Page 22 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

His mouth was fire. Hot, rough, hungry .

The moment our lips collided again, it wasn’t tender anymore—it was feral.

Federico kissed me like he was trying to take me apart from the inside.

His teeth scraped my bottom lip, then he sucked it between his like he couldn’t get enough.

I moaned, biting back, grabbing at his hair, pulling him closer as his hands roamed— everywhere . Possessive. Greedy.

One of his hands slid down my spine, slow and steady, before he gripped my ass and squeezed hard. I squealed into his mouth, the pressure sending a bolt of heat straight between my thighs. My hips bucked into his instinctively. There was no thought left—no hesitation. Just sensation.

My body remembered him—every touch, every sensation from that night I’d sworn was a mistake. But this didn’t feel like a mistake.

It felt inevitable.

His tongue swept against mine, demanding and hungry, and I matched him kiss for kiss, bite for bite.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, and Federico groaned against my mouth when I nipped at his bottom lip. The hand not on my ass was everywhere—sliding up my spine, tangling in my hair, gripping my waist like he was afraid I’d slip away.

I tugged him closer, my nails scraping along the nape of his neck, and he shuddered against me.

“Autumn,” he breathed against my mouth, “Fuck…Autumn.”

Just the way he said my name told me he wanted more. He needed me, like I did him.

Both hands cupped my ass now, and when he lifted me slightly, I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, my skirt riding up my thighs. He lifted me off the floor, and I squealed at the sudden move but instantly bucked into him, feeling his hard length press against my panties.

Fuck. He felt so good.

“I’ve wanted this,” he confessed roughly, teeth grazing my earlobe, “since the moment you walked away the first time we had sex.”

He put me down. Kissed me again.

Then walked me backward, not breaking the kiss for even a breath, until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of the desk.

With one hand on my waist, he lifted me up effortlessly, setting me down on the table while I fumbled with his buttons like a woman starved.

I needed him. Right now. In every possible way. My fingers shook with urgency.

“Too many buttons,” I muttered with frustration as I struggled with each one.

He helped. His fingers reached for his shirt, made quick work of it.

“What if someone comes?” I gasped, noticing the door was unlocked.

“Let them,” he growled and ate any other protests I may have by locking his lips against mine, sending a thrill down my spine.

His shirt was finally unbuttoned, and I shoved it off his shoulders, baring that perfect chest, those ridges of muscle that flexed with every ragged breath he took.

His fingers trailed up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher with torturous slowness. Each inch of skin burned where he touched. When he reached the edge of my underwear, he paused, his thumb circling just beside where I needed him most.

“Federico, stop teasing,” I whispered in part warning and part plea.

His eyes crinkled with that half smile and locked on mine as he pressed his palm against my panties, feeling the dampness through the thin fabric. The pressure was delicious but not nearly enough.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You’re soaked.”

My cheeks flushed, but I didn’t look away. “Your fault.”

“Mine,” he agreed, sinking to his knees before me like a man in worship.

He pushed my skirt up around my waist, his gaze traveling hungrily over my legs and thighs. Slowly—so slowly I thought I might scream—he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my inner thighs as he went.

The sight of Federico Lebedev on his knees, looking up at me with such worship, nearly undid me. He tossed my underwear aside and placed his hands on my knees.

“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered.

My legs were jelly, but I tried.

“More,” he commanded.

God, why was that tone so fucking hot? The way he gave orders like he expected instant compliance—which, honestly, he usually got. Including from me, apparently, because I found myself opening wider for him.

Still, it wasn’t enough for Federico. He placed his palms on my inner thighs and spread them further apart, exposing me completely. The cool air hit my center, making me shiver.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his breath hot against my pussy.

And then— oh God.

His mouth found me, tongue stroking, curling, licking like he knew exactly how to unmake me. I gasped, one hand clutching the edge of the desk, the other buried in his hair.

He devoured me. No mercy. No hesitation.

I gripped the edge of the desk, heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst through my chest. Federico pulled away, and his eyes flicked up to mine, holding my gaze as he leaned in and licked a slow, deliberate stripe right up my center.

My head fell back with a gasp.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I forced my head back up, meeting his gaze as he continued toying with me. His tongue circled my clit with precision before dipping lower, exploring every inch of me.

One large hand splayed across my stomach, holding me in place as I instinctively tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. The other slid beneath me, lifting my hips slightly to give him better access.

“You taste even better than I ever imagined,” he murmured against me.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he slid one finger inside me, curling it forward in a beckoning motion that made me cry out. My thighs trembled as he added a second finger, stretching me deliciously while his tongue continued its relentless rhythm against my clit.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands.

He hummed his approval. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

The dual assault of his tongue and fingers had me spiraling, fast and helpless.

He touched me like he knew my body—every gasp, every tremble, every desperate little twitch.

And when his fingers curled just right while his tongue flicked quick and relentless over my clit, I nearly came off the desk with a cry, my thighs clamping around his head like I was trying to hold on to sanity.

“Federico—I’m going to—”

“Come for me,” he growled against my soaked flesh. “I want you to fall apart on my tongue.”

His words—low, filthy, commanding —combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers and the hot, sucking pressure of his mouth, undid me completely.

My orgasm slammed into me like a wave crashing through glass—violent, blinding, all-consuming.

I shattered with a scream, thighs shaking around his head, hips jerking helplessly as I came hard against his mouth, gasping his name like a prayer I’d never meant to say out loud.

My thighs clamped around his head as I rode out the pleasure, but Federico didn’t stop. He worked me through it, drawing out every last shudder until I had to push him away, for it was getting too much to bear.

This much pleasure? Shouldn’t have been legal.

He rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking sinfully pleased with himself. He towered over me, his chest heaving slightly, his erection straining against his pants.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he said roughly, his voice like carnal pleasure in itself.

He reached for the hem of my blouse, pulling it up and over my head. My bra quickly followed, leaving me naked from the waist up, perched on his desk with my skirt bunched around my hips.

His hands slid up to cup my breasts, warm and possessive, thumbs brushing over my nipples in slow, deliberate circles that made my back arch off the desk. I let out a soft whimper, already aching, already needing .

Then his mouth replaced his hands—hot, wet, devouring . He sucked one nipple between his lips, tongue swirling before he grazed it with his teeth, just enough to make me cry out. I tangled my fingers in his hair, anchoring him there, greedy for the friction, the heat, the pleasure.

He didn’t rush. He worshipped. Alternated between slow, teasing licks and sharp little bites that had me writhing under him, my body begging while my mouth couldn’t form words.

His hands never stayed still—one sliding down my waist, the other coasting along my thigh.

Then—without warning—he pressed one broad palm flat against my chest and shoved me back gently.

I gasped as my back hit the desk, papers flying, something metal crashing to the floor. But none of it mattered.

The only thing I could feel was him.

Everywhere.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, working at his belt. “Now.”

I propped myself up on my elbows, watching him hungrily as he pushed his pants and boxers down, his cock springing free to my sight. Thick. Hard.

He positioned himself, and the blunt head of his cock pressed against me. He met my gaze when he pushed forward, stretching me inch by delicious inch until he was seated fully inside me.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his eyes closing briefly. “You feel incredible.”

I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. The fullness, the pressure, the way he fit inside me so perfectly—it all felt so fucking good.

When he started to move, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming.

“You like that?” he growled.

I could only nod, hips rolling to meet his, eyes rolling back as he began to pound me recklessly. It was too much. Perfectly too much. Heat spiraled outward from my core, building faster than I could handle.

His rhythm reached a punishing level—hard, deep thrusts that had the desk creaking beneath us. A pen holder toppled over, pens scattering across the floor. Neither of us paused.

Federico gripped my hips, tilting them a bit higher, and suddenly he was hitting a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

“There,” I gasped, my nails digging into his forearms. “Right there.”