Chapter 4

TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTH, BATH, THEN WE TALK.

I came home with my head full, the pastor’s sermon nothing but background noise.

All I could think about was Brucha. How did he end up at that same church area? Was it his neighborhood, or had he come looking for something—or someone? He looked noticeably better today, younger even. Maybe it was the clothes: sharper, more put-together. Still nothing next to Kova, though.

I’d already decided: time to cut both of them out of my life before things got messier.

Yet here I was, turning over the text he sent—after one reckless night that was supposed to be a mistake. Why invite me back? The man who’d boldly carried me into a hotel, and then behaved like some saint who suddenly didn’t believe in touching a woman who wasn’t his wife. The contrast annoyed me—and intrigued me.

I went to the kitchen to fix something to eat, buying time before I had to decide whether I’d actually see him.

My phone rang. Unknown number.

“Lily.” The voice rolled out, deep and relaxed, a glorious baritone that caught me off guard. For someone as lanky as Brucha, I’d expected a voice thinner, almost boyish. This sounded like it belonged to a much bigger man.

“Hey, who’s this?” I asked, feigning ignorance, impatience laced in.

“Me,Brucha. Will you honor my invitation tonight, Lily?” He said it so smoothly it was almost impossible to say no.

“I’m not sure. I just got home and—”

I stopped myself. I almost said *just got back from church*, but the last thing I wanted was for him to picture me as some pious church girl—not after the way I’d behaved with him, and not with the next temptation already flickering in my mind. I didn’t want to see him… but if I did, it would be another shameless night.

“Why not sure?”

“I’m busy.”

“Okay. What if I come pick you up when you’re done?”

Terrible idea. Him showing up on my street? No. Too old. I wasn’t ready for anyone to see me with a man like that.

“I don’t think so,” I said sharply.

“What are you busy with?”

“Making dinner. Taking a bath.”

“You can eat here. Bath here too.”

Dinner in the hotel, maybe. But bathing there with him watching me naked? He’d already seen everything once, but that night I’d been half out of my mind. This time felt different.

“I don’t know. I will consider it and get back to you.” I hung up.

He didn’t call back. I knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t the type to beg or chase hard, and strangely, that made me want him more. I wanted to push him until he was the one desperate, aching for me.

10:05 p.m. Still no call.

I kept glancing at the phone, checking for missed calls I knew weren’t there. I couldn’t believe I was waiting like this—like some lovesick girl checking on a sweet boyfriend. It irritated me that I cared, but I couldn’t stop.

Part of me wanted to call him first, but pride wouldn’t let me. He took my virginity; the least he could do was keep pursuing, even if I acted difficult.

The longer I waited, the more I missed him. The only way to break the spell, I decided, was to switch off my phone. A clean cut.

I reached for it on the center table, finger hovering over the power button—when it started ringing.

I caught myself smiling like an idiot, wide and stupid, the way a girl smiles after her first real kiss.

No. *He’s* the idiot. Keeping a woman waiting this long after inviting her out? Stupid.

I answered, still smiling secretly.

* * * * * *

I arrived at the hotel. Brucha was half-reclined on the bed, eyes on the TV news. I scanned the room in one quick sweep.

“Hi,” he said, standing to guide me to a seat like I couldn’t find one myself. Classic early-stage gentleman behavior.

“Hi, Mr. Brucha,” I replied, letting him lead me.

Suddenly I felt tiny. Like his daughter. Was this really the same man whose length I’d taken in my mouth the other night? The thought felt absurd.

Memories from that night fluttered in like stray birds looking for a place to land. I shoved them back. I was in control here. Not some small girl. Never.

I was the one who’d pushed him into it last time. I still had that power. He was still the shy sugar daddy pretending otherwise.

“You took your time, sweet,” he said, forcing a little confidence, as though he knew he’d been too timid before.

“I had a lot going on.” I kept my tone soft, almost innocent.

He sat beside me—close, but careful. No heat, no charge. Like siblings. Or father and daughter. Was this how he always acted, or only around a woman he found beautiful?

“Alright, dear,” he said. “What would you like for dinner?”

I paused. “Fried chicken. Anything meaty.”

I’d already eaten at home, but piling on more felt right—like capping the night with something indulgent.

He called room service, repeated my order, then returned to the sofa. This time his thigh pressed against mine.

My breath caught. The contact sent shivers crawling under my skin—feelings I’d tried to keep at bay. I almost shifted away from him out of old habit, but what was the point? If tonight was going to happen, avoidance was useless.

The last time was reckless, mindless. Tonight I was deliberate. This would be the last time with him, and I intended to unleash everything that had been simmering inside me for years.

Our bodies stayed tense in that charged closeness while he commented on the TV. I barely heard him. My mind was already filthy, flooding with images.

“Why did you call me here, Brucha?” I asked suddenly.

He smiled, eyes locking on mine. “If I should answer now, I want us to really talk.”

“What talk, sir? Say it.”

He shook his head. “Dinner first. Bath. Then we talk.”

I was already feeling light-headed, drowsy. If I didn’t move soon I might drift off and leave tonight's mission unfinished.

My skin was begging for contact. I needed hands on me—rough, sure, male hands that would make my body tremble.

I stood up, made a decision. I hadn’t planned to go near the bathroom with him watching, but the pull was too strong now.

I’d already bathed at home, but doing it again would make everything smoother, faster. I needed to release the pressure accumulating in me if I wanted any chance of sleeping tonight.

I turned my back to him.

“Help me unbutton my shirt, Brucha.”

The buttons ran down the back of my designer top. I could have pulled it over my head, but I wanted him to touch me first. I wanted him to play a part in the seduction meant for him.