Page 71 of Tell Me What you Think

Olga doesn't stop—obviously—and when Marina breaks apart with a long, raw moan that scrapes up out of her chest and leaves her stomach feeling like it's on fire, Olga keeps her mouth pressed tight and swallows every last drop of her pleasure.

Chapter 27

Marina opens her eyes with effort and closes them again. She spends ten minutes like that, trying to wake up, until she suddenly notices light coming through the window and sits up with a jolt, convinced she's overslept. A soft moan behind her makes her heart stop, and she spins around immediately — but the moment she sees Olga lying on her side in her bed, her body relaxes and she remembers she doesn't have to go to work today.

"What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" Olga slides her arm out from under the comforter and reaches for Marina's hand.

"Worse — I thought I had to go into the office." Marina's voice comes out low and strained, and Olga laughs as she opens her eyes. "Sorry for waking you."

"It's fine, what time is it?"

Marina grabs her phone and squints at the screen, trying to focus for a few seconds until the numbers sharpen.

"Seven thirty," she answers, making a mental note that she really can't keep putting off her eye doctor appointment — reading small print is getting harder every day.

"Ugh, so early." Olga curls up, and Marina lies back down beside her, and they're both asleep again in under a minute.

When she wakes up again, she jolts — but this time because it's almost eleven in the morning.

"Olga, wake up, it's—"

She goes quiet when she realizes she's alone in the bed. She lies on her back while her mind finishes waking up, trying to remember the last time she got up this late. She can't. On weekends she normally wakes at roughly the same time as on workdays, as if she'd swallowed an internal clock whose alarm goes off every day of the year. She pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie after stopping in the bathroom, then heads down the hall smoothing her hair.

"Morning," Olga greets her, carrying plates that smell incredible toward the living room.

"What is that?" Marina stops her by wrapping an arm around her waist, resting her chin on her shoulder, and inspecting the contents.

"Nothing fancy — your fridge is pretty empty," she explains, amused. "But I was starving. Hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." She kisses her neck and lets her go. "Have you been up long?"

Olga checks her watch.

"No, half an hour or so — just enough to put this together."

They sit at the table, and Marina is grateful she at least had eggs, a little bacon, a few slices of cheese, and a tomato that Olga has cut into rounds.

"I do my grocery shopping on Fridays, but yesterday was literally impossible."

"We could go after lunch… if you want," she says, and immediately flushes.

Marina looks up from her plate and gives her a smile.

"That'd be nice, yeah — honestly, I don't feel like doing anything right now."

"Then you're on dish duty," Olga says, and Marina stares at her for a moment. "Well, you don't have to, obviously—" she stammers, flustered. "It's your house, you can do whatever you want, of course, I didn't—"

"Olga."

"What?" she gasps, gripping her fork so tight her hand trembles.

"Stop being embarrassed for having an opinion. You made breakfast, so it's only fair that I clean up when we're done. Okay?"

"Oh — yeah. Thanks."

Marina smiles and decides this is just who Olga is, and they finish eating in silence. Olga because she's still anxious over thinking she said something she wasn't sure she was allowed to say, and Marina because the comment struck her as surprisingly domestic — but mostly because she didn't mind it at all. She likes having Olga in her home.

"Are you mad at me?" the assistant asks after a while, when Marina is rinsing the last plate before loading it into the dishwasher.