Page 38 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA
And I do.
Because I want to remember I’m not just a vessel for his children. I want to remember I’m his woman. His obsession. His everything.
He eases me back against the pillows, pushing the robe aside, baring my milk-swollen breasts and the proud mound of my belly. His lips press reverent kisses to the curve, lingering there like he’s worshipping the proof of what we’ve made together.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he murmurs, and I believe him because his voice trembles when he says it. “So full of me.”
When he finally slides into me, it’s slow and deep, his forehead pressed to mine. He doesn’t move like I’m fragile, he moves like I’m divine. Every thrust is deliberate, a prayer carved into my skin, every groan a vow he’s making to me and to the life we’ve created.
I cling to his shoulders, sobbing his name as the pleasure crests. My whole body shudders as I come, and he follows me into it, pushing as deep as he can, holding me there while his breathing turns rough and uneven.
Then, just as the pleasure fades, I feel it.
Not him.
Wetness. Warm and sudden.
A tightening low in my belly, sharp enough to make my eyes fly open.
“Mikhail…”
He freezes instantly. “What is it?”
“My water just broke.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence before his mouth curves into a slow, wicked grin. “You just fucked yourself into labour?”
I swat his arm weakly. “You fucked me into labour.”
He kisses me hard, quick and possessive, then reaches for the go-bag by the door without missing a beat.
“Come on, moya printsessa,” he says, his grin still wicked. “Time to meet our twins.”
