Page 42 of Seized By the Mafia King
She wriggles a bit, and I clamp my other hand on her belly.
“Nope.”
“No?” She stops moving. I feel her smile rather than see it, since my face is touching hers.
“I hope you’re pregnant.”
“Me too,” she replies shyly.
“I want your sexy little bunny butt elevated every time we have sex until you have my first baby in you. Got to keep my come where it’s required. I want you full, constantly. I want to be in your body and to consume your thoughts. Like you do mine.” It’s a bare declaration for all we’ve already said today.
“Pregnant the first time?” she asks.
“All your firsts,” I remind her. I grin and her eyes go wide. “We’re not done with that yet. And second, and third. All the times.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” And despite what I just said, I roll over her, then lean down and kiss her mouth. Not her first stolen kiss, nor the plundered second, or gifted third, but one of many. Infinite kisses.
“We’ll never be finished with your firsts, little bunny,” I whisper the truth against her lips. “I never intended to be.”
21
WILLOW
7 months later
I reach up to the top shelf, and my body complains. Swollen ankles. Gah. But I manage to grasp the special edition book and pull it down.
“Ohhh…” The girl’s eyes go wide as she accepts it.
“That’s the one with the black pages, too,” I tell her, and she gasps when she opens the hardback fantasy novel. Instead of black text on white, it’s white text on black, and it looks amazing.
Stroking the pages reverently, my customer’s eyes light up. “Thank you so much! I didn’t think I’d be able to find a copy.”
“You’re welcome.” I love to see that expression as someone finds just the right book. I remember how important books are and how losing yourself in a story can soothe any hurt.
I still read plenty, but it isn’t the necessary escape that it used to be. Not since Zane kidnapped me and made me his.
The girl pays for her book, and while I wrap and bag it, her gaze flicks to the jar on the counter. “Is that fudge?”
I pass over her treasure with a smile. “Yep. Want a piece?”
“It does look delicious,” she replies, which I take as a yes.
“It’s my favourite.” I open the jar and pull a piece of perfect, crumbly fudge and offer the open jar to the girl. I nibble the sweet treat, letting the creaminess melt in my mouth.
“That is divine,” she says with a little moan that makes me chuckle.
“It is pretty amazing. My husband brought me that—full of vanilla fudge—on the day I opened the bookshop, and each week he visits to fill it up with a different flavour.” I’d only mentioned in passing that I loved fudge, but nothing escapes Zane.
The girl puts her hand to her lips. “Really? That’s so romantic!”
I nod, because she’s right. Zane has taken time at every moment of our lives together to understand what I need and what I like, and to provide it. He knows everything about me, and he’s as good as his word. When he caught me after our chase through the woods, he said he’d love me forever, and seven months later, we’re more in love than we were on that first day.
He’s been steadfast, and in return, I am joyous in my pursuit of all the things that make him happy. I’m still working on the perfect blowjob—though Zane says every single one is better than the last—and I hope I will find more and more ways to drive him wild for the rest of our lives.
Zane Bethnal. My wedding gate crasher, my kidnapper, my husband. And now, my baby’s daddy. I cup the underside of my bump and stroke the top.
