Aleksandr Volkov
I grudgingly prepared our meagre meal of potato waffles and beans, something my mother would have served me back in Estonia during my childhood. My thoughts flickered between imagining taking Elena in the shower, and the latest ping on my phone. It had been twenty four hours since I walked out on Ross and my entire team. Conversations needed to happen. Plans made.
But I wanted to hide here in this tiny flat in Islington, far from all of the pressure and conflict.
I never had been good with conflict. Just like I used to hide in my closet when the shouting began, I was hiding now, with Elena.
With her, I could forget, just for a few minutes at a time, that my career was hanging by a thread.
When lunch was almost ready, I returned to the bedroom to put on my jeans. I couldn’t face putting my team shirt back on though. Not yet. Elena was dressed in a denim skirt and tight t-shirt. I smiled as I watched her apply a little make up.
She truly had no idea how beautiful she was and I loved that about her.
A lump formed in my throat at that thought and I swallowed it down. No. It was too soon for that word.
Chapter Thirty Two – London
Aleksandr Volkov – Thursday Morning
It was bliss, but it couldn’t last forever. At the very least, Elena needed fresh groceries and I needed clean clothes. We were showering together, getting distracted from the act of washing by each other’s nakedness. I was kissing her neck, a finger teasing her most sensitive of places when her phone rang.
“Ignore it,” I said, my voice drowned out by the shower pounding against the tiles. Elena’s breath was rough against my shoulder.
“I intend to.”
I inched my finger inside her and pressed her against the cool tiles. She gasped and her head bumped back against the wall.
“I love your face when you come. You’re so sexy.”
She grinned, caught between pleasure and amusement.
Her phone had gone quiet, but just as I was bringing her to her peak, it rang again. She groaned in frustration and gently pushed me away.
“It might be important. No one ever rings me repeatedly like this.” She grabbed a towel and hurriedly wrapped it around her, shimmying out of the bathroom and leaving me alone under the steady stream of water. I rinsed my finger, turned off the shower, and followed her, patting myself dry to avoid dripping too badly on her carpets.
“—No, I get that, but you gave me the week off,” she was saying when I entered the bedroom. Her back was to me, and her head was dipped forward. She turned slowly to face me, her expression concerned. “What do you mean ‘no one can find Volkov’?” Her eyes went wide and she fought a laugh.
I shook my head, sending little droplets of water over my shoulders. My phone battery had died the previous night and even though I could have used her charger, I didn’t. I had fifty missed calls, even more messages. I couldn’t face it all yet.
“Well, maybe he’s holed up somewhere private hiding from us pesky journalists? I’m sure he’s fine.” She was trying not to grin and waving her hand at me to stop me from making her laugh, even though I wasn’t doing anything deliberately. I was just naked, wet, and faintly amused at the idea that her editor was concerned about my whereabouts.
Sex seemed the tidiest way out of this, so I dropped the towel, edged around the bed and tugged her towel loose. To her credit, she let me. She didn’t put up any resistance when I started kissing her neck.
“Hmm, yes, I appreciate the urgency.” Her voice was strained with the effort of continuing the conversation, even when my lips made contact with the silky skin of her breast. I tugged her nipple between my teeth and she gasped. “Well no, I don’t want you to give my story to someone else.”
Still she didn’t stop me as I dropped into a crouch in front of her and eased my fingers between her thighs. “Oh, no, I’m very grateful, Graham.” Her voice was breaking now, the struggle to stay focused on her conversation becoming too much as I eased two fingers inside her, my warm breath on her belly.
“No, I don’t have any way to find him for a quote.” Her hand went to the top of my head, her fingers threading through my hair.
I looked up at her, her eyes were glazed. Smiling, I guided her backwards until the backs of her knees bumped into the bed. Still with my fingers inside, I eased her down onto her butt and spread her thighs, kneeling between them.
“Oh God,” she moaned. Immediately followed by “Give me a break, Graham! I will call you back when I have a quote! Goodbye.” She hung up the phone, tossed it aside and let out a guttural cry as my tongue danced over her clit. She flopped onto her back and writhed under my touch. I moved my fingers back and forth over her g-spot, pressing firmly, while my tongue spelled out the alphabet.
“Fuck!” she cried out, her hips bucking.
I grinned as I pushed her ever closer to her breaking point, a point I’d thoroughly enjoyed exploring over this blissful time together. I knew she was close. Close to exploding. So I pushed on, thrusting my fingers, circling her clit with my tongue.
When Elena tried to pull away from me, I held her firmly and pulled my head back. It was time. I replaced my tongue with my thumb and began rubbing hard and fast over that hard nub of flesh.
