J.F. Kirwan - 37 Hours

No need. Really. Take your time. She caught herself. Stop it. Bad idea.

Sergei indicated the bathroom. She followed him in, unsure what was coming next. He turned the shower on full, as well as the taps for the sink. It made quite a racket. He leaned close to her ear, his breath hot on her neck. Her heart rate climbed. The steam from the hot water made her cheeks flush.

‘Tell me where you are going to meet MI6,’ he whispered. His head stayed close. His breathing was deep, measured. Hers wasn’t. She put her hands on his sides to stabilise herself. Pure muscle. Zero fat.

She gathered herself. ‘Anspida. A remote island off the coast of Borneo. A diver’s heaven, apparently.’

‘And this woman, Lorne, she will be there?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I could send one of my men. Get you a weapon out there.’

It seemed a bit extreme. ‘I’m not worried about MI6 –’

‘Not MI6. Salamander.’

She closed the door. The mirror had already misted over.

He didn’t blink. ‘It’s been a little strange since we both reported to our superiors.’

‘The colonel seems to think –’

‘Don’t be fooled by him, Nadia. He’s a lot smarter than he makes out. He’s gone far for his age; that doesn’t happen by accident. But it’s as if we’ve tripped over something. Things are in motion. We both now believe the Salamander theory may have some truth to it.’

‘I’ll find out what I can from the Brits.’

His black eyes bore into hers. His mouth was close, his lips moist. Her body was reacting. But it was a bad idea, even though it had been two years. She’d be okay, just, as long as he didn’t touch her…

‘Come back in one piece,’ he said.

He brushed her cheek with the back of a finger.

Dammit!

‘You were exceptional in the sub. I’m not easily impressed. Nor are my men.’ He drew back. ‘Get some sleep; you’ll need it.’ He reached towards the shower control. But her hand clasped his arm, pulled it back. He gave her a questioning look, and she made up her mind.

‘I can sleep on the plane,’ she said.

His smile returned. ‘Sure?’

She nodded, her breath loud in her ears, her heart pounding. She put her hands on his chest. Solid as a rock, while her fingers trembled. She touched his nipples, rubbed them gently between fingers and thumbs.

‘Just don’t disappoint me,’ she said.

His fingers traced the ‘V’ of her robe, glanced across her breasts, then he returned her favour, and teased her nipples. She gasped. He peeled the robe from her shoulders as she undid the belt, and the ensemble fell to the floor. She was naked, except for the soft silk around her toes.

Time to go with the flow. She gave him a crooked smile. ‘Not fair. You’re still clothed.’

Sergei’s lips collided with hers as she unbuckled his belt, and she felt the hardness there. He pushed his groin against hers. She pushed back. He mauled her mouth, her throat, her breasts. She started to unbutton his shirt, gave up, ripped it open instead. She grabbed the back of his neck with her left hand, pressed his mouth harder against her breasts. She glided her right hand down his torso, and felt tight bands of muscle.

She reached for his sex, but he knelt down. His tongue slid down her belly, lingered a second on her navel before continuing downward until she gasped, his hands squeezing and caressing her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. Just when she was losing control, she grabbed the back of his head by his hair, and pulled him back up.

‘Not like that,’ she whispered.

He stood up, lifted her off the floor, and then he was inside her, rocking her body against warm, slippery wall tiles. Her body caught fire, and her pelvis took over, remembering what to do, matching his thrusts. She kissed him hard, felt him grow bigger, his arms begin to shake. She pulled back from his mouth, gasped for air, sunk her fingernails into his back.

He sped up, and slammed her repeatedly against the wall. She let out one long cry as a shuddering orgasm engulfed her, and those two, long, desperately lonely years of solitary where she’d hit rock bottom, even thought about killing herself, could finally go to hell where they fucking belonged.

***

The next morning she had a late breakfast. Alone. Katya was out somewhere. But just as she was getting ready to leave, Katya appeared with Bransk. He stayed in the background. Katya passed her a slim box.

‘Happy birthday, Nadia. You’ll be away, but we can celebrate properly when you get back. I saw and bought it this morning, straight from the dive shop.’

Nadia tore off the cellophane and opened the white box. A Suunto dive watch, the latest D6i in black, with a graphite-tinted steel wristband.

‘Handsome,’ she said. ‘Very.’ She slipped it on. It was chunky, not the sort of thing most women would wear.

‘Suits you, Nadia.’ Katya scrutinised her. ‘You look different this morning. If I didn’t know better…’

Nadia tried not to grin, and kissed her sister. ‘ Da Skorava .’ She nodded to Bransk, then headed through the revolving doors to a waiting limo. Inside, on the black leather seats were her air tickets – first class.

She stared out the window as the taxi trundled down cobbled boulevards towards the airport. She thought about last night, looked again at her flashy dive watch and the first class tickets. Not bad. Not bad at all.

But there was one thing missing. The man she’d not seen for two years, whom she’d frequently sworn to forget because he’d abandoned her – but she couldn’t seem to forget him. And so she wondered.

Would he come?

Part Two

Anspida, South China Sea

Chapter Six

The sand was already scorching hot at nine a.m. Nadia ran on the balls of her feet from her hut to the white sand beach down by the jetty, and let the warm crystal water lap over her toes.

‘Breakfast’s up,’ Dominic shouted, one of three dive instructors working on the island you could walk around in twenty minutes.

She half-ran, half-hopped to the main building, an open timber affair with a tall thatched roof supported by sturdy beams. Four long wooden tables and benches were filling up with divers, some already wet, others waiting for the ten o’clock shift. Many of them were Japanese, and Yukio, a dive instructor from Okinawa, breakfasted with them on the local rice dish, nasi goreng . It smelled good, and though it was more like lunch than breakfast, Nadia grabbed a plate and sat at the corner of a table.

She devoured the noodle-chicken-vegetable melange, washed it down with coconut water, and ordered an espresso. The only luxury item she’d seen on the island was a professional Lavazza coffee machine. She might have two. After all, it was her birthday.

She left the rest of the group – half of them sleepy from jet lag or late-night banter, the other half excitable from the morning’s plunge into the South China Sea, which had the most varied fish life in the world. She would wait, just in case he arrived. Besides, she needed to digest.

She nabbed one of the hammocks strung between two palm trees, their fronds swaying in the gentle breeze. Not easy climbing aboard while holding an espresso, but she managed it. Closing her eyes, the smooth cup at her lips, she inhaled the Arabica aroma mixed with the salty tang of the ocean. Small sips rolled over her tongue, warming her throat. She rocked slowly. Dappled sunlight danced on her eyelids.

Bliss.

She opened her eyes and gazed beyond the dive hut to the forest. She’d explored it yesterday, just before sunset. A challenge. Dense foliage, a dozen shades of green, roots and thorny bushes, the sound of the sea lost after only twenty metres, replaced by the loud buzz of invisible, bloodthirsty insects. After wading through fifty metres, her shins covered in small scratches and bites, she was almost lost. But she ploughed on, rewarded on the other side of the island by a close encounter with a huge green turtle as it lumbered up the soft sand slope to dig a hole and lay eggs.