Chapter 17

Worship Me

O ttilie took Monique to her room and cast an apprehensive look around. Still neat as a pin. She didn’t believe in letting standards drop just because she was away from home.

“Well.” Ottilie worried her hands in front of herself. She was in her maroon dress with three-quarter sleeves, which gave her face more color. She probably wouldn’t need more color at this moment, given it felt as though every capillary in her face were burning. “I’m never usually nervous,” she said. “But it has been a few years now. More than a few.”

She hadn’t been kissed, caressed, or even hugged for so long. How would this feel now? Especially given she was so much older than the last time she’d been intimate with anyone. The previous times hadn’t exactly set her world alight either. Was this a terrible idea?

Monique stood before her, beautiful. Intelligent. Interesting. Wanting her.

“Nervousness is only natural,” Monique said gently. “Are you worried about anything specific?”

Ottilie drew in a breath. “I have a few…hesitations.”

“Tell me.” Monique’s expression was so kind. “Please?”

“I don’t get very…” She sighed and sat on the end of the bed, looking down. “I’ve noticed as the years roll by…my arousal isn’t…as obvious. But it doesn’t mean I’m not interested.”

“You mean how wet you get?” Monique asked, after a pause as if to decipher her statement.

Ottilie felt her cheeks warm. “I meant that, yes.”

“Wetness isn’t the only sign of arousal. Shall we talk about how dilated your pupils are? The hardness of your nipples?” Monique’s gaze dropped to Ottilie’s chest and back. “The way you’re breathing deeply right now? I don’t need wetness to know you find this exciting. But I have all sorts of lubricant if you’d like.” Now Monique’s cheeks turned pink, as if her mind had gone certain places. “Flavored, nonflavored, and—”

“Monique.” Ottilie stopped her by reaching for her hand.

“Oh.” Monique supplied a sheepish look. “I suppose I’m rambling.”

“A little.” She smiled.

“I’ve thought about us like this for some time,” Monique explained. “And with those thoughts come doubts. What if you don’t like it? Especially after all my flirting; have I built up your expectations too high? I’m extremely good at sex in my professional realm, but this is not that. It’s different. And…I get nervous too.”

“Not just me with those thoughts, then.”

With a rueful look, Monique said, “I haven’t had sex just for fun for a long time. I mean work sex can be fun, of course, but it’s never…” She stopped. “This is personal . Do you understand? You’re personal. And suddenly I go from a confident expert to someone who’s putty, and nervous when you look at me the way you are doing now.”

“How am I looking at you?” Ottilie asked.

“Like you’re extremely tempted while also, maybe, trying to decide whether I’m worth the complications.”

“Ah.” Ottilie turned apologetic. “You really are good at reading people.”

“I am.” Monique lifted her hand to Ottilie’s face. “May I touch you? I love your cheekbones.”

Ottilie sat perfectly still. “Yes.”

Monique traced her face, just with her fingertips—from her temple, down her cheekbone, to her chin—then drifted up to brush the corner of Ottilie’s lips with the side of her thumb. “Beautiful.”

Ottilie shivered at the trails her fingertips had left. “I apologize in advance if I’m…well, what’s a word lower down than rusty ?”

“Exploring.” Monique leaned in and kissed the left edge of her mouth. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She kissed the right side. “Truly, I have no expectations. I just want you to feel good. I want to pleasure you and feel your touch on me. That’s it. That’s everything.”

Then she kissed her. Properly.

Ottilie tentatively kissed Monique back. Tingles of awareness shot through her. The sensation was exquisite, so much so, she gasped.

Monique drew away, her smile tender. “Lovely,” she whispered. “Already I’m mush. The things you do to me.” There, in her eyes, lay absolute conviction of her words. She slipped a finger under a lock of hair that had fallen over Ottilie’s eye and curled it out of the way. “Darling, there’s very little I’m not up for. Just ask. And we can go as slow as you’d like. We’ll go at your pace.”

Heat coursed through Ottilie at the possibilities. “I think I’ve waited far too long to go slow now. I’m more than ready.” She lifted her fingers to Monique’s glasses, removing them, and deposited them on the bedside table beside her well-thumbed copy of Steppenwolf .

She studied Monique, her breath catching. She’d believed her days of taking a lover were over, yet here she was, excited beyond any doubts. Everything about Monique was suddenly arousing. Her eyes, glossy hair, scent—tinged with earthiness and vanilla—wasn’t that ironic? Nothing about Monique was vanilla, except perhaps her skin cream. Ottilie inhaled her scent deeply, and, unable to resist, dropped a small, teasing kiss under her ear. She pulled back a small distance, watching.

Monique’s pupils dilated. “Darling,” she whispered. “The way you look at me. You will ruin me. And I’ll welcome it.”

O ttilie gazed into her intense eyes and was overwhelmed by a rush of pleasure. She leaned in and kissed her, loving the sensation of her tongue against Monique’s exploring one.

After a moan, Monique murmured, “God, I’ve missed this. Kissing. Intimacy.”

It was so heartfelt.

Ottilie drew her down for another, deeper, kiss, enjoying how incredible it felt to make Monique Carson, sex goddess, moan. Her lover seemed to be turning liquid under her kisses. When they parted, Ottilie held her gaze, appreciating how Monique simply waited for her. No pressure.

“Still good, darling?”

“I normally don’t enjoy being kissed,” Ottilie admitted. “It feels too much. Too personal. I’m not comfortable with granting anyone so much access to me.”

“That I understand,” Monique said. “Kissing is one of the most intimate parts of sex. That’s why I don’t allow it with clients.” She trailed fingertips over her cheekbone once more.

Ottilie drew in a breath. “I find kissing you, feels…” Loving? Ottilie wasn’t about to say that. “It’s not about being conquered. Dominated . With you, it feels like receiving a gift.”

Monique’s dark eyes softened. “That’s how it feels for me too.”

Ottilie kissed her again, deeper this time, her hands pressing into Monique’s hair, stroking her scalp, raking it with her blunt fingernails. Her excitement grew as their tongues touched and tangled. Between her thighs, arousal started to ignite. This time it was Ottilie who moaned.

For long, languid moments they kissed, getting used to each other’s mouths, lips, taste, and touch. Ottilie’s breathing grew ragged.

“Your mouth is dangerous,” Monique said, her own voice deep and rough, when they at last came up for air. “I could get lost, kissing you for hours.”

“Later,” Ottilie said urgently. “Right now…do you mind if we progress things?”

“You only ever need ask.” Monique took a step or two back, and slowly began to remove her blouse and pants, never taking her attention off Ottilie. Now only clad in her bra—crimson—and panties—black—her hands dropped to her side, allowing Ottilie to soak her in.

She was an intoxicating sight. Femininity and power combined. Strong, wide shoulders, a tumble of rich dark-brown hair, pebbling crimson nipples pushing against her see-through bra, a soft swell across her stomach, and thighs rounder and stronger than she seemed to possess when fully dressed.

“You’re so…symmetrical,” Ottilie teased.

“No higher praise.” Monique chuckled.

“And beautiful. So very beautiful,” Ottilie said seriously this time.

At that, Monique drew in a shaky breath, clearly understanding how rare that descriptor was for her. “Thank you, darling. I think you’re magnificent.” She held out her hand. “Now, let’s undress you. No need to be shy. It’s just me.”

Ottilie took Monique’s hand and stood. Then, with trembling fingers, she undid the zip a little at the back of her dress, tugging it off her shoulders.

She realized this was the first time in years that she’d undressed in front of anyone outside a medical setting. She felt exposed. What would Monique make of her flaws? She had many that she’d hidden for years. At the reminder, she suddenly stopped undressing.

“Allow me,” Monique said, coming to stand behind her. Her hands froze on the zip. “Oh, Ottilie,” she whispered.

As she’d feared. “Beirut,” Ottilie said curtly, as her neck and cheeks heated. “I was freed, as I said, but there was a price.” She hesitated. “I know it’s not pretty.”

Monique lowered her lips to the scarred shoulder blades and kissed.

“You don’t have to do that,” Ottilie said. “I promise you don’t.”

“I think I do.” Monique kissed her way down as she slowly removed Ottilie’s dress, then returned and undid her bra. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“Please don’t think about it anymore. It’ll ruin our moment.”

Monique took the hint and pushed Ottilie’s dress and bra entirely off her torso, down her arms.

Feeling even more exposed, Ottilie wondered what her younger lover made of her aging body. She’d once been toned and fit, with not a line or wrinkle in sight. She might keep herself supple with yoga and be fond of her highly effective age-defying elixirs, but she was still a woman of certain years. There was nowhere to hide now.

But then Monique came to the front, met her eye, and said sincerely, “You’re gorgeous,” before sliding Ottilie’s dress over her hips and the rest of the way down.

Ottilie now stood only in her lace panties—French mulberry silk.

Monique’s approving gaze as she touched the ivory material did wonders for Ottilie’s confidence. “A woman of exceptional taste, I see,” Monique said, running a finger along the lacy band.

“I like a private treat,” Ottilie admitted. “A little luxury just for myself.”

“A treat for us both, I think.” Monique’s fingers trailed around Ottilie’s hips, appreciating the fabric. “It’s so sensual, begging to be stroked.”

The cool air and Monique’s lingering touch tightened Ottilie’s nipples. She clasped her hands nervously in front of her stomach.

Monique’s eyes darkened, her distraction over the undergarment forgotten. “I love your breasts. May I kiss them?”

Ottilie glanced down at her large breasts and dark-red nipples. What did Monique see that made her look so hungry? “Yes.”

Closing on one crinkling nipple with her lips, Monique plucked the other with her fingers.

Arousal prickled through Ottilie, slow at first, before flaring and spreading lower. Squirming under the pleasant sensations, Ottilie murmured, “Monique?”

Letting go of the nipple with a cheeky plop , Monique looked up. “Darling?”

“I’d like to see you too.”

Monique flashed her a roguish grin. “But of course.” She took a step back and shucked her bra, giving it a salacious twirl before letting it fly. Then she lowered her black lace panties down her full thighs until they hit the floor. Now completely nude, she straightened. “Here I am.”

She certainly was. How larger than life Monique seemed when naked. Perhaps it was her confidence and awareness of her own beauty that made her seem more . Whatever the reason, it was rather like being faced with a magnificent nude of Venus.

Ottilie was suddenly not sure where to look. She discovered she wanted to look, quite badly.

Monique widened her legs slightly and said, “I love the way you’re reacting to my body. It’s doing wonders for my ego.” She gave a low chuckle, then slightly thrust out her breasts. They were much smaller than Ottilie’s but so very delectable. And so very close.

Ottilie took her all in. Obviously, she’d seen naked women before. In passing in gym locker rooms. No lingering there, and no interest. But now…Ottilie dwelled.

Her gaze traced Monique’s delicious flesh and curves and then dropped to between her legs. Her lovely trimmed dark thatch of hair was already slick.

Monique’s hand drifted down. “Look at how you arouse me,” she said, voice a low rasp. “You do this to me.” And she spread her folds.

Oh God. Ottilie’s face was on fire. Her breathing quickened.

“You can touch me,” Monique said gently. “If that’s what you would like to do. Or should we start with you, hmm? I would greatly enjoy that.”

Ottilie didn’t think she’d survive if Monique started with her. No, she wanted a taste first, to experience what the tempting woman was offering while she could still think straight—so to speak.

Sitting on the very edge of the bed, now at waist height to Monique, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Monique’s soft stomach, then slowly drew her mouth lower. When she made contact with her wetness there and tickled her folds with her tongue, Monique gasped.

Her hands shot out to Ottilie’s shoulders to steady herself. “ Oh! Fuck! ”

Invitation accepted, Ottilie licked and sucked, rubbing her nose and mouth and teeth, savoring the piquant arousal. Making this confident, assured woman wobble, sway, and gasp was incredible. Ottilie felt as powerful as a god. She ran her hands all over her fleshy hips and thighs as her mouth explored her.

Monique trembled when Ottilie did certain actions, so she repeated them, lapping a squishy, slippery rhythm against her sensitive nerves.

“Oh,” Monique cried out. “Oh, yes. Do that again!”

Ottilie obeyed. And then, feeling bold, she slipped a finger between Monique’s legs, pausing at the entrance. Circling the wetness. Waiting. Circling…

“Yes,” Monique urged her. “Yes!”

Sliding inside, feeling the warmth and pull of Monique’s deepest place, Ottilie began to push and retreat as her tongue continued to draw patterns over her nub.

Monique’s thighs began to tremble and wobble. The hands on Ottilie’s shoulders clenched her painfully. She cried out Ottilie’s name over and over and then stopped mid syllable on Otti —

Ottilie’s tongue became awash with Monique’s arousal. Oh, what a wonderful aphrodisiac .

Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to experience this herself. But for once in Ottilie’s assured life, she didn’t know how to ask for the thing she wanted most.

Monique shifted onto the bed, rolling onto her back, her legs falling apart, revealing her arousal. She patted the bed beside herself and, tone molten, said, “Come.”

Sliding beside Monique, Ottilie stared at the ceiling, trying to control her breathing, chest rising and falling quickly, wondering how she’d become so desperate. She’d always appreciated control. Self-discipline. And she was very close to simply letting all of that go.

Monique said nothing for a moment, but Ottilie felt herself being watched. She could almost hear her smile when Monique said in a husky tone, “I’ll get the lube.”

Ottilie was relieved at her lover’s ability to understand exactly what she needed without Ottilie having to ask.

She slid down her underwear, folded it precisely, and then, at a loss as to what exactly to do with it, placed the damp silk square next to Steppenwolf . Rather fitting, really, since it was a book about the duality of man—his higher self and his more animalistic, lower nature. Her own animalistic self was definitely winning tonight, and she had no regrets.

Fidgeting impatiently, Ottilie waited, self-conscious at her own nudity but so aroused, she didn’t even try to hide herself. Her pale body, with so many soft mounds and curves, seemed laid out like a model in a Renaissance painting—fleshy, flushed, and ready for her lover.

Monique returned, then prowled across the bed, a small tube now in her hand. “This is odorless and flavorless, but delightfully effective. May I?”

Heart thundering at the thought of where Monique was about to touch her, Ottilie parted her legs. “Please,” she croaked.

Monique squirted a dollop of lube onto her fingers and rubbed them together. “It can be too cold otherwise,” she said, with a small smile. “I don’t want to give you a shock.”

Considerate. She nodded tightly.

“May I go inside too?”

“Yes.” Ottilie’s nostrils flared as Monique gently slid her oiled fingers all around her lower lips. Up and around her clit—that felt heavenly—then down to her entrance and then deeper still, slowly pushing a finger inside her, up to the second knuckle.

So aroused was she that Ottilie cried out, shocking herself. She was never usually vocal.

Their eyes locked as Monique again and again drew her fingers up and over and inside Ottilie. “I’m going to lick you now,” she said. “I’m going to tongue you until you can’t see straight, and then I’ll fuck you with my fingers until you’re crying out with pleasure.”

Ottilie gasped at the imagery.

But Monique started much lower. The soft inner thigh was her focus and she kissed her way up until she was breathing heavily on Ottilie’s most sensitive area. Her gaze met Ottilie’s, asking unspoken permission.

“Yes,” she gasped out, her chest heaving. “Yes!”

Her tongue on Ottilie’s pussy was rough and warm, thick and nimble, and so very skilled.

Two of Monique’s fingers entered deep inside her and began thrusting. “You feel incredible, darling.”

Ottilie couldn’t speak beyond a strained moan, but she definitely agreed.

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. You’re so beautiful. I see you, Ottilie. I want you so much.”

Ottilie clenched around her fingers as butterfly-light sensations started to flutter inside.

“Will you come? Will you lose control for me?” Monique tongued her clit with purpose now. She murmured into Ottilie’s sensitive flesh, “I want to see you trembling under my mouth. I want to see your walls crash down. I want to see you truly naked.”

Her tongue lashed her clit again, and Ottilie contracted and shuddered, her orgasm building.

So close!

“Show me,” Monique demanded in a low voice. “Show me what you look like…naked.” She thrust hard and added, “God, you make me so wet right now. I might come again.”

Ottilie couldn’t hold back anymore. Her head tilted backwards, and she gasped over and over until her throat was raw. The endorphin rush was sublime. Shuddering against Monique’s mouth, she finally cried out.

Monique whispered against her slick folds, “Lovely. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

As if she’d had much choice; she was helpless against that wicked tongue. Ottilie exhaled, feeling so sticky and sated and warm. It was like coming home and realizing she hadn’t even noticed she’d been away.

“On me,” she rasped. “Please, I need you on top of me.”

Monique obeyed immediately and positioned herself over her, easing her body onto her.

“ All of you .” She didn’t want kid gloves. She wanted the pressure, the feeling of having been taken, of being surrounded by heat and flesh.

“Of course, darling.” Monique pressed her weight fully onto Ottilie.

God. It was sublime . The crush of her, the sweaty, scalding, delicious heaviness of her magnified all those last-gasp twitches still firing inside Ottilie. She felt almost gathered up. Their breasts were pressed together, and Monique started slowly rocking their hips, pushing their centers into each other.

Ottilie trembled again, rubbing against her over and over. Bliss.

“How are you feeling?” Monique whispered against her neck. “All good?”

“Oh. Yes.” The heaviness was starting to feel exactly that, so Ottilie tapped one of her biceps.

Monique took the hint and rolled off her.

“Well,” Ottilie said, breathing still unsteady, “I greatly enjoyed that.”

“I’m so glad, darling.” Monique pulled her in so they were side by side. Now their breasts and bellies and knees touched. It felt almost more intimate.

Monique’s hands drifted to Ottilie’s back, across the uneven surface, pressing her palm into them. It was so reassuring. Welcoming.

To her own astonishment, Ottilie’s eyes pricked with tears.

Snatching her hand off her back, Monique said, “I’m sorry, is that painful?”

“No! Not at all. I don’t feel my scars. I’m not sure why I’m so…”

Monique frowned, as if doubting her reassurance.

“I promise it doesn’t hurt. I had a team of doctors and all sorts of experts who patched me up and tried to make me whole, heart and soul.”

“Did they succeed?” Monique asked gently. She returned her hand to Ottilie’s uneven back, smoothing circles across her.

“They did their best,” Ottilie said diplomatically. “And that’s all I could ask for.”

“How… Is it okay to ask how you got them? I mean, specifically?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean, ask me tomorrow,” Ottilie said. “I don’t want to think about what happened now. Tonight’s been so enjoyable.”

“I understand.”

Ottilie drew in a small breath and pulled away. “So, what happens now?”

“Regarding?” Monique’s expression turned puzzled.

“Well, do you need to return to your own bed, or…”

“Or?” Monique asked, a smile edging into her face.

“If you’d like to stay, I can make space. Here. I’d…like that, if you would too.”

“I’d love to stay,” Monique said, then paused. “You understand, this has been a very long time for me.”

Ottilie eyed her, confused. “Spending the night with someone?”

“That too. I meant, I allowed you inside me. I save that intimacy only for lovers. People I’m…greatly fond of.”

Ottilie turned “fond of” over and decided she liked how that felt. “I appreciate that. Well, please feel free to stay. But no kicking off the blankets. I run cold.”

“I’d beg to differ, darling,” Monique teased. “I definitely beg to differ.”

* * *

The next morning, Ottilie found herself being snuggled. By a naked woman. Who was also a sex fantasies expert. And the CEO of a world-leading investment company. All of these facts were unusual, but it was the “being snuggled” part that stuck out most in her brain.

Without thinking too hard about it, Ottilie pressed herself deeper into Monique’s soft embrace. The feeling of her lover was delicious, and she wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. Last night’s sex…well. It had been special. She’d felt respected and adored, and her body had lit up and responded. Her skin still tingled at the memories.

Who would have thought she would find passion at her age? And not just with anyone, but a sex professional. There was little doubt Monique had skills and an awareness of the human body that was sublime. Well, if Ottilie was going to acquire a new diversion, she might as well start her education with an expert.

She felt younger than she had in years. She snuggled— yes, snuggled —even further into Monique’s warmth, loving the feeling of her body behind her.

“Darling?” came Monique’s sleep-heavy voice. “You wish another round? Or are we being affectionate?”

“Affectionate. I’m not ready for more calisthenics just yet. I’m a retiree, for goodness’ sake.”

Monique laughed throatily. “Could have fooled me. You wore me out too.”

“You deserved it. Those eyes? That body? As if I could resist,” she said archly.

“Ah, it’s my fault for being so beautiful,” Monique drawled.

“Precisely.” Ottilie exhaled. “I’m glad we did this. I’m sixty-five. Far too old to have not said yes more often over the years. I should have taken more chances.”

“I’m fifty-two.” Monique sighed. “And I’ve been so focused on playing it safe that I haven’t been taking any chances. Oh, but I am a master of rationalizing why that works so well for me.”

“ Does it work well?” Ottilie asked, tone gentle. She turned over in Monique’s arms to study her face.

“Absolutely.” Monique smiled ruefully. “If you only want to feel nothing but safe. The operative words being feel nothing . But recently I’ve discovered I want to risk being outside my comfort zone for the experience of being with you. God, it’s terrifying, though, opening myself up after so long.”

“Emotions generally are like that,” Ottilie said gravely. “I’m usually not a fan of them.”

“Well, then. Look at us being all brave.” Monique laughed.

“Oh, I don’t feel that it’s courage I lack,” Ottilie said, thinking about it. “My problem is remembering that life’s meant to be lived. It’s all too easy for me to forget and focus on other things. Things that don’t really matter.”

“I won’t let you forget.” Monique’s hands slipped around Ottilie’s waist, tracing over her curves, stroking her stomach lazily, then trailing across to her hips. “I promise I’ll help you do a lot of living in our time we have together.”

Ottilie quivered at the thought. “I like the sound of that.”

“By the way, thank you, for saying yes to us,” Monique said, gaze earnest. “Honestly, I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t think I would either.” At Monique’s raised eyebrows, Ottilie added, “Because I didn’t think I would take anyone to my bed ever again. As I said, I get set in my ways, so focused on my goals. Then one day I’ll stop and glance around and see what my world has become, and it’s dreary. Insular. And small. My world, Monique, is now scarily small.”

“It doesn’t have to be. There’s so much to see and do and experience.” Her fingers drifted up to Ottilie’s cheek, leaving a sparking trail of heat.

“I know,” she agreed. “The closer I got to my retirement, the more I started to notice all these little things, things I’d flown past. Imperfect things or unusual things, but all interesting. Definitely worth pausing for.” She looked at Monique. “I think, now, a little chaos and untidiness and loss of control is exactly what I need. I’m not dead yet. I don’t want to be.”

“You’re far too young to be thinking of death.” Monique slipped her hand into Ottilie’s hair, playing with its texture. “Far too young to not be devouring life fiercely.”

“That was my conclusion too,” Ottilie said. She smiled. “I do love the sound of that.”

They gazed at each other for long moments, and Monique dropped a small kiss on her lips. Ottilie met her halfway and kissed her properly.

After drawing apart, Monique said gently, “Soooo, it’s morning.”

“Yes?”

“I hope it’s okay to ask. But last night, you said you might explain…” She drifted her fingertips to Ottilie’s back. “I’ve had a number of clients who are military vets with similar wound patterns. Was it shrapnel? From a blast?”

Ottilie closed her eyes. She’d have to talk about it sooner or later, she supposed. Besides, the broader events weren’t classified anymore. An investigative reporter had seen to that.

“I won’t push if you don’t want to talk about it,” Monique said softly.

“No. It’s… I’m ordering my thoughts.”

Monique waited, still lightly stroking her back. “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”

Ottilie shook her head. “My neck is the main problem.”

“I’m sorry. Necks are the worst.”

“They tried to fix it properly at Walter Reed, but there was only so much they could do.”

With so much gentleness, Monique asked, “Will you tell me what happened?”

Ottilie drew in a breath. She sincerely hoped Monique’s reaction to her ordeal would be different than that of the military psychologist she’d endured. Even the reminder tensed her.

“It was late 1984,” she said. “I was twenty-four, in Beirut, and spoke several languages, including Arabic. A wealthy businessman hired me as an English and math tutor for his two little boys. Rumors were circulating that he was funding a high-ranking Hezbollah commander. He was suspicious of everyone, but he decided he trusted me because he thought I was German. It was not safe to be an American in Lebanon at the time, so I did not disabuse him of this notion.”

“Makes sense,” Monique murmured.

“Then on March 8, 1985, a car bomb went off, killing over eighty people and injuring its intended target, Sheik Mohammed Hussein Fadlallah, who was believed by many in the intelligence community to be the commander and spiritual leader of Hezbollah. The man who’d employed me to tutor his sons was caught in the blast and died instantly.”

Distaste filled her mouth at what followed. “Foreign nationals were being captured by Fadlallah’s enraged soldiers. I was warned by some well-placed associates to get out. My employer had been a widower, and I couldn’t just abandon his children, so I instead rushed them to their grandmother’s house that night. But the grandmother had been suspicious of me from day one and turned me in.”

Monique’s breath hissed.

“I was rounded up along with several groups of hostages. Any low-value targets were executed on the spot.”

“You weren’t seen as a low-value target, though,” Monique said. “Why?”

“Due to the grandmother’s suspicions, they wanted to interrogate me to check my story before deciding what to do with me. The situation was chaotic. The US government said it had no spies on the ground. They told Hezbollah there would be no ransoms or prisoner exchanges for any of us. The guards told us often that we’d been abandoned.”

Monique stared in dismay. “What the hell? Were they really doing nothing? What was all this even about?”

“Journalist Bob Woodward revealed what had gone on behind the scenes much later, so it’s no longer a secret: On September 20, 1984, three months before I was in Beirut, a truck bomb killed two dozen people at the US embassy in Aukar, Lebanon. In retaliation, the US government sent in CIA-trained foreign intelligence agents in specialist teams to get inside Hezbollah terrorist operations. A few operatives were there to observe and report; most were there to do worse.”

“Worse?”

“That car bomb attempt on Fadlallah’s life was carried out by CIA-trained Lebanese intelligence operatives.” Ottilie pursed her lips. “President Reagan’s national security adviser said the car bombers had acted on their own. Not America’s fault.”

“Convenient.”

“All lies are.”

“But how does any of this relate to you?” Monique asked.

“Some of the CIA-trained foreign agents sent in, the ones who were just watching, seemed unassuming. Innocuous, even.”

“Like…a tutor? For a businessman’s children.”

“That is one example of how it might work. Of course, as an American, I wasn’t a foreign operative. I sounded a bit foreign, though, and my department head thought that was extremely useful. Even before I left, he told me that he’d say I’d gone rogue if I confessed to anything politically inconvenient under torture.”

“Charming.” Monique’s eyes narrowed.

“Practical. At least from his point of view.” She gave a small shrug. “Anyway, my hostage group knew from the start we were alone.”

“How terrifying.” Monique’s hand began rubbing soothing circles along her arm. “Were you all CIA?”

“Officially, none of us were. The clearly identified Americans were all kept together, and they were who Hezbollah focused on interrogating first.”

“Were you with them?” Monique asked. Horror crept into her expression.

“No,” Ottilie said. “My group contained all the foreigners who weren’t American. Well, at least as far as Hezbollah knew. I did recognize one man as being from the US embassy, which also meant he was CIA, although he had his captors convinced he was South African. Another man looked Egyptian, but his mannerisms, body language, and speech patterns told me he was almost certainly an ex-Marine. And to them, I was a simple German tutor, caught up in the mess through no fault of my own.”

“The other hostages didn’t know about you?”

“As I said, officially, no one knew anything. I’m fairly sure my cover was intact but it wasn’t safe to discuss anything personal.” She gave a twisted smile. “We all realized two things quickly: If we were to get out, we had to do it ourselves. And one of the guards was not like the others. He was born in Lebanon, but with his light hair and skin, he looked nothing like a Hezbollah foot soldier. We speculated that perhaps he was some commander’s bastard son. The other guards ostracized him, which was useful, since he was often left alone with our group.”

“He got you out?”

Ottilie glared at her. “ I got us out. He was the instrument.”

Monique blinked. “How did you get out?”

“He took a liking to me. I allowed it. I”—Ottilie’s lips thinned—“encouraged it. I eventually did a trade with him, if he let me make a call to my poor sick mother to tell her I was alive. Needless to say, I called someone else instead.”

“What did you have to trade?” Monique asked, dread filling her features.

“What do you think?” Ottilie stared at her in astonishment. “Seriously, what do you think I had to offer? I was twenty-four and apparently attractive and had caught his eye. The US embassy hostage got in my ear the moment he noticed it, suggesting what I should do. I thought about it for days, but I knew he was right. I also knew he’d have done the same thing if our guard had taken a liking to him instead. He was pragmatic and astute. We understood each other.”

“So you…seduced him? The guard?”

“I allowed him to think he seduced me. He’d take me into another room and talk to me in Arabic about his family and how he had no friends or wife because he looked so foreign. Sometimes he’d touch my blonde hair and call me jameela —beautiful. He only…traded…with me once, but I was taken to be alone with him often.”

Ottilie ground her jaw. “Apart from the CIA man, the other hostages could barely even look at me each time I returned to the cell. Their reactions were enraging .” Her hands clenched. “Especially the ex-Marine, who looked at me with so much disgust. I was the one getting us freed, and yet he acted like I was a…” She pursed her lips.

“Whore.” Monique finished for her in resignation. “Yes. I know that look well.”

Ottilie nodded. “What a judgmental, loaded word that is. To this day, hearing it makes me furious.”

Monique’s arms wrapped tightly around her. “Trust me, I understand. What happened next?”

“After the trade, he kept his word and allowed me my call. I phoned my ‘mother’ and left a coded message as to our whereabouts. Three days later, there was a raid by foreign soldiers. Not US Special Forces, of course—the government was still busy denying everything—but their technique and equipment were familiar: They came in loud and fast, throwing flashbangs to disorient the guards. Unfortunately, flashbangs pick up gravel and any detritus lying around. As the person nearest the door, I was left with terrible injuries.”

“Your back?”

“Yes. The concussive force flung me hard into the floor, herniated a disc, and caused some small fractures in my vertebra. My neck was never the same.”

Ottilie could still smell the next memory. She hated the stench of it, the room, the explosives, the blood. “Before I was injured, though…I shot him in the head.”

Monique choked. “What?”

“The guard. The one who…whom I manipulated.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “He saw the rescue soldiers before anyone else. He pulled out his rifle. The ex-Marine rushed him, and they wrestled. The rifle skidded across the floor. I retrieved it and shot him in the head. The man was a terrorist, yet his last expression was shock at my ‘betrayal.’”

“Oh, darling.”

“I’m not sorry.” She tightened her jaw. “I’d do it again.”

Monique swallowed.

Ottilie rubbed her neck, trying to ease the growing ache. “But that was that. I was sent home and assigned a desk job after my recovery. Hezbollah kept blowing things up and taking Americans hostage—so, essentially, life went on exactly as it had done.” She shook her head. “Politically, what I went through wasn’t worth a damned thing. It altered nothing except for the lives of those hostages. We’re forever changed. I see the ex-Marine every now and then. He guards a senior political figure in DC. He still can’t look me in the eye.”

“Because you destroyed his ego.”

“I freed him! Along with everyone else.”

“In his mind, that was his job. He failed. You went through that because he failed .”

“Oh.” Ottilie hadn’t thought of it like that. “That’s hardly my fault.” She scowled. “Well. He’s still ungrateful.” She shook her head in irritation at the reminder. “So, are you sorry you asked?”

“No,” Monique said. “Never. My God, what you’ve been through. You were so brave.”

“You understand?” Ottilie asked as she met Monique’s gaze. “I did what had to be done. No, it wasn’t pleasant, certainly not how one pictures their first time. But the man wasn’t violent or unkind. He was gentle and said he had feelings for me. He wanted me to see him as good . But he was also a terrorist. I never forgot that, even if he did. I am free today because of my actions. Twelve others in my group are too. It’s that simple.”

Monique’s voice cracked. “You hadn’t been with anyone before him?”

“ Don’t, ” Ottilie said sharply. “The military psychologist I was assigned was all torn up about that too. She thought I was in denial because I wasn’t beating my chest over it. But never forget, this was my choice. I didn’t have to do it. Every step of the way, I had the power.”

“The guard had the power. It wasn’t a choice you would have made otherwise.”

“Of course it wasn’t. But I decided I wanted to get out, and I took effective measures.”

“Yes. Still, I’m sorry for what you had to give up to be free.”

Ottilie’s lips thinned. “I was forced to discuss this with my appointed psychologist endlessly. No one I talked to seemed to believe me when I told them that I switched off, did what was necessary, and, most importantly, I was fine . My spirit was never violated. But this was seen as evidence I was lying to myself. It was most…frustrating.”

Monique frowned. “Being fine with what you went through is good but not…usual.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” Ottilie drew in a deeper breath. “And I don’t blame people for being appalled by both my pragmatism and my refusal to feel as bad about it as they did. I know it’s not normal. But this is who I am. It’s how I’m wired: pragmatic to the bone.”

Monique regarded her quietly. “I couldn’t have done that. It’s not just that the guard was male and I’m extremely lesbian, but I can’t disassociate like you. I’m always there, all the time, in the moment. I’m truly glad for your sake, though, that you were able to disconnect. You’re so strong mentally.”

“I simply rewrote the narrative in my head: I manipulated a gullible young man with feelings for a hostage until he did what I wanted. I’m not a victim of abuse by someone with power over me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Monique said. “And I see now that’s why you were so affected by what the senator did to you. That night, you couldn’t rewrite the narrative. You did feel like a victim. You seem to be most affected when you feel your power has been taken from you.”

Ottilie considered that. “That is true. I couldn’t just compartmentalize Kensington’s actions and simply…move on.”

“And when you saw her again, it all came back.”

“And that’s why I’m grateful for your words that evening after I’d dealt with her. They were calming and helpful. You put things into perspective. That, more than anything else, is why we’re together now. You impress me.”

“And you, me. You’re unique, Ottilie.”

“That’s what the psychologists decided in the end. I flummoxed them to the point that they finally threw their hands up.” She rolled her eyes. “I think I broke them.” Ottilie paused. “But the bottom line on that period of my life is I have no regrets. None.”

Monique rested her forehead against Ottilie’s. “Nothing I’ve heard has changed my opinion of you. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met. I never even guessed at half of what you’re capable of. I’m normally so good at reading people. And now I’m also aware I should treat you with enormous respect.” Her lips twitched.

“A wise decision. One Kensington has learned to her cost.” A savage delight threaded through her at the woman’s latest public disgrace.

“So that was you, then?” Monique asked. “Her Chefgate scandal?”

“Why do they add a - gate to everything?” Ottilie protested. “The media has no imagination.”

“They really don’t.”

“And Ita May isn’t a chef . A very talented cook, yes, but not a chef. I suppose Cookgate sounds odd. But still…”

“You like precision,” Monique teased.

“I really do. Last I heard, Ita May has signed a cookbook deal.” Pleasure filled Ottilie at the reminder. “That should rub Kensington’s nose in her disgrace even more. It’s all worked out even better than I’d hoped.”

“I have to say I loved your revenge scheme,” Monique said. “Especially given it will prevent the former senator from getting any political power in the future.”

Ottilie dropped her head to Monique’s shoulder, feeling pleased. “Thank you for not judging me, by the way. For how I felt after Beirut. For not putting me through the same incredulity I endured with my psychologist. Oh, she tried so hard not to judge me and be professional, but I could read her too well. God, it was draining. I’m too over everything to go through that all again.”

“I’ve met far too many people to not know that everyone’s reaction to stress and trauma is different. There’s no one-size-fits-all reaction, no one right way to deal with anything.”

“Exactly. Although, personally, I’m prepared to defer to your special expertise as a way of dealing with my terribly troubled past,” Ottilie deadpanned.

“Are you trying to con a lot of therapy sex out of me?” Monique lifted a playful eyebrow.

“Indeed I am. Is it working?”

“Yes.” Monique’s arms encircled more tightly around her. “I would very much like to snuggle you for a very long time. Among other things.”

“Monique?” Ottilie asked quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Will you tell me why you don’t have friends?”

Silence fell. Ottilie glanced at her to see if she had fallen asleep. Instead, anxious dark eyes were watching her.

“I apologize,” Ottilie said. “It’s for you to decide if you want to share. That is your choice.”

“And if I don’t share…you’ll withdraw your friendship?” Monique sounded tense now.

“No. I know trust must be earned. If you don’t feel you trust me, I will accept that.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. It’s just, what happened…it’s humiliating.”

“As is working for The Fixers,” Ottilie said evenly. “I didn’t anticipate you ever learning that secret, but here we are. You know more about me than anyone alive now. I’m still not sure how you did that.”

Monique gave a soft smile. “I’m perceptive. And highly invested.”

Ottilie smiled back.

“I wasn’t always,” Monique said with a sigh. “Perceptive. I was, in fact, rather dense as a young woman. Foolish.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I took it to new levels.” Monique drew in a breath. “Look, I don’t have friends because I didn’t want to be hurt again. That’s all it boils down to. I’m a coward. So my philosophy was: no new friends who might betray me, no intimate partners who might break my heart.”

“I’m sorry.” Ottilie’s heart squeezed in sympathy.

Monique closed her eyes for a moment. “I was eighteen, living in Paris. When you’re a teenage model, you get assigned a mentor. Someone who’s been there, done that, and knows the pitfalls. My model mentor was Stacy. She was from England and had so much grace, so much elegance. I was smitten.”

“You were in love?”

“Not as you might think: not romantically, or even sexually. I felt I was too far out of her league to even countenance that. But I was her most devoted, starstruck student. Every day, she’d cup my cheek and tell me she was looking out for me. And…she said to trust no one else. That modeling was a vicious snake pit. Trust her, though, and I’d be fine. Only her.”

“ Only her,” Ottilie said, sensing where this was going.

“I’m not sure how she managed it, but over time I became so dependent on her for advice on everything. She was telling me what to eat, how to dress, and the people I was allowed to be friends with. It amused her when I started my ‘little investment hobby’ as she called it, so she didn’t fight that. But everything else, she dictated my every move.”

“She was controlling.”

“She was more than that. Stacy was my whole world. But I couldn’t see her for what she was. Other models around me expressed concern. The manager of my modeling agency floated having Stacy replaced. I was enraged and decided they didn’t have my interests at heart.”

“Unlike Stacy,” Ottilie murmured. “The only one you could trust.”

“Exactly.” Monique hesitated and admitted, “It was Stacy who hooked me on cocaine.”

Ottilie’s eyes widened.

Shame flooded Monique’s face. “I know. I was twenty by then and under her spell. ‘All the girls are doing it,’ she told me. ‘It keeps models thin . It’s not as addictive as people say.’ I loved food and was struggling to stay rail-thin. I’d be at the gym for hours. Her solution seemed so much simpler. Besides, I trusted her implicitly. And, yes, it kept me thin… and turned me into an addict. Later, I felt so incredibly stupid, so used. That was the last time I ever allowed someone autonomy over my body. What the hell was I thinking?”

“That must be hard to face.” Ottilie couldn’t imagine how ashamed Monique must have felt by her younger self’s choices.

“It was. One of the reasons my modeling company let me go was that I was too distracted. Partly due to my new finance business. But also because I was a drug addict. The manager told me she was sending me home for my own good. She hoped I’d get clean and get a clue and look her up again if I sorted myself out.”

“Did that happen?”

“No. Even after being fired, I still didn’t believe I had a major problem. Why was I being singled out if all the girls were doing coke, I wondered. Why was my manager trying to break Stacy and I up? She was my only real friend, the only person I trusted.”

“I assume that at some point you realized she’d broken your trust?”

“Oh, yes. Although, not just broken my trust. Stacy shattered my heart. My faith in people. In even the idea of friendship. After that, I kept everyone at arm’s length. It was emotionally safer. And I was getting plenty of physical affection from an active sex life. I had so many people I could socialize with—on a surface level—if I needed to, so I couldn’t see the benefit of friendship at all.”

“How did you get off the drugs?” Ottilie stopped. A worrying thought flitted through her. “I’m assuming you did?”

Monique gave her a measured look. “I have been clean for twenty-five years.”

“I apologize.” Ottilie looked down. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” Monique said crisply. “It’s a valid question. Anyway, I was back home in the US, so I set up Carson Investments in New York. Two years later, I found myself in Vegas for a finance and investment convention. The day I met Cleo, who was dancing there as part of a corporate event, everything changed. I wanted to be near her constantly. I was so besotted.” She paused and added wryly, “She wasn’t.”

“Oh dear.”

“She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I don’t date junkies.’ I don’t even know how she knew my darkest secret with such certainty. She knew, though. That burned. So, I quit drugs. For her . It’s so galling admitting I didn’t quit for me. It took a while and a few lapses, but eventually I beat my addiction. I moved permanently to Vegas to be with her. And the longer I was here, with Cleo in my life as this incredible, indomitable force, the easier it was to stay clean. But, after a few years, Cleo met the woman she fell madly in love with, her wife, and told me we’d be better as friends.”

“Ouch,” Ottilie murmured.

“Right? I was still in love. To be fair, Cleo had told me up front before we dated that she would never settle down with me. She was fond of me, of course, but I was a ‘friends with benefits deal’ for her. And, so, that was that. She moved on with Rochelle, and I was a hurt, rejected mess.”

“Sounds very difficult.”

“I wish I could say I was mature about it. But, alas, I wasn’t the evolved goddess you see before you today.” Monique quirked a smile. “I started having casual flings with her dancers to piss her off. That didn’t work because if Cleo noticed, she didn’t care. Then one of the dancers told me I had a real gift for pleasing women. She suggested I could share it and earn good money at the same time, if I wanted. I was intrigued. Turned out she was doing sex work herself. I decided it might be a good distraction from my overwhelming feelings.”

“It was a lot more than a distraction,” Ottilie noted, “if you’re still doing it.”

“Well, I found I truly did have a skill for opening women up to their sexuality and sensuality. More than that, I loved it. So, I became a CEO sexual fantasies expert. It took a few years more, but Cleo and I found our way back to being friends, mainly because we knew each other so well. And her wife is, admittedly, adorable.”

“But no other friends need apply?”

“Once bitten…” Monique sighed. “Honestly, by then, I just didn’t trust myself. How couldn’t I have known what Stacy was like? She’d manipulated me at every step, turned me into a junkie. I felt so blindsided; what if someone did that to me again? Why risk it? I had everything I needed.”

“Did you ever hear from Stacy again?”

“Oh, yes. She tracked me down while I was still in New York and tried to lure me back to modeling in Europe. By then, I didn’t even want to look at her, but I never forgot.”

“I don’t understand one thing,” Ottilie said. “What did your mentor get out of hooking you on drugs?”

“Control. She got off on having innocent young women obedient and at heel.”

“You seem so independent. It’s hard to picture you at anyone’s heel.”

“That has taken a great deal of work. I’m glad you can’t see it.”

“And yet your entire friendship rules stem from Stacy—who was just one damaged, manipulative person.”

“I know,” Monique said quietly. “I’m well aware. But it’s been easier.”

“Safer,” Ottilie said. “No risk. You’ll never feel crushed or betrayed ever again.”

“No.” She exhaled. “And I know it’s the coward’s choice. Still, there are people I talk to regularly, joke with, and so on. I haven’t ever had to worry about my social batteries dying. There’s always Cleo if I need to point to having a friend. What of you? Are you drowning in friends?” Monique stopped. “Actually, I cannot picture that.”

“No. I’m selective. I have a few friends here or there I’ve carefully chosen over the years. That was a deliberate decision. I did not want to befriend colleagues, most of whom I found either tedious or dangerous, and I rarely met civilians outside work.”

“What of the friend you wanted photos of showgirls for?”

“Hannah.” Ottilie warmed at the reminder. “I felt sorry for her when I met her because she was so clever yet so very bored. What a waste of a fine mind. So I befriended her, and it turns out I’m the one enriched by our friendship.”

“She must be incredibly smart if you’re impressed by her.”

“Yes. She’s not only smarter than me—I have no doubt about that—but she was someone who had no use at all for anything I could do, which made me appreciate her even more.”

“Anything you could do?” Monique studied her. “We’re back to power again, aren’t we? Who has it and who wants it.”

“Power is crucial to so many.”

“No,” Monique said. “It’s about as vital as the approval of others.”

“It’s irrelevant whether you care for power; it’s other people’s craving for it you need to worry about. In life, there are only two things that matter: power and control. Those who run the world and those who seek to. Everything else is a lie hidden by shiny distractions. Never ever attempt to unpeel the lie.” Ottilie shot her a long look. “Trust me on that one.”

“Except power is an illusion,” Monique argued. “I can strip you of it or give it back in the blink of an eye. It is a concept sold by men who get hard from the thought that it makes them special. It doesn’t. I can tell you, having made the weak feel powerful and the powerful feel weak, that power is actually nothing at all.”

“Then why does power make the world go around?” Ottilie asked.

“Only if we let it. If you refuse to buy into it, refuse to accept someone’s authority over you, that will undo them pretty fast. They’re at a total loss.”

“In relationships, maybe. But challenge someone politically powerful, and they’ll throw you in jail.”

“That’s not power. It’s brute force. Punishment,” Monique observed. “If power were real, if it were more than an illusion or a lofty title, it wouldn’t need a big stick to enforce it.”

“Monique,” Ottilie said with a tiny headshake, “Power is the stick.”

They looked at each other and suddenly both laughed.

“I love debating you,” Monique said, smiling. She dropped a kiss on her cheek. “But…” She glanced at the clock. “I do have a client in an hour, so I’d better get back to my room.”

Ottilie’s smile died. She quickly turned away as something foreign surged in her. Jealousy? She was feeling jealous? When had that ever happened before?

“Are you all right, darling?” Monique asked, concern in her voice.

“Of course,” Ottilie said briskly.

“Please don’t be worried for me. The client is a regular, someone I trust. She’d never hurt me.”

“Good,” Ottilie said. “I should get up anyway and stop monopolizing you. I’ll let you get on with your day.”

“I can cancel the client if you want more ‘us’ time,” Monique offered. “I accepted the client booking weeks ago, before we were… Before us .”

“I don’t want to get in the way of your work.” Ottilie smiled overly brightly now. “If that’s what makes you happy, you should do it.”

Monique studied her, a guarded look on her face. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.” Ottilie rose and headed to the bathroom, then closed the door.

By the time she’d left the bathroom, Monique was gone.

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