Chapter 4: Heart to Heart
The late afternoon sun slanted through the canopy of ancient oaks in the Englischer Garten, dappling the gravel path with shifting patterns of gold and shadow. Vanja walked beside Julian, her long legs easily matching his stride. The air smelled of damp earth, crushed grass, and the faint, clean scent of the Isar river winding nearby. After the suffocating tension of Alex’s Mercedes and the sterile quiet of her apartment, the park’s vibrant life felt like breathing pure oxygen.
Julian, in dark jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt that stretched across broad shoulders, looked effortlessly at home. He gestured towards a meadow dotted with sunbathers. "See? Better than a stuffy lounge filled with jealous best friends."
Vanja snorted, a real laugh bubbling up. "Jealous? Alex? Don't flatter him. More like controlling." She kept her tone light, but the memory of his furious eyes, the unfinished confession, prickled under her skin. She shoved it down.
"He looked pretty fucking possessive when he dragged you out," Julian countered, his blue eyes sharp, assessing her reaction. "Like a dog guarding its favorite bone."
"More like a child throwing a tantrum over a toy he wasn't playing with." The words came out harsher than she intended. She glanced at Julian, catching his raised eyebrow. "Sorry. Still a sore spot."
"Understandable." He nudged her shoulder gently with his. "So, history and anthropology? How does the fastest woman alive find time to dissect the past?"
She launched into it, grateful for the shift. Talking about her studies – the materiality of Viking burials, the linguistic shifts across Slavic borders – felt grounding. Julian listened intently, asking surprisingly insightful questions. He wasn’t just humouring her; he was genuinely curious. His intelligence, layered beneath the footballer charm, was unexpected and deeply attractive.
"Eight languages," he mused later, as they crossed a small stone bridge. "Impress me. Say something dirty in Serbian."
Vanja laughed, the sound echoing slightly over the water. "That's your request? You disappoint me, Herr Ryerson."
"Call me Julian. And I’m a simple man. Athlete's brain. Stimulus and response." He grinned, but his gaze held a heat that belied the casual words. They’d stopped walking, leaning against the bridge's parapet. The city skyline shimmered in the distance, framed by lush green.
"Alright," she murmured, stepping slightly closer. His cologne, something clean and spicy, mixed with the warm scent of his skin. The air between them crackled. She met his eyes, her voice dropping to a low, smoky register that sent a visible shiver through him. "Želim da me jebeš jezikom."
He blinked, then a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Translation?"
"I want you to fuck me with your tongue," she stated, holding his gaze, the vulgar Serbian words tasting potent on her lips.
Julian didn’t hesitate. He closed the remaining distance in one smooth movement. His hands came up, one tangling in the hair at her nape, the other sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. There was no tentative exploration. His mouth crashed down onto hers, hungry and demanding.
Vanja met him with equal force. Her hands gripped the strong muscles of his shoulders, then slid up to fist in his hair. The kiss was pure combustion. His tongue invaded her mouth, hot and insistent, tasting of mint and something uniquely him. She moaned, low in her throat, arching into the hard planes of his body, feeling the undeniable ridge of his erection pressing against her stomach through their clothes. The controlled athlete vanished; this was raw, urgent need. His fingers tightened in her hair, tilting her head for deeper access, his other hand sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her even tighter. The world narrowed to the slick heat of their mouths, the scrape of his stubble against her chin, the frantic drumming of her own pulse. Every nerve ending screamed. This was fire. This was oblivion. This was exactly the furious, uncomplicated release she craved. His groan vibrated against her lips, a deep, guttural sound of pure want. They broke apart, gasping for air, foreheads pressed together, eyes blazing.
"Fuck," Julian breathed, his voice ragged. "Your place. Now. Or the car."
"The car," Vanja panted, her own voice thick with desire. Her apartment felt too far, too contained. She needed this now, raw and immediate. "Where?"
"Follow me." He grabbed her hand, his grip almost painfully tight, and practically dragged her off the bridge, away from the path, towards a secluded service road bordering the park where a sleek, low-slung Audi R8 crouched like a panther. He hit the fob, the lights flashing, the locks thunking open.
He yanked the passenger door open for her, his eyes dark pools of pure lust. "Get in."
Vanja slid into the low-slung bucket seat, the leather cool against her heated skin. Julian slammed her door, rounded the hood with predatory speed, and dropped into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life with a visceral snarl. He didn't drive. He just turned, his gaze raking over her like a physical touch. "Seat back. Now."
Heart hammering against her ribs, Vanja fumbled for the lever, pushing the seat as far back as the cramped sports car interior allowed. Julian was already unbuckling, one hand reaching across the console, fingers diving under the waistband of her leggings and panties, wrenching them down her hips in one rough motion. Cool air hit her bare skin.
"Fuck, yes," he growled, his eyes locked on the thatch of dark blonde curls now exposed. He didn't tease. He shoved her thighs apart, his head diving between them. His mouth was on her, hot and wet and demanding, his tongue licking a broad, filthy stripe from her opening straight up to her clit.
Vanja cried out, her head slamming back against the headrest. "Oh, god!" His tongue was relentless, exploring her with blunt, greedy strokes, circling her clit, then plunging shallowly inside her. He used his thumbs to spread her wider, holding her open for his assault. The sounds were obscene: wet sucking, his guttural groans muffled against her flesh, her own sharp gasps and ragged moans filling the car. He licked and sucked at her clit like he was starving, his nose buried in her folds, inhaling her scent. "Taste so fucking good," he rasped, the vibration against her sensitive nub making her hips jerk off the seat. "So fucking wet for me already."
He slid two thick fingers deep inside her, curling them upwards. Vanja screamed, her body bowing. He pumped his fingers hard and fast, in time with the ruthless suction on her clit. The pressure built, a coil tightening unbearably low in her belly. She writhed, fingers scrabbling at the leather seat, at his hair. "Julian! Yes! Fuck, right there! Don't stop!"
He growled against her, increasing the pressure, the speed. The world dissolved into pure sensation – the slick friction of his fingers, the devastating suction of his mouth, the smell of her own arousal mixed with leather and his cologne. The coil snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsive. She came with a choked scream, her thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless.
He didn't let up. He kept licking, gentler now, lapping at her as she pulsed around his fingers, drawing out the aftershocks until she whimpered, oversensitive and spent. Finally, he lifted his head, his mouth glistening, his eyes blazing with feral triumph. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. "Fuck, Golden. Look at you."
He was out of his seat, unbuckling his belt, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one frantic movement. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, and already leaking. He kicked his shoes off, shoved his clothes down past his knees, and climbed over the center console into the cramped passenger footwell, kneeling between her splayed legs. The position was awkward, intimate, exposing.
"Need to be inside you. Now," he commanded, his voice rough with need. He gripped his cock, the thick head bumping against her slick, swollen entrance. He didn't ask. He pushed forward, stretching her, filling her in one powerful, relentless thrust.
Vanja gasped, arching off the seat as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. He felt huge, stretching her deliciously, the slight burn only heightening the intense fullness. "Oh, fuck! Yes!" she moaned, wrapping her legs high around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.
"Tight," he groaned, his hips drawing back slowly before slamming forward again. "So fucking tight and wet." He set a punishing rhythm from the start, no gentle build-up. The confined space forced short, deep thrusts, each one driving the breath from her lungs. The car rocked slightly on its suspension with every powerful drive of his hips. His hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her skin, holding her down as he fucked her hard and deep.
The sounds filled the Audi: the slick slap of skin on skin, his harsh grunts with every thrust, her high-pitched cries, the creak of leather under their straining bodies. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a brutal kiss, biting her lower lip. She tasted herself on his tongue – salty, musky. The raw carnality of it sent another jolt of lust through her. She raked her nails down his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath his t-shirt.
"Harder," she gasped against his mouth, meeting his thrusts. "Fucking use me, Julian."
He growled, a sound from deep in his chest, and obeyed. His hips pistoned faster, harder, the base of his cock grinding against her clit with every deep penetration. The friction was exquisite, reigniting the fire low in her belly. She could feel the tension coiling again, tighter, faster this time, fueled by the sheer physicality of him, the filth of their surroundings, the raw hunger in his eyes.
"Gonna come," she choked out, her body tightening around him like a vise. "Oh god, Julian, I'm gonna come!"
"Come on my cock, Golden," he demanded, thrusting with brutal precision, his breath hot against her neck. "Squeeze me. Milk every fucking drop."
His words tipped her over. The second orgasm exploded, sharper than the first, a blinding white light behind her eyes. She screamed, her body convulsing, clenching around his invading thickness with involuntary spasms. Her vision blurred, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of her release.
Feeling her clamp down on him triggered his own climax. With a guttural roar, Julian drove deep one final time, holding himself buried to the root. Hot jets of cum pulsed inside her, flooding her, the sensation triggering another ripple of pleasure through her hypersensitive core. He shuddered violently, collapsing forward onto her, his weight pinning her to the seat, his face buried in her neck as he gasped for air.
They lay tangled and panting, slick with sweat, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the Audi’s electronics. The air inside the car was thick with the heavy, unmistakable scent of sex – sweat, musk, and Julian’s release inside her. Vanja felt utterly wrecked, deliciously sore, her limbs heavy. She stared up at the car’s ceiling, the reality of what they’d just done – hurried, raw, borderline public sex in a luxury car – settling over her like a warm, sticky blanket. Julian stirred, lifting his head. He looked down at her, his eyes still dark but softened slightly. He brushed a sweat-damp strand of hair from her forehead, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. A slow, utterly satisfied smile spread across his face.
"Well," he murmured, his voice rough but warm. "That was definitely worth the wait. And fuck Alex’s bullshit." He kissed her, slower this time, lingering. Vanja kissed him back, a slow, lazy exploration. Her own body still hummed. Her mind, blissfully quiet for the first time in days, drifted. The only thought that surfaced, clear and sharp: I want to feel this tomorrow.
The humid air inside the Audi clung to their skin, thick with the raw musk of sex and sweat. Vanja shifted, the cool leather a stark contrast to the heat radiating off Julian’s body still pressed against hers, his softening cock slipping wetly from inside her. She felt deliciously used, a pleasant ache spreading deep within her thighs and core. Julian nuzzled her neck, his stubble scraping lightly, his breathing finally slowing. "Fuck," he murmured, voice gravelly with satisfaction. "That was... necessary." He pulled back slightly, looking down at her, a lazy, possessive gleam in his eyes. His thumb traced the sweat-damp curve of her shoulder. She met his gaze, the sharp clarity of her earlier thought – I want to feel this tomorrow – solidifying into resolve.
"Necessary?" Vanja echoed, a breathless laugh escaping her. She pushed damp strands of hair off her forehead. "Understatement of the fucking century." She felt loose-limbed, utterly satiated, yet a low thrum of potential energy lingered beneath the surface, a familiar hum after exertion. Her leggings and panties remained tangled around her ankles. Julian chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He reached down, fingers brushing her inner thigh, making her gasp. "Easy, Golden," he teased, his touch surprisingly gentle as he began to pull her clothes back up. "Don't want you walking funny just yet." His knuckles grazed her sensitized flesh as he tugged her leggings over her hips, the motion intimate and practical. He shifted back to his seat, grunting as he maneuvered his own jeans back up over his hips, the heavy fabric catching momentarily on his still-damp cock. He buckled his seatbelt with a decisive click. The engine, still idling with a low purr, vibrated through the frame.
Vanja adjusted her own seat back upright, wincing slightly at the pull in her muscles. She ran a hand over her face, smearing the faint trace of lipstick left from their frantic kissing. Outside, the secluded service road remained deserted, dusk deepening the shadows under the trees lining the park. The sterile scent of the car's air freshener fought a losing battle against the lingering scent of their coupling. Julian glanced at her, his expression shifting from sated contentment to something more focused, anticipatory. He put the car in drive, the tires crunching on the gravel. "Right," he said, his voice regaining its usual confidence, though roughened by recent exertion. "You're fucking starving. I know I am." He navigated the Audi smoothly onto a main road, the city lights beginning to flicker on. "Come," he said, his tone casual but laced with intent, his right hand leaving the gearshift to land heavily, possessively, on her bare knee just above where her leggings ended. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin there. "Let's get some food. We can watch a movie at my apartment?" His gaze flicked to hers, blue eyes dark and unreadable in the dashboard glow, the implication hanging thick in the air: More than a movie.
Vanja felt the heat of his palm branding her skin through the thin cotton. She looked out at the streaming city lights, the tension with Alex, the sterile quiet of her own place, suddenly feeling distant and unappealing. The promise radiating from Julian's touch, the memory of his cock stretching her, the ache he’d both caused and soothed – it was magnetic. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. She nodded, meeting his eyes again. "Food sounds good. Real good." Her hand drifted down, resting lightly on top of his on her knee, her fingers tracing the prominent veins on the back of his hand. His grip tightened fractionally. "Lead the way."
He drove with focused intensity, one hand on the wheel, the other maintaining its claim on her leg. They didn't speak much, the quiet hum of the car and the city outside a backdrop to the charged silence between them. His thumb kept up its rhythmic, distracting caress, sometimes dipping slightly under the hem of her leggings to tease the sensitive skin higher up her thigh. Vanja leaned her head back, watching his profile. The sharp line of his jaw, the focused set of his mouth – he looked like a predator momentarily sated but already anticipating the next hunt. The tension wasn't gone; it had merely shifted, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to erupt again. He pulled up outside a small, warmly lit Indian restaurant nestled between taller buildings. The spicy aroma of curry and tandoori drifted faintly even through the closed car windows. Neon signs advertised 'Butter Chicken' and 'Naan Bread'. "This okay?" he asked, finally removing his hand from her knee to cut the engine. His eyes searched hers. "Their lamb rogan josh will melt your fucking brain."
"It smells perfect," Vanja replied, unbuckling her seatbelt, the movement making her acutely aware of the slickness still between her thighs, the subtle ache. She pushed open the car door, the cool evening air a welcome shock against her flushed skin. Julian was already around the car, his hand finding the small of her back as they walked towards the entrance, a gesture both possessive and guiding. She leaned into the touch, the heat of him through his t-shirt familiar now. The door chimed as they entered, the warm, complex scents of cumin, turmeric, and charred bread enveloping them. Booths lined the walls, mostly filled with couples and small groups. Loud conversation and the clatter of plates filled the small space. A young waiter gestured them towards a booth near the back. Julian slid in first, his long legs stretching out under the low table, immediately reclaiming her hand as she sat beside him. He didn't look at the menu the waiter placed down. "Two Kingfishers. Fast. And we'll need a minute." His gaze never left Vanja’s face, intense and unwavering even in the bustling restaurant. The noise faded into a low buzz around them. He leaned closer, his voice dropping, pitched only for her ears. "Tell me what you want to happen later, Vanja." His fingers tightened around hers. "Exactly." His free hand rested high on her thigh again, hidden by the tablecloth, his thumb pressing deliberately against the seam of her leggings, right where the damp heat was most concentrated. "Tell me what you want me to do to you when we get home."
Vanja’s breath hitched as Julian’s thumb pressed harder against the damp seam of her leggings. The restaurant’s chatter faded into white noise. His gaze pinned her, demanding honesty. "I want you to fuck me against your front door," she murmured, her voice low and thick. "Before we even turn on a light. I want your hands tearing my clothes off." She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I want you to bend me over your couch and eat my cunt until I scream into a cushion. Then I want you to shove your cock so deep inside me I feel it in my throat."
Julian’s nostrils flared, his knuckles whitening around his beer bottle. "Fuck," he rasped, his eyes burning. "Done." He signaled the waiter sharply. "Pack it up. Now." They barely touched their food, the fragrant steam of the rogan josh rising untouched as boxes were hastily assembled. Julian threw cash onto the table without counting, his hand clamped back on Vanja’s waist, steering her urgently towards the exit. The cool night air did nothing to cool the fever radiating between them. He shoved her into the Audi’s passenger seat, slammed the door, and roared into traffic, weaving aggressively through Munich’s evening flow. His hand returned to her thigh, fingers digging possessively into muscle still trembling from the car park. "Keep talking," he ordered, voice tight. "Tell me how wet you are right now."
"Soaking," Vanja admitted, shifting against the leather, the slick slide undeniable. "My panties are ruined. Again." She watched his jaw clench, the tendons in his neck standing out. "I can feel it dripping down my thigh." He cursed, stomping on the accelerator. The city lights blurred into streaks. She traced the hard line of his erection straining against his jeans. "Need you filling me up, Julian. Stretching me wide open." He groaned, a raw, desperate sound, swerving into the underground garage of a sleek apartment building. The tires squealed on concrete. He killed the engine, vaulted out, and yanked her door open before she could unbuckle. "Move," he growled, hauling her out. She stumbled after him towards the elevator, his grip unyielding. The mirrored doors closed, trapping them in humming silence. He spun her, backing her hard into the cool metal wall. His mouth crashed onto hers, teeth clashing, tongue invading. His hands shoved under her hoodie, rough palms scraping her bare ribs, finding her breasts, pinching her nipples through the thin sports bra. She gasped into his mouth, grinding her hips against the hard ridge in his jeans. The elevator dinged. He broke the kiss, panting, lips swollen. "Door. Now."
He fumbled keys, cursing, finally shoving the heavy oak door open. Darkness swallowed them. He kicked the door shut with his heel, the lock clicking. Instantly, his hands were on her, ripping her hoodie over her head, tearing at the clasp of her sports bra. Fabric gave way. Cool air hit her bare skin. He shoved her leggings and soaked panties down her legs. "Bend over," he commanded, voice ragged, shoving her towards the deep leather couch she’d barely registered in the gloom. She obeyed, bracing her hands on the cool leather backrest, presenting herself. She heard the frantic rustle of his jeans, the clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor. Then, the hot, wet pressure of his tongue, licking a broad, filthy stripe from her clit down to her dripping entrance. She cried out, fingers clawing into leather. "Yes! Fuck, Julian!" He buried his face between her thighs, tongue plunging deep, lapping at her slickness, sucking hard on her swollen clit. The sounds were obscenely loud in the dark apartment – wet, sucking noises, her sharp gasps, his guttural groans vibrating against her flesh. He feasted, relentless, fingers spreading her wider. "Taste like fucking heaven," he growled against her, tongue circling her tight hole before plunging back in. "Come on my face. Do it." The pressure built, savage and fast. Her thighs trembled violently. "Julian! I'm—" Her orgasm ripped through her, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she convulsed against his mouth. He rode it out, tongue relentless, drinking her in until she sagged, whimpering.
Before the aftershocks faded, he was up. The thick, blunt head of his cock pressed against her slick, stretched entrance. "Take it," he snarled, gripping her hips. He slammed forward in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Vanja screamed, the sudden, deep stretch stealing her breath. He didn't pause. He pulled back almost entirely, then drove forward again, hard and deep, setting a punishing rhythm. The slap of his hips against her ass echoed in the dark room. His fingers dug bruises into her hips. "Fuck, you’re tight," he gasped, pistoning into her. "So fucking tight and wet." He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, teeth sinking into her shoulder. The sharp pain mixed with the deep, rhythmic pounding sent fresh sparks through her overloaded nerves. She pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, feeling him hit her deepest spot. "Harder!" she gasped. "Fucking ruin me!" He obeyed, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, deeper, grinding against her with every penetration. The leather couch groaned under their combined weight and force. She felt the familiar coil tightening again, impossibly fast. "Julian! I'm gonna come again!" she choked out. "Come on my cock," he demanded, his voice thick with strain. "Squeeze me dry." His words tipped her over. She came violently, clenching around him like a vice, a guttural cry tearing from her throat. Feeling her spasm triggered his own release. He roared, burying himself impossibly deep, pulsing hot jets of cum inside her. He collapsed onto her back, shuddering, his weight pressing her into the leather, both gasping for air in the thick, sex-scented darkness.
They lay tangled, slick and spent, for long minutes. Gradually, Julian shifted, pulling out slowly, making her gasp at the sudden emptiness. He helped her up, his hands gentler now, guiding her towards a hallway. "Shower," he mumbled, his voice rough. The hot water sluiced away sweat and the evidence of their coupling, steam filling the tiled space. He washed her slowly, thoroughly, hands sliding over her curves with a possessiveness that felt different now – less frantic, more claiming. She returned the favor, soap gliding over the hard planes of his chest, his back, the taut muscles of his ass. He turned her, pressing her against the cool tile, kissing her deeply, languidly this time, tongues sliding together without urgency. The heat was still there, banked but potent. They dried off with fluffy towels, the softness a stark contrast to the roughness minutes before. He pulled on grey sweatpants, commando, the outline of his softening cock still visible. He tossed her a worn, soft Bayern Munich t-shirt. "Put this on." She pulled it over her head; it drowned her, smelling faintly of his detergent and skin. He led her to the large, low sofa in the living room, now illuminated by a single floor lamp. He grabbed a remote, flicked on the large TV mounted on the wall. Some generic action movie flickered to life, explosions muted. He sank onto the sofa, pulling her down beside him, tucking her against his side. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, his fingers idly tracing patterns on her arm through the soft cotton. The adrenaline ebbed, replaced by a deep, bone-melting fatigue and a surprising sense of calm. Her mind, usually racing with training schedules, academic deadlines, or Alex’s bullshit, was blissfully quiet. She rested her head on his shoulder, watching the meaningless gunfire on screen, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. His lips brushed the top of her damp hair. "Stay," he murmured, the word quiet but heavy in the dim room. It wasn't a question. It was a plea wrapped in command. She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes. The predatory heat was gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Exhaustion warred with the lingering warmth spreading through her. She nodded once, a simple dip of her chin. "Okay." He pulled her closer, his sigh one of profound relief. They settled deeper into the cushions, the movie’s drone becoming a background hum. Vanja’s eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of his body, the softness of the shirt, the utter stillness lulling her towards sleep pressed against him.
Morning light, sharp and intrusive, sliced through a gap in the heavy curtains. Vanja blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar room and the solid warmth beside her. Julian lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the sheet tangled low around his hips. The Bayern Munich t-shirt had ridden up, exposing the soft cut of her hip bone. She stretched, feeling the pleasant, deep ache in her muscles – a familiar sensation after intense exertion, though its origin this time was decidedly different. Julian stirred, lowering his arm. Sleep-softened blue eyes met hers. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, devoid of last night’s ferocity but no less potent. "Morning, Golden." His voice was rough with sleep. He stretched too, muscles rippling under smooth skin. "Training," he stated, swinging his legs out of bed. He stood, gloriously naked, walking towards the en-suite bathroom. Vanja watched the powerful lines of his back, the curve of his ass. The view was compelling, but the practicalities surfaced. "Yeah," she sighed, sitting up. "Me too. Track session at ten." She swung her own legs out, the cool wood floor under her bare feet. She stood, the oversized shirt hanging loosely. Julian emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, already pulling on fresh black training shorts. He spat, rinsed. "I'll drive you," he offered, grabbing a clean grey t-shirt from a drawer. He pulled it on, the fabric stretching taut over his chest and shoulders. Vanja nodded, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Okay. Thanks." She gestured vaguely at herself. "Uh... I need a shirt. Or something." She frowned slightly. "I have my sports bra and shorts in my locker... but it's fucking cold out. That wind cuts right through you." Julian paused, looking her up and down in his shirt. A slow grin appeared. He walked to his closet, rummaged for a moment, and pulled out a thick, dark blue hoodie. He tossed it to her. It landed softly in her arms. "Take one of mine," he said, nodding towards the hoodie. "It'll be huge, obviously." He shrugged, a casual gesture. "But it's warm. Hoodie over that?" He gestured at the t-shirt she was already wearing. Vanja held up the hoodie. It smelled faintly of him, clean cotton and something uniquely Julian. A genuine smile, warm and unguarded, spread across her face. "Yeah," she said softly, pulling the hoodie on over the t-shirt. The sleeves engulfed her hands, the hem hung past her hips. "Perfect." She pushed the sleeves up her forearms. "Warm." Julian watched her, his expression softening further. "Good." He grabbed his keys from the bedside table. "Ready?" Vanja nodded, pulling the hood up momentarily, enveloping herself in his scent. "Ready."