James Bond, the Spy Who Loved Me by Ian Fleming

Author:Ian Fleming [Fleming, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780586045091
Publisher: Triad
Published: 1977-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

The Drowned Volcano

Anya’s blind fingers traced a path across the rough, hot stone and closed about the supple plastic. Its tapered haft settled into the palm of the hand and her thumb and first finger tightened against the minuscule serrations on the cap. An anti-clockwise twist and the thumb flicked languidly until the cap dropped to the stone with a sound that wobbled into silence. With eyes still closed, she slid her left hand forward and pressed the nose of the Piz-bruin against its palm. Pressure from three fingers and the tube gave a small, sibilant hiss and relinquished a teaspoonful of warm, liquid cream. Anya replaced the tube beside the cap and pressed her hands together. She felt the cream escape between her fingers and began to rotate her hands, spreading the sun tan lotion evenly. Then she drew herself up on the mattress and began to massage the cream into her naked breasts and shoulders. They were good breasts, there was no escaping the fact. They were firm and ripe, and they stood rather than hung. The aureoles of the nipples were a rich, chocolate brown and the nipples themselves jutted out expectantly like plump, juicy antennae.

Anya saw the line where Black Sea honey gave way to Mediterranean bronze and laid a fresh knout of guilt across her back. Was it so little time ago that she had laid under another sun and thought about another man? She looked down at the soft, glistening flesh undulating beneath her fingers and withdrew her hand abruptly. Her behaviour was not kulturny. She was not conducting herself like a responsible Soviet citizen with a senior position in one of the most important government departments. But what in her life before the Crimean experience had prepared her for the sybaritic indulgences that the West lavished upon its favoured bourgeoisie? Not her one- room flat on the sixth floor of the Sadovaya-Chemogriazskay Ulitz, the women’s barracks of the State Security Departments, or her monthly salary of two thousand roubles. Nor serving with the rank of Major in the dreaded K.G.B. It must be this sudden role-reversal that had unbalanced her. She must take a grip on herself. Instead of baking her self- indulgent body an unnecessary brown she should be reading an improving work. Something by Engels, for instance. She was shamelessly ill-versed in his writings. Angrily, she pulled her severe one-piece bathing costume over her breasts and slipped the straps across her slim shoulders. She was not to know, that by its very simplicity - and because it was slightly too small for her - the costume made her body seem almost more erotic than it was when naked.

Anya rose to her feet, screwed the top firmly back on the tube of Piz-bruin and folded up the sun mattress. She left the balcony and entered the large cool bedroom, closing the sliding glass door behind her to maintain the air conditioning at its current temperature. Air conditioning! No wonder this suite cost each day nearly as much as her monthly salary.

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