Page 41 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
He tilted his head, mouth hovering over mine for a breathless second—hot air mingling—before he closed the distance. And then his lips crashed against mine—like this wasn’t a kiss but a reckoning.
His lips were softer than I’d imagined, but his kiss? Ferocious. He took. He devoured. His hand pushed my lower back, dragging me closer until I felt nothing but him.
No emotion.
No thought.
Just a well of desire.
His hand dragged lower, lingered over my ass.Squeezed.
Fuck.
My knees almost buckled.
I gasped.
His tongue slid past my lips, played with my tongue with a bold sweep. Then, a teasing stroke that left me trembling. Then another, deeper this time, coaxing me to meet him tongue for tongue.
I clutched at him, nails digging into the back of his neck. He growled into my mouth and pressed harder, his tongue tangling with mine. Unrelenting.
He kissed me like kissing me wasn’t enough.
And god help me, I wanted more.
My back pressed against the wall as he crowded closer, one hand braced behind my head, the other gripping my hip tight enough to bruise.
I felt his cock against my dress.
My body arched into his like a second half. My fingers tightened in his hair. The hand on my hip slid lower, bunching the silk of my dress as he traced the bare skin of my thigh beyond the slit.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips. “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.”
His words sent me pooling wet between my thighs. I wanted more. My hand left his hair, slid down to grip his shoulder.
Federico trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, my neck, finding a spot just below my ear that made my knees buckle. Thank God for the wall behind me; otherwise, I would have crumpled to the floor.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured against my skin.
The hand on my thigh inched higher, fingers tracing maddening patterns that had me squirming for more contact. My own hand, still pressed against his erection, felt him twitch and grow even harder.
He went for my mouth again, the kiss deeper, more desperate. I was drowning in sensation—the heat of his body, the touch of his hands, the taste of his tongue. Nothing existed outside of him, outside this moment.
His fingers finally brushed the edge of my underwear, and I gasped.
The sound echoed in the alcove.
And that’s when I remembered where we were.
The gala. The Rossi Foundation. A hallway anyone could walk down at any moment.
What the hell was I doing?
I jerked back, breaking the kiss, my hand flying away from his body like I’d been burned.
Federico looked stunned, his chest heaving, lips swollen from our kiss.
“I—I can’t,” I stammered, trying to straighten my dress with shaking hands. “This isn’t—we shouldn’t—”
