Page 19 of Arranged Bratva Virgin

“Open this door immediately,” I shout.

But she doesn’t reply. A mix of panic and anger runs thick through me. Could she have left? She wouldn’t have been able to get out without my help. Everything was so locked up.

I kick the door hard, and it splinters open to reveal her standing in an oversized pair of sweatpants and no top.

She looks terrified.

“Don’t you have any respect for my privacy?” she shouts at me, throwing the t-shirt in her hands at me.

I walk into the room, looking around, not sure what I am even looking for.

“Why was the door locked?”

“Because I locked it,” she snaps, covering her chest with her hands. My eyes devour her again, and it takes everything in me to stop staring.

“Here,” I say, handing her the coffee, stopping myself from fighting with her. This is not how I planned to start the day with my wife.

She stands on her tiptoes to see what is inside the mug and then takes it from me, pulling her mouth to the side. She doesn’t even bother saying thank you.

“All the clothes in here are going to be too big for you,” I chuckle, noticing how tightly she had to tie the cord of those pants just to try and keep them up, and they are still falling off her hips.

“Yes, thanks, I noticed.”

“There might be something in the other room that fits you. It was stocked for emergencies for men and women.”

“Mm. I am sure. Perhaps one of your old girlfriends left a pair of jeans here for me.” She rolls her eyes.

“Everything you find in the drawers is brand new. I have never brought anyone else here,” I say defensively.

She huffs and pushes past me, trying to hold the pants up, cover her breasts, and hold the coffee. I laugh at her struggle and she almost trips over the pants.

“Let me help you,” I say, leaning over to take the coffee from her.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she snaps and marches off.

I roll my eyes and head back to the kitchen to grab my phone. I want to make sure there is extra security at the mansion because we are about to go back there. I want to take Darya home. I also call a driver to come and fetch us. My car is useless. I will have to get a new one.

Darya comes through to the kitchen, placing her empty coffee cup on the counter. My eyes roam over the tight jeans she is wearing and how they hug her hips, the cropped t-shirt showing off just a glimpse of her smooth, milky-white skin.

Flashes of last night play in my mind. How she felt. How she tasted. I have no idea how I managed to walk away from her. Even now, I feel my cock stirring.

“We should get going. The driver is almost here.”

She doesn’t respond, so I just gather my things and walk towards the door, she has no choice but to follow me. “I’ll send someone over to pick up the dress,” I say, opening the front door.

The car ride is tense and silent. She sits with her legs crossed and her body turned away from me. His coldness is only making me want her more, if that is even possible at this point.

I don’t bother even trying to make conversation because I can see it is going to get me nowhere.

“This isn’t where I thought you lived,” Darya says in surprise.

“I bought a new place. I had no intension of living in my father’s old mansion. That place had too many bad memories and things I wanted to forget about.”

Her eyes are soft when they glance over at me, and I realize I have shared more than I had intended to.

My new mansion feels more like home than any other place has before.

I stayed in my father’s old place for a few weeks after his death, but the constant reminder of him made it impossible for me to move past what he did.

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