Extreme Sensitivity… as an unpleasant turn of events. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, part 23

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as an unpleasant turn of events. (23/?)
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)

“Oh God, Linds,” Cindy gasped, trapping Lindsay’s wandering hand against her abdomen before she could work free the button on her waistband. “Just let me finish this and then I’m all yours for the rest of the night.”

“Mmm. Say that again,” Lindsay breathed in her ear, thumb rubbing up and down Cindy’s skin, dipping teasingly into her belly button.

“Nothing on this screen makes any sense to me,” Cindy proclaimed, close to panic. “It’s like I’m writing in Chinese. You have to stop doing that. I need both of your hands on the outside of my clothes.”

“Spoil sport,” Lindsay pouted.

“And you have to stop doing that.”

That Lindsay flat-out refused to stop doing. It was a secret weapon she’d only just discovered, and how she’d managed to get her hand inside Cindy’s shirt in the first place. Pout firmly in place, she leaned closer, nosing aside red hair.

“Isn’t this why you brought me here?”

“I wanted to spend time with you,” Cindy responded, Lindsay’s eyes drawn instantly to the tongue darting out to lick her lips. “And okay, yes, this is why I brought you here, but I have to do this first.”

“You,” Lindsay kissed just below Cindy’s ear, her hand moving against Cindy’s stomach, despite Cindy’s forearm’s attempt at keeping it contained. Her other hand raised to Cindy’s neck, the tip of her index finger dragging leisurely down the side of Cindy’s throat. “Took me to a nice dinner. You tried to get me drunk.”

“It was a tasting, Linds,” Cindy rasped. “You’re the one who chose to swallow.”

Chuckling immaturely, but refraining from the easy joke, Lindsay continued her attentions, mouth moving lower until she felt Cindy’s pulse beating rapidly against the tip of her tongue.

“I shouldn’t have even done that,” Cindy divulged breathlessly.

When Lindsay pulled back, Cindy was squinting at the screen, shaking her head at it helplessly.

“But you did,” Lindsay reminded her. “Evidently, I make you do naughty things. So what else can I talk you into?”

“If you give me twenty minutes,” Cindy pleaded. “I’ll bet you can talk me into just about anything.”

Her concerted effort to stay focused was one of the sexiest things Lindsay had ever seen, and while she wasn’t going to give into the near assault, Lindsay was certain of that, she could tell that Cindy was enjoying the seduction.

“What am I supposed to do until then?” she asked, pouting again.

Without even a glance her way, Cindy grabbed the remote and held it out in offering. With an exaggeratedly wounded sigh, Lindsay pulled her hand free of Cindy’s shirt and took it.

“This won’t distract you?”

“In comparison?” Cindy countered.

Feeling pompous, if not particularly satisfied, Lindsay situated her pillow and reclined back against the headboard, turning on the TV. It came up on the movie preview channel, the subtle hotel method of trying to tempt her into incidentals. Cindy was typing furiously beside her, apparently able to use her brain again now that she wasn’t being unrelentingly molested. With a smirk, Lindsay flipped through the available titles for something that would get Cindy’s attention. Barely holding back a snigger when she found one she was certain would do the trick, Lindsay accepted the charges.

The opening credits rolled over typically distinctive music and Cindy glanced toward the television as the movie’s title came up. With a roll of her eyes, she looked over at Lindsay. “What are you doing?”

“You said I could watch TV.” Lindsay considered it one of her finest recent accomplishments that she managed to get it out without laughing.

Cindy just kept staring at her, presumably for a better explanation.

“This will be a good movie. Look,” Lindsay pressed the info button on the remote and read the short synopsis that popped up in a blue rectangle at the bottom of the screen. “Russian mail order brides comfort each other.”

“You do realize I have to turn the hotel bill in with my expense report, right?”

“It will just say movie. They don’t have to know it’s called Bi Bi Brides,” Lindsay stated, finally unable to hold back her grin.

With a long-suffering sigh, and a fleeting look toward the screen, where Lindsay’s selection was starting with a literal bang, Cindy returned to work.

The occasional spirited moan drew Lindsay’s eyes to the TV. Otherwise, her focus was on the far more entertaining display of Cindy trying to work through the background noise of slapping body parts and porn music.

Twenty minutes passed and Cindy still wasn’t finished. Feeling she had been more than fair, having given Cindy the requested amount of time without laying a hand on her, Lindsay slid down onto her back, her left hand resting behind her head, her right going to the top button of her shirt and popping it open. It garnered just enough of a reaction that Lindsay slowly worked her way down to the second button. Cindy’s typing launched into hyper-speed as she flicked it open, and by the time she reached button number three, Cindy was closing her laptop and setting it on the floor.

“Finished,” she declared, grabbing the remote from beside Lindsay and turning off the very poor substitute for the real thing, before tossing it over her shoulder and straddling Lindsay’s hips.

Lindsay had a snarky comparison about Cindy’s quick finish and the land speed record, but before she could open her mouth, Cindy was making far better use of it. When Cindy finally pulled away, Lindsay dropped her head back on a moan, with a deep understanding of the phrase “kissed senseless”.

“You don’t play fair,” Cindy murmured, freeing the last two buttons on Lindsay’s shirt, fingers dipping inside to tease up suddenly tense muscles.

It was true enough that Lindsay felt no need to contradict it. Hand lifting to Cindy’s pink-tinged cheek, she smiled. “Are we still trying to postpone the inevitable?” she asked, desperately hoping for an answer in the negative. She didn’t mind waiting if that’s what Cindy wanted, really she didn’t, but if she didn’t have to wait, she didn’t mind that either.

Wishing she hadn’t posed the question when Cindy sat back on her hips, Lindsay barely fought the urge to reach out and pull her back down. It was the cruelest possible position to pause in, pressed tight against her right where it made her brain stop working, but too damn far away everywhere else.

“Linds,” Cindy whispered. It was a significant enough utterance that Lindsay gave her full attention. “I have never, in my life, wanted anything the way that I want you. And I am not just saying that. I really want this with you, but once it’s gone… it’s gone.”

Heart palpitating at the unconcealed longing in Cindy’s eyes, Lindsay smiled up at her. “We can’t do it more than once?”

“We can’t do it the first time more than once,” Cindy said softly.

True. It felt like they had been waiting forever, not just days, but months before that kiss in the hospital. There were some seriously high expectations, and that definitely upped the angst. But not enough to make her any less anxious to get Cindy naked.

“Then I guess we’d better make it good,” she murmured, sliding her hand onto the back of Cindy’s neck and pulling her down, her lips merging with Cindy’s in a slow, scorching kiss.

Lindsay could feel the tension gradually melt away from the small frame above her as Cindy slid down to press flush against the length of her body. Mesmerized by the sensation, Lindsay was momentarily stunned into just lying there, body humming with need, letting Cindy’s lips dominate her own. But when her roaming fingers found skin, she was powerless to resist the draw. Her hands slipped up the back of Cindy’s shirt, palms smoothing over surprisingly strong terrain.

Cindy’s hands played up her sides, grasping onto either side of her shirt and hauled Lindsay up. Her button-up was pushed from her shoulders almost roughly before Cindy’s fingertips moved with utmost tenderness back up her arms.

Lindsay fisted the hem of Cindy’s shirt in eager hands and tugged it over her head. Letting it float carelessly to the floor, her hands returned instantly to Cindy’s body, sliding up her stomach and over the soft fabric of her bra. Cindy’s deep inhalation filled Lindsay’s hands more fully and Lindsay ran her thumbs across the hard peaks straining against green silk.

With a gentleness that, if she had been standing, would have made Lindsay swoon, Cindy cupped her face, kissing her with such detailed attentiveness, Lindsay didn’t realize she was falling backward until she hit the bed, driven deep into the mattress by Cindy’s sudden enthusiasm. A firm thigh insinuated itself between her legs, and Lindsay helplessly arched against it.

Groaning at the unexpected sound of the phone ringing on the bedside table, Lindsay’s loose embrace went into immediate lockdown, clutching Cindy to her in what she hoped was an inescapable hold.

“Ignore it. Please,” she begged, her lips latching onto Cindy’s collarbone.

“I’m sure it’s a wrong number,” Cindy breathed, dipping lower, her mouth tracing a hot path across Lindsay’s chest as the shrill ringing of the phone came to an abrupt stop.

Hand sliding up Cindy’s spine, Lindsay unhooked her bra one-handed. Fingertips ghosting over Cindy’s shoulders, she slid the straps down Cindy’s biceps, tossing it happily from the bed when Cindy leaned back to let her remove it completely. Gentle hands on Cindy’s shoulders kept her at distance enough that Lindsay could look at her. Eyes roaming unhurriedly over fair skin, she finally lifted her gaze to Cindy’s and smiled.

“Why you been hidin’ this?”

Cindy’s answering grin was pure radiance. She captured Lindsay’s lips again, her hand covering one of Lindsay’s and sliding it downward until Lindsay’s hand was cupping one ample breast. Breaking the kiss, and pulling away just enough to see Cindy’s face, Lindsay’s hand moved in a gentle caress, her other hand sliding around to Cindy’s back, bracing her. Cindy’s eyes closed, her tongue darting out to wet dry lips. Lindsay smiled, ducking her head beneath Cindy’s chin and kissing downward. She dipped her tongue into the hollow of Cindy’s throat, reveling in the small whimper it produced.

Trail winding down between Cindy’s breasts, Lindsay stopped at the base of her sternum, running her tongue all the way back up it. Cindy moaned softly, her hand threading into Lindsay’s hair, directing her. Lindsay took her time getting to where Cindy was trying to lead, stopping to kiss every millimeter of skin on the way. Her open mouth moved up the side of Cindy’s right breast, sucking gently on the skin just short of her real destination. When Cindy started squirming beneath her, Lindsay couldn’t tease anymore. Soothing the spot where she’d undoubtedly left a mark with her tongue, Lindsay hovered over Cindy’s pert nipple, stopped just short of making contact by a knock on the door.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Cindy exclaimed, casting a furious look toward the open parlor doors of the bedroom. “Who is it?!?”

If the interruption weren’t so unbelievably cruel, Cindy’s extreme reaction might have been funny.

“Ryan,” a female voice returned from beyond the main room and the hotel room door.

Cindy expelled a scoff of disbelief.

“Who’s Ryan?” Lindsay questioned in confusion.

“She’s an intern at the paper,” Cindy responded irritably.

“What’s she doing here?”

Throwing her hands up in an aggravated shrug, Cindy pushed away, leaning off the side of the bed. Lindsay almost cried out in her own frustration as Cindy pulled her shirt back on and walked out of the bedroom, pulling the wood parlor doors together behind her. Lindsay laid still on the bed, trying to listen to the sounds from the main room over her heavy breathing. Despite the level of suckage the situation had reduced into, she nearly smiled at Cindy’s inhospitable opening.

“What are you doing here?”

“I talked the boss into letting me come be your research assistant on this story,” the perky young voice responded.

“That’s great, but I don’t need a research assistant. See you back at the office.”

She could tell by the noises that followed that Cindy attempted to close the door and the intern stopped it halfway.

“But I need the experience,” she stated.

“You can get that at home.”

“I’m already here,” the girl returned.

There was a loud thump, like something heavy being dropped on the floor.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Cindy questioned promptly. “You can’t stay in here.”

“They didn’t get me a room.”

“Then you’ll have to get yourself one.”

“I can’t afford that. The boss said I could stay with you.”

Feeling it a good idea to intervene before the hotel had an additional murder on their books, Lindsay stood up gingerly, pulling on her shirt and buttoning it on the way to the sliding doors.

“We’ll pay for it,” Lindsay offered, emerging from the bedroom and plucking up the receiver of the phone on the end table, dialing the operator before the girl could respond.

“Who’s she?” she heard Ryan ask.

“Lindsay, my girlfriend,” Cindy replied, and though she said it abrasively, it still gave Lindsay a pleasantly warm feeling.

“Oh,” Ryan said, seeming to realize for the first time she was interrupting something.

“Hi. I’m in room 327,” Lindsay hastily explained when the front desk clerk answered. “I need to get an extra room for tonight.”

“I’m staying for three nights,” Ryan corrected.

“I’m sorry. We’re all booked up for tonight,” the clerk responded on the phone.

“Uh, okay,” Lindsay said, trying not to panic. “Could you possibly find me a room at another hotel in the area?”

“I can call around, but I assure you they’re all booked,” the clerk responded with certainty. “The hot air balloon festival is this weekend. The closest hotels with vacancies are probably almost in San Francisco.”

“Thanks anyway,” Lindsay sighed, hanging up and finally turning to get a look at the blonde girl, no more than twenty years old, staring expectantly back at her. “No chance you’ll drive back to San Francisco tonight is there?”

Eyes narrowing as she looked Lindsay up and down, Ryan turned to Cindy.

“Is she supposed to be here?”

Annoying, but clearly not stupid, the intern’s threat to play tattle-tale was on the table. The last thing that Lindsay wanted was for Cindy to lose her job over this.

“Come on in. Make yourself at home,” Lindsay grudgingly declared, moving to stand behind Cindy as Ryan victoriously stepped back into the hall for two more bags.

“Nice room,” she said, looking around. “You won’t mind if I take the bedroom, will you?”

Ryan disappeared inside the wood doors with her luggage, and Lindsay’s firm arm around Cindy’s waist kept Cindy from attacking her from behind.

“Why don’t we clean up a little and go get a drink?” Lindsay suggested.

Cindy dropped her head back to Lindsay’s shoulder in defeat, whining pitifully. Empathizing completely, Lindsay sighed and pressed a lingering kiss to Cindy’s temple.

“Is this your bra on the floor?” Ryan asked from the bedroom.

“Look at the bright side,” Lindsay whispered in response to Cindy’s growl. “At least now you have someone you can blame the porn on.”