Extreme Sensitivity… as something to keep one up at night. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, Part 18

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as something to keep one up at night. (18/?)
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.

(Cindy’s POV)

Red hair spreading haphazardly over the mattress from the sudden, rapid tug of the pillow from under her head, Cindy clutched it to her face, the downy cushion the only thing keeping the agonized groan that issued forth from her chest from waking all of her neighbors.

And quite possibly the dead.

“Oh my God. What were you thinking?”

Lips flush against the navy pillowcase, the words were clear only in her head, which was rather fitting, because, as a direct result of her own stupid resolve, she was the only person around to hear them.

Suffocating on cotton poly-fill and sexual dissatisfaction, Cindy yanked the pillow away from her face, sucking down air, and wondering yet again if she might, in fact, be the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.

In the universe even.

It was hard to believe that there could possibly exist a single member of a single alien race on any given planet, known, unknown, or demoted like Pluto, that could have made a decision any dumber than the one she had come to a fewer hours earlier.

All agony – and oh was there agony – was her own doing, and no matter how she tried to situate her body, there was no dulling the severe, throbbing ache that reminded her over and over again that she should have just let Lindsay have her way with her.

When she was outside with Martha, she could have been struck by the sudden inspiration to walk back into Lindsay’s apartment with half unbuttoned clothes and spout off a challenge like, “Alright Inspector, let’s see what you can uncover.”

But oh no. Waiting. That had been her big epiphany.

It had seemed a brilliant idea when she was standing there in Lindsay’s living room and everything was happening too fast. While the destination they were speeding toward was highly desirable, it felt as if they were missing all of the delightful scenery along the way. And, on this particular expedition, Cindy really didn’t want to miss anything.

So, hitting the brakes, slowing down, prolonging the journey, it seemed the best way to wring all potential pleasure out of the thrilling voyage they were on.

At the time.

Now, mind painfully racing and body stuck on perpetual simmer, the whole notion seemed really, really damned idiotic.

She could be with Lindsay. She could be lying next to Lindsay. In Lindsay’s bed.

She could be listening to that undeniably sexy Texas drawl whispering completely impure promises.

She could be licking parts of Lindsay’s body that she had yet to even see, and could be seeing parts she’d only thought (extraordinarily naughty thoughts) about.

At this very moment, she could be purring contentedly in the afterglow of Lindsay’s, undoubtedly, mad bedroom skills.

Instead, she was lying in her own bed, in her own apartment, all by her lonesome, realizing what a total raging imbecile she was.

It’s not that her reasoning was too terribly foolish. She really did want the feeling of Lindsay wanting her to last. It would be a while before she would get used to it. It was so real and raw, and it was hard to believe that all that had already happened was actually happening.

Lindsay wanted her.

Lindsay… ravishing dark beauty… hotter than hell police inspector… literal girl of Cindy’s dreams… wanted her. If the look of unabashed desire on Lindsay’s face as she’d left her sitting there on the couch in her living room was any gauge, tonight she’d really wanted her.

The mutual craving between them had been palpable. Consuming. And Cindy could have indulged in it all night long. But apparently, she was too naïve to jump a good thing when it made an offering of itself. So the current wallowing in self-pity and unfulfilled need was nothing short of exactly what she had coming to her.

She just wished that she could sleep through it.

When the phone rang, breaking up her berating self-directed thoughts, there was no one else it could be, but Cindy still found herself hoping with some vigor that it was Lindsay anyway. The caller ID on her phone confirmed it before Lindsay’s husky voice coated her ear.

“Hey,” she offered in response to Cindy’s own casual greeting. “How are you sleepin’?”

A fresh wave of regret rolled through Cindy’s aching body as she was reminded that she could be not sleeping for considerably better reasons.

“I’m not,” she admitted.

“Me neither,” Lindsay replied, with a barely perceptible trace of amusement. “Obviously.”

Cindy didn’t know whether she should laugh, cry, or scream, so she did none of those things, instead just lying there listening to Lindsay’s deep, steady breathing, like a cruel taunt, over the phone line.

“That was a, uh, difficult thing you did,” Lindsay blew out a laugh. “At least I hope it was difficult.”

“I am so sorry,” Cindy blurted out, mortified, the apology directed at both of them.

“Don’t be.”

Two words. That’s all it took. How Lindsay managed to eradicate both shame and stupidity with two words was anyone’s guess, but she did manage.

“Do you maybe wanna hang out tomorrow?” Lindsay added. “We can disappear somewhere Jill and Claire can’t find us.”

The invitation, delivered in a softly relaxed murmur, somehow stoked Cindy’s desire and eased it at the same time.

It served as a perfect reminder.

This was why she had done what she’d done. For more time, time to just soak it in, to convince herself that this was real instead of surreal.

Lindsay was calling her in the middle of the night. Asking her out. Again.

She was dating Lindsay. Officially.

“I would love that,” Cindy answered honestly.

There was something about the fact that Lindsay wasn’t mad at her after what she’d done, and that she was already calling, that brought a sense of serenity, both body and soul. Cindy could feel her heart slowing, the tension coiling her up finally dissipating some.

“Good,” Lindsay’s voice lulled Cindy into a further calm. “Get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Cindy returned, feeling that now she might actually be able to.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” It was a promise. “Night.”

“Goodnight, Linds.”

Cindy hung up, carrying the promise with her into a continuous stream of surprisingly innocent dreams in which Lindsay was headliner.