by V. K. Powell
Loane nodded, her gaze fixed on Abby’s lips.
Abby wanted to share herself completely with Loane. After she’d realized her feelings were more than casual, she hadn’t had an orgasm during their lovemaking. She wanted to try again, but could she give everything while hiding so much? This might be her last chance.
*
When Abby walked into Loane’s bedroom, Loane was nude with a sheet pulled up to her waist. A dark ring on the pillow outlined the damp ends of her platinum hair, and the fresh scent of soap and toothpaste lingered in the adjoining bath. The arctic blue of her eyes deepened when Abby stared at her. She scanned Loane’s exposed body and memorized each detail. “You look like a dessert.” Loane held out her hand. “Not until I’ve showered.”
“Need some help?”
“Relax. I won’t be long.” On the way to the shower, she undressed and looked around the bedroom. A set of new French doors opened to the private backyard, and a slight breeze barely circulated the late-summer heat that had settled in the room. As she took in the soothing wall color and cushioned furnishings, the tension in her shoulders drained. Her pulse slowed to the rhythmic tick-tock of the old mantel clock in the living room. As she kicked off her shoes, the plush pile of the Oriental rug squished up through her toes like sand on a Miami beach. This woman, this place called to her in a way she’d never experienced, and she wanted to understand why.
She stepped into the shower spray before the water heated, hoping a cold splash would help clarify her intentions toward Loane. Her body pulsed with the needs of a lover, and she wondered when her life had become so complicated. Love was supposed to make everything right, wasn’t it? She washed away the day’s residue and toweled off on the way to Loane’s bed, still conflicted. Think about what you’re doing. Follow your instincts. Be honest.
Diving in beside Loane, she wrapped an arm and a leg over her warm body.
“Jeez, did you shower in cold water? You’re freezing.”
“I wanted you to pucker up for me, hon.” Abby closed her hand over Loane’s breast. The soft flesh formed a tight knot against her palm. “I’ll warm you up in a minute. Are you okay? Bowman was getting to you tonight.”
“How could you tell?”
“Sorry, Officer, but you aren’t as impenetrable as you think. I can usually tell how you feel about most things.” Except me.
“How am I feeling right now?”
“Horny.”
“You’re good.” Loane pulled her closer and Abby nestled her head into the groove of her shoulder.
“And don’t you forget it.” She motioned toward the French doors. “Every time I visit you’ve done something else to the house. Very nice.”
“Thanks. It’s been hard to make some of the changes, but I enjoy the process and the finished product.” The sadness in Loane’s voice was palpable.
“You’re doing a great job.”
“Sometimes I wonder if my folks would approve.” Loane trailed her finger along the curve of Abby’s waist and rested her hand on her hip. “I was never sure what they liked or disliked, beyond my father’s love of history.”
“Your parents would love that you’re keeping the family home and updating it.”
“I could probably be persuaded to live here forever.” She shifted, and the heady scent of her desire fueled Abby’s passion. Burying her face in Abby’s hair, Loane blew lightly down the side of her neck and kissed her ear. “Are you feeling persuasive?”
“I could probably manage, Officer Landry, but we shouldn’t even be having sex, much less thinking about a future.” Greensboro was exactly the kind of culturally diverse community Abby could see herself settling into, but she wasn’t here to settle down.
“Sometimes you can’t argue with fate.”
“Is that what we are, Loane, star-crossed lovers?” Abby heard the seriousness creep into her voice. She and Loane hadn’t talked about anything beyond the present, probably because it wasn’t possible. What kind of future could they hope to have? “Life is short but…”
“But what?”
“Circumstances get in the way. Things happen that you can’t control.” She stroked Loane’s stomach and up to her breasts. “What would Bowman think about this?”
It was a rhetorical question. Dan Bowman would snatch her off the gunrunning case so fast she’d get whiplash. He followed the federal-agent handbook to the letter, and she made it up as she went. But some forces couldn’t be contained. If she allowed this relationship to grow, Loane Landry could be that force for her. Looking at the woman lying next to her, Abby couldn’t regret their meeting, no matter how untimely.
“Loane, you’re a cop.”
“And you’re trying to stay out of jail, I know.”
“That alone could get you seriously reprimanded, if not fired.”
“Then we better make good use of our time, huh?”
Before she could answer, Loane circled Abby’s lips with her tongue and poked gently. Her subtle request for entry always reduced Abby to a useless puddle. She sucked Loane’s tongue in a rhythmic welcome, her pelvis pumping air and her vaginal walls gripping an imaginary finger. Her body always betrayed her.
“I need you, Abby.”
She whispered, “You have me.” The kiss was so light that she shivered. She blanked her mind and surrendered to the cascading emotions as Loane settled on top of her, their bodies undulating like choreographed dancers. Over and over they made love without thinking about duty, responsibility, or time. Only their overwhelming feelings and the physical expression of them mattered.
“Loane—please.” Her voice hitched as Loane massaged her abdomen above the pubic bone with her left hand, the slender fingers of her right buried inside her. Her skin slicked with perspiration as she rocked against Loane. This was their third round of lovemaking and she didn’t want to stop. Watching Loane’s hand piston in and out of her body stoked her passion.
Loane stared up at her and withdrew completely before reentering her with a slow, deliberate thrust. It was like watching an artist create a masterpiece. She gripped Loane’s shoulders with just enough pressure to guide the pace. Slow, quick, quick, slow, like dance steps urging her to follow.
“Now, hon, harder, right there. Yes, like that.” The orgasm built, coiling inside, just out of reach. Tension rippled up her legs and coalesced in her center. Her body quivered in anticipation, but she couldn’t come. The relief she’d struggled for all night evaporated like steam off a hot kettle. “Loane, stop, please. I’m shattered.”
“But you didn’t come.”
“It’s all right. Guess I’m a little off tonight.” Her body was raw, her emotions tender. If she didn’t feel the emotional connection, she just couldn’t let go, and she refused to fake an orgasm. “I need to breathe…and a drink of water would be nice.”
“Don’t stop yet. We don’t have much time.” Loane hovered over her, pale skin glistening in the filtered moonlight. Hunger burned in her eyes. “I’m not finished with you.”
“You are if I die of dehydration.” She grabbed the water bottle from the bedside table and drank deeply.
The hunger in Loane’s eyes softened to a plea and Abby was lost. She dropped the water bottle and opened her arms again, letting Loane take over.
Loane slid her body against Abby’s and the ache inside her eased. “Please, Abby.” She’d never felt this needy, not sexually and certainly not emotionally. When she was with Abby, it was enough. She was enough. She wedged her leg between Abby’s and groaned as their juices mingled, their dips and curves aligning perfectly, their movements in exquisite sync.
Abby sucked the soft flesh of her breast and teased her nipples. Her tongue was fire on Loane’s skin, erasing thought and replacing it with a flood between her legs.
“How can you make me feel so—?”
“Don’t talk.”
Abby licked a moist trail toward her center and Loane shivered. Her sex twitched and she tightened, readying for orgasm. �
��I’m about to pop. Please don’t make me wait.” Abby’s brown eyes sparkled as they met hers and she lowered her head.
Loane couldn’t speak as Abby captured her clit. She fisted a handful of chestnut hair as Abby worked up and down between her legs. The visual created an insistent pounding throb. Abby knew her body so well, too well. How was it possible?
1810 first Commissioners of Police established in Greensboro. Loane mentally recited historical facts, her distraction of choice, to prolong the impending orgasm. She wanted it, but she also wanted it to last. Her body stilled slightly.
“Stop that,” Abby said.
“What?” 1819 first route of the Underground Railroad started in a cave near Guilford College.
“Forget about history…stay with me. I want to make you come hard and fast.”
At that moment she trusted Abby completely. Abby held her gaze and clamped onto her clit with her hot mouth. History became just that, history. She gave in, welcoming the orgasm but pushing on Abby’s shoulders to slow it down.
“Make up your mind, hon. Do you want me to stop or keep going?”
“Don’t stop.” Clinging to Abby’s hair, she rode her until the tingles of release started in her toes and exploded in her crotch. Abby stroked her with her tongue and she emptied over and over. She couldn’t remember the last time having sex had seemed so effortless and enjoyable. Abby was gifted at pleasuring, maybe too gifted, and she couldn’t get enough of her.
She pulled Abby up her body, needing to hold her, to feel their hearts beating in unison. Every inch of her craved the feel, the taste, and the smell of their joining. No one had ever bewitched her so totally. She’d found a shortcut to happiness, even if it was only temporary.
“I love you, Abby.” As orgasm oozed from one end of her body, betrayal spewed from the other—betrayal of a time-honored family philosophy: never show your hand. Loane had never questioned it, until now. But had she actually spoken the words or just thought them in a moment of weakness?
Abby released her grip around Loane’s shoulders and looked at her. Loane saw confusion in Abby’s eyes as she said, “What is it, hon?”
Fingering strands of her long brown hair, Loane stalled for a clue. “Nothing.” Even if she thought she loved Abby, it was too soon for declarations. They were having fun, enjoying each other sexually. Perhaps the professional taboo had brought them together. She wouldn’t be the first cop to sleep with an informant, or even a crook, for that matter.
“Loane, are you okay? You look weird. Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all.” Obviously she hadn’t spoken those three words aloud, definitely a good thing. “Sorry, guess I’m getting a little tired.” She tried to sound convincing. “You should get some rest. You’re in play again in less than three hours. I’m going to get some water. Want anything?”
“Only you again.”
She felt Abby’s stare follow her out of the room. If she looked into her eyes right now, she’d say something she’d regret.
Never show your hand. Her relaxed defenses re-engaged with a thud as she gulped a glass of cold water. She was just experiencing a little postcoital dizziness. She and Abby were just sharing a period of mutual fleeting lust or infatuation, nothing more.
*
Abby spooned against Loane’s back, enjoying the steady cadence of her breathing. The first night they’d spent together, Loane had tossed uncomfortably, unable to relax after their lovemaking. Now she slept the sleep of the sexually sated, nestled in her arms. The realization elicited guilt so powerful she flinched and eased away. If Loane woke up, they’d have to discuss the look in her eyes earlier. That single expression had said all the things she wanted to hear but had no right to expect or hope for.
As she eased her legs off the side of the bed, her cell phone vibrated across the bedside table and toppled onto the floor. She scooped it up, tiptoed to the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. “Hello?”
“Abby, you’ve got to help me.”
The woman’s voice was so strained and full of panic she almost didn’t recognize her. “Sylvia, is that you?” Sylvia was the wife of Simon Torre, one of the subjects of the gunrunning task-force investigation.
“Yes. Simon’s gone crazy. Says we have to leave tonight. He’s woken up Alma and Blake and is packing the car, talking nonsense.”
She considered how to refuse Sylvia’s request without raising suspicion. As Simon Torre’s Girl Friday she’d done everything from babysitting his grandchild to dancing in his gentlemen’s clubs. She’d even relocated with them from Miami to maintain her place in the family. As a confidential informant she was supposed to observe and report, take no action and no chances. But when the family called, she was expected to be accommodating.
“Sylvia, calm down. Has something happened?”
“He’s been acting strange, drinking and smoking those smelly cigars his nephew sends him like it’s his last day on earth. About an hour ago he announced that they were coming and we had to leave for Miami tonight. Please talk to him. He listens to you.”
Abby thought Simon Torre was a good man and had difficulty seeing him as a gunrunner who used his dancers to transport weapons. But like with Loane, she’d violated another rule of the informant/undercover game and become emotionally attached to the family. After over a year together, she’d spent more time with the Torres than she had her own friends and relatives. She’d begun to think ATF was watching the wrong people. But that wasn’t her call. This was.
“I’ll be right there.” She opened the bathroom door and nearly bumped into Loane, leaning against the door frame.
“I was about to knock, need to pee. Where you rushing off to?”
“Sorry, I have to go. See you shortly.” Her instructions from Bowman were clear—never make contact with a suspect without approval and without cover. At least she could tell Loane where she was going. But this would be a quick handholding session and she’d be back. No need to involve her. Besides, if she was ever to stand on her own, she had to start somewhere. The petty side of her wanted to add, and if Loane can keep secrets, so can I.
“Anything I can do?”
She shook her head.
“Is it work?”
“I have to go, Loane. It’s personal.” She might as well have said none of your fucking business. The pained look in Loane’s eyes couldn’t have been any more heart-wrenching. So much for love and trust.
“Fine. Don’t let me keep you.” Loane closed the bathroom door with a firm slam.
Abby raised her hand to knock but changed her mind. She’d explain to Loane when she had more time, and if she learned anything significant about the case, she’d share it at the briefing. As she dressed, Abby berated herself for accepting a job she couldn’t tell anyone about, lying to everyone she knew, and mostly for hurting Loane. If she could tell the truth, life would be much less complicated. But honesty wasn’t an option.
When Loane heard the front door close behind Abby, she pulled on the wrinkled T-shirt and jeans she’d discarded at the foot of the bed and ran to her car. Abby’s inability to look her in the eye and the tone of her voice told Loane this early morning visit was anything but personal. She shifted into cop mode. If Abby was pursuing a lead in the gunrunner case, she wouldn’t let her do it alone, no matter how unsettled their relationship.
The taillights of the undercover vehicle Abby was driving disappeared around the corner and she followed, hanging back enough to blend into the shadows in her residential neighborhood. The irritation she’d felt at Abby’s dismissal quieted as the thrill of the chase took over. She darted in and out between parked cars and paralleled Abby’s path until they merged onto Battleground Avenue from Benjamin Parkway. She slowed and turned on the headlights of her Jeep, thankful for night owls and early risers on the busier thoroughfare.
She trailed as Abby continued on 220 North, excitement deepening into anxiety. She rolled down the window and let the surge of fresh night air wash over her, hoping t
o purge Abby’s scent and taste enough to think clearly. Before the Greensboro city limits, Abby turned on Strawberry Road. Damn it, Abby. She was heading to Simon Torre’s. Why would she go to a suspect’s home in the middle of the night without telling her handler and, more important, without backup? Maybe she was involved in this case beyond being an informant. And maybe Loane’s hormones had blinded her to that fact.
Loane turned off her lights and waited until Abby made the first curve before turning onto Strawberry Road herself. The area was sparsely residential, and at this time of night, Abby could easily spot her vehicle. She drove slowly, allowing Abby plenty of time to arrive. Should she let Abby go in alone? Her informant role required unmonitored contact, but this felt wrong.
As she approached the residence, Loane passed two vehicles—a nondescript dark sedan and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She was glad they weren’t highway patrol or she would’ve been stopped for operating without lights. When she cruised past the Torre home, the expansive ranch-style residence was lit up like Times Square. Loane pulled behind a stand of trees across the road to observe activity at the house and on the street. The only blind spot was the garage at the back.
She took her binoculars from between the seats and focused on the house. Through the sheer curtains in the front room she saw Simon Torre pacing back and forth, flailing his arms like a madman. Abby stood out in the lime-green blouse she’d been wearing when she left the house. She seemed to be trying to calm Simon as he paced. Why had Abby come here, especially if she knew he was upset?
The longer Loane watched the scene, the more uncomfortable she became. She couldn’t go in or she would blow Abby’s cover and jeopardize the case. But she had to do something. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed ATF Agent Bowman.
“This is Officer Landry. Abby Mancuso is at Simon Torre’s house.”
“How do you know that, Landry?” His question was more like an accusation.
“Because she called me. It’s protocol.” She lied, but she didn’t want to get Abby in trouble. If Bowman thought she was acting outside the rules, he’d pull her from the case. “She’s inside with this guy and he looks pissed.”