Chapter Twenty-One: Matters Domestic
1.
Sharon had left Brenda sitting in the living room, returning a moment later with two glasses and an open bottle of wine. The blonde had been sitting motionless on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. "Thank you," she'd said politely when the other woman had poured. "I don't guess we're toastin', huh?"
Sharon had appeared to ignore her as she sat at the other end of the sofa, a wide cushion between them, and took a healthy swallow from her own glass. "I don't understand," she'd said after a moment, looking and sounding very much like the FID captain, immersed in putting the pieces together, poking and prodding the story she'd been told until the holes revealed themselves. "Why did you tell him? Why would you do that without talking to me first?"
Brenda's ashen face was her response. After a moment the older woman spoke again. "Oh," she said. "Oh, I see." She sipped her wine slowly, methodically. "You didn't tell him. He found out."
"I had – He saw –" The blonde gestured vaguely toward her back.
"Oh," Sharon said again, and went back to contemplating her wine. "How do you feel?"
"I don't know. I guess I don't feel much of anything," Brenda admitted, and took a gulp of her wine for good measure.
The captain nodded. They sat there for a very long time, drinking their wine with the silence thick in the room between them. A part of Brenda had hoped – had believed – this development would make things between her and Sharon simpler, more definite. She already saw that they were only more complicated.
"Why did you come over here?"
It occurred to Brenda that it was unusual for her to be in the position of the person answering all the questions. "It – it's Monday. I didn't know what else to do."
Sharon finished her wine and poured herself another glass. She held the bottle out to Brenda, but the other woman shook her head. She already felt dazed enough.
The chief wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting there when Sharon braced her hands on her knees and stood fluidly. "I think the best thing to do now is to go to bed."
Brenda looked up. At this point she was more or less willing to comply with whatever the captain suggested as long as Sharon made the decisions, but she was vaguely aware that she was surprised. The older woman had been quiet, tense, and contemplative since she'd made her speech when Brenda had walked through the door. It hardly seemed likely, under the circumstances, that she'd been sitting there imagining all sorts of wild, filthy, sexy things they could do to one another.
The blonde followed her from the room and up the stairs, her brain sluggishly clicking back to life as she realized she was being led to the cozy, butter-yellow guestroom where she'd spent a memorable night preceding an even more memorable weekend. That seemed like so long ago now, when in reality it had been, what, two months? Her whole life had changed since then. Everything had changed.
Everything except Sharon. And tonight it seemed that maybe Sharon, too, had changed. Brenda felt a spasm of fear mingled with yearning and reached out, laying her hand on the taller woman's shoulder. "Sharon?"
She turned back, lightly touching the hand that rested on her shoulder. Her expression was pensive, her eyes quietly melancholy.
"There are clothes in the dresser," she said. "You'll be able to find something to sleep in. I'll just be downstairs."
"Sharon," Brenda repeated, feeling her eyes dampen.
"Just sleep, Brenda Leigh. Things will look clearer in the morning, hmm? I'm right here if you need anything."
I think I just need you, the blonde thought, but she nodded and forced a weary smile. She didn't know what Sharon was thinking; she didn't know how to ask for what she needed; and even if she'd somehow found the words, she wasn't sure Sharon in this mood would give it to her.
She found sweatpants and a t-shirt (USC Spring Fun Run 2004), washed her face, and used the brand-new toothbrush she found in the bathroom medicine cabinet to brush her teeth. She kept thinking about the last time, about how glad she'd been to be there, how safe and pleasantly drowsy; how her senses had tingled at Sharon's nearness, and how her breath had caught at the feeling of those fingers stroking her cheek.
She knew Sharon wasn't coming back to tuck her in tonight. That other night, she'd felt so close to the other woman in this room; now she felt a world of distance between them. She turned off the light, lay back, and closed her eyes, listening intently for any sound of Sharon moving around downstairs, just so she could picture what the captain was doing.
They'd become lovers since then. She had learned the lovely contours of that slim body, tasted Sharon's sweat, learned to crave the twist of those elegant fingers inside her body. And yet tonight Sharon was downstairs, washing her own face, brushing her own teeth, and climbing into her own bed – alone. And Brenda was up here, alone.
Her arms felt empty in a way they hadn't during the last four nights she'd slept alone in her marital bed. She ached to hold Sharon to her and feel the warm weight of her and the reassuring rise and fall of her breathing.
She hugged the pillow to her chest instead, rolled onto her side, and waited for sleep to claim her.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but she thought it was a lot, hours, when she heard the sound.
"Sharon?"
The time-worn floorboards had creaked under Sharon's weight. The sound wasn't loud enough to wake the lightest sleeper, but, the older woman realized immediately, Brenda Leigh wasn't sleeping either.
She froze for a few seconds at the tentative question, which was ridiculous, and then stepped into the bedroom, stopping just over the threshold. "I just came to check on you," she said awkwardly. "I thought you'd be asleep."
"I thought you'd be asleep. Why aren't you?"
Sharon chuckled harshly. "Oh, pick your reason."
"Yeah." By the clear, cold light of the moon she could see that Brenda was sitting up, picking at her cuticles. "I haven't been sleepin' much lately."
"Neither have I," Sharon admitted softly, turning to look out the window.
The chief was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke her words caught Sharon off guard. "Is it my fault?"
The other woman continued looking out the window, even though she wasn't really seeing anything. Earlier, even earlier this evening, she would've answered with an unequivocal 'yes.' But that was only, at most, half the truth. Sharon Raydor's professional integrity and entire philosophy of life rested upon the belief that, ultimately, everyone is responsible for his or her own actions. She couldn't abdicate that responsibility now just because she'd done something she found morally reprehensible. The devil hadn't made her do it. Brenda hadn't made her do it.
"Oh, Brenda," she finally said, sounding tired and wistful.
"Have I ruined it?"
Brenda sounded lost, and Sharon looked over sharply. "Your marriage?"
The blonde winced, but forbore comment on that minefield. "Us."
Sharon considered for a long moment, and then compressed her lips and shook her head, too wary to share her thoughts. "That's a question I can't answer," she replied truthfully. "I'm not sure what we are, Brenda."
Brenda's mouth tightened. "I see." It was her turn to look away. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come here."
Sharon's blood ran cold and she didn't attempt to speak.
"I should've gone to a hotel," Brenda continued, tossing the covers back in preparation for getting out of the bed. "I just couldn't stand to be in my house, but I'm intrudin'."
Sharon stepped forward as Brenda stood, searching in the dark for her slippers. "Don't be ridiculous," the captain said fretfully, watching. "It's the middle of the night. Just go to sleep."
Brenda's dark eyes met her lighter ones. "You don't want me here," she said flatly.
Sharon felt her lungs expand again as she dragged in a hitching mouthful of air. "It's all right," she managed.
"No." Brenda shook her head doggedly. "It was presumptuous."
The captain forced herself to take a deep, cleansing breath. Inhale, exhale. "It's not that I don't want you here." I don't want to want you here, she thought. Because you won't stay. You'll go back to your husband once you realize what you've done, and then where will I be?
She'd be alone, as she'd been before that first night Brenda Leigh had walked into her office and insisted they go for drinks. The all-important difference was that this time she'd also be lonely.
She heard what sounded an awful lot like a sniffle. "Then why am I up here, and you're down there?" the blonde questioned, vaguely gesturing to indicate the ground floor.
"It –" Sharon cleared her throat and began again. "It seemed safer."
Brenda licked her lips, which were already growing chapped. She felt like a child who'd awakened from a bad dream and guiltily, desperately begged to crawl into her parents' bed. But no, she wouldn't ask; not quite that. "Will you stay with me? I can't sleep."
Sharon cocked her head, considering. Brenda watched her shyly, filled with hope, and turned the covers back on the other side of the bed. She forced herself not to say please.
After a moment the captain walked around the bed and gracefully slid under the covers. The mattress shifted and dipped slightly, and although they weren't touching, Brenda immediately sensed her warmth.
The other woman sighed very softly. "Maybe," she whispered, "we'll both sleep better now."
2.
The next morning when Brenda woke, the two of them had been laced together, facing each other like lovers in a painting, with her arm slung over Sharon's hips. She'd felt warm and comfortable and right for the first time in days, and hadn't bothered trying to resist the urge to scoot over and kiss Sharon awake, suckling at the skin of her neck and her earlobe before reaching her mouth.
Green eyes had opened and Brenda's very own Sleeping Beauty had smiled and kissed her back, sweetly, but then she had pulled away. "I'm going for a run," she'd announced, despite the fact that it was very early, barely light outside. "And you need to get ready for work. Did you bring clothes?"
She had – at least a week's worth, in fact, out in the car in her suitcase, but she didn't mention that just yet. She'd called out to Sharon, though, arresting the other woman's progress at the top of the stairs. "Can – Can I come back tonight? After work?"
There had been a pause, and Sharon sounded subdued when she answered: "Okay. I'll see you this evening."
They'd settled into a routine after that. Brenda worked late, wary of being an intrusive presence in Sharon's life and her home; and when she got back she tiptoed into the living room, where she'd find Sharon reading or watching television. They didn't talk much, but Brenda snuggled against the other woman's side, often resting her head on Sharon's shoulder, trying to speak through the closeness of their bodies. Brenda went to bed first, still up in the yellow guestroom; and hours later Sharon joined her, sliding under the covers and lying beside her as chastely as two sisters.
Sometimes, in the mornings, and still wordlessly, they kissed. Just kissed. In the morning light Sharon's green eyes were filled with muted affection and a kind of longing that twisted at Brenda's heart, but if the blonde tried to deepen their kisses or touch Sharon through the smooth silk of her pajamas, she immediately pulled away.
Brenda was frustrated and frightened and confused.
And yet, in a way, she was happy, just being with Sharon, and she thought Sharon was happy too. Perhaps it was best not to discuss it or question it, but to let this new, fragile thing grow between them until it could stand on its own.
On Friday she caught Sharon in the kitchen. The brunette was dressed to run, and Brenda came stumbling quickly down the stairs in another fetching t-shirt and sweatpants combo, because for some reason she liked sleeping in these clothes that belonged in this house, as if somehow that would make her belong too. "I'll be home earlier tonight," she said, her excitement alloyed with shyness. "If that's okay with you. I don't wanna intrude."
The taller woman smiled slightly as she considered Brenda's sheep-disheveled form. "It's okay," she said quietly. "I'll make us something for dinner."
Brenda's smile widened, feeling certain that this was good, this was positive. They could spend the whole evening together. They could talk again. If she was really lucky, she might make it to second base. She laughed giddily, and Sharon didn't ask why; she just grinned in return.
The deputy chief was packing up to head home when Fritz appeared in the doorway of her private office. "We need to talk."
She froze in the act of stuffing a file folder into her bag. She could hardly argue; they did need to talk. It had to happen eventually, and she needed to be able to move forward. She needed to be able to show Sharon exactly how she wanted to move forward, and with whom; she needed to get things between them back on solid footing.
And in the process she needed to end her marriage. Her stomach clenched. "Okay," she said quietly.
"Do you wanna grab a bite to eat?"
"Uh –" She fumbled for her glasses and fitted them into their case. "I have plans."
Fritz's features immediately morphed into a stern mask that suggested he didn't need to ask with whom she had plans. "You don't think this is a little more important?"
"I'm perfectly willin' to talk. I just can't have dinner," she replied defensively, standing up straight and shouldering her bag.
"Fine." Fritz ran his fingers through his hair before crossing his arms. "Come to the house."
"No," she returned instantly, feeling that that would give him an unfair advantage. "We can go somewhere and have a –" Drink, she'd started to say. "Coffee," she finished.
"You want to have this discussion in public, Brenda Leigh?"
I don't want to have this conversation at all, she thought. "You were the one who suggested dinner. If that's what you wanna do, I'll meet you one night next week after work. Just call me."
With that, Brenda strode briskly past him. Sharon would be waiting for her.
She was distracted enough that she didn't notice his car in her rearview mirror until she was a few blocks from Sharon's house. She huffed out a sigh, schooled herself to remain calm, and kept driving. When she pulled into the driveway beside Sharon's car, she waited for her husband to pull in behind her, and then walked back to his car.
"I want to talk now," he said flatly through the open window, his teeth clenched.
"Let me – Let me go ask Sharon. This is her home."
"I'm not going in the house. This is between you and me; it has nothing to do with that woman."
It had everything to do with that woman, and what she had taught Brenda about her own heart, but Brenda had no intention of letting Sharon be dragged into the middle of a shouting match. "And I'm not doing this in the driveway. If you insist on doin' this now, we can talk on the patio, if it's okay with Sharon."
Brenda thought Sharon looked even more beautiful than usual in a dark green silk blouse and chocolate-colored corduroy skirt, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of whatever she was leaning over on the stovetop. She turned and smiled warmly at the smaller blonde, and Brenda was fairly certain she literally felt her heart skip a beat.
"I was sure you'd be late."
"You need to have more faith in me." Brenda lightly rubbed Sharon's back between her shoulder blades. She wanted to kiss her, but it felt wrong with her husband just outside – too much, too blatant, disrespectful to both of them. "Fritz is here."
Sharon froze. Her expressionless face was the one Brenda had long ago learned to associate with Captain Raydor.
"He wants to talk. Do you think we could use the patio?"
Sharon cleared her throat. "Fine," she said brusquely, tapping the wooden spoon she held on the edge of a pot containing what looked like a simmering marinara sauce before replacing the lid. "Go ahead."
Brenda knew she should say something, but she had no idea what. "I'll be back soon," she finally said weakly, and the other woman just nodded.
The blonde walked to the front door and signaled to Fritz, gesturing toward the side of the house; then she let herself out onto the patio. After only a moment she heard Fritz's footsteps crunching through the underbrush.
"Hey, careful. Sharon doesn't like it when you mess with the plants."
As he cleared the last barrier, that prickly pear, Fritz looked at Brenda with an incredulous expression. "Oh, well, we wouldn't want that," he mocked, his voice steely. "I wouldn't want to injure Sharon's plants."
Brenda just gazed at him, feeling foolish and exposed and resentful that he was intruding on this sanctuary, his size tens crushing delicate leafy tendrils, a cocktail of emotions complicated by the thought that she had no right to resent anything he chose to do now.
"You wanted to talk?" she asked after an uncomfortable pause.
Her husband shoved his hands into his pockets. "I want you to come home."
Home: the house with its soothingly painted walls and squishy sofa and dish of cat food in the kitchen floor. Was it? "You're the one who walked out," she pointed out.
"Yeah, because you've been having an affair. Do you really want to play the blame game?"
She doggedly shook her head, ponytail swinging. "You're obviously still very angry," she said, sidestepping the issue. "How is my comin' home going to fix that?"
"So my anger is the problem?" he demanded incredulously.
Brenda sighed. "That's not what I said. But why do you even want me there?"
"Why? Because you're my wife." Fritz stepped toward her and reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but then let his hand fall. "This whole thing is crazy, Brenda Leigh. I love you."
Sudden, unexpected tears pricked at her eyes, because this was what made this whole awful process the hardest. "I love you too," she admitted, wishing that it were enough, that it could somehow keep her from hurting him.
Fritz's face lit with cautious hope. "So come home with me. I'm not saying it'll be perfect. Whatever you take me for, you know I'm not stupid. We've been growing apart for months, since the start of the first lawsuit. I didn't want to confront that. But we have a life together. We'll go to counseling –"
Brenda was shaking her head again. "No," she said quietly. "I can't."
"What's the plan, then? You can't hide out here forever, shacked up with Raydor. You don't even like her."
I love her.
The instinctual answer came so quickly to Brenda's mind that it stunned her, knocking her off balance, and she groped fuzzily for words. "I do," she protested weakly. "I do… like her. I just misjudged her at first. Once you get to know her, she's… not so bad."
Not so bad? That was so pathetic that Brenda barely kept from guffawing. The last thing she wanted to do was to discuss he merits of her lover with her husband. "Besides, I'm not hiding," she insisted.
"No?" he retorted skeptically, and then made an effort to gentle his voice. "Honey, you've been under so much pressure at work, and maybe I haven't been as understanding as I could've been. You needed an outlet. I get that; I'm an alcoholic, remember? So I know firsthand how destructive this behavior is. This, Brenda – throwing our marriage away, jumping into bed with someone else – is not the answer."
Brenda scowled, hating what she interpreted as his patronizing if well-meant reasoning. "You think I want to be with Sharon because I'm stressed at work? Because I'm having some kind of – of midlife crisis?"
He heaved a sigh. He looked exhausted, and Brenda felt a surging wave of regret and compassion. Next to him she knew she looked well-rested, well-fed, calm. Or at least she'd been calm until a few minutes ago.
Fritz folded his arms and looked past Brenda into Sharon's cozy living room. More than anything Brenda wanted to run inside, pour herself a large glass of Sharon's cabernet, and cuddle on Sharon's couch with Sharon's favorite blanket, preferably with Sharon right beside her, reading The New Yorker and sipping bourbon while she pretended not to be interested in whatever police procedural Brenda Leigh was watching on TV.
"What I'm saying," he replied steadily, "is that six months or a year from now, you're going to wake up and bitterly regret this. Fucking someone for a few weeks isn't the foundation of a lasting relationship. What we have is a relationship that can last, if you make that choice." This time he did touch her, his hands resting on her shoulders, and the feeling was so familiar that she wanted to cry. "Come home, Bren."
"I can't," she repeated, her voice straining, unable to explain that he was asking her to return to something that didn't exist anymore. "I need to be here."
He stepped back, defeated but unwilling to concede. "You'll get bored," he warned. "And when you do – well, the door's open. But don't leave it too long."
He left the way he had come, crunching through dry leaves, and Brenda blinked through a mist of tears. That had been unpleasant but, she reasoned, it could have gone worse. Poor Fritz. He was so earnest, so well-intentioned. It would've been impossible to tell him the full, complete truth; not only would it have been unnecessarily cruel, but Brenda Leigh was only just coming to grips with it herself, watching it shimmer and waver with the moisture of her unshed tears and the gentle swaying of the evergreens fringing Sharon's property. She could hardly say to Fritz that she loved him but she was in love with Sharon when she hadn't said it to Sharon yet, and was only saying it to herself now.
She gazed through the glass doors into the warm living room, taking in the bright tile, the jute rug, the antique brass lamp, and tried the words out on her tongue, silently shaping them. I'm in love with Sharon. I love Sharon. I love you, Sharon.
Well, no, not just yet. That could wait. It would scare the captain to death. In a rare moment of total honesty, Brenda admitted that it was pretty near scaring her to death, too.
The house was silent. The smell of something savory in the oven permeated the air.
"Sharon," Brenda called. "Sharon?"
She melted out of her bedroom, still in her green silk blouse and chocolate corduroy skirt, but her feet were bare, a fresh coat of dark red polish adorning her toenails. "I heard most of that," she said briskly, lifting one hand to adjust her glasses. "I didn't intend to listen, but –"
Brenda managed a little smile. "But we were havin' our heart-to-heart under your bedroom window? It's okay. I don't mind." She shrugged, embarrassed. "I'm kinda glad you did hear, actually."
She looked expectantly at her captain. She hadn't declared her feelings, but she'd told Fritz she wanted, needed, to be with Sharon, that she wasn't going to return to their home and her old life. She waited, breathless, for the older woman to return the gesture, to say that she wanted to be with Brenda too, or at least that she was glad the deputy chief was there with her.
Instead, Sharon's carefully neutral expression became pinched. "The lasagna will be ready soon," she said. "I'm going to make a salad to go with it."
Something pricked sharply at Brenda, but she only smoothed her sweater over her hips and said, "It smells great. Can I help?"
"I've got it." Sharon turned her back, busying herself washing lettuce. "But you can open a bottle of wine, if you don't mind. Maybe a merlot?"
Dinner was delicious, but it was hard for Brenda to enjoy it. Sharon was right there next to her, but she seemed further away than ever, and Brenda didn't know why or how to fix it.
When they'd both finished, Sharon rose and began to clear the table, and Brenda hopped up, laying a hand on her arm to stop her. "No, no," she fussed. "You cooked; the least I can do is clean up."
She tried to concentrate on the simple task at hand, washing forks and knives and plates in the hot, soapy water, so hot that it almost scalded her hands; but she could think only of her dark-haired lover, the distant expression on her face, the unreadable look in her beautiful eyes.
And then suddenly Sharon was there, at her back as Brenda scrubbed the baking dish, not touching but close enough that the chief could feel her breath on her neck. Sharon's hands settled at her hips and squeezed.
"Kiss me," that husky alto requested with an edge of desperation.
Brenda was only too happy to comply and turned quickly, catching a startling gleam of vulnerability in those lovely green eyes. Her lips covered Sharon's gently but with urgency, wanting to feel her, connect with her, reassure her. The chief awkwardly braced her wet, soapy hands on the edge of the sink behind her, carefully avoiding contact with her lover's silk blouse – Sharon was meticulous about her clothes, as she was with most things, and nothing would ruin the mood faster than marring an item of apparel that probably cost more than Brenda's entire outfit – but Sharon reached around her, grabbing Brenda's hands and bringing them to her own waist.
"Sharon –"
"It doesn't matter," the captain returned quickly, tucking a curl behind Brenda's ear and recapturing her mouth. Brenda felt the fine fabric mold to the contours of Sharon's sides beneath her hands as Sharon's tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring, probing, and relief coursed through her own body along with easily awakened arousal. She returned the kiss eagerly, pressing tightly against the taller woman from shoulder to knee, her own tongue sliding along Sharon's and sampling the smooth, sharp edges of her teeth. One hand lifted to stroke that dark, wonderful hair, and as if of their own volition her fingers formed a fist, pulling Sharon even closer until the edge of the sink dug into her spine and she didn't care. There was an answering hunger, a dark, tantalizing need, in the way the captain angled her head to kiss Brenda more deeply as her hands roved over the younger woman's hips and thighs, and Brenda felt like weeping for joy. Here she was. This was her Sharon, vibrant and real and flashing through her like quicksilver. Brenda had missed this so much, had felt so off balance and out of sorts without this connection between them, as if she were a compass that had lost true north.
She found the sensitive spot below Sharon's ear, kissing and biting gently, and Sharon hummed and tilted her head to the side to grant Brenda freer access. The low sound vibrated against Brenda's lips. Brenda shifted restlessly, fighting the desire to shove the other woman's skirt up and out of the way and grind her aching center against her strong, smooth thigh. She wanted Sharon so much that her head swam with it and she panted into the crook of her captain's neck. Oh God oh God please, her brain stuttered, thinking words she was too proud to speak, and she felt Sharon's nipples pebble as her moist breath bathed the other woman's throat. She reached up unthinkingly to touch, her palm cupping one full breast and her fingers squeezing; and then Sharon's hands were on the backs of her thighs, beneath the loose fabric of her skirt, just below the swell of her ass. Brenda's hands had been the ones in the mercilessly hot water, but Sharon's touch on her skin was so hot that she gasped.
Brenda Leigh was no sheltered, vestal virgin; she'd had her fair share of sexual partners and a respectable percentage of good sex. She'd certainly never thought of herself as repressed or naïve. But never before being with Sharon Raydor had she experienced this rush of desire so pure that it seemed to pierce her like arrows rising from the very core of her being to break through her skin. She gasped again, squeezing her eyes shut against sudden scalding tears.
"I want you," she said in a soft, clear voice, because Sharon made her want to be franker than she'd ever been with any other lover, to admit exactly what she desired. "I want you so much."
The dark-haired woman didn't answer in words. She took a step back and Brenda Leigh immediately felt a chill, but then Sharon caught her hand, entwining their fingers and walking backwards into the living room, drawing Brenda with her to the sofa. Her green eyes glowed with a smoldering heat, and Brenda thought it made her look fascinatingly feline, almost feral. She lightly pushed the blonde down into a sitting position, a playful twinkle in her expression that was shockingly at odds with the tight, strained set of her jaw.
Brenda's breath caught as she looked at her lover standing barefoot before her, her hair lightly tousled from Brenda's fingers, her lips parted and glistening, her chest heaving. She was magnificent.
She smiled, just the smallest, barest hint of a smile, and the blonde was sure she felt her overburdened heart shatter.
Sharon stepped forward, bracing one knee on the cushion beside Brenda and slowly lowering herself until she rested on the other woman's lap, her other foot still supporting much of her weight. She watched Brenda's eyes light up with surprise as she registered how much she enjoyed this, the novelty of having Sharon sit in her lap; and then she urged Sharon closer, taking all of her weight where their bodies met. Sharon allowed herself a sigh and a roll of her hips, and Brenda looked up to find the other woman smirking down mischievously at her.
"Oh, that's – oh, too many clothes." Brenda's hands traveled up Sharon's thighs, shoving the skirt out of the way as she'd wanted to do moments earlier, her fingernails lightly scratching the captain's inner thigh. She felt the trembling tension of the well-defined muscles and grinned. It made her bolder. She slipped her hand between their bodies and cupped her lover's sex through her lacy little panties – panties that were, as Brenda could clearly see with Sharon lewdly sprawled across her lap, black. They were also hot and damp with Sharon's arousal, and as Brenda lightly dragged four fingers over the fabric, she looked up and watched green eyes grow hooded. A fierce bolt of arousal ricocheted through her own body and lodged, urgent and throbbing, between her legs.
"You're so wet," she marveled, sounding awed, and watched a flush creep over Sharon's cheeks. Her thumb dipped below the edge of the black lace and brushed over crisp, springy curls. "You've been thinkin' about this."
Realizing that she was waiting for an answer, Sharon nodded, and Brenda licked her lips.
Brenda had never been much of a talker during sex, and what she said now was less to seduce Sharon than it was due to Brenda's desire for her to know these things. "Me too," she admitted, her fingers executing one more gentle caress before she curled them into a fist and extended a single finger to trace the same route, pressing more firmly. "All the time. Sleepin' by you, feelin' you –" Her fingernail scratched lightly over Sharon's clit and her hips jerked. Brenda felt her clit pulse in response. "I want to make love to you. I want to make you feel so good."
Sharon hummed, a low, throaty moan, and tipped her head back. The chief took that as consent and her hands immediately flew to the button of Sharon's skirt.
While Sharon stood long enough to shimmy out of her skirt and panties, Brenda hastily disposed of her own skirt and top, and then pulled Sharon back onto her lap. They both groaned as the older woman's wet, open sex settled low against Brenda's abdomen, and Brenda felt arousal coil tighter and tighter as Sharon shifted helplessly, unable to keep from seeking some measure of friction.
Abruptly the captain ducked her head and kissed Brenda furiously, both hands rising to knead the pale flesh of the blonde's breasts and tweak the prominent peach nipples.
When Brenda realized she'd closed her eyes, she opened them. Sharon's dark green silk blouse was unbuttoned, revealing the black bra that lovingly molded to her curves. "You are so beautiful," Brenda whispered, leaning in to kiss the other woman's breastbone. "I love your breasts, do you know that?" She reached around the captain' back beneath the fabric of her blouse, feeling for the hooks, and Sharon smirked and reached up with one hand, springing the front clasp with a flick of her thumb. The cups sprang aside.
"Oh." Brenda blinked, and then grinned. "Well, that's convenient."
"I hoped it would be."
The dark, jewel-toned fabric hung down Sharon's torso, framing her breasts to startlingly vivid effect, the garment emphasizing rather than lessening Brenda's awareness of the nearly nude state of her body. It was, the blonde thought, like the perfect frame for a beautiful painting, and it gave her an idea. She reached out, letting her knuckles trace gently down Sharon's chest to the soft swell of her abdomen, and the captain tilted her head, speculatively watching Brenda watch her.
Brenda bit her lip. "Hey, Sharon? This blouse is already ruined, right? And you're not gonna be mad at me later?"
Sharon just smirked and cocked her chin, and in response the other woman curved her palm around the back of the captain's neck beneath the heavy fall of her hair and urged her mouth down for a long, languid kiss. Her smugness, her arrogance, her cutting intelligence, the childlike delight in her laughter and the pensive melancholy that shadowed her eyes and tightened her mouth when she thought Brenda wasn't looking: the younger woman loved all these things about her. She tried to pour those feelings into her kiss, into the brush of her fingertips over Sharon's cheekbone, the tracing of one taut nipple through the thin, silky fabric. I love you, I love you. She repeated it to herself, trying it out. She thought maybe she liked the sound of it.
Brenda's palm pressed flat against Sharon's spine, urging her to bow her back and thrust her breasts forward. When the brunette complied, Brenda's mouth closed around one nipple through the delicate fabric of her blouse, just holding it there, feeling the material mold to the opulent curves. It felt decadent, sensual, the expensive blouse sealing itself to Sharon's flesh like a second skin. The texture against Brenda's tongue felt exotic, and Sharon approved, if the way her nipple tightened imperatively could be taken as a guide. Brenda smiled and scraped her teeth over the silk, and Sharon's fingers wove through the curls that had spilled out of the clip holding them back, urging more of her breast into the wet heat of Brenda's mouth. After a moment Sharon tugged Brenda's head to her other breast, and the blonde's grin widened. She liked this demanding side of the oh-so-cool, controlled Captain Raydor, and liked that she was the one who could make the other woman want in that way, with such need that she demanded rather than politely requesting. She had a sudden, shockingly vivid vision of her head buried between Sharon's legs while her lover's back arched and she ground up against Brenda's mouth, completely abandoned, wild and wanton and loving every second of it too much to feel the slightest bit of embarrassment.
Brenda's mouth watered. She wanted that. She wanted it for Sharon and for herself, wanted to be able to do that to Sharon, to make her feel as incredible as Sharon's talented mouth and nimble fingers made Brenda feel.
She raised her head and found Sharon looking steadily back at her, her expression intense. They stared at one another for a long, silent moment.
Sharon's hand stroked Brenda's hair away from her forehead and then softly kissed the spot where the stray curl had rested. "Let's go to bed."
Pins and needles tingled down Brenda's trembling legs when she stood, but as Sharon took her hand, she didn't mind, because she realized immediately that the captain was leading her not up the stairs to the guestroom they'd occupied together for the past four nights, but through the darkened ground floor to her own bedroom. She thought of the last time she'd been there, only a few weeks earlier but seemingly half a lifetime ago. Her steps slowed as they approached the doorway, as if she were approaching a shrine or entering a temple. Sharon switched the bedside lamp onto its lowest setting, causing warm golden light to alternate with deep shadow, and slowly turned back to Brenda. The blonde stood waiting, her hands clasped together as if she were a child, her breath coming erratically.
Sharon's expression was unreadable in the dim light as she briskly stripped off her remaining clothing. "Come here, Brenda Leigh."
Every bone in the younger woman's body seemed to melt at those words spoken in that low, impossibly sexy tone of voice. She felt the cool floor under the soles of her bare feet, and then the edge of the rug, and then she was wrapped in Sharon's arms.
Sharon kissed her demandingly, asking for everything Brenda had to give in that moment as surely as she never asked Brenda for anything at all the rest of the time, and Brenda gave it – her passion, her fear, herself – without hesitation. The taller woman steered them toward the bed and they fell back together, landing on their sides. Their limbs twined together eagerly, their bodies needing no further instruction or encouragement to engage in the dance that was as old as time itself.
Brenda's senses whirled, blotting out everything else. Sharon was kissing and kissing her, her fingers seeking out the places that never failed to drive her wild: the curve of her underarm, the edge of her rib cage, the rise of her pelvis. When those elegant fingers slipped into the abundant wetness between her legs Brenda meant to say No, it was her turn to go first; but Sharon had her burning, all the desperation of the last weeks rushing back to overwhelm her, and as the captain brushed over her aching clit and teased the incredibly sensitive skin just outside her opening, there was no way the deputy chief could bring herself to say "No, please don't fuck me right this very second."
Sharon let out a breathy chuckle, and Brenda realized she had spread her legs wide and was arching toward Sharon's touch, straining to draw her long fingers into her body and chase after the release that she knew hovered just out of reach. "Impatient?"
The younger woman swallowed hard and met the eyes glittering into hers. "I appear to be."
"Me too," Sharon admitted, her breath coming raggedly, and then two fingers slid inside Brenda excruciatingly slowly, her thumb found the blonde's swollen clitoris, and Brenda forgot to think about anything at all beyond the swelling and pulsing of her own body where it joined with her lover's, the exquisite pressure of Sharon's knowing touch against her walls, and the thick, wet glide of her body and Sharon's hand as her captain fucked her, stubbornly maintaining the slow pace that made Brenda writhe and pant. She hovered there, her eyes closed, her body straining, on the edge of orgasm, knowing she couldn't do anything to push herself over and Sharon could keep her there as long as she liked.
"Is that good?"
Brenda couldn't answer. It was amazing and it was awful and she needed Sharon, needed Sharon to make her –
"Do you want to come now, Brenda?"
Incongruously it registered in Brenda's brain that Sharon's sex-drenched voice could have been asking her anything, anything at all: Will you initial here, Chief Johnson? She had the most incredible voice, the kind of voice that made Brenda understand why people got into phone sex.
Still the pace of Sharon's thrusts didn't alter, but she began to fuck Brenda harder, to drive deeply into her body, and it was so good, so unbelievably good. Brenda heard herself making a high, keening sound, and then Sharon's perfect white teeth closed around her left nipple, biting forcefully, and Brenda's entire body seized, everything pulsing and shimmering and exploding.
She lay on the bed, panting as if she'd just run a sprint, her mouth open, her eyes closed, flashes of white still dancing on the canvass of her eyelids. She felt Sharon move gently, withdrawing her fingers and kissing her cheek and the tip of her nose. Brenda could think about nothing but the residual quivering of her body, as if she were wracked by fever and chills, and the fact that it was Sharon there beside her.
The mattress shifted, and Sharon tugged on the covers. Brenda finally roused herself enough to open her eyes and lift her head, and found her lover buried beneath the comforter, only her beautiful face and wisps of her hair visible.
"Hey," Brenda groused, "what's the big idea?"
Sharon shrugged. "I was getting chilly."
The blonde's features drew together in a scowl. "Who said you get to be all covered up like that?"
The captain's lips twitched into a smile. "If you don't like it, I guess you'd better come warm me up."
Sitting up with suddenly renewed energy, Brenda ripped the covers away, revealing the other woman's beautiful body in all its perfect imperfection, and did her best to maintain her fierce glare. "We've discussed this. You don't always get to go first, Captain Raydor."
She smirked. "No? Survey says I do."
"Until you don't," Brenda retorted, her eyes devouring the sight of Sharon's bare breasts as her fingers scratched lightly down the other woman's side, where she'd learned her lover was especially sensitive. In confirmation Sharon hissed and stretched, lifting her arms above her head to encourage the blonde. "You're very stubborn, Sharon. Very arrogant." Her hand smoothed over Sharon's abdomen to cup her sex, just as she had done earlier, but without the barrier of fabric between her fingers and the hot, moist flesh. Brenda hummed and stretched out beside Sharon, leaning over to kiss her collarbone as her fingers played between the taller woman's legs. "You're also very wet."
Sharon's eyes met hers, filled with challenge and humor. "Are you planning to do something about that?"
Brenda pretended to consider, her fingers dawdling over slick, puffy folds before teasingly dipping one inside. "What do you think?"
"I think you'd better." Fast as lightning, Sharon covered Brenda's hand with her own and shoved two of the younger woman's fingers deeply inside her body. Brenda was taken completely off guard, and even as she felt Sharon's muscles tense and flutter around her, the captain smirked.
"Uh-uh." Brenda withdrew her fingers from beneath Sharon's and sat up again.
The brunette's brow had furrowed in an uneasy frown. "'Uh-uh'?" she repeated.
"Not this time."
Sharon was still frowning, and as Brenda rearranged herself she let the other woman think, just for a minute, that she intended to leave her like this, dripping and eager and unsatisfied. The woman was entirely too smug for her own good or for Brenda Leigh's peace of mind.
But then Brenda's fingers encircled Sharon's ankle, coaxing her to bend her knees and make room for the blonde's slender body between them, and her intentions became clear.
"You don't have to do that," Sharon protested, because that was what you said, wasn't it?
Brenda scowled at her over her bent knees, the expression more serious this time. "Why wouldn't I want to?" she retorted. She smoothed her hand over the back of one leg, from the tender inside of Sharon's knee to the top of her thigh, and then pressed a kiss to the other leg. "You just might have to play teacher again, but I'm a fast learner."
Sharon chuckled. "I bet you are."
"I was an excellent student," she reassured primly, and then dropped to her elbows. Sharon's ass wiggled slightly and her toes flexed as she made herself more comfortable, and Brenda began to stroke her shin and the delicate bones of her foot, calming them both with the familiar skin-to-skin contact. Brenda breathed deeply, filling her senses with the heady, musky scent of Sharon's arousal, distinct and unexpectedly seductive. The chief had the urge to cover herself in Sharon's scent, to bathe in it, as if by doing so she could absorb the other woman through her skin and carry her with her all the time.
She nipped playfully at the top of Sharon's thigh, just below the swell of her ass, and the other woman yelped in surprise.
"Just makin' sure you're paying attention."
The older woman breathed out harshly. "Oh, you have my full attention, Brenda."
And Brenda was determined to keep it. She nuzzled Sharon's inner thigh, thinking of the times the other woman had done this to her; and then she decided it was best not to compare. Sharon's technique was like… like advanced calculus. Tonight Brenda would be happy with algebra, as long as it made Sharon happy too.
The first, tentative contact of her lips and tongue with Sharon's slick, delicate flesh allayed Brenda's fears as it ignited her insatiable curiosity. She needed to learn every centimeter of Sharon's wondrous body, absorb every sigh, every minute shift of her hips, and lose herself in the flavor and texture of her.
Sharon felt herself smile even as her sex quivered in response, the first touch of Brenda's tongue lapping delicately at her zinging along her nerve endings. That tender, shy hesitation was incredibly erotic coming from the bold, insistent, confident deputy chief (and she accused Sharon of being arrogant?). The captain hummed on a note of encouragement.
That tongue and those lips grew bolder, exploring Sharon thoroughly, mapping her through touch and taste, making careful notes of each spot that made her shift or sigh. More pressure here; less there, teasing; a long lick; a gentle nibble at her swollen labia. Brenda settled into a rhythm guided by the small thrusts of Sharon's hips, the way she rolled toward and away from the blonde's questing mouth, and Sharon's hand came to rest on Brenda's head, stroking her hair.
Slender fingers toyed with the sensitive skin around Sharon's opening and she moaned unabashedly, her hips shifting willfully, aching for penetration, for something, anything, to relieve the slow, heavy throb of her nerve endings. The slow glide of a single finger was exquisite and she cried out harshly, bearing down as her lover withdrew it just as slowly – oh, God, there was nothing better than this, better than that unhurried, dragging glide through flesh that Sharon was sometimes convinced was even more sensitive than her demanding little clitoris. Her lovers, male and female, always seemed to feel the need to rush through this part, to drive into her faster and harder, but to the captain this felt perfect, absolutely perfect, and if she could just hold onto it –
Brenda wasn't rushing. She added a second finger and Sharon twisted, bearing down against the motion of her hand, impaling herself on those seeking digits with agonizing slowness. She felt her thighs begin to tremble and burn, her hands fisting around the lattice work of the headboard, squeezing until the edges dug painfully into her flesh. She was talking, probably babbling, encouraging Brenda and telling her how good it felt, how fucking good, that she was a great student, an A+ student and deserved a gold star, and then the younger woman was sucking at her clit, teeth scraping lightly, and Sharon was coming, not having to chase it but simply letting the sensation rush up to overwhelm her, and she heard herself wail, the sound shocking in the quiet room.
Her eyes closed, Sharon listened to her own desperate, panting breathing as it gradually grew more even. She felt the brush of Brenda's soft curls, and then her equally soft mouth pressing a lingering kiss to the crease at the top of her thigh, where the flesh was damp and sticky. After another moment her head came to rest on Sharon's abdomen, her arm draping across the taller woman's torso to cup her breast.
"Was that okay?"
A measure of the insecurity in the low drawl was sincere, but Sharon recognized fishing for a compliment when she heard it. She smirked. "Passable," she murmured, and pressed against Brenda's narrow shoulder, urging the younger woman to crawl up her body for a long, lingering kiss that left no doubt about how much the captain had enjoyed herself.
Brenda rested her head on Sharon's shoulder and the taller woman instinctively cradled her, trying to focus only on how right this felt and keep the doubts and internal conflict at bay a little longer; but it was the seeming rightness that gave rise to the conflict. Having Brenda here like this, in her bed, in her arms, felt perfect, and it scared the shit out of Sharon because this thing with the deputy chief was so ill-planned, so destructive – so transient.
To her shame, that was what bothered Sharon the most: the impermanence, the sense that every night she spent with Brenda Leigh brought them one night closer to the end of whatever this thing was.
Sharon swallowed. "I'm going to get ready for bed," she said, gently but efficiently disengaging herself from the other woman.
"Hmm. 'Kay." Brenda rolled onto her side and cuddled the pillow, and Sharon couldn't help smiling slightly. Of course Brenda wasn't going to ask if she could sleep in Sharon's bed tonight; she was just going to stay there until the captain either ousted her or decided to let her remain.
There was no question, was there? With a sigh, Sharon retrieved a second set of pajamas from her dresser and tossed them onto the bed before she changed into her own and slipped into the bathroom. She wanted Brenda with her. That was the problem.
Brenda had the comforter pulled up to her waist when Sharon emerged, her torso clad in gray satin. She smiled softly at the brunette, her whole countenance glowing with contentment, and even as Sharon felt herself smile back she envied the younger woman that peace.
Sharon snapped off the light and slid beneath the covers, determined to focus on the blissful relaxation that permeated her body. She drifted for long moments, taking deep, even breaths, until Brenda spoke.
"Why did you call?"
"Hmm?"
"Last Monday. Why did you -?"
"Oh." The bed shifted slightly as the captain rolled onto her back and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. "My mother."
Brenda sat up and peered down at her. "Your mama? Did something happen?"
"Oh, no." Sharon sighed. "I'm a creature of habit, Brenda. I go visit her at the nursing home on Mondays, and sometimes it makes me… sad."
"Oh, Sharon." Brenda lay back down and delicate fingers rubbed Sharon's arm through her pajama top. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry."
Sharon knew Brenda felt the way she'd flinched away at the endearment, but this was not a conversation she wanted to have tonight. "It's fine, Brenda. Everybody gets sad sometimes. Let's go to sleep."
For once Brenda didn't say a word, but Sharon could feel her sudden tension. After a moment the blonde breathed out softly and cautiously edged closer. Sharon jumped. "Your feet are freezing!" she exclaimed.
"Sorry."
"It's okay." Battling her better judgment, Sharon moved over and wrapped her arm around the other woman's waist. Brenda sighed again, this time relaxing into the embrace.
"Good night, Sharon."
"Good night, Brenda."
Everything was fine, Sharon told herself. It was fine that Brenda Leigh Johnson was sleeping in her bed and calling her 'honey' and acting like they were a real couple. It was fine that the affair they'd been having couldn't be an affair anymore because Brenda had left her husband (except she hadn't, had she? He'd left her). It was fine that Agent Howard thought Sharon was Brenda's midlife crisis (less expensive than a Ferrari or a facelift, she supposed) and that he was probably right. It was fine that Sharon lost a little bit more of her self-respect every day that she let Brenda stay here as if she belonged. It was fine that the messy, single-minded, drawling deputy chief was filling up her home and her thoughts until Sharon couldn't remember what it had been like before she was there.
Except that it wasn't.
None of it was fine at all.
The next morning when Brenda appeared in the kitchen to scramble herself an egg she found Sharon drinking black coffee and eating half a pink grapefruit. Sharon smiled slightly and said, "Good morning."
And then Sharon said, "Brenda Leigh, you can't stay here. You have to leave."