Natasha let out a sigh of relief.
The ache from her recent breakup with Sergei after she walked in on him banging the brains out of that bitch Liliana Vertitskaya who masqueraded as her best friend for three years only to steal her fiancée from right under her nose, after they have chosen the rings and the date and everything, was still sore, and she preferred to have company at all times to help her not think about it, about how she’d grab that bitch by her mousy hair and bend her head back and cut her throat with a kitchen knife, right there, right in front of him, and ask him, “So. How many times will she come now, huh? Eight? Nine? Go on. Show me. Show me how you do it.”
She glanced at Olesya and Dima, so absorbed in each other, so silent, and it came back, all of it, the rows they had, “You’re making me feel inferior as a man!” he’d shout, “How so?” she’d shout back, “I can’t make you come. A man has to make his woman come. Something is wrong with you. Broken.” “Oh, is it? Did it ever occur to you that you don’t have the slightest clue how to make a woman orgasm?” “Little do you know.” “I’m all ears.” And that’s when he slipped. He said, “Liliana, by the way, comes eight times in a row, no licking for hours, just from sitting on my dick,” and spooked by the murderous gleam in Natasha’s eyes he slammed the door and she hurled after him the first thing that came to her hand. It was the photo album—Sergei studied photography and he took beautiful pictures of her, beautiful, her nude in bed, nude by the wall, in the sun, on the chair with legs astride, feet in toe shoes, ribbons loose, standing in the kitchen naked save for the tutu—and it cracked against the door and the pages fanned out and a photograph seesawed to the floor, Natasha’s happy smiling face, her sloping shoulders, tiny waist, the copper-brown tuft rising to her hips, and below it her other lips, swollen. They just made love, and he told her not to move and slipped out of bed and rooted in his bag and took out his camera and—
Natasha blinked. “Galka?”
“I’m here. We’re ready.”