They had perfected a rountine. After an exceptionally exhausting week, a long day in court or a particularly harrowing scene, Catherine would turn up at Sara's place. Sara would open the door, take her by the hand and pull her inside. Then she would carry her to the bedroom and throw her on the bed. Moments later Catherine would be writhing and squirming under Sara. Sara's kisses were deep and hungry and her fingers inside Catherine were rough and merciless, but when she felt Catherine's thighs quiver she let her tongue brush softly, so softly, over Catherine's clit.

It amazed Catherine that Sara's hands could be so violent but her tongue so gentle. The combination always sent her flying over the edge, shaking and trembling and screaming Sara's name. She would take a moment to recover, curled up against Sara's body. Then she would let her hands roam over Sara's body and her tongue play with Sara's clit. It never took more than a moment for Sara to come. She never made any noise. Her back arched, her eyelids fluttered and then she was still. Sara would stay where she was, sprawled across the bed, while Catherine would quietly get dressed and leave.