by Radclyffe
Catherine pushed the sheet aside, revealing her own nakedness, and rose to her knees, moving closer to the edge of the bed as she did. She held out one hand and when Rebecca took it, she pulled Rebecca close. Threading her arms around Rebecca’s waist, she drew one small tight nipple into her mouth, reveling at the swift gasp from her lover.
Closing her eyes, Rebecca rested her palms on Catherine’s shoulder for balance. Her skin was cool, and Catherine’s mouth was very warm, and all of her concentration was soon focused on the way that teasing tongue moved over her breast. Her thighs trembled as she leaned forward, forcing Catherine to take more of her into her mouth. “Please...do it harder.”
Moaning with satisfaction, Catherine sucked harder, drawing the tight rosette back and forth between her teeth. Her breasts were pressed to Rebecca’s thighs, and her own nipples tightened, making her shiver. When Rebecca uttered a small cry and thrust her hips against Catherine’s chest, an answering rush of arousal flooded her thighs. Gasping, Catherine tilted her head back and looked up into her lover’s face. Rebecca’s eyes were nearly closed, the blue gone purple with desire. Her neck was arched, exposed and vulnerable, a pulse racing wildly beneath the skin. Catherine couldn’t think; she could only act. Arms still tight around Rebecca’s waist, she pulled Rebecca down beside her on the bed and leaned over her.
“I need things from you,” Catherine proclaimed. Drawing her hand up the inside of Rebecca’s quivering thigh, Catherine found her wet and open and moved inside her, gently but swiftly filling her.
“What...do you need?” Rebecca arched off the bed, groaning as Catherine withdrew, then entered again. With her right hand, she grasped Catherine’s wrist, forcing her hand deeper still.
“I need...” Catherine leaned over Rebecca’s body as she pressed even further. “...this passion, this life...”
Rebecca’s words were strangled. “Take it.”
“Yesss.” Catherine stroked to the rhythm of Rebecca’s heartbeat pulsating around her fingers. “God, what you make me feel.”
With tremendous effort, Rebecca turned her head and forced her eyes open. She was close to coming and could barely make out Catherine’s face, but she found her eyes, wide and dark with need and desire. There, in the fierce gentleness of Catherine’s embrace, Rebecca shed her defenses and lay down her burdens. “Take me.”
The impact of her strong lover’s trusting surrender swelled Catherine’s heart to bursting. With a cry of her own, she brought her mouth to Rebecca’s, entering her there also as she thrust faster within. When every muscle in Rebecca’s body contracted at once, Catherine brushed her thumb rhythmically across Rebecca’s clitoris and catapulted her into orgasm.
“God God, yes yes...” Rebecca moaned, writhing beneath the onslaught of release. Breathless, panting, she finally tugged weakly at Catherine’s wrist, stilling her motion. “I’m done...I can’t...no more. But stay inside.”
Catherine rested her forehead against Rebecca’s shoulder, her chest heaving with exertion and arousal. When she felt Rebecca’s hands glide down her back to cup her hips, she smiled. “Relax for a minute. Enjoy it.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m enjoying it.”
Rebecca’s strength was slowly returning, and with it, the urgency to claim her lover. Lifting her hips, she pushed upward and turned Catherine beneath her. In another instant, she was kneeling on the floor, her hands under Catherine’s thighs, drawing Catherine to her mouth. She found her as she knew she would—ripe and swollen with urgency. It would take little, she knew, to stir Catherine to climax. But she did not want a moment’s satisfaction that would flare and burn with little heat; she wanted to savor the essence of their love until it scorched through every cell.
Slowly, carefully, Rebecca explored with her lips and her tongue, soothing and teasing and tormenting until Catherine twisted against the sheets, her legs pressed to Rebecca’s shoulders.
“I’m ready. I’m so ready. Please.” Catherine’s voice was a whisper, her breath broken with need. “There. Oh, Rebecca, there.”
Rebecca slid her palms beneath Catherine’s hips and lifted her more firmly to her mouth, drawing the last drops of Catherine’s desire between her lips. Catherine came as Rebecca inexorably called the passion forth from her soul.
*
“Ah, God.” Rebecca lay on her back with Catherine’s head on her shoulder, the sheets pulled up to their waists as they luxuriated in the aftermath of lovemaking. Idly, she ran strands of Catherine’s thick auburn hair through her fingers as the tension of the day fell away. Before Catherine, she would have been struggling to sleep at this point. She would have gone to the gym to work out in the middle of the night or stood at the narrow window in her second-floor apartment above a convenience store to watch the street life below. She would have fought the urge to drink; she would have fought the desolation and loneliness in her heart. Now, all she could feel was peace. “I could get used to coming home to that.”
“That could be arranged.” Catherine’s voice was light, almost drowsy, as she brushed her fingertips lightly over Rebecca’s breast. She felt Rebecca stiffen and the fingers in her hair grew still. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Catherine leaned far enough away that she could see Rebecca’s face, which was smooth and expressionless in the moonlight. “Are you afraid that I’m proposing marriage?”
“Are you?”
It was Catherine’s turn to grow still. Rebecca had come into her life on a whirlwind of passion in the midst of terror. Before Rebecca, her life had been orderly and predictable and satisfying. She had been alone, and she had sometimes been lonely, but for the most part, she had been content. Rebecca had changed everything. Now, she was bombarded with a constant onslaught of feeling—hungers and desires, both physical and emotional. Rebecca felt as necessary to her life as air and water and food. She craved Rebecca’s presence when they were apart, starved for her touch, ached to touch her. If that was not the grand passion she had dreamed of but never quite dared to believe in, such love did not exist in this world.
“Yes,” Catherine said softly but quite clearly. “I am.”
Rebecca tightened her grip on the woman in her embrace, but said nothing.
When the silence grew too heavy, Catherine spoke again. “Does that frighten you?”
“Yes.” Rebecca closed her eyes, waiting for Catherine to draw away. Each day, she found it harder to steel herself to the certainty of loss. Each day, she hoped a little more that this miracle would not end.
“Why?” Catherine moved closer, drawing her thigh across Rebecca’s, curling her arm across Rebecca’s chest.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into.” There was sorrow in Rebecca’s tone. “The job...it...takes something from us.”
Catherine lay very still, almost breathless. These were the moments—even more than the exquisite joy of their physical union—these were the moments of connection that she lived for. “What, darling? What does it take?”
“It takes...pieces of our hearts. Tears them out, turns them to stone.” Rebecca sighed and pressed her face to Catherine’s hair. “I’m afraid there isn’t enough left for you.”
“Oh no, you’re wrong.” Catherine’s voice was tender and sure. “I don’t know everything that drives you to do the work you do. I don’t know why you’re willing to face such horrors every day or why you’re willing to risk your life for strangers. I might never know all the reasons, although I want to.” Gently, she slid onto Rebecca’s body and braced herself on her elbows, her hands in Rebecca’s hair. Holding Rebecca’s gaze, she whispered, “But I do know that the reasons begin in your heart. And what’s in your heart is why I love you.”
Rebecca shuddered, needing so badly to believe. “There are things I’ve done...things I do...” She sighed again. “Tonight I...” Hesitating, she reconsidered. Maybe there are some things best kept secret.
“I can hear you thinking.”
Laughing, Rebecca shook her head
. “Now that’s scary.” She sat up a bit and pulled Catherine back down into her arms. “You remember Sandy?”
It was Catherine’s turn to grow still. Sandy. The young woman you were with when your lung collapsed. The woman who looked like she was half in love with you. Is she the woman you see at night when you leave here?
“Yes,” Catherine replied, pleased that her voice was steady. “I remember.”
“I did something with her today,” Rebecca admitted reluctantly. “Something you might find less than honorable.”
“What?” Catherine asked carefully.
“The details aren’t really important. The point is, there are things that I do that you might have trouble with.”
“In this particular instance, the details matter.”
“Why?” Rebecca put a finger under Catherine’s chin and studied her face. “You don’t think...me and Sandy?” She laughed. “Christ, no.”
Catherine blushed. “She’s very attractive, and she obviously cares about you.”
“Catherine, I love you.” Rebecca kissed her, lightly at first, then with a sudden surge of passion. When she drew away, she said intently, “There is no one else. Not Sandy. No one.”
“I’m not used to feeling jealous,” Catherine confided with a touch of embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I kind of like it. But you don’t have to worry.” Rebecca shrugged. “Besides, Sandy doesn’t like cops, or so she says. She seems pretty damned fond of Mitchell, though.”
“Dellon Mitchell?” Catherine couldn’t hide her surprise. Then she remembered the conversation with the young officer.
“I have a friend.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sandy.”
“Uh-huh. They’re looking pretty tight. I had to warn Sandy off her tonight.”
“Why?”
“We talk sometimes.”
“If Mitchell gets fingered by someone for being chummy with a prostitute, it could cost her her badge.”
“So you told Sandy to stay away from De...Mitchell?” Catherine asked carefully, aware that Rebecca had no idea that Dell was her patient.
“Just suggested it.” Rebecca laughed quietly. “No one tells Sandy anything.”
“And that bothers you?”
“What? Oh, no—that’s something different. I signed Sandy up as a confidential informant today.”
“That means what? You made her relationship with you official, somehow?” Catherine’s mind was still on Dell and the effect that Sandy’s withdrawal might have on her. Dell clearly had feelings for the girl, and if what Rebecca had intimated was true, those feelings might very well be reciprocated by the young prostitute. Catherine realized with a start that she had only been half listening. “I’m sorry, darling. You’re worried about her?”
“I was just saying that getting information to me is always risky. Now she’s going to be doing it a lot more regularly.” Rebecca drew the sheet up over them and yawned. “It’s late. We should get to sleep.”
“I’m sorry. I’m fading a bit.”
“Mmm.” Brushing a kiss on Catherine’s lips, Rebecca closed her eyes. “Me, too.”
As Catherine began to drift off, she realized that Rebecca had managed to avoid addressing her proposal. Only then did she realize just how much she wanted Rebecca to say yes.
Chapter Seven
Michael turned carefully at the sound of her door opening. The pain in her head was constant, alternating between a low-level ache hovering at the top of her spine to an all-out cannon barrage that beat against the back of her eyeballs until it hurt to keep her eyelids open. The room lights were turned down low, but even the scant illumination was difficult for her to tolerate.
“Good morning,” Ali Torveau said as she approached the bed. “It’s good to see you awake.”
“Hello,” Michael said, her voice betraying her confusion.
“You don’t remember me, but I’m Dr. Torveau, the trauma surgeon who’s been taking care of you since you came into the hospital.”
“I have a few blanks in my memory for the last couple of days. I’m sorry.”
Ali shook her head. “There’s no need to apologize.”
As the surgeon spoke, she glanced over a flow sheet attached to a clipboard in her right hand. Laying that aside, she withdrew her stethoscope from the right-hand pocket of her white lab coat and leaned over the bed. “How does your chest feel? Your ribs are bruised and several are cracked, but they’ll be fine eventually.”
“It hurts a little when I take a deep breath. Not too bad, though.” Michael waited silently as Ali moved the stethoscope over her chest and back.
“You sound pretty good.” Ali straightened and slung the stethoscope around her neck. “Now, what about your head?”
Michael grimaced. “That’s not doing quite as well. Major headache.”
“Any double vision?” Ali produced a penlight and shone it into Michael’s eyes, flicking it rapidly from one to the other. When Michael gasped and turned her head away, the surgeon frowned. “Does that hurt?”
“It feels like you’re sticking an ice pick through my eyeball.”
“Guess it does hurt, then. We call that photophobia, and it’s fairly common after a serious concussion.” Anticipating the next question, Ali added compassionately, “It’s almost always temporary, but I can’t tell you how long it will last. It could be a few days; it could be a few weeks.”
“When can I go home?”
“That depends on a number of things.” Ali shrugged. “You’re improving rapidly, but the major area of concern is your head injury. I’ve ordered a repeat CT scan for later this morning, although I don’t expect it to show anything abnormal.”
“And if it’s okay?”
“You haven’t even been out of bed yet,” Ali responded with a small laugh. “Let’s take things one day at a time.”
Michael glanced toward the closed bathroom door through which the pulse of a shower was faintly audible. “I’d really rather recover at home. I wouldn’t even mind hiring a private duty nurse, if you thought I needed that.”
“Some reason you’re in a hurry to get out of here?” The surgeon realized that her question was rhetorical, but she sensed more than the usual urgency for discharge.
With a sigh, Michael leaned her head back against the pillow. It was difficult for her to concentrate for more than a few moments, and any kind of effort seemed to make the headache worse. “I can rest at home as well as here. And Sloan isn’t getting any sleep at all.”
“This has been hard on both of you, I know,” Ali said sympathetically. “How about if I talk to her—”
“Talk to who about what?” Sloan asked as she entered wearing a fresh pair of scrubs and toweling her hair with the coarse white towel the hospital had provided. She walked directly to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Michael’s forehead. “Good morning.”
“It is now.” Michael smiled, the headache diminishing for an instant. “We were talking about me going home.”
“Really!” Sloan spun around to stare at the trauma surgeon, her eyes glowing with excitement. “So soon? God, that would be great.”
“Whoa. Slow down. You two are getting ahead of me here.” Ali held up her hands as if to ward off a blow, but she was smiling, too, as she regarded Michael. “Let’s see what this morning’s CAT scan shows. If that looks good, I’ll stop by this afternoon and reevaluate you. Then...we’ll see.”
“Good enough.” Sloan couldn’t keep the pleasure from her voice. Just the idea of having Michael at home was enough to ease the constant heaviness in her chest that made it hard for her to take an unfettered breath. “Do you have any idea when you might be back?”
Ali checked her watch. “I’ve got surgery in just a few minutes. Sometime after two, most likely.”
“I’ll be here.” As the surgeon started for the door, Sloan called softly, “And thanks.”
Michael reached for Sloan’s hand.
“Now, will you go home and get some sleep?”
“I slept last night.”
“You are the worst liar.”
Sloan managed to look affronted, but after a moment, the corners of her mouth angled into a grin. “Okay. So maybe it was only a minute or two, but I definitely closed my eyes.”
“I love you.”
The words hit Sloan like a hammer blow. Her knees suddenly weak, she reached blindly behind her for the chair. She didn’t even remember sitting; the next thing she was aware of was gasping for breath as tears poured down her cheeks. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”
“Come here, love,” Michael murmured, tugging on Sloan’s hand.
Somehow, Sloan managed to get the bed rail down and very carefully stretched out next to Michael, curling on her side and pressing her face close to Michael’s on the pillow. “I’m such a mess without you.”
“Well, I’m here,” Michael soothed, stroking Sloan’s face. “And you know I’ll never leave you, don’t you?”
“I know.” Starting to believe that everything was truly going to be all right, Sloan took a shuddering breath, smiled, and rested her fingers against Michael’s cheek. “So, how are you really feeling, baby?”
“Better with you next to me. I just want to go home.”
“Just as soon as possible. I promise.”
“That’s fine then.” Michael sighed and closed her eyes, murmuring, “Because your promises are as good as gold.”
Sloan continued to caress Michael’s face as she slipped into sleep. I promise to take you home soon. And I promise, no matter what, that you’ll be safe from now on.
*
When Sloan was certain that Michael was asleep, she eased from the bed, found her socks and shoes, and—once dressed—slipped from the room. On her way through the hospital, she stopped at a pay phone and made a call.