Page 55 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
She moaned, grinding against my touch.
I slipped my hand between her thighs, pushing her panties aside, and slid one finger through her slick heat.
She was soaked—dripping—and the sheer fact that she wanted this, wantedme, as badly as I needed her, made my head spin.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” I groaned, dragging my finger slowly over her entrance, teasing the spot that made her hips twitch. Then I eased inside—tight, hot, velvet-slick—and she moaned, her head falling back, golden hair spilling down her spine like a damn painting.
Her walls clenched around me, greedy and pulsing, and it nearly broke me.
“More,” she gasped, grinding down against my hand.
I gave it to her.
A second finger joined the first, stretching her as I curled deep, searching for that spot that made her shatter. My thumb brushed her clit—just once—and she cried out, nails biting into my shoulders as her body bucked against mine, desperate and beautiful andso fucking close.
But she wanted more. For her hands went for my pants, unzipping, reaching to free my cock. And when her fingers wrapped around me?
God. I near lost it.
“Wait,” I gasped desperately, trying to tug off my pants. She eased back and helped me lower the boxers, too.
Then she rose onto her knees, reaching between us to guide me to her—her fingers wrapping around my cock, slick with need, steady with intent. The swollen head slid against her entrance, heat meeting heat, and I barely held back a groan.
She hovered there for a heartbeat, trembling slightly, her eyes locking with mine.
And in them—I saw everything.
Her fear.
Her hunger.
Her uncertainty.
Her undeniable need.
“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice hoarse, barely holding back the ache to take over, to claim.
Her answer was breathless and wordless.
She sank down onto me in one slow, devastating glide.
Her body stretched around mine, tight and perfect, taking every inch like she was made for it. Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttered, and I nearly lost control right then.
She seated herself fully, hips pressed flush to mine, her hands braced on my chest, her jaw slack with pleasure.
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned, head falling back. “You feel like fucking heaven.”
She was still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of me inside her. Then she began to move, rising up before sliding back down, setting a pace that had me seeing stars.
My hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements but letting her control the rhythm. Her breasts bounced with each downward thrust, her head thrown back, exposing the long column of her throat.
I leaned forward, sucking at the pulse point in her neck, feeling her heart race against my lips. One hand left her hip to cup her breast, pinching the nipple between my fingers.
“Oh god,” she moaned, her movements becoming more erratic. “Federico, I’m—”
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I encouraged. “Let go for me. Let me feel you come.”
Her inner muscles clenched around me as she rode me harder, chasing her release. I slid my hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, circling it in time with her movements.
