Page 33 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

“I—I’ve never had sex.”

The car jerked violently.

My breath caught as Miron’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel, his foot slamming on the brake just in time to keep us from swerving into the next lane. A car horn, though muffled by the wound-up windows, blared behind us, and he cursed under his breath, steadying the wheel.

Then, he turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’ve never…how?”

It was the most genuine and stupefied reaction I had ever seen on him, and my ears burned with embarrassment. Thanks to my big mouth. Sometimes, I feared I talked too much.

“Forget I said anything.” I shrank in my seat, covering my burning face with my hands. “You know what? Here’s fine.”

“You’re the crazy one if you think I’m leaving you here.”

“Miron….”

His eyes grew as hard as granite. “I’m taking you home. End of discussion.”

I had already begun fumbling with the door, thinking he was going to burst out at any moment, laughing in my face—even though, technically, I’d never seen him laugh. But I couldn’t wait for him to mock me. I couldn’t let that happen.

“My house is nearby. I’ll walk the distance. Here is fine.” A lie. It wasn’t anywhere close, but I needed out. Now.

Miron’s grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw ticking like he was about to argue. I reached for the door handle, fingers shaking. It wouldn’t budge.

“Unlock it,” I demanded, my heart hammering so loud that I heard the blood roaring in my ears.

He hesitated.

“Please, unlock the damn door, Miron,” I snapped.

A soft click.

I shoved the door open, stepping out before I could second-guess myself. The night air hit my skin, cooling the humiliating heat on my face.

I didn’t look back.

I walked away, fast. Maybe too fast, attempting to leave that memory behind. But I didn’t care.

Chapter 13 – Miron

I barely heard the men rumbling greetings as I stomped through the double oak doors, past the foyer, and headed straight to the wine shelves in the kitchen.

The house was quiet, which was not the most ideal situation because she now completely consumed my thoughts. And I didn’t bother to fight her away.

Her image from earlier was stuck in my mind: her dressed sharply in an ivory blouse tucked into a sleek black pencil skirt, her heels still on despite how late it was. She’d looked exhausted. The kind of tired that settled in the eyes, not just the body. A strand of hair had slipped from the neat bun at the nape of her neck, brushing against her cheek, but she didn’t bother fixing it.

I’d kept my eyes on the road, acted like I didn’t notice. But it disturbed the shit out of me.

Blindly grabbing myself a random bottle, I poured myself a couple of fingers of whiskey neat, the amber liquid swirling as I gripped the glass tighter than necessary.

Then, I held the counter, feeling the rage tick for letting her angrily trudge in the darkness. But what benefit did I get from stopping her?

She was myfuckingtherapist.

I’d gone over there to buttress that I’d prevented her from getting her ass fucked without her permission and then ended up finding out that she’d never been fucked at all.

Shit.

It was disturbing that hervirginity excited me in the strangest way, and I’d nearly lost focus on the damn road.

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