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"I don't want to hear another word — from either of you!" Chief Pope barks, immediately quelling the brewing dissent from the two women in front of him. "I know that you don't… share well. But Captain, I expect you to act like the professional I know you to be when working with literally anyone else. And Brenda, I expect you to… rise to the challenge."
"Yes sir, Chief Pope," Sharon replies immediately without any hint of emotion.
"Understood," Brenda grumbles with far less efficiency.
Pope sighs and dismisses them, and with a curt "See you tonight Chief Johnson," Sharon is gone.
Brenda stays, arms folded and almost eerily still except for the kinetic energy being expelled through tap tap tap of her left toe.
"I said you're dismissed. So please, get out?" Pope pleads, sinking into his desk chair like he already knows he's lost.
"You really couldn't find anyone else?" Brenda explodes. "What about Detective Mendoza?"
"Were you even listening during that briefing? Mendoza is the bait!"
"Well, I know that. I just meant… well maybe I could be the bait? And then Mendoza can sit off to the side and play footsie or whatever with that woman," Brenda presses on.
"They're not a believable couple," Pope says wryly.
"And we are?" Brenda demands, just a little too adamantly. "Says who?"
"Says it doesn't matter who because this is the way it's going to be and that's final." Pope stands and points to the door. "Goodbye, Brenda."
Brenda looks like she might have more to say but instead she shoulders her bag and huffs indignantly before turning on her heel and storming out.
Sharon pulls up behind the surveillance van and checks her makeup in the mirror one more time. Reasonably satisfied that she looks good enough to be on a "date" but professional enough to not completely lose the respect of the male officers in the van, Sharon steps out of the car.
The back of the van opens to reveal Chief Pope. Of course. Sharon already suspected that the reason she and Brenda were chosen for this operation was because Pope wanted to watch them flirt. The Assistant Chief's unnecessary presence now all but confirms that theory.
"Captain, right on time. Good," Pope says, sounding very authoritative, even as his eyes immediately lock on the mere hint of cleavage Sharon's blouse displays. Sharon swallows a grimace. "Brenda is already here." He nods towards the van just as Brenda comes around the side and approaches them.
"Chief!" Sharon says on a sharp intake of breath. Brenda, apparently less concerned with professionalism than Sharon, is wearing a slinky black dress. The fabric clings to her curves in all the right places and deep v neckline is replicated in the back of the dress as well, revealing far more pale peach skin than is strictly necessary for even this type of operation. Sharon gulps as she finds herself wondering if Brenda would taste like peaches tonight too. Georgia girl that she is, Sharon wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
"I trust the two of you will be able to play your parts without tearing each other's throats out?" Pope asks, far too busy raking his eyes over Brenda's body to notice Sharon doing the same.
"Of course we can!" Brenda says, playfully swatting at Pope's arm. Sharon wonders if she's already had a glass of Merlot.
"If you'll excuse us for just a minute, Will," Brenda says with a sickeningly sweet drawl, "We should review our cover stories."
Pope clears his throat and grumbles something that sounds like "I'll be over here," before leaving the two women alone. Unsurprisingly, Sharon isn't the only one effected by Brenda's outfit.
"Well, Captain, don't you look nice," Brenda purrs, strutting towards Sharon on her sleek black stilettos. "You did all this just for me?"
Sharon's nostrils flare involuntarily as Brenda gets close. Does she detect a whiff of peach? That can't be right - Brenda usually smells like wildflowers. Or sometimes chocolate.
"For the job," Sharon corrects her through gritted teeth. She's not a gifted liar like Brenda. They both know she doesn't mean it.
Self-consciously, Sharon fiddles with the buttons on her silk blouse - deep purple, which always makes her eyes pop. She is regretting her decision to forego pockets tonight in favor of the smooth lines of her slacks. She could really use somewhere to shove her hands.
"You… clean up nicely," Sharon chokes out.
"Thank you, Captain," Brenda says, leaning in closer so that only Sharon can hear the next part. "And I did do it for you." With that, Brenda pulls away and turns back towards the surveillance team. She does throw one more remark over her shoulder, one that makes Sharon certain that the deputy chief is trying to kill her. "You should probably get used to callin' me Brenda tonight, don't you think Shari?"
Sharon shakes her head subtly and silently scolds herself to get it together. Brenda has made her intentions clear… well two can play at this game.
Finally, head held high, and her trademark smirk fixed on her face, Sharon joins the rest of the team by the van.
"Neither of you considered wearing something with buttons?" Pope admonishes as he sizes up Brenda and Sharon's outfits with a more critical eye.
"You said to dress like I was on a date at a club. Never said anythin' about buttons," Brenda shrugs, even as Sharon scolds herself for not thinking ahead.
"Luckily," Mendoza says, sidling up to them, "modern surveillance has moved beyond your standard button cams." She grins widely at the two older women and holds up a jeweled necklace and brooch. She weighs them thoughtfully in each hand before giving the necklace to Sharon and the brooch to Brenda. "Wouldn't want to weigh down that lovely silk blouse, Captain," she says with a wink.
Brenda wrinkles her nose a bit but accepts the flashy brooch that is not at all her style. She does blush just a little when Mendoza adds, "And Chief, you make anything look good."
Sharon smiles inwardly at the way Mikki’s flirting always seems to catch Brenda off guard. She needs Brenda slightly off balance if she is going to survive this night.
"Please try not to drop any of this very expensive electrical equipment into any wine glasses," Pope says as he hands them their ear pieces. He states it as if it's a general announcement but the way he glares at Brenda while he says it makes her wonder just how many ear pieces the deputy chief has submerged out of frustration.
All decked out with surveillance gear, Brenda and Sharon enter the club first. They'll find a booth with a clear line of sight to the dance floor where Mikki will be positioned and then will take turns angling their body cameras towards the action.
Mikki is the perfect bait: an attractive, young Latina, all by herself and looking to make friends. Brenda and Sharon should be much less appealing to the kidnappers: older, white, and a couple; you take one, the other will surely notice immediately. Taking Mikki should be a lot less conspicuous, if not for the fact that she is being watched by two of the LAPD's highest ranking female officers and a whole van full of SIS officers.
The club is loud and dark and Sharon immediately realizes that the built in microphones of their body cams will be almost useless at any sort of distance. She can barely hear Brenda's voice next to her ear, let alone a voice ten feet away. She hopes that at least the image quality is good. Otherwise, why are she and Brenda even being put through this humiliation?
Brenda leans closer and takes Sharon's hand, sending goosebumps all the way up her arm. Her warm breath in Sharon's ear closes the circuit and she tries to concentrate on Brenda's words rather than the physical sensations but it is difficult. "I'll get us some drinks and meet you at that booth over there," she purrs. Brenda then squeezes Sharon's hand and disappears into the crowd.
Sharon shakes herself and does the only thing she can think of: exactly what Brenda told her to do.
She slides into the booth side of the banquet, her body buzzing with the knowledge that Brenda will be sliding in right next to her. For the sake of the operation, of course. Of course.
Sharon has only moments before Brenda will return in which to regain her senses and come up with some tactics of her own. This current power dynamic is going to get them both into trouble.
By the time Brenda reappears, holding two glasses of wine — Merlot for herself and a crisp Sauvignon Blanc for Sharon — Sharon is ready for her.
"Thank you so much," Sharon drawls, imitating Brenda's catchphrase perfectly.
Brenda doesn't bat an eye. She holds up her glass, prompting Sharon to do the same, and says, "To us!" Sharon clinks her glass noncommittally and Brenda tsks, "Nuh uh, cheers like you mean it. And full eye contact or else it's seven years of bad sex."
Sharon rolls her eyes, but does as she's told. The only thing worse than bad sex is no sex. And she wouldn't even wish either on her worst enemy.
The ritual complete, Sharon sets her glass down on the table. Brenda continues to hold hers as if she may take another sip at any moment. With Brenda's hand busy, it is the perfect time for Sharon to grab the controls.
Sharon brushes her thigh against Brenda’s under the table. Subtly, so it could almost seem like a mistake except that she doesn’t pull away on contact. Her hand moves very intentionally to Brenda’s bare knee, further confirming that this is no accident.
Brenda stiffens as Sharon’s fingers move to her thigh, lingering at the hem of her dress as if they might dip beneath the fabric and continue their upward journey. But Sharon’s lithe fingers not only remain above the fabric but withdraw completely, wrapping around the stem of her wine glass instead.
Brenda squirms at the loss of contact and crosses her legs at the knee. “Bitch,” she growls under her breath.
Sharon only smirks and toys with her necklace to remind Brenda: they are on candid camera after all.
“Can you two at least act like you like each other?” Pope’s voice crackles through their ear pieces.
"Oh is that not how Brenda Leigh usually talks to her dates?" Sharon asks smugly, leaning closer to the brooch pinned near Brenda's clavicle.
Pope sighs, heavily enough that it is audible through the ear piece. "I'm starting to think this was a bad idea…"
"That's what we were tryin' to tell you!"
"Just… I don't know, hold hands or something. Captain, what do two women on a date usually do?"
"Pretty much just this," Sharon says through clenched teeth. More proof that Pope only put them in this situation because he wanted a show.
"Well it isn't very convincing. Do something else," he demands.
It's Brenda, of course, who makes the move. She drapes an arm across Sharon's shoulders, casually angling them so that they and their cameras can see Mikki who has arrived on the dance floor. Not to be outdone, Sharon leans in and rests her head on Brenda's shoulder.
"Better?" she asks the brooch.
"Well you don't seem like you want to kill each other anymore so that's a start," Pope acquiesces.
Sharon only hums in acknowledgment. Partly because she doesn't want their cover blown by continuing to talk to Brenda's chest, partly because she really is quite comfortable. Especially once Brenda starts to absentmindedly play with her hair.
They stay like that for a while, Brenda sipping her Merlot and playing with Sharon's hair, Sharon inhaling Brenda's peachy scent, trying to pinpoint its origin as she watches Mikki dance her way around the crowd. Neither speaks, lest they start sniping at each other again, and even Pope has nothing to say for the moment. It's almost… nice?
Sharon sits up abruptly. This isn't supposed to be nice. It's supposed to be work. And she and Brenda are supposed to be at odds, always. She reaches for her wine glass, downs the whole thing in one gulp and scoots out of the booth. "I'm going to take a lap," she informs Brenda. "And stop at the bar. You want another?"
Brenda looks stunned by the sudden loss of contact (another point for Sharon, she supposes), and just shakes her head. "I don't think that's a good idea…"
"Well, if you can't handle your alcohol…" Sharon shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll be back." It is out of kindness that she doesn't mention her suspicion that Brenda pre-gamed, although she doesn't know why she is being kind. To keep Pope off of their backs, maybe.
She doesn't have much time to dwell on it.
As Sharon approaches the bar, she spots a woman who appears to be surveying the room. She's not LAPD, but she is watching in much the same way that Sharon and Brenda have been. Scanning, searching, with a practiced nonchalance meant to appear unassuming, that to Sharon's well trained eye is anything but.
Sharon turns towards the woman and speaks in a low voice towards her necklace. "Straight ahead, mid-40s, short dark hair, blue dress."
"Copy," a voice crackles in her ear piece, thankfully not belonging to Chief Pope. "Mendoza, you know what to do."
If Mikki responds verbally, Sharon doesn't hear it, but she does see the younger woman begin to dance in the general direction of the suspect. She veers away at the last moment, towards Sharon instead and stops to flirt ostentatiously.
Sharon does her best to respond in kind, but in the end she points to the table where Brenda is waiting and throws her a little wave. She has to show that she's interested, but unavailable. Enough to make Mikki appear enticing (not that she needs help with that), but ultimately unclaimed. She leans close to Mikki's ear and whispers "good luck," before retreating back to her table.
"You forgot your wine," Brenda greets her.
"Not sure I'll have time to drink it anyway," Sharon replies with a pointed look towards Mikki and the suspect who are now standing very close together, the woman's hand already possessively on Mikki's waist.
Brenda sits up a little straighter and puts her glass down. The time for games is over; now is the time to fiercely protect her fellow officer. The expression on her face has changed and Sharon thinks Brenda looks like an attack dog now, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.
"We have to let this go as long as we can. For evidence," Sharon reminds her.
Brenda nods but it is clear her focus is elsewhere. "Let's dance," she says, more of an order than a request as she takes Sharon's hand and pulls her onto the floor. Brenda wastes no time guiding them close to where Mikki and the suspect now appear to be having an intense conversation. The woman has both hands wrapped around Mikki's waist now and Mikki, by all appearances very drunk, has her arms draped over the woman's shoulders, whispering into her ear as she dances seductively against her. For her part, the woman seems entirely unaffected by Mikki's movements, only interested in her as a sort of possession. Sharon is all but convinced now that they are on the right track.
Brenda is too, but whether it's the Merlot or her own personal blend of protectiveness and the tendency to bend rules until they break, she seems unconcerned with gathering evidence. Her entire body seems tightly coiled, ready to spring into action and do… what exactly? Sharon can't imagine but whatever it is won't be good.
"Brenda…" Sharon says warily, but her sharp brown eyes remain trained on the other couple, now positioned over Sharon's shoulder.
"Brenda!" She tries again, more sharply, hissing into the blonde's ear. Brenda's only reaction is to move closer, tucking her head into the crook of Sharon's neck. Even Sharon is having trouble focusing on the mission, now that Brenda is close enough to confirm the existence of a peach body lotion.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sharon grumbles. This whole flirting routine of Brenda's might have been amusing at first but now she's endangering the op — and possibly Mikki.
"Shhh," Brenda replies. "I'm tryin' to hear…"
Well, she always has been more interested in confessions than evidence. But even a confession is no good if it doesn't get recorded. Sharon can feel the brooch and the necklace both pressed between them and she knows the cams can't be picking up anything but darkness and rustling noises. Sharon needs to find a way to get Brenda off of her without blowing their cover… and without losing herself in the process.
"Brenda, the jewelry," Sharon pleads quietly, once more hoping for the deputy chief's cop instincts to kick in, rather than whatever vigilante justice instincts are currently overtaking her. They don't.
"Captain what is going on out there? We can't see a thing," Pope's voice crackles through the ear pieces.
They are out of time. Without some sort of response, the surveillance team is going to think something happened to them and they'll come rushing in and blow the whole thing.
Sharon takes a deep breath.
She grips Brenda's hand tightly and with the other hand and just a little bit of her shoulder, she pushes Brenda, forcing her to spin away from Sharon and prove to the team that their cameras are still working.
Sharon tugs Brenda back towards her, and lifts their joined hands for Brenda to spin underneath before she lands back to chest, wrapped in Sharon's arms.
It's not particularly graceful or elegant, but it does the trick. Now both cameras are pointing towards the action, and Brenda and Sharon are too.
"Smooth," Brenda says, half-approvingly. "But don't we look just the teensiest bit strange just standin' here like this?"
She has a point. This music doesn't exactly lend itself to slow dancing, let alone ballroom style moves. So Sharon does the only thing she can think of… which just so happens to be laying a series of soft kisses along Brenda's shoulder and neck.
She can hear Brenda's breath catch, feel the goosebumps raising along her bare skin (which does, in fact, taste vaguely of peaches), and Sharon tries to ignore her own body responding similarly as she makes her way up to Brenda's ear.
It occurs to Sharon that neither of their cameras will be able to pick up what she is doing from this angle and it sends an extra frisson of excitement up her spine. The thrill of getting away with something in plain sight. Poor Will Pope is missing the very show that he fought so hard to get. Serves him right, Sharon thinks as her lips tease their way around Brenda's earlobe.
Brenda is fighting to turn around again but Sharon's arms hold her securely where she is. Only her head is able to move and it drops back to rest on Sharon's shoulder when she hits a particularly sensitive spot.
"Now who's causin' trouble?" Brenda murmurs, turning her head so that her lips are only millimeters away from Sharon's; so close that Sharon can feel the hiss of air from each plosive consonant. It's intoxicating.
Sharon only hums in response, deciding not to allow Brenda the same pleasure.
Even so, Sharon can feel herself losing control. Her heart is racing, her breathing shallow, and the only thought in her mind is whether or not Brenda's lips taste like peaches too…
"Oops, 'scuse us," Mikki giggles, bumping deliberately into Brenda and Sharon to get their attention before following the suspect to the bathroom. Following isn't the right word — more like she is being led.
"Shit," Brenda hisses, the moment broken. Without another word, she marches towards the bathroom to save the day, a dazed Sharon only half a step behind.
The first thing Brenda does when she arrives home is to kick off her too-high heels. She leaves them, discarded on the kitchen floor to be dealt with later, and continues a path towards the couch where Joel and all of his orange fur is waiting to welcome her home.
She strips the dress off too, hanging it over the back of a dining room chair as she passes. That slinky black fabric will never be free of cat hair if she cuddles Joel while wearing it. She flops onto the couch wearing only a black silk slip and bundles the cat up in her arms, idly stroking that pervasive orange fur as she stares into space, trying to process the events of the evening.
Brenda must have drifted off because the next thing she knows, she is startled awake by the jingle of keys in the back door. Joel, previously snuggled against Brenda’s side on the couch, runs to the kitchen in a blur of orange to greet his preferred playmate. Brenda would be jealous except she doesn’t really blame him. She sighs contentedly and sinks back into the couch pillows.
A muffled thump comes from the kitchen, followed by an irritated "Brendaaa!"
The shoes. Oops. Brenda hops up to retrieve them. "Sorry! I didn't think you'd be comin' over tonight-" she stops abruptly at the sight that greets her in the kitchen.
Sharon is on the floor, one leg stuck underneath her and the other stretched in front, trying to look perturbed while Joel insistently nuzzles and licks her face.
"Oh, now I see where you got that move," Brenda giggles, offering a hand to help Sharon off the floor. "Sorry 'bout the shoes. I really did think you'd had enough of me tonight."
"Brenda Leigh Johnson, you drive me absolutely insane," Sharon huffs as she gets to her feet. She reaches up and tucks a blonde curl behind Brenda's ear, her hand lingering at the side of her face. "And I don't think I will ever have enough of you."
The whole night is wrapped up in the kiss that Sharon plants on Brenda then. The frustration, the anger, the adrenaline, and most of all the desire. "You have been a very bad girl," Sharon murmurs against Brenda's lips before lightly catching the bottom one between her teeth.
Brenda’s responding hum is a low, vibratory thing that shoots straight through Sharon's body. "Just the way you like it…isn’t that right, Captain?" she purrs, her hands already sliding from Sharon's shoulders down her back, pulling their bodies flush together until there isn't a sliver of air between them. The silk of Sharon's blouse is a cool, slick barrier against the heat of Brenda's bare skin.
Sharon answers by deepening the kiss, her tongue sweeping into Brenda's mouth with a possessive confidence that makes the other woman's knees weak. It's a kiss meant to claim, to remind, to stake a territory that has secretly been hers for months. She walks Brenda backward, step by deliberate step, out of the kitchen and towards the soft glow of the living room lamp, until the back of Brenda's legs hit the edge of the couch.
Brenda sinks down onto the cushions, pulling Sharon with her. They land in a tangle of limbs, a breathless, laughing mess. Sharon hovers over her, her dark hair falling around them like a curtain, shutting out the world.
"I think," Brenda says, her voice husky as she reaches for the buttons on Sharon's blouse, "we were pretty good at fakin' it in front of Pope and the rest of the LAPD."
Sharon catches her hands, stilling them. She leans in, her lips brushing Brenda's ear as she whispers, "I agree. But of course you know you're not going to be faking anything else with me tonight."
A genuine, uninhibited laugh bubbles up from Brenda's chest, bright and inviting in the quiet room. Sharon joins her, their mouths meeting in a series of smiling, breathless kisses. It's a moment of pure, unadulterated joy that quickly dissolves back into a simmering heat as Sharon finally lets go of Brenda's wrists.
With a newfound urgency, Brenda makes quick work of the tiny buttons, her knuckles grazing the warm skin of Sharon's stomach. She pushes the silk open, her eyes drinking in the sight of a sexy black lace push-up bra that contrasts stunningly with Sharon's pale skin. "So this is what you were hidin’ under there," Brenda murmurs, her fingers tracing the scalloped edge of the lace.
Sharon shrugs the blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “I’ve spent my whole life keeping things buttoned up,” she murmurs. Her gaze drifts down to the slip clinging to Brenda’s body. “But you…” her voice drops, “you always make it very difficult to stay professional.”
She hooks her fingers under the thin straps of the slip, slowly sliding them down Brenda's shoulders. The fabric pools around Brenda's waist, revealing the soft curves of her breasts. Sharon's breath hitches. She's seen her before—many times now—but it never gets old. It never loses its power to remind her that she's the only person in the world who has earned this right.
Brenda arches into her, a silent invitation that Sharon is all too happy to accept. She lowers her head, her lips finding the sensitive skin just above Brenda's collarbone. Of course, she tastes of peaches…and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Brenda. She nips and kisses her way down, taking her time, mapping every inch of skin with her mouth until she reaches the peak of one breast. She takes the nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hardened peak, and is rewarded with a sharp gasp and fingers tangling desperately in her hair.
"Sharon…" Brenda's voice is a ragged plea.
Sharon lifts her head, her eyes dark mossy green with desire. "What do you want, Brenda Leigh?"
"You. Just you."
That's all the permission Sharon needs. She stands up, her movements fluid and sure, and quickly sheds the rest of her clothes—slacks, underwear, all joining the growing pile on the floor. Then she kneels, her hands hooking around the delicate silk of Brenda's slip and the panties beneath. In one smooth, practiced motion, she pulls them both down Brenda's legs and tosses them aside.
Now there are no more secrets. No more barriers. Just the two of them, bathed in the soft lamplight, laid bare in every possible way.
Sharon kneels between Brenda's thighs, her hands stroking up and down the sensitive skin. She leans in, her mouth hovering just above Brenda's core, her warm breath a teasing promise. "I almost feel bad for Pope that he’s missing the show he tried so valiantly to put together,” her voice a low murmur.
Brenda lets out a shaky laugh that ends in a moan as Sharon finally closes the distance. It's not a gentle exploration. It's a confident, knowing assault. Sharon knows exactly what Brenda likes—how much pressure, what rhythm, when to be soft and when to be firm. She uses her lips and tongue in a devastatingly perfect motion, her hands gripping Brenda's hips to hold her steady as she starts to writhe.
The sounds Brenda makes are music to Sharon's ears—soft whimpers that build into desperate cries. Wanting more, needing to feel her from the inside, Sharon slides one hand from Brenda's hip. She teases her entrance with two fingers, coating them in Brenda's slick arousal before slowly, deliberately pressing them inside. Brenda gasps at the fullness, her hips bucking instinctively to meet the slow, deep thrust of Sharon's hand.
That's when Brenda's legs move, wrapping around Sharon's shoulders and pulling her in impossibly closer. The new angle lets Sharon curl her fingers just so, finding that sensitive spot inside as her tongue continues its relentless work on Brenda's clit. Brenda is now completely at her mercy, rocking against Sharon's mouth and hand, her movements growing more frantic, more desperate.
"Sharon, please…uhh…keep goin'…just like that…" Brenda's voice is barely coherent, her hands fisting in the couch cushions, her back arching off the couch.
Sharon has no intention of stopping. She can feel the tension coiling in Brenda's body, the frantic, helpless bucking of her hips. She doubles her efforts, sucking hard on the sensitive bundle of nerves, and that's all it takes.
Brenda comes with a sharp, broken cry, her entire body going rigid. Against her tongue, Sharon feels the frantic, fluttering spasms of Brenda's clit as her inner walls clench tightly around Sharon’s fingers. Brenda collapses, trembling and boneless, a series of soft, breathless moans escaping her lips. Sharon stays with her, her touch more gentle now, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thighs until the aftershocks subside.
She crawls back up Brenda's body, gathering the spent, sated woman in her arms. Brenda buries her face in Sharon's neck, her breathing still ragged.
"Wow," she mumbles against Sharon's skin. "If that's how you punish me, I'm gonna have to be bad more often.”
Sharon smiles, pressing a kiss to Brenda's sweat-dampened hair. "You inspire me," she says softly, a statement of fact. "You and your new peach body lotion…" she adds, lightly scolding Brenda for a transgression she has long since forgiven.
Brenda lifts her head, her dark chocolate eyes hazy with satisfaction but already glinting with a new, mischievous light. You noticed that did you?" She reaches out, her hand tracing the line of Sharon's jaw.
Sharon hums her acknowledgment. "And what exactly were you trying to do with that? Kill me?" she teases with a lazy slap somewhere near Brenda's backside.
"The opposite actually. I know how much you like my usual scent," Brenda responds, sliding her hand down Sharon’s stomach and letting her fingers linger there, possessive and teasing. "I didn't want it to distract you. How was I supposed to know you'd have such a thing for peaches?"
Sharon raises one skeptical eyebrow. "I'm starting to feel inspired to punish you again."
Brenda's voice dropping to a low, determined purr, she whispers to the other woman: “It would be quite literally my pleasure…But now, darlin’, it's my turn—and I’m plenty inspired."
In a swift, graceful movement that belies her languor, and far more practiced than Sharon's clumsy moves on the dance floor, Brenda reverses their positions. Sharon finds herself lying back against the cushions, looking up at the beautiful, determined little blonde woman now straddling her. There's a fire in Brenda's eyes, a possessive glint that makes Sharon want to swoon.
Brenda doesn't waste time. She leans down, capturing Sharon's mouth in a deep, searing kiss that tastes of her own release. Then she begins a slow, torturous descent, mirroring Sharon's earlier actions. Her lips and tongue trace a path of fire down Sharon's neck, her collarbone, pausing to pay homage to each breast before moving lower.
She settles between Sharon's thighs, her hands gently pushing them apart. She looks up at Sharon, her expression a mixture of reverence and raw hunger, before dipping her head. The first touch of her tongue is electric. Sharon gasps, her hands flying to Brenda's hair, holding on as Brenda begins to explore her with her typical single-minded focus.
Brenda is every bit as talented at this as she is in her profession. Her tongue is clever and insistent, finding the most sensitive spots with an almost unnerving accuracy. Just as Sharon starts to lose herself to the sensation, she feels Brenda's fingers at her entrance. Brenda slides one finger inside, then another, her thumb circling Sharon's clit as her tongue continues to lash against it.
The dual stimulation is overwhelming. Sharon’s hips begin to move of their own accord, rising to meet Brenda’s mouth and hand. She tries her very hardest to hold on to some shred of composure, but it’s already gone. Whatever control she usually lives inside of has slipped clean out of her grasp, leaving her bare and burning and impossibly sensitive.
A tight, hot coil of pleasure is winding deep in her stomach, pulling tighter and tighter with every pass of Brenda’s tongue. Sharon has never felt like this—not in her life. Not this open. Not this helplessly aroused. It’s almost frightening, how quickly Brenda is undoing her.
The pressure builds to an almost unbearable peak, a white-hot intensity that steals her breath. Brenda pulls back momentarily to curve her fingers just right inside her lover and within another second the dam breaks. Sharon shatters.
When the orgasm hits, it's not just a release…it's a complete unraveling. A powerful, gushing wet wave of pleasure pulses through her, then out of her—so intense it feels like her whole body floods, heat, pleasure, surrender—like she’s drowning in it. She cries out Brenda's name, her body arching off the couch.
And then, time seems to stop.
In the heartbeat that follows, Sharon is frozen, her body still arched in pleasure. Her eyes have flown open, wide with stunned disbelief, her mouth parted in a silent gasp. Her gaze locks on Brenda, who has gone completely still. Brenda's head is snapped back, her eyes wide and fixed not on Sharon's face, but on the space between her legs, her expression a perfect mirror of shock. It's a silent, shared moment of pure astonishment. This was new. This had never happened before.
Only then does the tension break. Sharon collapses back against the cushions, utterly spent, her body trembling in the aftermath.
Brenda seems to shake herself from her stupor, a slow, amazed dawning on her face. She gently withdraws her fingers, placing one last, soft kiss on Sharon's sensitive center before crawling up to lie beside her, pulling her into a warm embrace.
They lie there in comfortable silence for a long moment, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Brenda props herself up on an elbow, a smug, thoroughly satisfied grin on her face. She reaches out, gently tucking a strand of dark hair behind Sharon's ear.
"Well," Brenda drawls, her voice a low, intimate murmur. "If I ever even doubted you for a second, it'd be impossible to accuse you of fakin’ anything tonight."
Sharon lets out a breathless laugh and hides her face briefly in Brenda’s neck.
“I can’t believe you did that to me,” Sharon murmurs. “You really are a bad girl.” Then she lifts her head, eyes glimmering.
Brenda hums, pleased with herself, and presses a lazy kiss to Sharon’s temple.
Sharon lets out a breathless laugh, still boneless in Brenda’s arms. She nestles closer, eyes half-lidded, smiling into Brenda’s shoulder.
“Imagine if we left the cameras rolling and Pope got his wish after all…and then some?” she murmurs lazily.
Brenda goes stiff.
Sharon pauses. She lifts her head slightly.
“…Brenda?”
No response.
Sharon’s brows knit. “Brenda,” she repeats, slower now. “You did give the camera back, right?”
Brenda doesn’t answer.
Her face is pure existential dread—wide-eyed and stricken, like The Scream come to life.
Instead, she only lifts one trembling hand and points.
Sharon follows her finger.
To the dining room chair.
To the slinky black dress hanging there.
And pinned near the neckline, catching the lamplight like a tiny jeweled witness…
…the brooch…
…facing directly toward the couch.
Sharon’s smile drops.
“…You did turn it off,” she says, voice suddenly sharp, “…right?”
Silence.
Sharon’s eyes widen.
“Brenda Leigh?!”
Brenda just looks at her with miserable puppy dog eyes.
Sharon’s face drains of color.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
Then louder…
“Oh my GOD!”
Her hands fly to her mouth. “Will Pope…and probably half the LAPD…have just watched us…watched us…”
She sputters, horrified.
“AAAHH!”
Sharon scrambles upright, clutching a throw pillow to her chest like it’s a tactical vest.
“I am going to resign, change my name, and move to a monastery.”
Brenda blinks.
Then, even in the middle of sheer panic, she mutters,
“You’ll make a real pretty nun.”
Sharon glares at her.
Brenda winces. “Too soon?”
“BRENDA LEIGH!”
Brenda looks over toward the brooch, squinting at it.
“…Shit.”