Extreme Sensitivity… as foreplay. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, part 14

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as foreplay. (14/?)
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.

Despite the fact that the table was plenty small enough to make it easy to do so without relocating, sharing dessert offered a perfect excuse for Cindy to scoot her chair around next to Lindsay’s. It had seemed an excellent idea when it first occurred to her. Now, knee bumping lightly against Lindsay’s and the heat of the body beside her a serious distraction, just getting the spoon to her lips without losing its contents to her lap felt like an Olympic-worthy challenge.

Then there was the fact that Lindsay was left-handed, freeing up her right hand to casually rest on the back of her chair, where explorative fingers couldn’t seem to stop moving against her back.

Hand shaking ever so slightly, Cindy managed a bite, hissing as she felt the scald of a too hot apple against her lip. A quickly gathered scoop of ice cream helped ease the pain, but tears still pricked her eyes in reaction.

“Are you okay?” Lindsay’s voice husked from beside her.

Knowing better than to turn her head and look into those close, concerned eyes, Cindy nodded.

“Yeah. It’s just hot.”

“Are you sensitive to temperatures or something?”

“Kind of,” Cindy responded, “but that really is hot.”

“It’s not that hot,” Lindsay grinned, closing her mouth around a big spoonful of warm fruit and pastry to prove the point.

After watching that mouth move minutely as Lindsay chewed and swallowed, and Lindsay’s tongue slide out to lick her bottom lip, sending a very warm surge up through her, Cindy raised her eyes to find herself the focus of an amused, somewhat pompous, gaze.

“We don’t all have mouths of steel, you know?” she teased, casting her eyes back toward the dessert as she once again dug her spoon in with a vengeance, experiencing a sudden ravenous hunger for something sweet and mouth-watering. “Some of us have extremely sensitive palates.”

Lindsay’s hand covered hers, preventing Cindy from bringing the freed bite up to her lips, and she turned a pout on her oppressor. When she saw the scheming expression Lindsay was wearing, Cindy didn’t know if she should swoon or be terrified. Lindsay’s next husked words didn’t help any with the decision.

“Close your eyes.”

“What? Why?” she asked, heart racing in earnest, each subsequent breath a little harder to come by.

She could only watch the spoon float away as it was stolen from her hand and Lindsay transferred it to the furthest reaches of the plate, where any attempts at retrieving it would easily be blocked by a lanky arm.

“You don’t trust me?” she asked, body rotating in Cindy’s direction and sliding closer.

Of course Lindsay would pose such a question, leaving her no choice but to comply. Cindy dithered for as long as she dared, and then closed her eyes, abandoning herself to Lindsay’s whims.

Hot breath against her ear forced her mouth open involuntarily, a soft gust of air audibly expelling from it.

“Still hurting?”

Cindy tried to think.

“No,” she whispered, sensing Lindsay’s proximity as surely as if they were touching.

The clink of utensil to plate paired with Lindsay’s gently spoken request sent a shudder through her she was sure had to be visible. But it wasn’t of fear. It was excitement. With a little side dish of something very closely related to desire.

“Open your mouth.”

Helpless but to comply, Cindy felt the chill of cinnamon ice cream being laid carefully on her tongue.

“Cold?”

The searing exhalation against her skin made it seem anything but.

“It is ice cream,” she responded, proud of how well she reigned in any noticeable quiver of her voice.

Apparently smart mouthing would be no deterrent to the rather unexpected behavior of her date, because Lindsay just chuckled in response.

“You’re so smart.”

They were hardly the only ones in the restaurant doing disgustingly romantic things at their table. Cindy had witnessed several PDAs during dinner that made her wonder if her friend at work had neglected to tell her that this place was half restaurant, half sex club.

Another telling sound of the spoon digging into the dessert and Cindy felt the warmth of the spoon against her bottom lip before opening to the combination of apple and crumbling topping. It was cooler than before but strikingly warm in comparison to the last bite.

“It’s not too hot, is it?”

Lindsay’s breath had moved from her ear to her lips and something about the sensation in the moment nearly caused a reflexive groan. Hand gripping the table hard, Cindy could feel Lindsay’s eyes on her, and could manage only a shake of her head. When exactly did food consumption become an erotic experience? It’s not like she had never eaten before. She’d even been fed before, but she couldn’t recall it ever having been quite so stimulating.

The unmistakable clatter of Lindsay putting the spoon down filled the air and then it was almost too silent. Cindy was almost desperate to sneak a peek, but knew she’d get caught at it. That… and she was finding the element of surprise rather seductive.

“Open,” Lindsay’s low voice commanded.

Jaw dropping at the word as if bewitched to do so, Cindy’s eyes snapped open as well when her tongue met with something so cold that she had to bite back a yelp of surprise. Lindsay grinned wickedly at her, but Cindy was focused on the chunk of ice between her fingers that she’d somehow managed to silently extract from her drink.

As peeved as she attempted to appear, Lindsay either wasn’t buying it, or aghast looks were also not going to discourage her fun.

“Close your eyes,” Lindsay ordered her again, and like the lovesick, madly fixated woman she was, Cindy gave in.

She tried to twist the rest of her face into a scowl as the ice returned and lingered to run across her lips and dipped into her mouth to torture the tip of her tongue. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel good either.

Then, the ice suddenly pulled away, she heard the sound of it dropping onto the plate, and her lips were covered by Lindsay’s with startling vigor. Surprised by the fact that Lindsay was doing all of this in public, that the tongue that penetrated her mouth was so fantastically scorching, and by the sheer possession of Lindsay so vehemently claiming her, Cindy whimpered.

Faint and wobbly when the kiss came to an end, she could hear Lindsay’s labored breathing, making her feel slightly less self-conscious in regards to her own heaving chest.

“How was that?” Lindsay asked, still close enough that her breath singed Cindy’s lips.

A feeble smile coming to her face, Cindy opened her eyes only to find Lindsay looking at her as if the kiss was still in progress.

“Hot,” Cindy murmured.

She could still feel it. And she wanted to feel more of it. She wanted to know exactly how Lindsay’s hands would translate that look onto her body.

“Everything okay over here?” the waiter asked brightly, interrupting the very intimate moment.

As a server in one of the most romantic restaurants in town, he’d probably developed a sixth sense for when a couple could potentially go wild and end up shagging on the tabletop.

“Fine. Thanks,” Lindsay responded.

The authoritative cop voice sent him off again in a hurry, but his appearance was enough to remind them that they were in public. Lindsay turned away, taking a prolonged drink from her glass, before looking sidelong at Cindy again.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

Oh, she had thoughts.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Lindsay asked.

“If I learned one thing from the children’s stories I was brought up on, it’s that good girls shouldn’t say such filthy things.”

Lindsay choked on her laughter and the water she’d picked a very bad moment to attempt to drink.

“Let’s go dancing,” Cindy suggested.

Laughter dying, Lindsay’s head whirled around, a look of absolute alarm on her face, and Cindy grinned.

“Well, in my fantasy, that’s what came next. That way I could show you my unbelievably smooth moves and touch you inappropriately in a public venue.”

“We’re in a public venue,” Lindsay tempted. “So you’re telling me I ruined your fantasy?”

“Since you’ve embellished with several pleasurable activities I hadn’t thought up on my own, I’d say you improved it,” she responded honestly. “Besides there will be other dates, ones where you aren’t debilitated. Won’t there?”

Lindsay’s slowly emerging smile and warm gaze answered the question before her words confirmed.

“Yeah. There’ll be other dates,” she husked, eyes dropping to follow the movement of the glass she had taken to twirling between her hands. “There’s this, uh… piano bar not far from here. It’s pretty nice.”

“A piano bar?” Cindy questioned.

Lindsay glanced over with a confused nod.

“You’ve been to a piano bar?”

“Yes,” Lindsay replied, offended.

Cindy just kept watching her, eyes narrowed, certain there had to be a real story in there somewhere. The unwavering stare finally forced a conquered sigh from Lindsay.

“Someone was murdered there,” she admitted.

“Aha! I knew it. Ever the romantic,” Cindy teased.

Lindsay laughed, but it sounded strangely forced and hollow and trailed quickly away.

“I’m tryin’,” she whispered faintly.

Cindy’s amusement yielded to an overwhelming understanding. Her hand reached out, finding Lindsay’s chin and drew the surprisingly easy-to-read face back toward her. Real insecurity leaked through the usually invulnerable façade.

“It sounds nice,” she said.

And not to tease or to entice, but for the singular purpose of reassurance, she leaned over and pressed her lips to Lindsay’s quickly, seeing that spectacular smile reemerge as she pulled away.