Page 45 of Accidental Bratva Daddy

The weight of his words, the promise of a future free from fear and violence, overwhelms me. Tears spring to my eyes again, but this time from joy rather than sorrow. "Really?" I whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

Instead of answering, Luka captures my lips in a searing kiss. All the fear and adrenaline of the night transmutes into something else—something heated and desperate and alive. I melt into him, my body recognizing its mate even as my mind still reels from everything that's happened.

His hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When they settle on my hips, pulling me closer, I gasp at the evidence of his arousal pressing against me. "Luka," I breathe, caught between desire and uncertainty. "Should we—after everything?—"

"Yes," he growls, nipping at my lower lip. "I need to feel you, Natalia. Need to know you're real, you're safe, you're mine."

His possessiveness sends a shiver of desire through me. This is what I need too—to lose myself in him, to remind myself that despite all the darkness in our world, this light between us is real.

We barely make it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in our wake. When Luka lays me on our bed, his eyes are dark with need, but his touch is achingly gentle as it skims over my body.

"My brave, beautiful wife," he murmurs, pressing reverent kisses along my collarbone. "My fierce defender. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

The adrenaline fades, leaving a tingling awareness. My body, still humming from the fight-or-flight response, now thrums with a different kind of energy. A raw, primal need that mirrorsthe intensity in Luka's eyes as he gazes down at me. The scent of gunpowder and blood still hangs in the air, a stark contrast to the intimacy blooming between us.

I arch into his touch, craving more. "Show me," I challenge, my voice barely a whisper. “Make me yours again.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating through me, igniting a fire deep within. He lowers his head, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

He takes his time, worshipping my body. His hands and mouth drive me to the edge of madness. Every touch is a reminder: I'm alive, I'm his, we survived. His lips trail fire down my throat, nipping at the pulse point at the base of my neck. I gasp, my fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.

His hands move with reverence, exploring my body as if I'm a precious work of art. His touch is demanding, gentle, igniting sparks of pleasure. Each caress is a reaffirmation, a silent promise. He traces my collarbone with his tongue, sending a wave of heat through me.

I arch against him, the silk of my dress a frustrating barrier. I groan, reaching for the zipper, my fingers fumbling.

He chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. "Allow me,moya lyubov," he murmurs, his fingers brushing mine as he takes over. The zipper slides down, revealing the emerald green lace beneath. His eyes darken, lingering on the fabric that barely conceals my breasts.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. He cups my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I gasp.

His exploration continues, his hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire. He lavishes attention on my breasts, drawing moans that echo through the room. He moves lower, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach, circling my navel with a teasing flick that makes my hips buck.

I writhe beneath him, my body thrumming. His scent, his hands, his breath against my skin—it's too much, intoxicating. I'm drowning in sensation, lost in the moment. The fear and tension fade.

He reaches the apex of my thighs, his fingers tracing the delicate folds. I cry out, arching off the bed. I'm a wildfire, and his touch is the inferno.

He slides into me. We both groan as he bottoms out. The feeling of fullness, of completion, is overwhelming. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in his scent, grounding myself in the solid reality of him.

"Look at me," he commands softly.

I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The warmth in his blue eyes melts my heart.

"You're safe now. We all are. I'm never letting anything happen to you or our children."

Tears spill over, tracing a path down my cheeks. "I love you, Luka," I whisper, the words a heartfelt confession.

Surprise flickers across his face, replaced by tenderness. He bends his head, capturing my lips in a kiss, gentle and possessive.

We move together, urgency building. The rhythm of our bodies, a dance of passion and trust, builds steadily.

His hands never leave my body. His touch is a constant reassurance, a silent language. He caresses my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending shivers through me. He traces my hip, his fingers dipping lower to tease my inner thigh. Each touch is a brand, marking me as his.

The intensity builds. My nails dig into his back, my body arching. I'm lost in the sensation, consumed by pleasure.

I shatter around him, crying out his name. He follows me over the edge, groaning, "My Natalia." The world explodes in light and sensation, my body convulsing around him.

The aftershocks linger, leaving me trembling. He holds me close, our bodies still joined, our breaths mingling.

Later, tangled in the sheets, his hand rests protectively over my stomach. The simple gesture brings fresh tears, tears of gratitude, of love, of hope.

---