fact that I didn’t even know his name at the time…I said yes. Thirty minutes later, I was bent over my dining room table keening as he rubbed my clit, and right before I’d orgasmed, he leaned down and said, “Matteo. That’s the name you say when you come.”

  And said it I had. More times than I could count.

  Matteo regards me now, his arm slung over the sofa, his blue eyes unreadable. His massive frame stretches the seams of his jacket; his tailored pants do little to hide the sculpted muscles of his thighs. Everything about him screams power and wealth; he can have any woman he wants, but for some reason he still wants me, and I can’t help the little glow that kindles in my chest at that. Even though I should, because I’m about to rain on this sexual tension parade.

  I finally answer his question. “I’ve thought a lot about you,” I clarify.

  “Did you make yourself come thinking about that night? Thinking about me?”

  I’m not a prude by any means, but I just got out of a relationship where my boyfriend was repulsed by me even owning a vibrator, and so such a direct question sends heat to my cheeks. Especially since the answer is yes—almost every night…and every afternoon after work…and those two times in the law firm’s private bathroom. Matteo has dominated my fantasies like he dominated my body that night, dominated both so thoroughly that my pussy was still in his thrall, responding to the idea of him even when I thought I would never see him again.

  He smirks at my flushed cheeks. “No need to answer. It’s written all over your face.”

  I force myself to tear my eyes away from him and look back down at my purse. A white plastic edge is poking up through the tangle of earbuds, keys and loose gum pieces. The test.

  But before I can bring it up, Matteo says suddenly, “Have you let any other men fuck you since I had you?”

  I glance up to see a dark expression on his face, and the cold fury in his eyes sends pings of fear dancing down my spine.

  “N-no,” I stammer, shocked into honesty before I can consider how inappropriate that question is. But, given the circumstances, it would have come up anyway, so I might as well address it now. “No, there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

  “Good,” he breathes. “Good girl.”

  I should bristle at this, I should, but for some reason this possessiveness from a near-total stranger has me squirming in the loveseat, my breasts heavy and my cunt aching.

  “I didn’t expect this to happen,” he confesses, smoothing his tie and buttoning his jacket as he stands. The thick bulge of an erection strains at his pants. “Forgive the bluntness, but I’m not in the habit of thinking much about the women I take to bed. And that you of all people…” He trails off, his eyes raking my body, lingering on the red heels and my long blonde hair.

  “Me of all people,” I echo, not sure to be insulted or complimented. Really, there isn’t room for anything other than my arousal, not with his rigid cock at eye level, but I have to focus. He can’t steer the agenda because he doesn’t even know the fucking agenda.

  “Yes,” he affirms, leaning down and bracing his hands on the back of the sofa so that I’m caged in by his arms, his mouth close to mine. “You. Of all the fucking people. You are the one I can’t stop thinking about. You are the one I can’t stop thinking about having bent over my desk and moaning in my bed.”

  I shiver and a wolfish light enters his face. “Now,” he says, pressing his lips to mine. “I want to fuck you again right now.”

  His lips are soft and warm and firm, and I want them on my neck, on my stomach, on my thighs. I want to fuck him right now too, not just because the sex I had with him is the best sex I’ve ever had, but because something about him is so raw, so damn magnetic, that mating with him seems as necessary as breathing.

  I can’t though. Even with as much as I want to…I came here to tell him something, and I would be a terrible person if I didn’t tell him before things went any further.

  “Matteo,” I say with a swallow, pulling away to meet his ice blue eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

  3

  Jess

  Silence roars through the office. I can feel it crashing against my ears and threatening to swallow me up, but I don’t pull my eyes away from his. I meet his blue gaze with as much strength as I can muster.

  His face and voice betray nothing when he speaks. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” And now I pull the test out of my purse and wave it around like a tiny plastic wand. “I took three of these this morning.”

  He straightens up, smoothing his tie once more. There’s something I can’t read in his eyes, but it’s something turbulent. It must be anger, although it looks like it could be something more complicated than that.

  Whatever. He has no right to be angry with me—yes, I was a dumbass for having unprotected sex with a stranger, but at least I had the excuse of three martinis and a need for passive-aggressive revenge against my ex. What excuse did Matteo have? None—he was sober, and everyone makes reckless decisions, but five times in a row?

  I stand, squaring my shoulders. “I’m not any happier about this than you are, but that doesn’t change the fact that we have things to discuss.”

  He steps closer to me, his eyes narrowed and his hand raised. For one terrible moment, I think he might grab me and shake me, but instead he impatiently brushes away a loose curl caught in my long pearl drop earring.

  “What makes you think that I’m unhappy?” he asks, his voice suddenly cool and completely devoid of the lust he had just exhibited.

  “Well, I—”

  He does grab my elbow now, but gently, and steers me toward his desk. For a minute I think he’s going to make me sit in front of his desk, and I bristle, but then he guides me around to his side, where he has me lean back against the edge of the desk. He sits in the chair in front of me, his eyes now level with my lower stomach.

  “Show me,” he says, and for a moment I think he means the test, and I twist back around to point at the table.

  “No,” he says gruffly. “Show me where my baby is.”

  His sudden coolness has vanished and lust flares in his eyes.

  “You—you can’t really see anything yet…”

  As if the ten seconds of delay is too much, he reaches up and deftly unbuttons my blouse himself, slides his hand over my ass to find the skirt zipper at the small of my back. Before I know it, my blouse is gaping open and my skirt is tugged down to my hips, revealing my black thong. I’m embarrassed—it’s not a sexy thong, just the seamless kind I wear to work—but he impatiently shoves my hands away and presses a palm flat against my belly.

  For a minute, everything seems to stop as he meets my eyes. His gaze is intense, too i
ntense, and all of a sudden, I feel so very aware of how powerful he is. That strong hand, this opulent office…he could crush me like a bug, both physically and financially.

  “My baby’s inside of you,” he says, his other hand running up my leg and gripping my thigh. “My baby.”

  “Of course, as soon as we can, I can arrange for a paternity test…”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he murmurs, his palm sliding down lower so that the heel of his hand moves over the sleek fabric of my thong. The pressure so close to my clit sends my already confused body into extreme overdrive.

  And then what he said really hits me…he’s not asking for a paternity test? Like at all? And more than that, is he actually not angry that I’m pregnant? I was so prepared to have to fight with him, to argue him into having a discussion that this…whatever this is that he’s doing…is a complete surprise. My chest flushes more with that warm glow, that happy feeling, because I want Matteo to want me. If I’m honest with myself, I want him to want this baby too, but I’m trying to be reasonable. He may not want a relationship with the baby at all. Maybe he’s one of those guys that’s really into pregnant women or something. Or maybe he just wants to butter me up so he can fuck me one last time before he sends me out the door.

  “Look,” I say, trying to gather my blouse back together. “We have to talk about serious things. I need to know, first of all, if you’re clean.”

  His eyebrows rise practically into his hairline. “Are you asking if I have any STDs, princess?”

  “I realize I should have asked that night, but I was so, ah, enamored, that I didn’t even think to ask.”

  “Enamored, eh?” The slightest hint of dimple appears in his cheek, and it occurs to me that I’ve never seen him smile before, not even the night the baby was conceived. There’d been no giggly pillow talk or sweet nothings, just more orgasms, more gasps and pants.

  “Matteo, please,” I beg. “This is important. It could affect the baby.”

  The dimple disappears. “I’m clean. I was just tested last month. What about yourself?”

  “I was tested the day we had sex,” I reply. “I just got the results in last week.”

  I don’t mention that the reason I got tested was to make sure that douchebag Nate hadn’t passed on any nasty surprises from his Barista Vagina Tour of 2016.

  Matteo reaches up and pulls my hands off my blouse. Once my bra is revealed, he quickly unclasps the front, letting my breasts spill out. They are so sore, so fucking sore, and feel so ripe and full, that I can’t help but moan when they fall free from the cups of the bra.

  A muscle ticks near Matteo’s jaw and I don’t miss the way he subtly readjusts his erection.

  “Do they hurt?” he asks.

  I nod, my head dropping back as he leans forward and sucks one berry-red nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh, fuck,” I mumble, forgetting what else I had to say. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

  “Keep talking, princess. You have any other serious things you want to say?”

  It’s so hard to think with that wicked mouth, that hot tongue and gently nipping teeth on my painfully sensitive nipples. I’m so grateful he can’t see how wet I am, see how even the insides of my thighs are wet now. “I…um…I came here as a courtesy…” I try to remember what I rehearsed saying the way here. “A courtesy to hear what you have to say.”

  “What I have to say about what?” he murmurs against my breast.

  “About keeping the baby.”

  He stiffens. “Are you thinking about not keeping it?” he asks. His voice and face are entirely neutral, but even after only this half hour with him, I’m beginning to learn the danger behind that inscrutable neutrality.

  With his lips off my breast, I’m able to think more clearly, and as crazy as it feels to tell him what I need to say with my breasts exposed and my nipple still wet from his mouth, I need to get through to him. “Matteo, we don’t even know each other. You might be married for all I know or already have children.”

  He presses his lips together, and then he’s on his feet, his wide hands on my waist. He turns me so that I’m facing his desk, and then with a firm hand in between my shoulder blades, he pushes me down so that my bare breasts are flattened against the chilly mahogany of his desktop.

  “I’m not married,” he says, leaning down on top of me so I can feel the rumble of his chest against my back. “I don’t have any other kids. All better now?”

  I gasp when I feel my skirt being tugged down past my ass. The skirt is so tight that I can’t spread my legs, and they’re pinned helplessly together as the skirt inches its way down. “No, not all better,” I manage, watching as his massive, tanned hand pulls a pair of scissors out of a drawer. “There’s so much more. We don’t know each other and I don’t know that I’m ready to raise a child on my own…but—”

  Cold metal trails down my spine, all the way down to my ass. I hear the heavy scissors snip snip at my thong, and then Matteo tosses the scissors and ruined scrap of fabric on his desk.

  “Your thong was wet, princess. Does that mean your pussy is wet?”

  I can’t do anything but moan as his fingers dance teasingly around my ass, trailing lightly over my wet cunt.

  He leans down again. “I can smell you. It makes me want to know how you taste. Now, what was this but? You can’t raise a child on your own, but…?”

  “But my family’s Catholic,” I answer weakly, his words still swirling in my head. “And I…I know it doesn’t make any sense logically. But I don’t want to do that. I think I want to keep the pregnancy, even if I give the baby up for adoption.”

  “You want to know a secret?” he asks. A single finger finds my cleft and slides easily inside of me. “I’m Catholic too. And you better tell me now if you want me to stop right now, princess.”

  I shake my head as best I can while bent over the desk. “Don’t stop,” I beg shakily. I’m beginning to remember exactly why I hadn’t had my wits about me that night; something about Matteo short-circuits my brain and brings out the needy, mindless woman in me, the woman who just needs to be fucked hard and often.

  “Whatever you want to do, gorgeous, I will help,” he says, that finger curling inside of me to press against my g-spot. I instinctively try to widen my legs but my pencil skirt is as effective as a strait-jacket and my thighs remain pressed together. “But you got one thing wrong. If you keep this baby, and you won’t be raising it alone. I’m going to be there.”

  I should really stop being shocked by Matteo at this point, but it’s impossible. I twist my head up to look at him. “Are you saying that you would want this baby too? But that’s insane! We don’t even know each other.”

  A strong hand kneads one of my ass cheeks while the other continues caressing my g-spot. “Here’s what I know, sweetheart. I’m thirty-four and a multi-millionaire and more than able to support a child and its mother with as much luxury as you could ever want. But more than that—” he leans down and his hand leaves my cunt, making me groan with disappointment until I realize I can hear the clank of his belt being unbuckled “—I want you. I’m obsessed with you. Do you know the last time I thought about a woman like this, wanted a woman like this? Not since I was a kid in high school. But I’m a man now, and while that baby is mine, I’m just as interested in making you mine.”

  “Yours?” I say, half excited and half terrified. How can I even be thinking about sex and romance at a time like this? But his words are lighting twin fires in my heart and my belly, connecting the two. I can’t untwist my lust from whatever emotions he evokes in me, and as I hear the silken rustle of his boxers as his hand pulls out his cock, I decide that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Have you ever had a man make you his, Jessica?” he asks darkly. “Have you ever had a man claim you? Own you?”

  “N-no,” I stammer. “No one’s ever wanted to make me his.”

  “You’re wrong,” Matteo tells me. “There’ve been men who’v
e wanted to. But you didn’t let them, did you, Jessica? Not like you’re going to let me right now.”

  And then the hot tip of his cock brushes against my folds.

  “Answer me,” he demands.

  4

  Jess

  “No, I never let them,” I answer, still stammering, my cunt so wet and tight I can barely think straight.

  “But you want me to make you mine now, don’t you? You want me to own you?”

  His cock is notched at my entrance, already stretching me, and fuck, this is going to hurt—and I’m going to come so hard.

  “Yes,” I admit, trembling beneath him. “I want you to claim me.”

  With a satisfied grunt, he pushes into me.

  I cry out against the desk, the sound echoing throughout the office. Fuck, he’s big—bigger than I remembered, so fucking thick that I can feel myself stretching to take him, despite how wet I am.

  He groans and I can feel him shuddering behind me. “So tight like this,” he mutters to himself. “So fucking tight.”

  There’s no widening my legs with the skirt pinning them together and no adjusting the angle of my hips after his hand comes back down between my shoulder blades to keep me bent over the desk. I’m helpless, immobile, and that just makes it better. I know it shouldn’t…but it does.

  “You like that, princess?” Matteo hisses in my ear as he pulls out to the tip and then pushes back in again. The flared edge of his crown drags across every nerve ending I have, and I moan in response.

  “I need more than that,” he growls. “Say, ‘I like it, Matteo.’”

  Matteo. That’s the name you say when you come.

  Memories of that night blend with the present moment, and there’s no doubt in my mind or voice when I speak. “I like it, Matteo.”

  “Good,” he says, satisfied. “Good girl. Giving me this pussy again. Keeping this pussy just for me.”