Page 111 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
And I did.
The orgasm surged through me in a sudden, dizzying wave, sharp enough to steal my breath. I bit down on his palm, my muffled cry tangled in heat and disbelief at how fast—how deep—he’d taken me there.
My legs would’ve given out if he hadn’t been holding me so tightly against the wall, his body a barricade, his touch the only thing keeping me from floating away.
As I came down, still shaking, Federico landed a playful smack on my ass. “Insatiable,” he murmured, sounding pleased.
I turned in his arms, still breathless. “It’s not my fault you make me hungry.”
His eyes gleamed with that predatory light I’d come to crave. “I take full responsibility.”
But I wasn’t done with him yet. I pushed against his chest, hard enough to catch him off guard. He stumbled back a step, eyebrows raised in surprise as I continued to advance until he hit the plush area rug.
“Sit,” I commanded.
A slow grin spread across his face. “Yes, Ma’am.”
He sank down onto the rug, legs stretched out in front of him, his cock hard, rising. I stood over him, my dress bunched around my hips where he’d pushed it.
“Aren’t you tired?” he asked, watching as I straddled his lap. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”
“Pregnancy hormones,” I quipped, settling over him. “They make me...restless.”
I reached between us, positioning him at my entrance. His hands found my hips, steadying me.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, gaze roaming over my flushed face, my heavy-lidded eyes.
I sank down on him in one fluid motion, taking him to the hilt. We both gasped at the sensation. Federico’s fingers dug into my hips, his eyes squeezed shut as if he were in exquisite pain.
“Look at me,” I demanded softly.
Those dark eyes opened, locking with mine as I began to move. Slow rolls of my hips at first, savoring the fullness, the stretch.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand sliding up to cup my breast through my dress. “Take what you need.”
I increased my pace, chasing the building pleasure. Federico slipped his hand under the neckline of my dress, pulling it down to expose my breast. My nipples had become so sensitive with pregnancy that when his thumb brushed across one, I nearly came undone again.
“Federico,” I gasped.
“I know,” he murmured, leaning forward to replace his thumb with his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue sent electricity straight to my core. “I’ve got you.”
His hands gripped my hips, guiding my rhythm now—lifting me, then pulling me down with purpose. Each thrust landed deeper, harder, his body slamming into mine with just enough control to make it feel like I might come apart at the seams.
“Anyone ever tell you,” he panted, voice shredded and low, “how fucking perfect you feel around me?”
I clenched around him deliberately, a wicked smile playing at my lips when he groaned—deep and raw, like it was being dragged straight from his chest.
“Just you.”
“Better be just me,” he growled—and then everything shifted.
In a blur, he flipped us, pinning me beneath him. The air left my lungs as he hitched my leg higher around his waist and drove into me so deep, so fast, I cried out before I could stop it.
“Oh my—Federico—”
My voice broke as he set a punishing rhythm, each stroke hitting that exact spot inside me that had my body tightening fast, the orgasm coiling like a fuse burning toward detonation. My nails scraped down his back. I could barely breathe.
“You feel that?” he grunted, thrusts relentless. “That’s mine. All of it. Every fucking inch of you.”
