Chapter 7 Marianne #2
The contact was bruising, almost violent in its intensity.
Marianne's back hit the lockers hard enough to rattle the metal, but she barely noticed.
Her hands were fisting in the front of Isla's scrubs, pulling her closer, and her mouth was opening under the pressure of Isla's lips like she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.
Every careful structure Marianne had built was collapsing. Every wall, every boundary, every defense was crumbling under the onslaught of sensation. She could feel herself unraveling, years of control dissolving in the heat of Isla's body pressed against hers.
"This is insane," she gasped when Isla's mouth moved to her throat. "We shouldn't—this is—"
"I know." Isla's teeth scraped against her pulse point, and Marianne's hips bucked involuntarily. "Do you want me to stop? I feel so angry at you, but I feel so hungry for you all at the time. You drive me crazy."
"No. God, no. Don’t stop."
Isla's jacket hit the floor first. Then Marianne's blouse, buttons scattering across the concrete as Isla's impatient hands simply tore it open rather than bothering with the fastenings. The cool locker room air hit her heated skin and she shivered, but not from cold.
"You're so fucking beautiful." Isla's voice was rough as she traced the edge of Marianne's bra with one finger. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. Imagining what you looked like under all those perfect suits."
"The suits are armor." Marianne heard herself say, her voice strange and distant. "Protection."
"I know." Isla unhooked the clasp at the front and pushed the fabric aside. "But you don't need protection from me."
The first touch of Isla's mouth against her breast made Marianne's knees buckle.
She grabbed at the lockers behind her for support, the metal cool against her overheated palms, as Isla's tongue traced circles around her nipple before closing over it with a suction that sent sparks straight to her core.
"God." The word came out broken. "Isla, please."
"Please what?" Isla's hands were at Marianne's waist now, fingers hooking into the band of her skirt. "Tell me what you need."
"You. I need you."
Isla smiled against her skin and tugged the skirt down along with everything underneath it.
Marianne stepped out of the fabric pool at her feet, feeling suddenly, shockingly exposed.
She was standing in a locker room in nothing but her heels while Isla remained fully clothed.
The power imbalance should have made her uncomfortable.
Instead, it sent a thrill of dark pleasure through her entire body.
"Isla." Her voice was pleading now, all pretense of control abandoned. "Touch me."
Isla's hand slid between her thighs, and the first brush of fingers against her wet heat made them both groan. "You're soaked," Isla murmured. "Fucking soaked. Is this what the committee meeting did to you? All those hours of sitting there wanting me?"
"Yes." Marianne's hips jerked as Isla's fingers found her clit. "God, yes. I couldn't stop thinking about—"
"About what?"
"About you. About this." Marianne gasped as Isla's fingers slipped inside her. "About what it would feel like when you finally touched me."
"And how does it feel?"
Marianne couldn't answer. Isla's fingers were moving now, pressing and curling against the spot that made her see stars. Her other hand had come up to grip Marianne's hip, holding her in place against the lockers while she worked her with relentless precision.
It was too fast. Too overwhelming. Marianne could feel the orgasm building already, could feel herself spiraling toward a release she wasn't ready for. She grabbed at Isla's wrist, trying to slow her down.
"Wait. I want—"
"No waiting." Isla's voice was fierce. "I want to watch you fall apart. I want to feel you come on my fingers."
She added a third finger and changed the angle, and Marianne's entire body seized.
The orgasm hit her like a wave, pleasure crashing through her with an intensity that made her cry out despite her best efforts to stay silent.
She bit down on her own fist to muffle the sound, her other hand clutching at Isla's shoulder as her inner walls clenched rhythmically around Isla's fingers.
"That's it." Isla's voice was soft now, almost tender. "That's it. Let go. Come for me."
Marianne couldn't have held on if she wanted to. The release went on and on, aftershocks rippling through her until she was trembling and spent, held up only by the lockers at her back and Isla's body pressing against her.
When she finally came back to herself, Isla was watching her with dark, hungry eyes.
"My turn." Marianne's voice was still shaky, but her hands were steady as she tugged at Isla's scrub top. "Take this off. I want to see you."
Isla stripped with the efficiency of someone who changed clothes in locker rooms every day.
The scrubs came off in seconds, revealing a lean, muscled body marked by the scars of a life spent in operating rooms. A small burn on her forearm from a cautery accident.
A faint white line across her ribs from who knew what.
She was gorgeous in her imperfection, beautiful in ways that had nothing to do with conventional aesthetics.
Marianne pulled her close and kissed her deeply, tasting herself on Isla's lips. The kiss deepened as their tongues entwined. Her hands found Isla's breasts, smaller than her own but perfectly responsive, the nipples already hard and tight. She rolled them between her fingers and felt Isla shudder.
"Against the lockers," she whispered. "I want you against the lockers."
They switched positions, and now it was Isla whose back hit the cool metal. Marianne dropped to her knees on the concrete floor, ignoring the discomfort, focused entirely on the woman above her.
"What are you—" Isla started, but the question died in her throat as Marianne spread her thighs and leaned in.
The first taste of Isla was intoxicating, a flavor that Marianne knew she would never forget. She explored with her tongue, learning what made Isla gasp and what made her moan, building a rhythm based entirely on the sounds and movements of the body above her.
Isla's hands found her hair, gripping tight enough to hurt. Marianne didn't care. She slid two fingers inside while her tongue continued its work, curling against the sensitive wet core while she sucked and licked at Isla's clit.
"Fuck." Isla's voice was ragged, broken. "Marianne. God. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Marianne had no intention of stopping. She increased her pace, fingers and tongue working together until Isla was shaking, until her thighs were trembling around Marianne's head, until she came with a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a scream, muffled only by her own hand pressed against her mouth.
Marianne stayed where she was, gentling her touches as Isla came down, pressing soft kisses against her inner thighs until the trembling stopped.
When she finally rose, her knees aching from the hard concrete, Isla pulled her into a kiss that was softer than anything they had shared so far. Tender, almost. As if the urgency had burned itself out and something gentler had taken its place.
"We're in so much trouble." Isla's voice was hoarse, but there was no regret in it.
"I know."
They leaned against each other, breathing slowly returning to normal, sweat cooling on their skin. Marianne felt wrung out, emptied, as if years of tension had been released in those desperate minutes of connection.
Afterward, they stood in the locker room's harsh light, the only sound their ragged breathing, clothes disheveled. Marianne could feel the bruises already forming where her back had hit the lockers. Could feel the slight ache in her muscles from holding herself at awkward angles.
Could feel the terrifying realization that she wanted to do it again. That despite everything, despite the career suicide they had just committed, she wanted more.
Isla pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her hair a complete disaster. She looked nothing like the polished surgeon who commanded trauma bays with absolute authority. She looked wrecked. Undone.
Beautiful.
"We should talk about this," Marianne said finally. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
"Probably." Isla smoothed down Marianne's blouse with hands that weren't quite steady. "But not tonight. Tonight I just want to..."
"What?"
"I don't know." Isla laughed softly, and the sound was almost normal. "Fall apart, maybe. Process. Try to figure out what the hell we just did and what it means."
Marianne nodded slowly. She understood. She felt the same way. The magnitude of what had just happened was too large to comprehend in the immediate aftermath.
"This changes everything," she said.
"I know."
"I don't know how to navigate this. The audit, the restrictions, us..." Marianne pressed a hand against her chest, where her heart was still pounding too fast. "I don't know how any of this works now."
"Neither do I." Isla stepped back, creating space between them that felt like loss. "But I know one thing."
"What?"
"I want it to happen again." Isla's gaze was steady, intense. "Whatever this is, whatever it costs us, I want more of it."
Marianne should have argued. Should have pointed out all the reasons why that was a terrible idea. Should have done the smart, safe, sensible thing and walked away before this situation became any more complicated.
Instead, she heard herself say, "So do I."
Isla's smile was slow and dangerous. "Then we'll figure out the rest as we go."
She left first, slipping out of the locker room after checking that the hallway was empty. Marianne waited several minutes before following, using the time to straighten her clothes and attempt to restore some semblance of professional appearance.
Her reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Eyes that held something she hadn't seen in years. Something that looked dangerously like hope.
She was in trouble. Deep, complicated, potentially career-ending trouble.
And for the first time since arriving at Oakridge, she couldn't bring herself to care.