Deeper

by Ronica Black

  The lock clicked. She took in a big breath.

  Sinclair stood smiling at her.

  “Um, wow, hi.” Patricia nearly smacked herself in the forehead at her choice of words, just like Paige had done an hour before.

  She let her gaze sweep up and down Sinclair again, taking in the dirty jeans full of holes and the see-through wifebeater tank. She was covered in dried clay and paint. Patricia had never seen anything so sexy in her life.

  “Hi.” Sinclair smiled and the dimple in her cheek seemed to wink at Patricia. “Come in.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not.” Sinclair closed the door and turned the lock.

  Patricia stared at her muscles and then at her bare feet. “You look busy.” Thank God the right word had come out, because her mind seemed stuck on a different vocabulary. Words like sexy, edible, and goddamned gorgeous.

  “Come on, I want to show you something.” Sinclair looked relaxed and happy. Patricia wondered if that was how she looked after making love.

  She followed her down the hallway to a room on the right. The first thing she noticed was all the heavy oak bookshelves lining the walls, crammed with books. She recognized some of the titles. Topics from profiling, to serial murders, to basic neurology. She moved closer and looked at the framed photos standing on some of the shelves. A handful were of Sinclair with an older man in front of a small airplane. Patricia wondered if that was her father. She was going to ask but Sinclair seemed preoccupied, leaning over a worktable with a bright adjustable arm lamp clamped to it. The smell of clay and paint tickled Patricia’s nostrils.

  Sinclair lifted a small figurine from the table. She held it out for Patricia. “I’m going to put another glaze on it.”

  Patricia felt her face light up. “Oh, my God. It’s Jack.”

  “I hope you like it.”

  Patricia held it carefully, amazed at the detail. Somehow Sinclair had captured his spirit along with his appearance, from his one brown ear to the way he cocked his head at her. His tail even stood at attention just as it always did.

  “I love it.” She couldn’t believe how wonderful it was, how talented Sinclair was. “Thank you. It’s…You’re amazing.”

  Sinclair lowered her head. Compliments obviously embarrassed her a little. She took the figurine back and set it carefully on the table. “I’ll put that glaze on tomorrow.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “It was really was nice of you.” First the cake, now the figurine. Patricia felt like an ass. She hadn’t given her anything.

  “I like to see you smile.” Sinclair switched off the arm lamp, leaving the room in near darkness. “And you inspire me.”

  A spark shot up Patricia’s spine as she felt Sinclair reach past her to turn on a smaller lamp. She opened a glass door at the base of a shelf and removed a statue of a woman. As she brought it closer, Patricia stopped breathing.

  “I did this after I first saw you.” Sinclair placed the figure in Patricia’s hand. “Your hair, it was so beautiful. You’d walked to your truck after we had spoken and you let your hair down, let it blow in the breeze.”

  Patricia’s skin was on fire. She ran her fingers lightly over the statue, over the glossy auburn hair. She could almost feel that breeze once again. “It’s beautiful.” She didn’t know what to say, what to think. “I wasn’t very nice to you that day. Or even after that.”

  Sinclair only smiled a little. “It didn’t matter. I could see who you were on the inside. And it was just as beautiful.” She took the statue back and replaced it on the shelf. “I wasn’t going to show you this. I didn’t want you to think I was some creep.”

  “I don’t think that. I could never think that.”

  Sinclair straightened, staring into her eyes. “I just think you’re…incredible. And beautiful.”

  Patricia struggled to breathe. “Thank you.”

  No one had ever said such things to her. She’d written about these things, these very words. But actually hearing them…it made her head spin.

  Sinclair gave her that smile again, only it was a little more shy this time. She looked down at her hands. “I’m a mess. Do you mind if I go take a quick shower?”

  “Yes.” The word came out before she could even think it.

  Sinclair looked surprised. “Sorry?”

  Patricia searched for something to say to explain away her impulse, but nothing came. Her blood slammed through her body. “I do mind.” Her heart was speaking for her. She couldn’t stop it. “I like you just like that.”

  Sinclair stared. “I’m covered in paint. In clay.”

  “I know. I know you’ve been working hard on something you made for me. I know it took you hours, and I know you put your blood, sweat, and tears into that little figurine.”

  She imagined Sinclair sitting at the table, hunched over, staring into the magnifier on the arm lamp. She imagined her working for hours to mold the perfect replica of Jack, a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin. She took a step toward her and Sinclair’s body straightened with a large intake of breath. When the air was released, her chest shook. She looked alive, in every way possible. Each of her senses balancing on the edge of desire. Her skin was flushed, her breathing labored, her gaze intense and focused.

  At the sight of her, Patricia felt her own senses sharpen, wanting desperately to experience all that was Sinclair. “I want to feel the dry clay on your hands, feel the paint on your fingertips. I want to smell your skin, taste the sweat on your neck. Please don’t wash it off.”

  The air became thick and heavy, hard for Patricia to pull into her lungs. “Audrey,” she whispered. It was the very first time she’d said her first name, aloud or to herself. She loved the way it sounded, the way it felt coming from her mouth.

  Sinclair moved then. She came to her quickly, eyes ablaze. “Patricia,” she said, reaching to touch her face.

  A gasp of surprise and desire escaped just before Sinclair covered her mouth in a kiss. Then a moan at how deep and passionate the kiss was. Sinclair pushed into her, thrusting with her tongue. Patricia went limp, overcome with the stronger woman’s power. She let Sinclair hold her up, let her kiss hard and deep. She wrapped her arms around her firm shoulders. Her toes curled at the raw feel of Sinclair’s muscles.

  “I want you,” Sinclair said into her ear.

  Patricia buried her face in her neck. She smelled and felt the working sweat of her. Warm and slightly metallic. Hot bleachers at a sunny ball game. She kissed her skin, needing to taste it. She bit, the tangy taste of her swimming through her blood.

  “Then take me,” she whispered, wanting nothing more.

  “I’m afraid I’ll scare you.”

  Patricia pulled back to look into her eyes. “Why?”

  “Because I want you so bad, I’m aggressive. And—”

  “Passionate?”

  “I was going to say strong.”

  “You won’t scare me.” Patricia ran her fingers through Sinclair’s short hair. She loved the look of her, the thick lips, sharp cheekbones, and burning ember eyes. She could stare at her for eternity. “In fact, the only thing that does scare me is the thought of you doing nothing. If you don’t touch me…”

  Sinclair kissed her. Hard and fierce. Her tongue plunged in and Patricia groaned, meeting it with her own for a long dance. She heard Sinclair groan as well and then she was lifted and carried backward. She clung to Sinclair as her stomach did flip-flops. Her back met the wall and Sinclair lowered her legs and attacked her neck with teeth and tongue. Patricia’s knees sagged and she had to hold tight to keep from falling.

  “I can’t stand for much longer,” she confessed, her entire being melting at a white-hot pace.

  No one had ever taken her like this before. Not even Adams. No one had spoken such words and then backed them up with such passion. This was what she had dreamt about, written about. It was fiction. She closed her eyes and let out a yelp of pleasure as Sinclair s
ucked on her skin. No, it was better than fiction.

  Using one hand, Sinclair fumbled with her jeans. Patricia tried to help but she was quickly jammed against the wall, hands pinned above her head. Hot cinnamon eyes baked into hers as a finger trailed down her face to her neck and below. The button to her jeans opened, along with the fly.

  Sinclair lingered, tickling the skin just above her panties. “I want to look into your eyes as I touch you.”

  Her hand went lower then, slipping into Patricia’s panties. Their eyes held until her fingers curved under and hit flesh.

  “Oh, God.” Patricia closed her eyes, it felt so good. She was so swollen and ready.

  The fingers rubbed over and around, dipping lower to gather her excitement. “Open your eyes,” Sinclair whispered. She stopped her hand.

  Patricia did so, breath heaving out of her chest.

  “Look at me,” Sinclair softly insisted. Her hand started moving again, painfully slow.

  Patricia moaned, wanting so badly to close her eyes. But every time she let her eyelids droop, Sinclair threatened to stop.

  “Does it feel good?” Her fingers slid up and down, squeezing together against her clit.

  “God, yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  Patricia sank lower, her knees buckling. But Sinclair stepped into her, holding her up by her center. The added pressure sent shock waves through her. And then Sinclair went farther, moving her fingers lower to thrust into her.

  “Oh fuck! Oh God, I can’t. It’s so good.” Her eyes wanted to roll back in her head. Sinclair was holding her up with her fingers. Fucking her tight and hard against the wall. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She couldn’t stop saying it. She felt like she was being fucked alive with wonderfully burning fingers.

  “Come,” Sinclair said, watching her intently. “I want to watch your face.” She worked her harder, longer, fingers curling against her tender and swallowing walls.

  Patricia stared into her eyes, saw and felt the intensity. Never before had she felt so desired, so wanted or needed. Sinclair desired her, wanted her, needed her pleasure. And she wanted it too, not only for Sinclair but she wanted it of Sinclair.

  “Audrey, I…” She tried to explain but she came instead. The orgasm overtook her, completely, slamming into her body and then madly clawing its way out. She lost all control, finally closing her eyes. She didn’t even feel it when Sinclair released her hands. She just cried out, waved and convulsed, her hips fucking the fingers up deep inside. Noises came out of her, strange lengthy ones that she didn’t recognize. Then, when everything stilled, she opened her eyes and found Sinclair watching her, her cheeks flushed with desire. Sinclair eased her fingers out and lifted her again.

  “What are you doing?” Patricia wrapped her arms around Sinclair’s shoulders, her legs around her waist.

  “I’m taking you to the bedroom.”

  “Oh.” Patricia grinned. Her face felt so relaxed that the smile seemed to just plant itself there, as if it were comfortable, snuggling down into a pillow. “So it will be my turn now?”

  Sinclair didn’t bother with the lights and suddenly Patricia felt herself being tossed onto the bed. She laughed but then stopped as Sinclair stood and tore off her tank top. Patricia sat up and eased to the edge of the bed. She reached out for Sinclair’s thick belt and tugged her closer. Sinclair sucked in an excited breath as Patricia unbuckled it. But as she started to unbutton her pants, Sinclair stopped her.

  “Wait.” She grabbed hold of Patricia’s hands. She moved quickly to her closet and reemerged holding a box.

  “What’s that?” Patricia’s brain was firing way behind her body.

  “Something I ordered with you in mind,” Sinclair said as she tore at the cardboard.

  Patricia watched closely as the light spilled in from the streetlamp. She could see her own slickness reflecting off Sinclair’s fingers as Sinclair tossed the box and unwrapped a clear-looking dildo.

  “Ever used one?” Sinclair held it out for Patricia to inspect.

  Patricia took it from her, noting its length and girth. She even noticed the glitter sparkles glinting inside. “Many times.” She looked up at Sinclair. “In my books.”

  “Would you like to try it?”

  “Right now?”

  Sinclair gave her a crooked smile, the dimple working its magic. “Yes.” She fingered the fly of her jeans. “I thought I could secure it in here.”

  The thought made Patricia’s body flash with fire. Her clit seemed to twitch with need.

  Sinclair dropped a tiny pack of lube on the bed and crawled on after it, slinking over to Patricia like a hungry, hunting cat. “I could lie on my back and you could ride me.” She kissed her and her mouth felt so soft and hot.

  “Okay,” Patricia said, lost in the feel of her.

  “Yeah?”

  She pushed Sinclair back and rubbed her upper body with her free hand, amazed at her strength and then equally amazed at the softness of her breasts. She bent her head and kissed her nipples, causing Sinclair to hiss.

  “You better hurry.” Sinclair wrapped her hand in Patricia’s hair. “Before I turn you over and take you.”

  Patricia laughed wickedly, knowing just how she felt. She handed the dildo back and watched as Sinclair eased it into her fly, buttoning her jeans up around it. “We should probably use a condom since I didn’t get a chance to clean it.” Sinclair pointed. “I have some in the nightstand.”

  Patricia crawled over and retrieved the small box. She felt nervous at the idea of being fucked by something other than fingers. She’d never been with a man and she’d never let anyone do this before. But she trusted Sinclair. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt safe with her. On many different levels.

  Sinclair rolled on the condom. Then she opened the packet of lube and rubbed it on. Patricia gazed in wonder as her hand went up and down the shaft, readying it just for her.

  “Watching you do that really turns me on,” she confessed.

  Sinclair stopped, held the packet over the dildo, and squirted more on.

  “Yeah? Why don’t you take off your clothes and help me?”

  Patricia eased off the bed and unbuttoned her shirt. Sinclair watched her, trailing one hand up to caress her own nipples. The lube glistened in the filtered light, encircling her areolas.

  Patricia hurried, peeling off her bra and then pushing off her jeans and panties. Sinclair tensed, obviously aroused by the sight.

  “Come here,” she said.

  Patricia slid back onto the bed and Sinclair’s hand moved down to the dildo. She held it while Patricia stroked the lube on, up and down.

  “Patricia, I want you so bad,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.” Sinclair sat up on her elbows and stopped Patricia’s hands. “I mean it.”

  Patricia didn’t know what to say. A hot rush of blood made her cheeks tingle. “Okay.”

  “When I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real, much less a cop. Detectives don’t look like you. And if one ever did, she’d probably be married.” Sinclair smiled. “And then when you spoke…”

  Patricia rolled her eyes at the memory of her behavior. “Please. Don’t remind me.”

  Sinclair laughed. “I wanted you even more.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.” She stroked Patricia’s arm in a way that sent shivers right through her. “All that fire and passion. All that seriousness and intelligence.”

  “I was a bitch.”

  “Whatever you want to call it.”

  Patricia laughed.

  “I liked it.” Sinclair’s gaze was full of desire. “It was you.” She sank back down fully to the bed. “And now I want to give you pleasure. In every way possible.” Sinclair’s hands meshed with Patricia’s on the dildo, thoroughly encasing it with liquid silk. “Will you climb on now?”

  Patricia stared down at their hands, then looked up into Sinclair’s eyes, glad for the light floating in from the street. “Ye
s,” she said softly.

  Inhaling deeply, she straddled Sinclair just below the dildo.

  “Take your time.” Sinclair placed her hands on Patricia’s hips.

  Gazing down at her, Patricia took in her flexing torso and the soft movement of her breasts. She held herself higher. Sinclair gripped the base as Patricia eased herself on.

  “Oh, oh God.” Her voice was tight and throaty, as if the dildo were sinking up into her throat. “Oh, God,” she said again, feeling it slide all the way in.

  She closed her eyes, the pressure filling her up entirely. Slowly, she began to move, gyrating her hips back and forth.

  “How does it feel?” Sinclair wanted to know.

  “It burns.” She opened her eyes.

  “Go slow.” Sinclair’s fingertips traveled up to Patricia’s breasts where they caressed and pinched lightly. “Just relax and it will burn real good.”

  Patricia’s hips kicked involuntarily. She arched her back into Sinclair’s hands. “Yes,” she hissed. “It’s feeling good now.”

  “Is it?” Sinclair tugged on her nipple.

  “Oh, God yes.” Her hips quickened even more. She felt so full. Full of molten pleasure. The dildo was shooting magma up into her, filling her entire body with sweet, sweet pleasure. “It burns so good. Really fucking good.”

  Sinclair took hold of Patricia’s hand and brought it to her mouth. Patricia watched helplessly as she placed it on her bottom lip and licked it. Then she took a finger in and began to suck.

  Patricia cried out, the feel of her hot, slick mouth too much to take.

  Sinclair groaned, pulling her finger in and out, sucking it off. Then she moved her other hand down from Patricia’s hip to her pussy. She pressed her thumb tight against her clit. Patricia jerked hard. Sinclair matched her hips to Patricia’s rhythm, pushing up into her.

  “Fuck, oh fuck.” Patricia fucked like she’d never fucked before. The hot pressure, the hot mouth, the hot thumb. “Oh, God. Audrey.”