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Agent Teresa Lisbon’s hazy eyes dropped to the carpet as the sound of something hitting the floor invaded her hearing. The newly issued badge — FBI Special Agent — which had been safely tucked into her pants pocket moments earlier, now seemed far too out of place in a room lit only by the orange glow spilling in from the hallway. There was something improperly human about that space; perhaps it was the walls drenched in earthy tones she hated, or her dark jeans tossed aside and decorating the room with a familiar kind of mess.
Lisbon had drunk more than usual. Good drinks — enough to ease some of the tension she’d been carrying with the nostalgic new dynamic of having Jane back in her personal and professional life. Still — and see how genuinely funny this sounds — she was steady enough to kick off her heels with an impatient motion, using only her feet and a few exasperated shakes, nearly hitting the body pinning her against the front door. Steady enough to notice the shiver that started along her freshly shaved shin, rising slowly, deliberately, like an electric thread traveling the length of her leg until it lodged, pulsing, in her groin.
She knew exactly what that sensation was. It wasn’t cold. Not when Agent Kim Fischer, the one who was always uselessly trying to take control of everything, knelt in front of her with an almost ceremonial calm, lips brushing against the lace of her panties. Not when Fischer warmed that intimate place with audible, lingering breaths, as if savoring the effect she was causing. Teresa was far too aware to pretend innocence; far too aware not to feel her body respond, shamelessly aroused.
The alcohol, of course, had embalmed a few sharp edges. After all, Teresa Lisbon was terribly professional; Kim Fischer, perhaps more than she should have been. Even so, between low laughter, pointless conversations, and lips sweetened by blackcurrant, those considerations faded into the background. The men at the hotel, scattered around the bar hours earlier, had seemed so pathetic, so predictable in their submissive stares, that the two of them appeared five times more attractive simply by not caring.
It was inevitable. After the third Sex On The Beach, far too heavy on alcohol and nearly devoid of sweetness, Fischer began to notice the sideways smiles from Agent Lisbon, igniting something dangerously sensual along the curves of her face. Teresa was really something. Her light eyes, always alert, carried a slanted gleam, an intelligence and possessive sensuality. She was truly beautiful, even while being so small compared to most of the people in that room.
Lisbon, in turn, was not immune. By the fifth bottle of beer, she found herself overly attentive to Fischer’s fingers sliding over her hand with carefully rehearsed nonchalance. A touch that lingered, delicate, intentional.
And then they were exactly in that ambiguous and comfortable territory usually summed up by the banal expression one thing leads to another. Only there, nothing felt banal. More precisely, in that moment, Agent Kim Fischer lifted the left leg of the small and perpetually irritated Agent Teresa Lisbon, settling it firmly over her shoulders. The gesture was technical: that way, pulling aside the panties from the place her attention insisted on focusing became dangerously easy.
Before Fischer could move even a centimeter closer, however, Teresa pulled her hair.
It wasn’t a violent gesture, but it interrupted the movement. The moan, surprise and desire tangled together, made her cunt tighten. Oh, damn it. Fischer lifted her face immediately, eyes narrowing in genuine confusion, while her fingers instinctively dug into the thigh resting beside her head, as if she needed that contact to stay anchored there.
“This isn’t very professional.”
The remark hung in the air with comedic delay. Irrelevant. Ill-timed. Teresa was almost tender in her attempt to recover some logic, even as she acted alone, pulling off her own shirt and revealing the contours of her breasts beneath the lace of her bra.
Fischer let out a half-smile. There was no longer any way around the situation, not when they were both so heated.
“Tomorrow we can blame the alcohol.”
Teresa sighed, closing her eyes for a second, as if seriously weighing the proposal.
“Terrible plan.”
Fischer, still there, didn’t seem inclined to retreat.
Quite the opposite.
She was dripping with desire.
And then Teresa bent her raised leg slightly, making Kim smile before sticking out her tongue and finally reaching her.