Made for Him: A Mafia Baby Romance (3 page)

U
ncle Jimmy doesn’t call
me back until the next day, and when I pick up the phone, I hear the unmistakable din of a roadhouse on the other end. I’ll probably need to shout into the receiver to be heard, and I definitely don’t need to be shouting about my unplanned pregnancy in the middle of a hushed law office, so I stand up from my desk and go to the balcony outside.

The balcony is on the twentieth floor, and a steady breeze whips around me, keeping the July heat at bay. I speak loudly to be heard over the wind and the roadhouse noise. “Hi, Uncle Jimmy. Thanks for calling me back.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he apologizes. “We were on the road all day yesterday and once we got to Dodge City, we found a motel and crashed hard for the night.”

“You with the boys?”

The boys
are Jimmy’s friends, and they’ve been called
the boys
for as long as I can remember. The boys are mostly all around Jimmy’s age, although some have sons that ride with them now, and there are a few hardened old men that hang around too, like “were bikers back in the seventies” old.

Jimmy owns a motorcycle repair shop on the other side of the state line, and he’s always traveling all over to motorcycle shows and biker meet-ups. Most people are surprised when they see Jimmy and me together—him with his mostly gray ponytail and grizzled beard and me with my Coach purse and trendy clothes—but he’s got a heart of gold and he’s always looked out for me, even before my parents died.

“I’m with some of the boys,” he confirms. “We did a quick ride down to Albuquerque for a parade, showed off a couple custom bikes we made. We’re on our way back now.” His voice softens with concern. “What’s going on, pumpkin? You sounded upset in your message.”

I’m about to tell him, when he cuts in, “Have you and Nate kissed and made up yet?”

I shut my mouth, because when it comes to Nate, I only want to respond with the kind of swear words my uncle doesn’t let the boys use around me. “No, Uncle Jimmy,” I say after I’ve collected myself. “He cheated on me, remember? We’re done.”

“You’re young,” Jimmy says soothingly. “You’re new to these things. Men stray sometimes, but if you’re a good woman, they’ll come back.”

I suppress a flare of real anger. “What if I don’t want him to come back?” I mutter so low that he can’t hear me. Uncle Jimmy has some pretty outdated ideas about love and gender roles, and I learned in college that there’s no point in arguing with him about it. “How’s that working out for you?” I ask instead.

He chuckles. “Touché. I guess three ex-wives means I can’t give you romance advice. Or maybe I just haven’t met a good woman yet.”

I roll my eyes. “Not wanting to be cheated on doesn’t make me a bad woman. It just means I have some self-respect. Trust me. Nate and I are done.”

“He’s a good kid,” Jimmy maintains. “He’d be a good husband to you someday.”

“A good husband who cheats?”

“Cheating is just sex. A good husband will provide for you and protect you. You can’t expect any man to stay faithful, Jess, so you might as well settle for a man who will keep you safe.”

I can’t help it, I let irritation cloud my voice. “Keep me safe? This isn’t the nineteenth century! I don’t need money or protection—I want someone who will do anything to be with me,
including
not fuck other women!”

“Language, Jess,” Uncle Jimmy says sternly. “That isn’t a word a young lady should know.”

I blow out a stream of air, a controlled exhale to calm down. Uncle Jimmy’s too old of a dog to learn new tricks, I guess, and I should have guessed he would be rooting for Nate and me to get together again, since he’s the one who introduced us. Nate helped Jimmy branch into investing some of the shop’s extra income a couple of years ago, and Jimmy thought Nate and I would like each other, since we ran in similar circles.

I frown when I think of how I jumped to be in a relationship, so confident that a guy like him—five years older and with a good job—would finally give me the things my college boyfriends couldn’t.

I had been so naive.

I hear Uncle Jimmy sigh. “I don’t want to argue with you,” he says. “We can talk about Nate another time. Now, what did you call me yesterday for?”

I don’t want to tell him
, I realize. I’m too upset about the Nate thing, and if Uncle Jimmy is still this attached to the idea of Nate and me dating again, he won’t like hearing that I’m pregnant with some stranger’s child.

He wouldn’t like it one bit.

So I lie. “I was just having a rough day at work is all. But I’m better today. Promise.”

He sounds relieved. “Good, I’m glad. I’d hate to have to come down there and kick somebody’s ass.”

I wish he’d kick Nate’s ass, but I’m not willing to bring him up again, not when we’ve finally moved past it.

“Well, I should get back to work,” I say. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Anytime. And Jess?”

“Yes?”

He sounds hesitant. Worried. “Take care of yourself, okay? The city’s a little rough right now, which is really why I’d feel better if you were with Nate. Maybe at least let one of the shop boys drop you off at work and pick you up.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say firmly. “I have a secure parking garage both here and at my loft. I’m
fine
.”

Another sigh. “Okay, pumpkin. Just remember, I’m only a phone call away, and if you need me and I can’t get to you, I can have one of the boys to you in minutes.”

“Okay. Love you, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Love you too. Stay safe.”

I hang up the phone and stare out over the busy city street for a few minutes. I’m going to have to tell Jimmy I’m pregnant eventually, but the one thing I know is that I don’t want to do it any time soon.

Trying to put that—and that fucker Nate—out of my head, I go back inside and get back to work.

* * *

M
atteo’s house
is nothing like I expect.

For one thing, it’s a house, not a loft or penthouse, and for another, it’s in what used to be Little Italy, and is now known as just Little Everywhere Else. Not exactly a prestigious neighborhood, although definitely the place to go if you want the best ramen or Ethiopian food.

But despite the declining neighborhood, the house itself is huge and beautiful, a turn of the century brick affair with massive windows and a gorgeous wraparound porch. Huge oak trees shade the large yard, and black, wrought-iron fence taller than me guards the property.

When I drive up to the gate, I punch in the code Matteo gave me, and it opens automatically. I don’t miss the security cameras near the gate, nor do I miss the spike strips embedded into the driveway. It’s strange; this may not be a wealthy neighborhood, but it’s more or less a quiet one, and so all the security measures seem a little excessive.

But then I forget all that as I get closer to the house. Elaborate cornice pieces and carved masonry decorate every corner of the house, and I see that some of the windows are stained glass to boot—the entire place looks like a drawing in a children’s book.

But as beautiful as it all is, there’s a brooding quality to it, a darkness that unsettles me. I don’t believe in ghosts, but if I did, I’d believe this house was haunted.

I park my car in front of the carriage house in back, then walk around to the front. I hesitate before I ring the doorbell.

Am I really ready to do this? Spend an entire weekend with a man I barely know? What if he’s actually a terrible person? What if he’s into some weird shit, like flogging girls or making homemade kombucha? What if he’s a serial killer, and I’m about to be tied up and—

Stop it. You’re looking for excuses now.
Just go in there, have all the amazing sex you can, and if you don’t like him, then you never have to see him again.

I ring the doorbell.

Within seconds, a stunning dark-haired woman opens the door. She looks like nothing less than Vanessa, Ursula’s human form in
The Little Mermaid
—all dangerous curves and dark eyelashes. But the smile on her face is real when she pulls the door all the way open and gestures for me to come inside.

“Matteo’s running late,” she chirps, shutting the door behind me. “But he called to let me know you’d be coming.”

As she twists the deadbolt on the door, the sunlight from the stained glass window catches a large diamond ring on her finger. She’s married.

For a moment, I panic.
He lied
, I think wildly.
He is married and this is some weird setup where his wife is okay with him cheating and—

A large man wanders out of the parlor, and for the first time, I notice the thick smell of cigar smoke and hear the low hum of serious male chatter coming down the hallway.

He puts his hand on the small of the woman’s back and gives her a kiss on the cheek. He glances at me. “Matteo’s new toy?” he asks her, as if I’m not even there.

I bristle, and the woman playfully slaps him. “Excuse my husband,” she says apologetically. “He’s a brute.”

He grunts and gives her another peck on the cheek, keeping his eyes on me. “I call a spade a spade is all,” he says. “A toy’s a toy.” And then turns on his heel and stalks back into the parlor.

His wife has the grace to flush, but I still decide I’m done. If that’s the kind of company Matteo keeps in his own house? I might as well go down to the shop and have one of Jimmy’s boys tell me how they feel about a woman running for president.

But as I turn, the woman slides in front of the door, blocking my escape.

“Matteo will be so upset if you leave,” she says in a whisper, and her voice is laced with a very real fear. “Please. I don’t want him mad at me—or my husband. Please don’t go.”

Her hand is on my wrist now and her eyes are wide and pleading.

“Please, Jessica. Please stay.”

“I have enough doubts about being here,” I point out.
And being called a toy by someone who is friends with Matteo only confirms them.
“So I should really go—”

“Go where?” a cold voice says from behind me.

The woman quickly lets go of my wrist. “Matteo,” she says, smoothing a smile on her face. “I was just helping Jessica get oriented in the house.”

“I doubt that very much, Gina, since you were actively restraining her.” Matteo’s footsteps get closer, and when I finally will myself to turn around, I’m faced with six feet three inches of muscle and irritation, blue eyes glowing amongst the dim but colorful light of the foyer.

I swallow.

He’s angry.

And angry Matteo is a very frightening thing indeed. Frightening…and disturbingly sexy in that custom suit and tie that probably cost more than a year of my rent.

Gina is not immune to either component, her voice trembling with both desire and terror. “Pauly was just teasing her, and she took it the wrong way. That’s all.”

“So it’s Jessica’s fault?” he asks dangerously. “Is that what you’re saying?”

I suddenly understand why Gina begged me to stay—having Matteo angry with you is like having a hurricane angry with you. You knew that if you survived his fury, you’d still be left with nothing but splinters and debris. I have no doubt that Matteo could shatter homes and lives better than any storm if he put his mind to it.

Poor Gina.
Trying to protect her husband and herself from the storm.

I put a hand on Matteo’s chest, and instantly, I feel his fury go still, his anger dissipate. He looks down at me, and I see the same man who was turned on by the idea of my being pregnant with his baby. Lust and protectiveness settle on his features, a mix that only serves to make him more handsome—glinting eyes and a set jaw.

“It’s okay, really,” I say. “I’m here now, and you’re here too. I’ll stay if I can stay with you.”

His eyes drop down to my lips, and then his hand slowly covers mine, sliding it to the side ever so slightly so I can feel his heart beat against my palm. “Gina, tell Pauly to grab Jessica’s bags from her car. I’m going to show her the house.”

M
atteo shows
me around the house, which is surprisingly modern on the inside. Sleek dark hardwoods and a remodeled floor plan give the downstairs an open feel, although several rich period details remain—delicate wood trim and tiled fireplaces and wall sconces with bronze scrollwork. We pass briefly by the parlor opening where several men are gathered around a coffee table littered with metal chunks, smoking cigars and talking, and it isn’t until Matteo is guiding me to the stairs that I realize the metal chunks on the table were guns.

Guns.

Guns have been around all my life—the boys and most of the shop’s clientele are big fans of guns—but never have I seen them so carelessly piled in one place, never did I expect that place to be the house of my child’s father.

“Matteo,” I ask quietly as we reach the top of the stairs, “can you explain to me why a financial advisor has that many guns in his house?”

Matteo lifts a shoulder in a shrug as he steers me down the hallway. “They aren’t my guns,” he points out. “They belong to my friends.”

“The gates…the security cameras…”

“I like my house to feel safe. Your room’s right here, by the way.” He pushes open a wide door, which opens into a palatial bedroom, and I mean to continue our conversation, but then I stop as I walk inside the room.

I am positive a couple other bedrooms in this house must have been annexed to create the large open space, which only contains a dresser and neatly made king-sized bed. Soft gray walls, dark hardwoods and large windows make the room feel just as airy and new as any sleek loft or penthouse, and the room opens directly into the largest bathroom I’ve ever seen, studded with one magnificent clawfoot bathtub.

I step farther inside, impressed, and then notice the cufflinks on the end table. Why would there be cufflinks in my room? Unless he’s having me stay in his room…

But before I can turn to face Matteo to ask him, he steps behind me and slowly walks me over to the bed.

“This was my great-grandfather’s house, you know,” he says, a hand gently brushing my hair over one shoulder. And despite everything, despite the guns and my uncertainties and this strange old house filled with strange people, I shiver. Because Matteo can do that to me. Make me forget everything but how my body feels when I’m around him.

“He built it himself, only a couple of years after he moved here from Sicily,” he continues. “My grandfather inherited it. They both had arranged marriages with girls from the old country. Politically important matches were common at the time to shore up alliances between families…and to keep territory wars from starting. And it worked. No territory wars, only good business. This house became a symbol of the Moretti family’s power.”

Fingers drift across the nape of my neck, and goosebumps erupt everywhere across my skin. My core thrums to slow, pulsing life, sending heat and need rushing to my cunt.

“And your father?” I ask, to force myself to focus on something other than his touch. “Did he inherit it too?”

“My father was a reckless man, Jessica. A gambler. A drunk. He lost this house and every cent of money the family had, then drank himself into an early grave by the time I was ten. My mother left long before that.” A finger trails from my earlobe to my neck, a movement I long to feel on the inside of my thighs.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

The zipper at the back of my shell dress tugs and then purrs down my back. Matteo is making me so eager, so sensitive, that even the cool air on my back feels sensual.

“Don’t be. My grandfather took me in. Taught me about the Morettis, about who we used to be in this city. And every day, he’d take me walking past this house, which was just a vacant, rotting husk by that point, and make me swear to get it back. To remake the Moretti name again.”

“And so you did.”

The zipper reaches the small of my back and then his hands are at my shoulders, sliding the dress off of me. “And so I did.”

“No politically important marriage though,” I tease. “You haven’t caught up with him yet.”

The dress falls to my feet with the soft
whoosh
of crumpling silk.

“We’ll see,” he answers cryptically. “Spread your legs, princess.”

What is it about this man that makes me so obedient? So willing? So hungry to do anything he asks of me?

I’m about to take a step to the side like he wants, but apparently I take too long for his taste, and he roughly kicks my feet apart. I gasp, now off balance, and then his hand is on the back of my neck, forcing me to bend over the bed. His other hand finds my pussy and cups it hard over my silk panties.

The pressure radiates everywhere, up through my clit to my nipples and the tips of my fingers, and I moan into the bed.

“That’s what I thought,” he says in an amused purr. “Wet already. I can feel you through your panties.”

I’m trying to buck against his hand and add friction to the pressure, but he merely laughs and removes his hand altogether.

I cry out in disappointment. “Matteo, please!”

“Princess, I’ve been wanting you for two days, and there’s no fucking way I’m letting you come on anything other than my cock.” A large hand slides around and pinches one of my nipples through my bra cup. They’re so sensitive from the pregnancy, and I make a noise of both pain and pleasure. “Climb up on the bed. Now.”

I scramble up on the bed, the heat in my core growing into a bonfire, and I can barely keep myself from reaching down to rub out an orgasm myself. It would only take me a few seconds with as hot as I am right now, but I know that Matteo would not be pleased at all.

He stays standing, unknotting his tie with deliberate care. “On your back, panties off. Keep your bra and your shoes on.”

I do as he says, watching as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, toes off his shoes and tugs off his socks. Soon, he’s only wearing his suit slacks, and I drink in every inch of his rich, olive skin, of his wide chest and flat abs. And then I drink in the way his abs form a deep
V
leading into the low-waisted pants, where a thick erection strains against the fabric. He’s so
male
, all hard muscle and lean body without a single ounce of softness or gentility about him, except maybe his full lips, which are curved into a smirk as he watches me watching him.

He slowly unbuckles his belt, drawing the leather through the loops with a delightfully dangerous noise, and I lick my lips. Still smirking, he drops the belt by his feet.

“Not when you’re pregnant,” he says, his voice full of dark promise. “But someday, I’m going to see what that ass is like when it’s all hot and pink and stinging.”

Fuck yes, you are
, I want to say, but I’m trembling so much now that I can’t even try to force the words out.

He unzips his pants and lets them fall to the floor, and then I’m rewarded with him naked in the bright light of the afternoon. I long to touch those hard, muscular thighs, dusted with the same dark hair that trails down from his navel to his cock, which bobs thickly in the air as he crawls onto the bed.

“Open your legs,” he commands, and they fall open, just like that.

God, who have I become? I think of how disgusted Nate was when he found my vibrator, how he only wanted to have sex in the dark, in complete silence. A small giggle catches in my throat when I think about how appalled he’d be if he saw me now.

“What’s so funny?” Matteo asks, reaching down and sliding a finger inside me. He doesn’t do it to make me feel good, he puts it in to make sure that I’m wet enough, and then satisfied, he pulls it out. With no other preamble, he grabs my hips and shoves roughly inside.

For a moment, I see nothing. Just static. He’s so big, so
thick
, that my body has to stretch and adjust to him to take him in, even with as ready as I am. He pulls out to the tip and then thrusts home again, and this time I take him all the way to the hilt.

I shudder—discomfort and my building orgasm tangling together—and he grunts as he repeats the movement. “Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters to himself. “That’s what I needed.” His eyes close for a moment and then open again, and those blue irises zero in on me. “I asked you a question earlier, sweetheart. What was so funny?”

It seems so stupid now, but Matteo’s dick is the only thing I can focus on or think about and so I can’t find the mental faculty to demur or lie. So I tell the truth. “I was thinking about my ex-boyfriend.”

A whiplash of anger cuts across Matteo’s face and his eyes grow dark and furious. In an instant, he’s on his knees, lifting my hips up to meet his insatiable need, and it’s so deep like this, so deep and painful, except that my nipples are harder than ever and my clit is throbbing like a thing about to burst.

“You’re thinking about your ex?” he growls. “Are you thinking about him right now?”

“No, no, I—”

He stabs his cock in deeper. “What about now?”

I moan. “No.”

With his huge hands curled around my hips, he jabs into me over and over again, so deep and so hard.

“Tell me why you were thinking about him when you’re in my bed,” Matteo says, jealousy and ire coloring his voice. “Is his cock bigger than mine? Is that it?”

“I don’t think anyone’s bigger than you,” I breathe.

He likes that. His eyes flare with pleasure as he grinds out a short, harsh, “good.”

More thrusts, the broad head of his cock shoving into my deepest places. “Then what is it?” he asks. I can tell he’s still jealous, burning to know, and for some reason, the fact that he feels envious of my mental attention is strangely touching. He’s proved before that he’s not the casual playboy I’d pegged him to be, but still, I’m so unused to this kind of possessiveness and intensity, the kind that can’t bear the idea of any other man inside my head.

I’m ashamed to admit to myself that I like it.

But I do.

It makes me feel wanted. It makes me feel claimed.

“I was just thinking he’d be horrified if he could see me now,” I whisper to Matteo. It embarrasses me a little to talk about how Nate treated me. “He thought I was, um, deviant.”

Matteo’s thick brows draw together and the powerful movements of his hips still. “Deviant?”

I wet my lips, a gesture that makes Matteo’s dick jump inside of me. “Yeah. He thought I was messed up for wanting the things I did…you know, in bed. It’s one of the reasons he said he cheated on me.”

I can’t read the expression on Matteo’s face after I say that, but I think a see a flash of something worse than anger. It’s something cold and detached and determined. I shiver, wondering if I’ve displeased him somehow, if that coldness is for me.

A frown tugs on his mouth when he sees my shiver, and then I’m flat on my back again, his entire body stretched over mine. “Your ex is a fucking idiot,” he growls at me, his hips moving again. I widen my legs as much as I can, welcoming him into the cradle of my thighs, wishing I could get him deeper and closer.

“For what it’s worth,” he says in a rasp, his eyes trailing from my face down to my breasts where my nipples poked through the fabric of my bra, “you’re a fucking dream in bed. I can’t get enough of you.”

And then he drops his mouth to mine, claiming it with a searing kiss, and my chest expands like a balloon. We kissed once or twice the night we met, but this is the first kiss we’ve shared since then, and something about it is different. Intimate and full of feelings that I can’t quite put into words.

He catches my lower lip between his teeth as he changes the angle of his strokes to hit my clit on the way in, and within seconds, I’m squirming underneath him, writhing under that wide, hard, sweaty body, caged in by his muscular arms and pinned into place by that insistent, demanding cock.

He lets go of my lip and murmurs against my mouth. “Say it when you come.”

Say it.

His name.

Matteo.

It doesn’t take long, not with the base of his cock strafing past my clit on every downstroke, and then my body ignites for him—rapid-fire waves of release chasing each other out from my pussy, squeezing around his cock.

“Matteo,” I utter, completely lost in the heavy bliss, and he swallows his name with a kiss, stealing my breath and my moans as I continue to pulse and clench underneath him.

“God, you make it so tight for me,” he mumbles, breaking our kiss and burying his face in my neck. “Like you’re fucking made for me.”

I can’t speak, can barely breathe I’m so strung out from my climax, and then with a sharp groan, he drives into me a final time and erupts, his lips pressed to my neck and his abs tensing above me.

I hear him hiss a low
mine
mine mine
against my throat as he fills me with himself, as he pumps me full of his cum. He throbs hot and wet inside me for what seems like an eternity, and when his body finally starts to relax on top of mine, I can’t help myself.

I tell him, “Yours.”

He lifts his head and meets my stare. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“I shouldn’t mean it,” I whisper. “We barely know each other. But…”

He traces the line of my jaw with a calloused thumb. “But your body knows what your mind is afraid to see. You belong here. In my bed.”

“Yes.” The word is quiet and pained, but sincere. I do belong with him.

“You’re doing something to me,” he admits gruffly, the thumb moving from my jaw to my mouth, tugging down on my lower lip. “You’re making me feel out of control.”

I smile, thinking of the last two times we’ve had sex and how he’s dominated me so effortlessly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of control, Matteo.”

He pushes his thumb inside my mouth and I wrap my lips around it, sucking hard. His pupils go wide, his voice ragged when he says, “I think we need to fix that then, don’t you?”