The Bratva's Forbidden pregnancy

Nine

Sienna

It was quite thoughtful of him to take me home this evening, and I was glad he'd offered to drive me back.

He was at the wheel, focused on the road, his cologne seeping into the air around me. He'd glance at me every now and then, his eyes flashing with a hint of lust.

I knew he found me attractive, although he hadn't said so. The charge between us was palpable; the tension was so strong that we couldn't deny it even if we tried.

It was seemingly impossible to resist him—to tear my gaze off the handsome man who had me spellbound. He was driving me back home, but a part of me didn't want to return to the house just yet.

I'd had so much fun hanging out with him this evening, and it was such a shame that it was all over—at least for tonight.

If it were up to me, we would still be together, talking, laughing, and getting to know each other better. I really enjoyed his company and didn't want the night to end.

I sat in silence in the passenger seat, my mind imagining several scenarios, ninety-eight percent of which were about us being intimate.

Stop this madness! I tried to caution my thoughts, but I was failing in my attempts to brush off the sexy images playing in my head. His scent wasn't helping, either; the fact that his cologne was all I could smell made it more difficult to stay focused.

The man was in the very air that I breathed. His essence was all over me. How was I supposed to stay strong in such an atmosphere?

I stole a glance in his direction, and my eyes settled on his lips the moment he turned to me. They looked succulent, and I bet they would be so soft.

Jesus, Sienna.

I wanted him. I'd wanted him since the first day I'd seen him. Now, I thought I was losing my mind; he was so hot, and everything about him was seducing me.

"You okay?" he asked, shooting me a quick look.

"Yeah...I am," I replied.

Lies.

I was far from okay. It was like I was boiling from his hotness. For real, I was starting to overheat. My heart was racing, and a tingle traveled between my legs.

"I've been meaning to ask," he began, "you seem to know a lot about art. How come?"

Thank God, something to discuss—a perfect distraction.

"Art is my major," I replied.

"Really?" His brows rose, his eyes flickering in my direction once again.

"You seem surprised."

"I am—very," he confessed. "That's amazing."

For some reason, his words made me blush.

"Thank you." I jerked my eyes toward him. "The truth is, I aim to pursue art with everything in me, and hopefully, someday, I'll have my own art gallery—just like Caspian Nightingale."

"Interesting," he said. "You're a brilliant young woman; something tells me your dream will become a reality sooner than later."

He smiled.

My heart melted in my chest. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."

"Tell me, what art movement resonates with you the most?"

I didn't even need time to consider my answer.

"Impressionism," I replied with a wide grin. "I'm very much intrigued by it."