Chapter Eight - Fedor
Fedor woke up with a start. He had been dreaming of her. He had dreamed of her naked body in his bed, in his hands. He imagined her breasts bouncing as he fucked her hard till she came. And then he woke up.
He realized he was still hard and he began to touch himself. Sylvia’s face, Sylvia in her tight red dress floated up in his brain as he stroked his dick. Then there was a rap on the door. Fedor grunted.
“What is it?” he called out loudly, angered by the interruption. He could almost smell her perfume now.
“Petrov is on the phone, Boss.” It was Pyotr. A steady light was streaming through the dark curtains in his lavish bedroom and Fedor grunted.
“Tell him I’ll call him back in a few hours,” he said loudly and then grumbled “bastard” when he heard Pyotr’s retreating footsteps.
The memory of their kiss came crashing into his head then and Fedor sat up in bed, his erection slowly fading away. He had kissed Sylvia. He had licked her neck, the top of her breasts. Will’s daughter!
He jumped out of bed and rushed towards his ensuite bathroom. The fittings were all in gold, the water was warm and the towels were a soft fuzzy cotton when he held one to his face to dab at the moisture.
He was drunk last night, he had one too many whiskeys. He was breathing hard as he stood over the basin, clutching its sides with his hands. He had found Sylvia irresistible the previous night, but that had to have been the whiskey talking. She was twenty-five years younger than him. She was his friend’s daughter. He had broken the code.
Fedor jumped into the shower, believing with all his might that a cold shower would make all this go away.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about her body, how she had smelt, how sweet her skin had tasted, how small she was in his hands. And when he dreamed of her last night, he had pictured her naked to perfection, he had literally heard her scream with pleasure.
Fedor jumped out of the shower and went back into the bedroom to change into fresh clothes. He tucked in his shirt, combed his hair and brushed his beard in front of the large ornate silver mirror in the room. He twirled the ends of his mustache and licked his pink lips before stepping out of his bedroom.
He heard her voice immediately. She was laughing, out on the balcony. He walked quickly to the landing at the top of the stairs, from where he could see her.
Sylvia was in a chair, seemingly naked except for the white fluffy bathrobe she was wearing. She had just had a shower, and her curls were damp and limply hanging around her head. He could see her in side profile. She had one of her long dark legs folded under her butt as she sat. Her legs were delicious, smooth and dark like bitter chocolate. In her hands were a bunch of grapes, and she was talking animatedly with the housekeeper. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name.
“Boss, I’ve arranged for your breakfast in your study because the girl is on the balcony.” Pyotr appeared out of nowhere at the bottom of the stairs and interrupted his study of Sylvia.
“I’ll take it on the balcony,” Fedor said, clearing his throat and beginning to walk down the steps.
She was still unaware of him, still laughing and joking with the housekeeper as she popped a grape into her mouth. Her teeth were a bright white, and her lips stretched out all over her face as she laughed. Her neck was slender and long, and he remembered how he had licked a wet trail down its length.
“There you are. Hangover?” Sylvia asked as he slid open the glass doors of the balcony. This used to be the favorite part of his day, being able to read the newspapers in silence by the sea on the balcony, with a cup of strong coffee and toasts. Now it was spoilt by her presence. Because he couldn’t think of anything else except her, and how beautiful she looked.
Sylvia was most definitely naked under her robe, and she sat in the same position, unwilling to adjust the robe where it hung open across the top of her breasts. They were revealed, her robe just about covering her nipples. Fedor was hard again as he tried to not look. The housekeeper scurried away while Pyotr brought in his tray of coffee and buttered toasts.
“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“It was refreshing, yes. I don’t know about you, but I have a massive headache,” she said, pouring herself some tea from the pot in front of her. Fedor waved at Pyotr to go away, and he sipped from his mug of coffee, avoiding Sylvia’s gaze entirely.
“About last night…” he began to say, still not looking at her directly. He was ashamed and also angry with himself. She was Will’s daughter, he had to constantly remind himself of that.
“We were drunk. Forget it,” she surprised him by saying. She straightened up, clutched the open folds of her robe and pulled them together, protecting her modesty.
Fedor breathed in, surprised by her pendulum reactions. She always managed to keep him on his toes, this one.
“Good. Forgotten, then,” he said and she smiled at him. Her face changed when she smiled, he noticed. She looked beautiful, as always, but there was a sudden innocence there when she did this.
“I want to see the beach. Will you come with me? I don’t want to go with Pyotr,” she said, smiling at him sweetly. He couldn’t say no to that. He absolutely couldn’t. Not when she had him like that, in the palm of her hands.