Page 2 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

The weather is perfect—crisp air, a gentle breeze, sunlight filtering through the trees. I wander along a pebbled path, letting the beauty of the estate calm my racing thoughts. The hedge maze looms ahead, its labyrinthine twists inviting, but I stop at a fountain instead.

The soft trickle of water soothes me as I lean against the edge, steadying my breath.

“Fuck, Katya, you look fine.” His voice, thick and husky, rolls over my back, making me grow hot.

I spin, a lump clogging in my throat. This isn’t the same man from the chapel. His eyes are different. The cockiness from before has given way to a primal want that emanates from every pore in his body.

He walks up to me with strong, assured steps, caging me against the marble structure, smothering me in his heat. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

“What do you want?” I turn the question back on him.

“Trying to get a taste of the forbidden fruit,” his bold voice washes over me like a warm blanket.

I swallow hard. Dirty images flash in my mind as his lazy smile broadens with satisfaction.

Igor moves closer and presses his palm on the marble, still keeping his distance.

“You’re quiet,” he drawls. “I suppose you’re curious too.”

“Of course not, you... asshole.” My words are harsh, but there’s no bite to them. He doesn’t respond to my disingenuous outburst. But my skin feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

“I like your accent,” he says slowly.

“Is that so?”

“Russian women always sound sexy. And you’re fiery to top it off.”

He lowers his head, his blue eyes almost translucent in the glaring sun. My fingers itch to reach up and touch his face, and I fist them to stop myself. His mouth hovers over mine and stills, his sharp intake of breath louder than the gentle water rippling behind me.

“I could look at you for a hundred years and I’d never get my fill,” he breathes.

His fingers trace over my skin, barely making contact as they leave a scorching trail behind. His featherlight touch evolvesinto a bolder caress, massaging the skin across my shoulders, wrapping around my neck, fisting my hair to the scalp and tugging until I tip my head back, offering him full access to the beating pulse in my neck.

His eyes locked on mine, he swipes his tongue over my lips. Helpless, I open my mouth for him, allowing him access. His kiss is a tangle of silk and promise, and I nearly lose my mind right then and there.

I sway a little while he consumes me, branding my skin and turning my blood into lava. If I didn’t have him to hold onto, I might crumble to the ground. He swallows a whimper that makes it past the wall of my throat, attacking my lips once again.

His taste is dizzying. I can’t breathe. But air isn’t worth much without his mouth claiming mine. He tastes of wine, cigars, and his manly fragrance—aftershave mixed with arousal. The scent only men with money can afford.

When we come up for air, we’re panting, chests pulsing with hasty beats. “I want to feel you wrapped around my cock,” he murmurs against my lips, voice oozing with desire.

“You need to work harder if you think that line’s going to get you in my bed,” I whisper against his cheek, running my lips along his scratchy jawline. All I can think is that the stubble on his face tastes like salt.

“Who said anything about a bed?”

Oh, dear.

“I’ll have you standing, in the backyard of this church, in the middle of the maze, up against this marble fountain,” he growls, his words enflaming my center while his thick erection prods my hip. My fingers dance over the fabric of his jacket, loving the feel of the muscle underneath as he rubs against me.

The worst part is that I’m going to give into the temptation. Although perhaps that isn’t so bad. Maybe there’s no bad part about this, but only fun ones. Yes, I’m going with fun.

“I dare you,” I challenge with a sly smile, pushing the loose strands of hair away from my face.

In response, I get another hard kiss that nearly sends me to my knees. It’s a good thing I’m pressed up against the fountain, or he’d have sent me flat on my ass with those lips alone.

His hand slides along my breast, over my stomach, and further down. When his fingers finally reach my pussy, he smiles, no doubt feeling the evidence of my want.

“You naughtyvolchitsa.” He growls as he uses the Russian word for she-wolf, a smirk tipping the corner of his lips. His gaze darkens as he furrows his brows, probably considering his options. Then his expression clears, and I know he has made a decision.

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