Chapter 9
Zoltán
Zsófia bounced above me, clammy and soft under my hands. I’d opened the balcony door in between positions because it was so hot.
It didn’t stop her moans, her soft whines.
We didn’t care who heard us.
Her voice could command anything, and I’d obey. If it were Fia who told me to throw myself off the balcony straight to hell, I’d do it.
“You were right,” she rasped, head thrown back. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not—not when we’re… oh my god.”
She trembled, collapsing on my chest, and because she was so thrown by her orgasm, I pumped into her, not too fast, keeping the pace of her riding me.
“Not when you’re mine,” I said for her.
She cried out, her breath hot against my chest, and when she clenched around my cock, I was going to blow.
Because I could have sworn she called out “yours,” as if she were agreeing.
I dragged her face to mine, thick, damp hair clinging to her flushed skin, and crushed our mouths together.
It wasn’t like before. Not when we had been rough, and it was more of an ownership of her mouth.
This was the two of us.
We tasted each other, tongues lapping, my hands searching the whole of her body. When her orgasm passed, she breathed deeply against my mouth, her pants rough and dirty.
And I did it again. Holding her down by her hips, I kissed her as I thrust inside, giving her everything I knew she needed. That rough edge with her pleasure.
But the kiss stayed needy. Not a claiming on my part because she was kissing me back.
Maybe we were both claiming each other out of this nightmare.
She had to be mine.
“You kissed me,” she whispered.
And it broke me that it surprised her. Because I’d been gutted when she walked away in that sparkly, dizzying number up to her bedroom because I hadn’t kissed her. I’d hovered at her door, needing a goodnight peck. Just a little thing. A press. A moment to show she would forgive me.
Even in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about knocking. I didn’t have the heart to find out she had locked the door.
Yet, we’d ended up here, kissing.
But… we hadn’t.
Because I’d gone to bed and her door had remained closed and—
And I was dreaming.
There wasn’t a second to treasure the moment of her there in my hands, tight around me, crying out my name, before being transported out of the perfect dimension where she’d forgive and love me.
I woke with a jolt.
Panting, slick with sweat, cock hard as a rock, in my guest bedroom.
She was in my room. I’d wanted her scent to stay on my sheets. It was the closest I’d get to some permanence of her here, especially with how today had gone.
She was so damn close.
All I could picture was that door handle. There were two possibilities: she had locked it, had managed to sneak my fucking cousin into her room, was riding him like a cowgirl on my sheets, and would only speak to me at work. Only about work. This time next year, I’d probably be at their wedding.
Or option number 2: It was unlocked. And she wanted me.
Fuck, I wanted her to want me again.
Against that pillar, she’d told me I could bend her over there and then —
My cock was pulsing.
Bodri, my tiny little pumi, stared at me in confused disgust, his tail flat against the wood floor for once.
I pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes, trying to squeeze out the door handle and any image of her.
The most fucked up part was, it could be anything to do with her. Not just her tits or her ass or her body. Things like her real smile or her laugh, and I was a goner.
Was it the fact that she was the only woman I couldn’t have? Probably partly.
But not solely.
When she’d twisted her pretty mouth into a fake smile, blinked a bit too much, or stepped back from Imre’s hold, I’d hated myself.
I still did, in bed, trying to fuck my fist.
She deserved a nice, normal family. Not a father that had abandoned her, nor a step-brother that wanted to feast upon her.
That’s probably what she had with the Bacques. Her sister was normal, even if she was a fucking menace with that bad attitude and protective streak.
But at least Zsófia had her. Someone in her corner.
Even if it meant against me.
I’d watched her walk away in that ensnaring dress, and been a step behind her, when I realised she wasn’t leading me to her room; she was escaping into it.
And I didn’t deserve to follow her.
I’d give anything to be the man she’d danced with, openly. So, men other than my brother knew she was out of bounds.
Maybe if I went into her room and grovelled.
No. The door was locked.
And I was too proud to feel the handle’s resistance.
But I lifted my thumb to my nose like an addict, smelling her perfume from when I’d zipped her up. It had come out of her suitcase like an overload of her — consuming every sense. Floral — maybe jasmine? — and something I couldn’t quite place.
The air in the hall was cooler. I couldn’t remember making the decision to leave my bed and stare at her bedroom door.
A bedroom door I had stood outside of for about twenty minutes after the party died down. Then my brother hounded me, shoving me into my guest room, demanding to know ‘what the fuck’ was going on between our new baby sister and me.
The way he spoke about her made me want to throw a punch. Or do an Everly and throw him off the balcony.
But he was right — I should stay away. Not pace outside of her room, glaring at the brass door handle as if it had personally kidnapped her from me.
“Why would you do this to me?”
As the words repeated in her haunting, husky, bitter voice, I saw the crease between her brows, the harsh inhale of breath as if she was struggling to breathe, and I remembered it was me who had done that to her.
Me.
I had hurt her.
Because I was so selfish and arrogant, and I fucking needed her.
I hadn’t lied. It wasn’t the plan.
But when she had walked in with all of her wit, sass, and beauty, how could I not be tempted? How could I not take the one opportunity I had to be with her before everything fell apart?
Stupidly, I’d assumed one hit of her would be enough.
But she was addictive. And playing hard to get.
Because she should be impossible to get.
I’d wanted her attention. I’d wanted her everything.
If she had all of me, and I had all of her… what could stop us? Surely something like our parents’ marriage would be nothing in comparison to what we had between us.
What we could have.
The door handle was cold as I pressed it down, holding my breath, ready for the rejection.
It slid down easily, and then when I pushed, there was no resistance.
It opened.
Unlocked.
My heartbeat picked up, sprinting in my veins.
I should close the door, shouldn’t I? That would be the right thing to do.
But she’d left it unlocked. There was no way she hadn’t considered it.
She hadn’t been that drunk when she walked off.
I’d watched her take the stairs and checked that my cousin had retired to the log cabin on the east side.
As far away from her as possible without damning him to nomad it in the forest.
An unlocked door meant yes.
She’d told me she wanted me to wake her up with my cock.
I’d give her anything she wanted. Anything for her to forgive me.
Her body was curled towards the window, duvet half-kicked off, and an arm under the pillow where she rested her beautiful face.
She was naked, her leg at an angle, letting me see a glimpse of her delicious cunt, the duvet falling just under the slope of her hip.
As if she’d posed herself ready for my arrival.
Her dark, curled hair spilt across the pillow like that night when I’d brushed it with my fingers as she lay sleeping. Her expression was so soft. She was at peace, her mind not winding taught with witty comebacks or five languages flitting through.
I wondered what language she dreamed in.
What language she thought in.
I imagined it to be Hungarian. Her roots. Me.
God, I missed her.
I crawled into bed behind her—slow, silent—and pressed my palm to the dip of her waist. She didn’t stir, so I let my fingers slip lower.
Past her hip. Further. Down to where she’d begged me to touch not long ago.
When her legs fell open, it was the invitation I needed. She was warm, soft, already slick.
My cock throbbed.
I moved with reverence. Circling, stroking. Kissing the back of her neck. She sighed and pressed back into me, breath catching just how I remembered.
She started to rock on my hand, her ass thrusting back against my cock. When my fingers slipped inside her, she whimpered, holding onto my forearm for more leverage to bounce in time to my finger fucking.
“Fuck,” she rasped, her voice thick with sleep.
And then—
Her eyes snapped open.
She twisted, pulling away. “What are you —” She shook her head and started again in my language. “What are you doing?”
I froze. Had this not been the plan?
Her face was flushed, but not with desire, with fury.
I slipped my fingers out of her.
“I—I—”
“Fuck off,” she snapped —but trapped my hand between her thighs, holding me there. “An orgasm won’t earn my forgiveness.”
“Multiple?” I joked, wincing as it fell flat in my mouth.
“You let me touch you, sleep with you, and you knew who I was the whole time.”
Okay. Now I was confused.
Had she left the door open to talk?
“Who I would become,” she stressed. “And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”
“I wanted to. I— I didn’t know how.”
“Bullshit,” she spat, throwing the duvet over herself despite the heat. “You knew. You can speak.”
I sat up, hand still trapped between her thighs. I had to be better at explaining myself this time. “I was scared of losing you. I wanted as much time with you as possible, so you knew what we could be, so you knew we were worth fighting for.”
“We aren’t,” she snapped. “You didn’t even know me then.”
“I heard all about you for years,” I said.
Her lip curled in disgust.
“Imre told me he would eventually tell you. But it kept on getting closer and closer… and then the thought of having you here in my home… he should have told you. I promise you, I will tell him exactly that and more.”
“Don’t talk to him about me at all.” The order was laced with a threat.
“Done,” I swore. “But just so you know, I’d come clean about us at breakfast if you wanted.”
“There is no us,” she said and rolled her eyes.
“I can’t lose you,” I repeated and pulled my hand out, going to hold her waist. I needed to show her, it wasn’t just sex I was after.
“You already have.”
It was a punch to the gut. My inhale was as sharp as her venomous voice.
But she stayed where she was. She let me hold her.
“If this is the last time you let me close, I’ll take it. If you never touch me again, I’ll still try to be someone you can trust. Someone worthy of you. Even if you hate me—”
“I do hate you.” But her voice cracked with the lie. “I won’t forgive you. Ever. But…” Her eyes flickered over my face, and she breathed in. “But you can help me forget.”
She parted her legs so slightly.
“Let me earn that forgiveness,” I begged and brushed back her hair. “It doesn’t have to be sex.”
Something flashed in her eyes as she swallowed. I refused to think it could be fear.
She shook her head. “That’s all we’ve ever had, Zoltán.”
No. She was lying again. She had to be. There was something more here. There was everything here.
But her legs parted, and she rubbed her feet together.
“You’re wrong,” I said against her neck before kissing her there, my fingers finding home between her legs, going back to the motions of earlier without any thought.
Her breath caught, furious and wrecked. “You don’t deserve this.”
“I know,” I whispered, slipping my fingers into her. She jerked with a gasp. “But I need it. Need you.”
She moaned, like the sound had been ripped from her throat. “You don’t get to make me feel good right now.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel good,” I said against her jaw, before running kisses along the edge of her stunning face. “I’m trying to make it up to you.”
And I buried my face between her thighs.
She cursed—one hand grabbing the headboard, the other fisting the sheets. Her hips jerked as I sucked her clit, slow and deep, the way she’d loved that night.
Even when she hated me, her body was mine. I could feel it in the way she trembled, the way she tried not to moan—tried and failed.
“You’re such a dickhead,” she gasped.
I grinned against her. “Your dickhead.”
And I got back to my feast. She cried out, heels digging into the mattress, her hands in my hair as if she was worried I would come up for air and leave her wanton.
Not until she’d come.
I pressed my fingers back inside of her, watching the sudden rise of her chest with her deep breath. She’d got into bed naked. For me.
She was crying out. For me.
She had left the door unlocked. For me.
And she’d come for me. She would forgive me.
Fingers fucking, tongue flicking, mouth sucking, she broke easily. I held her down by her hips, forcing her to take it, trying to get her orgasm to last so long she’d realise we were together.
When I looked up as her breath calmed, her glare could’ve split me in two. But she didn’t tell me to stop. Instead, she snapped, “Condom.”
My heart punched my ribs.
I moved. I grabbed one from the bedside drawer and rolled it on with shaking hands. When I turned, she was on her knees, facing the headboard.
I’d wanted to fuck her, bodies pressed together, full of long kisses. Like my dream.
She didn’t. She was right; I didn’t deserve this.
She looked over her shoulder. “You want forgiveness?”
I was too in awe of her to speak. I nodded.
“You have to earn it.”
I didn’t dare speak. I just gripped her hips and started sliding into her, inch by inch.
She was wet. Tight. And still so fucking angry I could feel it in every muscle of her body.
But she let me in.
She liked it rough. I drilled into her, my grip tight, my spanks harsh. Her high-pitched whines, the way she pushed against my thrusts, were all the encouragement I needed. She was letting me so far inside of her, wanting me with the same desperation.
“Tell me you hate me,” I dared her, sweat starting to drip down my chest in the humid air.
“I do,” she rasped, voice muffled by the pillow she bit into.
“Say it.”
The only sound was her harsh breaths and the slapping of our bodies.
I spanked her again. “Say it.”
This time, she didn’t say it in Hungarian. She said it in English. “I hate you.”
The language she always went back to. The one that was a reflex. But not our language. The one she used to keep me out.
When I wrapped my arms around her, pressing my chest to her back, kissing her shoulder even as she cursed my name—
I knew she hadn’t locked the door because some part of her still wanted me.
Even if she never said it again.