Page 15 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

She was soaked— dripping —and the sheer fact that she wanted this, wanted me , as badly as I needed her, made my head spin.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” I groaned, dragging my finger slowly over her entrance, teasing the spot that made her hips twitch. Then I eased inside—tight, hot, velvet-slick—and she moaned, her head falling back, golden hair spilling down her spine like a damn painting.

Her walls clenched around me, greedy and pulsing, and it nearly broke me.

“More,” she gasped, grinding down against my hand.

I gave it to her.

A second finger joined the first, stretching her as I curled deep, searching for that spot that made her shatter. My thumb brushed her clit—just once—and she cried out, nails biting into my shoulders as her body bucked against mine, desperate and beautiful and so fucking close .

But she wanted more. For her hands went for my pants, unzipping, reaching to free my cock. And when her fingers wrapped around me?

God. I near lost it.

“Wait,” I gasped desperately, trying to tug off my pants. She eased back and helped me lower the boxers, too.

Then she rose onto her knees, reaching between us to guide me to her—her fingers wrapping around my cock, slick with need, steady with intent. The swollen head slid against her entrance, heat meeting heat, and I barely held back a groan.

She hovered there for a heartbeat, trembling slightly, her eyes locking with mine.

And in them—I saw everything.

Her fear.

Her hunger.

Her uncertainty.

Her undeniable need.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice hoarse, barely holding back the ache to take over, to claim.

Her answer was breathless and wordless.

She sank down onto me in one slow, devastating glide.

Her body stretched around mine, tight and perfect, taking every inch like she was made for it. Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttered, and I nearly lost control right then.

She seated herself fully, hips pressed flush to mine, her hands braced on my chest, her jaw slack with pleasure.

“Jesus Christ,” I groaned, head falling back. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

She was still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of me inside her. Then she began to move, rising up before sliding back down, setting a pace that had me seeing stars.

My hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements but letting her control the rhythm. Her breasts bounced with each downward thrust, her head thrown back, exposing the long column of her throat.

I leaned forward, sucking at the pulse point in her neck, feeling her heart race against my lips. One hand left her hip to cup her breast, pinching the nipple between my fingers.

“Oh god,” she moaned, her movements becoming more erratic. “Federico, I’m—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I encouraged. “Let go for me. Let me feel you come.”

Her inner muscles clenched around me as she rode me harder, chasing her release. I slid my hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, circling it in time with her movements.

She came with a cry, her body stiffening before shuddering around me, her walls pulsing and gripping my cock like a vacuum. The sight of her—head thrown back, breasts heaving, body trembling with pleasure I’d given her—was almost enough to push me over the edge.

I growled, twisting with her still on top of me, pinning her beneath me on the couch.

Then I drove into her—hard.

She gasped, eyes flying open, pupils blown wide. The blue of her irises was nearly swallowed by black, her expression wrecked and wanting.

“ Yes ,” she breathed, nails dragging down my back, sharp enough to sting. “Harder.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I set a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into hers, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls like a heartbeat gone feral. Her legs locked around me, heels digging into my lower back, pulling me impossibly closer, as if she wanted to fuse us together.

“You feel so good,” I groaned, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, her sweat, her fucking existence . “So fucking good, Autumn. I can’t—”

She whimpered beneath me, breath stuttering with every thrust. Her hands gripped my ass, guiding me, demanding more. I could feel her tightening around me, her body pulsing in waves as she clawed her way toward release again.

“Come for me,” I rasped against her throat. “I want to feel you break apart on my cock.”

I reached between us again, rubbing her clit in tight circles. She arched off the couch, her body bowing beneath mine, and she cried out my name before shuddering violently as she came—walls clenching, body trembling, voice raw with pleasure.

“Federico!” she cried out as she came again, her entire body convulsing with pleasure.

The feel of her clenching around me—tight, wet, pulsing—wrecked whatever control I had left.

I drove into her one last time, deep and hard, and then it hit.

My body locked, breath gone, vision splintering as release tore through me like a surge of fire—raw, electric, unstoppable. Pressure exploded at the base of my spine, heat rushing through my core as I spilled into her, pulse after pulse, my entire body convulsing with it.

It was blinding.

A full-body unraveling. Every muscle taut, every nerve lit up, everything else—time, thought, reason—gone.

Just her. Just us.

And the aching relief of finally letting go.

For several moments, we lay there, tangled together, breath mingling, bodies slick with sweat. I was still inside her, unwilling to break away just yet, after what was possibly the best fucking sex of my life.

Her fingers traced lazy patterns on my back, her eyes closed.

I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her lips. She turned her head, catching my mouth with hers for a soft, lingering kiss.

When I finally pulled out to grab my clothes, reality began creeping back in.

The blood on my shirt, discarded on the floor.

The revelation that had triggered her panic attack.

The danger I’d put her in.

She must have been thinking the same thing, because when I returned to the couch, she was sitting up, quickly pulling her clothes back on.

“Autumn?” I asked, not sure what I wanted to ask, but knowing I needed to hear something.

She shook her head, not meeting my eyes. “I… this was a mistake.”

I sat beside her, keeping a careful distance now. “We should talk about what happened.”

“Which part?” she asked, her voice tight. “The part where I found out my husband is a criminal? Or the part where we just had sex like none of that matters?”

I flinched at the harshness in her tone.

She finally looked at me, her eyes withdrawn. “I can’t do this, Federico. Not right now. I need...” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

“Space?” I supplied.

She nodded. “And time. And—” She took a deep breath. “And boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue after the sweetness of her kisses.

“This—” she gestured between us, “—was a mistake. I was upset and scared, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I don’t want to make things more complicated than they already are.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to pull her back into my arms and show her that what we’d just shared wasn’t a mistake—it was inevitable.

It was right.

But I’d already pushed her too far tonight. Had already broken her trust in ways I might never be able to repair.

So instead, I nodded. “I understand.”

Relief flashed across her face, quickly replaced by something that looked almost like disappointment. Had she wanted me to fight for her?

But she was already standing, collecting the last of her clothes. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.

I watched her go, my heart heavy with what felt like loss.

“Autumn,” I called just before she reached the door.

She paused, not turning around. “Yes?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” I said quietly. “I never will.”

She just stood there. Didn’t say a word. And then left.