It was almost midnight when Andy got home. Isabelle was up, working on her laptop, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hair twirled into a bun and held there with a pencil.
She looked up when the door opened, Andy ready to sneak into the room.
“Any luck?” she asked, her voice filled with hope.
Andy looked at her turned head, her neck, so frail in the soft light from the bed lamp. “No. But it seems the cops were right. Arlene had a girlfriend. We also learned that Philippe Lautrec had some gambling debts with the Russians and that they were following Hampton to scare him—says he. Sharapov swears his people were only supposed to follow Hampton, not kill her,” Andy said as she flopped down on the bed. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Isabelle put the laptop on the bedside table. “I’m studying. I can’t just drop everything I’ve worked for the last few years.”
“How close are you to wrapping up?” Andy asked.
“I’m basically done.”
“Right then. Let’s get some sleep.” Andy jumped up and headed for the shower.
When she came out of the bedroom, only the lamp on her side of the bed was left burning.
“Don’t even think about the couch, buster,” Isabelle said from under the duvet.
She was too tired to argue. Too tired to think. She switched off the light and slipped in between the crisp white sheets. Isabelle immediately rolled on her side and rested her head on Andy’s shoulder.
Andy felt a calmness wash over her she didn’t even realize she could muster. She closed her eyes, only for them to fly open as the bedding shifted and Isabelle slid onto her, nestling between her legs.
“Isabelle. No, wait.”
“It’s still my birthday and you owe me.” There was a smile in Isabelle’s voice.
“Sex?”
“Oh, what arrogance,” Isabelle teased her as she looked down at her, her face framed by her fiery hair, her eyes unreadable in the faint moonlight that fell through the window.
She was light and heavy in all the right places. She shifted slightly, and her breasts almost spilled from the top of her camisole, the tiniest glimpse of hardened nipple brushing up against Andy’s black T-shirt.
Andy swallowed, then moved to release the pressure on her center, but Isabelle just moved along with her, intensifying the pressure on her clit with her hip.
“My birthday present, Andy Bouchard, is that you’ll live. Not die in a diner, shot in the back.” Isabelle tugged her hips firmly, deeper into the vee of Andy’s legs. “That means I have to dream. A better dream. A stronger one. Can you give that to me?”
Andy’s throat was too dry to answer, unlike the rest of her. She could feel herself flood with a wetness that begged for more of what Isabelle was offering. She groaned as Isabelle slowly started to rock against her, her hair enveloping Andy as she lifted her upper body, increasing the pressure on Andy’s clit in a slow, certain rhythm.
Isabelle’s left breast escaped the confines of her spaghetti-strapped top and fell, ripe and full against Andy’s chest. She had to stop her hand from reaching for it, sensing she wouldn’t be able to turn back once she’d done so.
She groaned in frustration as she flipped Isabelle over and pinned her down, her hands around Isabelle’s wrists, her knees on either side of her legs.
Isabelle moved under her, frustration in her undulating hips, seeking the pressure of Andy’s body. “Sweetheart, please. Just…why are you fighting this?” she pleaded. “I need to know what will happen, and for that I need more than that one dream. Don’t you understand that?”
“I can’t,” Andy said, her voice raw with emotion—with need, she suspected.
Isabelle’s body stilled. “Why? Am I that ugly? Is it that difficult to touch me?”
“No! Please don’t think that. You are the most beautiful woman in the room, every time. In every possible way.”
Isabelle fought against Andy’s grip. “What then?”
“It’s me. I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to be stuck here again doing this job, watching people die,” Andy said, her voice almost a whisper. “Please understand.”
“But I must keep on dreaming about random, violent deaths? Without you? Every time?”
“Walk away then. Don’t stay here.”
“If I do, will you come with me? Because the dreams won’t stop.”
Andy looked at her hands clenched around Isabelle’s wrists. She released her grip somewhat but didn’t answer.
“Coward. I have no way out and you know it.”
“Yes.” Andy sighed in submission. “I hate…Fuck it. Yes, this is the best place for you.”
“Even if it kills me.”
Again, Andy had no answer.
“I’d be safe if you were here,” Isabelle said. “I trust you. Completely. More than that. When I dreamed about you months ago, I knew you were the one. Why do you think I came here? It wasn’t anything Kate had said or done. Or Claire. I agreed to do this because you were here. The woman I had dreamed about. The woman who could hold me. All of me.”
Andy let go of Isabelle’s arms. Vic was gone. Her first dreamer was killed in a shooting. She was seventeen. And Isabelle…She was smart enough to know that Isabelle was a very different woman altogether. That this was—could be—more than anything she’d ever felt. A potential A-bomb waiting to detonate.
“I can’t do this again,” she said. “I really can’t. Please understand.”
Isabelle looked out the window, at the moon disappearing behind a passing cloud. “Then you better make sure we wrap this case up as soon as possible.” When her gaze returned to Andy her eyes were on fire. “It’s my birthday.” Her voice was dark and rough. “I need this. I need you. Now.” She wrapped her arms around Andy and lifted her upper body, crashing into Andy, seeking her mouth, but finding her shoulder instead, biting down into the muscle.
Andy’s body unexpectedly verged on an orgasm, as if desperate to end the torture from the last few days.
“Forget everything I said. I’m not asking for forever,” Isabelle snapped. Her legs fought with Andy’s knees, then she screamed into Andy’s neck, primal and loud. She threw her head back to look Andy in the eye. “I’m just asking you to do your fucking job.”
Andy looked at the face below her, stark and angry and stripped from all warmth.
She sat back on her knees, staring at Isabelle. She cleared her throat and calmed her body. Her job. That’s all.
“Okay then. If that is what you wish.”
She willed her hands to move to Isabelle’s white lace panties. She inched the material down her legs, breathing in the heady scent of Isabelle’s sex. The insides of her thighs were slick with her arousal.
Andy didn’t wait. There was no need. She tentatively slipped her middle finger into Isabelle, steadily inching deeper. Isabelle was tight, her body tensing as Andy entered her. Andy stopped. She wanted to ask but didn’t know how. She pulled out. Isabelle hissed, locking eyes with her as if she wanted to kill her.
Andy placed a pillow underneath Isabelle’s hips, urging her to open her legs wider. She gently pushed inside again, slowly, gaining a centimeter at a time. Once fully inside, she moved from the left to right, stretching Isabelle’s entrance slowly. Then she inched out again.
She waited.
Isabelle’s eyes were murky with want, desire, and pent up anger.
She again pushed inside, a little bit faster this time, her thumb touching Isabelle’s swollen clit briefly.
Isabelle moaned in something like a mix of rage and unwanted pleasure. Andy picked up the pace, confident Isabelle was comfortable with her length and width. She thrust into Isabelle again, harder this time, curling her finger to finally find the spot inside she’d been seeking, the muscle contracting under her finger.
She circled around it, faster and faster, her thumb connecting with Isabelle’s clit with every thrust.
Isabelle’s breathing was raspy, desperate. She grabbed the sheets. She tossed her head back, seemingly lost in time and space, her hips bucking under Andy’s hands.
The scream when she let go, when she came, wild and unthinking, was at once the most beautiful and most terrifying thing Andy had ever heard.
* * *
Isabelle had never allowed a woman inside her. One of the two dates she’d had with women had ended in a quick, unsatisfactory fumbling without even undressing properly. The other date hadn’t even gotten that far. But Andy was different. She’d wanted Andy to enter her. She wanted to feel her move inside her, taking her without hesitation.
Without hesitation.
Why did Andy continue to fight her? Did she not see what Isabelle knew? Had known months ago already?
Damn stubborn woman.
As she slowly came down from her orgasm, Andy held her until her breathing steadied.
She moved her arm that covered her eyes. “I knew you were going to be an excellent lover.”
Andy lifted an eyebrow, her eyes dark and unreadable. “You okay?”
“Absolutely.”
She wasn’t going to thank Andy. That would imply a service, a task, and despite what she’d said earlier, that hadn’t been what she’d wanted from Andy. She’d had time to think since Arlene’s death. Running away from who she was wouldn’t make the dreaming disappear.
Problem was, she would never allow anyone else in her head and in her bed but Andy.
She also knew that she needed more than Andy was prepared to give at the moment. She wanted everything, even if that notion was clearly going to present a problem or two.
But she’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. She wanted to be with Andy, here at Ma Soeur, or anywhere else Andy wanted to be. What she couldn’t have, was Andy running away again. Didn’t she realize how much she deprived herself because of something that had happened years ago? By denying what Isabelle knew she felt for her?
Andy dipped her head to lock eyes with her. “Are you sure you’re okay? It felt as if…” She cleared her throat. “As if it might have been your first time. Or close to it.”
“Close to it.” Isabelle blushed, hating every moment of it. She was sure Andy was used to far more experienced women. “Inside. First time.”
There was concern on Andy’s face. “Did I hurt you in any way?”
She put her arms around Andy’s neck. “Not at all. You were you. Strong. Certain. Gentle. And I wanted it to be with you.”
Andy said nothing.
“Promise.”
“If maybe you’re sore…”
“It would be okay. But I’m not.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. I would know. No pain…Just happiness.” Release, finally. And hopefully a dream. A really, really scary dream where Andy again died in front of her eyes.
Andy managed a smile. She turned and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. “Okay then. I’m going to shower.”
Isabelle caught her shirt, tugging her back to bed. “No way, sweetheart.”
Andy sat back down on the edge of the bed, looking at her, one eyebrow cocked.
Isabelle slipped in behind Andy’s back, putting her arms around her waist. “I don’t care how much you fight me. We’re in this together, much more than you think, and if you’ll just admit to what I know you’re feeling, you’ll make it easier on both of us.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed into a scowl, but she didn’t say anything.
Isabelle slipped her hand under Andy’s T-shirt. “And I know you’re right on the edge, so there’s no way you’re going to shower right now.” Isabelle’s hand moved lower, her nails slowly running up Andy’s thigh. “If you want to come, I’ll be the one to make it happen, not you. And I’m right here if that is what you want. Anytime.”
Andy shifted uncomfortably, an involuntary groan escaping her mouth.
“I am happy to help you out,” said Isabelle as she moved to sit next to Andy, watching where Andy’s gaze lingered.
She felt her nipples harden, her clit contracting again. The left strap of her camisole fell from her shoulder, exposing most of her breast. “I can take this off anytime. All of it. You can come any way you want. Hard. Fast. Slow. On my mouth. In my hand. I’m an excellent student.”
Andy looked away and swallowed audibly.
“No,” she said finally. “No. I’m okay. Good. Thanks.” She backed up past Isabelle and slipped into the sheets, then cleared her throat. “Time to sleep.”
Isabelle watched as she turned off the light, then slipped in behind her, her arm tightly wrapped around Andy’s tense body.