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"Even as you fight with your work you are still a woman," he remarked.
They looked at each other, and she suddenly felt a flush of excitement, letting her know in no uncertain terms how her body and mind were feeling. She suddenly felt very shy and self aware as she continued to work.
"I hope you don't mind being looked at," she said, breaking the silence.
"I don't mind," he replied. "I have my revanche in looking at you, and it is I who gain."
Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and a committee member accompanied by a soldier leaned in. Alex excused himself to speak with them for a moment, then turned to Natasha with a look of regret.
"I am sorry but I must leave, apparently there is some last minute meeting I have suddenly been invited to. You are welcome to stay and finish your tea."
Natasha was a bit disappointed, but she knew he would be subject to many interruptions now that he was back in the capitol. She nodded and bade him farewell for the evening.
"I will leave your portrait here for you, I'm just about done."
"Excellent," he replied. "And you can expect me to be at the show Friday evening, enjoying the work of the most fabulous woman painter in all of Petrograd."
Alex left the room and after a few final strokes of the pencil, she completed the portrait, signed it, carefully removed it from the sketchbook, and left it on his desk.
Later that evening Alex came in to retrieve his coat and briefcase. Leaning over his desk to turn off the lamp he saw the portrait of himself she had left on the desk. He peered at it curiously. It was the face of a wolf, staring back at him, with pinprick eyes and the concentrated, focused energy of a predator. He stared into the eyes of the wolf and was startled to see them transform into his own, as if she had blended the soul of the animal and the man together.
"She sees what is on the inside," he thought to himself, then carefully put the drawing in his desk drawer. Turning off the lamp and locking up, he determined he was to have the biggest war-prize of them all.
Borya's woman.
As he walked out to his waiting car, Alex reflected on the very clear and obvious connection between Borya and Natasha. He had known Borya for years before Natasha had met him in Paris, and she fit Borya's checklist perfectly. Intelligent, beautiful, an active party member and graced with a lovely pair of breasts. Alex recalled when he and Borya first met in London years back, Borya had taken him around town to show him the sights, getting a better understanding of this young, energetic writer who was almost ten years his junior. Alex and Borya were strictly professional colleagues, but there were moments when Borya would speak casually of women, revealing his predilections. He would point out certain shopkeepers he was friendly with. Congenial, bright women, all, Alex noted, with big breasts that a man who loved to suckle could feast on all night. There was also that heated conversation in a café, when Borya started to raise his voice in objection to Alex. At that moment Borya's favorite waitress came over to deliver another beer. As she leaned over both he and Alex both got a good look at her generous cleavage. To his great interest, Alex watched Borya transform as if he had just had a wonderful glass of wine. His mood literally changed immediately, his arguing ceased, his countenance warming.
"She's certainly blessed." Alex remarked.
"Mmmmmmmmmm..." Borya replied dreamily, as if already nestled in her bosom, sucking happily on a nipple. "I often come here to work when writing a speech. Just being around her makes me more productive and energetic. She hasn't the faintest interest in politics, unfortunately."
But Natasha certainly did, and Borya had fallen for her and had assigned to her a key position in his life. Alex recognized Borya's dependency on both her work and her nearness to him. However, something had changed since the last time he was at his office, and Natasha was definitely sending out signals that she was available and receptive to Alex's flirtations. He would have to be careful, but that made it all the more exciting, and Natasha, this bold, exciting creative force, all the more desirable.
************
The gallery was buzzing that Friday night, with party members and the general public there for the official opening. Along with more prominent artists were special displays specifically by local artists, Natasha being one of them. She stood proudly with her paintings on display on the first floor as friends and admirers looked them over and asked her questions. The interaction was wonderful, their inquiries really making her reflect on her inspiration and technique. She wished her parents could be there but they were currently living in Paris. Fortunately however, her younger sister Darya was there to keep her company and share the accomplishment.
Darya was as outspoken and opinionated as Natasha, and she also made no secret of her distaste for the revolution and the people involved. She distrusted the new government and never understood its appeal to Natasha. Most of the time they had a truce when it came to the subject, but tonight Darya was aware of the many party members that were in attendance. It made her bristle to be in their company.
"I thought these people disliked art unless it was in the form of a propaganda poster," she said with sarcasm.
"Oh, that's just not true," protested Natasha. "I've met many that love art as much as I do. Why do you think many of them are in attendance tonight?"
"Spying, perhaps?" Darya suggested. "I hear they specialize in it."
Natasha sighed. There was no getting thru to her and she certainly didn't want to spoil this special evening debating with her sister. As more people came over to speak to Natasha, Darya excused herself to go to the food table. As Natasha spoke to the attendees, she glanced around the room wondering when Alex might make an appearance. She had not seen him yet. She took a step back to look up at the busy second floor and noticed a cluster of people standing around the top of the steps, surrounding someone. That's when their eyes met. But she was not looking at the crystal clear blue eyes of her fellow art appreciator. She was looking into the dark glittering eyes of the party leader, staring down at her from the bustle of his entourage. He had on his long black coat and black cap, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he often did when in a bad mood. He did not take his eyes off of her.
Her blood went cold. What was he doing here? He would rather go to the dentist than attend a dreaded "bourgeoisie" art show. But there he was, lingering and watching.
Spying. Just as Darya had described it.
He had intruded into her world, her sacred space away from party life, ensuring she was not truly free to have a life outside of his wishes. He looked right into her eyes, with an expression of annoyance and hurt. He wanted to make sure she got the message.
Natasha pulled her eyes away, unwilling to keep up the silent, manipulative communication any longer. She could not keep him out of the show but she could keep him out of her line of sight. She was determined he would not ruin her evening.
"And who did these fine works?" someone asked as they stepped up behind her.
Her body began to tingle, recognizing Alex's melodious voice. She felt strengthened by his warm presence. It could not have come at a better moment.
"You found me!" she said, turning towards him, very pleased and relieved.
"Let me look," he said, taking out a cloth from the pocket of his military jacket and cleaning off his pince-nez. He propped them back upon his nose and stood for a moment in front of her paintings. They were filled with her, dancing, twisting animals, moving and curving around one another, covered in flames with wild eyes and tongues intertwined.
"Ah, such passion!" he exclaimed.
She blushed, knowing he would understand. With her growling, glowing beasts, crawling all over one another, she committed to canvas her raw sexuality disguised in metaphor.
"Mmmm...so much beautiful love making," he said, not taking his eyes off her work. "I can feel it, even standing here."
"They do work up one's appetite," she said with a smile. "In fact, they've just restocked the food at the table, and I've been standing here for over an hour. Would you like to join me in some sustenance?"
At the top of the stairs, Borya was watching the entire transaction, seeing them talking, smiling at one another. Whatever sword he felt he was pointing at her melted into nothingness. His mind raced with panic, his heart pounding. While his sycophants and loyal party members pushed and crowded around him, he stood alone, watching his woman slip right out his fingers. He ached with helpless despair.
Then he saw it.
As Natasha led the way to the next room, Alex followed, placing his fingers gently on the small of her back, gently guiding her. That one little gesture made Borya's blood pressure fire up until all laughing and talking around him vanished and was only white noise. Those fingers...intimately touching her back, corralling her, claiming her!
Borya wanted to roar down the stairs like a lion on fire and tear into Alex's throat. He wanted to shout and scream and smash everything up. Instead, he stood there shaking and dizzy with hyperventilation. As Alex and Natasha vanished into the next room, Borya had to get away. He had come to watch her, intimidate her, and he had been crushed in the process.
"Excuse me, will you please," he was barely able to say, and made his way down the stairs. He quickly moved past everyone, hoping not to be noticed. As he made his way thru the crowds with his black coat billowing out behind him, he quickly begged off a couple of people who wanted to talk, then made his way to a back door which was guarded by a sentry.
"See to it no one exits this way," he said, obviously upset and avoiding eye contact.
"Are you alright, sir?" the sentry asked, genuinely concerned. Borya hurried down the pathway, not looking back.
"I'm perfectly fine," he called back, pulling his collar up against the sudden rush of cold air. "Just keep that door shut."
With a great pain in his heart and his pride dashed to pieces, Borya made his solitary way thru the back gardens, finding himself suddenly lost on a network of trails. Frustrated, alone and cold, he wandered around looking for an exit to the main street. Filling by the minute with anger and defeat, he finally found an open gate and walked quickly down the sidewalk, his eyes barely open, his breath white against the icy air, hurrying towards nowhere.
************
As guests were leaving and cabs pulled up to take people home, the show was at last winding down. The night had been a huge success and Natasha had concluded it had been an excellent decision to participate. She even had acquired some leads for a couple of commissions. She was also grateful she did not see Borya again the rest of the evening.
As Natasha was preparing to leave, Darya saw her to her cab.
"You did very well tonight," Darya said. "I am very proud of you. Please do remember that anything I have said to you tonight that may have offended you was really only meant to try to protect you. I worry sometimes."
Natasha appreciated her sister at least trying to softener her earlier, harsh remarks about the party.
"You have absolutely nothing to worry about," Natasha said. "This is a new age of freedom for women, and my work within the party is advancing the cause. And I want to take full advantage of it with opportunities like this show. I am so happy you came!"
They embraced and Natasha climbed into the back of the cab. She waved to Darya as the cab pulled away.
"Hotel Astoria." she requested.
************
The elevator stopped on the 10th floor and she got out, then walked down the hall to room 1002. She stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath in, and knocked.
Alex opened the door, revealing a large, lovely room that had been made available to him upon request, with carpeted floors, high walls, work space and a lovely view of the Neva River from the window.
"The famous artist has decided to make an appearance this evening," he said softly, very pleased. She stepped in and he closed the door behind her.
"Only after I managed to fight off my admirers," she teased.
"You haven't fought them all off," he replied. "Some tea to warm you?"
"Yes, thank you very much."
As Alex walked over to the samovar and teacups, Natasha looked around the large, quiet room. Alex had been at his desk working, waiting for her, after they made arrangements to meet separately at the hotel. After filling a cup with tea he went over to his desk and turned off the light, leaving just the soft glowing amber lamp on in the corner of the room. She took off her thick winter coat and scarf and laid it across a chair as he handed her the tea. She took it, then turned to look out the window at the view across the river.
"Beautiful," she said, taking a few warming sips. At the moment, looking at the river seemed easier than being face to face with him. Why was it so hard to look him in those eyes? They both knew what was about to happen. Yet she felt very flustered, almost at a loss for words. It had been some time since she had been with another man besides Borya. Was she actually feeling as if she was cheating? What was making her so nervous?
Carefully approaching the subject, Alex began to speak.
"Is there...anyone else?" he asked, seeing what she would say.
She continued to face away from him as she took another sip of tea.
"There was...but there has been a falling out," she replied quietly.
"So you are...free then?"
"I am. But then, I have always been free to choose my men," she said, not quite sounding as confident as she would have liked.
As she gazed out the window, Alex stepped over to her from behind and placed his hands on her shoulders. His touch immediately sent tingles down her body, thru her nipples and thighs. He sensed her slowly drawing in her breath, and began to kiss her neck. She let out a soft sigh as he sent more delightful tingles down her body with his kisses.
"I can feel you coming alive as my lips taste your skin," he said softly, quietly. "I want to wake up that passion inside of you, the passion I see in your work...in your eyes."
He continued to place kisses along her neck, then he moved his mouth back up towards her ear and began to run his tongue along the rim of it, giving her the chills.
"Let me make love to you, Natasha," he murmured. "I will make you feel good, I promise." He traced soft circles around her nipples with his fingertips, making her sigh with pleasure. With her eyes closed and her head leaning back against him, she allowed herself to surrender to the desire and need he was arousing inside of her. There would be no arguments with Alex. No fights or struggles or ridiculous accusations. They demanded and expected nothing of one another.
She at last turned around to face him and set the cup down. She looked into his steel blue eyes, clear and focused and alert behind his glasses. He was several inches taller than Borya, lean and elegant in his countenance. She reached up and slowly ran her hand down the side of his face past his mustache to his dark pointed goatee. She stroked it between her fingers.
"I'll bet this tickles..." she teased.
"I shall tickle you with it anywhere you desire," he replied.
They embraced and kissed, their lips meeting, teasing and tasting. They both moaned softly, their bodies responding with excited anticipation. Natasha began to experience this new and unfamiliar territory with searching kisses and a probing tongue. His scent, his texture, his very being...so unique and intriguing. She ran her fingers sensually thru his thick hair, sending tingles racing down his neck and thru his body. He moaned as his cock began to throb, urging him on to explore more of her.
He reached for her dress buttons and started to work them undone.
"Wait," she said.
She drew away and looked him in the eyes. He paused with curiosity to see what she wanted.
"You first," she whispered.
Quietly she reached for the top button of his olive green tunic. It was buttoned to the neck, very officially. She began to undo the buttons, one by one. She pulled the tunic open and his chest lay bare before her. With the soft back of her hand she ran it down his chest to his smooth belly. His skin twitched under her seductive touch. She leaned over and placed several soft, warm kisses on his chest, grazing his nipples with her fingertips.
"Mmmmmm...yes.." he sighed, closing his eyes.
She then slowly pulled the tunic off and down his arms. His beautiful expressive hands slipped out of the sleeves as she pulled it completely off and laid it on the bed. Half nude, he held himself proudly, enjoying her admiring gaze.
Ah! What completely different landscape, she thought. His skin was smooth and pale, unlike Borya's freckled complexion. There was also something very peasant-like and unassuming about Borya's short but sturdy frame. Alex, in contrast, had an air of refinement about him, dare she actually say, bourgeoisie. He was handsome and he knew it.
Taking a deep breath, she moved her hands down to the waist of his military pants and began to unbutton them, hesitating a bit. This was the moment of truth, when she and Borya will have truly crossed a new line.
Alex sensed her uncertainty.
"It has been a long time since you have been with another man," he said, more of a statement than a question. He knew that Borya was on her mind.
"It has," she said, agreeing. She thought of Borya and the way his eyes would shine at her after a wonderful love making session, his soft, breathless kisses when he was so overtaken he could not speak. So much intimacy they had shared, and he had to spoil it all with his selfish demands and relentlessness.
"But tonight I choose a new man," she stated with reinvigorated determination.
"And you choose me?"
"I do."
There would be no turning back now, she thought.
She finished unbuttoning his pants and slipped them down to his knees. Holding her breath, she finished undressing him, tugging his underwear down his long lean legs, revealing his cock hanging below his slim hips.
"Oh yes...a Jew," she thought, a little smile playing at her lips.
She stood admiring his body. It had been a long time since she had gazed upon another man besides Borya.
"Do I please you?" he asked softly.
"Yes you do," she affirmed, and then looked him in his enigmatic blue eyes. "And tonight we will please one another."
Aroused by her words, he moved to the bed and sat down to remove his calf high boots and to finish slipping his pants and underwear off. The last thing he removed was his pince-nez, which he set on a nearby table, displaying a bit of humor in the process.
"Ah...I feel absolutely naked without my glasses."
She smiled as he walked back to her and returned his fingers to the buttons of her dress.
"Not yet," Natasha said, stopping him again. "I want you to put your boots back on."
"Is that a command?"
"It is."
Alex obediently went back to his boots and began putting them back on. As he was doing so, Natasha noticed a full-length mirror against the wall. She walked over and pulled a nearby chair in front of it, then took another chair and put that in back of the first one.
"Playing house?" Alex teased. She looked over at him. What an absolutely glorious sight, she thought, as he stood there for her wearing nothing but his military boots and a steadily growing erection.
Silently, she led him over to the chair in front of the mirror and had him sit down. He wrapped his hands around the ends of the armrests and faced himself in the mirror. Not quite forty year old, Alex had led the storming of the Winter Palace in October. He together with Borya had wiped out the provisional government and took over the country. They had accomplished the unthinkable. He gazed at his reflection with a certain amount of satisfaction. For a man with no formal combat training, he was proving himself to be a natural.
