Felicity came back into the room carrying two glasses of wine, but when she saw me she paused and flung them aside. I noticed her pupils dilate, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. While she was gone, she had unbuttoned her fur coat, and the realisation that she had been wearing nothing but a bra and panties beneath it the whole time made me wild with desire. Peepholes in the bra left her nipples visible, standing hard and proud, as the “F” motif on her choker pulled against her throat. I shifted uncomfortably as she drank me in, acutely aware that I was on display for her too, nothing more than sheer black satin underwear hiding my pussy, my nipples.
Was it possible that she felt a genuine attraction to me? Or was it just for show? Could she have trained herself to appear so aroused?
All I knew at that moment was that I wanted her, desperately, in a way that no man had ever drawn from me. My stomach clenched and turned, knowing that I was about to get my wish – girl on girl sex, wondering what it meant.
“Did you need much advice from the ambassador?” She asked.
I shook my head as she crossed the room and flung her arms around me.
***
“Come in.”
I took a deep breath as I held the door handle, calmed my stomach. If I didn’t present myself well, that would be it. No second chances.
The office was large, opulent, all green leather and dark oak. The ambassador sat behind his desk, which was empty except for a single envelope, an intercom and half a glass of what could have been water or vodka. He was a balding man in his mid-thirties, though handsome in a traditional way, much like my father had been before the end. But it was the woman who drew my attention. Perhaps it was the overt way she wore her dress, or maybe the citrus smell of her perfume.
“Dobroye utro, Posol,” I said, saluting the ambassador. I turned to the woman and dipped my head. “Gospozha.”
Her face fell, disappointed perhaps, or irritated. She looked away. “You told me that she could speak English.”
The ambassador shrugged, muttering something under his breath before lifting his glass.
“I can,” I said. The woman’s hair was long and dark, falling in delicate curls that draped over her shoulders. It was too feminine. Hadn’t Vlad told me she was a colonel? “I wasn’t told English was required, ma’am.”
A slight smile crossed her face, then faded. “Your accent is immaculate. Are you a native speaker?”
“I grew up in England.”
“Interesting. Do you know who I am?”
I shook my head.
“My name is Colonel Felitsa Yevseyev, but you will refer to me always as Felicity. Is that understood?”
“Felicity.”
“Good. You are Alexandra Bagrov.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure it was a question.
She shook her head. “No longer. From now on you are Lexi Cunningham.” She looked me up and down again, licking her lips, visibly fighting a smile. “The ambassador will take you shopping. Be at my apartment at seven.”
The ambassador cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Colonel.”
“Your selections will be adequate, Ambassador. Ensure that she has half a dozen outfits.”
***
I took a deep breath. Then I raised my hand and rapped on the wood.
She answered almost too quickly as if she had been waiting on the other side. She wore a dark fur coat that caught the light in rolling waves, buttoned down the front to end above bare knees. Her smile was radiant, possibly the most radiant smile I have ever seen, all blood-red lips...
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Read all about the wonderful author: Nicci Haydon
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