Page 11 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

The moment he placed my hand over the hard, hot ridge of his arousal, I forgot how to breathe.

Federico looked at me like he owned me. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Like he wanted me to know it too.

“This isn’t acting,” he said, his voice thick and low, his body taut and trembling from how hard he restrained himself.

My hand stayed there. Frozen. Burning. He didn’t move, didn’t thrust, didn’t grind—but the pressure of him, the sheer weight of his forehead against mine and his hands against the wall on either side of me, was like gravity pulling me under.

His hardness throbbed beneath my palm. Hot. Insistent.

My breath caught in my throat. I was touching Federico.

Willingly.

Eagerly.

My body hummed with a need I hadn’t felt in years, maybe ever, and the worst part? The absolute worst part? I couldn’t blame it on the champagne.

This was all me, wanting all of him, and I was terrified by how much.

“Autumn…?” he whispered, waiting for me to make the next move. To retreat. To stay.

I should have pulled away. Should have slapped him for his arrogance. Should have remembered the business arrangement I was there for.

But my body had different ideas. Told my brain to go to hell.

I reached up with my free hand, threaded fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

His breath hitched—a low, guttural sound that sent heat spiraling through me.

I knew what was coming.

My lips parted. My thighs clenched. Desire flooded through me in a pulse I couldn’t stop, and I hated how easy it was to give in. To forget the world. The gala. The arrangement. All of it.

There was just him . Just this man who drove me crazy and protected me and lied to me and made me feel like I was the most desired woman in the world with just a look.

And I didn’t resist.

He tilted his head, mouth hovering over mine for a breathless second—hot air mingling—before he closed the distance. And then his lips crashed against mine—like this wasn’t a kiss but a reckoning.

His lips were softer than I’d imagined, but his kiss? Ferocious. He took. He devoured. His hand pushed my lower back, dragging me closer until I felt nothing but him.

No emotion.

No thought.

Just a well of desire.

His hand dragged lower, lingered over my ass. Squeezed.

Fuck.

My knees almost buckled.

I gasped.

His tongue slid past my lips, played with my tongue with a bold sweep. Then, a teasing stroke that left me trembling. Then another, deeper this time, coaxing me to meet him tongue for tongue.

I clutched at him, nails digging into the back of his neck. He growled into my mouth and pressed harder, his tongue tangling with mine. Unrelenting.

He kissed me like kissing me wasn’t enough.

And god help me, I wanted more.

My back pressed against the wall as he crowded closer, one hand braced behind my head, the other gripping my hip tight enough to bruise.

I felt his cock against my dress.

My body arched into his like a second half. My fingers tightened in his hair. The hand on my hip slid lower, bunching the silk of my dress as he traced the bare skin of my thigh beyond the slit.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips. “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.”

His words sent me pooling wet between my thighs. I wanted more. My hand left his hair, slid down to grip his shoulder.

Federico trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, my neck, finding a spot just below my ear that made my knees buckle. Thank God for the wall behind me; otherwise, I would have crumpled to the floor.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured against my skin.

The hand on my thigh inched higher, fingers tracing maddening patterns that had me squirming for more contact. My own hand, still pressed against his erection, felt him twitch and grow even harder.

He went for my mouth again, the kiss deeper, more desperate. I was drowning in sensation—the heat of his body, the touch of his hands, the taste of his tongue. Nothing existed outside of him, outside this moment.

His fingers finally brushed the edge of my underwear, and I gasped.

The sound echoed in the alcove.

And that’s when I remembered where we were.

The gala. The Rossi Foundation. A hallway anyone could walk down at any moment.

What the hell was I doing?

I jerked back, breaking the kiss, my hand flying away from his body like I’d been burned.

Federico looked stunned, his chest heaving, lips swollen from our kiss.

“I—I can’t,” I stammered, trying to straighten my dress with shaking hands. “This isn’t—we shouldn’t—”

Reality crashed over me like an ice bath. I was his wife on paper. His image enhancement. His ticket to respectability, or whatever the hell he needed me for.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Federico’s hands dropped to his sides. “Autumn—”

“No,” I cut him off, needing space to think. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

His expression shuttered, the raw desire replaced by a careful blank. He stepped back. Respectful. Dipped his head in my direction, hands placating. “Nothing to apologize for.”

“We should go back,” I said, though I hated saying it. “People will notice we’re gone.”

“Right.” His jaw tightened. “Can’t have that.”

The chill in his voice felt like a slap, even though I was the one who pulled away.

I stepped sideways, putting distance between us. My lips still tingled. My body still hummed.

But my brain was finally catching up, reminding me of all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

Federico straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair—which I had thoroughly messed up—and took a deep breath. “Ready?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He offered his arm, the perfect gentleman once again, as if he hadn’t just had me pinned against a wall.

I took his arm, but didn’t want to get too close, didn’t let our bodies touch.

We returned to the gala, but everything felt off-kilter. The lights too bright, the music too loud. I smiled and nodded, pretending to listen as Federico made small talk with people, but my mind was back in that alcove, replaying those moments over and over again.

When Federico finally announced it was time to leave, I nearly wept with relief.

The valet brought his car around, and we slid in the back without a word to one another.

I immediately looked out of the window, because the space felt too tight. If I let myself see him, feel him, I knew I might crumble.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” I lied.

He didn’t call me on it. “It was a long night.”

“Mmm.”

More silence.

I watched the city lights blur past, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in my veins. Trying to forget how right it had felt to be in his arms.

None of that had been real.

But my body didn’t care about what was real. It only knew what it wanted. And it wanted him.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Federico said suddenly, his voice tight.

I turned to look at him at last. His green eyes were almost black in the night.

“You didn’t,” I admitted. “I was... a willing participant.”

His eyes flicked to mine briefly, and he nodded before returning to look ahead at the driver, the road, anything but me.

He didn’t ask why I’d stopped. Probably knew why.

Because it was complicated.

The rest of the drive passed in the same awkward silence.

When we finally reached home, I practically bolted from the car, muttering a hasty goodnight before heading straight for my room.

I didn’t look back, afraid of what I might do if I saw his face again.

I closed my bedroom door and fell back down on my back, my heart still hammering. It took a solid fifteen minutes for it to settle before I changed and got back into bed.

Properly this time.

But I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake, my heart lurching every time I heard a sound outside. And every time that happened? I hoped it was the sound of footsteps. Hoped for a knock on my door. Hoped he would follow and finish what we started.

But it was never him.

***

The next morning, I carefully timed my breakfast to avoid Federico. The day after that, I made sure to be busy reading when he came home from work. By the third day, it was clear we were both experts at avoidance.

But avoidance didn’t stop the tension from building. If anything, it made it worse. The few times we did cross paths—a brief moment in the hallway, an awkward exchange over coffee—the air practically crackled between us.

His eyes would meet mine, and my traitorous body would remember exactly how his hands felt, how his lips tasted.

I was determined to get over it. This attraction, this... whatever it was, would fade. It had to, because anything else would complicate our arrangement beyond repair.

By the fifth night, I’d convinced myself I was making progress.

I’d spent the day focusing on charity work—something the other wives in Federico’s circle seemed to do constantly—and returned home pleasantly tired. Maybe tonight I’d finally get some decent sleep.

I was just drifting off when a noise jolted me awake. Like something falling.

I sat up, listening. The house was usually silent at this hour. Did one of the staff members drop something?

Then I heard it again—a soft thud, followed by muffled footsteps. They were coming from the direction of Federico’s room.

Curiosity got the better of me. I slipped out of bed, pulled on my robe, and cracked my door open just enough to peek out.

Federico was moving down the hallway, dressed entirely in black. But what made my blood run cold wasn’t his outfit—it was what he carried.

A gun. He was tucking it into his waistband.

What the hell?

This wasn’t normal.

Normal people didn’t sneak around their own homes armed in the middle of the night with a gun in their hands.

Normal people didn’t come home bleeding from unexplained injuries.

What the hell was going on here? My mind rushed back to that night he came home covered in blood.

I’d found no answers. No plausible explanations.

Questions raced through my mind—Where was he going? Why the weapon? Was he in danger?

Perhaps tonight, I could finally get some answers.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time. So I did what I thought best. My life, whether I liked it or not, was deeply intertwined with Federico’s.

And though we weren’t in love, though there was nothing traditional about it, I still didn’t want him coming home hurt. Didn’t want him suffering.

Maybe if I knew what was happening, I would know how to help.

So, I followed.

Only when the main door banged shut behind him did I rush down the stairs and peer out the curtains. He was waiting for his car.

In that time, I called an Uber. I made my way out through the side door, keeping to the shadows. I waited along the boundary wall of the mansion and saw his car exit the main gates, turn left.

And that’s when my Uber arrived.

I got in without thinking and asked the driver to follow.