DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the_girl_20's fault. Totally her fault.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
By Lesley Mitchell
Jill Bernhardt was sanguine about sex. It hadn't taken more than a few weeks at college, that blessed relief from the upset of her childhood and refuge from the pains of high school, for her to realise that her looks could take her places that even her prodigious brain never could. Men and women, old and young, students and professors, all succumbed to the right look at the right time. If a little flirting, and occasional sex, greased the wheels that opened the doors that might otherwise have remained closed to her, due to the nature of the monied old boy's network of her chosen profession, then she wasn't above using the baser instincts of the people who stood in her way to get what she wanted. Accusations were made, behind her back and to her face that she was sleeping her way to her goals, but in her heart she knew that she worked hard for all that she achieved.
It had been a long and difficult week. Due to the vagaries of scheduling that were one of the few constants in a District Attorney's life, no fewer than three of her pending cases had reached the courtroom. While none of them were major in their own right, Jill wasn't one to give anything less than one hundred percent of her effort in anything. That, and judges tended to look extremely unkindly on disorganised or unprepared public prosecutors and many had surprisingly long memories.
There were other unfortunate side effect to these particular cases. Her lead chair on all three was her acerbic boss; the near impossible to please, Denise, whose temper had seemed even worse than usual for reasons Jill was unable to fathom. The usual gentle rivalry with the public defender's office, represented by the overtly smug personage of Jill's erstwhile lover Hanson North, also seemed to have reached new heights. However, through skilful arguments presented by Denise, supported from Jill's meticulous research, all three cases had resulted in successful convictions of guilty parties. And, yet, Denise still seemed pissed.
Jill, in contrast, was merely exhausted. Their final session had run late and the corridors of the Hall of Justice were quiet. As she walked back to her office, all she wanted was a brief celebratory drink with Lindsay and Claire before heading home for some much needed sleep. Thus, she was taken completely by surprise when an arm grabbed hers, and pulled her, with a yelp, ungently into the office she was passing.
"Denise?!" Abruptly pulled from her daydream of bourbon and friendly banter with her friends, she was surprised and confused when her focus resolved her attacker.
"Ah," spat her superior, voice contorted by the depth of her emotions, "Jill Berdhardt, the wonder DDA."
"Sorry? What? I know we've spent far..."
Her protests were cut short as the smaller woman practically launched herself at Jill, crushing their mouths roughly together in a heated kiss. Caught by surprise and off balance, she found herself shoved backwards against the wood and glass of the door, while her boss's tongue twinned unmercifully with her own.
The kiss broke apart as suddenly as it started, but a hand on her chest kept he pinned against the door.
"What is it they all see?" Denise's tone rivalled the bullpen coffee for bitterness. "Why do they all fall for the perky, blonde cliché?"
A small part of Jill noticed, however, that the other woman tasted anything but bitter when it claimed her own once more, and she followed, unresisting, when Denise manoeuvred them across the room towards the large, oak desk that dominated it. She moaned, as a hand moved first to caressing a pert breast, and then to tormenting the sensitised nipple. The smaller woman pushed her advantage and, riding a powerful wave of arousal, Jill collapsed gratefully onto the solid uncluttered surface, knees weakened by the sensations emanating from the points of contact between them.
There was no finesse to what followed.
With the application of friction and penetration, Denise had expertly drawn a screaming orgasm, hastily stifled, from Jill. Afterwards, she had seemed somehow more content with the world, as she watched her dishevelled junior collect her sex scattered wits, her usual studied poise missing for once.
Jill left when she'd managed to rearrange herself to the point where her appearance no longer screamed 'just fucked' to anyone who cared to look. Her departure was unhurried, but she felt no need to linger, especially as Denise watched the process, in silence.
As she stepped into the corridor, Denise delivered her parting shot.
"At least you're a good lay."
Still more than a little confused as to what had passed between them, Jill continued her interrupted journey towards her own office.
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