Liesa's Night (II)

Andy’s suite always looked like a magazine spread, but tonight, he’d gone overboard even by his own standards. Candles everywhere—real ones, not the battery-powered fakes Mildred usually slipped onto the tables. The dinner table was transformed into a microcosm of some Belgian bistro: white tablecloth, linen napkins folded into origami cranes (his best attempt, and he thought Emi would be proud of them), and a playlist of low-volume French jazz that managed to sound romantic without being corny. He’d spent the late afternoon cursing at the stovetop, struggling to recreate stoofvlees—Liesa’s favorite childhood dish—because if he couldn’t get her to laugh tonight, he’d at least try to make her feel at home.

He was ladling the stew into bowls when the elevator chimed, followed by the gentle knock that, by now, he could distinguish from every other woman on the floor. Liesa always knocked on the wall once she stepped out of the elevator. She’d knock twice, then once more after a pause, as if checking the air for permission.

Andy smoothed his shirt, wiped his hands, and turned around. For a second, he just stared.

Liesa wore a teal dress that looked like it had been cut from gemstone fabric and then tailored by a fairy godmother with a vendetta against the laws of physics. It clung and fluttered in all the right places, showing off her long, freckled arms and the curve of her waist, while somehow making her look both powerful and about to float away. She’d braided her hair up, but a few strawberry-blonde waves escaped near her temples, softening her face. The only jewelry was a delicate gold chain, the pendant nestled at the hollow of her throat.

She smiled, but it was almost apologetic. In her hands, she held a bottle of whiskey—the same one he’d ordered once, years ago, during an accidental splurge at a jazz club in Chicago.

“Am I late?” she asked, eyes darting past him as if afraid to meet his gaze head-on.

“Not at all. You’re early, actually,” Andy managed. “And, um… you look—”

She grinned, nervous and quick. “Too much? I worry I am overdressed.”

“Not even close,” Andy said. “You look amazing.”

Liesa blushed, half turned to the side, and waggled the bottle. “I brought something. For later, or if you burn the food and we need to drink instead.”

He accepted the whiskey, brushing her fingers just a second longer than necessary, then stepped back to let her in. She moved like she was trying not to leave footprints.

The scent of dinner—onions, beer, slow-cooked beef—filled the space, and Liesa’s face lit up. “Oh! You made stoofvlees?”

“I did my best,” Andy said. “So, no pressure.”

She laughed, a low, sweet sound. “Thank you.”

They walked together to the table, and Andy pulled out her chair with a little flourish. Liesa sat, smoothing her dress under her, and glanced at the origami napkin.

“Is this… a crane?”

He nodded. “Emi taught me, years ago. I can make you a frog, too, but these napkins aren’t the right paper. It kept falling apart.”

She ran her finger along the paper’s folded wing. “I love it.”

Andy sat across from her, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, old habits and new tension mixing in the air. Liesa picked up her spoon, then hesitated.

“Is okay if I eat now?” she said, almost childlike.

He grinned. “Please. I promise it’s edible.”

Liesa took a careful bite, then closed her eyes, savoring. “Oh. You did not burn it. Is very, very good.”

Andy exhaled, relieved. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

They ate, talking at first about the food, how hard it was to get proper beef on the island, what “real” frites tasted like, whether Mildred was secretly hiding all the shallots. Liesa told a story about her great-grandmother cooking the stew in a pot so big, she used a mop handle to stir it. Andy tried to picture it, but kept getting distracted by the way Liesa’s shoulders relaxed with each spoonful, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear every time she caught herself staring at him.

The conversation drifted to the other women: Emi’s adventures in napkin-origami, Dawn’s failed attempt to make aphrodisiac cake earlier in the day, Claire’s ability to disappear into the library for entire afternoons. Liesa was a good storyteller, but tonight, something about her rhythm was off. She’d start a sentence, then stop halfway, retreating behind her wine glass. She poked at her stew more than she ate it, and every so often, Andy caught her twisting the gold chain around her finger, knuckles going white.

After a while, Andy said, “Is it the transformations again? If you want, we can...”

Liesa shook her head, forceful. “No, no. Is not that. Or, maybe a little. But not in the way you think.”

She set her spoon down, and for the first time since she arrived, really looked at him. Her eyes, usually so clear and sharp, shimmered with something unsteady.

“Do you ever feel like you are trapped in a story,” she said, then rushed on before he could interject, “and every page, you are only pretending to be the character everyone wants you to be?”

Andy almost laughed, but stopped himself. “Yeah,” he said. “All the time. Especially here.”

Liesa nodded, her mouth tight. “Is strange, because before, I always liked being the funny one. The one who makes the joke first. But now, with the transformation—Approachable—I sometimes feel like I am in a glass box, waiting for someone to notice I am still here.”

Andy’s heart squeezed. “I notice. You know that, right?”

She smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, she picked at the crust of bread by her plate, peeling it into perfect squares. “Sometimes, I want to tell you things, but I worry you will not like me after.”

He leaned forward. “That’s not possible.”

Liesa tilted her head, skeptical. “You say that, but you do not know everything. There are things I have not said. And sometimes, I think, it would be better to just let you remember me as a nice, silly girl. Not… not as the person I really am.”

Andy wanted to reach for her hand, but something about the way she held herself made him hesitate. “Liesa, I want to know the real you. All of it. Even the messy parts.”

She finally looked up, tears threatening but held back by **** of will. “Maybe later. Tonight, I just want to eat your food, and pretend we are normal people in a normal place.”

He nodded, respecting her wish. “We can do that.”

They finished the stew in near silence, but it was the good kind—the silence of two people who understood each other’s need for space. When the plates were cleared, Andy brought out the whiskey, pouring two fingers into mismatched tumblers. Liesa raised hers in a mock-toast.

“To the Master of Stew,” she said.

He clinked her glass. “To the Mistress of Understatements.”

They sipped, and the warmth spread out, smoothing some of the sharp edges in the air.

After a minute, Andy said, “Can I ask you something, now?”

Liesa took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Yes.”

“When you said it’s not the transformations, what did you mean? Are you… are you unhappy here?”

She considered, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “No. I am happy. More than I thought I would be. But sometimes, I am scared that if I let go, everything falls apart.”

He tried a smile. “Maybe the script is overrated.”

Liesa laughed, quick and almost bitter. “That is very American. In Belgium, we keep to the script or the train will not arrive.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “Trust me, the train still never arrives on time in America.”

She laughed again, this time for real, and it lasted longer than he expected. But when it faded, the shadows crept back onto her face.

Liesa set her glass down and said, “Can I tell you a secret? About the transformation. The second one.”

“Of course.”

She leaned in, voice lowered as if the walls could overhear. “I found an upgrade. For the Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls. It makes it so, when I am with other people, I am not so… hungry, all the time. But I need constant touch, physical affection for that, so I don’t use it now.”

Andy frowned. “So right now, it’s just… there? Always?”

She nodded. “It is like being very opgewonden… how do you say, aroused, all day. Unless I wear many clothes.”

He blinked, then said, “So right now…?”

She grinned, wicked and embarrassed all at once. “Three layers of underwear, plus a bralette under the bra. I figured, if it works for teenage boys, maybe it will help me survive.”

Andy almost spit out his whiskey. “That’s… actually kind of genius. And honestly, pretty sexy.”

Liesa burst into laughter, head thrown back. “Oh, Andy. Only you would find that sexy.”

He shrugged, smiling. “It’s resourceful. And I always liked girls who could outsmart the rules.”

Her laughter faded, and she looked at him, something like gratitude flickering behind her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, quietly.

They sat for a while, letting the candles burn lower, the music looping through the playlist at least twice. Liesa’s posture softened, her shoulders drifting down, her hand resting on the table between them.

Andy reached across, covering her hand with his. She didn’t pull away.

“If you want to talk,” he said, “about anything, ever… I’ll be here. No script, no judgment.”

Liesa nodded, but her eyes were glassy. “Maybe I will. But for now, I just want to sit. With you.”

He squeezed her hand, and the rest of the world fell away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the golden hush of candlelight.

After the candles guttered out, they drifted to the living room, two shadows moving as one. Andy didn’t bother with the overheads; the warm glow of the side lamps was enough, painting Liesa’s bare shoulders in gold and the space between them in a gentle blur.

She curled up on the far end of the couch, knees tucked beneath her, body folded so neatly that Andy almost forgot how tall she was. He sat at the opposite corner, angled toward her, careful not to crowd her unless she wanted him close. They both knew what was coming, but neither seemed to want to say it first. He could see she wasn't fighting the Approachable transformation. Whatever she was thinking of discussing had nothing to do with doing something sexual with him.

The whiskey bottle made its way to the coffee table. Liesa poured herself another finger, then cradled the glass in both hands, staring down at the pale brown liquid like it was a fortune-teller’s globe.

Andy said, softly, “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

Liesa stared at her knees. “If I don’t talk, I think my head will break. Like an egg.”

He waited, knowing from long practice that any attempt to rush her would only make her retreat further.

After a long silence, she looked up, eyes shining in the half-light. “Can I ask you one more thing? Something… not nice.”

“Anything,” he said, and meant it.

She inhaled, sharp and trembling. “Why do you not hate me? After what I did to you.”

Andy blinked, caught off guard. “Hate you?”

She nodded, frantic. “You know what I mean. The leaving. The not saying goodbye. The not calling. You saw it all, yes? In the Cabana. You saw that I came to America again, and I found you, and then I just… disappeared.”

Andy’s chest tightened. He remembered those memories too well—Liesa in New York, watching him from a distance, then turning away and vanishing into the crowd. “I remember,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I do not understand it myself,” Liesa continued, her voice rising in distress. “I wanted to see you, so much. Every day. But then when I was there, I… I could not move. I just stood and watched you, and I thought, he will hate me. He will see my face, and all he will remember is the girl who ran away.”

Andy shifted, moving to the middle of the couch. He didn’t reach for her, not yet. “Liesa, I didn’t hate you. I was… hurt, sure. And confused. But I never hated you.”

She shook her head, dismissing the words. “You should. Everyone else would. Is what I deserve.”

He felt a flare of anger—at her, at the world, at himself for letting her believe it. “I’ve learned a lot these last three weeks,” he said, trying to keep his tone gentle. “Mostly that I don’t know half as much about people as I thought I did. And that it’s arrogant to assume I understand anyone’s reasons for what they do.” He reached out, slow and careful, resting his hand on hers. “If you want to tell me why, I’ll listen. But if you can’t, that’s okay too. I’m not going anywhere.”

Liesa let out a shaky laugh, the sound of someone trying not to cry. “You are a fool, Andy Cooper.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m your fool.”

She bit her lip, fighting the tears. “If I tell you, you will not look at me the same.”

“Try me.”

Liesa took a breath, let it out slow. “You know about my mother. What happened after I left America.”

He nodded. “She tried to hurt herself. You had to go home.”

“She did not just try to hurt herself,” Liesa said, her voice so low he had to lean in to catch it. “She tried to die. Not once. Four times.”

Andy’s heart twisted. He remembered the memory in the Cabana, the **** phone call at 3 a.m., Liesa packing her bags in silence.

“My father could not take care of her, not really. He was… not a strong man. Not after what happened.” She stopped, swiped at her cheek, then pressed on. “I left school, worked two jobs, sometimes three. But it was not enough. And then—” She cut herself off, eyes darting to the window, as if hoping the glass would shatter and let her escape.

Andy’s hand found hers, squeezed. “You can tell me.”

She nodded, but her whole body shook. “I did some things I am not proud of. To get money. To make sure my father and mother would not lose their house. You saw it, yes? In the Cabana.”

He nodded, memory turning his gut cold. “I saw you in the hotel room with that man. I didn’t know if—”

She laughed, brittle. “You knew. You just did not want to believe it.”

Andy looked down. “I hoped I was wrong.”

She wiped her eyes again, angry now. “I was good at it. Is the worst part. I knew how to make men happy. And it made everything easier, for a while. But then, when my mother died and my father lost his job, I had to keep going. It became my life. And after that, I could not imagine ever being a normal person again.” She looked at him, eyes wild. “So I ran away from you. Every time. Because I was sure if you knew, you would see me as a whore, not as Liesa.”

Andy felt the word like a slap. He squeezed her hand tighter, **** to show her by touch alone that he wasn't letting go. “You did what you had to do. You saved your family,” he said, but it came out rougher than he'd meant, brittle around the edges with the weight of everything unsaid. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Liesa.”

She wrenched at her hand, but Andy kept it trapped in his, gentle but unyielding. Her face twisted, tears cutting down the ridges of her cheeks in shining tracks. “Am not that person anymore,” she managed, voice so faint it nearly disappeared. “But it follows me. I look at you and I think, if he really knows, he runs away. Or worse—he pities me. I think that is the worst of all.”

Andy inched closer, closing the gap between them until their knees pressed together and the world shrank to the boundaries of the velvet couch. “I don’t pity you,” he said, as fierce as he could. “And I’m not running. Never was.” He swallowed, searching for the words that would reach her. “I just wish you’d told me sooner, so I could have helped. Or at least been there.”

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking so hard it seemed they might splinter. “I did not want you to see me that way. Maybe I did not want to see myself that way.”

Andy’s chest ached. He reached up and brushed her hair back from her forehead, exposing her tear-streaked face. The gesture was so small, so familiar, it almost undid him. “I see you, Liesa,” he said, the words soft and steady. “And nothing you say or do is going to change that. I promise.”

She made a strangled sound, half sob and half laugh, like something had cracked inside her and was letting the light through. “You always were stubborn,” she said, shaking her head.

He smiled, brushing away another tear with his thumb. “Only for the things that matter.”

Liesa stared at him, as if memorizing his face, searching for any sign of disgust or disappointment. “You do not get it,” she whispered. “When I came back to America to see you, after… after everything, there was a man at the airport. He was rich, generous, but so… empty. All he wanted was to be seen, to be listened to. And he paid me. I never even had to—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “That was the worst part. Just being there, being a pretty thing on his arm. I think I hated myself most for that.”

Andy listened, jaw tensed. “It still doesn’t make you less. Not to me.”

She shot him a look, equal parts anger and pleading. “But that’s just it! I was less. Every time I look in the mirror, even when I leave the hotel, I see someone who could not say no. To money, to… to anything.” She hesitated, her eyes wet with tears, biting her lip as if preparing for one more confession. “I came to you once, after a job. After the cafè. I stood across the street from your apartment and watched you walk to the 7-Eleven. I wanted to run to you, to explain. But I… I could not. I thought, if you know, you see right through me. See what I had become.”

The memory hit him like a physical blow—a woman with her coat pulled tight, standing in the rain under a streetlight's sodium glow. That strawberry blonde hair had caught his attention, but the haunted face beneath it looked nothing like the bright-eyed Liesa from his memories. "I remember that night," he said softly. "I saw you across the street. I even stopped walking for a second, but I convinced myself it couldn't possibly be you. The woman looked so... different."

Her eyes widened, fingers freezing mid-dab with the whiskey tray napkin. "You saw me? And you didn't…" She swallowed hard, voice dropping to a whisper. "You couldn't even recognize me anymore. That's how far I'd fallen." A bitter laugh escaped her. "I stood there for twenty minutes, Andy. Watching you."

“No, Liesa. It’s not that. I just could not imagine, if you came back, and stood across the street from me, that you would not reach out. But you stood there, and so I told myself I was imagining things. That you were another woman, and I had conjured the image of you out of nostalgia.” He sighed. “I wish you had said something. I would have opened the door. I would have tried to help.”

She sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a napkin scavenged from the whiskey tray. “Help, yes. But you would always remember. It would always be between us. A glass wall.”

Andy shook his head, voice trembling. “Not a wall, Liesa. Just a window. And I’d still want to see you on the other side.”

She let out a breath, long and shaky, the kind that empties a person out so they can be filled with new air. “You are ridiculous,” she said, not quite smiling.

“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m here. And I want to be here.”

She blinked, as if she’d never considered that possibility. “You want… this? Even after everything?”

He took both her hands, holding them between his. “Liesa, I never thought I would see you again. You’re here now, though. How could I not?”

They fell silent, the only sound the gentle hum of the air system and the faraway crash of waves. Liesa’s shoulders dropped, the rigid guard around her melting, and Andy could sense her anger and shame dissipating, replaced by something rawer: relief, maybe, or the beginnings of forgiveness.

She curled her legs up onto the cushion, shifting closer. “It was not just money, you know,” she said, voice softer, confessional. “Sometimes it was loneliness, too. I was so far from home, and even when I went back, it was not home anymore. I missed you, but I did not think I deserved to.”

Andy nodded, understanding more than she could know. “I know what that’s like. Not the same, but… I get it.”

“You always do,” she said.

He grinned, the old easy confidence creeping back in. “It’s part of my charm.”

She laughed at that—a real laugh, bright and rough-edged—and Andy felt the room settle around them, warm and safe in its imperfection. They sat together like that, hands clasped, for what could have been minutes or hours, time stretching and contracting in the cozy bubble of their half-lit world. At some point he poured her half a shot more, and she downed it in a single, practiced motion.

When she finally broke the silence, her voice was steadier. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

Andy blinked, surprised. “Of course not. That’s your story, not mine.”

Liesa nodded, then looked at him with a sudden intensity. “What about the others? Erin, Sam…? Do you tell them everything?”

He hesitated, thinking of Erin’s burning need for truth, Sam’s unflinching loyalty, Chloe’s fragile trust. He thought of Claire, who would never judge anyone, and Marissa, who had already guessed more than he ever said aloud. “Only what people want to share,” he said at last. “No one needs to know unless you want them to.”

Liesa tapped her thumb against his hand, nervous and thoughtful. “I think I am tired of secrets.”

He smiled, squeezing back. “Then you don’t have to keep them anymore. And if you wanted to share this, I would start with Sam.”

She looked down at their hands, entwined. “What happens now?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Andy shrugged, trying to keep it light. “We finish the whiskey. We talk about absolutely anything besides the past. And maybe, if you want, we watch one of those terrible old movies you love.”

Liesa let her eyes close for a moment, breathing in the offer. “That sounds nice.”

They were so close now that Andy could smell the sweetness of her breath, the faint trace of vanilla from her skin. He leaned into her and their lips met—slow and searching, the gentle press of two people finding their way back after a long exile. There was nothing **** in it, just the quiet insistence of two survivors learning how to be whole again.

When they parted, Liesa’s eyes were clear, the storm passed. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” Andy asked, softly.

“For not running away.”

He pulled her in, resting his forehead against hers. “Never.”

They sat like that for a while, the room silent except for her quiet, uneven breaths. When she finally looked up, her cheeks were wet but her eyes were clear.

“You are not disappointed?” she asked, voice small.

“Never,” Andy said. “I’m proud of you for telling me.”

She shook her head, but a tiny smile crept onto her lips. “You are a terrible liar.”

“Maybe. But I still mean it.”

They both laughed, and the sound was brighter, lighter, as if some enormous weight had been set down between them. Andy poured another glass of whiskey, handed it to her.

She took it, hands steady now, and raised it in a toast. “To stubbornness.”

He clinked his glass. “To you, Liesa.”

They drank, and the burn was less sharp this time, the warmth spreading out to fill all the empty spaces.

When the silence came, it was comfortable. Liesa leaned into his shoulder, resting her head there, her body soft and relaxed for the first time all night. Andy held her, feeling the slow, steady beat of her heart.

He whispered, “I could never hate you, schat. Not in a million years.”

She sighed, eyes closed, a smile blooming as she drifted into sleep.

Achievement Unlocked! Unburdened Words +5 VP

Andy stayed there, holding her, the memory of her confession burning in his chest.

Andy woke to the dim whoosh of the AC unit, and the weight of Liesa’s arm across his chest. She had shifted in the night, pressing herself against him with the needy gravity of someone who’d spent too long sleeping alone. Even asleep, her body moved toward warmth.

He traced the line of her forearm with his fingertips, feeling the slow flutter of her pulse, the whisper-fine hairs that caught on his calluses. She made a small sound and curled tighter, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. He wanted to let her sleep, but something told him she was already awake.

“You are staring,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep but not hiding the smile.

“Sorry. I’m just… happy you’re here.”

She blinked, slow and feline, then propped herself up on one elbow, the green dress bunched around her hips. “You do not have to apologize for staring. Not tonight.” There was a new lightness in her eyes: a relief, or maybe just the weight of last night finally sloughed off.

Andy hesitated, searching for the right words. “How do you feel?”

Liesa made a face. “Like I drank too much whiskey and cried all the water out of my body. But also…” She considered, then shrugged, the motion fluid and unguarded. “Better. Maybe even good.”

Andy grinned. “I was worried you’d regret telling me.”

She shook her head, hair slipping from its braid in a halo. “No. I only regret waiting so long.” She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, and looked out the window. A low fog had swallowed the resort, and for a moment they could feel they were floating above the clouds.

After a while, Liesa spoke, voice so quiet Andy had to lean in to hear. “Can I tell you another secret?”

“Always.”

She bit her lip, considering. “I think I love Sam. Or maybe just like her very much. But when I am with you, is different. Is like, two hearts fighting in my chest.” She laughed, embarrassed. “Is that strange?”

Andy shook his head. “Not at all.”

She looked at him, searching for something in his face. “I do not want to hurt you. Or her. Or myself. But I cannot make the two hearts stop fighting.”

He reached for her hand, tangled their fingers together. “You don’t have to choose, you know. If Erin and Claire can share, so can Sam and I. Love doesn’t get smaller when it’s divided. It gets bigger.”

She blinked, surprised, then smiled, small and real. “You are very modern, Andy Cooper.”

He shrugged. “I’m just tired of pretending it’s supposed to work any other way.” He chuckled. “I mean, it’s not like I have a choice, given where we are, do I?”

Liesa squeezed his hand, then let herself fall sideways, head landing on his shoulder. “I upgraded my transformation earlier. The Approachable one.”

Andy’s ears perked. “What does it do now?”

She giggled. “Now, if I want something, I can just say it. Or do it. No more waiting for the other person to start.” She made a show of leaning in, lips brushing his ear. “But the more I say what I want, the more I want it. Is like… a feedback loop.”

He felt his body react to her nearness, but more than that, he felt the change in her: she wasn’t holding back, wasn’t hiding behind jokes or the deflective giggle. She was just… here.

“So what do you want right now?” Andy asked, heart pounding.

She blushed, but held his gaze. “I want to kiss you,” she said. “And maybe more.”

“Then kiss me,” he said.

She did—soft at first, a test, then with a hunger that grew with every heartbeat. Her hand slid up the back of his neck, drawing him closer, and Andy felt himself falling into the space they made between them, warm and safe and electric.

When they parted, Liesa grinned. “See? Much easier.”

He laughed, cupping her face in both hands. “Much.”

She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, the dress slipping higher with every movement. Andy ran his hands along her thighs, marveling at the strength there, the way her freckles formed tiny galaxies on her skin.

Liesa tugged at his shirt, eyes bright. “Off,” she said, and he obliged, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. She ran her hands over his chest, nails grazing just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps.

"You are very handsome," she said, half teasing, half in awe, fingers hovering at the neckline of her dress.

He flushed, unaccustomed to compliments. "You're beautiful, Liesa."

She bit her lip, hesitating. "Andy, I want to… I need to be with you tonight. But my transformation… if I take these clothes off, something happens to me. Like an animal in heat." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I won't be able to control myself."

Andy reached for her hand, squeezed it gently. "Maybe that's exactly what you need right now. To not be in control for once."

Her eyes widened, pupils already dilating at just his words. "You don't understand—"

"I do," he said. "Let go, Liesa. I've got you."

She nodded once, decisively, and began tearing at her dress with sudden, frantic urgency, revealing the undergarment fortress she'd constructed—now a prison rather than protection. She tore at each layer with growing urgency, her breath coming in short, **** pants. The bralette caught on her thumb; she cursed and yanked harder. The bra's clasp refused to give until she nearly broke it. By the time she reached the double layer of panties, she was trembling, pupils dilated, a thin sheen of sweat already forming across her collarbone.

Andy grinned, taking in the sight of her—freckled and bare, flushed pink from chest to cheeks. "It's perfect."

She didn't blush now; she burned. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, as she grabbed his wrists with surprising strength. A low, animal sound escaped her throat as she pressed his hands against her skin—first her waist, then dragging them roughly upward to her breasts, then down between her thighs where she was already slick and swollen.

He tried to take his time, but she wouldn't allow it. She writhed against his touch, teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to whiten the flesh. When his mouth found her breast, she arched so violently she nearly lifted them both off the bed. His fingers slipped between her legs and she bucked, keening, her nails raking red lines down his arms.

"More," she moaned, the word barely human. "Now."

With every touch, every taste, every reckless gasp, she surrendered another layer. If hunger was a language, Liesa was suddenly fluent in nothing else—she devoured him with her mouth, her hands, her entire trembling body, demanding rather than asking, taking rather than accepting, daring him to match her pace.

Andy, stunned by the depth of her need, tried to savor her, to prolong the anticipation, but she fought him. She met every move with a counter, every tenderness with something rougher, more urgent. Her lips bruised his, teeth catching and nipping. She pushed him back, then pulled him forward, then rolled him beneath her, straddling his hips hungrily. The years apart, the months of longing, the flood of grief and guilt and hope, the arousal of her transformations—she wanted to burn it all away in the furnace of this single, wild night. She moved in fits and starts, the green dress knotted around her waist, her hair streaming loose across her shoulders as she bent to taste the salt on his neck, the sweat between his shoulderblades.

He tried to say her name, but she cut him off with a kiss so fierce it left him breathless. He tried to tell her he loved her, but she shook her head—no more talking, not now. She wanted only the press of skin, the shudder of muscle, the raw, wordless chorus of two people who had run out of ways to say what they felt. Control abandoned her completely. Each touch unleashed another layer of need—she moaned, she gasped, she snarled Flemish obscenities that would have shocked her mother. Her body spoke a language of pure hunger, demanding rather than asking, taking rather than receiving.

When she found the old, pale puckered line on his ribs—the one left by a bike accident when he was younger—she pressed her lips to it, gentle for just that instant, then bit down hard enough to make him jump. She laughed, a bright, predatory sound, and he realized he had never seen her like this: not just free, but ravenous, predator and prey at once.

He flipped them, pinning her wrists above her head, and for a heartbeat she froze, pupils wide, breath stilled in her chest. But instead of fear, her eyes shone with fierce delight. “Yes,” she hissed, the word trailing off into a guttural moan as he kissed down her throat, across her collarbone, lower and lower, every inch raising goosebumps along her skin.

He dragged his tongue across her breastbone, slow and deliberate, and she arched into him, nails digging into the sheets beneath her. She begged, in Flemish, in English, in the panting, broken syllables that belonged to neither language. When he finally reached her, pressing lips and tongue just above her hip, she bucked so hard he nearly lost his grip. She was slick and swollen, radiant with heat, and every touch drove her higher, tighter, until she was clawing at his shoulders to pull him up, up, inside her.

She barely waited for the moment, barely let him settle. She drove her hips against his, setting a brutal, beautiful rhythm, and Andy could only hang on, let her lead, let her spend herself with whatever wild energy the transformation had uncorked. She wrapped her legs around his back, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, and it was all he could do to keep from losing himself instantly. He slowed, tried to draw it out, but she wouldn’t let him; every time he eased off, she pulled him deeper, faster, matching every attempt at gentleness with something more savage.

She came with her teeth sunk into his shoulder, a soundless, shaking cry that seemed to break her apart and reassemble her with every pulse. The aftershocks came in waves—her body clamping down on him, her thighs trembling, her face slick with tears she hadn’t noticed and didn’t care about. Even after she collapsed back onto the bed, she didn’t release him. Instead, she pulled him closer, pressed her forehead against his, and whispered, “Again—don’t stop.”

He obliged, letting go of any notion of pacing, letting her use him as she pleased. She was insatiable, more animal than human, but every time she crested, Andy caught flashes of the girl he’d once known: Liesa the artist, the mischief-maker, the friend who had been braver than anyone else in his life. Now she burned through him, a **** of nature, and he surrendered utterly.

When he finally broke, it was with a helpless groan, his body trembling as she milked every last shudder from him. They lay tangled together, sheets twisted beneath them, her hair stuck to his face and chest, her body shuddering with the after-effects of pleasure that felt almost dangerous in its intensity. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, not out of possession but from a need to keep her from floating away on the currents of her own transformation.

She was still breathing hard, eyes closed, a smile—soft, almost childish—playing at the corners of her mouth. Her upgrade had kicked in, reducing her arousal for the moment. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “For what?”

“For not being afraid of me,” she said. “For letting me be… this. For not making me feel wrong.”

He squeezed her tighter. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

She nuzzled into his chest, spent but glowing. “Is it always like this?”

He laughed, not sure whether she meant sex, transformation, or just the way they crashed together. “With you, yeah. I think it is.”

They lay there, gathering themselves, sweat cooling on their skin, the tempest within them slowly subsiding. Liesa’s breathing calmed. He thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she propped herself up and grinned at him hungrily, and he could see the arousal flaring back in her eyes, feel the warmth of her body rising.

“Again.” she didn’t ask, she demanded, licking her lips, and he could not say no.

They lost count of the time—how many times she pulled him on top of her, how many times she insisted on riding him until her muscles gave out, how many times she dragged him into the shower to start over. The transformation’s hunger never quite left her, but with every round it felt less like a curse and more like a fuel, a way to feel alive after so much numbness. By the time she begged him to help her put on some of her underwear and they finally drifted into a tangled, exhausted sleep, the sky outside was glowing with the first hint of morning.

Had sex with the Master! +5 VP
Master came inside her! +2 VP
5-Time Combo! +3 VP

10-Time Combo! +5 VP
First! x2

Achievement Unlocked! Fleeting No More +5 VP

Andy woke first. He watched her for a long time, memorizing the way her face relaxed in sleep, the soft, **** smile, the freckles on her shoulders and cheeks. The memory of the night before played on endless loop in his head, but instead of shame or confusion, he felt only awe—and a strange, buoyant hope.

Liesa was up before the sun, but for once, it wasn’t nerves or regret that chased her from the bed. It was the simple, astonishing fact that she felt good—really good. She lay there for a few extra minutes, savoring the tangle of limbs and the residual warmth from Andy’s body beside hers. His breathing was slow, mouth just slightly open, hair a mess from her fingers the night before. She debated waking him, but settled for the more subtle strategy: extricating herself with all the delicacy of a cat and padding quietly to the kitchen.

He joined her half an hour later, drawn by the smell of fresh coffee and the rattle of plates. She’d been busy in the kitchen, crafting a Belgian breakfast—fluffy waffles, soft-boiled eggs, a pile of fresh fruit—and added her own touch by making hot chocolate, the real kind, with heavy cream and bittersweet cocoa.

Andy entered shirtless, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Are you trying to spoil me?” he said, eyeing the spread.

She smiled, pouring him a mug. “If I do not, who will?”

He sat across from her, taking a sip. “Wow,” he said. “This is amazing.”

Liesa grinned, then shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Is nothing. In Belgium, everyone can make this. Even children.”

They ate in easy silence, the tension of last night gone like a bad dream. Liesa’s eyes were bright, her laughter genuine, and Andy couldn’t help but notice how the lines at the corners of her mouth softened every time she smiled.

After a while, Andy set down his coffee. “Have you thought about what you want to do next?”

Liesa considered, her gaze drifting to the window, where the first pink smudge of sunrise painted the sky. “I think I will talk to Sam. I want to try, even if I am scared.”

Andy smiled, reached across the table, and took her hand. “I think that’s a great idea.”

She looked at him, uncertainty flickering. “You do not mind?”

He shook his head. “Not even a little. I told you—love multiplies. Besides, I think Sam’s afraid to make the first move.”

Liesa laughed, blushing. “She is very patient. I would not be.”

“Sam has the patience of a saint. Or a Game Master,” Andy said, and she giggled at the memory of Sam’s last session.

Liesa squeezed his hand, then stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Thank you,” she said, her tone serious now. “For last night. For everything.”

He stood too, and hugged her from behind, pressing his face into her hair. “You’re welcome, schat.”

She leaned back into him, and for a moment, neither of them said a word.

Finally, Liesa pulled away, determination in her step. “Am going to find Sam,” she said, “before I change my mind.”

“Do you want me to come with?” Andy asked.

She shook her head, smiling. “No. I think I must do this alone.”

He watched her go, her hair still wild, her stride light. The door closed behind her, and Andy found himself smiling—maybe even more than he had when she’d first knocked on his door the night before.

He cleared the dishes, poured himself another coffee, and wondered what the rest of the day would bring.

But for now, he just felt grateful: for the chance to know Liesa, to forgive and be forgiven, and to see her set off into the morning, but not running anymore.