DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
CHALLENGE: Written for the second 24 Hour Challenge.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
The Good, Bad, Dirty Mistress
By trancer
"You know," Lindsay paused, hurriedly shimmying her shoulders and sliding out of her jacket. "I'm starting to feel dirty."
"Bad dirty?" Jill smiled as her fingers made a beeline towards Lindsay's belt. "Or good dirty?"
"Bad dirty," Lindsay groaned as Jill's lips found that spot on Lindsay's neck. "Definitely bad dirty."
"Wait." Jill pulled her face back to meet Lindsay's eyes, her tone notedly less amorous than a moment before. "Is that good, bad dirty or bad, bad dirty?"
They were drunk the first time it happened. What had started as an after work celebration regarding another of Jill's legal victories, turned to Jill making a drunken double entendre regarding Lindsay's long and nimble fingers. Five minutes later, Jill found herself pushed against a bathroom wall discovering just how long and how nimble Lindsay's fingers really were.
Thing were awkward afterward, at least, for awhile. They told themselves it was just a fluke, a drunken fling between friends just looking to relieve the weird tension between them.
Then, it happened again. And then again. And again. It happened when Jill wasn't drunk and neither was Lindsay. Sure, they felt guilty about it afterwards, Lindsay more so than Jill. Who always swore 'this is the last time', only to show up at Jill's doorstep in the middle of the night with that look in her eye, crumbling Jill's resolve with the heat of her lips and the strength in those fingers as they slid inside her and made her come like none of her other lovers could.
So, when Lindsay called using her 'sexy voice' and asking if Jill was interested in a 'nooner', how could Jill refuse? Lindsay had a way of winding Jill up. Lindsay had a way of uncoiling that tension. And Jill would be damned if she'd let something like work get in the way of Lindsay having her way.
But now she was in the backseat of Lindsay's car, with the windows fogged up from the heat, her panties draped around an ankle, her legs folded over the swell of Lindsay's thighs. If she were a car, she'd be shifting into fifth gear, engine humming and hot, barreling towards a hundred miles an hour -
And Lindsay just slammed on the brakes.
"What do you mean 'bad, bad dirty'?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"No," Jill huffed. "You don't."
She angrily grabbed for her panties, stuffing them in the pocket of her skirt.
"What are you doing?" Lindsay asked, brow scrunched in confusion.
"I'm leaving."
"What?"
"I'm not a slut!"
"Whoa, where'd that come from?"
Jill grabbed her jacket, jamming it under her arm. She reached for the door handle, felt Lindsay's fingers clasping around her own.
"Jill?"
"Let go of me." Her cheeks flushed red. She felt guilty enough. She didn't need Lindsay rubbing it in her face.
"Jill!"
Jill struggled as Lindsay's arms wrapped around her, pulling her back. She'd learned long ago how deceptively strong Lindsay was but Jill still felt the need to fight. She wriggled and bucked, twisting into Lindsay until she was straddling the brunette's lap. Lindsay's hands clamped around Jill's wrists as Jill flailed her arms not exactly sure what she would do if she were to break free but needing to go through the motions. Then, Jill's hands were behind her back. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat because it hurt in that way that felt really good. And Jill had to bite her lip to keep her focus because she was supposed to be mad at Lindsay instead of trying really, really hard not to come right then and there.
Lindsay leaned in, invading Jill's space until their lips were millimeters apart. She smiled, knowing she had Jill right where she wanted her, like she knew how wet this made her and could feel the blonde holding back, waiting for Lindsay's next move.
"I guess I do have to spell it out for you."
"Spell what?"
"I want you," Lindsay drawled huskily. "Not some of the time, or part time, or in the backseat of my car, one hand staring at my watch because we only have twenty minutes. Sneaking around like some dirty mistress. I want you all the time. I wanna kiss you like I have all the time in the world, touch every part of your body until I've memorized your skin a million times over."
She removed one of the hands binding Jill's wrists, slid her fingers between Jill's legs and didn't stop until Jill whimpered. "I want you in my bed, sweaty and sticky, passing out right after you've screamed my name. Waking up with me between your legs and climaxing twice before breakfast."
Both hands free, Jill planted them on the top of the seat, her nails digging into the leather as her hips began grinding a slow rhythm. "What about Tom?"
"Fuck Tom!" Lindsay accented with a quick jut of a finger. "I realized when I saw Tom in his office with Heather, Tom was settling. I'd settled for Tom, thinking he was the best I'd ever have. He was wrong. I was wrong. And I'm not settling for second best. Not this time."
"Even if you're just a dirty mistress."
"Especially," Lindsay smiled, lifting and turning Jill until she was laying on the seat. "If I'm just a dirty mistress."
"Is that a good, dirty mistress, or a bad, dirty mistress?"
"Oh, a very good," she kissed the inside of Jill's thigh as she descended between Jill's legs. "Very bad, dirty mistress."
The End