Page 68 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

“I have complete control over myself, Miss Morano.”

Liar.

This time, I don’t bother hiding the smirk as I bend down to place the coffee cup on his desk, giving him a perfect view of my breasts.

“We’ll see,” I whisper, letting my tongue wet my lower lip before straightening.

His eyes flash with need, but he remains perfectly still.

“If you need anything else, and I mean anything, you just let me know,” I add before turning and walking out of the office, not bothering to close the door behind me.

I’m breathless by the time I sit back down at my desk, and I can only seem to focus on the throbbing heat between my thighs.

Who knew pregnancy made you this horny?

I rub my hands up and down my thighs, almost whimpering with the need to take them higher.

Not yet. I want him to be the one to do it, to beg to taste me as I come. And in order to do that I need to play the game a little longer.

Andre has called me into his office four times today, and three of those were to fetch something from a cabinet. The other was to make him another coffee.

Asshole.

But I did everything he asked with a smile, and made sure to bend over as much as possible, giving him perfect views of my ass and tits throughout the day.

By the fourth time, I caught him screwing his eyes shut as if trying to collect himself.

I knew he would be sporting a hard on all day, and such a thought had me moaning under my breath as I worked, on the verge of running to the storage closet to take care of myself.

I glance at my clock. Almost six. Everyone in the office left at five, but in my new contract I’m not allowed to leave until Andre does or he specifically dismisses me for the day. So, I find myself yawning, wanting nothing more than to stop by my favorite ramen place on the way home to pick up dinner and snuggle under my comforter and watch Friends.

Looking across the corridor into Andre’s office, I find him with his back to me, his phone propped against his ear. He’s been on the phone for almost an hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s hanging up any time soon.

“Screw it,” I mutter, getting to my feet to head to the break room.

I never normally drink coffee so late, and I know I should probably be limiting my intake with the pregnancy, but it's either caffeine or falling asleep at my desk.

I turn on the Nespresso machine and hunt through the cupboards in search of a clean mug. There’s just enough oat milk left in the fridge for a small cappuccino, so I empty the carton into the milk frother and switch it on. As I drop in an espresso pod and click the machine into action, heavy footsteps approach.

There is only the two of us in the office, so I don’t need to turn to know who it will be.

A war rages inside me as desire to have him take me again battles the need to come out on top this time and maybe deny him, and me, of the pleasure I know is waiting if I let myself go.

He is wrong for me. A mafia boss. My boss. My baby’s father.

He has no idea I’m carrying his child. And I have no idea how to tell him. Or even if I should.

Would he even want this baby?

The steps are so close now.

If I close my eyes, I can almost smell him.

With my eyes closed, all our shared moments play non-stop for my delight. Or maybe to torture me.

The footsteps stop behind me.

I brace my hands on the counter top, my chest heaving as I wait to hear his voice.

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