Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Twenty-One: Love?

"Tell me you love me?" I blurted almost instantly. It was a blundering mistake. The stupidest mistake.

I felt him tense with reluctance. His hand stopped running up and down my spine. I even heard his breathing catch. "Would that really make you feel better?" He droned monotonously, resistant to the end to those three words.

I nodded against his chest.

"I love you..." He whispered in a hurry; like the words were dirty. They were so struggled, spat in such haste. I was half-convinced that that was the first time he'd ever said them to a woman. But the words were said: albeit not-meaningfully. And with those words, I fell in love with him all over again. I hugged him tight, squeezing the air out of him, and crying the last tears I had left in me.

He had to peel my hands off of him and wriggle himself free. My dependency unnerved him. "If they're searching rooms, I have some contraband to attend to... So, I'll see you later?" He gently clasped my hand in his.

"I'll see you later..." I gave in, smearing the last of my tears away with the back of my hand.

He pecked me on the cheek and was quick to retreat. He jogged away, leaving me to investigate what Lukin had left for me as uniform.

The changing rooms were dark as always, and as I flicked on the groggy lights in the grotty room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It took all of my willpower just to look at myself for a second. I looked a mess: with my tear inflamed eyes, my scraggly hair, and the body that had got me into so much trouble; it was my fault that James had treated me like I did.

I traipsed over to my locker, withdrawing my jangling fob of tiny keys from my utility belt, and probed one tentatively into the lock. With a click, the lock unlocked. With a creak, the door unlocked.

Inside, was a duffle bag and a small leather bag; not dissimilar to the standard issue wash kits we were equipped with.

I unzipped the back and plunged my hand into dark depths. Inside, a mountain of lace and silk. Rooting around like a lucky dip, I managed to untangle one article at a time.

Garters and a garter belt was the first shred of elasticised fabric to come to hand; lace woven with intricate designs and dangling tassels. Confused, I plucked another item of lingerie from thee pile: a low cut bra, with an under-wired metal frame and puffed up pads in the silky cups. It looked like a rib-slicing torture device. The knickers were next; a titchy triangle of material to conceal my modesty followed by an arse chaffing string at the back. Stockings were the final piece of the outfit, sheer translucent black with metal loops at the hem for the garters.

And beneath the pile of risqué undergarments, an floor length backless dress; figure hugging, illustrious silk.

Demeaning, seductive and uncomfortable: the woven threads were scratchy on my palm and the sheer material made my skin itch to the scrape.

I hurled it back into the locker in a rumpled heap. I wanted nothing to do with sex. Nothing to do with men. Nothing to do with looking sexy.

I unzipped the toiletries bag with less haste, reluctant to delve in and discover what devices lay within.

I plucked out a glass bottle of beige liquid, uncapping it and pumping a blob into my palm. Smearing it on my skin, I dropped it back in. I withdrew a slender black tube with a twisty lid; I untwizzled it and a bristly brush clogged with black gloop squelched out; I discarded it fastidiously. I uncapped a short stout black tube and twisted it; watching what I knew as lipstick swivel out – capping it, I chucked it back in the set.

I fumbled through an army of pencils, of many varieties... Blacks, whites and reds to match my hair. Tubs of powder condensed into blocks were contained within; porcelain beige, rosy blushes and palettes of eye shadows.

At the bottom of the bag were chunky ornate bottles of perfume; carrying a heavy floral scent; clear liquid sloshed around inside.

I found a pair of surgical looking tweezers, and an unusual metal device that worked on a pivot; with a curved edge.

I wasn't sure if this was a medical kit or a makeup kit.

There were bottles of assorted nail polish. Also, a kit of various brushes and pads. Again, I chucked it all back in the bag, and then slammed the locker; trying to rid myself of the slap. Ordinarily, this would've been Christmas; but these gifts weren't for my benefit – they were for someone else's.

Behind me, footsteps echoed over the din of me slamming and locking the locker; kicking it cursedly. I was breathing hoarsely with frustration, my hair mussing as I rammed my foot repetitively into the metal.

"Did you like my gift, Natalie?"  A foul voice echoed in the locker room... Lukin's voice.

I straightened to attention like an obedient army cadet and plucked my hair out of my face, still facing the locker.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir..." I sputtered, my voice thick with disingenuous gratitude. Anything less would've had me smite with his walking cane – but that would've been getting off lightly.

His voice reverberated closer than I thought it would, rebounding off the cavernous tiled walls of the changing rooms. "I thought you might..." His hands slithered around my waist unexpectedly.

I could feel the definition of his thick sausage fingers through the flimsy material of my suit. I could feel his untrimmed nails and his knobbly sore-bitten digits. His lecherous hands climber higher, and higher, raking over my belly, until they became stationary just below my breasts. He drew the pads of his fingers in circles as he cradled me close. My gag reflex flexed.

"Would you like to try them on?" He suggested. I felt his rancid breath move some of the fine hairs close to my face. My stomach lurched at the sensation.

I gave a coy giggle at his insinuation and politely swept away his invasive hands. I poised myself demurely against the locker, removing myself from his caging grasp. "I'd rather wait... I wouldn't want to end up damaging them for field work..." I kept my eyes big and innocent, batting my eyelashes unintelligibly. "For the good of the Russian supremacy, sir..." Memories of his slimy lips on mine before flooded back and I swallowed thickly. "Of course you understand..." I flatteringly brushed my hand against his.

I could see the irritation in the tick in his jaw, but something about my defenceless posture and my wide eyes seemed to stop him arguing back or striking out.

"Are you sure one private viewing wouldn't hurt?" He inched closer, trapping me against the lockers.

It took diligence not to let the alarm show in my face. "Sir..." I crooned, and my eyes swept the floor nervously. "I must attend target practice shortly..." I excused myself, pawing at his chest and then slithering free whilst he eyed me up.

He snatched my wrist as I tried to strut away, swaying my hips. "Some other time, Natalie?" He requested.

My heart shrivelled within my chest and a shiver rippled down my spine at the very thought. I wasn't a prostitute, I was a Black Widow Operative with the Red Room; the best with Department X... I wanted to challenge him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kill him. That wasn't an option. "Perhaps some other time, sir..." With a promising flutter of my eyelashes and a swish of my hair, he allowed me to slip through his fingers and I made a swift exit. 

A/N - I spent a particularly long time agonising over this chapter. I knew what I wanted to happen, but the words just wouldn't flow. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it; but hey-ho, it's the best I can manage. And you've all finally got James' view on the sex, so that's something!

Dedication goes to Endlessdaydreamer! x