Vadim
"Elizaveta Borisovna, make sure your department prepares the calculations and draw up a proper estimate taking into account the rates of the new general contractor."
"It will be done, Vadim Alexandrovich."
I nodded, dismissing her, and looked at Kostik, our architect and childhood friend.
"Kostya, go over there and make sure personally that they're not some ham-fisted system appointees."
He watched the finance director leave and, waiting until the door closed, swore hard:
"Fuck, Dym, what the hell have you signed up for! I can tell you about this 'Spector' right now: they work on government contracts, charge insane money, do an okay job, but use shitty materials so they can pocket more."
I rolled my eyes. As if I didn't know!
"That's the Ministry's condition. We need to get the project moving, the investors are waiting, the buyers have already snapped up the units. Our crews will be purchasing the materials and monitoring everything. Vershina is responsible for the quality."
"It would've been cheaper to just bring money straight to the commission," Kostik grumbled. "Or fuck Zimina so she'd be more accommodating. She's become so principled, hasn't she!"
I shot him a warning look. I'd deal with Vika myself. If anyone in the company was going to fuck her, it would only be me. Damn it! What the hell was I even thinking?! Those blasphemous thoughts came uninvited, before I could even slow them down. Against, fuck it, every argument of reason. No one was going to fuck her! If I couldn't, then no one could!
"Dym?" Kostik called questioningly.
"Is it serious with her?"
He was worried. He knew Katya well, had baptized my daughter, had always been a loyal friend. He wanted to warn me. To him, Viktoria Zimina was just the girl I had chased after in my youth. But to me, she was a greeting from the past, unexpected but very pleasant.
"There's nothing between us. I love my wife. And Vika…" I clenched my fists. "She's some kind of obsession. Made me remember our childhood…"
"Well, the two of you definitely didn't entertain yourselves like children," Kostik snorted. I slammed another look into him, one that should've instantly reminded him of our sparring sessions in the ring. "Got it, I'm not stupid. Fine," he got up. "I won't give you advice," and he looked pointedly at my hands. "I've got money for new teeth, but afterward they're always a different shade," he grinned grotesquely. Smartass bastard.
I didn't need advice, I needed an ice-cold shower directed straight at my groin. Vika and I hadn't sat in a sandbox together, we had greeted the sunrise at graduation. Greeted it in a way that made my blood boil from one memory alone: first love, first sex, we were seventeen, and the world around us shimmered in bright colors. And then it all went to hell. A thick layer of cynicism, cold calculation, and healthy selfishness had grown into my skin, and the world was no longer the same. And neither were we, but nostalgia had washed over me when we met again.
The ringing phone distracted me from my self-torment, not nearly active enough unfortunately, and the moment I glanced at the screen, my conscience immediately retreated into the farthest corner of my soul.
"Good afternoon, Viktoria Sergeyevna," I greeted her with deliberate formality, pushing back from the desk and turning toward the windows, looking out at the Moscow River locked in ice.
"I received your gift, Vadim Alexandrovich," she played along. "You shouldn't have, Vadik. It's too much."
But her voice was low, purring, not a single note of protest in it.
"You didn't like the watch?"
"I did, but it's too expensive for a business partner."
"And for a friend?" I asked quietly, as if whispering indecencies into her ear and afraid someone might overhear me.
"Friends give gifts like that in person."
Bingo! That was a very thick hint at equally thick circumstances. Before this, she had kept her distance, as if we were practically strangers. She agreed to lunch on friendly terms, and then shut down every bit of informality immediately. But she responded to glances, didn't pull away from accidental touches, though she rejected intentional ones. I was married, after all, and she knew her worth. But now I could feel sharply that Viktoria Sergeyevna had changed.
I laid my hand over my straining cock. I hadn't touched her intimately, hadn't crossed any lines of propriety, yet I was hard as stone. In my fantasies we had tried each other in every position (not as timidly as the first time), but that was only in my head. You could think whatever you wanted, right? That wasn't cheating, was it?
"Let's have dinner tonight, and I'll congratulate you on Builder's Day again."
Her low, throaty laugh came before the soft "let's." I smiled, still not imagining how thin the ice was beneath my feet. But I wouldn't fall through into the prickling winter water. I always won.
"I'll pick you up at eight," and I hung up without saying goodbye. We'd be seeing each other soon enough. "Ksenia, reserve a table at Sakhalin for eight," I ordered over the intercom and leaned back in my chair, guiltily massaging my temples. And just like that, it released me all at once. As if I'd been doused in icy water.
So why the hell, huh? WHY THE HELL?! That was what I asked myself. My inner voice was one hell of a traitor, hissing that I was one step away from real betrayal, physical betrayal. I hadn't actually done anything yet, and already I felt guilty in front of Katya. The god of vice had twisted me up after all.
"Damn it!" I cursed quietly and pressed the button again. "Ksyush, order pink tulips, the best ones, and have them sent to my house."
"The usual card?" she clarified briskly.
"Yes," I threw back shortly.
I love you
The familiar confession now sounded like an apology, and the flowers like a justification for my moral fall. Forgive me for being carried away by another woman. Forgive me for deceiving you. Forgive me for dreaming not of you…
A brave man, probably, should confess that he had felt temptation and overcome the crisis together with his wife. But I couldn't even imagine Katya finding out: still a maximalist to the core, with principles and faith in the inviolability of marital vows. Her reaction would certainly not be one of understanding and forgiveness. And I wasn't brave for shit, only stubborn and goal-oriented. I'd drag myself out of this valley of temptation on my own, away from copper-chestnut hair, golden skin, and the figure of a goddess of lust. Besides, I hadn't actually done anything yet! People are judged for actions, not fantasies. Gifts, meetings, conversations—strictly business. I needed to get the construction started and finished on time. That was for the good of my family and the Polonsky name. Nothing more.
That wasn't what I'd be lying to myself about, that was what I'd lie to my wife about if I had to. Katya wouldn't understand and wouldn't accept this kind of interaction, especially not with a woman I'd slept with. With my first love. Especially if she could read the sinful thoughts in my head: vulgar, passionate, burning, and none of them about her.
The phone started rattling again. Katya.
"Hi, Malvina."
"Dim, are you very busy today?" she asked carefully. Something had happened. Definitely.
"Actually yes. Important meeting this evening. Why?"
"Nika's open gymnastics lesson got moved to today, will you come?"
"Katya, that's difficult. I specifically cleared Friday for that," yes, today really wasn't great timing: either dinner or the lesson. I still hadn't decided.
"I know, but Nika was waiting so much, she wanted to show you her tricks."
If I could still say no to my wife—when she stepped beyond reason—I couldn't say no to my daughter. She could wrap me around her little finger; the only thing that saved me was that we had raised her properly—without that "I want it, give it to me, buy it for me" syndrome. Though of course that didn't stop me from showering Nika with gifts; she didn't even have to ask.
"All right," I smiled. "What won't a man do for all kinds of passes and splits."
"She'll make you stretch your feet tonight too!" Katya burst out laughing.
"Oh no!" God forbid! I didn't have a daughter, I had Hitler in a skirt whenever she started acting like a coach. "Katya, I'll need to leave at seven. Very important dinner meeting."
"All right, Polonsky, you'll make up your family hours on Friday."
"I'll make them up tonight," I promised, though more to myself than to her. I urgently needed to fuck my wife, and preferably in a particularly elaborate way. So there'd be an explosion, fireworks, sparks flying. So it would hit me all over again. So the forbidden passion would let go.
"Kiss you, Dim."
"Kiss you…"
I stood up and left the office. I needed to go to the site. Good thing not all construction projects were as complicated as Presnya. And not everywhere did I have to go bow before the housing department. A dangerous specimen was chairing it there.
I got to Luzhniki running a little late. Had to sit in traffic on the Ring Road. I parked and, just in case, moved the luxurious bouquet of red roses—large, lush, juicy—into the trunk. I still needed to congratulate Vika on the holiday again. I'd wanted to pick something less suggestive, but I was sick of the ambiguity. I wanted her. My unfulfilled desire was burning me alive. Tormenting my body and muddling my soul. I needed to satisfy it, or at least sublimate it into something. I couldn't walk into the restaurant carrying a hard-on for her to see what she had done to me. I needed to be subtler, more delicate.
I went upstairs, nodding to parents I remembered only vaguely. That woman in the pantsuit over there seemed to be Taya's mother, our Veronichka's little friend.
"Hi," I sat down beside my wife, moving the elegant Chloé-logo handbag she had used to save my seat, "sorry, I'm late. I left the site too late."
"You haven't missed anything. They've only just started," and she ran her finger over my cheek. "Thank you for the flowers."
I smiled faintly and lowered my gaze. I waved at Nika and clapped loudly at every movement, turn, jump, raising my thumb. My daughter was ecstatic and performed her elements cleanly.
While the young gymnasts downstairs were drinking water, I looked around briefly. Mostly mothers had come, but there were fathers too. Mostly middle-management types, though there were a couple of top-level guys as well. But clearly not from my circle, I didn't know any of them. So we hadn't crossed paths in business. And the women were ordinary, nothing special. I looked at Katya and lost myself admiring her: she was really the most beautiful woman there, and the fathers agreed with me—the drool was practically hanging while their wives watched the children.
A wool dress of chunky knit in the fashionable powder shade of the moment lay pleasantly across her high breasts and showed off her endless legs in flirtatious little boots in a very provocative way. Katya had luxurious blonde hair: thick, long, natural. It was now braided in a careless braid lying over one shoulder, framing her beautiful face in a flirtatious wave. I wasn't joking when I praised my wife's beauty: sculpted cheekbones, plump lips, perfect skin, and the main adornment—her eyes. Velvet-black with sparks of a summer night and thick fluttering lashes. Stunning. The kind that took your breath away, and yet I sat there thinking about another woman. I didn't want to crush my wife in my arms, press my body against hers naked, drive furiously into her tight heat… Fuck. It was carrying me away, carrying me the fuck away.
I looked at my daughter, rejoicing in her success. Such a beauty and such a smart girl, and inside me there was this nasty feeling making me count the minutes and glance at the clock. I mustn't be late to the restaurant. It wasn't even a date, just a business dinner. And I felt sick from my own lie.
"Do you already have to go?" Katya noticed that I was fiddling with my Rolex.
"Not yet," and I took her hand, squeezed her cool fingers. Thin, long, elegant. Four rings on them, and one most important—the one I had placed there, swearing love and fidelity. I tightened my grip. Katya turned and, smiling gently, intertwined our fingers. I clung to her, held on like a drowning man to a life buoy. Save me, Katya, save me! Let her image, her taste, her smell, her enchanting smile keep me from temptation. Remind me who the main woman in my life is. Who the beloved one is.
But who? Who?!
I wanted to stay the same, but I could physically feel our time slipping through my fingers. Seeping like icy water and tears of despair through clenched palms. It was tearing me apart from the inside, twisting me, breaking me. Making me into an invalid.
"Katya, I have to go," and I kissed her temple. "Tell Nika I love her and that she's amazing."
"And me?" she asked quietly. Probably she didn't want anyone to hear our baby talk, but it sounded as if she doubted. As if she felt how fragile our happiness had become. Katya had sensed it right away, but I didn't confess—on the contrary, I kept convincing her otherwise.
"And you too, of course," I said. I wasn't lying. Was I?
At the door, I did turn back after all. I looked at her. Katya was looking down at the young talents, not seeing me off with her eyes. Beautiful, light, serene. Turn around, my love, turn around. Feel my turmoil. Trust your intuition, not my words.
I didn't wait to see whether my silent plea would work. I knew already that I wouldn't retreat, wouldn't be able to stay. And I left. I lost the battle between good and evil. A vivid silhouette beckoned, and around it all was thick, murky darkness…
Katya
"Nika did so well, didn't cry once during stretching, but Taya…" Marina pressed her lips reproachfully and shouted loudly enough through her teeth at Taya: "Stop whining!"
Distracted, I patted her shoulder. I knew she dreamed of seeing her daughter at the Olympic Games. But Taisiya wasn't living up to those hopes: talented, yes, but enduring pain wasn't for her, and big-time sports meant blood, sweat, and tears. Nika, on the contrary, could endure anything, but artistry wasn't exactly her strength. And that was fine: as long as she enjoyed it, let her keep doing it, but we weren't going to break a child for medals.
"You have to be stricter with her," Marina kept insisting.
"The coaches already don't give them any slack without us," I objected and blew Nika a kiss.
"Katya, we've poured so much money into this club! Winner owes me a champion!"
I tactfully stayed silent, but sometimes the parents here frightened me with their fanaticism.
"Dimka is already bragging to the parents that a champion is growing up. He's always measuring himself against his older brother through achievements," she whispered, leaning over me, and waved her hand irritably. "Who has more money, the prettier wife, the smarter kids."
I stole a glance at Dmitry Umarov. To be honest, I didn't like Taya's father. Caucasian roots and the same despotic manners. Marina had even gotten breast implants because he had wanted to rub it in his relatives' faces. He had long since Russified, but there was still something in him of a savage who had come down from the mountains. I tried to be tolerant and really believed there were no bad nations, only bad people, but Umarov repelled me. A few times I had caught his gaze on me, and it made me shiver. Men looked me up and down often enough, but never this openly, wordlessly showing what they wanted to do to me. And our daughters were friends, and Marina and I were friendly too. I hated traitors and cheaters! Of course, I never told my friend anything (there was nothing concrete to accuse him of, maybe it was all in my imagination), but his demands on his wife and daughter sometimes shocked me.
"Where did yours run off to?" Marina asked, looking around.
"Dinner with some officials. They're sorting out the construction issue at Presnya," I smiled, but a chill ran down my spine. That strange feeling was following me. Ever since the red tape with the project had started, I'd been anxious. Every day. And at night. Especially at night. Vadim was constantly on edge now: nervous, secretive. He didn't tell me anything. Before, he used to share his problems so he could vent and yell, but now he explained everything sparingly, only in broad strokes.
Something was eating at him, but he didn't want to let me near it. And the flowers alarmed me. Vadim often sent bouquets, but those tulips had bitterness in them. As if he were apologizing for something. I shook my head, driving away the ugly thoughts. He was probably handing out bribes and bargaining with the government. Why couldn't they just let business develop the economy? Why did they have to demand money, and if you didn't pay, squeeze you out or bankrupt you? I adored Russia, but it saddened me that things here got done through endless corruption schemes.
"I saw the project!" Marina exclaimed. "It's going to be a gorgeous complex. I'd move to Presnenskaya Embankment myself."
"The apartments are all sold already," I replied. "Only the foundation has been poured, and everything's already gone."
That was exactly why Vadim had been running around like this. Deadlines were pressing. I hoped he'd resolve it today and calm down. I needed a healthy husband, not a neurotic.
I bit my lip, remembering my promise that he'd make up for his absence tonight. I needed to prepare and stun him with spicy sex. It had been a long time since we'd experimented. Lately that was felt especially sharply. A month had passed since our spontaneous moment in the shower, and since then—silence…
"Mom, are we going to Ribambelle?" the girls were free now and, while changing, jumped around us.
Nika was adorably mangling the name of the family restaurant at Vremena Goda. It really was great there, for both kids and adults. But today it was already late, and tomorrow there was school.
"Let's go on the weekend. You'll have the whole day to have fun."
"I'll reserve a table. We won't get seated in the good hall now," Marina agreed with me.
"Where's Dad?" Nika asked when we came out of the locker room.
"He had to go deal with work. He'll be back soon."
"Will we have time to play with him? What do you think?"
I looked at the clock and opened the door of the brand-new turquoise Porsche Macan Vadim had unexpectedly given me for Valentine's Day. Half past eight, unlikely he'd make it, especially since I planned to have my daughter asleep by ten so I could focus on my husband.
"You'll play on the weekend, all right?"
"Okay," she answered, already staring at her tablet.
"Nika, ten minutes!" I was firm and categorical. I was the mother, after all! I laughed at the popular meme and drove out onto Luzhnetsky Drive.
Nika took her bath and by ten o'clock was already asleep, and I got ready. I called Vadim to get some idea of when to expect him, but he didn't answer. I figured if the meeting was at eight, he should be home around half past ten.
I took a shower, removed my makeup and put on fresh makeup, emphasizing my lips. I applied shimmering cream to my hair and brushed it until it shone, every strand in place. It covered my back like a magical veil. I rubbed shimmer over my body scented with vanilla and melon. No underwear, only a new lace bodysuit in a soft nude shade. Around my neck, a scarlet choker matching my lips, with a striking ring right in the middle: it added sex appeal and could be used as an O-ring gag. For a dominant blowjob. We hadn't used it in at least a year, it was time to bring variety back into our intimacy. We had become too domesticated.
I took out the box with our bedroom toys from the dressing room. We'd put them away when Nika, at age five, had pulled my vibrating eggs out of the bedside table. We hid everything far from sin, so she wouldn't draw anything too revealing for the kindergarten psychologist. Once they were out of sight, we went for them less and less, using whatever was at hand instead. Vadim brought me to orgasm easily, whether with his cock, fingers, or tongue, but in general he liked to experiment and put different things inside me. He loved rough blowjobs, the kind that brought tears to my eyes, going deep enough to leave my throat hoarse, anal, though always careful with it, and naturally the good old doggy style position. Tonight I was ready to let him do anything.
At eleven I called again, but got no answer. The messages in the messenger app weren't even being delivered. At midnight, desperate to reach him, I washed off, put on my usual nightgown, and settled in to wait. I had never been able to fall asleep if my husband wasn't home. I worried too much. And now I was swinging between reproaches—he could at least have called and warned me—and the urge to start calling hospitals. Trite and probably stupid, but all kinds of thoughts were crawling into my head.
I settled in with my phone in my cozy loggia overlooking Patriarch's Ponds and began staring down, studying the headlights of every car.
"I'm going to give you hell, Polonsky!" I threatened the phone when once again I heard, "the subscriber's phone is switched off or out of network coverage." I didn't even have time to get properly angry before the front door lock clicked quietly. Finally!
I quickly crossed the kitchen and, through the side door of the dining room, bypassing the living room, stepped into the long hallway. Vadim was jerking his jacket off, his back tense, veins standing out on his hands, and when I caught his wild glance in the half-darkness, something inside me dropped. A bad premonition. A very bad one. And the scent of women's perfume hung in the air like a dark angel of despair. No. No! It couldn't be.