EDITED: 2015/04/24

Disclaimer: Again I own nothing, cept the ideas, possibly the original characters, but at the same time my original characters were inspired.

ORGINAL A.N: Hey hey, yes I posted this story on another site a few months back, earlier this summer. Thanks for the encouragement. So far I've got up to Chapter 4 written. I'm eager to get 3 out but am waiting to finish and finalize 4 first. I'm working out some plot kinks. I think I become obsessed with editing and re editing and making things work out. I have so many elaborate plot twists in my head, its just hard to execute.

Shadowing Phantoms

Chapter 2: Chasing Dawn

Spencer Carlin awoke gasping and wet; her nipples hardened gems, straining beneath the lithe tongue nipping relentlessly against her right breast, engulfing the tender flesh in warm wetness. Delicate French manicured fingers tweaked her left nipple, pinching and pulling at it. Arching her back for more contact, Spencer craved more, her fingers already tangled in ginger blonde curls urging the pleasure downwards. Yet those defiant lips remained stationed devouring her right breast.

Groaning, Spencer urged both their bodies upright, her one night stand still stubbornly attached to her pert breasts, teasingly meeting Spencer's lust filled gaze with her own wonton blue orbs. Gripping the blonde by the back of her neck Spencer forced the lips from her breast to meet her own sleep chapped lips in a bruising kiss.

"Don't tease," Spencer's voice gruff from sleep, or rather the inadequate amount of sleep she did manage. Her hands already trailing the length of her bed mate, noting the dips, the curves, coming to rest on a pert little butt, taking a cheek in each hand, Spencer began kneading the flesh roughly.

"Spencer!" the other blonde whimpered into her breasts.

Spencer grinned pushing the blonde onto her back and straddling her thighs, moving her hands to pin her captive to the bed. Spencer stared into her eyes.

"You're beautiful," husked Spencer's blonde bed quest.

Spencer lost herself in pale blue eyes, her probing orbs, dazed lost in time.

"You're beautiful..." One kiss. Two kiss. Three kiss.

Spencer gasped as the alluring lips of Ashley Davies trailed down her naval. Her talented tongue dipping into Spencer's ticklish belly button. She cupped the wild brown mane in her hands, dragging those addicting lips back to her own. "You've never seen me," Spencer reminded the older girl, their lips dangerously close. "How do you know I'm not utterly hideous," she teased, capturing those lips between her teeth.

"Because..." Ashley said, her bottom lip still possessed in between teeth, she took Spencer's hands hostage and pinned them roughly above their heads, pressing her breasts firmly into her lover's, moaning as her taunt nipples' met Ashley's hardening peaks, Spencer released Ashley's lips, "...I said so." Was the cocky response. Lips teasingly trailed across her chin, "and I'm always right." Spencer felt the infamous Davies grin. "Your arms," those lips danced across her arms, "beautiful. Your neck," Ashley nip her neck, causing a moan, "beautiful. Your eyes," a kiss on each eye lid, "Your nose, your cheeks," a kiss on each cheek, while she squeezed Spencer's ass for good measure earning a moan, "beautiful."

"Kissable, Ash," Spencer mumbled, into the brunette's neck. "That makes me kissable , not beautiful."

Ashley ignored her, and brought their bodies level once again. "Your lips," she whispered, hovering above Spencer's lips. "I love your lips," she whispered dipping her tongue into Spencer's waiting mouth.

Spencer held a gasp, she could distinctly taste the liquor. The vodka. She released a breath, "You're drunk..."

Ashley was already lost, her lips claiming rights to Spencer's lips, devouring her, ravishing her, too far gone to care.

Spencer's gaze remained intense and dazed. It was as if she was possessed. Insecurity quickly replaced the wonton lust of this bedmate, who uncomfortably turned away from the intense grey blue eyes of her captor.

Spencer sat up and distanced herself from the blonde, her head spinning. She silently cursed herself for her love of vodka, and wished she loved cranberry juice enough to savour it virgin. Her guest remained stationed sprawled atop the covers, as the clock radio woke with a shrilling alarm. 5am.

Spencer stood up stark naked. She took a moment to stretch her limbs before grabbing her track gear, that rest carelessly tossed on the clotheshorse the morning before.

"Where are you going?" her one time erotic encountered questioned, eyes lingering as the blonde's delicious flesh began to disappear.

"Morning run," Spencer answered, entrapped by her carnal desires. It was a new day. The clock radio still blaring, she opened the door leading into her living room/office and kitchenette. Scrambling around the case files left carelessly about, she found her water bottle at the foot of the coffee table. She took it into the tiny kitchenette sink to fill.

Spencer noted the chicken scrawled note posted on the mini fridge:

Take 'em and leave 'em where you found 'em locks.
Don't take 'em home.
Now they know where we live.
Working on a new case. Won't be home for a few.
Emerge 2.

xoxo
-T

Spencer grinned, musing how she'd miss the comings and goings of her partner, earlier that morning (late last night-depending on how you viewed it).

"Wouldn't you rather stay in bed?" the blonde called from the doorway to Spencer's room, poorly hiding her modesty with Spencer's bed covers.

"No. Not really," Spencer mumbled coldly, still bothered by the memory that promptly drowned her desire for this strange woman in her house. Heading towards the kitchen window, she peered out into the empty streets. Dawn was approaching. She was going to be late.

"When will you be back?"

"In a few hours," Spencer answered nonchalantly, trying to locate her runners. "There's a spare key on the hook, just toss it in the mail box, when you leave, yeah?"

The other blonde was confused. They had a great evening, fantastic sex not three hours ago. And just before the encore performance Spencer started wigging out on her, giving her the cold shoulder. Now she was just going to abandon her to run at five in the morning.

"You've got a message," the blonde gestured towards the blinking red light from beneath the couch.

Spencer looked at the blonde confused.

"Your answering machine. It's under the couch," the blonde pointed out. "Why is it underneath the couch?"

Spencer ignored her, she wanted to give the blonde a few hours to pull herself together before kindly asking her to leave. Spencer wasn't completely heartless. She didn't want to resort to emergency drop the bitch stage 2, as the note instructed. But the blonde was bringing it on herself by pointing out the answering machine. "Least it isn't in the bathroom this time," Spencer mumbled under her breath. She grabbed the machine by its cord and dragged it out. 1 new message. She hit play.

Soon the familiar sexy drawl filled the room. Spencer bit back a chuckle. "Hey baby. I miss you. I was hoping we could engage in a little one on one sexy time via the telephone." 'That voice. She really was sex on a stick.'

The ginger blonde raised a poorly dyed brow at Spencer. "Have a girlfriend you forget to tell me about?" the blonde growled, clearly upset.

"We're partners," Spencer answered casually. The truth never sounded so funny. Partners. Her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I guess you're out. Ooo baby!" the voice squeaked excitedly, "Have you found someone? I know how you love strippers, babe. Is she a stripper?" she sounded hopeful. A pause. "Make sure she's classy this time Spence. The last one was too trashy, even for me. And no more hookers, Spencer. You hear me? It was hard enough getting rid of that rash! I was on antibiotics for a week," her voice stern. Spencer heard the brunette smile on the other line, "Are you fucking her right now?" a little incredulous, "That's hot baby, oh so hot, wait just let me go get Rodney and I can fuck myself talking to you while you make her scream," there was a pause and ruffling of things in the background.

Spencer chanced a glance at her one night stand, who was starting to look a little blue in the face, as she inspected her 'modesty' still wrapped in Spencer's covers, albeit wrapped a little tighter now, checking for any signs of a rash.

"Can I-uh fuck-" another groan, "geeze I'm so wet sweet cheeks. You hear that? Uh-yeah!" 'Jesus Tru, really?' Spencer sighed staring at the tiny patch of hardwood floor she could see. "Can I fuck her first next time, Spence? Tie her up. Fuck her while she eats you out. Oh yeah baby-" A knocking erupted in the background. "Spence babe, it's room service. You want to hear me service, the bellhop? I'll keep the phone off the hook-" Spencer immediately stopped the recording cursing the brunette under her breath.

Spencer turned to find her guest looking contemplative at her. Shit! She looked interested. 'That my friends is my cue!'

"When do I get to meet her?" was all Spencer heard as the door slammed behind her, as she hopped out the front door doing up her laces.

Her blood pumping. Adrenaline rushing through her veins. Her entire body sore, screaming for release, being pushed to the extreme. Her strong thighs stalking, leaping forward one after the other. Forced that extra mile. She could hear the pounding of her heart beat, hammering simultaneously with the thumping of her rubber sneakers, echoing in her ears.

Spencer's been running, chasing dawn for the past hour and a half. Dawn quickly fleeting, as sunlight began to illuminate the sky. The stillness Spencer craved daily already polluted by the presence of early morning joggers.

She cursed again, for the delay in her morning routine. It was a race every morning. Spencer would wake at the crack of dawn and raced the sun to the highest peak in the city.

Her early morning run was ritual. It was the only constant in Spencer's hectic life. The only aspect she kept the same.

Collapsing in the green patch off the jogging trail, Spencer lost herself in her laboured breathing. Her body sore. Her eyes firmly shut. Her head was spinning. Spinning from the high, the high of pushing oneself to the extremes. She indulged in this high every morning, regardless of the amount of sleep she did get the previous evening.

Spencer never did drugs. Never touched the stuff. But the effects, the high has always been something of interest to her. It was drugs that did her mother in, and she knew well enough to stay far from it. Even when Spencer was at her most self-destructive she stayed far from it. But then again drugs had kept her and Ashley together for as long as it did. It was drugs that kept Ashley in the dark for so long. It kept her ignorant. It kept the fantasy tangible.

Spencer laid on her stiff mattress reading up on the screwed up lives of other people. Glen had just finished scolding her about playing with her life again. Taking it for granted. Blah, blah, blah.

But he didn't understand. He didn't have to live here. He didn't have to hide. He didn't have the right to tell her she was taking her life for granted. No, not when he's the one drinking and driving. Drinking and racing. Partying it up with the Davies'. Not when he's the one addicted to painkillers.

It was as much her right, as it was his as a teenager to take life for granted. They just had different methods of self destruction.

'Come on. All the cool kids are doing it.' And Spencer Carlin was definitely in the in crowd.

Spencer switched off her flashlight, and basked in the darkness. She loved the dark. In the dark no one can see her. She was no one in the dark. She didn't have to be anything in here.

Spencer cradled her bandaged wrist. Imagining the cool blade cutting deep into her skin. "Stupid Glen."

The door swung open. A dark figure was silhouetted by the crappy lighting of the hallway.

"Get the hell out of here!" Spencer yelled. Every now and then the clientele would mistake her room, (or rather her closet) as a restroom. "You've got the wrong room!"

"You can't tell me what to do-" came the slurred response, as the female figure ventured into the room.

That's new. A chick. "Are you hard of hearing or just stupid? I just said this area is off limits!" Spencer growled.

"No," the figure giggled, "You just said I've got the wrong room. You didn't say this is off limits."

"Get out or I'll call the cops!" Spencer threatened. "I'm underage." It didn't happen often, but every now and then a drunken John would wander into her room, and mistake her for one of the employees. But one mention of the cops and the pervy drunks fled with their tail between their legs.

This woman, Spencer mused, wasn't like the regular Johns', Spencer contemplated whether she was fresh blood, or the rare dames that came into the joint. The stranger chuckled again, "I'm not stupid." Her voice bitter. "This is a whorehouse. The last thing you want is the po po's sniffing around this joint." She stalked further into the small room, closing in on the startled blonde. She stumbled over Spencer's school bag, tripped over her own feet landing on the mattress, half on the floor and half on top of the perturbed blonde. Her face resting on perky teenage breasts. The girl giggled into Spencer's chest, "Lucky me, I guess I'm underage too! You feel nice," she hummed contently, "Comfty." Nuzzling into Spencer's sensitive breasts, with firm squeeze for good measure.

Closer now, Spencer could see her intruder. She recognized her instantly. Davies comma Ashley. "Get off of me!" Spencer growled trying to push the dead weight off of her. Ashley Davies, the billionaire heiress to the Davies' estate, ex-golden child of King High, now rebel without a cause.

She was bad news.

Spencer knew her well, always a grade below Ashley in school. Spencer knew who Ashley Davies was.

Davies' being a good friend of Glen.

But Ashley never acknowledged her presence. Not that Spencer could blame Ashley Davies for overlooking the meek shy girl who kept to herself all throughout middle school.

Spencer did not want to be noticed then. She barely wanted to be noticed now.

It was only in the past year or so did she break from her cocoon, and was admitted on the cheerleading squad, much to Arthur's insistence that she play 'normal.' But by then Princess Davies here began to spiral down a very public path of self-destruction.

No one wanted anything to do with Davies now, unless it was drugs, booze or a good time.

Ergo Glen, being an even bigger ass then he ever was before.

Spencer felt a warm dampness on her chest. "OH GROSS!" she groaned, pulling herself away from the Davies' heiress. Ashley Davies just drooled all over her breasts.

Spencer fled from her occupied bed, causing Miss Moneybucks to keel over and claim, sprawling across the entirety of her bed.

Spencer took in the form of big bad Ashley Davies curled up innocently on her bed. "Fine princess steal my bed, just don't puke on anything."

Ashley moaned kicking the sheets off the bed in defiance. Groaning, as she tugged at her shirt. "It's hot..." Ashley whined, as she simultaneously shimmered out of her shorts, while trying to rid herself of her shirt. She ended up with her head of brown curls entrapped up one sleeve, and began sniffling. "Stuck..."

Spencer stood watching the brunette amused. She took in the creamy tan thighs on display and brushed off the wave of desire that flushed through her. She decided to take pity on the girl who had so terribly fallen from grace, leaned down and helped the helpless. "I'm not taking advantage," Spencer announced, "This is just so you don't suffocate on my bed, Davies. So I don't have to explain to the cops why I was here, while you strangled yourself with your own shirt. I'm leaving, now. No need to thank me. Just don't blow my cover."

Ashley opened her dazed eyes. Her diluted eyes, gazing up at her saviour, "What cover? Who are you? Are you batman?"

"Geeze, you don't even know who I am!" Spencer accused bitterly, shoving the brunette lightly, and storming out of her room.

"Batman?"

If only that was their only encounter, rather than the first of many.

Spencer opened her eyes and tried to focus on her sneaker clad feet. Though the world around her felt as if it were still spinning, a quick glance confirmed her suspicions about her choice in footwear this morning, on her left foot donned her worn out Nike runner, and her right foot sported, the new Adidas sneakers, Tru had just bought.

She was in such a hurry to escape the confines of her home, that she didn't bother to check if her shoes matched. Again she cursed, her partner for the umpteenth time that morning.

The sun, high in the sky. It was time to get back to her life, and start the day. She stood on jello legs, and stretched her limbs for a few moments, before setting pace for home, hoping her bed guest had taken her near three hour absence as a hint to leave.

Making her routine stop at the newsstand to pick up one copy of each newspaper on her way home, Spencer mentally went over her checklist for the day: nap, shower, check messages, develop photos, physio, meet and deliver photos to client, cash cheque, pay bills, go drinking to celebrate...

Spencer winded down her pace, until she fully stopped at small local bakery, basking in the scent of freshly baked goodies, while mentally scheduling donuts in on her To Do list.

Nodding to herself Spencer headed up to her flat, conveniently located right above.

Stopping in front of her door she read the inscription, "Tru Carlin, Private Investigations"

She smiled every time, she thought of their business name. It was clever. Many thought that Tru Carlin was just one person.

Some would say a hot blonde, others would say a smoking brunette. Then again, Spencer always thought she'd make a hot brunette.

This was her life. The life she chose. The life she made. She wouldn't give it up now for anything.

Spencer was grateful to find the flat empty. Her guest had left a neatly handwritten note folded and wrapped in a tacky golden thong. The note urged Spencer and Tru to call soon, a number, a musky scent and a name. "Candy."

"Right," Spencer mumbled, not recalling ever asking for her name the night before. Stripping out of her sweats, she tossed the memento in the trash bin.

Preview: Next Time

"Cold?" Tru grinned, focused on the hardened nubs of Spencer's nipples.

"Your fault."

"What are you going to do about it?" Tru challenged, finishing the last bit of her pizza crust.

"Kiss it better."

Loadsa Luv

*ShyGirl1988