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Her hands fisting the bunched up sheet, Lindsay digs her heels into the mattress, as pleasure is taking over her body mercilessly, driving away all rational thought and every possible regret, as usual when they are together. The woman who just got comfortable between her legs looks up at her with an amused expression.
"Works for you," she states, and there's a hint of satisfaction about that fact; then she resumes what she's been doing, and Lindsay doesn't get to think about how this is all wrong.
She has excused herself halfway during dinner, realizing it wasn't fair to either of them. Pete Raynor can't take her mind off today's images, the tension that stayed with her, but she knows someone who can.
Soft strands of red hair are caressing her thighs, the touch of the other woman's mouth and tongue just enough to keep her teetering on the edge, but not getting over it. She always does that to Lindsay, tease her relentlessly, make her bite back those pitiful sounds, then get her to the point where she doesn't care anymore.
Maybe that's her way of a comeback, because they both know, it's this relief that Lindsay seeks from her, time and again. It has nothing to do with love.
Lindsay can feel the fingernails digging into her skin; she doesn't protest; she wants them to draw blood.
This time, she's granted some mercy, that devilish tongue applying just a little more pressure, fingers caressing, probing, then going in deep.
As always, she closes her eyes at that moment, the fantasy slamming into her brain. She can feel every muscle in her body tense up, the shiver racing down her spine, and she cries out, can't be still, can't hold back--
Lindsay has always loved roller-coasters, the moment you have reached that top, and then it's going down, and it feels like flying... there isn't much of a difference now.
She keeps her eyes closed, enjoying the touch of warm, familiar hands easing her trembling, sweat-slicked body through the aftermath. Just one more moment, pretending.
"Thank you," she whispers, finally looking at the other woman.
She's beautiful, looking all flushed and happy, red hair disheveled, with the smile of the cat that got the cream. Whoever she is to Lindsay, though, there's someone she will never be:
When Andrea snuggles up beside her, drawing the sheets over their bodies, Lindsay shakes her head with a sigh. She kisses her softly and then sits up. "I need to go home."
"Sure you do." Andrea is annoyed. She always is, despite the rules they have established. She knows why Lindsay is here and has agreed to their little deal earlier, but Lindsay knows, she doesn't like it.
"No, you're not," Andrea snaps. "Don't even pretend." She gets up as well, picking up her scattered clothes. "And by the way, damn you for making me feel this way, like this is something dirty."
Lindsay is taken aback for an instant, but she chooses not to answer anything to that; by now, she feels bad enough anyway.
"Okay, that is answer enough for the question I never dared to ask."
It's not a good moment for this; Lindsay is aware of that, but she can't help noticing how even the voice resembles Cindy's. They wear the same kind of clothes. They could almost be twins, though Andrea is slightler taller, skinnier, not all soft curves like Cindy is. Close enough, though.
"I thought we had an agreement. Look--" She pulls Andrea closer to her, relying on the effect she knew she had on her right away. "I'll stay if you want." Her hands travel under Andrea's shirt. Lindsay smiles when she feels her breath catch. "Let me repay the favor?"
Andrea steps out of Lindsay's embrace, shaking her head. "Lindsay, I can't do this anymore."
That's what she's been afraid of all the time. The need for making a decsion... she doesn't want to let go. But what Andrea wants, Lindsay can't give her.
And it's sad, because Cindy Thomas might have a bad case of hero worship for Lindsay, but what she doesn't see is a woman who wants her, so badly she makes do with this charade. She'd probably be shocked if she knew the extent to which Lindsay is obsessing over her, the way it nearly killed her today to let her walk into Andrew McCarthy's house.
It's her Lindsay wants to hold, to make love to like no one has ever before, but it's all a moot point. It will never be.
What is left for her, if Andrea leaves her?
"What do you expect?"
"I don't know, maybe just a little bit of... investment? Don't you worry, Lindsay, I know that will never happen. Forgive me if I have to protect myself."
Don't we all? Lindsay steps a little closer again. Andrea looks up at her, obviously torn between irritation and fascination. It's the gun, the girls said. It's also her height; Lindsay knows all well it impresses. Lastly, the voice. "Don't you think I can protect you?"
"I hate you," Andrea whispers, but she lets herself be pulled close for a kiss.
"Show me again," Lindsay says.
The voice behind her makes her spin around, her heart leaping into her throat. Andrea isn't easily scared, but she's wary at 5 am in the parking garage.
The man who's spoken to her, wears a suit and a briefcase, probably on his way to work. But why does he know her name? She fumbles with her car keys, inserting the right one into the lock finally.
"We need to talk."
There's a flash of white, and the he presses the damp cloth over her mouth and nose.
As she loses consciousness, Andrea's last thought is, how ironic that Lindsay is just two floors away.
"Am I really that fucked up?"
Martha barks and jumps off the couch, making Lindsay chuckle. "Okay, I guess you just gave me the answer."
Coming home for a quick shower and a bite to eat, she's ready to leave for work when her cell phone rings.
It's Tom, and when he tells her the reason for his call, she curses. "Damn, I knew it. Give me fifteen minutes."
There's never been a question whether or not he'd strike again - it's been a matter of time. And Lindsay has never been his target; all he wanted was to create a diversion. Looks like Kiss Me Not has succeeded.
There was this bad feeling rising within her when Tom called, and it's been with her since that moment. Nothing, though, could have prepared Lindsay for the sight of the dead body under the sheet, a woman with her mouth sewn shut --
She staggers slightly, feeling like she's been punched in the gut, hard.
All the things she wanted to say, everything she held back - every chance to make up for them is gone in an instant.
"Don't you think I can protect you?"
And what a shitty job she did.
Claire looks up at her, concern in her expression. "It's only been a few months. He's escalating." Then, quiet enough for only the two of them to overhear, "Please don't tell me you know her."
Lindsay just turns away, and that's all the answer she needs.
This is another secret she needs to keep from the girls. Especially from Cindy who'll maybe wonder about the likeness of her with Kiss Me Not's newest victim. And hasn't she known, right from the moment Agent Ashe showed her the picture that the killer had sent to the FBI, it isn't really Lindsay who he's after. He wants to silence her, yes, by making it more personal with each kill.
There are no tears; crying to her friends won't help, and she's got a job to do. There's only cold determination, no room left for anything else, when Lindsay turns to Claire again. "Fleetingly. And I think you're right about him escalating. That's why it had to end here. There has to be any clue left."
Claire looks at her doubtfully. "Unless he's gotten careless, I don't see--"
"They all get careless at some point. And we'll be there."
I promise, she tells Andrea, not aloud, but in her mind. That's what it comes down to again, her against the monster, and she can't tell, can't share, because it's her responsibility now.
Just a tiny part of her mind gets to consider that if what she had wanted so badly, had ever come true, it might not be Andrea under that sheet. With this thought, there comes a lot of guilt, anger at
herself and this little bit of relief she can't allow herself to ever feel.
Cindy waves from the other side of the yellow tape.
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