excerpt
“But how did you get here? Why were you at the hotel? Our group is across the bridge at another hotel. How did you…?” The questions tumbled out. “I was just going to telegraph you.”
“This was written in the telegram. Go to Hotel Rossiya.”
“What telegram?”
“Let’s not talk here,” he said, his glance falling on the two elderly men who appeared to be dozing off. “Let’s talk out of sight of Red Square. You lead the way and walk across the bridge. I will follow.”
They walked across the bridge—apart from one another. Jennifer was conscious that she was now walking like a Soviet, head down, no eye contact, from fear of being stopped and questioned. Once across, she and Maria ducked down an alley, Volodya joined them and all three started talking at once. Maria was introduced formally with much hand shaking and grinning, then after mentioning that three was a crowd, she offered to let the two go back to the hotel while she watched to ensure they weren’t followed.
“Keep an eye out for the other man from Kazan, please Maria,” Jennifer asked her, and she nodded assent. “I know I didn’t imagine him.”
Jennifer and Volodya slipped into the hotel room unseen by the dozing dezhurnaya, and their first action was to embrace. Kiss first, questions later, she thought. But the kiss meant she had to press her body against his and she could feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing back. The heat rushed up to her face; suddenly she wanted no questions. She wanted only to stand naked with him, his erection on her belly, his tongue licking her neck, every cell stretched lazily in sensuous pleasure. Slowly they both began to shed garments. No words were spoken. Finally, after what seemed a long, long time, he pushed her gently back towards the wall, seized her under the arms and pressed her against the peeling wallpaper. He entered her quickly, his arm muscles working hard to keep her on tiptoes; she perched on his cock as he rocked to and fro. She groaned with the exertion as well as the joy of feeling him move within her. Before the spasm hit, he relaxed his grip and they tottered toward the bed. There she rode him, staring straight into his eyes, her breasts grazing his chest, coming again and again in waves of sensation.
By the time they got around to asking questions the evening had faded into darkness and she was satisfyingly relaxed, muscles loose, tension forgotten.
“Now, tell me about the telegram,” she asked.
Libros Libertad 