“I wish my first time was with you,” I whisper. “It will be.” “Pasha, you know very well—” His hand covers my lips. “Your first time is going to be with me,” he says next to my ear. “All that from before, it doesn’t count. Do you understand?” I press my lips together, trying not to cry while something warm swells inside my chest, gluing together a couple of the broken pieces of my soul.
