DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Mental notes of one Ms. Thomas
By Kristina K
For a brief moment, Cindy stopped breathing. Her index finger – after tracing the line of Lindsay's jaw – dropped into that little dimple on Lindsay's chin and it remained there, just for a moment, but long enough for Cindy's breath to catch in her lungs. With her fingers interlaced at the back of her head, cozily resting against the cushions on the young reporter's immaculately made bed, Lindsay narrowed her eyes, locking them with the younger woman's, not budging, not giving anything away.
One carefully manicured, blunt nail scrapped just under Lindsay's bottom lip, tickling it into a little pout. Cindy's eyes dropped to Lindsay's mouth, those two plump, soft pink pillows of perfection – still untouched, still unexplored. When she finally exhaled, it was a long waft of air blowing slow and hard through her nostrils. She swallowed, clenched her jaw and then dared to moisten her lips, just like a gourmet would at the sight of a deliciously prepared meal.
With her lips parted and her tongue just slightly peeking from behind them and tucked against the teeth, Cindy ventured onto a new path for her exploring finger and soon enough, it slipped from that gorgeous little indentation and slid down the inspector's throat. A small smile just barely tugged on her lips when she felt Lindsay subtly buck against the bed at the touch. Bingo! Cindy cheered in her head, making a mental note: Weak spot number one, found.
Exactly three buttons on Lindsay's shirt were undone – one more than usual. From the moment Lindsay presented herself at her door and Cindy noticed the extra cleavage showing, she knew the third button was deliberate and for her eyes only. Sneaky little thing, aren't you, Inspector Boxer? The sole finger was promoted to four of them, just as soon as Cindy's hand reached the dip at the base of Lindsay's throat and they spread warmly over the smooth skin on their descend. She could feel strong and steady beats of Lindsay's heart under her fingertips and Cindy noticed how, amazingly, hers was beating just as steadily. No wild thumping, no racing of the pulse. She was calm, as if this – touching Lindsay Boxer the way she did – was something so common and usual.
Button number four gave in, and then number five and six were dealt with right after that. Up until then, Lindsay hadn't said anything; she hadn't even made a sound. Her eyes were fixed on the woman by her side as if they were curiously observing what would happen next without actually paying attention to ministration of Cindy's hand.
Lindsay's belt buckle was fastened at its last hole and Cindy had to give it a strong tug before the pin fell out and unbuckled the clasp. Blindly pulling on the leather strap bound around the Inspector's waist, Cindy lifted her eyes again and studied Lindsay's features. The older woman's face was still unreadable, almost taunting her to go further, to test the limits.
Deciding that she went far enough, stopping at the unbuckled belt and half unbuttoned jeans, Cindy shifted up, and laid next to Lindsay. Her hand started to move up – it had just reached Lindsay's navel – when suddenly, Lindsay's hand clasped urgently over hers, trapping it in mid motion. Cindy blinked and looked up.
"Don't." Lindsay breathed out, keeping Cindy's hand captive against the lower part of her abdomen.
Cindy's inquiring look lasted for about a second or two, before her eyes slightly widened in recognition of intent, her throat suddenly completely dry and her heart on its way to break the world speeding record. Lindsay's fingers flexed against hers and then her hand was being guided from where it so innocently tried to escape only a moment ago.
The jeans fit snugly on Lindsay's hips, revealing the leather belt to be merely a fashion accessory. More like line and a hook for the unsuspecting, Cindy mused just as her fingers dipped under the waistband of Lindsay's panties. The other hand, the one that wasn't guiding Cindy into losing her mind, extended and reached for Cindy's face. Fingertips brushed over her cheek and then they slipped to the back of her head, deep into the mass of auburn hair. Lindsay pulled her closer and down, making the younger woman whimper into her mouth at the contact of two pairs of lips against each other. Next came Cindy's gasp when Lindsay guided her hand lower and Cindy's fingers met wetness and warmth.
Lindsay made a low moany sound, and it came from the back of her throat; lazy, extended sound of pleasure. She claimed Cindy's mouth in hungry, deep kisses and soon, what began as a slow and almost 'I dare you' type of seduction, it built up into a heated, urgent expulsion of months and months of being subtle, vague and pretty much in deep denial.
It was the first time Cindy ever witnessed Lindsay's willing loss of control – or maybe that wasn't the right expression, since Lindsay still kept Cindy close with one hand at the back of her head and with the other where she most needed Cindy's fingers to be, continuing doing what they did – and to see the woman she so desired willingly let herself go and surrender to what Cindy thought was only possible in her dreams, equaled instant heaven on Earth to the young reporter. It looked like the always-focused inspector had more than one weak spot she was hiding.
Lindsay's climax came as a muffled, groany roar squeezed through her teeth, with hips bucking and eyes shutting tight in savor of the warm, relaxing feeling spreading through her body. Cindy's breathing was just as labored as Lindsay's was when finally all motion seized and both of them came back down from the high. Lindsay's eyes opened and watched the ceiling, the stark whiteness of it, without the single crack or speck of dust on it. She smiled and squeezed Cindy closer to her, inhaling the scent of her hair.
Cindy's left hand got released and it came out from behind the dark blue cotton of Lindsay's underwear only to rest peacefully just shy of its waistband.
"Is it always this 'shock and awe' with you?" Cindy spoke after a moment, nuzzling her face into Lindsay's neck.
The inspector chuckled, her eyes still insistent to find at least one imperfection on this girl's bedroom ceiling. "Would it be a problem if it was?" Lindsay wanted to know.
"Not really," Cindy snuggled closer, and then gently traced the outline of Lindsay's navel with her fingertips. Inspector's breath hitched in an instant and Cindy memorized contently: Found, weak spot number three.
The End