In the Neighbourhood

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Chapter 27: Makeup

Zsolt had done his best, he really had. He’d complimented her on dinner, pronounced the beans even better than his mother’s—they weren’t, but you had to do these things for your wife now and then.

Later, in the living room, she shot him a disgusted look when he started trimming his toenails, and he’d stopped, no questions, just put the clippers away and went to drop his socks in the laundry hamper. And when they were going up to bed, he gave her ass a little pinch—just playing, but he wanted to let her know he was there, too. Instead of acknowledging him, or better yet swatting his hand away, she’d just run up the stairs, out of his reach.

Well, what could he do? He’d tried. If she wanted to be a bitch, she could be a bitch.

Now they were lying there, like brother and sister more than like man and wife. What was she expecting? That he would apologize? For what? For wanting to fuck her? Fat chances. She could say no—he wasn’t the kind of man who would force her legs open. But he wouldn’t say sorry for that.

Anyway, he was trying to be nice. She should say something, if she had a problem. He lay there, resolved to wait until she said something.

The minutes ticked by. What was wrong with her? This didn’t need to be so difficult. If she’d just say something, they could talk about it and everything would be okay. Instead she had to be as stubborn as an old goat.

Well, he wasn’t going to wait all night; he could never stand to sleep on his back anyway. He turned on his side, facing her, and his hand landed on her shoulder. She didn’t react, but that meant she wasn’t pulling away either. So at least she wasn’t that mad.

His hand lay across the seam between the shirt and the sleeve. It was rough and wide under his fingertips, and he toyed with it idly.

“Somebody must miss you,” Zsolt said, without meaning to say anything out loud.

But she stiffened up immediately. “What?”

“Your shirt is inside-out,” he explained. “That’s all.”

“So?”

“Just one of those things they tell you when you’re a kid. Your mother never said that? When you accidentally put something on inside-out, it means someone is missing you.”

“I never heard that one.”

“If your underwear is inside-out, that’s good luck.”

“Maybe it’s a country thing,” she said.

Now why would she bring that up? Their families were from the same village. Sure, her father had moved to Valjevo, and Elena had been born there, but she was back in Repic by the time she was seven or so. He wasn’t some country bumpkin, anyway. And who did she think she was? The empress of Vienna?

But she turned her back to him and got close, pressing herself to his chest. He slipped one arm under her neck, lay the other across her waist, careful not to let his hand stray up to her tits. She’d probably take that the wrong way.

“I don’t want that,” she said, her voice cold.

“What?”

“To—to do it tonight.”

“What? I wasn’t—”

“You were poking me.”

She was the one rubbing herself up against him. What did she expect? She had to cut it off if she didn’t want that to happen, and he’d rather keep it attached, thank you. “I can’t help if it’s happy to see you,” he said.

“Tch.”

Did that mean she was leaving him alone about it now? God, she had to be so difficult, these days.

“Today—” she said.

Zsolt waited. “What today?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“Oh, no. You’ve been full of vinegar all day.” He moved away from her a bit and propped his head up on his hand. “Out with it.”

She didn’t turn over, so he had to listen carefully to hear her. “All you talk about these days is those damned tapes. Making them, getting them, watching them.”

“That’s not—”

“Every day, more of the same. Stacks of tapes from Stan, and with that redhead tramp.”

“Now—” Zsolt was about to defend Lisa but realized it might cause another set of problems. Lisa could defend herself. “It’s not like that at all,” he protested.

“And what did you say today?” she demanded, still not turning to face him. “Let’s get the camera. We’ve never made a tape outside.”

“It was just an idea.”

“So you don’t want to fuck without everyone else in the world watching?”

There was no way to win if she was going to make a donkey out of every mosquito. “You never said anything before.”

She didn’t reply, just made an exaggerated sigh.

“So if you want to put the camera away, what do I care?” Zsolt went on. It was true; he didn’t need Stan to see his bare ass to have a good time, thank Christ.

“You mean that?” she asked. It wasn’t an innocent question, the way she said it; it was a test of some kind, for sure.

“Of course. Throw the camera away, see if I even notice.”

She turned a bit, at last, and lay on her back. About time. “It’s just...” Even in the dark, he could see her eyes, her pretty round eyes, search the ceiling. “I want you to want me. Not like an actress in your movies. I want you to want me.”

“What, when haven’t I wanted you?”

“No—I mean—” She swallowed hard. “I just want, sometimes—no tapes. No camera. Like it used to be before.”

“What did I say just now? I’ll chop up every tape with the axe if that’s what you want.”

“No—don’t be so...” She squirmed slightly, her eyes shut tight. “Just... sometimes. I like it sometimes. But once in a while. Okay?”

He moved on top of her, face to face, but resting most of his weight on his hands. “So do you see a camera anywhere here now?”

She smiled her little innocent smile. “No.”

“And is the TV on? Is the VCR playing?” He grabbed the sides of her t-shirt, pulling the fabric tight, pinning her to the mattress. He looked right in her eyes, still, but he knew the thin cotton was straining across her sharp little nipples.

“I can’t see it with you on top of me,” she protested.

“So you want to be on top, then?”

She giggled slightly and tried to move, but with Zsolt still holding her shirt, she was trapped. “Maybe I do,” she said.

“So go ahead.”

She thrashed around a little, so that Zsolt’s hips fell down between her thighs. His hard-on had disappeared, forgotten, when she was being all serious, but it was back now. He pressed his cock against, her, enjoying the tingle that spread all over him, feeling his heart pounding harder and faster.

Her hands ran up and down his back, under his shirt, down into his shorts. “Let go of me,” she said. “I won’t run away.”

“Are you sure?” he said but released her. She struggled to get her shirt off, and he helped pull it over her head and off her arms.

He pounced on her tits, feeling her chest heaving beneath as he took one nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue, then the other. He loved the rough skin around her nipples, the feeling of those little bumps under the tip of his tongue.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, and he kissed her skin, sucked it, tugged at it with his lips, the beautiful silky skin under her tits, warm and inviting.

She wasn’t pulling him closer any more, she was pushing him down, and he ran his tongue down between her tits, down her belly, circling her navel just to hear her squeal a little. But she was lifting her hips, awaiting him, wanting him. Everything else slipped into the dark, leaving just him and her, and her long, delicious moan of pleasure.

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