Page 20 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

She’s in my house. I’m in boxers, and although they’re snug, they technically leave things to the imagination. Except the size, and maybe I don’t mind her knowing what I’m packing. In particular, she can compare what I have to offer to whichever bastard got her pregnant.

I pad into the corridor and pause. She has her own ensuite bathroom, so if this was just the baby pressing on her bladder, I don’t think I’d have woken. I listen, and yep, there’s movement downstairs.

I find Stephie in the kitchen, head in the fridge. She’s in pyjamas, tartan in red and white, and a white T-shirt that is stretched a little tighter over her bump, and I can’t help but smile.

“What are you looking for, princess?”

She yelps and jumps back guiltily. “Sorry!”

Then her eyes widen as she takes me in, her gaze sweeping over my body. The tattoos. The scars. All the things that I dreamed her touch on that night in the cabin. My cock engorges as she looks. But although the idea of putting her onto the kitchen counter and eating her until she screams is mouth-watering, I’m going to restrain myself. I need to be a gentleman while she’s in this vulnerable state. Pregnant, with the father absent.

Thinking of the other man who had her before me is effective in keeping my arousal at manageable levels.

“It’s your house, now.” I saunter over and go to put the kettle on. “Why are you awake?”

She sighs. “My joints ache and I’m struggling to sleep. Apparently, it’s a normal part of pregnancy, but I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, and convinced myself I needed…” She shrugs helplessly.

Orgasms.

I don’t say that.

“Maybe a bite to eat? Or a hot drink. Or something else? Warm milk? Hot chocolate? Tea? I can get a delivery of anything you want. A cheese and carbs-based snack perhaps? Or are we talking fully loaded nachos, Indian curry, or Thai?”

She giggles and shakes her head. “I don’t need anything so fancy.”

“Just pizza?”

She closes the fridge, white carton in hand. “I think probably warm milk would be perfect.”

“I’ll sort it. Sit.” I take the container from her.

“Oh!” She can’t seem to understand my need to care for her. I suppose that’s understandable. I’ve hidden it for all the years we’ve worked together.

After I’ve put a mug of milk on to heat, I lean against the counter and regard my pretty, pregnant girl.

“We need to go to buy some new nightwear for you.” I let my gaze linger where her belly is pushing on the white cotton.

“Oh.” She cups her stomach protectively. “I’m alright.”

“You’re bursting out.”

“Ahh.” She laughs, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. But you should be comfortable. You’ll get bigger in the next few months.” I can’t help but smile at that thought.

“I was going to go to one of those second-hand places at the weekend,” she says earnestly. “Since I’ll only be wearing pregnancy clothes for a short time.”

We’ll see about that. If I have my way, she’ll have need of them again.

“It seems wasteful to buy new.”

“Somebody has to. Why not me, for you?” I say casually.

Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”

“Really, you should be more considerate of people less fortunate than yourself. If you buy all the good second-hand stuff, what will women who don’t have billionaire partners wear?” I drawl.

The microwave pings, and I test the temperature of the milk with my finger. Stephie watches my mouth as I suck it off, pupils dilating. I pass it over, and her voice is faint as she thanks me.