Page 24 of The Mobster’s Secret

She nods eagerly as my cock flexes and I take her lower lip between mine. Sucking passionately, I thrust deep inside her as my orgasm rocks me. Her sweet cunt snatches my shaft like a fist as her body goes tense.

“Ivan!”

We come together, riding our mutual highs as I bury my cock in her hole, filling her with my cum. I couldn’t say how long it lasts, but it feels like an hour before we’re coming down together. I lift her up into my arms and lie back on the floor, still hard inside her. I don’t want one drop of my cum spilling out any sooner than it has to. Shit, I don’t even want to pull out of her at all. I just want to stay like this forever. Fuck the rest of the world.

If she’s not already pregnant, I’ll make damn sure she is. I’ll let everyone know that Willow is my queen, and she belongs to me.

No one will touch her.

And Vincent will pay for trying to split us apart.

8

WILLOW

I wake up in Ivan’s bed. Our bed. But try as I might, I still can’t see it that way. I still see a king-sized bed for the king of the house.

I stretch out like a butterfly and can’t even touch the edge of the mattress with my fingers or toes. I barely even remember being brought up here last night and falling asleep. I spent the day with Marge as she showed me around the house and the grounds. And then of course every hour or so, Ivan would come and find me, and we’d take a little break together.

My whole body is delightfully sore. When I think back to his big strong hands all over me, his lips against my throat, his muscles pressed against my breasts, I feel heat rising in my center.

But when I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes, I feel a little bit embarrassed about how I behaved.

I told him I belonged to him. I called him my king.

I let him finish inside of me.

Three days ago, I never would have done any of those things. They wouldn’t have even been options in my life. Three days ago, I was a virgin, holding out for the perfect man. One who would understand me.

And now…I might be pregnant. I don’t even know how to process that right now as I press a hand over my belly.

And even now as I look around the ornate room, a closet filled with clothes for me, and a bathroom with products I could never afford, I can’t help feeling like I’ve already become a kept woman.

“Never let a man run your life.” That was one of the only pieces of advice my mom ever gave me. A piece of advice she never really adhered to herself, as she would basically change her entire personality for whichever new guy she was dating.

But that always stuck with me, and as I look at all the new soaps and body washes laid out for me in the shower, it starts to really hit home.

What am I doing? I barely know this man.

Yet I gave him my virginity and let him move me in with him.

Even though I get all fuzzy when I picture him and start tingling when I replay all the dirty talk he whispered to me, I can’t help thinking that I’ve lost control of my life.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and shut the water off. I grab a towel and step out of the shower. I’m probably just being stupid. I mean, Ivan took a literal bullet from the men who would no doubt hurt me if given a chance, and I’m complaining about having to stay in this palace of a house until he’s sorted things out?

Yeah, I’m being silly.

I blow-dry my hair, pick out a cute pair of black yoga pants and light blue halter top from the clothes he bought for me, and make my way downstairs. Ivan’s thunderous voice rumbles out from his office, and I peek in to see him in another meeting with his men.

He’s wearing a charcoal suit today with a dark blue tie. It should be illegal to be so ruggedly handsome and stylish at the same time. He sees me and gives me a slight nod. I smile back, then go to the kitchen to find some breakfast.

“Good morning, dear.” Marge smiles as I come in. “Something to eat?”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll make myself something.” I have to admit that I’m not yet quite used to being in a position where I can just ask someone else to prepare my food for me. For Ivan, I’m sure it’s as natural as breathing. But not me.

“Oh, nonsense,” she says, going to the stove. “This is my job! What would you like? Pancakes? Toast? Bacon?”

“No, really. I can handle it—”