“Chyba sie zakochuje…”
The groan he gives is ecstasy mingled with torture, then he’s rolling on top of me, his hands sliding along my wrists until they’re pinned above my head. I open for him, my legs curling around his waist, hunger sparking hot again as he enters me—then the alarm blares. We both groan in frustration and a pair of exasperated sighs follow.
“I’m sure they’d be okay if we were alittlelate,” I murmur, pressing into his chest, arching my back and pulling him in with my legs, sendinga shiver of pleasure through him as he thrusts back in response, a little game of dare we’re playing with each other.
“With you?” He huffs a laugh, though his body is still taut with wanting, a small rhythm picking up that I lean into. “There is no 'a little late'." He moans, beginning to lose the war my body is waging against his protests, before hissing out his next sentence, still struggling for control. "Hours would go by before I knew it. Zosia would think we left her forever.”
He rolls back with a regretful groan, breaking our connection, then taps my hip with his palm, playfully “Up, up, up. Out of this beddemon,before I get a young priest and an old priest.”
I burst out laughing, stretching far more extravagantly than necessary as I roll away. He huffs a noise and bites his lip at the sight, dragging a hand down his face, the other covering himself like it might hide how ready he still is.
“Ignore him,” he mutters, glaring at his own body. “He doesn’t listen to reason or schedules.”
I’m still laughing as I dart out of the room, naked and glowing, his gaze burning against my back.
Chapter 20
Paying The Toll
The overpowering smell of motor oil hits me the second we step out of the car. I've grown oddly fond of it over the years, how it always reminds me of my brother, of his crushing hugs or teasing nudges. Piotr’s shop bustles with life, tools clanking, a radio spilling old Polish rock ballads. His house next door seems a haven of peace by comparison.
Aga opens the door before we even knock, Kacper balanced on her hip. The scent of fresh bread greets us and I take in a deep breath, my mouth already watering. “Well, well,” she teases, eyes flicking over me and Dominik. “You bothsurviveddate night.”
Dominik grins, steps inside, gives Aga a quick cheek kiss, then drops into a crouch beside Zosia. She’s cross-legged at the kitchen table, a bowl of Cheerios turning into gray mush beside her elbow, utterly forgotten. Her whole face lights up when she sees him.
“Tatus!” she squeals, launching herself into his arms. Once he lets her go, she thrusts her drawing toward him, crayon-smudged and bright.
“Bunnies!” she declares proudly.
Dominik studies it with exaggerated seriousness. “That is the best bunny family I’ve ever seen. But—” he taps the soggy bowl “—those bunnies would say to finish yourbreakfast.”
Zosia groans but dutifully takes a reluctant bite, milk coating her chin, before diving right back into coloring, tongue poking out in concentration.
Dominik ruffles her hair, then glances at Aga. “Piotr in a good mood?”
Aga jerks her chin toward the shop. “Waiting to hear how things went so he candecidewhat mood to be in. Be ready to fix a car or two while you talk.”
Dominik laughs, presses a kiss to my temple in passing. “Time to see Piotr and receive his blessing. Send some prayers to Mary.” He drops a kiss to Zosia’s head on his way out, though she doesn’t even look up, too intent on her page.
The house stills when the door closes, just the scratch of crayon against paper and my tiny nephew gurgling, tugging at Aga’s hair. I crouch beside Zosia, smoothing the paper flat, my heart swelling at the riot of orange carrots and hopping shapes. “I love bunnies and carrots. One to pet, one for snacks. Never get the two confused, or a bunny might bite you back!”
She giggles, launching into an explanation about her bunny family. Aga sets Kacper in his bouncer, then leans against the counter, watching me with a knowing smile.
“So,” she says at last, folding her arms. “How was it?”
Heat prickles up my neck. I smooth Zosia’s hair, stalling. “How was what?”
Aga laughs, low and sly. “Don’t play innocent with me. I can see it all over your face. Cheeks rosy, that glow.” She sips her coffee slowly, eyes glinting. “Your brother gets the same look,after. Iknowwhat it means.”
Zosia sings to herself, oblivious. My throat tightens with embarrassment and warmth. “It was… good,” I admit softly. “Better than good.”
Aga’s smile gentles, voice lowering so Zosia won’t catch. “He needs someone like you. Someone steady. I’m glad it’s you. He’s a good man, a good father. He’ll treat you right.”
Her words land like a blessing, one I'm not sure I even deserve. Zosia thrusts her drawing into my hands, milk drying on her chin.
“For you!” she says, beaming.
“Dziekuje, kochanie,(Thank you, sweetheart)" I whisper, hugging her close.
