Page 48 of Accidental Bratva Daddy

A deep chuckle draws my attention to Luka, who's watching the scene with obvious amusement. "After all these years," he teases as I join him at the bar, "you're still a firecracker."

"Someone has to keep them in line," I retort, accepting the glass of champagne he offers.

His eyes gleam with pride as they roam over me. "Congratulations on your new collection, Mrs. Volkova.” He steps closer, his presence enveloping me like a warm blanket. "And the success of tonight."

The possessive way he says my married name still sends shivers down my spine. When he leans in to whisper in my ear, his breath fans across my skin. "The kids are up in their room with the nanny, and we have our own separate suite for the night."

Heat pools low in my belly at his words. Even after two years of marriage, two children, and countless nights together, Luka still affects me like no one else can. One look from those ice-blue eyes and I'm lost.

"Lead the way, Mr. Volkov," I murmur, setting down my barely-touched champagne.

The elevator ride to our suite is charged with anticipation. Luka keeps one hand possessively on my lower back, thumb stroking small circles that make my skin tingle even through the silk of my dress. The moment the doors close behind us in our suite, he has me pressed against the wall.

"Do you have any idea," he growls between kisses, "how proud I am of you?" His hands roam my body with familiar hunger. "My brilliant, beautiful wife. Taking the fashion world by storm."

I melt into his touch, arching against him as his lips find that sensitive spot behind my ear. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nonsense." He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze intense. "You did this all on your own. I just had the good sense to invest in a sure thing."

His faith in me, his unwavering support, makes my heart swell. This dangerous man who once struck fear into the hearts of Moscow's underworld is now my biggest cheerleader, the father of my children, the love of my life.

“I love you,” I whisper, running my fingers through his dark hair, tugging gently. “So much.”

He doesn’t answer with words, but his eyes, that icy blue softened with something akin to wonder, hold mine captive. Then, his lips are on mine, a passionate kiss that erases everything but the feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, a language we’ve perfected over the years—a language of shared secrets, unspoken promises, and a love forged in the fires of our complicated past.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine, and I taste the lingering champagne and something uniquelyhimthat makes my head spin. The world outside fades away—the noise of the after-party, the flashing lights, the congratulations—all of it disappears, replaced by the feel of his body pressed against mine, the heat radiating from his skin, the weight of his hand at the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.

Tonight, the success of my collection, the praise, the burgeoning empire we’re building—it all pales in comparison to this. To him. To us. Each touch, each stolen breath, reminds me of the choices that led us here, to this moment, this life I never could have imagined.

His hands roam my body, mapping every curve as if rediscovering a beloved landscape. I shiver beneath his touch, heat pooling low in my belly, and I press myself closer, wanting nothing more than to meld with him, to become one.

The silk of my dress slides beneath my trembling fingers as I fumble with the tiny buttons at the back.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice husky with amusement. “Not to worry, your husband is practiced at such things.”

He takes over, his long fingers deftly unfastening the buttons, the cool air a welcome contrast to my heated skin. The dress pools at my feet, and his gaze sweeps over me, lingering on the new black lingerie beneath.

“Stunning,” he says in a lust-roughened voice. “Perfect in every way.”

He reaches out and tweaks my already hardened nipples, then massages each breast. I moan, arching into his touch, desperate for more heat of his skin on mine.

He lowers his head, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my collarbone. He nips lightly, then soothes the sting with his tongue. I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He continues his slow, deliberate exploration. His mouth reaches my breasts, and he draws first one nipple, then the other past his lips. He trails kisses lower, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach, teasingly slow. When he reaches my center he pauses, his fingers tracing the delicate folds there. I gasp, searching for more friction.

He looks up at me, a question in his eyes. I nod, my body thrumming with need.

“Tell me what you want, Natalia,” he whispers, his voice rough.

I hesitate, a blush warming my cheeks. “Kiss me… there,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His eyes darken with desire. He lowers his head, his lips brushing against my core. He kisses me gently at first, then with increasing intensity, his tongue teasing, tasting, driving me wild. I arch against him, my fingers digging into the sheets, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

He looks up at me, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Is this what you wanted,kotenok?”

I can only nod, lost in the sensation.

He continues his ministrations, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony, building the pleasure until I’m trembling on the edge.

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