Silhouette

by Robin Hale

  “All right, now I’m going to remove the bandages you have here. Just a second, I need some things from my —”

  “Picnic basket?” Lana said with a teasing smirk.

  “Med kit,” I returned firmly, holding that heated, lazy gaze for a moment before fleeing from the room.

  I scooped everything back into the basket and returned to Lana’s side, pulling out the black leather bag that contained the tools I required. The adhesive on the bandages was tough, but it didn’t look like it had caused too much irritation to the skin beneath. I smoothed my fingertips over the soft expanse of Lana’s hip, checking for residue or blemish, finding neither.

  A soft inhalation sounded from closer to the headboard, and I kept my eyes fixed on the bandages in my grasp. I peeled back the cotton pad and tried not to focus on the sheer quantity of blood it had absorbed. God, what the hell had happened? I opened a sterile pad and the bottle of peroxide. “Apologies for this,” I murmured and set about clearing away as much of the blood as I could.

  Lana laughed, hissing softly at the sting of the cleaning. “It’s all right, darling. Not uncommon for it to hurt the first time.”

  I studiously ignored the remark and frowned down at the wound. It looked like…but that didn’t make any sense. “Is this a gunshot wound? Jesus Christ, Lana,” I swore soundly beneath my breath and stared, aghast, up at the no-longer-smirking thief.

  “I was a little slow.” Her eyes were guarded. Defensive.

  “A little slow,” I repeated. “Why? Why were you slow?” I swallowed hard as I dug out the supplies I needed. The wound required stitches. It was a graze, thank goodness. No bones chipped or buried metal waiting to tear into her muscle mass. But it was still a damn bullet wound.

  Then it hit me. The atomizer. Jade had noticed that the Silhouette was limping when she left my apartment. She’d been hurt even then. Damn it, she’d been hurt because of me.

  “You said you were in and out without them noticing,” I said sharply, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t — you didn’t say anything about being shot.”

  “No, hey,” Lana said, eyes wide as she scooted forward. Her knee bent and hip flexed in what must have been a wash of agony. “It didn’t happen that night. Okay, darling? I got in and out without them realizing.” Her fingers were in my hair, brushing pieces of it back away from my face. The perfect slash of her mouth twisted into a rueful moue. “And then I pulled a muscle trying to back out through the skylight. I was an idiot.”

  “And at the museum?” I whispered. My throat ached, tight and dry with an emotion that I couldn’t accurately identify.

  Lana nodded and sheepishly winced. “And at the museum I — well, I was slower than I should have been. Security guard got off a lucky shot.” She rolled her eyes in a theatrical, self-deprecating pout. “Still didn’t even properly hit me.”

  “He hit you well enough,” I frowned down at the still-weeping wound on her hip. “Why did you go, if you were injured?”

  “Arrogance, I suppose.” Lana shrugged. “I didn’t think it was bad enough to justify delaying something I’d planned.”

  “Arrogance,” I repeated, shaking my head. I took a slow, steadying breath. “Well, your arrogance earned you a few stitches. Lie back.” I pursed my lips, trying to hold onto the spark of fear, the frustration with Lana’s carelessness. Tried not to focus on the way she’d surged forward to touch me, to comfort me. Tried not to think of her fingers in my hair.

  LANA SAT DUTIFULLY STILL as I placed her stitches, cleaned the wound once more, and re-bandaged her hip. She’d been quiet, thankfully leaving her double entendres and teasing asides in her mind where they belonged instead of letting them out into the open air where they made me squirm, my stomach twisting itself into knots.

  “There,” I said as I finished taping the edge of the bandage. “I’ll check it again in the morning and change the dressing. I’ve got some reasonable painkillers here in my bag.” I retrieved a bottle. It wasn’t strictly legal or entirely ethical, precisely, but that seemed to sum up my entire life lately. “You shouldn’t really drink while you’re taking them,” I said wryly, gesturing with the pill bottle toward her glass of whiskey, containing barely a hint of the amber liquid by that point. “But as you’re under a physician’s observation, I think you’ll be all right.”

  “You’re staying the night, then?” Lana asked, teeth flashing in a wicked grin.

  Oh. Well, I had evidently assumed that I would be. Embarrassment heated my cheeks, as seemed to happen every moment I was in Lana Blake’s presence. “I don’t have to. I can drop by in the morning, or —”

  “No,” Lana cut in. “No, you should stay.” She shifted again, easing forward and retrieving the bottle of painkillers from my grasp, only to toss them carelessly onto her nightstand next to the whiskey. “Those can wait.” She leaned forward, hands reaching out for me and I sat there, struck wordless and slack-mouthed as I felt her cool, deft fingers cupping my jaw, tangling in my hair, tilting my face toward hers. Lana waited, poised on the edge of a kiss and tasting the air in between our mouths.

  A shiver rolled down my spine and settled into the growing tension low in the cradle of my hips. Holy hell, I wanted her.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” Lana murmured, catching my eyes, holding me still with all the intensity of a grenade whose pin has just been pulled. “God, Fawn, you’ve been touching me for ages. Those pretty hands on my skin, so close to where I’ve wanted you.” She leaned in close, the words a physical weight as her breath gusted across my mouth and her lips grazed my own while they shaped the sounds.

  I swallowed, waited, and felt the moment stretch between us until I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to say yes. She didn’t want to steal this kiss from me. She wanted me to tell her she could have it. Nervously, automatically, I swept my tongue out over my lower lip and nodded, praying that was enough. I wasn’t sure I could manage actual words right then, not even for the prize that waited on the other side of them.

  I shouldn’t have worried. As a thief, Lana seemed poised to take any indication of consent and run with it. Her mouth crashed against mine, tongue already coaxing its way between my lips, painting my mouth with the taste of her whiskey. A choked, garbled sound, something suspiciously like a sob, rose in my throat at the taste of her, and Lana’s lips pulled back just long enough to make gentle ‘shushing’ noises.

  “Lie down, darling,” Lana murmured with a wicked glint in her eyes. “This position is hell on my hip.”

  I jerked back, horrified at how cavalier I had been with her injury.

  “Shh, now,” she chided me. “Don’t worry, just lie down.” Her voice was cool, silky and sweet and utterly irresistible.

  I could feel a terrible trembling beginning in my hands, betraying the desperate pressure between my thighs as I felt myself growing slick. She’d barely touched me. A single kiss and I was falling to pieces.

  Her fingers were back in my hair as she coaxed me to lie down beside her, and the solid, reassuring weight of her settling onto the mattress next to me was nearly enough to calm my nerves. Nearly.

  “You’re gorgeous,” Lana whispered, eyes trailing over my face and down my body like she couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to trick me into being there with her.

  An automatic protest was on the tip of my tongue, a self-deprecating remark that I would’ve spat into the air if not for Jade’s voice in my head. ‘Moll, if someone is taking you to bed, they like the way you look. Don’t insult either of you by telling them they’re wrong, yeah?’ She’d been annoyed with the way I’d dodged her compliments, had overheard more than one awkward conversation with a girl in a bar as I managed to somehow tank genuine interest time and again.

  I satisfied myself with a laugh and an awkward half-smile. “You’ve got a mirror somewhere here, right?”

  Lana’s smile went molten, and her voice vibrated through my skin and into my blood. “I’m not really my type, darling. But you?” There was a soft,
appreciative groan and then her hand was tracing trails of fire down my neck, over my collarbone, ghosting along the curve of my breast. “You’re perfect. Those brown eyes of yours, all this golden skin…and these curves.” Her hand went tight on my ribcage, stroking along the underside of my breast with her thumb. “You could kill a girl with these.”

  She dipped her face closer once more and I parted my lips, sure that she was about to kiss me again, about to stifle the embarrassing whimpers and groans I already wanted to let out. But she bypassed my mouth and pressed those pretty lips against my neck, painting my skin with soft kisses and sharp nips of her teeth.

  “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” Lana confessed to the dip between my collarbones, sealing the admission with a hot swipe of her tongue. “And if I had full use of my hips right now I’d get you riding my thigh until you shook apart.”

  The image was overwhelming, the jolt of heat and lust that it sent through my core practically debilitating, and I was of half a mind to figure out who had shot the Silhouette and make sure that his cell phone was never quite the right volume ever again.

  “Unfortunately, you’re just going to have to settle for my hand on you, and my mouth on those gorgeous tits of yours,” Lana moaned, placing a sharp bite on the swell of my breast.

  “Oh,” I said weakly and despite my best efforts, no more words were forthcoming.

  I felt entirely too hot, like my spine had gone liquid and my skin was in danger of igniting from the sheer force of my desire for the thief whose bed I found myself in. I felt clumsy, awkward like I hadn’t in years. I wouldn’t have described myself as a particularly suave lover, but I was a far cry from the shy teen I’d once been. At least, I had thought so.

  My hands fluttered over Lana’s shoulder, her side, the curve of her waist, and I couldn’t decide where to touch her. It was too much after nothing at all for more than a year. I’d even avoided the odd one night stand that I’d indulged in pre-Jenna. It just…hadn’t been on my radar, really. But there I was, brain practically melting out of my ears beneath the most skilled hands in Opal City.

  If I were a safe I’d have been unlocked in seconds.

  Lana’s hand drifted from my chest down to my waistband, thumbing open the button and easing down the zipper one-handed like she’d never even thought to use two for the task. I shivered under the feeling of her fingertips tracing the lace edging along the waist of my panties, face heating as Lana’s grin went wider while she watched me.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured, then lifted her head once more to capture my lips in a kiss.

  Her forearm slipped beneath my neck, cradling my head in position so that she could take my mouth as she pleased, plunging her tongue in a thick slide along my own one moment, nipping delicately at the curve of my lip the next. The fingertips at my waistband dipped beneath the cotton and lace, trailing through the thatch of curls to stroke delicately along the seam of my folds. The pressure was soft, not parting, not dipping into the slick heat I knew must already be gathering, just petting the sensitive outer flesh of my pussy.

  I shuddered in Lana’s arms, legs falling open helplessly. All I wanted was for her to never stop touching me. I was going lightheaded from the sharp, involuntary gasps that each new touch brought, the way her tongue teased the sensitive flesh of my lips.

  Lana had been shot and she was still intent on taking me apart. On finding my pleasure rather than chasing her own. The thought was suddenly all-consuming. It sent a wave of warmth through my chest that had nothing to do with lust. When was the last time I’d ever felt so…cherished?

  I couldn’t think of one. It was suddenly, desperately important to me that Lana know that I wasn’t just interested in getting my own.

  The thin, black jersey of Lana’s tank top was soft from heavy use, and the feel of it beneath my hand as I finally stopped dithering over where to touch her was enthralling. It slid over her skin, outlined the curve of her breast, revealed the tightening nub of her nipple as I stroked along it. A sharper tweak sent Lana’s back arching, her hips flexing forward, and —

  “Ow, fuck,” Lana hissed, pulling back from my mouth even as she left her hand right where it was between my thighs. She quirked a rueful grin down at me. “How about you just let me play, hm? Don’t worry about me. I want to touch you.”

  That felt completely wrong. Surely she’d resent me? Surely I needed to do something for her?

  “Let me take you apart, darling.” Lana’s voice was a sultry whisper in my ear, and I was helpless to do anything but nod.

  “Good girl,” she whispered. She sucked the lobe of my ear into her mouth, teasing the soft skin with her tongue and grazing it with her teeth. Her fingertips pressed slightly harder against my clit, and I sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out on a sigh as her tongue painted searing stripes along my neck, downward, downward, until soft lips found the scoop-neck edge of my shirt.

  “L-Lana,” I whimpered, voice catching in the back of my throat, and whatever the rest of that sentence was supposed to be, it died beneath the feeling of Lana’s lips curving into a smile against my chest.

  She pushed my soft, knitted shirt up and out of her way and her lips swept across the curve of my breast, tongue dipping beneath the lace edge of a bra cup. My nipples tightened in anticipation, each searing sweep of that clever tongue drawing closer to the explosion of pleasure I knew I would feel once she actually touched me.

  Every new touch drove me closer to the edge. Those deft fingers dipped between my folds, sliding in the hot evidence of my desire.

  “Oh,” Lana purred. “So wet for me.” Her tongue flicked the end of my nipple, sending a shower of sparks through my nerves as I bucked up into her hand where she stroked me. Her thumb pushed upward, parting the lips of my pussy and seeking out the sensitive nub of my clit. She traced expertly around it, never too direct, never too harsh, just a purposeful swirl of pressure and friction that ratcheted the tension in my body to new heights.

  My thighs were trembling as she dipped a single fingertip into my core, petting the edge of my opening. I couldn’t get enough breath. My hands flexed uselessly at my sides, and my every nerve ending was reporting just how devastating Lana Blake would prove to be to my general well-being. Her silky hair completed its escape from her hair tie and slid along my skin, covering my chest and belly as her lips and teeth and tongue worshipped my nipple and stole the breath from my chest.

  Even just the one finger felt like an invasion inside me. It had been too long since I’d indulged, either alone or with someone else. I’d always loved being penetrated, but on my own, I had a habit of focusing on my clit and then falling asleep. It was a mechanical tension relief that was never as good as the feeling of another woman touching me.

  Soon I relaxed around her finger and I was immediately rewarded with another one, moving in smooth, rhythmic counterpoint to the thumb still stroking around my clit. It was almost too much, almost had tears springing into my eyes and sobs erupting from my throat. But she didn’t let up.

  Lana’s arm tightened, holding me closer to her body, letting my nose fill with the smell of her shampoo, the clean scent of her sweat and breath. Her fingers plunged inside me, stroking forward, lingering at my entrance, until she found a rhythm she was satisfied with. Her tongue traced maddening patterns over my chest, sucking biting kisses into the soft skin there, lapping gently at my nipples until even my bones seemed liquid and overheated and my body was out of my control.

  “Come for me, beautiful,” Lana whispered against my chest, peeking up at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes and fucking against the wall of my pussy with careful fingers. “Come for me.”

  As though all I had been missing was permission, I felt the wave of my desire crest and break apart under Lana’s hands. I sobbed my release, clenching down hard on her fingers, knowing that I would feel her inside me for hours after we’d parted, riding the waves of sensation that her lips on my nipples sent crashing through me.<
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  I cried out, lost, clutching at the sheets and trembling, legs shaking as I came down. Lana’s touches became gentler, sweeter. No longer inflaming but comforting.

  “That’s it, darling,” she murmured, leaning up to brush a kiss against my hair. Her lips met mine and there was a possessiveness in her kiss that I couldn’t have fathomed before feeling the way she took me apart. Her mouth seemed to know mine, seemed to have firm ideas about how and where and even why to touch me.

  “Go to sleep, Molly,” Lana said softly, even as my eyes drifted shut seemingly of their own accord. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

  She settled down on the bed beside me, the hot, strong length of her wrapped around my body, arms coming down to tug me against her chest like I was a gift she’d been given, rather than the other way around.

  I fell asleep to the feeling of her lips against my neck, her hands stroking smooth, gentle strokes down my body. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly happy.

  18

  LANA

  It was strange to imagine that I could appreciate anything more than the glimmer of faceted gems as I liberated them from a strong box, but it was becoming increasingly, worryingly clear that the spread of Dr. Molly Fawn's hair across my pillowcase was better still. Her tempting lips were parted in sleep as her dark lashes rested against the lovely swell of her cheekbone. Idly, I made a note to acquire new sheets. The hedonist in me, never too far from the surface at any point, wished desperately to see Molly spread amongst snow-white sheets. Longed to take in every strand of her dark hair, every inch of her golden skin set in stark relief.

  It was also strange to think how well she suited my bed, lying there in my bedroom amongst the priceless artwork on the walls, the precious gems lining my drawers. There was an ache in my chest. A slow-building, quiet pain born of sentimentality. It had been building since the woman in my bed had allowed me to take her apart. Allowed me to taste the silken skin of her breasts, touched the searing, grasping heat of her core. When she finally surrendered to my touch, when she stopped reaching for me and instead allowed me to witness her simple, unselfconscious pleasure… I was done for.