15. Solenne #3
“I know.” He sets a relentless rhythm, hips snapping, the wet slap of us loud under the garage hum. His hand braces by my head. The other slides between us to rub my clit in tight circles timed to every thrust. “Look at me. Don’t hide. I want those eyes when you break.”
I look. His face is wrecked, open, dominant and pleading at once. He fucks me like he’s trying to rewrite six months with his body, and I take it, nails in his shoulders, moaning into his mouth when he bends to kiss me messy and deep.
“You take me so well,” he growls against my lips. “Listen to you, whining for it. Louder. No one will hear you baby, just me.”
“Valentin, please… harder…”
He gives it harder. The angle shifts and pleasure spikes sharp enough that I cry out, raw. He swears, praise tumbling out filthy and soft: beautiful, perfect, my girl, fucking masterpiece.
My orgasm hits like a wave breaking. I clench around him, shaking, a high broken noise I can’t swallow, and he rides me through it without slowing until I’m oversensitive and grabbing at his wrist.
“Too much…”
“One more position,” he says, voice gone rough with restraint. “Then I’ll let you rest. Just fucking missed you so on your knees for me, baby. Hands on the window.”
I twist onto my knees on the seat, palms flat on the cool glass, skirt shoved to my waist. He covers me from behind, one arm banded around my middle, and drives back into me with a groan that vibrates against my spine.
“Fucking hell.” His mouth finds the back of my neck. “Look at this. Taking me so deep. You’re dripping down my balls, Solenne. Such a filthy thing for someone so careful with words.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” I gasp, and then I’m the one whining when he does exactly that, snap of hips, the car rocking, his hand slipping down to work my swollen clit again. “Ah! God, don’t stop…”
“Not stopping.” His pace turns punishing, dominant, each thrust punching a soft sound out of me. “Come on my cock again. Be good. Give it to me.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. You will.” He bites my shoulder, not gentle. “Come. Now.”
The second climax tears through me harder than the first. I shove back onto him, shaking, swearing, and he follows with a broken curse of my name, burying himself deep as he spills into me in hot pulses. His arm locks around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear through the glass.
For a long minute there is only breathing. Fog on the window under my palms. The smell of sex and leather. His forehead pressed between my shoulder blades.
“Solenne,” he says quietly. Not an apology. Not a demand. Just my name, like he’s checking I’m still here.
“I’m here.” My voice is hoarse. “I’m… here.”
We ease apart carefully. Messy. Real. I find tissues in the center console like some practical stranger left them for a less catastrophic night.
We clean up in silence that isn’t empty, just full. Skirt down. Shirt tucked enough to pass. His jacket shrugged back on. My mouth still feels kissed raw.
When I push the door open, cool garage air hits the sweat at my hairline. The guard is still by the elevators, carefully not looking. Valentin steps out after me, hair wrecked, eyes darker than before.
He doesn’t reach for my hand. He waits.
“I can follow you home,” he says. Same offer as if we hadn’t just come apart in his back seat. “Make sure you get there safely. Or I go back to the hotel. Whatever you want.”
I think about the messages. Summer asleep at Odette’s. His flight to Sicily tomorrow. What we just did, and what it didn’t fix.
“Follow me home,” I say. “But don’t come in.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it. You follow me there, you see me go inside, and then you leave.”
“I understand.”
We stand there another moment. My lips are swollen. My thighs still tremble. The charged air between us has changed shape, not disappeared.
“Go to your car,” I tell him. “I need a minute before I drive.”
“I’ll pull around. Take your time.”
He nods to the guard on his way. I watch the stairwell door close, then lean against the cool concrete of the nearest pillar because my legs need something solid. Across the garage the guard glances up. I raise a hand. I’m all right. He stays put.
I can still feel Valentin inside me. It would be easier if the wanting had disappointed me. If anger had burned the hunger out.
It didn’t.
For a few minutes I stopped measuring every word between us. Then he came with my name in his mouth, and I still told him not to cross Odette’s threshold. Sex isn’t forgiveness. Tonight proved I can want him and still refuse him the house.
I take my keys out. My hand is steadier. There is still a drive home, a sleeping child, a flight that will take him away for a few days. None of the strangers sending those messages have changed their minds because we fucked in his car. Neither have I, about the things he let happen.
Headlights turn onto our level. His car slows and stops well short of mine, leaving me room to walk across. He doesn’t get out. He doesn’t lower the window to ask if I’m ready.
I stay against the pillar one more moment.
I came down here afraid of what strangers might do with my past.
Now I’m looking at the man who hurt me, body still humming with him, wondering whether I could still give him my future.