Page 98 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
Mine.
Goddamn beautiful.
I took a moment—just one—to look at her: flushed face, heaving chest, perfect breasts rising and falling, her body laid out like a dream I never thought I’d be allowed to touch again.
Then I lowered my mouth to her center and made her scream.
I gripped her thighs tighter, holding her in place as I devoured her. God, she tasted divine. Sweet and musky and mine. I lapped at her like a man starved, circling her clit with the tip of my tongue before sucking it between my lips. Her hands flew to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling just enough to make my scalp tingle.
I looked up at her from between her legs, taking in the sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, breasts heaving with each gasping breath.
I redoubled my efforts, sliding two fingers inside her while my tongue continued lapping on her clit. She cried out, her back arching off the couch. I curled my fingers, finding that spot inside her that I knew would drive her wild.
“Oh God, Federico—”
“That’s it,” I murmured against her. “Let go for me.”
I felt it when she came—the tight clench of her walls around my fingers, the way her thighs trembled against my shoulders. Her moans—her pleasure—ruinedme.
I rose above her, dragging my mouth up her stomach, her ribs, her chest, then kissed her hard as I positioned myself between her thighs. She was still trembling as I pushed inside her.
She gasped, clinging to me.
And fuck, the way she looked beneath me—lips parted, lashes fluttering, pureneedpainted across her face—it made something inside me snap.
If I could, I’d have fucked her all night.
Owned every sound, every shiver, every inch of her until neither of us could remember who we were without each other.
***
We didn’t talk after.
She said she was tired and disappeared into her guest room. And I didn’t stop her.
Alone in my bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I finally admitted to myself what I’d been fighting for weeks.
I was in love with my wife. Completely, stupidly in love with her.
I hadn’t realized it when I had her, hadn’t realized it when she left. I was too god damn torn and furious at myself to have felt anything beyond anger. But now that I had her back, now that the pain of loss wasn’t an all-encompassing, urgent presence, I realized I loved her.
Because I let her go when she needed me to let her go. Because I couldn’t let the anger I felt at her keeping our child a secret hinder me from holding her when she needed me most. Because I realized that for her happiness, I had to forego my pride.
God, I loved her.
The realization didn’t surprise me as much as it should have. Maybe I’d known all along, from that first moment I saw her. Maybe that’s why I’d been so desperate to make her mine, by any means necessary.
Love at first sight? Maybe not a myth, after all?
But even if I loved her, I couldn’t tell her. Words meant nothing after what I’d done.
I had to show her, through my actions, through consistency, and through honesty, that she could trust me again. That I could be the man she deserved and the kind of father our child deserved.
***
The next morning, I woke up before Autumn did. I walked past her door and peeked in when she didn’t answer my knocks. She was sleeping so peacefully, one hand tucked under her pillow, dead to the world.
Usually, she woke around the same time, but I figured with the pregnancy, she must have been exhausted. I gently closed the door, not wanting to disturb her.
