DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
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Pleasure
By Demeter
The shiver travels all the way down her spine, her toes curling as Lindsay presses her face into the pillow, heated skin against cool fabric. A trail of hot kisses along her neck, and the hand resting on her stomach moves lower, teasing fingertips circling over her hip and back again until they meet warm wetness. A small wordless whimper escapes her, and Cindy whispers, "See? I'll make it up to you? I always do."
There's no eloquent answer Lindsay can give at the moment, but she trusts Cindy. Imagination and fantasy are an important part of their shared pleasure. Still, earlier today when Cindy whispered over the phone that she wasn't wearing any underwear, it was almost too much. Even knowing it was a teasing, mischievous lie.
Her hips rise to meet the exquisite, desperately needed touch, and Cindy takes the hint, leaning over to kiss her, fingers gently invading her.
Lindsay reaches up to brush back her hair. It's like raw silk under her fingers, only one more sensation adding to the kaleidoscope of pleasure. She can feel her body tighten in anticipation, her senses wide open, greedy to take everything in: the perfume of the scented candles Cindy insisted to light before she focused all of her attention on Lindsay. The soft music, Santana strings fading into the background until all she can hear is Cindy's voice, Let go, baby. For me, and the sound of her own strained breathing. The touch of warm skin against her own. Cindy's smile, her eyes darkened with desire.
She knows exactly what she can do to Lindsay, and she's loving it.
It's the tenderness that undoes her every time. When Cindy's lips brush hers in another kiss she is drawn further to the edge and then over it in long delightful moments.
And the night has only just begun.
The End