“Very well, then—keep your eyes and ears peeled, and if you ever get a chance to enter her husband’s home office, don’t hesitate.”
Thus, the weekly encounters had been allowed to continue, and both women met every Sunday at nine for breakfast, which usually lasted two hours. Then, they took a short break while Mrs Johnson excused herself, attending mass at a nearby church. Afterwards, they continued talking long into the afternoon.
For a while, Sofiya had wondered what Timothy Johnson found in this conservative, puritan, woman—his opposite in many ways. Then she’d learned the size of Sonia’s bank account, and things started to make sense. Sonia’s father had owned a large insurance company in New York, and when he died, some thirteen years ago, everything was split between his two daughters.
Sofiya helped herself to another glass of orange juice, regretting the absence of coffee. Ever since the Chernobyl accident, her hostess refused to ingest anything dairy. And since she couldn’t stand her coffee black, she had simply forgone the drink.
Sofiya hadn’t been surprised to discover that Sonia had hypochondriac tendencies on top of all her other ailments, which included asthma and allergies to a dozen things. Thus, every week, she listened with an amused smile to the new recommendations the American followed. Chernobyl had added another layer to her health concerns.
When Sweden’s National Food Administration recommended that cows should not be allowed to graze outdoors until a region was cleared, based on grass sample measurements, Sonia Johnson had stopped ingesting anything remotely dairy. Never mind that, after closer inspection, half the farms could let their animals loose again.
When the inhabitants of severely hit regions were recommended to refrain from eating green vegetables, such as parsley, chives, dandelions, and nettles, as well as morels, Sonia Johnson became even more selective with her shopping list. The fact that Stockholm was in one of the areas that had received the lowest level of radiation never factored in her equation.
Today, it would seem her latest preoccupation was about eating contaminated fish. “The particles hung in the air and got carried away like clouds, you see,” she cited from an article she’d just read, “and when it rained, they fell down. They got into the rivers and the lakes. And I mean, Lord help me, have you seen how many rivers and lakes they have around here?”
“It should help to dilute the particles, no?” asked Sofiya, “I mean, the more water you have, the better.”
Sonia considered her statement before saying what she invariably said when she was about to ban a new foodstuff. “I’m not risking it.”
Keep that up, and you’ll end up eating rice at every meal, thought Sofiya, and you’ll eat it raw because you won’t dare touch tap water anymore.
“Oh my; look at the time,” said Sonia, interrupting her train of thought. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”
Glancing at her watch, Sofiya nodded. “It sure does when you’re in good company.”
It was time for her hostess to head out for her weekly appearance at the local Christian church. The American never failed to attend the Sunday service and had tried, more than once, to coerce her friend into attending.
That didn’t stop her from trying once more, “Oh, won’t you come with me for once? Please—”
“You know, I’m orthodox,” Sofiya replied. And not a very devout one, she thought, unable to remember the last time she had attended a service. “Don’t worry; I’ll wait for you here.” She gave her a mischievous smile. “You know I can’t get enough of your terrace.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Sonia said, standing up. “Timmy’s in his office if you need anything.”
Sofiya waved her goodbye and leaned back in her chair to bask in the morning sunshine. It wasn’t long until Timothy Johnson joined her on the terrace, a glass of whiskey in each hand.
“I thought she would never leave this time,” he said, with his youthful smile in full bloom.
“I thought so, too,” Sofiya agreed, standing up. She took one glass from his hands and brought it up to her lips. “Let’s hope they never find radiation traces in the communion wafers.”
“Perish the thought,” replied the American.
“Oh, by the way,” Sonia said, before taking another sip. “Get ready to stop eating fish.”
“Fish?!” His deep brown eyes grew comically wide. “My God, where will that woman’s paranoia stop?”
Sofiya chuckled as she finished her drink. Johnson did the same with his, and he placed both glasses on the table the minutes they were empty. An instant later, he had the young woman in his arms; their lips locked. Her fingers lost themselves in his short brown hair, while he pushed the last of his whiskey from his mouth into hers. The Soviet spy swallowed greedily as American Minister-Counsellor Timothy Johnson guided her to his bedroom. His desire showed through the fabric of his soft grey trousers, and she smiled in anticipation as she took off his light-blue shirt. He was already tackling the buttons of her sober dress, revealing an impatient body with exquisite curves.
What was it that Johnson had said that night before taking her on the living room sofa—‘bodies speak better than words’? Oh, how right he’d been. And theirs spoke the same language of lust and need.
Naked, Sofiya lay down on her back, spreading her legs in a silent invitation. Johnson accepted the offer, moulding himself along her sinuous curves. Beneath the American’s warm hands, Sofiya felt herself coming to life. The man’s lips trailed a path on her abdomen, biting and sucking, and she grew more restless with each love bite.
One of Johnson’s hands slipped between her legs, and she sighed when he started to rub at her, back and forth. Rising to catch one of her engorged nipples between his teeth, he made a point to caress her everywhere but where she most desired his attention. Sofiya had to fight an impulse to scratch at his back in retaliation. Johnson seemed to perceive her frustration regardless, and he let go of her nipple to duck his head between her tights.
In two months, the two lovers had had ample time to get to know each other’s bodies, and each had discovered what drove the other crazy. Johnson’s tongue replaced his fingers, and Sofiya moaned without restraint. With both of his hands now free, the American reached for her breasts, squeezing and pulling at intervals.
The young woman clung to his hair, pushing down feverishly so that he would hasten his delicious torture. Johnson dragged it on for a long time, taunting her without ever fully giving in to her demand. He took a perverse pleasure in letting her get close to orgasming, then using pain to bring her back from the brink.
He kept the game going until she was delirious with need. And when he finally licked her where she so desired, Sofiya exploded with a primal scream. Johnson kept sucking and biting on her clitoris as she rode out her orgasm, drenching his chin in her pleasure.
With a victorious smile on his lips, he waited for her to stop trembling to penetrate her. He needed his lover to be present for this—to be focused. She didn’t disappoint, bringing their lips together at the end of the first thrust.
Sofiya tasted herself on the American’s tongue, and she tightened her legs around him to allow him to get deeper. Johnson groaned in response, his rhythm quickening—their kiss maddening.
Their lips parted when he got too out of breath to continue. And Sofiya could feel that he was close. She arched her back over the sweaty blankets, offering herself more fully to him, and the man’s pacing increased. With each one of his strokes, she clenched her pussy a little tighter around his cock. Johnson was too far gone to stop now, moaning Sofiya’s name incoherently. For the young Russian, the need to scratch at his back, to mark him somehow, got stronger. She clenched the cotton bedsheets with both hands to stop herself from leaving marks on her partner’s body.