Page 62 of Fangs for the Memories
“Then I will teach you, kedves.” I wrap my arms around her, burying my face into her hair. “Ha újra élhetném az életem, hamarabb megtalálnálak,” I croon.
I toss her into the air, capturing her once again in my arms, and she squeals, a sound which goes straight to my cock.
“If you continue to make such noises, bad little mate, I will be pulling your pants down and mating you against the car,” I warn.
The scent which comes from her suggests my wicked Grace would quite like such a thing.
“Would you?” she gasps.
“I’d mate you anywhere, kedves. My new favorite place is between your legs.”
Grace
Ferenc does not lie. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s been between my thighs. Not that I would be counting. I like it…no, I love it. His desire to make sure I get more pleasure, better pleasure, the most pleasure out of our couplings seems to be some sort of internal competition, and he is smashing it.
My lady parts are not the only thing he is smashing. My heart is taking an absolute pounding from his love onslaught.
Every day I spend with him, the swell I feel in my chest, the dips in my stomach—they all become regular and welcome.
This is what it’s like to be in love. It’s the only thing it can be, but I’m going on vibes because I’ve never been in love before. I know this because I’ve never, ever felt this way about anyone or anything.
Ferenc shows me more and more of Budapest over the next three weeks after tearing up my plane ticket and telling me he will get me another when I’m ready to go back. It is an incredible, beautiful city, made all the more magical with the heavy snow, which continues to fall day after day.
We visit ruin pubs filled with noise and people and monsters all mingling together in the snow and ice. Ferenc takes me to places most tourists can only dream about, such as privatedining in ornate marbled halls. We go back to his baths more than once. We go shopping. He occasionally tucks himself away in his most masculine of masculine offices, murmuring in low voices with Viktor.
He keeps his mother away from me, despite her efforts. I ignore all calls from home and keep the group chat appraised, at a PG13 level, of what’s happening.
My besties are not impressed at the little information I’m feeding them and there are threats of them coming to visit.
Like I said on the day we first visited Ferenc’s hot springs, I don’t want this to end.
Even if I know it has to. I can’t stay in Hungary forever. My visa will expire, and I will need to return to the UK. It’s not something I want to think about, but some days I feel the weight of my return ticket, in pieces, burning a hole in my bag.
“Coffee?” Viktor asks me as I enter the living room.
He’s the only male creature who dares to be in the same room as me if Ferenc isn’t around. I adore Viktor, who has clearly known his boss for a very long time and has a delicious deadpan sense of humor.
“Yes, please…I mean, igen, kösönöm,” I respond, feeling my cheeks heat.
Most Hungarian lessons so far end up in bed, back where we started, with him between my legs murmuring words I still don’t understand but I’m too distracted to learn.
I expect most of them are about how he wants to breed me. Something which continually sends a frisson of excitement through me.
I’ve never thought about children, other than Mark wasn’t keen, and that was reason enough for me not to think much about it. But with Ferenc’s enthusiasm, I’m somehow swept up in the desire it might be possible.
“You’re getting better with your pronunciation,” the great stone gargoyle rumbles as he pours me some coffee from a freshly brewed cafetière and hands it over, leaving me to add a dash of milk. “Ferenc is proud of you.”
Warmth blooms in my chest.
“I’m really trying. It’s a fascinating language.”
“But hard.” Viktor chuckles. “There’s a reason only Hungarians speak it.”
I shrug. “It’s probably about time for me to do something difficult.”
“Like tame the boss? You could have done that without even blinking.” Viktor grins. “And it was about time too. I thought we were going to lose him to the work.”
I’m not sure what he means, given Ferenc seemingly has to work a lot, but then I suppose running what humans call a criminal enterprise and what werewolves call fulfilling a need isn’t exactly a nine to five.
