Cristelle Comby - Red Lies

Leaving the locker behind, she tried arranging the front of her dress to make room for her breasts—damn, but she could hardly breathe in this.

There was an animated mass of people, young and old, on the dance floor. Through the loudspeakers, a woman warned that it was going to ‘rain men’ to an upbeat tune, and the dancing crowd tried to keep up with the rhythm on the dance floor.

Several women wandered around in dresses similar to Sofiya’s, but few of them had bodies as attractive as hers. They also lacked the grace with which she moved through the room.

The young Russian pushed forward in search of her prey, and the dancing spotlights made the sequins sparkle on her dress. The women on the dance floor were quick to assess the competition, and she received more than her fair share of jealous glares. The men’s ogling stares were more welcoming. Having crossed through the dancing horde, Sofiya found Timothy Johnson leaning against the bar. He was of medium height but with an athletic build, and he wore his dark-brown hair close-cropped. By the looks of it, he’d had several drinks already, and his nose was dangerously close to a blonde’s cleavage.

The girl was short-legged and slightly plump. She’d done her makeup in a blunt, obvious fashion and tied her hair in a messy bun. Her looks screamed ‘easy lay’, and Sofiya wasn’t surprised that Johnson had singled her out.

Well, she thought as she aimed for them, let’s see if we can up the offer .

She chose to come up behind the man, and then walk past them slowly to reach the bar behind the blonde. She swayed her hips to the music as she did but made sure not to look their way.

Reaching her destination, she waved to catch the bartender’s attention. It was only then that she let herself turn her head to the side. Acting as if she was merely taking in her surroundings, she met Johnson’s gaze over the blonde’s shoulder. He had noticed her, and Sofiya smiled inwardly.

She gave him a polite nod and returned her attention to the bartender who was now facing her. She ordered a gin and tonic and drummed the counter to the music beat as she waited. When she looked up, she found Johnson’s reflection in the mirror behind the stacks of bottles that faced her. Though he was busy talking to his date, his eyes kept darting back to her.

Once she’d paid for her drink, she brought the tall glass delicately up to her lips before turning to face the dance floor. She met Johnson’s gaze once more and held it a little longer this time before re-directing her attention to the dancers.

She leaned back against the counter and placed both elbows on the flat surface. Her breasts pushed forward as she arched her back, and this time, she needed no mirror to know Johnson’s eyes were locked on her.

She counted to twenty in her head before taking another sip of her drink. In doing so, she glanced his way for the briefest of instants—almost as if by accident. Having returned her gaze to the crowd, she waited another five seconds before angling her head his way to allow for a more earnest look. He was still looking her way, and this time, she let him know she had noticed him, too.

The blonde woman was talking animatedly now, but it was obvious to anyone but her that Johnson wasn’t listening. Sofiya let herself smile mischievously at that, and Johnson returned her grin along with a shrug.

Turning to face him, drink in hand, the young Russian stood behind her competition. She raised her glass and a challenging eyebrow. Shall I get rid of her? she silently asked the American. Johnson’s smile grew amused, and she poured her glass down the girl’s back.

The blonde shrieked in surprise, straightened like she’d just been struck by lightning, and in the mayhem, knocked her own cocktail glass down her lap.

“Oh my god,” Sofiya said in flawless Swedish. “Someone elbowed me, and—oh dear, I’m so sorry.”

Johnson couldn’t help but smile as he handed the poor girl a wad of napkins. She did her best to patch her front but couldn’t do anything for her back. She turned a murderous gaze towards Sofiya before excusing herself and heading for the ladies’ room.

The young Russian made sure the stool was dry before taking her place.

There was an amused spark in the brown eyes of the man facing her. “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he said.

Sofiya allowed herself a small victorious smile. “Yes, and you owe me a drink.”

Johnson pulled out a money clip and handed a few notes to the bartender. Minutes later, the man placed a bottle of champagne and two glasses by their side.

Timothy Johnson had been easy to play. He bought every lie Sofiya fed him without question; he swallowed them hook, line, and sinker, and was all but ready to take a bite of the fisherwoman, too. As Petrov had planned, the Minister-Counsellor offered to take her to a hotel rather than his home. And as luck would have it, he knew the perfect place within walking distance. Sofiya was eager to agree, and she tipsily clung to his arm the whole way as her high heels navigated the treacherous cobblestones.

It was close to midnight when they reached the hotel. Johnson left her to wait in the lobby while he got them a room. Sofiya took the opportunity to fix her makeup in the hallway mirror with a sure hand that neither trembled nor hesitated. The sips of G&T and subsequent glasses of champagne had had little effect on her. She was used to much stronger stuff and had built up quite the tolerance to lighter drinks over the years.

Sofiya and Johnson were in the elevator less than five minutes later, kissing the whole way up. The American started unbuttoning his shirt as they walked down the corridor to their room. He was eager to get between her legs, and Sofiya knew the preliminaries would be short. She kicked off her shoes as soon as she got inside the room, and dropped her coat, which was quickly followed by Johnson’s own coat and shirt, on a wooden armchair.

There was nothing ostentatious about the room. A single king-size bed stood in the centre, with two wooden bedside tables on each side. A small wardrobe stood in one corner, next to a door that probably led to the bathroom. A metre from the foot of the bed stood a large window.

The curtains were closed, but Sofiya pushed them open to reveal a partially unobstructed view of Lake Mälaren, and in the distance, the island of Skeppsholmen. The waxing crescent moon’s shattered reflection moved with the swells of the lake and chased up the shore with the tide. In the distance, a smattering of house and traffic lights were like beacons on the darkened landscape.

Johnson came to stand behind her, and she angled her head to the side as his mouth moved to her neck. Both of his hands came up to her breasts, and she could feel him harden against her back. She smiled; Petrov’s plan was unfolding to perfection.

Johnson had chosen the same hotel he always took his mistresses to, and the night manager Petrov had handsomely paid gave him the room they had agreed upon. As she let her gaze take in the peaceful scenery, Sofiya could make out the contours of the tall building to the side in which Petrov waited, armed with a top-of-the-range, long-lensed camera. By the look of things, he wouldn’t be disappointed.

Johnson’s moves were getting frantic as he fumbled to free her breasts from the tight dress. The young woman turned in the American’s embrace and pulled the small zipper hidden beneath her right armpit down. Without pulling down the twin zipper on the left, Johnson wouldn’t be able to fully undress her, but that was enough to free everything down to her stomach. The young man wasted no time doing just that before pushing her back until she was flat against the window.