Sharon jolted awake as she always did when her phone rang, loud and insistent, next to her bed. Didn't look at the caller—she didn't have her glasses and her head was still foggy with sleep—as she tapped to answer.
"Raydor," she said, somehow sounding much more alert than she felt.
"Sharon, it's me." Fritz.
"Fritz? What's wrong, are you okay?"
He chuckled softly. "Everything's fine, Shar."
"What time is it?" She fumbled for her reading glasses, knocked them off the table. "Shit."
"It's 11:30," Fritz said, sounding apologetic. "I'm sorry to call so late, I thought you might still be up."
"I usually am," she murmured, relaxing a little against her pillows. "It's all right. What's going on?"
He was silent for a brief moment.
"Her?"
"Yeah," he said, after a beat. "We finally talked. For real."
"Ah."
He'd called her that next morning but his wife had been rushed, reticent, nervous, had stuttered and stammered. Fritz had been kind, had let her know her contact wasn't unwelcome, that if she really wanted to do all the things she'd said, it was important that she be ready, be sincere. So they'd waited.
He cleared his throat a little. "She's coming back in a few days to interview for the job at the DA's office."
"I imagine that's just a formality," Sharon said, trying not to let her sudden jolt of anxiety tell in her voice.
"I imagine so," Fritz echoed. "Listen, Sharon, I told her—we talked about, uh—"
"What did she say?" Sharon interrupted smoothly, never overly fond of stammering, especially at times like this.
"She, uh, she guessed," he said. "But I'm not so sure whatever grapevine she got her DA info from wasn't helping her arrive at the conclusion."
Sharon didn't respond.
"But she's . . . she seems relieved about it."
"Relieved?"
"She said she was glad we both had someone."
Sharon hoped Fritz couldn't hear her rolling her eyes. "Hmmm," she murmured.
"And I told her that was self-pitying bullshit."
Sharon grinned.
"We talked about how if—when, I guess—she comes back that's not going to change."
"Hmm," she murmured again.
"She said she didn't suppose it would. She sounded surprised that I'd even have to say it."
"All right," Sharon said evenly. She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling just then, wanting Fritz to give her more information so she could start to organize herself better.
"She wants to talk to you. I said that was up to you, but I just wanted to let you know."
"Thank you," she said coolly. "I'll expect her call." She could at least manage that, she knew.
"Thanks," he said, sounding a little relieved himself, like he'd thought she might refuse. But how could she? Since that night a couple of weeks ago she'd had a difficult time of focusing on anything other than Brenda, on hearing her warm, sweet accent—which had once driven Sharon a little crazy, until the first time Brenda had moaned her name when Sharon's fingers were inside her and she realized it wasn't irritation so much as obscured lust, like so much else about their early interactions.
There was a heavy pause, like Fritz wanted to say something else but wasn't sure he wanted to disturb Sharon any longer. She was debating saying goodnight when she heard him draw in a long, shaky breath, the kind that always made her nipples start to harden.
"What is it, Chief?" she hummed, settling back onto her pillows a little, glad her son was spending the night with his boyfriend.
Fritz let out a strangled little noise and Sharon smirked. "What else did you and your wife discuss?"
"She asked me, uh, to describe you to her. What it was like when we—"
"Fuck, Chief," she all but whispered, half question, half soft exhortation.
"Yes," he said, swallowing hard.
"And did you?"
"I did."
"And did you come while on the phone with your wife, talking about how you fuck me?"
"I, uh, yeah, I did."
Sharon grinned widely. "And how did your wife take it?"
"She came too," he said, sounding slightly breathless.
She shivered involuntarily at the thought, felt a rush of wetness between her legs. "Tell me," she said, letting a little firmness slip into her voice. An order, not a request. "Tell me about how you and your wife got off thinking about me."
He gulped audibly.
"Tell me so I can too," she said. "I want to hear everything, and I'll let you hear too, Chief." She slipped her hand down her thigh, sliding her short nightgown up and over her hips, letting Fritz hear the rustle of fabric.
"She wanted to know how I fuck you," he said, his voice taking on a dazed, dreamlike quality that sent a hot little flush through Sharon's body, making her squirm her hips just a little. "She wanted to know how you liked it with me, if it was the same."
"Hmm," she rasped, letting her fingers press lightly at her apex, not pushing yet, just letting the sensation build slowly.
"I said sometimes it was soft, that you like it when I kiss you all over your body, run my fingertips across every inch of you until you can hardly stand it even though I've barely touched you."
"Yes," she whispered, drifting her other hand across her breasts, stroking at her stiff nipples through the silk. Gasped a little, smiled at Fritz's responding low groan.
"Then when you were sweaty and trembling from just those little touches, I'd spread your legs slowly, run my hands up and down your inner thigh, kiss your soft skin, and then lick you gently, so gently you can hardly feel it. So I could hear your little desperate whimpers because you wanted more."
"More," she echoed, slipping a finger into her thick wetness, shivering a little.
"Are you doing it, Sharon?" Fritz sounded a little breathless.
"Yes," she gasped back, her own breath starting to get shallower.
"My wife sounded just like you do right now," and instead of pulling Sharon out of the moment she starts to imagine it's his wife she's teasing with those tiny little strokes. "She was so wet I could hear it as she fucked herself for me. For us."
It was Sharon's turn to swallow hard as she imagined it, as she remembered how impossibly wet his wife—Brenda—would get under her, how her thighs would glisten, how Sharon would lift her head, wetness on her chin, her cheeks, her eyelids as Brenda panted and jerked against her mouth. "Fuck, Chief," she murmured as she slid her knees up, let them fall open.
"I told her how when you wanted it slow like that it could last so long, hours of me worshiping your body, teasing you and tasting you until you started to shake and quiver and come and come, over and over."
Sharon groaned, thinking of the way he gently pushed her higher and higher, so when she fell over the edge it felt like she was soaring.
"She liked that. She was never patient, you know how she has to get off hard and fast before she can even pay attention, but she liked hearing about how slow and gentle you wanted it, how hot your skin gets, how wet you are, how good you taste."
"Uh-huh," Sharon moaned, stroking her clit in the tight little circles she liked best.
"Then I told her about the times you want it to hurt," he said, his voice suddenly dropping to a growl that made a wave of hot arousal gush against her fingers. "How sometimes you want me to fuck you until you have to stop because your body can't take any more. How you want me to drive my cock into you as hard and fast as I can. How you scream and scratch at me when I pull your hair."
"Chief," she moaned as she thrust two fingers roughly inside herself, shuddering at the slight pain, relishing it.
"She was breathing so shallowly I thought she was gonna pass out, but she kept whispering for me not to stop. She was on her knees on her bed, her ass in the air, fucking herself with her fingers. Moaning and whimpering. When I told her that I like to fuck you from behind, that you love it when I pull your hair and make you arch your back, the way you fuck yourself so hard on me—"
Sharon was gasping hard for breath as she pushed another finger in, working herself mercilessly. Imagining Brenda's tight little body glistening with sweat, her mouth open and wet with saliva as she panted and moaned. Thought about how good it always felt inside her as her fingers worked Brenda's slick heat. The way she tasted, the way she smelled.
"She was moaning your name when she came," Fritz said, still in that same low voice. "She was begging for you."
"Oh god, Chief," Sharon groaned.
"Are you close, Sharon?"
"Yes," she panted. "Close."
"I asked Brenda who she wanted to see first when she got back," Fritz murmured. "And she said she wants us both. She wants your mouth, your hands. She wants to touch you all over, she wants to make you come while I fuck her, she wants to watch me fuck you." His breathing was ragged and it was that hint of strained desperation that pushed her over, shuddering as she imagined Brenda's fingers and tongue on her, in her, Brenda's voice begging for her, screaming her name.
"Yeah," Fritz panted. "Yes, Sharon, just like that."
"Fuck, Chief—I'm—oh god," she cried, trailing off into soft, light whimpers as her orgasm slowly subsided. Shuddered and moaned again as she withdrew her fingers.
There was a soft grunt on the other end of the line. Sharon grinned lazily, still feeling heavy and contented. "Twice in one night again, Chief?" she teased, her voice low.
"You know exactly what I'm up against here, Sharon," he teased back. "And I'm not complaining."
Sharon smiled as she shifted her hips, stretched her legs. "Well, Chief," she murmured, "thank you for your excellent reporting on the situation, and I'll be following up on the information you provided as soon as possible."
He chuckled, low and warm. "My pleasure as always, Captain."
"Mmm," she smiled again. "And mine. Goodnight, Fritz," she said softly, feeling a yawn beginning to overtake her, "love you."
"Love you too, Sharon," he said, and she could hear his grin. "Sleep well."
"As soon as possible" ended up, it turned out, being not quite as soon as Sharon would have liked. Though she was careful to tamp down her excitement and anxiety and desire as much as she could, she still spent the next two days distracted, slightly frantic, with a dull, heavy throb between her legs. Fritz was busy preparing for Brenda's arrival on Friday evening, so she wandered around only half-aware of what her squad was saying until she got home Wednesday and found a missed text.
Can I call you?
She checked the time stamp, only a few minutes ago, while she was driving. She glanced around the empty apartment; Rusty was working late at one of his internships, he'd promised he'd eat something and would see her around ten, if she was still up.
She looked at the time. Six-fifteen.
She swept her hand through her hair, moved into the kitchen and pulled the cork from a bottle of Cabernet on the counter, poured a deep glass, took a deep swallow. The wine soothed her immediately, helped ground her, and she took another deep breath and went into her bedroom, carefully hanging up her suit, examining a small stain on her blouse that she had to assume was coffee from Tao nearly barreling into her that morning, sighing as she tossed it into her hamper along with her underwear. She pulled on her softest pajama pants, a thin tank top, a cozy cashmere cardigan. Took another drink of her wine. Picked up her phone
At your convenience, Chief.
She went to go sit on the couch while she waited, had just reached for the stereo remote when her phone buzzed. Chief Johnson, the screen flashed.
"That was quick," Sharon muttered, though she felt an immediate flutter in her tummy as she reached for the phone.
"Hello, Brenda," she said, not trying to make her voice rumble like that, it's just how it came out.
She was sure she heard Brenda's breath catch on the other line. "Hello, Sharon," she whispered. "Thanks for takin' my call."
"Of course," she murmured. "Your husband said you wanted to talk to me."
"I think I said that too," Brenda said, the little flash of her impetuousness making Sharon's thighs clench. "But I'm glad you said yes."
"What did you want to talk about, Chief?"
Brenda seemed to falter for a moment. "I—I'm—"
"You're coming back to LA," Sharon prompted gently. She'd felt so many complex feelings about Brenda over the past months, anger and sorrow and grief and longing, but hearing her voice now, she felt all of it slide away, replaced by a swelling warmth in her chest. All she could remember, hearing Brenda's voice, especially when she sounded small and unsure, was how shy she could be, how tender, how sweet.
"I am," Brenda said, relieved. "I'll be there on Friday for the weekend, then I'm meetin' with the DA's office Monday morning."
"Just a formality, I assume," Sharon said, repeating what she'd said to Fritz.
"I guess so," Brenda said, and Sharon could hear her shrug.
"Do you want the job?"
"I dunno," Brenda sighed. "But Sharon," her voice took on a supplicating ache, "I don't really care what I'm doin' as long as I'm there."
Sharon felt a flush creeping up her chest. She wasn't quite ready to release all her negative feelings after just one sentence, but Brenda had a way of making that feel like the easiest thing in the world.
"Brenda—"
"Can I talk just for a minute, Sharon?" she pleaded, and Sharon shivered a little, imagining her wide brown eyes, the way her mouth would tremble when she was being sincere. "I just want to say some things that I've been needin' to say."
"All right," Sharon said mildly, reaching for her wine glass.
"Okay," Brenda exhaled. "First of all, I'm so sorry I left without sayin' goodbye. It was the stupidest, most selfish thing I've ever done, and I've done a lot of 'em. But not sayin' goodbye to you is the thing that keeps me up at night." Another deep breath. "I meant it when I said I can't stop thinkin' about you. Not from the second I left. And Fritz—"
"And Fritz?" Sharon prodded, only feeling a little bit mean.
"When I found out you and Fritz were . . . uh, together," she paused, her breath shaky. "The first thing I thought was good. And I know there was a lot of self-pity in that," she said quickly. "But I really mean it. The two of you are good together, I could see it way back then, only back then I thought I could have you both all to myself, and, well . . ." she let out a dry little chuckle. "That was pretty selfish too."
"Mmm," Sharon murmured.
"But then when I thought about it, I realized I couldn't stop thinkin' about it, and not . . . not in a bad way. You two are the people I . . . I care about most, and why shouldn't you be together, it's not like I had any right to stop it. And I didn't want to, Sharon. I didn't want to stop it. I—" her voice dropped low, whispering, and Sharon felt it right in her core. "I thought about it. I thought about the two of you together. I was so jealous. Of both of you. Not about the affair, I mean, shoot," she said, and Sharon couldn't help her broad grin. "But knowin' you both, how you both feel and taste and move, well, it just about drove me crazy."
"How did you know?" Sharon asked, not really needing to interrogate Brenda, but she was sincerely curious; she and Fritz had been careful not to be seen together, not to change their behavior at work.
"Andrea," Brenda breathed. "She didn't really say anything, I don't think she even really knew it herself. But one day we were going over an old case of mine that was gonna go back to trial and she mentioned she'd seen Fritzi around the station a lot, and one time she saw you getting into his car."
"And that was it?" Sharon smirked, amused. Of course Brenda would have latched onto that, worried it down to the marrow until she could suss out the truth.
"That was all," Brenda murmured. "He knew about you and me, probably the whole time, and he never once said anything. Never once got mad at me about keepin' secrets. I figured he wasn't that upset, and I figured that was because it was you."
"Ah," she said.
Brenda's voice darkened. "You're so beautiful, Sharon," she whispered. "So beautiful and smart and good. Anyone can see it. Fritz wasn't mad at me because he wanted you too, didn't he?"
"He did," Sharon murmured back, letting her fingers drift up and down her inner thigh.
"Wil you . . ." Brenda's breath hitched again. "Will you tell me about the first time?"
"Didn't your husband tell you?"
"I wanna hear it from you," Brenda whispered. "If that's all right with you."
Sharon felt the hot zing of arousal ricochet through her body, pooling at the apex of her thighs. This is what she'd been expecting when she'd agreed to talk to Brenda, even though they had so much more to talk about. This thing felt essential, something that needed to happen before they could move on.
"He came into my office," she said, low and smooth. "Right after I'd taken over, right after he'd been appointed Deputy Chief."
"Uh-huh," Brenda said, and Sharon could hear the faint shift of fabric in the background.
"We were talking about the transition, how it would go. It was in the evening, everyone else had gone home, so we were alone."
"Couldn't ever get up to anything in that fishbowl," Brenda muttered, and Sharon let out a low, rumbling laugh.
"We were talking, and it was getting later, and it was clear that there was more on his mind than the status quo."
"Was there more on your mind too, Sharon?" Brenda asked, her voice already fluttering.
"Where are you, Brenda?"
"I'm on—on my couch," she hicced. "I'm touchin' myself a little, it's hard not to, hearing you."
"Mmmm," Sharon hummed in assent. "I want you to, Brenda. Touch yourself for me."
There was a brief pause, more rustling, then a faint gasp that elided into a soft, low groan.
"Are you wet, Brenda?"
"Yes," she whimpered.
"Good. Your husband was in my office, and we were wrapping things up when I noticed he was having trouble uncrossing his legs."
"Oh," Brenda moaned a little.
"I could see it," Sharon breathed. "I could see how hard he was for me."
"Mm-hmm."
"Tell me how you feel, baby," she groaned, her hips jerking as Brenda groaned back into her ear.
"So wet," she whispered. "It feels so—so good."
"What are you doing?"
"Just little touches," Brenda gasped. "Little touches on my clit."
"Good."
"Feels good."
Sharon's breath caught in her throat. "Do you want me to touch myself, Brenda?"
"Oh god," she hissed, her voice faint. "Yes. Please, Sharon. Please touch yourself."
"Yes," she murmured, slipping her hand under the hem of her shirt, reaching up to toy with a nipple. "Yes, Chief."
"Oh god," Brenda mumbled again. "Oh fuck, Sharon."
"I crossed around to him and sat on the edge of the desk. I saw him try to keep himself from reaching for me but I took his hand and put it on my knee."
"Yes," Brenda breathed, and Sharon suddenly remembered what Fritz had said about hearing Brenda's wetness, wanted so badly to hear it for herself.
"Put me on speakerphone, Chief," she purred. "I want to hear how wet you are for me."
Brenda didn't say anything, but Sharon could hear the faint echo of the speakerphone being turned on. Brenda's voice got farther away, but if she strained she could hear, just faintly, the soft liquid sounds of Brenda's fingers working her clit.
"God," Sharon moaned, unable to stop herself. "That's it."
Brenda still didn't speak, but her breathing was shallow and quick.
"He seemed scared at first, so I showed him how to touch me," Sharon said. "I helped him run his hand under my skirt, just up my leg, and when he stood up and pressed against me he was so hard I thought he'd come right there."
"Uh-huh," Brenda choked, the wet sounds of her hand getting louder, making Sharon shudder on her couch.
"I kissed him," she said, low and throaty. "I sucked his tongue into my mouth and he whimpered against me, he pressed himself against me. He was so hard, so hot, I wanted him inside me right then."
"But you didn't," Brenda gasped, relishing the way Sharon was dragging it out for her.
"I certainly didn't," Sharon said, letting her voice take on that hard little edge she knew, had always known, caused a certain effect on people. "Just what kind of woman do you think I am, Brenda Leigh?"
"Oh god, Sharon," Brenda moaned.
"I kissed him and he put his fingers in my hair, pulling just a little bit," she went on, twisting at her nipple, letting out a soft little yelp that made Brenda gasp. "You know what that does to me," she purred.
"Yes," Brenda panted.
"When I went to push him away I could feel him, feel his cock against my hand. So hard, so hot, and I wanted it so badly. But not there, Brenda. Not for our first time."
She let the words drawl out of her mouth, letting Brenda remember their first time, rough, desperate, all fingers and tongues, Brenda's hand thrusting up her skirt as she pinned Sharon against the side of the file cabinet, the only invisible place in her office. Brenda's fingers thrusting so hard that Sharon couldn't help her head from banging into the cabinet, biting down on Brenda's collarbone so she wouldn't scream as she convulsed around the woman's strong fingers.
That was the first time they'd had sex. The first time Sharon had marked Brenda in a way that couldn't be easily hidden. She'd felt bad, embarrassed about it at first, not about the sex but about the mark, had lain awake the whole night anxious about losing her cool and losing her job and losing out on ever seeing Brenda again.
The next morning Brenda had strolled airily into the Murder Room, an ostentatious floral scarf tied around her neck. She'd winked at Sharon, who was gaping at the obviousness of the disguise, and Sharon had nearly swooned right there against Provenza's desk.
Had she even tried to hide it when she went home? Had Fritz known from the very first time?
She felt another pulse of arousal thinking about it.
"And then what?" Brenda breathed into her ear.
"And then I ran my hand along him, I couldn't help it, and I whispered in his ear that we couldn't do it there, not then, and as I stroked him just a little bit he started to shake against me."
"Uh-huh," and Sharon could hear the wet sounds of Brenda's body, sloppier now, and she pushed her hand down under the waistband of her soft pants, groaning at her own hot slickness.
"He came right there," Sharon breathed, circling her clit. "Without me even touching his skin. His breath was so hot against my neck."
"Fuck, Sharon," Brenda sighed.
"It reminded me of you," Sharon crooned into the phone, delighting in Brenda's hard little groan. "After you fucked me in your office, feeling you shiver against me as I kissed you. I made you come, Chief, didn't I? I made you come just from touching me."
"Yes," Brenda gasped, her breath coming in shallow little puffs, the slick sounds of her arousal getting faster, harder. Sharon moaned, slipping a finger inside herself as she imagined Brenda next to her.
"I want it, Chief," Sharon murmured as she pushed another finger inside herself. "I want you both to come for me, together, I want to feel you both fall apart for me."
"Shar—Sharon—" Brenda gasped, and Sharon moaned as she heard Brenda grunt and keen. "Oh god, Sharon, yes."
Sharon couldn't stop the wave from building inside her as she heard Brenda whimper and moan her orgasm. Couldn't stop her fingers from pushing deep, her thumb circling her clit, couldn't stop herself from seeing stars as she came. Didn't want to.
There was silence on the line for a few minutes, only faint, shuddering breaths from both ends.
"I love you, Sharon," Brenda whispered, her words coming out in a rush. "I'm sorry if that's not okay, I just, I just miss you so much and I want you so bad and I—"
"I love you too, Brenda Leigh," Sharon said softly, sweetly. "Don't be sorry about that."
"Okay," Brenda said in that small, vulnerable voice that made Sharon's heart ache.
"We have a lot to figure out," she continued. "We have to talk about things if this is going to work." She didn't really know what this meant, but whatever it was, she wanted it.
"I want to, Sharon," Brenda's voice breathy and urgent. "That's what I want, I don't want to mess it up again, I want you, I want to deserve you. I want to deserve you both."
"I know, honey," she murmured, wanting to soothe Brenda's sudden desperation. "You can. You will."
"I—"
"We both want you to come home, Brenda Leigh," Sharon said gently, her body warm and heavy and comfortable, yet still longing to feel her, to feel him, pressed against her. "We both want it to work, we both know it can."
There was a long pause, and Sharon's heart clenched as she heard Brenda's low, choked sob. "I know," Brenda said, her voice watery. "I'm ready. I want it. I want you. I love you. I don't care about all the rest of it, I'm gonna take that job, I already started packing, Sharon, you'd be so proud of me." The faintest sardonic little edge to her voice making Sharon smirk.
"I'm always proud of you, Brenda Leigh."
Another pause as Brenda tried to control her sobs, get her breathing evened out. "Thank you," she whispered. And then, "can I see you on Friday?"
Sharon smiled, another little thrill rippling through her. "Your flight gets in at 7:12pm," she said primly, "and we'll be at the Delta entrance."
This time Brenda's sob was interrupted by a loud laugh, one that made Sharon's heart flutter. "I can't wait," she said. "I'm so happy, Sharon."
The sweet, uncluttered joy in her voice made Sharon joyfully happy too. "I love you, baby," she lilted. "We'll get it all worked out."
"I love you, Sharon," Brenda repeated, her voice hushed, awed. "I can't wait to show you how much."
Sharon shivered a little again. "Good night, Brenda Leigh," she murmured, low and sweet. "Get some sleep, I'll see you soon."
"I love you," Brenda said again. "Good night, Sharon."
Sharon smiled widely as she ended the call, her other hand still sticky and warm. Before she got up from the couch, she swiped over to her texts.
Friday evening is a go. Should I bring anything?
There was a brief pause before she saw the three little dots pop up, smirking a little.
Just yourself
And a few spare hours
She smiled again.
Pulling an all-nighter. Rusty will love having the condo to himself.
The three little dots again. Appearing. Disappearing.
"Just say it, please," she murmured to herself.
Can't wait, Fritz finally replied.
Sharon chuckled a little, stretched her arms over her head, went back to her bedroom to run a bath before Rusty got home. Paused in the doorway, tapped for a moment on the screen, swiped to her texts again.
Hi honey, long day so I'll probably be in bed. I ordered you a pizza, let me know if you'll be later than 10:30.
Smiled again, plugged her phone in on her bedside table, and padded into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
