by Anna Leonard
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
She came back and watched Jon, sitting at her dining-room table, turning the mug of coffee around in his hands. She didn’t think he’d even taken a single sip yet. He was more worried than she was, she realized. He was worried about her.
The thought raised her internal temperature again, but this time not in anger.
Aggie worried, but he worried because he felt he’d brought all this on her. There was responsibility and guilt wrapped up in his concern. It didn’t make the worry any less real, but there was a reason for it. This…
Agent Patrick had no reason to worry. He hadn’t brought her into it; he hadn’t brought this killer to her door. Potentially, she added. Potentially to her door. The news would do that, if it happened, and they had gotten the information from the guy himself, so it wasn’t anything Patrick had done or not done….
It struck her suddenly. Jon was worried because there was a risk to her. And risk to her made him worry. It was a closed equation she wasn’t used to: someone worried about her simply because they cared.
Something surged in her, thick and unfamiliar, and she tried, instinctively, to force it down. But it was warm, so warm, and part of her yearned for it, allowing it to slip through her body.
Be careful, a voice whispered to her. A thin, cold voice that stopped the warmth in its tracks. No one is to be trusted.
Confused and frustrated, she reached for the cold core of practicality that had always ruled her life. But it slid out of her grasp, suddenly distant and difficult to find. She felt the sting of tears, and blinked them away. As she did so, she became aware of a shadow falling over her eyes. Startled, she blinked again. And again. It was slight but clear: something was covering her eye the instant before her lid came down.
The more she focused on it, the more aware she was that her eyesight was strange, too. The colors seemed different: the blues and greens were deeper, while the deep brown tones of her furniture seemed almost gray.
“Jon?”
Her voice sounded strange, too. Oddly pitched, and filled with vibrato and echoes she couldn’t recognize.
She must have sounded odd to him as well, because he reacted as though she had yelled, spilling coffee as he jumped out of his chair. The smell of the liquid, suddenly acrid and unpleasant, twitched in her nostrils and made her sneeze.
“Lily, what? Holy shit…” He reached out and touched her chin with his fingers, tipping her head up to look into her eyes.
“What?”
“Your eyes. They’re all pupil. Like you OD’d on belladonna or something….”
She blinked again. His eyes were darker than she remembered, and his voice was weird, too. Everything felt strange, as if she was falling, her sense of balance completely gone. She felt the urge to lean against him, and fought it.
“Jon, what’s going on? What’s happening?” She started to shake.
Down on all fours, stretching. Lacking a tail, she could not mimic the temple cat’s actions exactly, but her teacher knew the human was trying, and was patient with her, the way one might with a slow but beloved kitten.
“Miuuuuu. Miuuuu.” Thus, silly girl. Thus you bow before Herself, and receive Her regard. The cat was regal; lean, plush-furred, spotted tawny and black, like the desert itself. Great green eyes watched her, large ears twitching forward, as though to encourage her charge to learn more swiftly….
Then she felt it, rising along her spine, from tail-that-wasn’t to whiskers-that-weren’t. A sense of connection, of power, of strength that was alien and yet entirely hers…
“Miauuuu?” she essayed, the sound rising from deep within her throat.
Those ears twitched sharply in approval, and she felt her mouth stretch in a purely human grin in response.
“Lily!”
He was shaking her, and she felt the urge to hiss, to strike at him with hands curved as though…
“Oh.” She gasped, her world reeling. “Oh goddess…”
Lily felt her knees give way, and she collapsed into Jon’s arms.
There were hands upon her head, ointment upon her brow. The soft touch of claws against her skin.
You are my daughter. I am your mother. We will always be tied to each other, forevermore. Not even your faithlessness will change that….
“Mother, forgive me….”
“Lily?”
The voice was familiar. And it sounded…right. Lily opened her eyes, feeling stickiness gumming her eyelids together briefly, before Patrick’s face came into focus over her.
“It’s so cold….”
He had a blanket wrapped around her before she could finish. The intensity of his gaze warmed her almost as much as the fleece, but even as she thought that, a worm of unease crept back. His dark gaze was warm, but…disturbing at the same time. Too much: too focused. Too wanting. What did he want from her? Whatever it was, she couldn’t do it. She could barely remember her own name right now.
Lily, a voice whispered to her. Here, now, your name is Lily.
“Are you all right? You scared the crap out of me, collapsing like that. Did you eat anything today?” He loomed in too close, his voice shaking.
“I’m fine, yes, and back off, will you?” She struggled to sit up, only to find her movement impeded by his hovering. “Come on, Agent Patrick, move. I—”
The sensation of wrongness hit her again. Only this time it wasn’t wrong, but right, and when it left as suddenly as it swept in, Lily cried out at the loss, the bereftness of it.
Mother, forgive me….
“Lily. Lily, come back to me. Come on, open your eyes, look at me….”
She was in his arms. No, on his lap, cradled against his broad chest the way she might hold a kitten. His hands were warm, even through the fabric of her sweater, and the stroke of them up and down her arm, made her want to purr.
“I’m okay,” she said, not moving.
“No. You’re not. Lily, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. It was easier to talk with her face turned against his chest, her hair hiding her from him—and him from her—like some kind of privacy screen. “I keep…I’ve been having dreams. All week. Dreams…I’ve always had nightmares, things I didn’t remember, but they’re worse now. Cats, you know? This one cat, sitting there, staring at me.”
“That’s…normal. I’m sorry.” There was an odd tone in his voice. Guilt? But why would he be guilty?
“No, it’s okay.” The irony of her reassuring him didn’t escape her. “I expected it. You can’t see something like that without it going somewhere, we both know that. And I’ve…” She hesitated. “I’ve always dreamed of cats.” It was true; she was only now allowing herself to remember the depth of it. How the dreams followed her throughout college, becoming worse during times of stress. Especially when she was in a relationship. When a relationship was starting…or ending. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. It was just her insecurities taking a classic form, echoing her waking fears. All of her therapists had said so.
“It’s not the dreams so much as…The cat I see is alive and…waiting. Looking at me. Expecting me to do something.
“And then this week I was so tired from dreaming, from not sleeping, I…I started hallucinating.”
It was easier to call it that. To pretend that it was all just sleep deprivation playing tricks on her mind. Perfectly logical, and easily dealt with, via sleeping pills and a few sessions with a new therapist.
Perfectly logical, and untrue. They weren’t hallucinations. They were real.
That was impossible. So she had to be losing her mind. Don’t tell Jon that. Don’t make him think of her as another crazy, someone to be studied and tracked and analyzed….
“Aw, baby.”
If anyone else had called her that, Lily would have taken offense. But it came so easily out of his mouth, without any inflection that might have made it patronizing, or pitying, or insulting. She felt his arms tighten around h
er, and felt, suddenly as though she could melt into his body; seep into his bones and be safe and warm forever.
He cared for her. She cared for him. She could love him, if he let her.
The thought made her jolt away, as though someone had touched her with a live wire.
Don’t trust him. Don’t ever trust a man, not ever again.
“Hey.” He let her move away, but kept one arm around her, keeping her on his lap. He was warm, so warm. What was she afraid of? Like cats…her own fear was the fearsome thing, not this attraction. This connection.
All it took was a turn of her torso, and they were face-to-face. Her hair came forward in a sheet, and he reached up to brush it back, tucking several of the thick curls behind her ear.
His hand was shaking. She liked that. Control over herself she knew about. Control of someone else…
“Your eyes…they’re still dilated.” His hand was still resting in her hair. She wondered if he realized that.
“Hrmmm.” She could smell him, his arousal. Her mouth watered at the thought of what he might taste like. She already knew his mouth, the texture of his hair, the softness of his neck…. What other surprises might be hidden under that suit and tie?
It had been a while since she’d dated. Longer since then that she’d had sex. She thought that there might still be condoms in the drawer of her night table. They should still be good…. Did they expire? It hadn’t been that long, had it?
Her thighs ached with the need to feel his weight between them, feel the heft and warmth of him there, inside her, a part of her. She wanted to feel the scrape of his hands against her skin, his fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth on her neck, her breasts…. She could feel her nipples harden at the thought, and the ache between her thighs turned into a liquid heat.
“What are you thinking?” he asked her, dropping his hand from her hair and bringing her attention back to the here and now.
Instead of answering, she slid her arms around his neck, brought him close and kissed him.
Jon had thought that he would have to be the aggressor, that he would be the one to make the first real move. And probably the second, too. He was okay with that; based on their first, totally unplanned kisses, Lily was clearly gun-shy: someone had done a number on her, probably, and she didn’t want to jump into some fly-by-night thing. He liked that. It was frustrating, but he liked it. She wasn’t old-fashioned, exactly, just…cautious. Like a cat, she would wait him out.
He was okay with that, too.
Not that he’d worked out any sort of plan in any kind of detail, only vague ideas that kept occurring to him without warning. He would talk to her, let her know he wasn’t a bad guy for all that they got off on a bad start. Maybe coax a few more kisses from her, if the situation allowed. No pressure. Wrap up this case and then call her a few days later, when he was home in D.C. His life was crazed; he never knew where he’d be from week to week; federal agents, especially with his specialization, traveled a lot, and without much warning. But that was what cell phones were for, not to mention frequent-flier miles.
All that went out of his head the instant her lips touched his. Icy-hot, sweet-tasting, sliding like silk over his skin, her hands insistent, her hunger obvious. A man would have to have been a saint to resist, and he might have the name of a saint, but that was as far as it went.
“Lily…”
He tried, Lord knew, he tried. She clearly wasn’t entirely in control of herself, between the sleep deprivation and the hallucinations and now this…. But it wasn’t as though she had been unresponsive to him. He wasn’t taking advantage—was he?
She pulled back as though sensing his hesitation, and smiled at him. Her eyes were normal; they were clear, and bright, and very much aware of what she was doing.
That was all the reassurance he needed.
“Lily.” He whispered her name just before her mouth came down on his again, nipping the delicate flesh, sliding her tongue along the inside of his lips, tasting and suckling like…like a hummingbird, he thought. Or a cat, lapping cream…
“Get out of those clothes.” She was standing, tugging at his shirt. “Too warm in here for clothing.” She was smiling, tendrils of her hair, dampened by sweat and tears, were clinging to her neck like invitations to be followed. He reached for the buttons of his shirt, even as he was giving in to temptation and moving his mouth to that spot on her neck, doing some tasting of his own.
“You taste like…honey. Warm honey and whiskey. Ah, Lily.” He was lost. He didn’t even try to resist.
There was something deeply…sexy about turning a guy on. She had almost forgotten, maybe she had never known; the passion contained in a man who wanted, waiting only permission to take. The seduction was all about drawing out the process, letting him know that it was available but holding off on the go-ahead; knowing that they both knew where it would end, and therefore feeling free to play, to delay, to build the tension to where they were both sweating with the need.
His shirt unbuttoned, she let her fingers run from his shoulders down his chest to his belly, then back up again, close-trimmed nails barely scratching the skin. Dark hair started at his pectorals, covering his chest in a thick mat, then trailing to a narrow line down to his belly button. His body was firm, muscled but not bulky. Solid. He was solid in a way that made her—for the first time in her life—feel delicate.
Lily had no illusions about her body. She was lush. Hourglass-shaped. When she was in her twenties, she finally gave up. Exercise kept her muscles firm, but nothing short of starvation was ever going to give her a flat stomach or slender hips.
“C’mere” he said, his hand sliding down her back, cupping her rear and pulling her to where he sat on the sofa. The blanket he had wrapped around her fell to the floor unnoticed as she returned to his lap, this time for an entirely different purpose than comfort.
He slid his hands under her sweater, stroking the flesh upward, sliding his fingers over the strap of her bra up to her neck, and then down again. She raised her arms and he had her sweater off and tossed it to the floor.
“Fast reflexes,” she practically purred.
“Government issue,” he said, then his lips were caressing the valley between her breasts, and she was purring. His lips were warm, so warm, and greedy. His hands were flat against her back, his tongue soft and wet on her skin, and she felt as if he was drinking her up through her skin.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, suggesting, if not directing, his actions.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, the whisper hot against her nipples. “Tell me. Talk dirty to me.”
She had never done any such thing, had no idea where to begin.
“It’s all right, Lily-kit. Just say what you want. What you want to do to me. I want to lick every inch of you, mouth to toes. Especially your belly. I bet your belly tastes so sweet…”
“I can’t…. Hold me. Hold me down.”
In the time it took for her to gasp her request, she was flat on her back on the floor, Jon’s body looming over hers, her arms stretched over her head and pinned to the floor with one of his hands around her wrists.
“You want to test yourself against me, kitten?” He might call her kitten but he was the one purring, now. A big cat noise, smug and self-satisfied.
No. Yes. She had always been in control. Always been the one to initiate—and to leave. He would be the one to leave, in this relationship. Begin as you mean to go on….
“I won’t force you,” he promised, lowering his mouth to her breasts again. “But I won’t let you go, either.”
He was lying. She knew he was lying. But she could pretend, for this one night.
Then his mouth closed down hard on one nipple, and her back arched up, her legs closing around his and bringing his torso to hers. “Clothing. Off.” She demanded. “Want to see what I’ve got.”
He laughed, a low rumbling noise. “So much for letting me to be in control.” But his laughter was pleased, inviting
her to join in. “I need my legs free,” he told her, and she released him immediately. He shucked his pants off with one hand, never letting her wrists go.
“Commando?” She was amused, her voice low and surprisingly seductive. She didn’t recognize herself.
“I was out of underwear,” he said, blushing just a little. “It’s drying in my shower.”
Lily felt something twist inside her, a few inches below her heart and above her gut. It hurt, but like a limb snapping back into place; a hurt followed by a sense of rightness, of something broken suddenly fixed.
Fuck me, she was going to say, had intended to say: trying to keep the encounter hard and fun and without any kind of commitment implied or asked for.
“Make love to me,” she said instead, sitting up enough to whisper the demand in his ear, making sure that her tongue touched the outer tip of that ear.
“Oh, Lily, don’t tempt me so….”
His mouth abandoned her breast and moved lower, sliding over her belly until she giggled because it tickled. His tongue dipped into her belly button, circled around it, then moved lower.
“Hang on a second, I’ve got this,” he said when he reached the waistband of her pants. She waited, and then started to laugh as his teeth closed on the snap of her slacks. Her laughter stopped the moment he had them down on her hips, and his mouth went directly for the damp cotton of her panties.
“Jesus, Lily…I’m so going to make you come for me…”
Then her panties were shoved down her legs, and his mouth was on her. Both of his hands were on her thighs now, holding her open, but Lily felt no desire to move her arms from where he had pinned her. His tongue slid inside her, and lapped like he was the kitten and she was a deep, deep dish of cream.
“Oh…” Lily caught the endearment before it fell off her own tongue, biting her lip as Jon made her hips buck upward. She had asked him to make love to her and that was exactly what he was doing. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more.
Her exercise routine might not have given her a flat stomach, but there were muscles underneath the rounding, and she was able to sit up without using her legs, catching Jon unawares. A push back, and he was the one at her mercy, her legs straddling his hips as they sprawled on the floor, her hands on his shoulders, pressing him down.
