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 brotherhounded 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.
