Jack (Secret Revenge #1)

by Robin Edwards

  Alex had cooked dinner and set up a table outside on the terrace where they were enjoying the fantastic California weather and celebrating Maddie’s promotion. The house was nearly ready, and Sophie would be flying back in tomorrow so Maddie had every intention of getting every last drop out of her and Alex’s alone time. Maddie looked over at Alex who didn’t realize she was being stared at. Her hair blew gingerly in the wind and Maddie didn’t know if it was the champagne or her sheer attraction to Alex that made her do what she was about to do.

  Maddie stood up and grabbed Alex’s hands and pulled her towards the living room. The furniture wasn’t delivered until tomorrow so she laid her down on the floor and put her sweater under her head. Alex looked at her with wide eyes as Maddie began to unbutton her shirt and press her lips against her chest. Alex began to breathe heavier as Maddie hiked her skirt up to her waist and stuck her hand in her panties. Moans of ecstasy escaped Alex’s lips and every time she tried to get up and take control Maddie pushed her down. Maddie slipped her panties off, hiked up her skirt and straddled Alex’s leg, pushing her thigh against her wet mound. Alex began to rub herself on Maddie’s leg as Maddie moved with the motion against Alex’s. The two moaned in harmony, and Alex reached up and grabbed onto Maddie’s breasts. Maddie began to move faster and stuck her hand down, pushing her fingers inside Alex as she writhed against her. Alex reached down and did the same to Maddie, and she screamed out as they reached closer and closer to climax. As they reached their peak, Alex sat up and pressed her open mouth against Maddie’s moaning loudly. When the shaking stopped, Alex leaned back on her elbows and smiled at Maddie.

  “Wow,” she said chuckling. “I love you too.”

  “Well,” Maddie said smiling. “I figured we needed to break this room in too since we already took care of every other room...and the stairs yesterday.”

  Both girls smiled and Maddie helped Alex up off the floor once she had buttoned her top back. They walked out onto the terrace, and Alex stood behind Maddie, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and leaning her chin beside her face. They looked out over the garden at the sun that was setting behind the palm trees. The two girls came together a year ago completely alone and lost and now they had each other, which was all Maddie needed in the whole world.

  As the sun set behind the trees, Maddie looked up at the pink and orange sky. Two birds flew across the garden, and she smiled as she thought about her parents. If they were alive, they would be so happy for her and Alex. Maddie felt as if they were right there next to her at that moment, and after that day she never had another nightmare again. Maddie didn’t know if it was because she outgrew it or because as she wrapped herself in Alex’s arms, she had finally found that place she could be content and happy, either way, she knew she was right where she was supposed to be.

  Capturing the Night

  A First Time, Lesbian, Office Romance

  By Elle Crosby

  © Copyright 2016 by Elle Crosby (Author) and

  Second Chances Press (Publisher).

  All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Chapter 1

  Ingrid contemplated herself in the mirror, waiting for her brain to wake up. She splashed cold water on her face, grimacing as she patted herself dry. Try as she might, she still hadn’t gotten used to getting up early to go to the office. The only thing that had ever successfully gotten her out of bed early was the adrenalin rush provided by imminent death. She rolled her neck, working the kinks out of it and dreading the day ahead. She knew that this job at the The Chronicle was the smart choice, but she still resented it. Or, more accurately, she resented her body for making it necessary. Being a war correspondent was not comfortable work and, after three decades of abuse, her 52 years had caught up to her. Even she had to admit that she was too old to be running around war-zones or hiding out in the jungle with guerrilla fighters, constantly at the ready. But she couldn’t help herself. She missed it.

  She turned on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. As she waited, she prodded the wiry muscles in her arms. Ingrid might not be as fit as she used to be, but she had certainly not let herself go. Only her face and a few old scars showed the true toll of all those years of violence and mayhem. Her face had always been angular, its sharp cheekbones and strong jaw the product of a Scandinavian heritage. But these days her angles had become just a little sharper, her sky-blue eyes just a little sunken, and her ash-blonde hair just a little frailer. Her tanned skin, once smooth and supple, was criss-crossed with a web of fine wrinkles, fanning out from the corners of her eyes and mouth. She was a beautiful woman, but her once lush beauty had been tempered by years of malnutrition, lack of sleep, and unspeakable horror.

  Getting into the shower, Ingrid titled her head back, letting hot water soak through her hair. That was one thing she certainly didn’t resent: hot showers. But even though this new, sedentary life was full of luxuries, it couldn’t make up for the sense of purpose she’d had when out in the field. Not only that, but the women that Ingrid met these days couldn’t hold a candle to the women she’d known on the job.

  The women that Ingrid had met in the field had all shared the same all-consuming hunger. It was a hunger that the content women in this city couldn’t even begin to imagine. European journalists, Latin American guerrillas, African rebels – they had all been the same in their thirst for change and a better world. This desire, this passion, had permeated all aspects of their lives, from their work to their love affairs. These were Ingrid’s people. When her world had collided with theirs - whether on leave in a cramped Parisian flat or on assignment in the steamy depths of the Amazon – their love had been fierce, brief, and unforgettable.

  Lathering the soap between her hands, Ingrid let her memory roam, following it back to one encounter in particular. As she thought, she ran the soap along the curves her breasts, washing their delicate underside. Ingrid had been in Bosnia during the Yugoslav war. She’d met a smuggler named Asija whom she’d hired as a fixer. Asija had stolen a dead Serbian girl’s ID and went by Anja to avoid the dangers of her Turkish name. She’d only told Ingrid her real name after they’d been sleeping together for a week. She’d had her dark red mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipple when she’d looked up and said, “You know, if you’re going to moan my name, you should at least moan the right one.”

  Ingrid’s nipples hardened at the memory and she toyed with them. She rolled and tugged and drew circles around her areolas, alternating between the soap and her fingertips. Asija had had impossibly beautiful hair. It would lie in dark tangles along Ingrid’s stomach and between her breasts, brushing her collar bone, as Asija kissed and nipped Ingrid’s most sensitive skin.

  Hot water still streaming down her back, Ingrid let go of one nipple, running her hand down her stomach to stroke the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Slowly, her slippery, soapy fingers made their way inward, running along the edges of her labia. With her thumb she began stroking her clit, slow at first then faster and faster. Ingrid moaned, remembering how she’d wrapped her hands in Asija’s hair as the other woman had licked and sucked the swollen folds of her pussy.

  Suddenly desperate for release, Ingrid dropped the soap and braced herself against the tiled wall, grabbing the shower head off its hook. She spread her labia with her fingers and aimed the water at her clit. The sudden pressure took hey by storm and she groaned, imagining Asija taking her clit in her warm, red mouth, her tongue flicking it faster and faster as her fingers expertly stroked Ingrid’s g-spot. Ingrid’s hips jerked as her abs spasmed and, too quickly, her orgasm was over.

  Blowing the air out of her cheeks, Ingrid�
�s head fell back against the wall and the shower head hung limp in her hand, its water running across her feet. Now she wanted to go in to work even less.

  Stepping inside The Chronicle’s office building, Ingrid took off her aviators, hanging them in the crook of her button-down shirt. By way of greeting, she raised her travel mug of strong, black coffee in the direction of the young man at the front desk. On the phone, he waved a hand in reply as she pushed through the swinging doors into the slightly chaotic inner sanctum of the newspaper.

  “Ingrid! There you are. Finally. Where have you been?” Chuck was head of Ingrid’s second least favourite department: Human Resources. Her least favourite was PR, but she had to admit that its manager, Miranda, was all right.

  “I’m five minutes late, Chuck. Don’t get your panties in a knot,” Ingrid replied, breezing past the beleaguered man in the direction of her glass-walled office. Strangling the air in her wake, Chuck had no choice but to follow behind, gesturing at the pretty redhead next to him to do the same. As he passed, he glared at the stark black print on the office door, which declared Ingrid “Editor-in-Chief.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” he retorted when he had finally caught up. “And you should be setting an example for your employees. If you’re late, they’ll be late.”

  Ingrid raised her eyebrows as she drew her messenger bag over her head and dumped it on her desk next to her coffee. “No, they won’t,” she said. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “The fact that your employees are terrified of you isn’t something to boast about,” Chuck replied.

  Flopping into her chair, Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Chuck. They’re not terrified of me. They respect me.”

  Chuck reached around the redhead, who still hadn’t said anything, and opened the office door. “Raise your hands if you’re terrified of Ingrid,” he called to office at large.

  The other reporters looked at each other then, grinning, all raised their hands.

  “Only reason McLeod hasn’t tried hitting on her yet,” called a petite brunette working at the photocopier.

  The others laughed. “See,” said Ingrid, “if they were actually terrified they wouldn’t be laughing.”

  “We laugh, but it’s true,” said a freckly blond man by the water cooler.

  Chuck gestured eloquently to the blond man and closed the door again.

  “Yeah, all right, whatever, Chuck. Who’s this? I assume she’s why you’re already on my case at eight in the morning.” Ingrid gestured at the silent redhead with her chin. If Ingrid had to guess, she’d say a 28 year old beautician, going by her trim body, perfectly done hair and makeup, and over-sized bronze jewellery.

  “Quarter past eight in the morning,” Chuck shot back. “And this unfortunate woman is Adele Sokoloski, the new intern. You do remember that you agreed to have an intern from the journalism program shadow you for three weeks, right?”

  Ingrid pulled a face. “Eh, remind me again what I agreed to? And you don’t look young enough to be an undergrad. No offence of anything,” she said to the other woman.

  “Well, you did warn me she was ‘blunt’,” the redhead said to Chuck. “And I’m not an undergrad. It’s a master’s program. I’m 32, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Right,” said Ingrid. “Master’s program. I knew that. Isn’t 32 a bit old for a master’s?”

  Chuck groaned. “Stop being a dick to the intern, Ingrid!”

  Adele shrugged. “It’s okay. It is old. I trained as a yoga and meditation instructor. I’ve been doing that for almost ten years.”

  “But what?” Ingrid asked, sipping her coffee. “You got tired of being zen?”

  Chuck groaned again. “I just wanted a change,” said Adele, unfazed.

  “See?” said Chuck. “You’re both women in transition. I’m sure you’ll have loads to talk about. It’ll be great. Wont’ it, Ingrid?” he raised an eyebrow pointedly at the recalcitrant editor.

  “Mm,” Ingrid replied noncommittally and slurped her coffee loudly.

  “Great. Now that that’s settled I’ll leave you two to it. Let me know if you have any problems,” Chuck told Adele before he left them alone together.

  Ingrid leaned back in her chair, eyeing the new addition. Adele looked back at her, smiling faintly. “Are you going to ask me to sit?” she said at last.

  “Never wait to be asked,” Ingrid replied. “Just sit. Makes you harder to get rid of.”

  “Okay,” said Adele. She sat down in the empty chair across the desk from Ingrid. She was carrying a large canvas tote bag, the kind university students carried their grocery shopping in these days. She put it on the ground next to the chair and crossed her legs at the knee, leaning back in her chair and waiting.

  “Any previous journalistic experience?” Ingrid asked, twirling a pen between her fingers.

  “You mean before my program?”

  “Or during. What have you done?”

  “Well, during undergrad, a million years ago, I wrote for my school paper. I covered the student union meetings. Since then I’ve written articles for various alternative medicine and self-help magazines. And last semester one of my professors assigned me to a bunch of sorority fund-raisers.”

  Ingrid tried her best not to snort into her coffee.

  Adele’s smile became a little self-deprecating. “Yeah, you and him would get along great. He always gives me the puff pieces because apparently taking care of my appearance makes me incapable of critical thought.”

  “I didn’t say that,” said Ingrid, defensive.

  “You didn’t have to,” Adele replied. “And it’s fine. They were fun. The girls had worked really hard. Besides, your first pieces were restaurant reviews for your university paper, so it clearly doesn’t matter.”

  Ingrid frowned.

  “Yeah, I’ve done my research,” said Adele, seeing Ingrid’s confusion. “This may come as a surprise, but I actually asked for you. I used to read your work when you wrote for The Times. When I was a teenager, I thought you were the most amazing woman I’d ever heard of.”

  “I…thank you,” said Ingrid. It wasn’t every day that journalists received praise from strangers. “What was your favourite piece?”

  “The on being a female guerrilla fighter in Colombia. I thought it was incredible.” Adele smiled, “It also inspired me to take up gunmanship for six months at the age of sixteen. My parents weren’t very pleased.”

  “Why did you stop?” Ingrid asked, curious despite herself.

  The other woman looked a little sheepish. “I hated all the noise,” she admitted. “Guns are really loud!”

  Ingrid nodded. “They certainly are.”

  “I was crushed though,” Adele continued. “I had been planning to become an expert markswoman and fight dictators in South America. I don’t think many rebel groups need their own yoga instructors.”

  “No,” Ingrid agreed. “I don’t think that’s high on their priority list.” She looked down her desk, wondering what on earth she was going to do with this amateur. “What do you hope to get out of this internship?” she asked, hoping that maybe Adele would occupy herself.

  The redhead shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to work with you.”

  Ingrid grimaced. “As you can see, it’s not that much fun. It’s just bureaucracy and reading other people’s work to make sure they haven’t screwed something up.”

  “You completely forgot I was coming, didn’t you?” Adele asked.

  “Yeah,” Ingrid admitted. “Not that this is a very exciting job to begin with. Like I said—”

  “Bureaucracy and editing,” Adele finished for her. “Well, why don’t you use me as an excuse to get out from behind your desk?”

  Ingrid brought out her phone to check her calendar. “We go to print in two days, no time to get out from behind my desk. Plus I have to publish six tweets today.” Ingrid looked disgusted.

  “I take it you’re not a big fan of social media?” Adele asked
unnecessarily.

  Ingrid shook her head. “I used to cover wars and now they want me to fulfill a tweet quota every day.” She glared down at her coffee as if the situation were its fault.

  “Well, why don’t you log me into your Twitter account and I can do that part at least? I’m pretty good with Twitter.”

  “I bet you are,” Ingrid replied dourly.

  “You know, usually when someone offers to do you a favour you say thank you,” Adele retorted. She stood, coming to lean against the desk, giving Ingrid a view of her long, elegant legs. Ingrid quickly looked away, focussing on turning on her computer.

  “You’re my intern,” Ingrid shot back. “Interns don’t get thanked. The sooner you learn that the better.”

  Adele rolled her eyes. “Just show me your Twitter account.”

  That night, Ingrid was sitting in front of her TV watching a documentary on North Korea, eating Chinese takeout, and generally feeling sorry for herself. As if her job wasn’t painful enough already, now she had some lippy new-ager to deal with. She wasn’t sure if Adele’s attitude made her harder or easier to work with. If she’d just been a vapid bimbo it would have been excruciating, but at least Ingrid could have sent her off on a bunch of pointless photocopying expeditions to keep her out of her hair. As it was, she got the feeling that Adele would see through that ploy right away.