The Last First Time
Page 1
Table of Contents
Other books by Andrea Bramhall
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
About Andrea Bramhall
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
Collide-O-Scope
Mine to Keep
Requiem for Immortals
Deliberate Harm
copyright
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Other books by Andrea Bramhall
Standalone:
Rock and a Hard Place
Just My Luck
Norfolk Coast Investigation Story
Collide-O-Scope
Under Parr
The Last First Time
Dedication
To the victims of the 2017 terror attacks in Great Britain.
22 March – Westminster. Six dead, forty-nine injured.
22 May – Manchester Arena. Twenty-two dead, 250 injured.
3 June – London Bridge and Borough Market. Eight dead, forty-eight injured.
19 June – Finsbury Park Mosque. One dead, ten injured.
Your loss is felt by an entire nation.
To the emergency services and police involved in each attack—we thank you for all you do. Including all the times you keep us safe and we don’t even know it.
Acknowledgements
Astrid, Daniela, Michelle, and all the rest of the fabulous team at Ylva, thank you for trusting in me and this series. I know you found this one to be especially difficult. I hope you think it was worth it.
Glendon, I truly love this cover. Thank you for making my vague idea a reality.
Louise, for believing in me and almost convincing me this was worth writing when I was convinced it was a steaming pile of horse shit, thank you. I know I’m a pain in the arse when I’m writing…well, most of the time to be fair…but I couldn’t do it without you.
To our friends who worked at the Manchester Arena in the aftermath of such horror, there are no words that can ease the pain of what you saw, what you dealt with, and what you worked through for the sake of others. You are my heroes.
Prologue
The sun reflected off the windows, obscuring the view of the shop inside. Still, Nadia was hyperaware of the products on display. She shuffled her feet and coughed but didn’t move towards the door. In the window, she caught the reflection of Saba’s easy smile, as if she frequented sex toy stores all the time.
“Have you been here before?” she asked quietly, her breath coming in white clouds in the cold air. Snow lay in icy, dirty clumps at the edges of the pavement, melting in the gutters to murky puddles.
“Yes. I’ve been watching it, studying it. For our mission.” Saba didn’t even seem phased—by anything. It was as though she had surrendered to the will of God already, as though he moved her, directed her, and she was but his instrument. She was calmness itself, at peace with where she was, with what they were doing. It seemed almost as though the ultimate consequences of their actions were not to be their last. As though Saba had all the time in the world, and these weren’t her last few moments in it.
Nadia couldn’t help but admire her and wished she could be as composed or as resolute. They wanted the mission to be a success; they’d planned for it, prayed for it, and, it seemed, watched for it too. She still wasn’t sure she’d have been able to step foot inside this cesspit of human perversion to properly prepare, the way Saba had. But it was Allah’s will that they strike. And Allah’s will would be done.
Christmas carols blared annoyingly over loudspeakers, pouring out of every shop on the High Street. But this was the shop they had picked—the one that they had to destroy. The one that had destroyed so many hopes and dreams, so many lives. The very symbol of all that was wrong and festering in the society of infidels and kaffirs, with its mockery of wholesomeness displayed in the window for all to see. Children walked by and stared at the skimpy outfits. Red, barely-there-lace, green ribbon, and black fishnet stockings covered a mannequin in a lewd representation of a sexy Mother Christmas. This was the right thing to do. This was the only thing they could do. The weak and morally corrupt had taken the sweet and innocent symbols of their own defective religion and fouled it beyond redemption.
But perhaps it would be enough for her redemption. To atone for her own weakness. To want, to desire, another woman’s husband was a sin, one Nadia had fallen foul of. With all her heart, she wanted him for her own. But he was not free to be hers. And for her crime, her life was forfeit. At least in her martyrdom he might remember her name, if she could face her judgment with courage in her heart and purity colouring her soul.
“Are you ready?” Saba asked.
Nadia rubbed her hand across the protruding mound beneath her burqua. It had been cannily crafted to look like a developing pregnancy. Not an experience that would be in her future. Hers—theirs—was a higher calling, a calling unto God to mete out his wrath and bring justice in his name. This was her judgment day, and her entrance to heaven was ordained. No matter what other sins she had committed, she was a soldier. A warrior earning her place on the battlefield of icons and the rank stench of commercialism.
She glanced through the window again at the dozens of women touching scraps of cloth, giggling at squirming silicon objects, and grinning lecherously at goods piled high on shelves.
“Are you ready?” Saba asked again.
Nadia nodded. “Allah’s will be done.”
“Insha’allah.” Saba mirrored her gesture with her own “bump” and slipped her hand into her pocket. She pulled out a small switch and waited while Nadia did the same. She touched the two black boxes together—as the kaffirs did with glasses of alcohol when toasting good fortune—then turned towards the door. “Insha’allah,” she said again as the automatic doors slid open and they stepped foot inside the devil’s den.
Chapter 1
Gina glanced into the shop window at the Ann Summers High Street store and cringed. Stella seemed to have no such qualms. She looked a little excited, no, giddy at the prospect of walking into the adult shop.
“Have you been in here before, Stella?”
“Gina, I’ve been married and divorced three times.” She turned to look at her. “Of course I have.” She led Gina past a couple of pregnant Asian girls staring at the window display and through the automatic doors. “I wouldn’t have survived without a good vibrator.”
Gina shook her head, trying to dislodge the image Stella had firmly placed there. It wasn’t working. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Stella shrugged unrepentantly. “You invited me on this little shopping expedition.”
“Yes, for your advice. Not insights into your sex life.”
Stella lifted one blonde eyebrow and picked a skimpy gold bikini from one of the racks. “I think turnabout’s only fair play.” She checked the sizing label and dropped it back on th
e display rack with a sigh.
Gina frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Stella twirled her hand around. “You’ve asked me to come and help you pick out a Christmas gift for your girlfriend, Kate, my work colleague—the one I take the piss out of all the time and the one who returns the favour whenever she can. You don’t think you’ve put the odd image or two into my head?”
Gina swallowed. She hadn’t thought about it like that. “I’m sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Stella laughed. “It so was, and in January, Kate is never going to live this little expedition down. But in the meantime, I can keep a secret, and you said you needed some help.”
“Yes.”
“So what do you need help with?”
“Well, I haven’t exactly bought a gift for a girlfriend before.”
Stella nodded. “No, me either.”
Gina frowned. “I thought you were straight.”
“I am. Hence why I’ve never bought a gift for a girlfriend before.” She rolled her eyes at Gina.
Gina chuckled, partly at Stella, but mostly at her own nervousness. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
Stella shrugged. “So why did you invite me here?”
“Well, you’re her friend. I thought you might have a little insight.”
“Into her taste in sex toys?” Stella’s voice rose an octave. “Why the hell—”
“No. Lingerie.” Gina pointed towards the racks of silk negligees and short robes.
“Oh.” Stella’s eyebrows dropped from her hairline, and she blew out a heavy breath. “Well, that’s better, I suppose, but I still don’t know how much help I’ll be in this department. I mean, yes, we’re friends, but we’re work colleagues first. We talk about police stuff and take the piss out of each other.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what her tastes in this stuff are. Surely you’re better placed to know about that. You’re her lover, after all.”
Gina’s cheeks burned, and suddenly the carpet beneath her feet was incredibly interesting.
“Oh. Wow.” Stella wrapped her hand about Gina’s arm and tugged her close. She whispered in her ear, “You haven’t slept with her?”
Gina knew that even her ears would be red by now. She shook her head.
“But she is your girlfriend, right?”
Gina nodded.
“And we’re here.” Stella twirled her finger again to encompass the whole shop. “So is Kate the one stopping you two from doing the deed? Do you want to use this gift to entice her into your bed—”
“No! She’s been amazing about it all.”
Stella said nothing, but the question was clearly written on her face. She might as well have said the words. Why the hell not, then?
“It’s me.”
Stella smiled gently. “Well, if it wasn’t Kate, then I figured it had to be. I am a detective, you know.”
“I know.” Gina snorted a soft laugh, desperate to hide her embarrassment, and shook her head. She had no need to be embarrassed about her issue. It was something she was dealing with, something she’d made huge amounts of progress with in a really short time. With the help of her counsellor, Jodi, and Kate’s patience and understanding, of course.
“Want to talk about it?”
Gina did, but she didn’t at the same time. Her counselling sessions with Jodi about the attack Ally Robbins had carried out on her had been going really well. She was coming to terms with the scars that she carried as a result of Ally’s knife skills, and every day, she felt a little more like her old self. More like a woman who could be desirable. Less like the patchwork monster of Frankenstein fame. She’d made huge steps forward and knew she was ready to show Kate how she really felt about her. To share herself with her. But they’d waited so long now that she wanted—needed—it to be special.
Kate had told her about how she’d wanted to savour their first kiss before it had happened. To build up the anticipation and make it last, because they would only ever have one first kiss. And she fully intended that first kiss to be the last first kiss she ever had. Gina thought the idea was so very beautiful that she wished she’d had the forethought to savour it the same way. It was something she’d never even considered before. In the past, she hadn’t sought a relationship. She’d never expected anyone to stick around, anyway. Not with a precocious nine-year-old like Sammy as part of the package. Instead she’d sought out the occasional fling, and speed rather than memorability had been the order of the day.
Not anymore. She wanted this time, her and Kate’s first time together, to be perfect. The last first time. This—Kate, their new relationship, their future—all meant so much to her.
She knew how she felt about Kate—knew she loved her already—and this would be the first time she’d make love to a person she was truly in love with. This was the first time it really mattered. Her string of one-night stands and weekend flings may have satisfied her physically—sort of—but not one of her previous lovers had touched her heart. Touched her emotionally.
As far as she was concerned, Kate had already claimed her in every way that truly counted. Sex alone didn’t equate to the feeling of intimacy she got when she was alone with Kate. It was something she’d never experienced before. Something that wasn’t about the way someone touched or kissed. It came more from the sentiment behind it. She felt more—everything—when Kate simply held her in her arms than she had when other lovers had brought her to orgasm.
And Gina knew that part of the reason for that was the way Kate had refused to even contemplate the kind of connection Gina had become used to. More than a weekend, she’d said. I want more than just a weekend. No one had ever asked for that before. They’d simply taken what she offered and then gone away. Just like she’d wanted. Just like she’d expected. Once in a while, there had been someone with whom she’d hoped for more, had asked for more. Sure, babe, they’d said, then never called. So Gina had never asked anyone again.
But Kate had refused to even contemplate a relationship like that with her. More than a weekend, she’d said. And that had only been the start. Not only did Kate want more than a weekend, she wanted forever, and she was prepared to wait until Gina was ready to give her that. No rushing, no pushing, no pressure.
Well, Gina was ready now. No matter what demons she had to battle to prove it. “It was just everything that happened with Ally,” she told Stella. “I needed some time.”
Stella nodded and gave her the time and space to say more if she wanted to.
“To adjust.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“I get it.” Stella pulled down on the collar of her shirt to show the edge of a puckered pink scar. “I got caught by a glass breaking up a fight when I was still in uniform. This was before we all wore stab vests all the time. Tells you how old I am.” She chuckled. “Anyway, after it healed, I was very self-conscious about it. Didn’t help that my husband at the time was a prick who couldn’t look at it and keep it up. Said the scar made me look manly.” She let go of the fabric. “Reason enough for divorce number one, isn’t it?”
Gina nodded but didn’t say anything. Stella looked anything but manly. Heading north of forty, she was an attractive woman: blond hair that hung just below her ears in a short bob and was still blond, blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and mischief, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a slightly large nose. Her large bust and hips pointed to a few extra pounds, carried in all the right places, and her ex had to have been an idiot.
“Took me a while after that to trust a guy enough to let him see me without my clothes on. So, yeah, I get it. But the scar Carl inflicted—”
“Carl?”
“Ex-husband. Anyway, the scar he inflicted, reacting that way, was much worse than the one I still carry on my chest.”
“Exactly.”
“But Kate’s being supportive?”
Gina smiled and nodded. “She really has been. She couldn’t have been any better.”
“Good. Cos I happen to know sh
e’s got a decent collection of brand marks of her own.”
“I know. She showed me most of her scars, trying to show me that they didn’t matter to her at all.”
“Did she show you the one shaped like a fish?”
“On her hip?”
“Hip? Is that what we call that part of the body now?” Stella asked with a laugh.
“She said it was on her hip, sort of. I haven’t seen it. She said she was saving it. You’ve seen it?”
Stella wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. “It’s a beauty.”
“Where is it?”
Stella shook her head. “Nope. I’m not going to spoil her surprise for you.”
Gina stared at her. “Tell me.”
“Nope.”
“Please.”
“Uh-uh.”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my girlfriend.”
“Then get her to show you.”
“But why have you seen it and I haven’t?”
“Well, Gina,” Stella said and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I’ve seen the lovely Kate in all her glory.”
Gina’s eyes glazed over as she imagined the picture of Kate in all her glory. Green eyes shining, red hair glistening in the gentle light as one item of clothing after another disappeared from her body until nothing remained. She could imagine the tiny freckles that would cover her shoulders. Could imagine kissing them all and hearing Kate’s breath hitch in her chest. She could imagine tracing her fingers over each rib as she explored Kate’s body and made it her own.
“Wake up!” Stella snapped her fingers in front of Gina’s face. “Trust me, whatever you were imagining just then, and I do believe it was the lovely Kate in all her glory, the real thing is so much better.” Stella smiled. “She’s a gorgeous hunk of woman. If I were into girls, I’d have been in there like a shot.”
Gina licked her lips. “Bitch.”
Stella laughed. “I live to serve.”
“How have you seen her naked?”
“Changing room at work. She has a tendency to get herself into all sorts of messes. Haven’t you noticed that?”