29
I don’t know if anyone’s picking up on the vibe with the hug, you know?
But I’m sure they are; none of these women are dumb and they live for gossip.
Inside, I feel free, but also scared shitless, swear to God.
I had to do it. Period. That’s it. We pull apart and the music swells, covering the moment.
Half-finished drinks sit on the tables. Alaska’s already on a different wavelength.
Her shoulders loosen; I feel her less tense.
And I’m not an idiot: it’s the hug and what I breathed in her ear.
I’m way too into her. She’s fucked with my head.
I see her loosen up. She looks for me, that half smile that kills me, and she bites her lip.
She hands me a glass, brushes my fingers, and—shit—heat climbs my neck.
I breathe deep so I don’t pin her against the table.
She laughs with Svet and Vera and starts teasing Irina, calling for two rounds of vodka.
She keeps pace without a single complaint.
Outwardly I’m calm, but inside I’m electric.
If she brushes me again, I’ll give myself away for sure.
"Come on, Irina," Alaska says, raising her glass. "One more!"
"Alaska, that’s gonna knock you out," Svet chimes in, teeth blue from the lollipop she’s eating.
"It won’t knock me out," Alaska says, cutting me a sideways look. "What do you say, Vega?"
"You’ll be crying about it later," Vega answers serious.
"Never," she says, and downs the shot.
The party stretches to eight. The chill from the garden creeps in and the crowd thins. The younger ones peel off to the heated pool. They invite me, of course. I’d love to, but I know myself: if I see her in a bikini, I won’t sleep for a week.
"Nat, come to the pool!" Luna yells from the door, towel slung over her shoulder.
"Another day," I call back without raising my voice.
"You heading out?" Alaska asks, close, with that half smile.
"Yeah. And behave," I say, low, almost a whisper.
"Too late," she murmurs, brushing my forearm as she hands me my coat.
Back home I replay the hug. Her hand on my back, her breath on my neck, my body begging for more and my head reminding me not yet. I walk out in my robe, toss my hair back, and open the window. Cold air spills in. I set my phone on the nightstand. It buzzes. Text from Alaska.
Alaska: You asleep?
Me: Yeah
Alaska: Liar
You’re thinking about me
Me: Cocky
Alaska: Then come over and prove me wrong
I wet my lips and don’t answer. No way I jump the gun. I make some tea, pace the living room, pick up two glasses, shut off the music, and leave the phone face down. With the lights low, I take a long shower. The water calms me a little, but leaves me even more turned on.
Get dressed—what for? I flop on the couch, light the fireplace, boot up the console, and screw it.
I spend a couple hours mashing buttons and wrestling the urge.
I’m happy, nervous, and proud all at once, with a heat that won’t go away even with cold water.
I keep repeating, "Easy, Nat. Slow," and hide my phone under a cushion so I don’t text her something filthy.
Today I gambled and won, and nobody is taking that high from me.
I can’t focus for shit on the game. I get wrecked at the first corner and I’m over it. I shut the console off in one go. My head is occupied with Alaska, period. I stare at the ceiling, drop the controller, loosen my robe and open it all the way. The air hits and I shiver and, look, I like it.
I close my eyes and go straight to her penthouse, to the first night.
I remember the warm light, her scent, her hair down, how she played hard and didn’t resist at all.
I feel her hot skin in my mind, her mouth biting me soft, those eyes locked on me, her breath catching when I grabbed her hips and whispered in her ear that she was mine.
Everything lights up. I’m wet and I feel it when I touch myself.
I stroke slow and a moan slips out and I don’t care.
I squeeze my breast, pinch a nipple, my stomach trembles, my pulse is racing.
I bring my hand to my face, smell myself, suck my fingers unhurriedly.
I taste like me and it turns me on. I wet my lips and slide my hand back down.
I rub, ease myself open a little, tease, circle the tip, and my breathing goes wild. I bite my lip and say her name under my breath: "Alaska, fuck, come here." I picture her tongue there, her hand holding my thigh, her laugh against my mouth.
I go harder and my whole body shakes. I clutch the edge of the couch with my other hand, let go, robe open, legs barely holding me.
I’m right there. I need one more push and right, right there…
bam—one hard knock at the door kills the current.
I’m left mid-breath, my clit protesting, and I’m so pissed it almost makes me laugh.
"Seriously, now?" I whisper, caught between a ruined high and straight-up fury.
I look at my fingers, still shiny. It’s probably my sister with Tupperware or my mom with some random lecture.
I yank my bathrobe closed, tie a half-assed knot, wipe my hand on my thigh (fuck, I’m so worked up).
I catch my reflection: red cheeks, total caught-in-the-act face.
I head to the door with my best don’t-mess-with-me face, ready to drop a “what the fuck do you want?” and get back to my quick session she rudely left on pause.
I open, and bam—her. Alaska. Planted there in a long red coat, collar up to her ears, hands buried in the pockets, sneakers with half the forest glued to them.
Hair down, damp from the cold, cheeks red, lashes beaded with droplets, and that stare that drills right through me.
She looks gorgeous. Jesus. My breath snags and my body lights up again, a jolt of adrenaline that makes my knees tremble.
And I’d just been thinking about her… She revs me to a hundred—off the charts, honestly. I see her and forget my own name.
I peek over her shoulder, paranoia mode: on. Not a soul outside, just dark trees and the lit-up path. If anyone spots her here, tomorrow it’s an Irina sermon with a violin soundtrack and a funeral face.
“Are you out of your mind?” I blurt, my voice a rough whisper, my eyes glued to her mouth against my will.
“Hi to you, too,” she says, and tosses me that half smile that makes me want to start trouble.
I grab her arm and yank her inside without thinking twice.
I shut the door and lean back against it, trying to turn my heart’s volume down.
My bathrobe is tied like a disaster, my hair’s a mess, my pulse is jacked.
She drops her gaze to my knot, bites her lip, looks up again, and lets out a short little laugh that cranks the heat in me.
“Nice stay-at-home look, huh?” she says, shameless.
“Don’t look,” I say, retying the sash that threatens to betray me any second. “Care to explain what the hell you’re doing here?”
“Came to say hi. And to see if you’d invite me to stay,” she answers, slowly shrugging out of her coat.
“Great. Come on in, track mud everywhere—maybe I’ll mop it up tomorrow on my way to Siberia.”
“Relax, nobody saw me. I came around the back. Also, I’m not leaving you alone in that bathrobe that’s basically a proposition.”
She rakes me up and down without shame.
“Alaska,” I warn, though I don’t lift a finger to move her. “Don’t tempt me,” I whisper. “I’ve got nothing decent on underneath.”
“Perfect,” she says. “I like indecent.”
She lets out a soft laugh and I smile without meaning to. She takes another step. I feel her warm breath, her nose grazing my cheek, the touch of her fingers on my waist over the fabric. The house is quiet except for our breathing, mixing and driving me crazy.
She chuckles low, satisfied, and gives me the tiniest kiss at the corner of my mouth—one of those that are nothing and everything—and leaves me hanging. She grabs the sash and tightens it, cinching it firm, like saying, “Relax, I’m not going to start anything. Yet.”
“You came for sugar, right?” I say, half bitchy, half laughing, and lean in just enough to feel the chill on her skin.
“I came for you,” she murmurs, touching my arm with ice-cold fingers. Goosebumps everywhere.
I stroke her cheek and I don’t care that my fingers smell like sex—I don’t care about anything. I’m shaking from the scare and from the heat.
“The bathrobe looks good on you,” she says, tipping her head, teasing. “I thought you’d answer the door in jeans.”
“Yeah, sure, with a cake in my hand. Have you seen Rashel’s place?” I point toward the window. “Every light’s on, and it’s way too close.”
“No one’s watching us,” she says, sure of herself, and takes one more tiny step. “Can I come in, or are you going to interrogate me in the doorway?”
“Come in,” I huff, and nudge her toward the living room. I yank the curtains closed, kill the hall light, and look at her again. She’s gorgeous, I’m a goner, and I’m dying to do everything I shouldn’t.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers, mock-serious. “No one knows I’m here.”
I look at her with one eyebrow up.
“You sure?”
“Well…” she adds, half smiling. “Vega. My two friends. Mikel. Ivan. And Luna.”
I sigh so hard the knot of my robe vibrates and a dust bunny goes airborne.
“Great. So, everyone.”
“Chill,” she says as she wanders around my living room, nosy as hell.
“They’ve got us covered. No one’s saying anything.
Rashel and Ana lent us their place to keep the party going and crash there.
No one’s dropping my location. And if anyone asks, I’m with Luna smoking on the porch or stretched out on the couch with Ivan snoring next to me. They’ve got it handled.”
She peeks at my shelves, touches a candle, smells the air, takes in the blanket tossed aside, the gun in its holster, the fireplace. She opens a drawer and I give her hand a light smack.
"Not that one," I blurt.
As if she didn’t already know my toys by heart.