Extreme Sensitivity… as a feast for the senses. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, part 15

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as a feast for the senses. (15/?)
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. (Well, not anymore. Jackasses.) 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.

(Lindsay’s POV)

Just as Cindy had predicted, the piano bar was nice.

And romantic.

And relaxing.

And so incredibly torturous that ten minutes after they settled into a small corner booth, Lindsay really wished they’d just skipped it and gone back to her place.

After they received their first round courtesy of two eager men who gave them the standard head bobs of interest from the bar as the waitress dropped the frilly drinks at their table, Lindsay slid her arm around Cindy’s back and drew her unambiguously close to spare any further confusion, staring at the oddly colored cocktails in disgust.

Clear or amber. A good drink really need not be pretty to get the job done. Though she could throw back the occasional Cosmo, she preferred her alcohol unpolluted. She was also offended by the insinutation. Little did these guys know she could drink them under the table and then, half-drunk, go process an entire crime scene. Impeccably.

Cindy exhaled raggedly at her relocation and glanced over with a rather pleased smile.

“You know, we could have gotten a few more drinks out of them before you dropped the bomb.”

“I’m still on the mend and you have to drive,” Lindsay reminded her. “And if you really want another, I’m not hard-up for money.”

Cindy still seemed ridiculously delighted at Lindsay’s overly protective act as her eyes drifted back to the growing crowd. Lindsay watched her watch the room, arm tightening instinctively, hand branding Cindy’s hip where it had landed. She couldn’t explain it, but she just couldn’t let anyone else, even for a moment, entertain the notion that Cindy would be leaving with anyone but her. It was outrageously possessive, but, right now, Cindy belonged to her.

When she felt Cindy’s fingertips respond in kind, feeling along the fabric against her leg, until they found the slit in her dress and rested in a warm tease against her inner thigh, an incredible feeling of clout made her giddy and just a touch arrogant. It was as if she’d just laid down a set of essential laws and the only person she really cared about had agreed to abide by them.

With only a caress, a gentle, continuous stroke of skin on skin, at least for tonight, Cindy was consenting to possession.

It was the kind of knowledge that was potent, and it took Lindsay well past midnight. As the tenderly curious digits traced in a slow circle over her skin, leading her in the opposite direction of logic and comprehension, Lindsay couldn’t help wondering how long it might take to talk Cindy into tomorrow. And maybe the day after. And the day after that. Though most thoughts had deserted her at the incredibly distracting contact, one question wouldn’t stop running through Lindsay’s dangerously enthralled mind.

Why did this feel so different?

Not just between the two of them. But why did it feel so different with Cindy than with anyone else who had ever been? Why did it feel like so much more?

Almost as if the question had been voiced aloud, Cindy’s eyes turned her way and then Cindy was looking at her – just looking- unflinchingly, without withholding, and without any walls for protection.

Lindsay had been the focal point of that stare before, but it was somehow so much easier to interpret now. Did it really take a kiss for her to understand those feelings that were so rampant on Cindy’s face? Because it was there. From almost the very beginning, it had been. How had she not recognized it? How could she be immune to that look for so long?

She certainly wasn’t immune to it now.

Like Cindy’s touch, unhurriedly leaving marks that went far deeper than her heated skin, Lindsay was extremely sensitive to Cindy’s openly adoring gaze. Each slow lowering of Cindy’s long lashes was like a brush against Lindsay’s cheek. Each soft dip of her head was a nod to something bigger than either of them.

No one had ever looked at Lindsay like that. Ever. And she’d never seen anyone the way that she saw Cindy right now, in this moment.

It really didn’t matter why and it really didn’t matter how this had all come to pass. It didn’t even matter that she was allowing stupid, unwieldy thoughts entry into her consciousness, like it wasn’t by chance that Theresa Woo chose to call her, someone she didn’t know particularly well, dragging her headlong into an investigation at The Register where Cindy was there waiting across a half wall, intrigued and curious, nosing in where she didn’t belong and somehow in the process making it exactly where she did belong.

Now, here they were, just the two of them, side-by-side, pressed in close, an undeniable vibe humming between them. And they really shouldn’t be there. Because touching Cindy but not really touching Cindy was agonizing and not kissing Cindy felt altogether wrong and sharing Cindy with a roomful of strangers was all but intolerable.

Lindsay really did want to prove that she could do romantic, but she could do romantic in a more private setting. She could do really, really romantic in private with Cindy. She was absolutely certain of that, because gaze locked with Cindy’s in the soft light, with gentle music and hushed conversations providing a rather impressive soundtrack, she didn’t want to simply have her way with the very alluring person next to her. She wanted to worship, gratify… love.

And she wanted to do it right now.

Without even considering a glance around to see who may be watching them, Lindsay’s fingers eased up to the back of Cindy’s head, thick locks falling around her hand in a sensual cocoon. Cindy’s eyes followed her forward movement with such untold craving, Lindsay became oblivious to the presence of any other person in the room. Then Cindy’s eyes fluttered closed, trusting and capitulating, and Lindsay sighed with untold contentment against Cindy’s lips before capturing them, tenderly but completely, leaving no room for misunderstanding… hers or anyone else’s.

The taste of Cindy, as Lindsay’s tongue swept over a lower lip and infiltrated the willing mouth beneath hers, seemed more robust than before. When she breathed in, the contrasting scents of essential oil and sweet alcohol, like purpose warring with pleasure, consumed Lindsay.

When she forced herself to pull away, for fear of becoming too disoriented to remember how, Cindy’s melodic utterance of her abbreviated name halted Lindsay’s attempts at finding her breath or her sanity.

All five of her senses now equally engaged, and extremely sensitive to every look, sound, aroma, flavor or touch that Cindy could provide, Lindsay couldn’t hold out for another minute.

“Can we go home now?” she pleaded, well past pride.

Another tenderly placed kiss to her already tingling lips was the only reply.