Accidental Bratva Daddy (Bratva Blessings)

Chapter 19Natalia

19

Natalia

I delicately clean out my mouth with a swish of water, then turn to my husband to find him looking at me with heat in his eyes. But I’m still thinking about dinner, my mind drifting back to the words my mother said to me on the terrace, the bitterness in her eyes.

"You are amazing,” he says, moving closer. His voice is low, intimate. “And you did so well tonight, Natalia. Especially the news about the twins."

I manage a weak smile. "Did I? Mother could barely look at me."

"She'll come around." His hand drifts to my still-flat stomach, protective and possessive. "They all will. These babies are a blessing, Natalia. Our blessing."

The tenderness in his voice makes my heart ache. "How did you go from terrifying mafia boss to doting father so quickly?"

His lips quirk up. "Only with you, darling. You've changed everything." His fingers trace gentle patterns over my abdomen. "You're carrying my children. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

"Tell me," I whisper, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

"It makes me want to worship you," he says, backing me slowly toward the dining room table. "To show you exactly how precious you are to me. How perfect." His hands slide to my hips. "The mother of my children deserves to be thoroughly appreciated, don't you think? Especially after making me come so hard I saw stars.”

Heat pools low in my belly at his words. "Luka..."

"Shh," he soothes, lifting me onto the mahogany table. "Let me take care of you. Like you took care of me.”

His kisses start gentle—my lips, my jaw, the sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me shiver. His hands roam my body reverently, learning again all the ways I've started to change. When his fingers brush the increased sensitivity of my breasts through my silk dress, I gasp.

"More sensitive now, aren't you?" he observes with a knowing smile. "Pregnancy suits you, my love. You're glowing. Radiant." His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher. "And so gorgeous.”

I try to reach for him but he catches my wrists, pinning them gently above my head. "Not yet," he says. "Tonight is about you. About showing you exactly how much I cherish what you're giving me."

He takes his time unwrapping me like a gift, slowly revealing skin inch by inch. When he reaches the emerald lingerie beneath, his eyes darken appreciatively.

"Green like your eyes," he murmurs. "You wore this for me?"

"For you," I confirm breathlessly. "Always for you."

His fingers trace the lace edges teasingly. "So beautiful. My wife. The mother of my children." Each word is punctuated with a kiss, moving lower. "Mine to protect." A nip at my collarbone. "Mine to pleasure." His tongue traces patterns that make me arch. "Mine to love."

When his clever fingers finally find their way beneath the lace, I'm already embarrassingly wet. He groans in approval.

"Pregnancy has made you even more responsive," he notes with satisfaction. "So wet for me already. But not yet, darling. I want to make this last."

He brings me to the edge again and again, backing off each time before I can fall. His mouth and hands seem to be everywhere at once—teasing, tasting, driving me wild with need. By the time he finally slides two fingers inside me, I'm practically begging.

"What do you need, my love? Tell me."

"You. Inside me. Please."

He curls his fingers just right, making me gasp. "Soon. But first, I want to watch you come for me. I want to hear how good it feels for you, how much you can’t control yourself. I want to see you give it all up to me, and only then do I want to fuck you like the beautiful whore you are."

His thumb circles my oversensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers maintain their torturous rhythm. When I finally shatter, it's with his name on my lips like a prayer. He holds me through it, whispering praise and endearments in Russian against my skin.

But he's not done with me yet. Before I can recover, he turns me gently, bending me over the table. The position makes me feel deliciously vulnerable, completely at his mercy. I hear rustle of fabric, the soft sound of hand on flesh, and then his solid warmth presses against my back, his cock hard and ready to go once more.

"Tell me if anything feels too much," he says, his voice tight with restraint. "The babies..."

"Are fine," I assure him, pushing back against him impatiently. "Please, Luka. I need you so deep inside of me."

He enters me slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust to each inch. When he's fully seated, he pauses, dropping kisses along my shoulder blades.

"Perfect," he breathes. "You feel perfect around me. Made for me."

His thrusts start slow and deep, hitting spots that make me see stars. One hand slides around to cup my barely-there bump protectively while the other grips my hip. The dual sensation of possession and protection makes me melt.

“This body is mine,” he growls, gradually picking up the pace. “You are my wife, Natalia. Say it."

“I’m yours,” I gasp, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Only yours, Luka."

His pace increases, the sound of skin against skin filling the dining room. The table rocks slightly beneath us with each powerful thrust. I can feel him starting to lose control, his rhythm growing erratic, his breathing harsh and ragged against my neck. His fingers trail down my stomach to find my oversensitive bundle of nerves, drawing tight, perfect circles that make my thighs tremble.

"So close," he pants in my ear, his thrusts pushing be down into the table. "You feel too good. The way you squeeze around me, like you never want to let me go."

His other hand slides up to cup my breast through the silk of my dress, rolling my nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation is overwhelming—his thick length stretching me perfectly from behind, his clever fingers working me from the front, the increased sensitivity from pregnancy making every touch electric.

"Luka," I gasp, my inner walls fluttering around him. "I can't... it's too much..."

"You can," he growls, increasing the pressure of his fingers. "Come with me, my love. Let me feel you come on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel by dripping all over the fucking floor."

The crude words in his refined accent push me closer to the edge. My whole body tightens, pleasure coiling hot and tight in my core. I'm vaguely aware that I'm babbling in a mix of Russian and English, begging him for release.

"That's it," he encourages, his thrusts growing deeper, harder. "Let go for me. Come for your husband.”

The possessive pride in his voice sends me hurtling over the edge. My release hits like a tidal wave, making me cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me. My inner walls clamp down around him rhythmically, pulling his own orgasm from him with a guttural groan of "Natalia" that sounds like it's been torn from his very soul.

For long moments afterward, we stay joined, his solid warmth draped protectively over my back as our breathing slowly returns to normal. His arms wrap around me, one hand splayed possessively over my stomach where our children grow. His lips trace tender patterns across my shoulders and neck—sweet nothings in Russian mixed with gentle kisses that contrast beautifully with our passionate coupling.

"My perfect wife," he murmurs against my skin. "My beautiful, fierce lioness. The mother of my children. How did I get so lucky?"

I turn my head to catch his lips in a slow, languid kiss. When we part, his ice-blue eyes are soft with an emotion that makes my heart skip.

"Stay with me tonight," he grumbles, helping me straighten my thoroughly rumpled dress. "Come back to bed."

The invitation is tempting—it always is with him—but exhaustion from the emotional evening with my family weighs heavily on me. "I need time to process everything," I tell him softly. "Rain check?"

Understanding flickers in his ice-blue eyes. With a final kiss that promises more to come, he leaves me to my thoughts.

The next afternoon finds me at the kitchen table, surrounded by sketches for the twins' nursery. Sunlight streams through the windows, warming my skin as I work on designs for matching cribs. The house is quiet with Luka away on business—something about meetings that would keep him occupied all day. It's rare for me to have this much time alone with my thoughts anymore.

My hand drifts to my stomach as I sketch, imagining the lives growing within. Will they have Luka's eyes? My smile? The thought fills me with a mixture of joy and trepidation. What kind of world are we bringing them into?

My phone buzzes, interrupting my musings. A text from Uncle Viktor lights up the screen:

"Join us for dinner tonight, my dear. Your mother and Alina will be there. Time to bring this family back together."

My heart skips at the thought. Could this be the chance I've been waiting for? Viktor has always been the peacemaker in our family, the one person who could smooth over any conflict with his warm presence and understanding nature.

Another message follows quickly: "I've missed you. Let me help make things right."

Tears blur my vision as I read his words. Despite everything that's happened, despite the distance that's grown between us all, Uncle Viktor has always been there for me. From childhood scraped knees to teenage heartbreaks, he knew exactly what to say to make things better.

I glance at the clock, considering my options. Luka won't be back until late—his meetings often stretch well into the evening. My finger hovers over his contact, instinct urging me to seek his protection, his guidance. But something stops me.

When did I become this person? This woman who needs her husband's permission to see her own family? I'm still Natalia Orlova, successful designer, strong-willed businesswoman. I can't keep hiding behind Luka's strength. This is my family, my chance to repair these broken bonds before the twins arrive.

Decision made, I type out a quick reply: "I'll be there. Thank you, Uncle Viktor."

His response comes instantly: "Wonderful! Come at seven. Just like old times."

A smile tugs at my lips as memories flood back—family dinners at Viktor's house, laughter echoing through the halls, the sense of belonging and safety I always felt there. Maybe this is exactly what we need. A return to simpler times, before death and secrets tore us apart.

I gather my things, a spark of excitement building in my chest. This feels right—taking control of my own destiny instead of letting fear rule my life. I may be Luka's wife now, carrying his children, but I'm still my own person. Still capable of handling family matters without running to him for every little thing.

As I check my appearance in the hall mirror, my hand drifts again to my stomach. Still flat, but knowing our twins are growing there fills me with strength and purpose. I want them to know their family, all of it. To have the warmth and love I grew up with, not just Luka's wealth and protection.

The drive to Viktor's house is familiar, muscle memory guiding me through Moscow's busy streets. Each turn brings back memories. Ice cream stops after school, shopping trips with Mama, countless family celebrations. By the time I pull up to the grand estate, my heart is light with hope.

This is it. A chance to bridge the gap between my old life and new. To prove to myself and everyone else that I can navigate both worlds. That I don't need Luka's constant protection to survive.

I travel with a smile, my heart light and my spirits high. I don’t even notice the little rain cloud drifting by, or the way the sun doesn’t feel warm on my skin even though it’s shining bright.