Chapter 6
ISABEL
There were few things in the world that truly tested Isabel’s patience.
Waiting for food when she was starving? Agony.
Long, pointless meetings? Torture.
Sitting in a surveillance van for hours with Victoria Langley, forced to keep her hands to herself and pretend she wasn’t slowly unraveling from the inside out?
Pure, exquisite hell.
Because Isabel wasn’t just attracted to Victoria—she was becoming obsessed with her. And obsession was dangerous.
It crept under the skin, settled in the bones. It made you watch too closely, linger too long, crave too much. And sitting next to Victoria now—shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body—Isabel could feel that obsession winding tighter and tighter inside her.
Because Victoria was perfect.
Not in an easy, predictable way. Not in the way most people thought about perfection.
Victoria was perfect because she was unshakable.
Because she built walls around herself so high, so impenetrable, Isabel knew very few people had ever made it past them.
And Isabel?
She wanted to break through. To watch them crumble. To see what Victoria looked like when she finally let go. When she gave in.
And Isabel would wait as long as it took. Because if there was one thing she knew—one thing she’d always known—it was that once she wanted something, she never stopped until it was hers.
The hours had crawled by, thick with tension.
Nothing had moved in the lot. No drop-off.
No suspect. But Isabel hadn’t been bored, because this wasn’t about the stake-out anymore.
This was about her and Victoria, locked in this van together pretending neither of them noticed how badly they wanted to touch each other.
And Isabel was playing the long game.
She shifted, letting her knee bump lightly against Victoria’s thigh. A casual touch. Innocent, even. Victoria tensed. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t look at her.
But her fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel.
Isabel bit her lip, barely holding back a satisfied hum. And then, the perfect opportunity. The radio crackled.
Isabel reached for the dial at the same time Victoria did.
And their fingers brushed for a mere moment.
Just long enough for Isabel to feel the heat of Victoria’s skin.
Just long enough for Victoria to inhale sharply.
And just long enough for Isabel to know without a doubt that Victoria felt it, too.
Victoria froze.
Isabel didn’t. She let her fingers linger. Just for a moment. A test. A challenge.
Victoria’s breath hitched.
Isabel felt it. She wanted to lean in to see if Victoria would let her. And fuck, Isabel had never wanted anything more than to ruin her in that moment. To make her lose that control, to make her admit how badly she wanted to be touched. But not yet.
Not yet.
When Collins’’ voice on the radio crackled, “Movement near the lot. Unmarked van just pulled in. No visual on occupants yet,” Victoria jerked back from Isabel quickly and gripped the radio. “Copy that. Hold positions.”
Isabel couldn’t help but notice Victora’s long fingers with perfectly trimmed nails as she gripped the radio.
She began to imagine the way they would feel scratching down her neck and back.
Suddenly the van didn’t feel so cold. Warmth pooled between her legs and on her cheeks.
She gave a knowing look to Victoria, daring her to make a move.
Victoria turned back to the windshield, her jaw tight and her voice clipped. “Focus, Torres.”
The stakeout was a dud. By four a.m., they were packing it in, nothing to show for the night but frustration. Victoria drove. Isabel sat beside her, exhaustion creeping in, but her mind was still racing. She could feel Victoria beside her, stiff, silent, and holding the line by sheer force of will.
They pulled up in front of her apartment. Isabel unbuckled, glancing at Victoria.
“Well,” she murmured. “That was fun.”
Victoria exhaled. “Go get some sleep, Torres.”
Isabel hesitated. The thought of letting this moment end felt nearly unbearable. Before she could think twice about it, Isabel grasped at this opportunity with both hands.
“Unless,” she lowered her voice deliberately teasing, “you want to come upstairs.”
Victoria’s hands flexed against the wheel. She didn’t answer right away. She looked at Isabel. Really looked.
And Isabel thought—this is it. Leaning further into the car, Isabel threw out one more line, praying that Victoria would bite.
“I’ve got a brand new bottle of whiskey. Jameson.”
Victoria’s eyes widened before she quietly, as if only to herself, admitted, “That’s my favorite.”
Isabel felt a lick of fire at the admission. She hid her pleasure with a smirk and simply replied, “I know.”
Victoria’s hand hovered over the gear selector as she leaned further toward Isabel. Isabel shifted closer, breathing deep. The warm scents of leather and amber filled her lungs, swarming her senses. She was so close.
Before she lost control and dragged Victoria across the seats, Isabel reminded herself, Make her come to me. Using the last shreds of her restraint, Isabel straightened and quirked an eyebrow.
Victoria’s voice came out shaky and quiet. “Just one drink.”
Excitement flooded through Isabel, making her skin tingle and her head light. Her smile widened as her heart began to pump faster. She was the wolf, and her lamb was timidly stepping forward.
Nodding with reassurance, Isabel responded. “Just one drink.”
Victoria sighed as she threw the car in park.
Isabel silently watched every minute movement she made, marking each breath closer to having Victoria inside her apartment.
When the driver’s side door opened, Isabel moved around the front of the car.
By the time Victoria had one foot on the ground, Isabel was standing in front of her, hand outstretched.
Victoria didn’t take Isabel’s hand.
Not at first.
She hesitated, her fingers hovering in the air like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cross this line. But Isabel could see it—the way her chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way her hand twitched like she was fighting herself.
Isabel didn’t move. Didn’t push.
Come to me.
And after a breath—just one—Victoria did.
Her palm met Isabel’s, warm and dry, and Isabel squeezed gently before stepping back, leading the way toward the building entrance. She didn’t look back to see if Victoria followed. She knew she would.
The walk to her apartment felt electric.
Every step, every breath, every inch of space between them was charged.
Simmering. The elevator ride up was torturous.
The space was small, the air thick, and Victoria didn’t look at her once.
But Isabel saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands flexed at her sides.
She wanted to ask—Are you afraid of me, Captain?
But no. Not yet.
Let her come to me.
When they reached the apartment, Isabel unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the lamp by the couch. The soft glow illuminated the room, warm and intimate.
Victoria hesitated on the threshold.
One last chance to walk away.
But she didn’t.
She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.
Isabel turned, watching her as she shrugged off her leather jacket and tossed it over a chair. “Still sure about that drink?” she asked, her voice smooth and teasing.
Victoria exhaled slowly, then nodded.
“Good.” Isabel moved to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Jameson and two glasses.
She poured carefully, deliberately, aware of every movement Victoria made behind her.
The way she surveyed the space, the way her fingers brushed along the back of the couch, the way she was deliberately not looking at Isabel.
So damned controlled.
Isabel smirked as she turned back, pressing a glass into Victoria’s hand.
“To good whiskey,” she murmured, clinking their glasses together.
Victoria’s lips twitched. “To one drink.”
Isabel watched as Victoria took a sip, watched the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the way her tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop of whiskey from her lower lip.
Heat coiled deep in Isabel’s stomach. Patience. She took a slow sip, letting the burn settle. And then she waited.
She let Victoria drink at her own pace, let the silence stretch, let the weight between them grow thicker, heavier, unbearable.
Until—
Victoria set her empty glass on the counter.
One drink. Just like she said. Isabel’s pulse kicked.
My turn.
She moved forward, slow and deliberate, stepping into Victoria’s space, crowding her. Victoria stilled. She didn’t touch her. Not yet.
Instead, she leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost over Victoria’s jaw, for their bodies to nearly—nearly—brush.
“You’ve had your one drink,” Isabel murmured. “Now what?”
Victoria swallowed hard. Isabel could hear it. Feel it.
She tilted her head, letting her lips hover just beside Victoria’s ear. “Tell me what you want, Captain.”
Victoria’s breath hitched. But she still hadn’t moved.
Isabel smirked against her skin. Waiting. Waiting for Victoria to be the one to break.
And finally—she did. Victoria turned into her, eyes dark and hungry, and before Isabel could tease her again, before she could whisper another challenge—
Victoria kissed her.
The moment their lips met, Isabel caught fire. Victoria wasn’t soft, wasn’t tentative—she was starving. And God, Isabel could feel it.
She let Victoria take for a moment, let her pour all that pent-up tension, all that unbearable restraint finally breaking into the kiss.
But then—Isabel took control.
She pressed forward, owning it, taking everything. Her fingers threaded into Victoria’s bun, gripping, pulling, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss until there was nothing left between them but heat and want.
Victoria let her.