TITLE: Temporary Girlfriend (6/20)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.

(Cindy’s POV)

Lindsay was on a sweep of the hotel, and Cindy was being as lazy as she had it within her to be. She had propped herself against the headboard, next to the pillow that Lindsay brought from home, the pillow that smelled just like Lindsay, and all that she could think about was what Mark had whispered to her.

Maybe it was the memory of the kiss, that noteworthy moment she’d thought about several times since slipping beneath the sheets, or maybe it was the dancing at the club, which had a special effect of its own, or the fact that, at some point, Lindsay was going to come back and get in bed with her. Then again, Mark’s words could have just stood as a verbal reminder of a thought she’d had before.

“I bet she’s a vixen in bed.”

Yes, indeed. The notion had occurred to Cindy.

It seemed to happen most often when she was being scolded or ordered around by the other woman, or the few times she’d seen Lindsay draw her gun or have to physically restrain someone. Once in a while, one of those instances would generate a fleeting thought like: “I wonder if she’s this bossy in bed.” “I wonder if she’s this stern in bed.” “I wonder if she’s this forceful in bed.” All of those things added up to a very vixen-like “in bed” persona.

But then there were the other times. Like when Lindsay would invest herself one hundred percent in a case, and Cindy would wonder if she was that devoted to the task at hand in bed. Or the very few precious times when she’d seen Lindsay get truly emotional, and she wondered if Lindsay was that unguarded in bed. Or during those brief flashes of jealousy from Lindsay, that Cindy was almost certain had something to do with her, and she would wonder if Lindsay would show her such protectiveness in bed.

Whether her thoughts were wicked or innocent, thinking about Lindsay clearly translated like opening a fortune cookie for her. She just couldn’t do it without wanting to tack ‘in bed’ on at the end of each thought.

Lindsay kissing her hadn’t opened any new doors to her psyche. It has simply solidified the fact that she had a thing for Inspector Boxer. But, then again, who the hell didn’t? Having a crush wasn’t exactly going to change their relationship. But, if Lindsay ever felt like kissing her again, Cindy wasn’t going to kick her in the shin and try to outrun her either.

Which was exactly the kind of thought she didn’t need to be having when Lindsay came in…

Cindy smiled at her as she walked through the door and turned her attention to the muted television to keep from staring.

“Working on your lip-reading skills?” Lindsay quipped, kicking her shoes off.

“Mm hm. It’s one of the few things at which I am not yet expert,” Cindy dead-panned back.

Lindsay chuckled softly. Out of the corner of her eye, Cindy could see her stripping out of her shirt.

“So, walking down these hallways, I was treated to a symphony of moaning and screaming like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I bet I would,” Cindy responded without thinking.

“Oh really?”

Cindy didn’t respond to the amused inquiry. She just shook her head slightly at her inability to be silent and kept her eyes glued to the TV, trying to fight the blush that she had absolutely no chance against the moment she heard the distinctive sounds of Lindsay unzipping and shucking her jeans.

“So, it got me thinking about something.” Lindsay started.

As much as she tried not to, Cindy turned to watch Lindsay approaching the bed in nothing but her black bra and red boy shorts.

“What’s that?” she whispered, because the sight of a nearly nude Lindsay crawling onto the bed with her apparently had the capacity to constrict her vocal cords.

“I wonder what it would take to get those sounds out of you,” Lindsay breathed, hovering above Cindy on her hands and knees.

Cindy blinked once… twice… wondering if time would kindly stand still long enough to let her process what Lindsay had just said.

But either time, or Lindsay, couldn’t hold out, because suddenly Lindsay’s lips were covering hers, and the kiss elicited a moan so promptly that it would have been embarrassing if Cindy had time to be embarrassed. But she didn’t. Not with Lindsay’s hand moving to the back of her neck to tangle in her hair, the other pulling the sheet off of her at the same time.

“Mm,” Lindsay breathed against her lips. “Now let’s work on that scream.”

Then, Lindsay’s hand was under her knees and she was tugged flat onto her back. It wasn’t brutal, but it wasn’t gentle either. If she were a porcelain doll, she would have shattered for sure, but being the flesh and blood woman that she was, it just felt pleasantly aggressive.

And then Lindsay was lying on top of her. And Lindsay’s skin was pressing against hers. And Lindsay’s mouth was assaulting her own in the best possible way. And Lindsay’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Then, Lindsay tore her lips away to move down to her neck.

“Linds,” Cindy panted, feeling the swirl of Lindsay’s tongue against her skin.

Lindsay’s hands pushed her shirt up and Lindsay’s hair brushed across her stomach.

“God, Lindsay,” she groaned at the onslaught of open-mouthed kisses all over her body, lingering and randomly placed, with no real path except for downward.

“Linds,” Cindy pleaded. “Lindsay.”

“Cindy, hey.”

Lindsay’s voice forced her eyes open. She closed them again against the darkness, then reopened them, trying to remember when the TV and lights had been turned off, and when exactly she and Lindsay had gotten back in their clothes.

“Are you okay?” Lindsay asked.

Her breath smelled all minty fresh from brushing her teeth, and Cindy was suddenly very aware of Lindsay’s hand resting against her stomach on the other side of the sheet.

“Yeah,” Cindy found her voice. “I’m fine.”

She figured the best way to get Lindsay to stop touching her in the most unobvious way would be to pretend that nothing had happened. Apparently she was wrong.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Lindsay asked, her hand not budging.

“No. Why?”

“Because you kept calling my name.”

This was one of those times in life when her voice was just destined to squeak out an undeniably false rebuttal, so Cindy took a deep breath, willed her voice to remain in its natural octave and managed a surprisingly even response.

“Did I?”

“Yeah, you did,” Lindsay answered.

“Then I guess I must have, but I don’t remember it, so… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Oh, for the love of God, Lindsay! Just get your hand off of me!

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Lindsay responded, sounding completely unconvinced. “Night.”

“Night.”

Lindsay rolled away, the bed lightly shaking as she settled back into place, and Cindy tried to stay very still. Every shift was going to remind her of the dream, and the dancing, and the kiss, and she really didn’t need to think about any of those things at the moment. It was very simple. She just needed to shut down her mind completely and try not to move for the next six hours.