Chapter 14: First day at work
The sharp electronic chirp from down the hall finally died, replaced by the muffled thud of feet hitting the floor and the groan of the guest room door opening. Alexey, standing at the stove with bacon sizzling in a cast-iron pan, tensed almost imperceptibly. The rich, fatty aroma battled with the lingering ghosts of soy sauce and sex in the warm kitchen air. Sharon, already dressed in sleek black trousers and a silky champagne-colored blouse, leaned against the counter beside him, nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Her dark eyes, sharp and observant even this early, flicked towards the hallway entrance.
Katya burst in like a sunbeam wrapped in terrycloth. A large, fluffy yellow towel was expertly turbaned around her damp blonde hair. She wore faded, high-waisted denim shorts that ended just below the curve of her rear, the frayed hem brushing the tops of her long, slender thighs. A thin, lavender tank top dipped low across her collarbones, revealing the swell of her C-cup breasts and the delicate chain of a silver necklace resting there. She radiated a buzzing, nervous energy, her bright blue eyes wide as she surveyed the kitchen.
"Morning!" she chirped, the word a little too loud. She bounced on the balls of her bare feet, her toned stomach visible between the low rise of the shorts and the hem of the tank top as she stretched. "Smells amazing! Is that coffee? Please tell me that's coffee." She darted towards the coffee maker, her movements quick and restless. The towel wobbled precariously.
"Left side is fresh," Sharon said, her voice calm, a faint smile playing on her lips as she watched Katya fumble with a mug. "Cream’s in the fridge door. Sugar’s… well, it’s somewhere in that disaster zone." She gestured vaguely towards the cluttered counter near the vintage radio humming softly with indistinct jazz.
"Disaster zone? This is organized chaos," Katya retorted, pouring coffee with slightly trembling hands. A few drops splashed onto the counter. "Oh, shoot!" She grabbed a nearby dishtowel, swiping hastily. As she bent forward, the shorts rode up fractionally, offering an unintentional glimpse of the lower curve of her pale buttocks. Alexey, flipping bacon, kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the pan, the sizzle suddenly seeming very loud. He felt Sharon’s presence beside him like a warm, knowing weight.
"Big day," Sharon observed casually, taking another sip of her coffee. Her eyes tracked Katya’s flustered movements.
"Da!" Katya straightened up, clutching her mug like a lifeline. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from the coffee steam or nerves. "First day at the design firm! Graphic design internship. I still can't believe they picked me." She took a long gulp of coffee, wincing slightly at the heat. "What if they hate me? What if my portfolio is terrible? What if I spill coffee on the creative director? Oh god, I'm definitely going to spill coffee. Or say something stupid. Like 'scrumble'." She shot a quick, teasing glance at Alexey's rigid back, but her own nervous grin faltered almost immediately.
Alexey grunted, transferring bacon to a paper-towel-lined plate. "You won't." His voice was gruff, offering the barest minimum of reassurance. He focused on cracking eggs into the hot bacon fat. Crack. Sizzle.
Sharon pushed off the counter and moved towards Katya. She gently adjusted the lopsided towel turban. "They picked you because you're talented, Katya. And passionate. And, honestly, probably because you charmed them senseless during the interview." She tapped Katya’s nose lightly. "Just breathe. And maybe avoid words like 'scrumble' until after lunch."
Katya managed a shaky laugh. "Okay. Breathe. Right. Breathing." She took an exaggerated deep breath, her chest rising under the thin lavender fabric. Alexey, placing toast in the toaster, caught the movement in his peripheral vision. He felt a familiar, unwelcome heat crawl up his neck, immediately followed by a stab of guilt. Sharon’s quiet observation from last night echoed: ‘It makes me want to…’ He tightened his grip on the toast lever.
"See?" Sharon was saying, her hand resting briefly on Katya's bare shoulder. "You got this. What time do you need to leave?"
"Nine-thirty," Katya said, glancing at the clock above the stove. "The subway, ugh. I downloaded the map app thingy." She started pacing the small space between the table and the fridge, the magnets bearing photos of hikes and beach trips rattling slightly. Her movements were restless, jittery. "Should I wear the black dress? Or the pantsuit? The pantsuit feels a bit... much? But the dress... is it too..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at her chest.
"The pantsuit," Alexey stated abruptly, sliding scrambled eggs onto plates. "Professional." He kept his eyes on the food.
Sharon raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "He might have a point. The dress is lovely, but the pantsuit says 'take me seriously' on day one. You can unleash the devastating charm later." She winked.
"Devastating charm? Me?" Katya giggled, a genuine sound this time, though nerves still vibrated beneath it. "Okay, pantsuit it is." She looked down at her outfit. "Should probably change out of... this." She plucked at the flimsy tank top. "Though I am comfortable." She did a little shimmy, purely unconsciously, the movement fluid and natural. Alexey turned away entirely, busying himself with retrieving the toast.
Sharon watched him for a beat, her gaze lingering on the tense line of his shoulders, the faint flush at the base of his neck. She picked up the plate of bacon Alexey had set down and carried it to the small kitchen table. "Breakfast is served, intern. Fuel up."
Katya practically lunged for the table. "Bless you both!" She sat down, immediately scooping a large forkful of eggs. "Mmm, perfect, Alex! Seriously, you saved my life." She ate with focused energy, talking between bites. "Okay, so the office is downtown, near that big park? Maybe I can walk through it at lunch? If they give me lunch? Do interns get lunch? Do I bring lunch? Oh god, I didn't pack lunch..." Her words tumbled out in a nervous stream.
Alexey brought the toast and his own plate over, sitting opposite Katya. Sharon joined them, sitting beside Alexey, her posture relaxed but her attention acute. They ate mostly in silence punctuated by Katya’s running commentary on potential lunchtime disasters and her attempts to navigate the subway system. Alexey kept his focus on his plate, acutely aware of Sharon’s leg brushing lightly against his under the table, of Katya’s animated presence filling the room. The low-cut tank top revealed the smooth skin of her upper chest as she leaned forward to grab more bacon. He felt Sharon’s eyes on him, not accusing, but seeing. Seeing the involuntary flicker of his gaze towards Katya’s exposed skin, seeing the slight tightening of his jaw.
"Okay!" Katya suddenly announced, pushing her empty plate away. "Time to become a professional!" She jumped up, the chair scraping loudly. "Shower number two, hair, makeup, pantsuit empowerment!" She gave a mock-punch to the air. "Wish me luck! Don’t let me be late!"
"We won't," Sharon smiled. "Go conquer."
Katya paused at the archway, spinning around. The towel turban finally gave up, sliding sideways to land with a soft thump on her shoulder, releasing a cascade of damp, tangled blonde hair. She didn't seem to notice. Her blue eyes, wide and suddenly serious, met Alexey’s. "Thanks, Lesha. For everything. The room, the food... not making fun of my panic." Her voice softened. "It means a lot."
Alexey nodded, a single, stiff dip of his chin. "Udachi, Katya," he murmured. Good luck.
She beamed, scooped up the fallen towel, and vanished down the hall, the sound of her bare feet slapping the floor growing fainter until the guest room door clicked shut.
A heavy silence settled, thicker now, charged with the sudden absence of her chaotic energy. The only sounds were the dripping faucet Sharon hadn’t quite fixed yesterday and the low murmur of the radio. Alexey stared at the remnants of egg yolk on his plate. He felt drained, scraped raw by the collision of Katya’s oblivious vibrancy and the unresolved intensity of the night before. Sharon’s presence beside him felt like a sustained note, waiting.
He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping harshly. He stood, gathering plates mechanically. He needed to move, to do something. He carried the dishes to the sink, turning on the water with more force than necessary. The cold spray hit his skin. He braced his hands on the edge of the counter, head bowed, water running over the plates forgotten. His knuckles were white again.
Soft footsteps approached. He felt her before she touched him. Sharon’s arms slid around his waist from behind, her body pressing warm and firm against his back. Her cheek rested against his shoulder blade, exactly where her lips had brushed last night. She didn't speak, just held him, her embrace solid and grounding. He closed his eyes, leaning back into her, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally under her warmth.
"It’s okay," she murmured finally, her voice a low vibration against his spine. Her hands splayed flat against his stomach. "She has no idea. None."
He swallowed. That was part of it. The innocence. The unintended provocation. The way his own mind twisted it against his will. "I know," he rasped, the words thick.
Sharon’s arms tightened. Her lips brushed his shoulder blade again, a deliberate echo. "And last night..." she began, her voice dropping even lower, intimate, "our agreement...?" She let the question hang, her body radiating a quiet, possessive certainty. Her hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans, a subtle but unmistakable reminder of the power she’d wielded in this very kitchen only hours ago. The water continued to run over his motionless hands. The radio played a slow, mournful saxophone solo. Outside, the city stirred towards its own chaotic day. Inside, Sharon held him, waiting, her touch a question and a demand wrapped in the scent of coffee and bacon.
The water ran cold over Alexey’s motionless hands gripping the sink edge. Sharon’s warmth pressed against his back, her cheek on his shoulder blade, her arms a possessive band around his waist. Her fingers traced the denim waistband of his jeans, a silent, potent echo of the power she’d wielded kneeling on this same tile floor hours ago. Her low murmur, "our agreement...?", hung in the air, thick with coffee steam and the fading scent of bacon.
He flinched as her hand slid lower, palm pressing flat against the growing hardness trapped beneath denim. A sharp inhale caught in his throat. Her touch was deliberate, testing, claiming. The radio’s jazz felt suddenly mocking, too light for the weight crushing his chest. Images collided: Katya’s oblivious shimmy in the flimsy tank top, Sharon’s intense gaze locked on him as she took him in her mouth, the raw confession he’d spilled right here.
Her fingers tightened possessively. "Does seeing her like that... does it stir it up again?" Her breath was hot against his neck. "That hunger?" Her other hand slid up his chest, fingertips brushing the base of his throat where his pulse hammered. "Even after last night?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, the counter edge biting into his palms. The conflicting sensations – her demanding touch, the churning mix of shame and sharp, unwelcome arousal Katya’s presence ignited – were a vise tightening around his ribs. His voice scraped out, raw and choked, "W-WHAT ABOUT OUR AGREEMENT? I DON'T TAKE BACK WHAT I SAID, MY LOVE." The words felt ripped from him, a desperate anchor thrown into the storm of his own making. He hadn't retracted his vulnerability, his confessed craving. It hung between them, exposed.
Sharon stilled for only a heartbeat. Then a low hum vibrated against his spine. "Good." Her voice was velvet over steel. She released his jeans but kept her arms locked around him, turning him firmly within her embrace to face her. Her dark eyes, sharp and fathomless, held his panicked gaze. "Because I meant what I said too, Alexey Volkov." Her thumb brushed his lower lip, the same spot she’d claimed after tasting him. "That trust is mine. That power is mine. Seeing you like this..." A ghost of a smile touched her lips, predatory and possessive. "...flushed, trembling... knowing exactly what churns inside you... it makes me want to remind you who holds the leash." Her gaze dropped meaningfully towards his jeans. "Thoroughly."
He swallowed convulsively, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. The dripping faucet counted seconds. Her proximity, the intensity in her eyes, the promise laced with control, sent a fresh jolt through him. Fear? Anticipation? It was impossible to separate them.
Sharon stepped back just enough to grasp his hand, her grip firm. Her eyes swept him up and down, lingering where the denim strained. "You need it. And frankly," she added, that wicked glint returning, "so do I." She glanced towards the hallway, listening. "Katya’s blow dryer is still going. We have exactly," she calculated, "...seven minutes until she emerges dressed to devastate downtown. Let’s not waste them." She tugged his hand, already moving towards the their bedroom door, the scent of jasmine and clean skin cutting through the lingering breakfast smells. "Move, engineer."
Sharon’s grip on his wrist was iron, her stride purposeful as she pulled him down the short hallway. The cheerful, muffled drone of Katya’s hair dryer vibrated through the guest room door they passed. Alexey felt unmoored, dragged forward by her certainty, his body thrumming with the aftershock of her words – remind you who holds the leash – and the relentless pressure building low in his belly.
She shoved their bedroom door open with her hip, yanked him inside, and kicked it shut behind them. The latch clicked with finality. Before he could process, she’d spun him, his back hitting the cool wood. Her body slammed against his, pinning him. Her mouth found his with bruising force, teeth scraping his lower lip, her tongue demanding entry even as her hands flew to his belt buckle.
"Seven minutes, Alex," she breathed against his mouth, the words hot and urgent. Her fingers worked the buckle, the rasp of leather loud in the sudden quiet. Only the distant hair dryer hummed. "Don’t think. Feel." She popped the button of his jeans, yanked the zipper down. "Hands on the door. Don’t move them." Her command brooked no argument.
He obeyed, flattening his palms against the door, the wood grain rough under his skin. The scent of Katya’s floral shower gel drifted faintly under the door, mixing dizzyingly with Sharon’s jasmine. His jeans and boxers were shoved down just enough, freeing his aching cock. He gasped at the sudden cool air, the vulnerability. Sharon dropped to her knees in one fluid motion, her dark eyes locked on his, blazing with intent. No preamble. Her mouth was on him, hot, wet, and savage. She took him deep, her head bobbing with ruthless efficiency, one hand gripping the base, the other braced hard on his thigh.
It was too much, too fast, the sensations a violent counterpoint to his churning thoughts – Katya’s damp hair, her low-cut tank top, Sharon’s possessiveness, the raw exposure. He groaned, a strangled sound, his hips jerking instinctively forward, seeking more of that punishing heat. Sharon took it, her throat working, eyes never leaving his face, watching every flicker of desperate surrender. The hum of the dryer seemed to sync with the frantic pulse in his veins.
"Sh-Sha—" he choked out, fingers scrabbling against the wood. He was hurtling towards the edge already, the coil wound impossibly tight since the kitchen snapping under her assault. He could feel the slick sounds, the pressure, the utter lack of tenderness. It was pure claiming.
"Come," she ordered thickly, pulling off him just long enough to rasp the word before swallowing him back down, hollowing her cheeks. She sucked hard, relentless. It detonated him. His back arched off the door as he came, a ragged cry tearing from his throat as he pulsed into the scorching, demanding heat of her mouth. It was intense, blinding, ripped from him without permission.
She held him there, swallowing, her gaze unwavering, unblinking, until the last tremor subsided. Then she released him with a soft, wet pop. Still kneeling, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a smear of wetness glistening. Her eyes were dark, sated, and fiercely possessive. "Mine," she stated, low and final. She didn’t move to get up, just stayed there, looking up at him, her hand resting possessively on his bare hip, thumb stroking the skin just above his jeans.
Alexey slumped against the door, gasping, legs trembling, staring down at her in a daze of spent adrenaline and shock. The taste of himself, the sight of her kneeling, the sound of the dryer stopping next door – it slammed into him all at once. Reality crashed back. Katya was done. She’d be out any second.
He fumbled to pull his jeans up, fingers clumsy, the zipper catching. Sharon rose smoothly, a satisfied curve on her lips. She adjusted the neckline of her silky blouse, her movements calm, collected. She reached up, cupping his cheek. "Breathe, my sweet bear," she murmured, her thumb brushing his damp lower lip. "Just breathe." She leaned in, kissed him softly, tasting of salt and sex. "Zip up."
He managed the zipper, hands still shaking. The abrupt shift from raw intensity to mundane action was jarring. He could hear movement in Katya’s room now, the muffled clatter of hangers.
Sharon straightened his t-shirt collar, her touch lingering. "Ready to face the dazzling intern?"
Before he could formulate a response, a bright, slightly muffled voice called out, laced with cheerful frustration. "Alex! Sharon! Does anyone know where my stupid portfolio case went? I swear I left it by the couch! It’s huge, black, you can’t miss it… unless I’m actually losing my mind?" Footsteps approached their door. "Guys?" A knock, sharp and impatient. "Seriously, I need eagle eyes!"
Sharon’s eyes met Alexey’s, holding a flicker of shared adrenaline, a secret still warm between them. She stepped towards the door, hand outstretched, a serene, welcoming smile already forming on her lips as she turned the knob. "Coming, Katya!"
Sharon swung the bedroom door open, that serene hostess smile perfectly in place. "Portfolio crisis? We're on it." Her voice was smooth, betraying nothing of the frantic energy lingering in the room behind her. Alexey stood a step back, subtly adjusting the waistband of his jeans, his face carefully neutral though the tips of his ears were still flushed pink.
Katya bounced on the balls of her feet in the hallway, now transformed. The damp, casual look was gone. Sleek blonde hair fell perfectly around her shoulders. She wore a sharply tailored black pantsuit that hugged her slender frame, the crisp white blouse underneath buttoned high but somehow still managing to hint at the curves beneath. Her wide blue eyes were frantic. "It's huge! Leather, black, has my initials embossed? K.P. I know I left it leaning against the arm of the couch last night after showing you my mock-ups!"
"Okay, breathe, superstar," Sharon said, stepping past her into the living area. "We'll find it. Alex, check the couch thoroughly. Katya, did you look under the coffee table?" Sharon moved with purpose towards the bookshelf, her gaze sweeping methodically.
Alexey focused on the worn grey sofa. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the slight twinge in his back, the phantom sensation of Sharon’s demanding mouth still humming under his skin. He lifted cushions, peered into the dark crevices between seat and backrest. Nothing but crumbs and a forgotten hair tie. "No case here," he grunted, his voice rougher than intended. He avoided looking directly at Katya, her nervous energy filling the small space, the clean scent of her expensive perfume cutting through the lingering bacon smell.
"It has to be here!" Katya wailed, pacing the small rug, her heels clicking. "This internship, it’s everything! My visa hinges on it! If I show up empty-handed..." She ran a perfectly manicured hand through her hair, threatening its sleekness. "I can't believe I'm this stupid!"
"Not stupid," Sharon countered calmly from near the bookshelf, pulling out a stack of magazines. "Just human and understandably stressed. Checked the closet by the door? Maybe it got knocked over when we came in last night?" She moved towards the small entryway closet, her movements efficient, grounding.
Alexey stood up, scanning the room. His eyes landed on the low coffee table, cluttered with remotes, Sharon’s psychology journals, and a half-empty water glass. He moved it all aside systematically. Nothing. Panic started to claw at Katya’s voice. "Seriously, it's vanished! Like, poof! First day disaster before it even begins!"
"Think, Katyusha," Alexey said, forcing his voice steady, using the diminutive nickname from her childhood. It sometimes calmed her. "After showing us last night... where did you walk with it?"
She stopped pacing, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I... I walked to the kitchen for water. Then back... then..." Her eyes widened. "The window! I wanted natural light on the cover page! I put it on the window ledge behind the armchair!" She whirled around, practically sprinting towards the large armchair nestled in the corner by the bay window overlooking the fire escape.
Sharon was already there, her champagne silk blouse catching the morning light. She reached behind the oversized navy armchair, her expression shifting from focused to triumphant. "Bingo." With a soft grunt, she pulled out a large, sleek black leather portfolio case. Gold initials K.P. gleamed on the front. "Must have slid down between the chair and the wall when you walked away. Classic hidey-hole."
"Oh, thank god! Sharon, you angel!" Katya lunged forward, grabbing the case and clutching it to her chest like a life preserver. She closed her eyes, breathing out a shaky sigh of relief. "Seriously, my heroes. Both of you." She opened her eyes, beaming first at Sharon, then turning her dazzling smile towards Alexey.
Her gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, bright with gratitude and lingering adrenaline. Alexey’s breath hitched. The tailored suit, the relief making her eyes sparkle, the sheer vibrancy of her – it slammed into him. He felt Sharon’s eyes on him, watching, knowing. He managed a stiff nod. "Udachi," he repeated, the Russian word feeling safer than English. Good luck.
Katya bounced forward, throwing her free arm around Sharon in a quick, fierce hug. "Love you!" Then, before Alexey could brace himself, she turned and hugged him too. It was brief, firm, her perfume – vanilla and citrus – momentarily overwhelming. Her body pressed against his, the sleek fabric of her suit jacket cool under his hands that hovered awkwardly near her back. She pulled back quickly, her smile still radiant. "Okay! Crisis averted! Gotta run or I will be late!" She checked her delicate wristwatch, her eyes widening comically. "Yep! Running!" She dashed towards the door, grabbing her purse off the hook.
"Text us how it goes!" Sharon called after her, her voice warm but her eyes still fixed on Alexey, observing the subtle tension in his shoulders.
"Will do!" Katya yelled back, already halfway out the door. It slammed shut behind her, leaving a sudden, echoing silence in the apartment. The distant sounds of city traffic filtered in.
Alexey stood frozen near the armchair, the phantom pressure of Katya’s hug, the scent of her perfume, colliding violently with the memory of Sharon’s possessiveness minutes before. He could still feel the exact spot on his lip Sharon’s teeth had scraped. He slowly lowered the hands that had briefly touched Katya’s back.
Sharon didn’t move from the window. She watched him, the morning light catching the thoughtful curve of her lips. The silence stretched, thick and charged, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock. She tilted her head, a silent question hanging in the air between them, her gaze dropping pointedly to where his knuckles were white where he gripped the back of the armchair. The unspoken weight of his exposed craving, her claiming power, and Katya’s oblivious touch pressed down on him. She took a single, deliberate step towards him.