Chapter 4

The action’s over. But I need to finish the story. Voting is enabled now. So, please tell me what you think. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. - DT

I went into my bedroom and dropped my bag. When I came out, I found John sightseeing my art. He said with astonishment, “These are originals!” It was a statement not a question. I said “Yes, some are from my mother’s old place in Philadelphia, some I picked up from a friend on Majorca. I have been collecting since I was 20.”

He said, “How old are you now?” I said, “I will be 26 in a month.” He looked like he was disturbed by that.

I said, “Can I get you something? I have to change before dinner.”

He said, “No I’ll just sit out here until you’re ready.” I heard the little voice in my head, who I really suspect is my mother, saying, “This is it sweetie. Don’t think, just grab it.”

I said as coyly as I could, “We have a little time if you’d like to come in and watch me.” I tried my best seductive look on him.

He was smart enough to understand what I was telling him. I think a stone idol would have understood what I was telling him. I was sizzling with lust. We’d had an incredible sexual experience in the worst possible situation. Now I wanted to see what it would be like if we did it right. He followed me back to the bedroom.

I turned and stepped into his arms as soon as he got inside. He looked down at me and I looked up at him and I swear lightning shot between us. Looking into those incredibly deep, rather sad eyes I felt a wave of intense desire. I reached up and pulled his head down to my lips. We kissed chastely for a second and then I opened myself to him with a passion that was indescribable.

I wanted every part of him inside me, deep into the depths of my soul. Our tongues slid around on each other for a minute or two and I moaned with desire. He was holding me, with his arms completely around my back, in a grip that was both reassuring and totally, sexually exciting.

I started walking backward toward the bed. I had changed into a simple cotton print dress on the plane. It zipped down the back. I had released his neck and I was frantically tearing at the zipper when his hand lightly reached behind me and gently unzipped me to the bottom. I let it slide off my shoulders and reached behind me to unsnap my bra.

I let the shoulder straps slide down my arms. The cups were between us as we pressed against each other. The release of my bra allowed my breasts to move around on his chest. That might have stimulated him. But the sensation was killing me.

Then he very gently pushed me down to the bed. I sat there waiting to see what he would do next. What he did was drop to his knees between my spread legs and while holding me softly around the waist he began to very delicately move his lips around on the nipple of my left breast.

That butterfly touch was something I had never felt before. It shot a powerful rush of sensation down to my pelvic regions and I began to practically leak. But it was also causing the muscles underneath my boobs to spasm.

I must have let out a gasp that startled him because he drew his head back like he was afraid he had hurt me; silly man!! I grabbed his head and dragged it back to where it belonged. He proceeded to daintily lick and nibble his way down the slope of my boob and then continued on down my stomach.

By that point I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. So, I flopped back down on the bed, moaning and gasping. I could only see the thick dark hair on top of his head as he proceeded lower to my thong covered pussy. When he got there, he put his entire mouth over my mons and blew hot air onto it. That did it. I came like I have seldom come in my life, shrieking and writhing.

I was totally out of my mind. But the small part that was still conscious could feel my thong sliding down my legs and then an elemental force moved me around on the bed. I was telling him in no uncertain terms how badly I needed him to fuck me and how soon I wanted him to get around to that task; which was instantly.

He had somehow shed his entire ensemble and so I felt his naked body slide up onto mine. As I ran my hands over his chest, I experienced the sensation of rock-hard slabs of muscle and I was panting like they had sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. I heard his voice calmly say, “Look at me.”

I said something intelligent like, “Whaaaaah?”

He said with profound emotion in his voice, “Look into my eyes.” I forced myself to concentrate, even though there was total chaos south of my belly button.

It was hypnotic. He was gazing directly into my soul. I was staring into his. It felt like we were swapping fundamental selves. Then, as we stared at each other I felt the sensation of the most delectable cock sliding into me. It was a transcendent experience. We were totally joined at every level body and spirit. I said calmly and with total sincerity, “I am yours.”

That was pretty much the last thing I remember because a gathering tsunami of contractions overwhelmed every other bodily sense. I yelled, “AHHHHH YEESSS” and “OHHHH GODDDD!!!” trying to process the feeling. I was lost in the sensation. I must have been bucking and writhing all the while. Because, I could feel our sweaty bodies moving around. But I wasn’t remotely rational.

He finally came in giant spurts. I grabbed the two boulders that were his butt and tried to pull him all the way inside me. I had my legs wrapped tightly around his waist and yet I had somehow gotten my hands past my upraised legs to grab his ass.

He was gasping now and just driving into me with a force that was awe inspiring. I had never felt such power. I shrieked and came again. This time it was too much and I kind-of went away for a few seconds. I think that I was semi-conscious all the time. But I was powerless as he finished inside me.

After what seemed like an eternity of coming, we relaxed, and he flopped off of me. We both stared at the ceiling for a long time. Finally, I turned and said. “I meant it. I am yours body and soul if you want me.”

He looked at me with gentleness and love in his eyes and, what oddly seemed like sorrow and said. “Wait until you have heard my story and I have heard yours. If we want each other after that, we will be together as long as YOU want me.” I finally understood what my mother had been telling me all of these years.

They rode back on the plane bantering like old friends. Smith couldn’t believe that he had only known this brilliant creature for less than a day. The familiarity and closeness was like they had been together for years. The ride into London was short. The car service dropped Mel at her place, which had a decidedly bohemian atmosphere about it. Then they drove to her place.

It was disturbing. He knew that she was a female employee of the Organization and that she was Sir Alexander Haig’s protégé. He had imagined that she lived in a place like Mel’s. However, the mews apartment they drove up to reflected a level of wealth far beyond anything he had imagined. It wasn’t so much the size, which was much bigger than any mews he had ever seen, as was the luxury.

There was some sort of savage looking creature sitting on a table. It was judging both of them with its emerald eyes. It was bigger than a cat and spotted like a leopard. John didn’t know what to make of it, but it seemed appropriate to its owner. It leapt off the table like it was hunting and began to wind itself around him, getting cat-fur on the cuffs of his pure wool suit.

Hilley said something to it about leaving him alone and then shoved it with her foot. She said, “That’s my Mau Bastet. She says that she says you’re attractive. She’s named after the ancient cat goddess of Egypt.”

Then Hilley added informatively, “Maus are actually a closer relative to the cheetah, but they can be domesticated.”

Smith thought, “She talks to her cat?” He looked at the little feline predator as it strolled away and thought to himself, “A perfect companion for its owner.”

Everything in Hilley’s place reeked of culture, taste and class. It was immaculately decorated with paintings on the wall that looked original. He walked over to one. It was an original Joan Miro. The next one was a Monet. The painting next to it was also a Miro.

When Hilley came out of her bedroom, he said with wonder, “These are originals.” She told him about her collecting. Now, he wasn’t even sure how old she was. She had the body and sheer poise of a woman in her prime, perhaps 30-35.

He asked her age and was devastated to find out that she was only 26. Neither Ivan Kovalyov, nor John Smith was a cradle robber. As he was processing his disappointment, she asked him if he wanted anything. She was being hospitable. He was still so disappointed by how young she was that he wanted to just sit by himself and think about how he felt. Instead she asked him if he wanted to come into her bedroom. Her invitation was clear.

Smith had to think about it for a second. But he did not have to be asked twice to make love to perhaps the most beautiful creature that he had ever known. She was standing there in a light cotton dress with her long gorgeous legs showing from 3 inches above her knees and with her perfect face luminous. Smith thought, she has the maturity of a much older woman and so I will give her the respect that she has earned.

She came directly into his arms as they stepped into her bedroom. They kissed chastely for a couple of seconds. Then she turned into an exotic hot-house orchid. She was “all-there” in the kiss, as if there were no other people in the world, giving herself to him with absolute abandon. He walked her backward toward the bed. She was struggling with the zipper of her dress. He broke the kiss and with one hand courteously unzipped the dress and she let it fall to her feet.

She was standing in her white bra and thong. Her heat was radiating all the way through his clothes and into his body. He could smell the earthy goodness and health, like a fresh field of grass and wildflowers. Her eyes were closed, and she was panting, almost hyperventilating. She unfastened her bra and let the straps flop down her arms; the cups were between their bodies. The swell of her splendid round breasts was a superb vision.

He placed her on the bed. The cups fell away and those perfect breasts were revealed. They were large by any woman’s standard. But they were broad and centered on her chest like melons rather than hanging to the side. He placed his hands on her legs. Each firm thigh was a bounty of feminine power.

She was moaning rhythmically. He got on his knees on the floor and scooted up between her widely spread legs. Her aureoles were dark brown and puffy rather than flat. He kissed very lightly around her right aureole and she rewarded him with a loud sigh. The nipple appeared. It was long, red and angry. He nipped it and she groaned with lust. He worked his way down the swell of her breast to her flat and very muscular stomach. She was panting loudly and moaning with yearning.

As he got to her belly button, she flopped backward on the bed. It was like she couldn’t hold herself up any longer. That exposed her thong covered mons, which stood out from her lower belly like a stalwart hill in a broad flat prairie. He put his mouth over the whole mound and blew hot breath on her slit.

That set off a wild sequence of bucking, writhing and shrieking. She was begging him to fuck her. He moved her up on the bed so that her head was on the pillow as he slid her thong off. Her beautiful nether lips were swollen and slick. She was clearly ready. In fact, she was humping the air in her impatience to have him in her. But he wanted to connect with this incredible creature, not fuck her. He climbed between her spread-eagled legs. Then he hesitated at her passage. She looked at him with impatience and said angrily, “You have to fuck me NOW!!!”

He said, “Look in my eyes.” She was past being articulate and so she sort of mumbled something. He said again, “Stop! Look in my eyes.”

She finally focused enough to look directly at him. Her amazing azure eyes had a depth of intelligence and a life force that was intimidating. There was ageless wisdom, vitality and humanity down there in her soul. Her eyes were so deep that it was like he was the young person and she was the old one.

He marveled at the hypnotic force of this woman’s spirit and in that moment, he was lost. She looked at him with perfect rationality and said in solemn tones, “I am yours.” His heart soared, because he already knew that he was truly hers.

He shoved slowly into her white hot and utterly lubricated passage. As he had noted on the mountain, she felt almost virginally tight. But nobody who could fuck like that could be THAT inexperienced. She rose to take him to the hilt.

Then her hips began a rapid up and down motion. She was stronger that most women. No normal female could move their hips that fast. As she did that, she began yelling, “AHHHH YESSSS” and then “COMING-COMING-COMING.” Then she went off on a bucking and writhing fit that was almost alien.

He could feel his own release coming and he began fucking her with a force that he was afraid would hurt her. But nothing could stop him. He had never been this out of control. She took every inch and begged for more. She seemed to be trying to pull him into her, as if he was not pounding her HARD enough.

Through it all she was yelling, “YES-YES-YES-YES, GIVE IT TO ME!!” When he erupted, he saw spots, it was like he had been hit in the head. He took what seemed like hours filling her to overflowing and still couldn’t stop the torrent. Through it all she was purring like a big cat “Yeeeeeeaaaahhhhh!!!”

He finally flopped over on his side and tried to reassemble the shattered pieces of his mind. It took a while. He turned to look at her when he DID get back to some reasonable state of sanity. She said with sincerity, “I meant it; I’m yours if you want me.” An exquisite wave of sadness washed over him. He knew that the man she had given herself to was not real. And he feared that the revelation of who he REALLY was would mean that he would lose this remarkable woman. He didn’t know whether he could bear that.

So, with profound love and sorrow, he told her that they would have to hear each other’s stories and then they could decide. He added that if she wanted him after that he was hers forever. It would all depend on the conversation they would have in a couple of hours.

We lingered in bed far too long. So, I had to rush to get dressed. I would have done serious, big girl makeup for such a festive occasion. But we were in a hurry. So, I just brushed my hair and put on a classic little black dress with some pearls. I was in my four-inch patent heels and the glimpse that I caught as I rushed out the door told me that I had nailed it.

The sex had been almost supernatural. It was not a matter of physicality; as much as it was a connection between two souls. I was aware that John was much older than I was. But it was as if we were both parts of the same being; male and female. I knew that he felt the same way, because he was profoundly moved. And I finally got what my mother was saying about “connection.” I had technically only known this man for two days. Yet we were a cosmic symphony together.

John was the handsomest, most witty and urbane person I had ever met. His grace, sophistication and polish were something every little girl dreams of. His intelligence, wit and exceptional world view showed in every comment and idea. He was not my kind of theoretical intelligent. But he was a true genius in understanding how the world worked.

When I asked him what he had done at Oxford he told me matter of fact; “Doctorate in Economics from Baliol.” I had sensed the English academic in him. But I could not imagine such a physically capable person would also have the highest degree an Oxbridge school could grant. I was almost embarrassed to tell him about MY academic achievements. Oddly he seemed blown away by my odd combination of legal and engineering credentials.

The only problem was the sorrow. He kept acting both uplifted and crushed. I had a feeling that the reason for the sadness would come out over dinner. So, riding down to Pall Mall in that cab I was more nervous than I have been in my life. We entered together and all the old buffers stared at the handsome dashing man and his strikingly beautiful wife.

Still, I was far from being a “wife.” For one thing it was MY meeting not his. For another, I could sense a growing distance between us. It made me sad. It was almost like he was withdrawing in anticipation of something that was about to happen.

Sir Alex greeted us with his usual courtly charm. He was dressed almost exactly the same as John, dark bespoke pinstripe suit, vest and regimental tie. While John was wearing a solid gold Rolex Yachtmaster, Sir Alex had something gold on a chain across his vest that looked like it had been crafted by Victoria’s personal watchmaker.

He ushered us into the Coffee Room. We went through the normal seating and ordering ritual. Then Sir Alex turned to me and said, “You are probably wondering what has happened since this morning.” I suddenly realized that everything that had occurred since we awoke in the Erzgebirge had taken place in the span of a mere 13 hours. I said, “I AM eager, please tell us.” I noted to myself the use of the term “us”, not “me.”

Sir Alex said, “Because the initial treasure was coerced from the German people by the Romans and since the treasure itself never actually left Germany UNESCO has decided that the German government deserves full possession of the hoard.”

He said, “So, one of their crack KSK special operations units secured the mine and the treasure site before you even got back to Prague. That turned out to be a wise move. Because, trucks full of Bratva showed up just after noon.”

He continued with, “The KSK operators had to kill a few in order to convince the rest that they should turn around and go back to Prague. But the treasure that you discovered is NOW safely in the hands of people who will ensure its priceless cultural benefits.”

He added, “The artifacts will be meticulously brought up from the mine and shipped to the Antikensammlung of the Berlin Altes Museum. The Berlin Museum is planning to feature the entire hoard as soon as it is properly curated and conserved.”

Sir Alex sat back looking thoroughly pleased and said, “Needless to say we all recognize that you two have secured a unique part of our heritage and I have been asked to convey the thanks of the Director General, as well as those of the German government and Her Majesty herself.”

John said, perhaps too eagerly, “And what about the Amber Room?”

Sir Alex laughed. He said, “Ah yes, the Amber Room. A few of your Spetsnaz buddies showed up just after the KSK disposed of the Bratva. They were disappointed that they didn’t get in on the festivities. But they want to convey the thanks of the President and government of the Russian people for restoring Russian honor.”

He added jovially, “And I believe that there is a ‘Hero of the Russian Federation’ in your future. It should look nice on your chest next to the ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’ that you won in Afghanistan, don’t you think?”

John looked stricken. I must have turned white. Sir Alex looked distressed. He said, “Do you mean Hilley doesn’t know who you are?”

I said with tears in my voice, “I thought he was an English academic named John Smith.”

Sir Alexander Haig, GC, KG, OBE, thought he had seen it all. But the reaction of his two spectacularly good-looking dining companions was something he had never encountered. Hilley had responded to his joyful news, like a wife who had just been told that her husband had ANOTHER wife. And Ivan had reacted like the husband who had just been caught having one.

To the best of Sir Alex’s knowledge Ivan had only known Hilley for perhaps three days and could not have been with her physically any longer than from the time that Sir Alex sent him up to the Erzgebirge. Which was not quite a day and a half ago.

Was it possible that they had fallen that much in love in that period of time? Sir Alex rejected that thought entirely. He said in Russian, which Hilley didn’t speak, “What’s going on here old boy? Who does she think you are?”

Ivan said, “It’s complicated my friend. I have been speaking to her in English the whole time and she has made some unfortunate assumptions about who I am.”

Sir Alex said very decisively in English, “We had better talk.” He loved Hilley Larson like a granddaughter and he considered Ivan Kovalyov to be the son he had never had. He had absolutely no idea how the two of them could be so entwined with each other in such a short time. But he sensed that the first step in the resolution was to get it all out on the table.

Sir Alex knew that Ivan was a man among men, accomplished in so many aspects of life that it was hard to list them all. He knew that Hilley Larson was a woman whose physical and mental gifts, maturity and sense of who she was demanded a much older man as her companion; or to be frank, “lover.”

Sir Alex could NOT explain how the two of them could have possibly gotten that close in the matter of a few days. But Sir Alex was NOT an expert in matters of the heart. What he WAS though, was a master of the art of leadership and he knew that it was time for the truth to be told all-around. So, he turned his mild, humorous, old codger eyes on the two. The hard and dangerous man who lurked behind them commanded, “You first Ivan.”

Ivan said, “I never meant to mislead you Hilley. It was just that I never had the time to tell you my life’s story. And you would never understand who I was without knowing it”

He added, “The fact is, I was born Ivan Kovalyov in Leningrad. I led an adventurous life in the Russian Army. That is where the Spetsnaz gear you asked about came from. I was fed up with my comrades after the way the Red Army behaved in Afghanistan and so I migrated to the KGB, which became the FSB when the Soviet Union fell apart.”

He said, “I met Sir Alex here in London as part of my duties with the FSB. We worked together for several years on issues related to humanitarian causes and we got to be good friends. I DID graduate from Baliol and I DO have a doctorate in Economics. I used that knowledge to acquire great wealth during the Oligarch period in the early 2000s.”

He continued with, “I live in Provence now and I grow grapes. I legally changed my name to John Smith, which is the English equivalent of Ivan Kovalyov, in order to cement the break from my past. My being with you in Prague was simply me doing a favor for the man I consider to be my father. I never intended to fall in love with you. But I meant everything that I said.”

Sir Alex turned his commanding gaze on Hilley and gently said, “Now it’s your turn.” She had tears in her eyes as she began to speak.

I didn’t know what to feel. I was heartbroken and at the same time elated. The relationship that I thought the two of us had was obviously based on a lie. Or at least it was a misunderstanding that John, or Ivan, or whatever his damned name was, did not see fit to clear up. Still, the fact that he had reacted with absolute horror and grief when the lie came out indicated that he must have strong feelings for me. That reaction was very satisfying.

I suppose I should have figured out that he was not an English academic, when he walked hours in the dark and rain, over a mountain range, to come to our aid; or when he threw four tough men around like a cat playing with a mouse. That is not a skill you pick up at a place like Baliol.

He was undoubtedly a man just as daring and mysterious as Jim Kelley, my CIA spook lover. I actually had the ironic thought, “What is it about me that attracts professional liars?” But this particular liar was anguished. He was clearly just as distraught as I was about the lie, or misconception, or whatever he wanted to call it.

Then of course there was the “misconception” I had perpetrated on him; except he had not guessed that there was one. So, I looked both of those two hard men in the eye and told them my story.

I said, “I am pretty sure that I am not who you think I am either, JOHN. You probably think that I am some up-and-coming little girly-girl who works for the Organization so she can pay for her fancy apartment.”

I said with bitterness in my voice, “What I am ACTUALLY, is the richest, nearly twenty-six-year-old you will ever meet. I come from big money and I’ve already built my initial trust up to almost ten million dollars. That’s ten times what my parents gave me to invest. And when I inherit my mother’s fortune, I WILL be one of the richest people in the world, no matter what age or gender.”

I said sadly, “I work for the Organization because I am an idealist. I want to make a difference; like we just did. I am a full-fledged English Barrister. But I am also a licensed computer engineer. and my research work is considered to be groundbreaking in mathematics. SO, to make a long story short I am NOT a damsel in distress, and I don’t need the likes of you to save me. In fact, I don’t need you in my life.”

I chuckled resignedly and said, “I am going to get up from the table now and I am going to get a cab. I will cry all the way home. But when I get there, I will forget that John Smith, or Ivan Kovalyov, or whoever you are ever existed. The sad fact is that I thought that you were ‘the one’. But then again, I am just a foolish little girl who should have known better.”

With that, I rose as graciously as I could, with no tears. He started to get up, but Sir Alex put a hand on his arm. I said with formality, “Thank you Sir Alex. I will await your call for my next assignment.” Then I walked as dignified as possible out of the Club and hailed a cab. I wept in bitter anguish all the way home.

The problem was that I could not just dismiss Dr. John Smith. He had lied to me, or at least not been as forthright as he should have been. It might have been that he didn’t realize how much I had fallen in love with him. So, he didn’t think the backstory was important. I hadn’t realized how hooked I was myself, until we got on the jet in Prague.

One other option occurred to me; which was that John was just as much in love with me. If that was the case, then I could understand why he would want to wait until he had time to clarify the situation. It also explained the sadness, since the longer he took to explain who he really was, the more likely it was going to be that he would get the reaction that he got.

The one thing that I knew for sure was that he would not chase after me, as the other men in my life would have. He would wait, like the wise soul that he is, for me to reopen the door. The question was whether I wanted to do that. I loved him and I also hated him for destroying my trust. I had some time now and whenever I am confused, I know who I have to talk to. So, I called my mother and asked her if we could go for a ride. She knew what that meant.

Smith was devastated; even more than when he learned that Alexandra was dead. He had known this incredible woman for three days and he had been overwhelmed by her intelligence and inner strength, not to mention her exquisite beauty. The relationship they had with each other in that short time was like a decade’s long comradeship and the sex was unearthly.

He did NOT know any of the things that she revealed about herself. But she could just as easily been who he thought she was. It wouldn’t have mattered. John Smith knew that Hilley Larson was the only woman in the world for him.

He started to get up to follow her. Sir Alex put his hand on his arm to prevent that. As Hilley stood and walked calmly, poised and dignified, out of the Coffee Room. John looked at Sir Alex with sorrow and distress.

Sir Alex said, “Easy old boy, she has to have space to think and process all of this. She is her own person and she has to draw her own conclusions. If she wants you, she will come to you and if she doesn’t want you there is nothing on earth that you can do to convince her otherwise.”

Sir Alex was very wise, and he loved John like a son. He knew that only time would tell, and he wanted to get John’s mind off of the woman who had just walked out the door. So, he said in his best “Hail-fellow-well-met” English club manner, “Have a brandy and tell me more about the treasure old boy. I only know it exists, not how you found it.”

John Smith was a strong man; a physical freak of nature, more feline than human. His heart literally ached in his chest. It was not that Hilley Larson was beautiful, accomplished and rich. It was that she had a majestic spirit and an adventurer’s soul to match his own. And he absolutely believed that there would never be any other woman like that for him.

Smith had the personal honesty to understand what Sir Alex had said and he realized the truth. He knew he would have to stand and wait. Because, with a strong spirit like Hilley Larson there was no other option. Still, the waiting would take all of his innate ability to persevere. That was where the Russian part of him took control. He thought with bitter irony, “I might be an Englishman now, but Russians were born to suffer and endure.”