Chapter 3: The Return
The house was quiet tonight in a way it hadn't been the night before. No distant laughter, no clinking glasses, no music bleeding through the walls. Just the hum of the air conditioner and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath my bare feet. I'd worn the same dress, the green one with the thin straps and the plunging neckline, because I wanted him to know I hadn't dressed for anyone else. I wanted him to know I'd thought about nothing else all day.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I slipped through the hallway, past the closed door of Chidi's study, past the bathroom where I'd locked myself in shame just twenty-four hours ago. The guest bedroom was at the end of the hall, and the door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling out into the dim corridor. He was already here. Waiting.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The moonlight cut across the room in pale bands, catching the edge of the unmade bed, the tangle of sheets we'd left behind. And there he was. Hugo sat in the chair by the window, one leg crossed over the other, his elbows resting on his knees. His face was half in shadow, but I could see the glint of his eyes, watching me like I was prey that had wandered into his territory.
"You came," he said, his voice low, rough, like he'd been sitting in that chair for hours convincing himself I wouldn't.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking softly, sealing us in.
He stood, and the movement was slow, deliberate. The black t-shirt he wore stretched across his chest, and I remembered the way his skin had felt under my palms, the way his muscles had flexed as he'd driven into me. My thighs tightened at the memory, the heat pooling low in my belly.
"I didn't know what to think," he said, stepping closer. "You ran last time. Thought you might've come to your senses."
I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "I never had any senses where you're concerned."
That pulled a faint smirk from him, the scar above his eyebrow catching the moonlight. "Fair enough."
We stood there, a breath apart, the air between us thick with everything we'd said and everything we hadn't. I could smell him now, that familiar scent of smoke and something woodsy, the cologne he wore that clung to his shirt. My fingers itched to reach out, to touch him, to prove to myself that last night hadn't been a fever dream.
But I didn't move first. I was done pretending I had control around him, but I wasn't about to make it easy. Let him come to me.
He did. He closed the distance between us and cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, he looked almost uncertain, like he was waiting for me to bolt again.
"I've thought about you all day," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Couldn't get you out of my head. The way you felt, the sounds you made."
My throat tightened. "Hugo..."
"Don't," he cut me off, shaking his head. "Don't say anything. Just let me have this."
And then his mouth was on mine.
It was different from last night. Last night had been raw, desperate, two people trying to claw something out of each other. This kiss was slower, deeper, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my lips. His fingers slid into my hair, tilting my head back, and I let him, my hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt.
We stumbled toward the bed, our mouths never parting. The back of my knees hit the mattress and I fell, pulling him down with me. He braced himself on his forearms above me, his weight a welcome pressure as his knee nudged between my thighs.
"Fuck," he breathed against my lips. "You're so goddamn beautiful."
I reached up and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Take this off."
He pulled back just enough to yank the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere into the dark. My eyes ran over him, the coiled snake tattoo wrapped around his bicep, the scattered scars across his torso, the trail of dark hair that disappeared below his waistband. He was all sharp lines and hard muscle, a body built for fighting, and for this.
My dress was still on, and he frowned at it, his fingers finding the strap at my shoulder. "Why are you wearing this?"
"Because I knew you'd want to take it off me."
He laughed, a low, rough sound, and shook his head. "You're something else, princess."
"Don't call me that."
"Too bad." He hooked a finger under the strap and pulled it down, exposing my shoulder. Then the other. The dress pooled around my waist, and I arched up to help him peel it the rest of the way off. I was left in just my underwear, the cool air raising goosebumps across my skin.
Hugo's eyes darkened as he looked at me. He dragged his gaze down my body, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every curve. Then his hand came to rest on my stomach, his palm warm against my skin.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured.
"Show me."
He didn't need to be told twice. His mouth found my throat, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to my collarbone, then lower. He cupped my breast in one hand, his thumb circling my nipple until it peaked, then took it into his mouth. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair as he worked me, his tongue teasing, his teeth grazing just enough to make me arch off the mattress.
"More," I breathed.
He moved lower, kissing down my stomach, his hands sliding under my hips to grip the lace of my underwear. He tugged them off, tossing them aside, and then his shoulders were between my thighs, his mouth on me like he'd been starving for it.
I cried out, my hips bucking against his face. He lapped at me, broad strokes of his tongue that made my vision blur, then focused on my clit with a precision that bordered on cruel. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew how to push me to the edge and hold me there, his fingers curling inside me as his mouth worked me over.
"Hugo," I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please... I need..."
He pulled his mouth away just long enough to look up at me, his lips slick. "You need what?"
"You. Inside me. Now."
He smirked, slow and wicked. "So polite. Where's the princess who told me she hated me?"
"I still hate you." I reached down and grabbed his cock, hard and ready in my hand. "Shut up and fuck me."
He didn't wait. One moment I was staring up at him, my fingers wrapped around the heat of his cock, and the next he was gripping my hips, flipping me onto my stomach so fast the breath left my lungs. My cheek hit the mattress, and then his hand was on the back of my neck, pressing me down, holding me there as he settled behind me.
"No warning, princess," he growled, the head of his cock nudging against my slick entrance. "You wanted it, so take it."
I barely had time to brace myself before he thrust in. All the way in, one brutal, unforgiving stroke that buried him to the hilt inside me. I gasped, my fingers clawing at the sheets as the stretch overwhelmed me, that familiar burn mixing with a pleasure so sharp it made my toes curl. He was thick, and he filled me completely, and I felt every inch of him as he stilled for just a heartbeat, letting me feel him.
"Fuck," I whimpered, my voice muffled by the mattress.
"Hm?" He pulled out just an inch, then slammed back in. "What was that? I didn't hear you."
"You heard me, you bastard."
He laughed, a low, dark sound that vibrated against my back. Then he started moving in earnest, a punishing rhythm that drove me into the mattress with every thrust. His hand stayed on the back of my neck, keeping me pinned, and there was something about that, the way he held me down, the way he made me feel like I had no choice but to take it, that made my cunt clench around him.
"That's it," he grunted, his hips slapping against mine. "Squeeze me like that. Fuck, you feel incredible."
I couldn't answer. Every word I tried to form came out as a moan, a gasping, broken sound that filled the room along with the wet noise of him driving into me. His free hand found my hip, gripping hard enough to bruise, angling me so he hit that spot deep inside me that made my vision go white.
I was already close, the pleasure building like a wave that was about to crash. But he slowed down, pulling out until only the tip remained, then pushing back in with agonizing slowness. I whimpered, pushing back against him, trying to take more, but he held me still.
"Nuh-uh," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Not yet. I want to feel every inch of this pussy before I let you come."
I wanted to curse at him, to tell him to stop being such a tease, but my throat was dry and all I could do was shake under him. He dragged himself out again, then sank back in, filling me so completely that I thought I might shatter.
"Look at you," he murmured, leaning over my back, his chest pressing against my spine. His lips brushed my ear. "So eager. So fucking desperate for my cock. What would your brother think, hm? His baby sister bent over his guest bed, letting his best friend ruin her."
"Don't," I gasped, but there was no conviction in it.
"Don't what? Don't tell the truth?" He thrust deeper, grinding his hips against mine. "You love this. You love being filthy for me. Admit it."
I shook my head, even as my body betrayed me, my hips rocking back to meet his.
"Say it," he demanded, his hand tightening on my neck. "Say you love my cock inside you."
"No," I whimpered.
He pulled out completely, and I gasped at the sudden emptiness, a desperate little sound I couldn't hold back. He flipped me onto my back with a rough shove, then settled between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against me again.
"Say it," he repeated, his eyes burning into mine. "And I'll give you what you want."
I stared up at him, his face half in shadow, his chest heaving. I hated him. I hated that he could do this to me, that he could make me beg. But I was aching for him, empty and so goddamn desperate.
"I love it," I whispered, the words tasting like surrender. "I love your cock inside me."
Something flickered in his eyes, something hungry and possessive. Then he slammed into me, and the relief was so intense I cried out, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. He drove into me hard, fast, the headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.
"That's my girl," he growled, his forehead resting against mine. "Taking me so good. So fucking good."
I clawed at his back, my nails raking down his skin, and he hissed in pleasure, thrusting harder. The pressure built again, coiling tight in my belly, and this time he didn't slow. He drove me toward the edge, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in rough circles that made my hips buck.
"Come for me," he ordered, his voice ragged. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
That was all it took. The wave crashed over me, my body convulsing as I came with a scream I couldn't hold back, my cunt clenching around him so hard I felt his rhythm falter. He cursed, a string of filthy words, and drove into me a few more times before he pulled out.
"No," I gasped, reaching for him, trying to pull him back. "Finish inside me."
He stared down at me, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. "You want that? You want me to fill you up?"
"Yes. Fuck, Hugo, yes."
He didn't hesitate. He thrust back into me, his hand gripping my thigh as he fucked me through my aftershocks, chasing his own release. I watched his face, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes screwed shut as he came with a low, guttural sound that made my heart stutter. I felt it, the warmth flooding me, filling me, and something about that felt more intimate than anything we'd done before.
He collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his face buried in my neck. We lay there for a long moment, our breathing ragged, our bodies slick with sweat.
"You're going to stay this time," he said finally, his voice muffled. "Right?"
I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers threading through his hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
He was still heavy on top of me, his breath warm against my neck, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my spine. For a moment, I let myself pretend this was simple. Two people, a bed, nothing else. But my mind kept snagging on something, a splinter I couldn't pull loose.
I asked the question I'd been carrying since I watched them through the study door. "Who was she?"
Hugo went still. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioner and our slowing heartbeats. He lifted his head, and in the moonlight I could see something shutter behind his eyes.
"Who was who?" he asked, but the fake confusion didn't reach his voice.
"The woman. On the desk. Last night."
He rolled off me, landing on his back with a soft exhale. The absence of his weight felt like a door slamming shut. He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, and I could see him weighing his words, deciding what to give me and what to keep.
"Her name's Lena," he said finally. "She's a friend. Was a friend."
"A friend you were fucking on my brother's desk."
He turned his head to look at me. "You want the truth or do you want to judge me?"
"I want the truth."
"Lena and I have history. It's been off and on for years. She showed up at the party, and she was... available. And I was looking for a distraction." His jaw tightened. "Then you walked in, and I couldn't stop watching you. And she knew it. She knew the second I saw you that I was done with her."
"So what happened to her?"
"She left." He let out a rough laugh. "Called me every name in the book. Told me she hoped you broke my heart." He turned onto his side, propping his head on his hand. "She doesn't know you. Doesn't know you hate me."
"I do hate you." The words came out weaker than I meant them to.
"Then why did you come back?" He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentler than I expected. "Why are you still in this bed?"
I didn't have an answer. Or rather, I had too many, and none of them made sense. I hated him because he was reckless and rude and he looked at me like I was something to be conquered. But I'd come back because I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd held me, the way he'd made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"She meant nothing," he said, and there was something raw in his voice. "You need to know that. She was a warm body, that's all. But you..." He trailed off, his fingers tracing the curve of my shoulder. "You're the first thing I've thought about in a long time that wasn't about trying to survive."
I didn't know what to do with that. Hugo Vidal, the reckless thug who called me a spoiled princess, admitting something that sounded almost like vulnerability. I reached up and touched the scar above his eyebrow, the one I'd noticed the first time I really looked at him.
"How'd you get this?"
He caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Fight. A few years ago. Some guy said something about my mama, and I broke his jaw."
"Did he deserve it?"
"He did." The corner of his mouth twitched. "She was a good woman. The only good thing I ever had."
I could feel the shift in the room, the air changing. We'd been all heat and hate and desperate need, but this was softer, something I hadn't been prepared for. I pulled his hand against my chest, holding it there.
"Tell me about her."
He blinked. "Who?"
"Your mother."
He was quiet for a long moment, and I thought I'd pushed too far. But then he spoke, his voice low and rough. "She worked two jobs to keep a roof over our heads. Never complained once. Used to sing to me when I couldn't sleep, even after she came home exhausted." He swallowed. "She died when I was seventeen. Cancer. I couldn't afford the treatment, so I did what I had to. Things I'm not proud of."
I didn't say anything. I just moved closer, pressing my body against his, wrapping my arms around him. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into me, his face burying in my hair.
"I'm not a good man," he said, his voice muffled. "I've done terrible things. I've hurt people. But I never lied to her. Never made promises I couldn't keep."
"Until now?"
The words hung in the air between us. He pulled back, looking at me with something raw and hungry in his eyes.
"This isn't a promise," he said. "I'm not offering you fairy tales. But I'm not going to pretend this is nothing either. Not after tonight."
I believed him. That was the terrifying part. I'd spent my whole life being protected, being told what to do, being kept in a gilded cage. And here was this man, this reckless, dangerous man, looking at me like I was the truth he'd been searching for.
"Good," I said, and I kissed him.