Page 14 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

I’d seen men gutted alive. Shot between the eyes. I’d dragged my brother’s bleeding body through fire once and still held my shit together.

But nothing— nothing —had ever unstrung me like watching Autumn panic right in front of me.

It started with the silence. Then the way those lively blue eyes lost focus. The color drained from her face so fast I thought she’d faint. Her breathing went shallow, erratic. Her hands trembled, one clutching the edge of the console like it was the only thing holding her up.

She gasped for air before sinking to the couch as if the strength had been knocked out of her.

Fuck.

She watched me kill tonight. Torture tonight.

She was terrified, and watching her fall apart in front of me gutted me in ways I never thought possible.

I needed to fix this. I needed to bring her back.

“Autumn,” I said, crouching down before her. “Listen to me. You’re safe now.”

She shook her head, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

I didn’t touch her yet, remembering that I was the cause of this breakdown. “Focus on my voice. You’re having a panic attack. It feels like you’re dying, but you’re not.”

She closed her eyes, her mouth panting for air.

“I need you to breathe with me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

I’d seen panic attacks before—young recruits after their first kill, women after learning their husbands had died in war. But those people weren’t Autumn. Those people weren’t mine to protect.

She tried to follow my instructions, but her breath hitched, caught in her throat.

“I can’t,” she gasped.

I dropped lower so I could meet her gaze. “Autumn. Look at me.”

She didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t. She was spiraling.

And I was helpless to stop it.

Until instinct kicked in.

I moved cautiously beside her. “May I touch you?”

She hesitated for a while, but then nodded.

I scooped her up and carried her to the couch, sitting down with her cradled against my chest.

I didn’t know how to fix this. I didn’t know how to guide someone through a panic attack. But for some reason, everything I did with her felt… natural. It was as if my body already knew what she needed before my brain caught up.

So I held her. Pressed her face to my chest. Ran my hand gently up and down her back. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna touch you.”

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t fight me either.

She curled closer.

I took her hand, placing it against my chest. “Feel my heartbeat. Feel me breathe. Match it.”

Her fingers pressed against my shirt, right over my heart. It was beating faster than usual, fueled by the fear of losing her.

“In,” I instructed, taking a deep breath. “Out.”

She tried again, her breath still ragged but following mine.

“Good,” I encouraged. “Again.”

With each breath, her body relaxed incrementally. Her fingers softened against my chest. Her shoulders lowered from where they’d been hunched around her ears.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “You’re doing great.”

And with every shaky breath she took, every inch she melted into me, something in my chest cracked wide open.

I murmured things I didn’t even think about—just sounds and reassurances, low and steady in her ear. Her fingers clenched my shirt. Her forehead pressed against my throat. One palm splayed wide over her spine.

My other hand moved to her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. I could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, and without thinking, I pulled her closer.

She didn’t resist. Instead, she melted against me, her head finding the crook of my neck. Her hair smelled like vanilla, and I breathed it in, grateful she was alive, grateful she was here.

I shifted until she was practically on me, my arms around her, one hand still making those slow circles on her back.

Her breath was evening out, and she was still shaking when I realized I’d pulled her into my lap. Not out of desire but because it felt right. Because I needed her closer .

But then the shaking slowed.

Her hand slid over my chest.

And the air changed.

Her breath ghosted against my skin. Her fingers curled in my collar. My hand—still at the small of her back—shifted just slightly, splaying lower, holding her hips in place as her thighs settled tighter around mine.

I looked down.

She looked up.

Neither of us moved.

“Better?” I asked, my lips close to hers.

She nodded, her eyes burning through mine. “A little.”

The tension coiled like a fuse burning too close to a fire. Her lips were parted, her breath shallow, and her cheeks, still damp, flushed now for entirely different reasons.

I should have stopped there. Should have put her back on the couch beside me. Should have given her space to process everything she’d learned.

But I couldn’t let go. Not when I knew how close I had come to losing her tonight. Not when she felt so right against me.

My body reacted before I even had time to think—hard and ready and aching to make this better, even if it made everything worse.

I cupped her cheek. Her skin was warm. She leaned into the touch like it anchored her.

“I don’t know how to comfort people,” I said roughly. “But I swear to God, I’ll learn if it means I get to make you feel better.”

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat. It wasn’t quite a moan—but close.

Her head lifted slightly, and I felt her eyelashes brush against my jaw.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I looked down at her, and our faces were so close I could count each of her eyelashes. Could trace the curve of her lips with my gaze.

“Autumn...” My voice was rough, strained.

Her eyes darted to my mouth, then back up. For a moment, I thought I was going crazy, that she couldn’t truly have wanted me after what she had learned.

But then her lips parted slightly, she gently brushed up against mine, and I was lost.

I kissed her back.

Slow at first. Testing. Pressing my mouth to hers, waiting for her to catch up to her mistake.

But she answered fast. Her fingers fisted in my shirt, dragging me closer. She kissed me like she needed me to erase the night.

Messy. Deep. Endless.

Her mouth opened under mine, her tongue sliding against my lower lip, demanding entry.

I groaned, and my hands slid down her back to her hips, pulling her fully onto my lap. She straddled me, her knees on either side of my thighs. Her hips rolled instinctively, grinding down on my cock through my pants with a desperation that wrecked me.

“We shouldn’t,” I managed between kisses, even as my hands gripped her ass, grinding her against me.

“I know,” she gasped, her head tilting back as I trailed kisses down her throat.

She rushed to get the buttons off my shirt and worked with such a glorious frenzy that it made my pulse spike. I kissed her again, swallowing the soft, desperate sounds she made as she finally got my shirt open. Her hands slid over my chest, her nails dragging lightly over my skin.

I groaned into her mouth, hips flexing instinctively beneath her.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I whispered against her lips between kisses.

I reached for the hem of her top. I lifted it slowly—relishing every inch of new skin—until it was off and tossed carelessly to the floor.

She sat on me in a simple black cotton bra.

Not lace. Not silk. Nothing designed to seduce.

But I’d never been harder in my life. The sight of her breasts spilling out of her tight bra, her nipples already peeking through, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath— fuck, it was enough to make a priest go back on his word.

I reached behind her, unhooking the clasp, and then it was gone. She was now gloriously naked from the waist up, sitting on my lap with those gorgeous golden locks tumbling over her shoulders.

Her breasts were perfect—high, soft, fucking inviting —and I didn’t even try to fight it.

I looked up at her—straddling me, eyes wide, lips parted—and thought, There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.

Then I leaned in and took what was mine.

I cupped one breast in my hand, my thumb brushing over the nipple. “Fuck,” I whispered, “You’re a goddamn dream.”

She shivered, her eyes closing briefly.

“Federico,” she whispered, and my name on her lips was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.

I lowered my head, taking her nipple into my mouth. She gasped, her back arching, pushing herself more firmly against me. I sucked and licked, my hand playing with her other breast, my cock straining painfully against my pants.

Her hands dropped to my belt now, like she could feel how painfully hard I was, her fingers working the buckle with a hunger that made my cock twitch beneath the denim. She wasn’t fumbling anymore—she was claiming .

I groaned against her skin, dragging my mouth to her other breast, letting my tongue tease the peak before closing my lips around it.

Then I used my teeth—just enough to make her gasp.

Soft, perfect, and arching into me like she wanted to be devoured.

“I need—” she started, her voice breaking as I sucked harder.

“Tell me what you need,” I demanded, pulling back to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from our kisses, her eyes glazed with want.

“You,” she said simply. “I need you.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I wasn’t a foolish man to push my luck. I fumbled with the button of her jeans, suddenly desperate to feel all of her, to be inside her, to make her mine in the most primal way possible.

She lifted herself slightly, helping me push the denim down her legs. She kicked them off, along with her shoes, leaving her in just a pair of black cotton panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” I murmured, my hands sliding up her thighs, thumbs brushing over the damp fabric between her legs.

She moaned, grinding against my touch.

I slipped my hand between her thighs, pushing her panties aside, and slid one finger through her slick heat.