Page 74 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“Stories,” he said, arms around my waist. “Stories of mothers lifting cars to save their children, the power of a mother’s love.”
“You think my love is strong enough to lift a car?” I asked, holding his gaze, his heart beating steadily beneath my palm.
“I think your love is strong enough to stop a moving train,” he answered.
A soft chuckle burst from my lips, my cheeks flushing at his remark. “Okay, nowthat’sridiculous.”
“Is it, though?” His voice, thick and husky, stirred up something sexual in me.
I felt it brushing gently against my thigh—his erection—and it felt so good. It was a subtle reminder of all the crazy things he could do to me—the number of times he could make me come.
Yulian’s seduction was working. It was subtle but effective.
In the stillness of the moment, it was just the three of us—my husband and I and the sleeping child. His warmth enveloped me, his protective and possessive arms wrapping around me like a blanket.
He kissed my forehead and pulled away slowly, his withdrawal accentuating my desire. I stood beside the crib, my chest rising and falling with quiet breaths as I stared deeply into his eyes. He didn’t have to say a word; his countenance and erection already sent the message.
He wanted me as much as I wanted him.
I kissed our baby’s forehead one last time before heading out of the nursery. Together, we stepped out after flicking the lights off. Hand in hand, we strolled back to our master bedroom in silence, each one passing hidden glances at the other.
The sexual tension between us was off the charts, and my heart wouldn’t stop hammering, pounding like a frigging drum.
Once inside, he made his way to the bed and sat on the edge, then lifted his head. Our eyes met, and I could see the intense passion burning just beneath the surface.
“Lemme take a shower,” I said, my voice soft and tender.
“Sure.” He cleared his throat, rubbing his palms along the fabric of his joggers. “Of course.”
My lips parted into a small smile, and slowly, almost seductively, I strolled over to the bathroom door. While in motion, I slid the thin straps of my gown off my shoulders, one at a time. Barely two steps ahead, the fabric slipped off my body, pooling at my feet.
I paused in my tracks, stealing a glance over my shoulder while letting him enjoy the view from behind. He swiped a palm over his mouth but said nothing, didn’t have to; the smirk on his face said it all.
My lips twisted into a mischievous, self-satisfied grin, and with that, I walked into the bathroom. I slipped into the tub, had a nice warm bath, and stepped out all freshened up.
I stood by the bathroom door, a white towel wrapped around me, my hair still damp from the bath. Our gazes locked, but he didn’t say anything—he just watched me quietly, his eyes hovering over my body.
His gaze was unwavering even as I glided over to the full-length mirror to adjust my hair. Yulian rose from the edge of the bed and approached me, his imposing frame towering over me from behind.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he whispered, his lips inches from my ear.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that,” I replied with the same tone.
His fingers traced the tattoo along my spine, slow and easy, my body trembling beneath his touch. “You’re torturing me, and you know it.”
“Torture?” I asked, subtly shivering at his touch. “How so?”
He placed his hands on my waist and then gently pulled me to him, my ass against his groin. “Do you feel that…?” His warm, fresh breath brushed over my skin. “…how badly I want you? How hard I am for you?”
His words lit a fuse that danced beneath my skin, and I was soaked before I even realized it. My waist ground against his hardness, slow, measured, and gentle.
“I’m yours,” I whispered, melting into his chest, legs slightly parting for better access. “Or did you forget?”
His hands slid up my thighs, the hem of the towel lifting as he traveled up to my tunnel. “I didn’t want to be selfish,” he said, his hand resting on the front of my underpants. “I figured you needed some time to heal.”
I bit my lower lip, my head arching in response to his finger sliding up and down my soaked panties. A cold shiver ran down my spine, my thighs shifting apart as if seeking a deeper connection.
“Iamhealed,” I moaned softly, writhing against him, ass grinding over his groin.
