Chapter 7: Bean Sack Betrayal
The grey light of dawn filtered through the slats of the blinds, painting dusty stripes across the tangled blanket on the couch. Lois was a warm, heavy weight against Lana’s side, her breathing deep and even, one arm thrown possessively across Lana’s stomach. For a long, suspended moment, Lana just watched her sleep. In the soft gloom, the sharp edges of Lois’s face were smoothed away. She looked younger.Unburdened. The usual guarded tension in her jaw had melted, leaving only a faint, vulnerable parting of her lips.
Two days.
The words were a dull, quiet throb in Lana’s chest, a counter-rhythm to the steady beat of Lois’s heart against her ribs. She’d said them like a vow in the dark, but in the cold, creeping light, they felt like a sentence. A deadline on something she couldn't even name.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, Lana extricated herself. Lois made a small, protesting sound in her sleep, her fingers clutching at the empty space for a moment before relaxing. Lana pulled on a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top, her movements silent. She stood looking down at the sleeping figure, the blanket curled around her hips, the dark fan of her hair stark against the pale cushion. The urge to crawl back in, to burrow into that warmth and stop time, was a physical ache.
Instead, she padded downstairs. The Talon at dawn was a different creature. Still, silent, waiting. She moved through the familiar routines on autopilot: firing up the massive espresso machine, its gauges hissing to life, grinding the first batch of beans for the day—a dark roast, the sound a percussive roar that shattered the silence. The rich, earthy scent filled the space, layering over the ghost of last night’s lavender soap and sex. She unlocked the front door, flipped the sign to ‘Open,’ though she knew the morning regulars wouldn’t trickle in for another hour.
She was wiping down the very same oak table, the wood still holding the memory of their bodies, when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Not the light, quick steps of a customer, but a familiar, deliberate tread.
Lois appeared, fully dressed in her jeans and a clean t-shirt, her hair damp from a shower Lana hadn’t heard her take. She looked like she’d already rebuilt her walls, brick by brick. Her sharp eyes scanned the café, missing nothing—the clean floor, the steaming machines, Lana frozen mid-wipe.
“You open for business, Lang?” Lois’s voice was morning-rough, but edged with that familiar, challenging warmth.
“Just about,” Lana said, forcing a casual tone. “Coffee?”
“Is the sky blue?” Lois slid onto a stool at the counter, her gaze following Lana’s movements as she poured a fresh shot, steamed the milk with a quiet scream of the wand, assembled a cappuccino with practiced ease. She set it in front of Lois. The silence stretched, filled only by the gurgle of the machine.
Lois took a sip, her eyes closing briefly in appreciation. “You’re good at this.”
“It’s just coffee.”
“It’s not,” Lois said, opening her eyes, pinning Lana with a look. “It’s a ritual.A comfort. You create a little piece of order for people. It’s a quiet kind of power.” She took another sip. “Unlike my power, which is mostly shouting at corrupt officials until they give me a quote.”
Lana smiled faintly, leaning against the back counter. “Different battlefields.”
“Yeah.” Lois’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She looked down into her cup. “So. Two days.”
“You said maybe three.”
“Perry called again. This morning. While you were sleeping.” Lois’s voice was flat. “He’s got a lead on a senator in Metropolis. A big one. He wants me there tomorrow night to meet a source.”
The air left Lana’s lungs. Tomorrow.Not two days. One.
“Oh,” was all she managed.
The front door chimed, mercifully, tragically. Old Mr. Peters shuffled in, smelling of liniment and pipe tobacco. Lana busied herself with his usual—black coffee, two sugars, a day-old scone warmed up. The normalcy of it was a brutal contrast to the vertigo inside her. She moved through the motions, making small talk, her laugh sounding hollow in her own ears.
Lois watched it all from her stool, a silent observer.When Mr. Peters took his seat by the window, Lois stood up. She didn’t head for the door. She walked around the counter, past Lana, and pushed through the swinging door into the back.
Lana followed, her heart a frantic bird in her chest.
The storage room was a claustrophobic labyrinth of overstock. Towering shelves held industrial-sized cans of tomato sauce, boxes of paper cups, and sacks of coffee beans stacked like sandbags. The air was thick with the smells of damp cardboard, stale pastry, and the rich, loamy scent of unground beans. A single, flickering fluorescent tube cast a sickly greenish light over a rickety metal table buried under invoices and a half-unpacked box of mismatched napkins.
Lois was standing in the center of the narrow aisle, her back to Lana, looking at the wall of burlap coffee sacks.
“Lois?” Lana’s voice was barely a whisper.
Lois turned. There was no softness in her face now. Only a desperate, blazing intensity. “He’s watching,” she said, her voice low and harsh. “Out there. He’ll sit for an hour. Maybe two.” She took a step forward, backing Lana against a stack of bean sacks. The burlap was rough through Lana’s thin top. “You have a morning shift. You can’t leave. I can’t walk out of here looking like I just got fucked.”
“Then don’t,” Lana breathed, the words leaving her lips before her brain could censor them.
Lois’s eyes darkened. A savage smile touched her mouth. “What are you suggesting?”
“You tell me,” Lana said, a spark of her own defiance igniting. This was it. The last day.The last hours. The quiet girl who made order from coffee beans was gone, burned away by the woman who had screamed Lois’s name on a table in this very café. “You’re the one who needs things raw.Real. No promises.”
Lois’s gaze dropped to Lana’s mouth. “I need to feel something that isn’t the fucking phone vibrating in my pocket. I need to forget that tomorrow exists.” Her hands came up, gripping Lana’s hips hard enough to bruise. “I need you to make me forget.”
“How?” Lana challenged, her own hands coming up to fist in the front of Lois’s t-shirt.
In answer, Lois spun her around, pushing her face-first into the stacked sacks of beans. The burlap scratched her cheek, the scent of earth and caffeine filling her nostrils. Lois’s body pressed against her from behind, hot and insistent.
“Just like this,” Lois hissed in her ear, one hand sliding around to roughly cup Lana through her shorts. “Quiet. Now.”
Lana gasped as Lois’s fingers found her core, pressing hard even through the fabric. A low, ragged moan escaped her. Lois’s other hand shoved her tank top up, her shorts and panties down to her thighs in one brutal, efficient motion. The cool, damp air of the storage room kissed her exposed skin.
“You’re already wet for me,” Lois muttered, her fingers sliding through Lana’s slickness. “Thinking about it all morning, weren’t you? Thinking about me leaving.”
“Yes,” Lana choked out, pushing back against Lois’s hand.
“Good.” Lois withdrew her fingers. Lana heard the rasp of a zipper, the rustle of denim. Then Lois was pressing against her again, bare now, the hard heat of her aligning with Lana’s soaked cleft.
But she didn’t enter her. Instead, Lois’s slippery fingers slid down, past her labia, circling the tighter, forbidden knot of muscle between her ass cheeks. Lana stiffened, a jolt of shock and raw arousal shooting through her.
“Lois…”
“You said you wanted this,” Lois whispered, her voice a dangerous promise. Her teeth grazed Lana’s shoulder. “You said you wanted me. All of me. No promises.” She pressed the tip of a finger against Lana’s asshole, a firm, insistent pressure. “This is me. This is what I want right now. You can tell me to stop.”
Lana’s mind spun. The rough burlap.The flickering light. The knowledge that Mr. Peters was sipping his coffee just beyond two flimsy doors. The crushing weight of tomorrow. It all coalesced into a single, white-hot point of need. She pushed back against Lois’s finger.
“Don’t stop.”
A guttural sound tore from Lois’s throat. She spat onto her fingers, the wet sound obscenely loud in the confined space, and worked the saliva against Lana’s tight ring. She pressed again, and this time, her fingertip breached, a slow, burning, exquisite invasion. Lana cried out, the sound muffled by the coffee sack.
“Shhh,” Lois breathed, working her finger deeper, her other hand clapping over Lana’s mouth. “You have to be quiet, baby. So quiet.” She began to move her finger, a shallow, stretching fuck, while her other hand slid around to Lana’s front, plunging three fingers into her dripping cunt without warning.
Lana screamed against Lois’s palm, her body bowing between the dual penetration. The stretch was immense, brutal, overwhelming. Lois fucked her with both hands, a relentless, alternating rhythm—thumb circling her clit, fingers pistoning into her pussy, while the finger in her ass worked deeper, stretching her open in a way that sent sparks of pain-pleasure shooting up her spine.
“That’s it,” Lois growled, biting down on the juncture of Lana’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark.“Take it. You feel so fucking good. So tight everywhere.” Her rhythm became frenzied, her hips rocking against Lana’s ass as she simulated fucking her from behind. The stack of bean sacks swayed precariously. “Come for me. Come around my fingers. I wanna feel you clamp down on all of it.”
The pressure was unsustainable. The filthy, raw fullness of it, the dangerous public privacy, the bite of pain from Lois’s teeth—it detonated Lana in a silent, shattering convulsion. Her vision whited out. Her cunt spasmed wildly around Lois’s thrusting fingers, her ass clenched rhythmically on the invading digit, a dual-pulsing orgasm that ripped through her with terrifying force. She sagged against the sacks, boneless, Lois’s hand still tight over her mouth, muffling her choked, endless sobs of release.
Before the last tremor had even faded, Lois was pulling her hands free, spinning Lana around. Her eyes were wild, her lipstick smeared. She shoved Lana down onto her knees amidst the dust and cardboard debris.
“My turn,” she panted, fumbling with her jeans. “And you’re going to be just as quiet.”
She didn’t need to ask twice. Lana’s hunger was a mirror of Lois’s own. She pulled Lois’s jeans and panties down to her knees, burying her face between Lois’s thighs without preamble. She licked into her, tasting her own arousal mixed with Lois’s unique, musky essence. She was ravenous, using her tongue, her lips, her whole face to devour her. Lois’s hands fisted in her hair, pulling, guiding, holding her in place.
“Yeah, just like that, fuck, right there,” Lois gasped, her hips jerking. She tried to stifle her sounds, biting down on her own fist. Her thighs began to tremble.
From the café, the distinct, deafening whirr of the industrial coffee grinder started up. Chloe, the morning barista, must have arrived for her shift. The roar was immense, vibrating through the floor, drowning out all other sound.
It was the permission they needed.
As the grinder reached its peak whine, Lois let go. A raw, ragged scream was torn from her throat, perfectly masked by the machinery’s scream. Her cunt pulsed against Lana’s tongue, flooding her mouth with the salty-sweet taste of her climax. Lois rode out the waves on Lana’s face, her grip on Lana’s hair desperate, her cries lost in the mechanical din.
The grinder stopped as abruptly as it started. The sudden silence was shocking, ringing. In its wake, all that could be heard was their ragged, panting breaths and the cheerful, distant sound of Chloe humming along to the radio in the main café.
Lois slowly released Lana’s hair, her fingers shaking. She stumbled back, pulling her jeans up, her movements clumsy. Lana stayed on her knees, her mouth damp, her mind reeling, looking up at Lois, who looked utterly wrecked and more beautiful than ever.
Lois reached down, her touch unexpectedly gentle, and wiped her thumb across Lana’s slick chin. Her eyes were unreadable.
The storage room door swung open.
Chloe stood there, a box of straws in her hands. She blinked, taking in the scene: Lana on her knees, flushed and dishevelled, Lois straightening her shirt, the charged, thick air. A slow, knowing smile spread across the younger girl’s face.
“Whoa. Sorry, guys,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Just needed the, uh… straws.” She grabbed a package from a shelf, her eyes dancing between them. “You okay, Lana? You look like you… fell.”
“I’m fine, Chloe,” Lana said, her voice surprisingly steady as she stood, pulling her own clothes back into place. “Just… showing Lois our new bean supplier. The, uh, acidity is surprisingly intense.”
Chloe snorted, then shrugged.“Right. Well, the acidity is waiting for her latte out front. Customer.” She winked and disappeared back through the door.The moment shattered. The real world rushed back in, loud and mundane. Lois ran a hand through her hair, a shaky, almost laugh escaping her. But when her eyes met Lana’s, the laughter died. The frantic heat from moments before was gone, replaced by a hollow, weary dread.
“I have to go pack,” Lois said, her voice flat.Lana just nodded. Words were beyond her. She followed Lois out of the storage room. Chloe was busy at the espresso machine, pointedly not looking at them.Mr. Peters waved his empty cup. “Refill, Lana?”
“Of course,” she said, her voice a stranger’s. She moved to the machine, the familiar motions anchoring her. When she turned back with the pot, Lois was gone. No goodbye.No glance. Just the faint chime of the front door closing.Lana poured Mr. Peters’ coffee with a steady hand. Her body still hummed with the ghost of Lois’s touch, the raw, stretched feeling, the taste of her on her tongue. But inside, a vast, cold silence was expanding.
She looked out the window. Lois was on the sidewalk, already halfway down the block, walking with her characteristic fast, determined stride, pulling her phone from her pocket. She put it to her ear, her head bowed. Lana didn’t need to hear to know she was already leaving a voicemail for Perry, her voice crisp and professional, already miles away, already gone.