Worth Searching For

His heels buckled and wobbled dangerously with every step. I was tempted to take them off and go barefoot, at least just so as not to hear how disgustingly they knock on the asphalt, as if notifying about something, but when you plan a late visit to an ex-boyfriend, torn stockings and dirty feet are not what you want appear.

The code at the entrance has not changed. The porch itself has not changed, with the persistent smell of valerian, pulling from under the door of an old woman who lived on the first floor and peeped at my drunken staggering, first from the window, and now through the peephole.

"Yes, yes! It's me again! Please love and favor!" I waved my hand in front of her door. Now she will have something to rub with the yard beau monde in the morning.

Hobbled to the fourth floor, I leaned my hand against the dusty wall and, not without irritation, listened to the nasty trill of the bell, straightening my hair with the other hand.

Footsteps were heard, a heavy sigh that I felt rather than heard, a careful touch of the lock, reflection, and finally a click.

- Hi! I purred, putting on the most charming smile on my face and trying to stand straight.

It didn't turn out very well. I drank too much.

- What is it this time? - Egor asked in a voice dry as a desert, standing in the doorway in his boxers.

The face looked tired, and in the eyes that looked at me with disappointment there was not even a hint that I wanted to see what I so desperately needed at the end of another shitty day that replenished the piggy bank of a shitty life.

The corners of his lips pulled down, twisting his smile. Bitterness appeared in my mouth and the same disappointment and fatigue that I saw in Yegor crept under the skin.

Two years of relationship and half a year of drunken staggers, passionate sex and pauses, one shit long and a trip to a pub before a new call of a storm-beaten ship to the familiar dock for repairs. And so in a circle. So what did I expect?

Staggering, she lowered her eyes and turned back to the stairs. I knew he still loved me as much as I loved him, but what had stood between us before hadn't moved. And this was my fault.

Because of an old promise made in grief, I allowed our relationship to collapse, and for six months I behaved like a dog in the manger: I wasn’t with him, but I didn’t let go to others either.

- Stop! Stop, I say! - Yegor ran out to the site and, grabbing me by the waist, dragged me into the apartment. - Sit down! - He put me on a padded stool in the hallway and locked the door. - Night on the street, and you're drunk hanging around! The wolves just picked up another stupid girl yesterday. Do you want to join her? Yegor gave me a stern look, and I seemed to come to life.

Here! Here's what I wanted to see! A stern but fiery look, from which the blood began to boil and rush through the veins, exciting.

Yegor was a cop, and as soon as I saw him at the police station where I rushed to pick up my brother, I immediately decided that this barrel would be mine.

Eyes greedily ran over his disturbing fantasy body. He smelled of shower gel, and silky skin, washed to a shine, beckoned to touch it.

I ran my hands over his strong hips, hooked my fingers on the hem of his boxers and pulled them down. Egor tensed, looking down at me, but did nothing, and I freely took his cock into my mouth.

Thick but soft, he quickly began to gain volume and elasticity. I knew how much he liked it, and I took it deeper, listening with satisfaction to his ragged breathing, until he came.

I stood up and shared the taste of salted caramel with him in a kiss, taking off my coat and unbuttoning my blouse in parallel. The clasp on the bra was in front and easily succumbed to naughty, intoxicated fingers.

Yegor always liked my breasts. She was of medium size, and at first, when we started dating, he tried on sports epithets for her, but in the end he settled on fruits, firmly securing the nickname peach for her. Where there was logic, I did not understand. In my opinion, the peach was more suitable for another place, but he probably knew better.

Having shifted his clothes, Egor crumpled his chest, exhaling excitedly in my face. His cock stood again, anxiously resting on my hips. I wanted to feel it in myself and, pulling the skirt with one hand, with the other I grabbed the cock with my hand.

Suddenly, Yegor pulled away and rather rudely removed my hand.

- When will this stop, Kira? he asked, looking gloomily into my eyes.

His breath was ragged, but just a second ago, his eyes, which had been blazing with excitement, flashed with anger.

- You left me. Didn't accept my terms. I chose him... - His voice cracked hoarsely. - Him, not me.

I looked away and bit my lip. Desire caved in at his words, resurrecting our breakup and all those quarrels that preceded it, cutting me alive with a dull blade even now.

“He is my brother, Yegor,” I answered very quietly, looking at the wall.

A phrase so simple cut the air like a whip, and Egor twitched.

"I can't leave him," I added, still staring at the wall. - I promised...

- The dead make no claims! he retorted harshly, turning my face towards him with his hand and glaring again. - Your brother is ballast! He drags you down! - Yegor sniffed the strong smell of alcohol coming from me, and expressively curved his lips. - Already dragged! And you still will not accept the fact that neither you nor anyone else can save him! He is his own enemy! Get over it and live your life!

"He's my brother," I repeated, covering his hand with mine and pressing it tighter against his hot cheek.

A little over two years ago, my brother was detained on suspicion of selling stolen goods, however, they could not prove anything, but in three years after coming of age, this was the fourth time, not counting the two that were before adulthood.

I wish I could say it was a mistake that my brother was just making innocent friendships with guys of dubious reputation, but alas, that wasn't the case.

The genes made themselves felt, and the blood of our father, once a respected, strong and authoritative wolf, shot with silver bullets at one of the elite restaurants in the city center when I was five and my brother was three, turned Sasha's head, pushing him into the abyss.

Before her death, the mother told us about the affair with him and how the stern-looking werewolf tremulously and tenderly protected her, and hid her from his entourage, as he promised to retire and take care of her and his children, but the life that he led, or rather, which led him, did not allow the promises to be fulfilled.