Page 38 of Accidental Bratva Daddy

I stroke her hair as we catch our breath, my other hand coming to rest protectively over her stomach. The slight swell beneath my palm is a constant reminder of the miracle she carries within her, the future we’re building together.

In this moment, everything else falls away—the complications with her family, the threat of Viktor, the constant danger that shadows our lives. All that matters is this: Natalia in my arms, our children growing within her, and the fierce, undeniable love I feel for all of them.

But as I hold her close, a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminds me that such peace can never last. Not in my world. Sooner or later, the violence that defines my life will touch this precious bubble we've created. And when it does, I pray I'm strong enough to protect what matters most.

For now, though, I simply hold my wife closer and try to believe my own promises about keeping our family safe. Even if those promises feel more like prayers with each passing day.

19

Natalia

Idelicately clean out my mouth with a swish of water, then turn to my husband to find him looking at me with heat in his eyes. But I’m still thinking about dinner, my mind drifting back to the words my mother said to me on the terrace, the bitterness in her eyes.

"You are amazing,” he says, moving closer. His voice is low, intimate. “And you did so well tonight, Natalia. Especially the news about the twins."

I manage a weak smile. "Did I? Mother could barely look at me."

"She'll come around." His hand drifts to my still-flat stomach, protective and possessive. "They all will. These babies are a blessing, Natalia. Our blessing."

The tenderness in his voice makes my heart ache. "How did you go from terrifying mafia boss to doting father so quickly?"

His lips quirk up. "Only with you, darling. You've changed everything." His fingers trace gentle patterns over my abdomen. "You're carrying my children. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

"Tell me," I whisper, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

"It makes me want to worship you," he says, backing me slowly toward the dining room table. "To show you exactly how precious you are to me. How perfect." His hands slide to my hips. "The mother of my children deserves to be thoroughly appreciated, don't you think? Especially after making me come so hard I saw stars.”

Heat pools low in my belly at his words. "Luka..."

"Shh," he soothes, lifting me onto the mahogany table. "Let me take care of you. Like you took care of me.”

His kisses start gentle—my lips, my jaw, the sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me shiver. His hands roam my body reverently, learning again all the ways I've started to change. When his fingers brush the increased sensitivity of my breasts through my silk dress, I gasp.

"More sensitive now, aren't you?" he observes with a knowing smile. "Pregnancy suits you, my love. You're glowing. Radiant." His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher. "And so gorgeous.”

I try to reach for him but he catches my wrists, pinning them gently above my head. "Not yet," he says. "Tonight is about you. About showing you exactly how much I cherish what you're giving me."

He takes his time unwrapping me like a gift, slowly revealing skin inch by inch. When he reaches the emerald lingerie beneath, his eyes darken appreciatively.

"Green like your eyes," he murmurs. "You wore this for me?"

"For you," I confirm breathlessly. "Always for you."

His fingers trace the lace edges teasingly. "So beautiful. My wife. The mother of my children." Each word is punctuated with a kiss, moving lower. "Mine to protect." A nip at my collarbone. "Mine to pleasure." His tongue traces patterns that make me arch. "Mine to love."

When his clever fingers finally find their way beneath the lace, I'm already embarrassingly wet. He groans in approval.

"Pregnancy has made you even more responsive," he notes with satisfaction. "So wet for me already. But not yet, darling. I want to make this last."

He brings me to the edge again and again, backing off each time before I can fall. His mouth and hands seem to be everywhere at once—teasing, tasting, driving me wild with need. By the time he finally slides two fingers inside me, I'm practically begging.

"What do you need, my love? Tell me."

"You. Inside me. Please."

He curls his fingers just right, making me gasp. "Soon. But first, I want to watch you come for me. I want to hear how good it feels for you, how much you can’t control yourself. I want to see you give it all up to me, and only then do I want to fuck you like the beautiful whore you are."

His thumb circles my oversensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers maintain their torturous rhythm. When I finally shatter, it's with his name on my lips like a prayer. He holds me through it, whispering praise and endearments in Russian against my skin.

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