Page 38 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

"Ruslan..."

Is she trying to drive me insane? I try not to move, not wanting to wake her, but my body betrays me, responding all too eagerly to her touch. Then, suddenly, she stills. I can feel the exact moment she fully wakes up because her entire body tenses. Just as I think she's about to pull away, she surprises me by tightening her grip on my hard-on.

"It's only sex," she warns me in a low voice.

I don't answer her and turn to take her mouth. Our kiss is greedy and carnal. And what starts out as a half-dream becomes very real as I feverishly undress us and caress every inch of her skin. My tongue explores her responsive breasts and my fingers sink into her wet entrance, striving to give her as much pleasure as her body can handle. I'm hungry for her, for her moans, and she's not to be outdone. I feel her hands and mouth all over me, hungry. And when her lips seize my erection, I lose my mind. Every lick, every suction saturates my body with pleasure to the point where I'm not sure where I begin and where she ends. Unable to take it any longer, I withdraw my fingers, position her on her side with her back to me, one leg raised, and push into her all the way.

God, this feels good. I wish this moment would never end.

I knead her breasts, stroke between her legs and sink into her all at the same time. She arches her back in pleasure and her moans lose all coherence. I take her again and again.

"I'm almost there," I say in her ear.

"Yes, don't stop. Above all, don't stop."

The orgasm seizes us both at the same time and my body rushes into her again and again, shaking with spasms, until I pour every drop of my semen into her.

Still trembling from the last waves of pleasure, I hold her close, my sex still lodged in her body. I'm not ready to let go yet. The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken words. Then I feel her body stiffen, and she pulls away from me. She stares up at the ceiling, her gaze distant, as if she's already somewhere else. Then her voice rises, sharp as a blade:

"It's just fucking, nothing else," she says, pulling the sheets up over her body.

I hate seeing her so detached, as if I were nothing more to her than a one-night stand. Her attitude hurts me all the more because I know she's feigning indifference. A dull anger rises inside me, mingled with deep frustration.

"Stop lying to yourself. You and I know that what binds us goes far beyond physical desire. It always has."

Her laughter, tinged with bitterness, echoes through the room.

"I don't understand you, Ruslan. What exactly do you want? What do you want from me? Ever since that stolen kiss before you ran away fifteen years ago, you've been an enigma. Every time I think I've figured you out, you've proved me wrong."

She pauses, her gaze becoming accusatory.

"You disappear for years, don't show up when I'm eighteen, then reappear the following Christmas with that girl you're fucking in the room next to mine."

Her voice trembles slightly despite her efforts to keep it steady.

"When I pull away, you chase me. You play the lovesick fool, you marry me, then you kiss your mistress on our wedding day. You keep pictures of her in your wallet..."

She shakes her head, sickened.

"And now you expect me to believe that this moment meant something? Sorry, but I'm not falling for it. What just happened between us was nothing more than sex. That's all."

Her words burn like acid. I realize just how much of an idiot I've been. I've hurt Sophia again and again without even realizing it. After kissing her the night before my eighteenth birthday, I had pulled away, leaving for college two months later. From then on, I lived on campus and rarely came back. I had a new circle of friends and had forgotten the unique bond Sophia and I shared.

By the time she turned eighteen, I was seeing someone else. I had thrown myself into that relationship, mistaking passion for love. I had even introduced her to Renée and Loïc. It all fell apart the night before we were supposed to leave when I caught her with Raphaël. That betrayal, I never forgave. Only later did I understand that Jessica had only been looking for easy conquests and that I had actually dodged a bullet. The irony? I didn't even love her. I was in love with the idealized version of her I had created in my mind.

But my choices, my blindness, had hurt Sophia far more deeply than I had imagined. And suddenly, I understand what she isn't saying. She has loved me since she was fifteen, and this supposed betrayal with Natasha is just the latest in a long list of wounds I've inflicted on her.

As I finally grasp the full weight of what she means to me, another truth hits me: I may have irreparably destroyed her ability to trust me. Every rejection, every absence, every betrayal has slowly chipped away at her faith in me.

When her breathing evens out, I know she has fallen asleep. Gently, careful not to wake her, I move closer and wrap my arms around her. I know we have an ocean of unspoken words to cross, years of misunderstandings to untangle, but for tonight—for just this night—I want nothing more than to breathe in her scent and feel the warmth of her body against mine.

In the morning, I wake up alone in our bed, but Sophia isn’t far. I find her in the kitchen, making breakfast for her parents. She’s busy moving between the coffee maker and the eggs slowly cooking on low heat, completely absorbed in what she’s doing. A ray of sunlight streams through the window, lighting up her face. She’s breathtakingly beautiful.

When she sees me, a mix of shyness and embarrassment flickers in her eyes. I don’t push her or tease her, I just help her squeeze the oranges and bring the fresh juice to the table.

When her parents finally wake up, the small knowing smiles they exchange make it clear that our passionate embrace last night didn’t go unnoticed. Sophia blushes to the tips of her ears, while I straighten my shoulders, proudly unbothered. As she carries the fruit basket to the table, she walks past me and lands a quick, well-aimed jab to my ribs.

"Ouch!"