A/N: Hello. I just had this idea and thought it would make for a good story. I do hope you enjoy. :] Excited the show's coming back on Monday! I'm afraid I'll need a bit of a support group though! I, like many of you, am also on Twitter- if you want, say hi. I'm CuteLittleTRex and I wanna be friends!
This T-Rex thrives on reviews. :)
Hope you don't hate it too much!
"Cal! You could have at least told me!" Gillian said, a hint of a smile playing on her face as she followed him into his office, closing the door behind them.
He sat down in the chair, making quite a show of it—"What have I said before, Foster, eh?" He gazed at her intently, his goofy smile plastered over seriousness as he lifted his eyebrows. She took notice of the deep wrinkles in his forehead when he made that gesture, "Just because you share all of your dirty little secrets, doesn't mean I have to share mine."
She folded her arms over he chest, and this time she let her reaction pass over her face. Before, when he'd said that, she'd concealed it—content to let him think he knew everything about her.
She hadn't though it possible, but his eyebrows shot even nearer to his temple, and he leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, legs spread apart, and his chin on his hand—"What's that, Foster?" He leered slightly, "I don't know all of your dirty little secrets?"
She feigned boredom and rolled her eyes.
"Well?" he prompted, splaying his hands out in a gesture of openness, to let her know he was giving her the floor, "Out with it, then."
She chuckled slightly "Oh, please, Cal, give me a break!"
"What?" he said, innocently.
"You are expected to share nothing with me—least of all your dirty little secrets and especially not the ones that affect our partnership and business, but I'm supposed to tell you my secrets at a mere 'out with it' from you?" Her tone registered her incredulity. It wasn't laced with any anger, just utter disbelief.
He nodded his head slightly.
She sat down and laughed—"Nice try, Cal."
"I thought so." He studied her for a minute. He took in the deep purple of her dress, the way it absolutely complemented the tone of her skin. He wondered if she did it on purpose—if she spent time in the store selecting that dress to drive him—or any man, really, completely wild. He imagined that she did. Coy though she may try to be, she had to realize her beauty—otherwise, she wouldn't be able to accentuate it so perfectly.
She noticed him staring and tilted her head to the side, silently questioning him as she was prone to do—so many "Whats?" had been spared due to his gift.
He smiled at her, letting his gaze rest on her face. He enjoyed the small wrinkles around her eyes—the way they crinkled when she smiled.
He must know what this secret was—he was sure she had a particular one in mind. He had seen the registration of a particular memory on her face—she had a secret in mind and he wanted it.
He tilted his head further, and changed his tactic—he let it be clear that he was reading her. "Nah." he finally let out, dragging the syllable.
She just stared back at him.
Shifting slightly in his chair, he watched her kick off her heels and tuck her feet up underneath her. "Come on, Gillian, I know everything about you!"
She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear—"Oh, you do, do you?"
He pulled the chair up so it was directly in front of her on the couch—"Yes, I do. And you haven't got any secrets from me, Dr. Foster."
"Oh, but I do, Dr. Lightman." She let it pass over her face again, then considered him for a moment before letting something else flicker over her face—he saw it, and his eyes widened slightly "Oh, but I do."
He had seen it clear as day—and he knew her well enough to know that she'd wanted him to see it written all over her face—arousal.
They would play this game, then. He would get her secret—she would give it.
"Alright, then…" he began, acknowledging he was to begin delving—that he would be reading her.
She smiled genuinely then as she felt a flash of excitement pass over her.
"Is it… a sexual secret?"
Her eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected him to go there first. He watched as shock and then panic and then something that looked to be a mix of embarrassment and arousal passed over her face. He watched as the color crawled up her chest and settled in her cheeks.
She could feel her cheeks deepen and they felt hot, only deepening the massive blush.
"Oh, so you have sexual secrets, but that's not the one you're playing at right now. Interesting." He smirked at her and leaned back in his chair—Foster had sexual secrets! He could feel himself beginning to grow hard, and he wanted to make sure he was the only one that noticed.
"Fine. I'll leave those alone…" he trailed off so he could shoot her a look, and it was one that didn't allow her blush to dissipate before he added "…for now."
"Is it a sensual secret, then?"
He looked at her face—watched the muscles contract and then release.
"So, not inherently sensual, then. But it was sensual for you, am I right?"
She nodded, unwilling to speak because she didn't quite trust her voice.
"Does it involve a dream? No, okay, no dream."
He waggled his eyebrows, "Does it involve…" he paused to let his eyes travel up and down her length "your body?"
She colored again "Mm, interesting." he responded to the words she didn't say.
"Does it involve my body?" he leered.
She laughed, then, hoping to cover up her true reaction. This particular secret only concerned her body, but the secrets he had jumped into to begin with—those definitely, most definitely included his body. She hoped she had hidden that well enough. When she saw the glimmer in his eye, she rolled hers, but she knew she in fact hadn't concealed well enough.
"Okay, so your body," he decided to ignore that particular look—she seemed mortified by it, anyway. But he did feel it in his groin, again. He'd always wondered and now he knew—Foster did think of him as a man. "I must say, darling, I'm loving this secret already."
He watched her pupils dilate, as they often did during their flirtatious moments, and he thought again how beautiful she looked—and he thought about how he'd love to see that look on her face—and have her not be afraid of it. He'd love to see it splayed out on his bed, neither of them running from it.
"Okay, your body…" he started again, and was deep in thought when suddenly worry flashed over his face.
She read him this time: "I'm fine."
"Good." He smiled—"Let's see. Does it have to do with a specific body part?" He let his eyes flash to her chest and she laughed—"Okay, so, not really a body part. Is it…a scar?" he asked.
She smirked a little—he was getting warmer.
"So, not a scar, exactly. What, then?"
She smiled and let her eyes dart to his right arm.
"No!" He said, realization dawning on him. "No way!"
She laughed, and he paused to relish the sound—what a glorious sound it was.
"No way do you, Gillian Foster, have a tattoo!"
"Don't I?" Her voice purposely sounded put on—an innocent type of accusation.
"Where?" he asked, incredulity giving way to genuine curiosity. His Foster had a tattoo?
She didn't answer—only pressed her lips together in a self-hushing gesture.
"Darling, you usually don't want me to read you. Now it's all you want me to do?"
"I've managed to keep this secret, Cal, I'm not just going to give it to you. You've got to work for it… at least a little," she amended, remembering how easily he read faces nowadays.
"Fine." He made a show of raking his eyes up and down her body—she had sense stretched her legs out in front of her. He let his eyes slowly travel up her long, lean legs, resting slightly at her calves as he admired the definition in them. He continued his gaze until he got to her hips—appreciating the curves he found there, he let his eyes feast upon her stomach and then her breasts—the lovely breasts he'd been known to glance at on occasion, even in the middle of a case. He then let his eyes wander over the luscious expanse of her chest—then up her elegant neck to her lips. He paused on those, even though he knew the tattoo wasn't there. He let his tongue dart out of his mouth to moisten his lips and his breath caught in his throat as he saw her pink tongue dart out to do the same. He stifled a groan as he thought of her tongue on his own tongue—among various other parts of his body. He then traveled his gaze up her nose to her eyes—pupils dilated, she stared back at him.
He had just feasted on her body, and he hadn't even tried to mask the utter desire he felt for her. This revelation left Gillian Foster speechless—and extraordinarily hot and bothered. He smiled his rakish smile, allowing the sex to slip in as he chuckled.
"Well, in a dress like that where can you be hiding the tattoo, love?" He let the sex drip into that, too.
He stared at her now—her face fully flushed with slight embarrassment but mostly arousal. Her mouth felt dry as she looked at Cal Lightman—her business partner and a man to whom she had as of late been so very attracted—wanting her. There was no other way to describe it. There was no other way to rationalize it.
He was letting her see one of his dirty little secrets, after all: he wanted her.
"Right. Is it on your hip? Your breast? Your back… Okay, so, your back. Is it your lower back?"
She finally found her voice—it came out raspy "No."
"Okay—upper back, then?"
She let him read her face—"Mid-back?" he asked, sounding puzzled, not quite sure what he meant.
She laughed, then. "Mmm, kind of."
He tilted his head to the side and made a slight gesture with his hands, indicating he had run out of questions to ask. She knew that would eventually happen.
"It's mostly on my back, right below my bra line—but it creeps over onto my side, touching my ribs."
Gillian Foster actually had a tattoo. He knew she had said that she did—and they had been playing at this game for a while now, but a part of him had still thought she was making it up. But she wasn't—and it was sexy as hell, he knew it. Even if he hadn't seen it.
"That's…" he let his sentence trail off, unsure of what should come next. What did come next shocked both of them "hot." he said the only word that came to his mind.
She gasped slightly and the sensation she felt between her legs. She took a beat before responding "Thanks."
"No worries, love." He exhaled heavily, trying to get control of his muddled brain. Thinking of Foster with a tattoo—of Foster skin pliant beneath his seeking fingers, actually, was making him dizzy and unable to concentrate.
"One drunken night in college, two little interlocking hearts you got the day you turned eighteen with your best friend?" he guessed.
She shook her head.
"Wait—so, recently, then?"
"The day my divorce was finalized." She responded, looking at him trying to get a read.
"I thought you might say that."
"Is there a question, Cal?"
'Was there a bloody question? Little smartass' he thought to himself—he considered which one to ask first—He considered leading with Can I lick it? for pure shock value, but changed his mind at the last second.
"What's it of?"
"It's a phrase." She said, matter-of-factly.
The look he gave suggested he was not satisfied with the answer she gave.
"In Hebrew." She answered—his eyes still asked for more. She sighed. "It's a reminder. A promise."
He considered pressing her for what, precisely, the tattoo said, but he decided against it. "As you well know, I'm no stranger to tattoos—and I've never been particularly curious as to the answer to this question, but in your case, Foster, I think it just begs asking."
She smiled at the way he qualified the question "Well…?"
He fixed his gaze on hers—he was at an advantage, after all, knowing the question he was about to ask. He wanted to make damn sure that he didn't miss a second of her reaction.
"Did it hurt?"
And he damn sure didn't miss it. He watched as Gillian remembered the tattoo experience—what he read was her very first.
He watched as her eyes fluttered slightly and her pupils dilated as she reveled in the memory of the pleasure-pain the needle brought. He imagined her beneath the needle—still, but writhing ever so lightly as the needle punctured her skin over and over and over again—her soft, pale, lush skin. He imagined her sharp intake of breath when a spot hurt particularly well—and the hiss she would make every so often when the needle danced upon her ribcage and a gloved hand wiped away the excess ink, leaving a trail of ink and blood across the canvas of Foster's lovely pale, delicious skin.
The thought of Foster being tattooed was one of the most erotic things he'd ever had the pleasure of imagining.
He let out a little moan as he watched her purse her lips, remembering the sensations—"My, my, Foster. You do have your secrets, don't you?" He let the innuendo slide off his tongue as his arousal began all over again—deeper than the first round.
He had always wondered whether he and Foster would be compatible—the look she just had in her eyes told him with absolute certainty that they would be compatible.
He could get a feel for the side of her body the tattoo was on—her left—and he fixed his gaze and tried to imagine it—the color, the details, the script. He imagined tracing it with his finger and watching her shiver—he imagined tracing it with his tongue and feeling her writhe beneath his mouth as she had beneath the needle—desperate to stop the torture but more desperate to allow it to continue.
He met her gaze then and heat pulsated between them. He leaned further into her personal space.
"Hm?" she murmured lightly, her voice impaired by what was transpiring between them. She could read Cal's thoughts, and she watched his tongue as he formed his sentence—she imagined that tongue on her tattoo—a tattoo that no man had ever seen, and she felt her knees go numb and her face flush hot.
"One question?" He let his hand touch the bare skin of her knee as they locked eyes—the electric current flowing from him into her.
"Hm?" she said again, reduced to monosyllables.
"Why Hebrew?" The question was innocent, but he made sure not to let any of the intensity between them deflate in asking it—he still flashed his arousal to her, and even with such an innocuous question on the table, the desire bubbled between them. It was about to overflow—
She chuckled softly—it was a light, low, sexy sound that hit him between his legs "Mmm…" she said, as she licked her lips and let her gaze flicker to his utterly kissable lips.
His head drew seemingly involuntarily nearer to hers, and his breath became shallow in his chest, and it became even shallower when her sultry voice assaulted his ear—she pulled his head closer to hers, tangling her fingers in the hair at the top of his neck, she drew him in so that her lips were flush against his ear. Her breath came out in a whisper that sent chills all over his body—and his reaction made her nipples tighten.
"Because…" she hissed as she brought her hand up to his sturdy chest and let a finger draw lazy circles upon his muscles, "Not even you can read it."