Made for Him: A Mafia Baby Romance (9 page)

“
W
ould you like a margarita
, miss?”

I turn and squint up at the waiter, angling my body so he can see the full swell of my seven-months-pregnant belly.

“Ah, my apologies,” he says in accented English. “A bottle of water, perhaps?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll give you seven margaritas a day after the birth for every drink you’ve missed,” Matteo promises lazily from the chair next to me. He has his sunglasses on and his chair is fully reclined. His broad, bare chest glistens with sweat and sunscreen, and lying like this, I can fully appreciate how toned and flat his abdomen is. I want to lick every ridge and valley of that perfect six-pack, and then follow that dark trail of hair down below the waistline of his swim trunks…

Who needs margaritas when I’m already drunk on lust?

“Jessica, I can feel you leering at me,” Matteo says wryly. “If you keep looking at me like that, people are going to get the wrong idea.”

“Like what? That a notorious Mafia boss brought his unwed baby mama to Cancun for a sun-soaked sex holiday?”

He smirks. “Yes.”

I settle back in my chair. “Well, then I won’t look anymore.”

I close my eyes to return to my beachside dozing, but within a couple minutes, I sense a shadow looming across me. I open my eyes to see Matteo standing beside me with a wide grin, his dimple even more adorable when contrasted by a deep tan.

“I changed my mind, princess.”

“About what?”

“About giving people the wrong idea. Get up to our room now before I fuck you on this ridiculous chair.”

And if I weren’t already completely in love with him already, I would be now, for giving my very pregnant body the same smoldering once-over he gave to my lithe, non-pregnant body the night we met. I scramble to my feet, and soon we’re half running through the open, airy lobby of our Cancun resort, giggling as we frantically push at the elevator buttons. The minute we open the door to the room, Matteo is on me, his lips sealing over mine and his hands plumping my ass hard enough to make me moan into his mouth.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all day with that little bikini,” he murmurs against my lip. “A man might think you’re deliberately trying to seduce him.”

I laugh. “I look like a whale in this bikini.”

Matteo pulls back and his face is uncharacteristically serious. He slips his finger under my chin to lift my face to his. “Listen to me. You are so goddamn sexy that I can barely keep my hands off you. I’ve been sporting a semi all day, and you better believe it’s not because I have a whale fetish. It’s because you’re beautiful and glowing and soft and you have all these curves I want to squeeze and bite and look what you’ve done to me just by being in front of me.” He takes my hand and guides it to his erection, which is thick and swollen and harder than steel. “Believe me now?”

I run my hand along the length of his cock. “I don’t know,” I say with mock coyness. “Maybe you ought to prove it to me.”

“You minx,” he growls, and then he’s pushing me over to the bed, where I’m made to crawl up on top and stay on all fours. He slaps my ass as he climbs up behind me, pulls the strings on the bikini bottom, and then there’s nothing separating my aching pussy from his warm fingers.

He rubs my clit and strokes along my folds as he leans down and speaks in my ear, saying all the things he wants to do to me. “I want you on your knees later, with my cock in that pretty mouth,” he rasps, a finger slipping inside my cunt. I whimper as he finds the soft hollow on the front and presses down. “And I want to come all over those juicy tits. And then I want to spread your legs and eat your pussy until the whole resort can hear you coming.”

“Mmm,” I manage, because now there’s another finger inside of me and his thumb is doing the most amazing things on my clit.

Then the fingers disappear, and I open my mouth to complain, but I’m quieted by the sound of his swim trunks rustling. Without preamble, he notches his broad crown at my entrance and then pushes inside. I’m wet, but still tight, and he lets out a delicious grunt as he sinks inside.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he mutters, giving my ass another slap as he pulls back and thrusts in again. “So fucking good.”

He starts riding me hard, one hand gripped tightly at my hip to hold me in place while his other hand strays up to my breasts and finally down to my clit, where he resumes his work from earlier. As he rubs me, he angles himself so that his cock strokes against my g-spot every time he thrusts in and out, and for several minutes—or maybe it’s hours—there’s nothing but the sweet sound of our mingled breathing and the sensation of him fucking me exactly the way I want to be fucked. Rough and hard mixed with slow and deep.

Deep inside my core, muscles start clenching and tightening, and I widen my knees on the bed to give his hand better access to my clit. This lets him in a little deeper, and I hear him swear savagely to himself.

I smile into the sheets. He only curses like that when he’s struggling to keep himself under control, struggling to last. He hates to come first, my Italian gentleman, and so I oblige his sense of sex etiquette by closing my eyes and letting myself be carried off by the growing tension in my pelvis. Soon, every second is torture, my body straining for release even as it shies away from the intensity of my imminent climax. But Matteo gives me no choice, his cock impaling me with perfect brutality and his expert fingers on my swollen clitoris.

I open my eyes to see out the window just as it peaks, my body going rigid and electric. For one blissful second, I see the ocean, blue as Matteo’s eyes, and pure white sand, and all I can smell is sea salt and the masculine body behind me.

Then my body judders with release, my core combusting in waves of liquid heat, starting with my pussy and then radiating up to my chest and down to my thighs. I cry out and bury my face in the bed, my entire body temporarily made of white fire and sinful bliss. As the orgasm sends sharp tingles racing to the tips of my fingers and toes, I feel Matteo stiffen behind me, and then finally, with a series of deep, erratic thrusts, he’s groaning my name and sending hot spurts of cum deep inside my pussy.

I feel him pulsing and erupting as my cunt still tenses around him, until finally we’re both still and sated, listening to the waves crash through the open window. A breeze blows in, wafting the gauzy white curtains up against the bed, and for a moment, everything is perfect. Everything is serene and hopeful.

Matteo guides me down to the bed, so I can lie on my side and he can lie behind me. He kisses the back of my neck and the blades of my shoulders as I snuggle into the downy white pillow and crisp sheets. It’s hard to believe that just four months ago, I was standing over the corpse of my uncle, the gun hot in my hand, watching the crimson pool of blood spill out from his body. I’d thrown up right then and there on the floor, collapsing before Matteo could catch me. I knelt like a sinner in church, refusing to move until Matteo lifted me bodily off the floor and carried me downstairs.

His consigliere handled most of the business—alerting the boys that Jimmy was dead, managing the gruesome cleanup of the scene. All while Matteo cradled me against his chest and told me it would be okay, that he was here with me, that I would never have to face this memory alone if I didn’t want to. I’d nodded numbly, already stricken with the deep, horrific realization that I wasn’t nearly as remorseful or filled with guilt as I should be.

Did it make me a monster that I didn’t regret murdering my own uncle? Or did it make me a good daughter that I avenged my parents? Or did it even matter, given that he’d been about to shoot me? Because after all was said and done, my life wasn’t entirely my own in that moment. It belonged to the child that I’d pledged to keep and protect. Maybe it was more Mama Bear than Dutiful Daughter that shot Jimmy in the heart, and how could I feel ashamed for protecting my own baby?

To this day, I wouldn’t change a thing about that night. Matteo, the baby, and I survived, and that’s all that matters.

Without my uncle, the boys had fled back to the shop, and Matteo unleashed hell on them. He used every non-corrupt political force he knew of to mobilize against them, he had his men disrupt all of their trades, and within weeks, there was nothing left of theirs to defend. The city belonged to Matteo.

I,
especially, belonged to Matteo.

We took special care to destroy Nate’s career and lay waste to his prospects. Matteo wanted him at the bottom of the Missouri River, or dumped unceremoniously somewhere between Cliff Drive and the train tracks, but I intervened. Not because I gave a shit about Nate, but because I’d already been responsible for one death and I couldn’t stomach another. But ruining his life?
That
I took perverse joy in, and it wasn’t long before the law discovered all the money-laundering and fraud he’d been up to. His trial will be any day now.

In the here and now, Matteo’s hand slides over my belly and gently chafes my skin, trying to find the little feet and knees that love to stick out when our baby moves around. “I have a present for you tonight,” he whispers in my ear. His hand moves up—predictably—to my breast and starts toying with my nipple. Despite our earlier sex, my body thrums back to life under his touch and I arch my back to press my ass against his groin.

He’s already hard again.

He carefully lifts my leg and slides inside me. I’m still slick from my own arousal and his semen, and he’s able to bury himself to the hilt without any resistance.

“I love fucking you when you’re all tight and just getting warmed up,” he tells me. “But God, I love it even more when you’re all wet and open. You’re so fucking soft like this.” He buries his face in my hair as he moves in and out. “So…fucking…soft…”

He bites my shoulder and strokes the inner thigh of the leg that’s still raised up, and we move like this for a long time, slow and relaxed, wet and open, until I finally shudder and tighten around him, coming long and hard on his thick cock. He rewards me with a final, hard bite on the shoulder and several fierce, shallow jabs into my pussy. He comes so hard that I can feel his cock swell as he prepares to erupt inside me, and then I can feel the heat of his release as he empties his body of cum, teeth still dug into my shoulder the whole time.

We don’t say anything as our orgasms subside, but I eventually drift into a happy sleep in his arms, waking only when the sun has set below the horizon.

I sit up and stretch, disappointed to see that the bed is empty next to me and that the room seems to be deserted. Thick, white candles are lit everywhere, covering almost every flat surface of the room. Draped across the foot of the bed is a long swath of white chiffon with a note resting on top of it.

Follow the candles
reads Matteo’s sharp, masculine handwriting.

The moment I pull the dress off the bed, I know what it is and I know where the candles lead. My throat swells with the happiest kind of unshed tears as I slip into the dress and zip it up. It fits me perfectly and has the expensive feel of a couture custom gown, but for all that, it feels airy and light to wear. The sleeveless bodice sparkles ever so slightly with subtle crystals sewn under the first layer of chiffon, but after that the dress is pure, snow white, all the way down to its fluttering hem and short, elegant train.

I pin up my hair, brush on some light, natural makeup, and leave our room barefoot, following the candles down the hall and down the stairs. Every so often I find a present from Matteo—a bouquet of white roses or a pair of white, strappy sandals—and by the time I make it to the beach, my tears are no longer unshed. Because the line of candles extends almost all the way out to the surf, and at the end, the candles curve into a large, flickering heart.

In the middle of the heart stands Matteo and a chaplain holding an open book.

My chest tightens like a vise squeezes around it.

The sand is warm and dry under my toes as I step into the heart shape made of candles, and the breeze ruffles the delicate hem at my feet. Matteo extends one large hand, and I take it, gratified to feel that he’s trembling slightly too. He gives me a long slow look, his eyes roving from my feet to my eyes, and when our gazes meet, his expression holds both desire and undiluted love and affection.

I want to melt into the sand at that look.

“One more thing,” he whispers, and he pulls something glimmering out of his pocket. It’s a small sapphire pendant on a thin gold chain. “Here’s your something old and something blue. It was my grandmother’s. Oh princess, you have to stop crying or I’m going to start crying too.”

I sniffle and try to get my tears under control as he steps forward and clasps the antique necklace around my neck, his fingers gentle and sweet against my skin.

“I know my roses are my something new, but what about my something borrowed?” I tease through my tears.

“That’s actually my dress you’re wearing. I’ll need you to dry-clean it before you give it back, I’m going to a fancy party next week.”

My laughter breaks the spell of my tears, and I can finally smile without my chin trembling. “You’re amazing, Matteo Moretti. Amazing and dangerous and perfect.”

“Not nearly as perfect as you are. Jessica Simmons, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

I look down at my giant, pregnant stomach. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.”

Matteo raises an eyebrow at my quip, but underneath his smirk, I see a flicker of uncertainty, a fear that I won’t say yes, that I don’t actually want him. I grab his hand and press it against my heart. “Yes, I will marry you,” I say, looking into his eyes meaningfully. “I love you.”

Relief spills across his features. “I was worried you’d say no,” he confesses. “I certainly haven’t given you much reason to say yes.”

“You are enough reason to say yes, and always will be.”

Finally, he smiles his wide, panty-melting smile, his dimple flashing. “That’s what I like to hear.”