Chapter One
The case had been—WAS,
maddening. Five good clues that didn’t add up to a damn thing in any sense of
logic: a battered copy of The Kama Sutra, a bag of Legos, a melted beeswax candle, fifteen left sneakers and a
small dead, dried guppy.
All of them had clear
prints—that weren’t in any of the databases. All of them a first glance SEEMED
to be second-hand garbage, fished out of trash or dumpsters around Vegas. But
they had been recovered from the Topsy Turvy’s hotel vault using a key found clutched in a
slaughtered man’s hand as he dangled head first from a 200 foot overpass on the
Vegas Arroyo—
Gil rubbed his eyes and
felt the ache in the small of his back. He’d pushed the team hard on this one,
wracking everyone’s brains and getting on their nerves until in a private
moment, Catherine had glared at him.
“We are ALL doing the
best we can, so back off a little, all right?”
“Well our best isn’t
getting the job done, Catherine. We’re no further now than we were two days
ago!”
“We’ll get
it—eventually,” she tried to assure him, but he’d growled at her.
“Eventually isn’t good
enough, damn it!”
And she’d looked at him
with that slow impatient scorn of hers, the kind that made most men quiver.
Catherine had let the words fly, low and direct, her voice harsh.
“God damn it--you know
Gris, you really, REALLY need to get laid—“ she’d
thrown at him before stalking off.
He’d stared at the file
before him after that, face red, unseeing, feeling the hot flush of shameful
realization move through his system.
It was true. He’d kept
his distance from Sara, put his focus back on the job
and the status quo as they’d agreed. The arrangement had worked—or so he
thought. Six weeks of concentration of cases had been good up until this last
one, when the edges of his frayed patience had begun to unravel with a
swiftness that startled everyone including himself. And the hell of it was that
he knew it had been coming.
Sara was the consummate
professional at work. She kept her distance and her smiles were very PC. Only
once in a while would he look up to see a flash of dark heat in those brown
eyes, a smoldering hint that stirred his libido and made him suck in a breath
as memories stiffened his cock. Those little moments drove him back to his
office, to brood.
His cell phone rang;
impatiently he fished it out and flicked it open, his voice terse.
“Grissom.”
“Sidle. I can’t come in this weekend. I
have a shipment of furniture coming from my old storage unit in
Gil paused, looking
through the glass walls of his office to see Sara standing there on the other
side, her long slender back pressed against the clear panes. He leaned back in
his chair.
“You’re looking for
storage?” he echoed, mind racing. He watched Sara nod instead of replying,
amused that she knew he was looking at her spine.
Along with other things.
“Yeah—I was supposed to
have a place rented for it by now, but I’ve been—busy—“ she
responded, her voice surprisingly gentle. Grissom had enough grace to bite his
lower lip. He got up and walked towards her, standing on the other side of the
glass wall, looking at the back of her neck as he spoke into his phone.
“I have—a solution.”
Sara turned, finally.
“Tell me more—“ she arched an eyebrow at him. He shoved a hand in his
pocket, voice dropping lower.
“I’ve got a place you
can use—it’s empty right now, but—“
Sara took a step back
from the glass as a tech passed by, then shot a quick look back at Grissom, who
was watching her face carefully.
“—A
place to store furniture? You ARE a man of surprises, Gris. What sort of place
are we talking about?”
“Off
of
Sara stared first at
him, then at the phone, clearly puzzled, but a small smirk was lingering on the
corner of her mouth, and seeing it, Gil felt a shiver of hope filter through him.
“Let me get this
straight—you’re offering me the opportunity to store my furniture in somebody’s
garage?”
“No,
not quite.
It’s—complicated. But the place is empty, and if you’re in a jam time-wise,
it’s available. I need to go out and check the circuit breakers after work
anyway—interested?”
He tried not to make
his voice sound anything other than casual, but Sara leaned toward the glass
wall and nodded.
Then, in a sultry move
she planted a kiss on the smooth surface, her mocha lipgloss
making a perfect impression of her mouth there. She walked away, leaving Gil to
stare hungrily at her kiss on the glass.
***
*** ***
Sara reached the house
first. The cool sunlight of autumn dawn in
Other, more lascivious
thoughts overrode those however, and Sara glanced at her purse guiltily.
Nestled deep in it was a brand new box of condoms, purchased in a moment of
utter optimism three weeks back, when she caught Gil studying at her chest
halfway through a debriefing Catherine was droning through. That desperate
glance had been enough to renew her hopes and rekindle her patience with the
enigma that WAS Grissom.
She’d been good. Superb
even, if you considered every opportunity she’d bypassed in the name of their
agreement. No re-enactments. No private moments in his office or the staff
room. Professional deportment for professional zones—oh she’s been a saint all
right, patiently hungering for the moment he’d drop a pair of pantyhose on her
desk.
And
now this—offer. Store her furniture? Was this some coded message, or worse—exactly
what he meant? She tried not to assume the worst, but the lingering fear that
their single night at the Desert Inn would be all there were was, haunted her.
Sara climbed out of the car slowly and walked to the front porch.
The bungalow, despite
the neglect, was charming, a low brick and wood structure surrounded by tall
hedges and pines. Someone had set brick flowerbeds along the front, but there
were full of weeds now. An air of empty desolation hung about the place, and
Sara moved cautiously; if anything it looked exactly like a crime scene.
Snorting at this
thought, Sara stepped up onto the porch and over to one of the two bay windows,
peering through dusty grey curtains into an empty room. Hardwood floors, plain
plaster walls—wait, there were—bookcases. Lots of them.
She started counting and reached five when she heard the sound of an SUV coming
up the drive. Turning, she caught sight of Gil’s Tahoe pulling up behind her
car. Forcing herself to be casual, she came down off the porch towards him,
arms crossed over her chest. He climbed out, sunglasses on, mouth in a straight
line.
“You made it.”
“Yes. Nice place.”
“It’s kind of you to
say so,” he replied evenly, striding towards her in his brisk way. At the edge
of the porch he reached her, looming close, far closer than he had in a long
time and Sara bit back a moan at the scent of him. Gil had no compunctions
about crowding her though, and drove her back against the low arched front door
until her shoulders thumped hard against it.
“Let me guess—it’s a
neutral zo—“ Sara barely got
out just before his mouth descended on hers and she lost herself in his
demanding kiss.
God she’d missed this!
Hot and brazen, his tongue slithered between her parting lips, moving in as if
it owned her mouth, seeking a sultry dominance here. Sara clung to Gil’s
shoulders, slightly dizzy; his big hands curved to cup her ass and slam her up
against him.
Oh yes, if the rock
hard ridge pressing against her thigh was any indication, he’d missed her too.
Sara whimpered into his mouth, busily letting her tongue slide around his,
fighting the need to breathe as her fingers dug into his shoulders.
He pulled away gasping,
pulling his sunglasses off, eyes searching her face.
“Just over a thousand
hours, Sara—that’s the total and complete limit I can reach before loss of
control sets in.”
“Total--?” Sara gasped, trying to follow the
line of logic that seemed perfectly clear to him. One of her linen-covered legs
slid around his, bringing their bodies into closer contact against the front
door and Gil groaned at the enticing pressure.
“Limit. NEED you—“ he
growled, kissing her again. Sara cupped his face, fingers splaying out to hold
it as she felt his mouth on hers again, hot, demanding. Sweet slurpy kisses echoed on the porch, and Sara lost track of
how long they stood entangled there, making up for lost time, fighting for
erotic dominance in the wet duel of their tongues.
Gradually she pulled
back, her head thumping against the wood of the door as she tried to catch her
breath. Gil pressed his lips to the side of her neck,
apparently just as intent on kissing that as her now slightly puffy mouth.
“So this has all been
some sort of test?” she asked, even as pleasure from his lips
sent spirals of slinky heat down her spine. Gil hummed affirmatively
against her skin.
“I needed to know if I
could take it. I’m sorry if it hurts to hear that now sweetheart, but I
couldn’t tell if this hunger would die or grow,” he whispered huskily. She
blinked back a sting of tears.
“Yeah, well it grew.
For me, it grew—“ she told him. Gil let his teeth nip
her neck, making her moan.
“Me
too. In
my case, exponentially,” he admitted with a self-loathing tone in his voice. He
pulled away from her and ran a hand through his hair, sending the normally neat
grey curls into a slightly tousled disarray.
The sight of it
was enough to drain Sara’s anger and she smirked.
“And this place was the
first neutral zone you could think of, Gris?”
“No—in fact mentally
I’ve rezoned quite a number of places since—“ he pinkened and lifted his chin, shifting the subject, “—But
it was the first place that came to mind when you mentioned furniture.”
He fished out a key
ring and unlocked the front door, pushing it open. It creaked, and Sara noted
the grime they’d disturbed along the front of it.
“We’re leaving a lot of
evidence—“ she teased. Gil looked down, frowning.
“It’s been almost three
months since I’ve checked on it,” he remarked, chiding himself as they stepped
inside the low doorway.
“It’s very—“ she hesitated. She’d wanted to say
‘nice’ but blurted out, “--dusty.”
“Thanks—I’ve done it in
early Addams Family—“ Gil commented lightly as he
walked into the living room. Sara trailed after him, moving towards a bookcase
and checking out the titles.
“So this is where you
keep them all--Spiders of
“That one was a gift—“ he mumbled, looking over one of the other cases. Sara
laughed. She shifted her weight on one hip and looked at Gil’s back; he was
reaching for a dusty volume over his head in another bookcase and the long line
of his broad shoulders sent a spike of heat through her.
“Grissom, what is this
place?”
“It’s--mine,” he
replied absently, opening his book and flipping the pages. Sara came over,
slightly miffed at being forgotten so quickly, but Gil looped an arm around her
and pulled her close, nuzzling her hair.
“And as you can see
honey, it’s got almost no furniture. If you want to keep your stuff here,
you’re welcome to, rent free.”
Sara wanted to ask
more, but bit back her questions and gave a nod, looking over his shoulder at
the layout. A large bare room. An ancient brick
fireplace stood at one end of the room, flanked on one side by a windowed door.
“Can I look around?”
“Sure—“ Gil set the book down and waved his arm.
“Living
room.
That door with the windows leads to the outside and the freestanding garage.
Back that way—“ he indicated with a tilt of his head,
“The archway leads to the kitchen and bathroom, and the other door is the
bedroom.”
Sara cautiously strode
off, looking like a curious cat as she peered around
the archway into the tiled kitchen. The design here incorporated green and
yellow Mexican tile on the walls and had a brick floor, all original to the
house; she laughed at the refrigerator with the rounded edges and car door
handle.
“This thing’s an
antique, Gris—don’t tell me it actually still WORKS—“ she yanked it open to see
several bottles of beer chilling alongside a half empty jar of salsa and a
Tupperware container.
“Interesting diet—“
Gil loomed over her
shoulder, arms slipping around her waist.
“I don’t ever stay here
long enough to eat. But the utilities are on—electricity and water.”
Sara glanced over the
delicately painted cupboards and down to the end of the galley kitchen,
sighing.
“Why?”
“Why
not?” he shrugged easily, although his eyes were looking away. Sara slipped out of his embrace
and went to the door that led to the bathroom. The frosted glass door swung
open when she twisted the heavy crystal knob.
“Whoah---“
“Impressive, no?” he
grinned at her. Sara stepped in and rested one hip on the high edge of the
silver claw-footed bathtub. The tiles here had seashells and Mexican mermaids
in teal and pink. Sara shook her head lightly.
“Impressive yes—this
place is gorgeous, Gris—a little work and you’d have a stunning piece of
property here. You could rent it, sell it for top dollar—“
He held up a hand, his
expression bland.
“--Not
interested.
I’ve got enough money, I don’t need to make any more at the moment.” The look
on his face was neutral, but Sara took the hint and shifted her gaze around the
bathroom, noting it was cleaner and better cared for than the other rooms. It
even had towels out, albeit faintly dusty ones.
“You like your creature
comforts I see—Charmin on the roll, under, and bath rugs
in good repair.”
“The yard work kills me
and I usually clean up before I leave—“ he offered
lightly. Sara looked around at the fixtures in the bathroom, realizing
something with a grin.
“No shower—strictly
baths.”
Grissom leaned against
the porcelain pillar sink and nodded. Sara grinned, noting the old-fashioned
back brush and moveable wooden tray built to rest across the width of the tub.
“Good clean fun—“ she teased. Gil shot her a glance that could only be
described as smutty.
“And fun is always meant
to be shared—“ he replied. Before Sara could say
anything to that, her cell phone rang and she fished it out of her purse,
opening it impatiently. Gil turned and watched her reflection on the medicine
cabinet mirror.
“Sidle—yeah, oh, yes, I
finally have an address for you—no, no, I understand. I’ll accept the fee—“ Glancing up into Gil’s face, she paused a moment and
continued.
“It’s
She flipped the phone
off as Gil cocked his head and spoke up.
“San Francisco is about
five hundred and seventy miles from here, give or take. If the van left around
five this morning, it should be here at
Reaching for her hand,
he tugged her up and led her out of the bathroom, crossing to another frosted
door on the other side and pushing it open. Sara followed him into a dim room,
smelling a faint, ghostly scent of flowers.
“The only real
furniture in the house, and the only true antique, by definition,” Gil
murmured, moving to pull a heavy drop cloth off of it. Sara stared, her brown
eyes wide at the sight.
“Gris, it’s
magnificent—“ she managed, choking a little. He
shrugged, folding his arms over his chest.
The bed against the far
wall was a full-sized and elegant one with an ornately carved wooden spool
frame and tall posts rising from each corner. Despite the faint light in the
room, Sara could see it was probably oak, and fairly sturdy despite it’s graceful appearance. She stepped closer.
The spread on it was
of—dragonflies, she noted. A delicate pattern of them on what appeared to be a
Chinese watercolor background. Quickly she shot a look back over her shoulder
at Gil, who was watching her, his eyes sweetly bright.
“Your
bed?”
“Now it is, although I
haven’t slept in it in about fifteen years. The mattress and box spring are
fairly new, custom-made for the frame which is a nonstandard size—between a
full and a queen, one of those odd deals,” he teetered a hand back and forth as
he spoke.
A theory began to form
in Sara’s mind, and she half-smiled, walking over to the bed slowly, patting
the mattress with a gentle hand.
“So—was she from your
mother’s side or your dad’s?”
The soft smile that
flickered across his face was full of love and memory.
“My mother’s side,” he
replied in a low voice. Sara moved back to him and slipped her arms around his
waist, holding him tightly; after a moment, he hugged her back.
Slow and timeless and
sensual; Sara felt the aura of passion circle the room like incense smoke the
room the minute he sighed. Sara drew in a shaky breath, not sure she could
contain herself much longer, but Gil stepped forward and brushed her temple
with a light stroke of his fingers.
“I have an important
question for you Sara sweetheart—you’ll need to choose wisely—“ he rumbled. Sara lifted her face, feeling the tantalizing
brush of his lips on hers, the lightest of delicate kisses.
“W-w-what?” she
demanded breathlessly in the wake of the heat surging through her. He smiled
against her mouth.
“Bed
or bath?”
Sara’s glance flickered
over his shoulder and in that little gesture her answer was clear. Gil nodded.
He stepped back through the frosted door and to the tub, turning the handles. A
thin trickle of tea colored water splashed out, clearing within a few seconds.
Gil scooped the rubber plug from the wooden tray and dropped it on the drain, then adjusted the flow to a solid deluge of hot
water. Sara started to step out of her boots, but Gil shot her a strict look.
“But—“
confused, she paused and he stood up, coming over to her, hands dropping
on her thin shoulders squeezing them.
“You’ll do nothing for
yourself—“ he intoned sternly, “Nothing.”
A sarcastic reply began
to bubble up within her; Sara wanted to protest that she wasn’t helpless, but
Gil bent and sucked her lower lip into his mouth at the same time he lightly
twisted one of her wrists behind her back. In that simple pairing of gestures,
Sara found herself trapped and held in his lazy masculine strength. He let go
of her lip after a soft nip and sighed happily.
“I’m going to bathe
you, sweet Sara. Savor the play of hot water over every inch of your bare skin
as I get you ready for me—“
She trembled. Even without
stockings she felt bound, tied up by Grissom’s matter-of-fact and yet seductive
words. He smiled, and knelt, looking up at her.
“You have lovely feet,
Sara—“
He pulled her
boots off, along with the thin dress socks, neatly storing them off to the side
of the tub, which was rapidly filling. Gil slid his hands up to her waist,
finding the side zipper of her dress slacks and slowly pulling it down. Sara
shivered at his light touch. The slacks slid to her bare feet with a whispering
sound, and Gil helped her step out of them. Neatly, he folded them, laying them
on top of the boots.
“This is sort of new in
the kinky department—“ she ventured, her voice quaking
a little as Grissom turned on his knees before her, blue eyes drinking her in.
“Really? Who’s in charge here?” he asked
her as his fingers slid with knowing care under the hip cords of her thong,
playing with them for a moment as she watched, shivering.
“Gris, that tickles—“ she warned helplessly, knowing her nipples were hard and
aching now, that her skin was alive in ways she never knew it could be. He
leaned forward and kissed her bare thigh; she moaned outloud.
“You’re driving me
crazy and you’re doing it on purpose—“ came her
strangled accusation. Her fingers slid into his curly hair, stroking it lovingly
as he let his mouth glide from one thigh to the other.
“That, honey, is the
pot calling the kettle black—“ he muttered against her
skin. Slowly he hooked his fingers around the cords at her hips and pulled; the
thong slid down with a whisper to Sara’s ankles.
She tightened her grip
on his hair; not enough to hurt, but enough to hold herself
steady as he gave a low, pleased groan.
“Your fair and perfumed
garden, Sara, your valley of joy—“ he sighed, lightly
brushing the tip of his nose against her soft fur. Sara whimpered.
Swiftly, Gil rose, his hands skimming up her sides, under her bra, blouse
and leather jacket. He lifted them all off in one hurried stroke as she lifted
her arms to let him. Gil dropped the tangled clothing to the tiled floor, neglected
as he tugged Sara against him, hands roaming eagerly along her back and bottom.
“Ohhhh—“ Sara gurgled, her hypersensitive skin rubbing hard on his
clothes, his heavy aroused frame. Gil breathed huskily into her ear.
“Into the water, or I
won’t be able to stop—“
She resisted for a
second, but a quick glance at his desperate expression made her pull away and
totter over to the edge of the tub. Carefully, she gripped the edge and slid
one foot into the steaming water, wincing at the heat and wishing there was at
least a rubber mat on the bottom. Gil’s hands held her waist.
“Careful—“ he murmured, fingers lingering over the taut muscle of her
ass as she slowly unfolded her long legs into the bath. Sara let herself relax
into the heat, taking deep breaths as she settled in.
“This actually feels
sort of—good, in a way. I’m used to bubbles or at the very least some bath
salts, but never in a tub this deep—“ she told him.
Gil stood up and took two steps to the medicine cabinet over the sink. He
reached in and pulled out a small glass jar filled with pearly marbles of
various faded colors. Selecting three, he tossed them into the water around
Sara, who watched them sink and begin to dissolve, grinning.
“
“Roses. Long stemmed American Beauties to
match the one already in the tub—“ Gil teased in a
light tone that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze. Sara missed it,
watching the oil begin to rise and drift on the surface of the water.
“Smells
great. A
little old-fashioned but—“ She watched as Gil knelt
and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong rangy forearms.
“Relax, sweetheart—“ he crooned softly, reaching for the soap, lathering it up
between his big hands. Sara tilted her face up in obedience and waited for his
touch.
It was gentle,
reverent, and intimately sensual. She watched his strong fingers slide over her
shoulder, tracing patterns on her skin, following the line of her clavicle and
leaving small soap bubbles behind. She hummed in response, shifting to let him
flick water on her back, her chest, her neck.
“Every inch of you is
magnificent, Sara. Long and lean, strong and sexy. I first fell in lust with
your neck. You wore an open collared shirt when we met and I could see the blue
pulse of your carotid right here—“ he touched the side of her throat, “—and all
of a sudden I had this desire just to rest my tongue on it, FEEL your heartbeat
with my mouth—“
Sara’s eyelids
fluttered and she sucked in a breath at his hoarse whisper, feeling his
exhalation on her wet skin as Gil put his mouth just under her jaw line. The
hot syrupy tingles between her thighs were growing stronger with every touch of
his hands and the scent of rose oil floated around them in a heady wave. She
tilted her head back as one of his hands slid down between her breasts, the
other along her spine.
“Gris---“ she sighed, languidly enjoying his touch the way assertive
cat would, “Not to rush this, but I really WANT you. We still have a
consummation I’d like to get to--?”
“Mmmmmmm—“ he rumbled against her skin, fingers sliding down her
stomach to toy through her silky curls, “—In due time. I’ve craved you for a
month and a half, Sara—give me a moment to take pleasure in seducing you.”
“I thought I was
seducing YOU this time.”
His fingers brushed the
pearl deep between her thighs and she shivered. He laughed low in his throat,
shaking his head slowly and he lifted his hot eyes to look at her.
“Think what you will; I
know what I am.”
“What’s that?” she
sighed, widening her thighs to his deft touch, leaning back in the water.
“--In control, honey,“ came his quiet gruff voice.
Sara’s eyes flew open
and she turned to stare at him, a tingle of fear running through her lust now,
but he tilted his head and locked his eyes with hers, his expression a bleak
blend of desire and yearning.
Passion
in restraint.
And THAT look,
she understood.
“Make love to me, Gil,
please,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face, “Deep and slow and
hard—“
Her words freed him
somehow; Gil reached for her, pulling her up out of the tub and into his arms,
ignoring the wet splash of water. Sara wrapped herself around his strong stocky
frame, opening her mouth to his in a languid kiss as he lifted her.
“Now.” Gil rasped against her lips, and
carried her to the bedroom, sleek and wet. Sara felt herself dropped on the bed, felt the cool shock of silk against her spine. She
wanted to protest, but Gil was looming over her, rapidly tugging his polo shirt
off. Sara reached for his belt, but he laid a hand on her wrist and shook his
head.
“I have to do it—“ he reminded her and she lay back, watching him, wondering
if her purse was anywhere close. And then Gil’s hot heavy frame, naked and
hungry, dropped on hers and Sara lost herself in the glorious joy of skin on
skin.
Considerately he kept
his weight balanced on his forearms, planted on either side of her shoulders as
he kissed her forehead and cheeks, his chest caressing hers, his hips pinning
hers. Sara laughed, low in her throat, reaching to tug one of the curls
dangling over his forehead.
“I bought supplies, but
they’re in the other room.”
“I’ve got one—“ he groaned, his eyes half-closed. In the dim light of the
bedroom, dust motes danced down the shaft of weak sunlight filtering through
the sheer curtains on the French doors, and Sara sighed.
“Tie me?”
“No time—“ he admitted, rising up on his knees, lightly nudging her
sleek thighs apart. Sara blinked up at him, watching the thin sunlight
highlight the silver in his hair, accentuate his skin, so pale where the sun
never touched it, so dark where it did. He tore the foil on the tiny packet,
but she reached up, her expression tenderly submissive.
“Allow me—“ Sara breathed in a soft whisper, “—please?” He looked down
and slowly nodded; she lightly sheathed him in the latex, fingers reverently
rolling it down his thick shaft, reaching the wiry grey fur that spread out
from it. He dropped his head back and gave a low hard sigh.
“Sara—“ in that single
slow cry of her name he lowered himself onto her, hands sliding up to hers,
fingers interweaving with hers. With a ruthless gentleness, he pinned her hands
over her head, holding them there as he stared into her eyes. Sara trembled.
Her thighs parted and she slid her legs around his hips without thinking,
feeling the hard nudge of him against the hot folds of her sex.
“Say you want me,
sweetheart, say you NEED me---“ he urged, his voice
harsh and low. She writhed, but he held still, not moving, just THERE in a
maddening tease. Sara growled in a tiny squeak, like a kitten.
“God YES I want you,
need you—“ she gasped, mouth busily tasting his chin,
his jaw line. He grunted a little.
“It—might hurt—“ he warned. Sara nodded, biting her lip. He pushed forward,
barely breeching the ring of muscle and she gasped at the heated heft of him.
Gil nipped her shoulder, keeping her hands pinned over her head on the soft
mattress.
“You’re—tight. Relax,
Sara, please honey—“
She tightened her legs
around him thrumming her heels on his back in playful frustration.
“I AM relaxed, I just
WANT you so much I’m going insane here!” she blurted, rolling her head back and
forth on the pillow. Gil tensed.
“LOOK at me, Sara—“ he ordered in a terse tone. She opened wet lashes to gaze
up at him. He shuddered at the sight of her, pinned and beautiful in the soft
light.
“Point
of no return, sweetheart. When I move, it’s NOT going to be gentle. I’ve wanted you
too long for that—“ came his growl. Sara felt his
words dance down her spine, making her entire body throb relentlessly with a
dark, primal need.
“Take me, TAKE me then—“ she surrendered, arching her neck.
He thrust his hips
forward in a powerful plunge, sliding deep and hard within her; Sara gave a cry
of pleasure, her fingers gripping his bigger ones tightly as her hips rocked
into his. Gil groaned a wild needy sound the perfect counter note to hers. He
pulled back, stroked again into her, beginning a deliberate rhythm, the bed
creaking under the weight of them.
“Ohhhh—“
Lost in the relentless drives of her slender body, Sara locked her long legs
around his hips, and using the only leverage she had, tightened them, urging
him deeper. His shaft was stretching her, filling her in ways she never dreamed
a man’s body could, and the exquisite tug that came with every thrust was
driving her ever closer to the molten edge of orgasm.
Gil stared down at her,
a single trickle of sweat rolling down his temple.
“Sweet temptress—“ he growled, the tendons on his neck taut, his eyes blazing
now, ”God! Sara my luscious glory—“
Sara’s lips
parted as her breathing came in quick gasps. She twisted her hips, seeking more
of the wild heat rising relentlessly washing over her in a glorious wave—
Now
Now
NOW---
She tensed, the slow
bliss pouring like honey through her, thick and sweet, flavored with musk and
sweat and tears. Gil sucked in a sharp breath, his back arching hard as he
buried himself deeply between her damp thighs. His big hands tightened their
grip on hers, holding them down.
“Mine, Sara honey,” he
growled “You. Are. Mine—!“
And dimly, through the
warm afterflush of her orgasm, Sara felt the hard
throb of his thick cock pulsing as his body covered hers.
Her tears overflowed
and ran down her face; his tears trickled hot and wet along her cheek, stinging
and welcome.
Sara rose through layers of sleep
slowly, regaining consciousness without opening her eyes, letting her other
senses have their say. A smile crossed her mouth as she took stock of her
situation: warmth of a larger body holding hers, damp silk under them. The
sweet scent of mingled sweat and musk hung heavy in the air. The call of a
mockingbird from outside rode over the rustle of wind through the pines—
“I know you’re awake,” came the soft, amused voice in her ear. Sara opened her
eyes, turning to look at Gil. He had his head propped up on one hand, the other
cupping her breast lightly.
She smiled. He looked slightly wild
with his tangled hair and faint stubble evident on his cheeks.
“What time is it?”
“About eleven—we’ve been asleep for
about four hours. Your furniture is going to be here soon.”
“Oh God, that’s right—“ she blinked rapidly, trying to sit up. The big hand on her
chest didn’t let her though, and she shot Gil a puzzled look.
“First things
first.
Are you—okay?”
She took a moment before answering,
flexing and stretching, sensing the deeper question in his eyes. Sara lifted
her chin.
“I’d like to think I’m BETTER than
okay, given the amount of moaning you were doing—“
He blushed. Sara bit back a giggle
at the sight of Gil Grissom flushing with embarrassment as he lay naked with
her in the
“I distinctly recall a duet of
voices, Ms Sidle.”
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” she
sighed luxuriously, smile flashing out as her hand came up to rest on his over
her breast. Gil gave an answering smile of rare sweetness.
“I want you to know I’ve never
FELT—so utterly—“ she stumbled, shying away from
admitting the L word, not sure of its reception even now in the aftermath of their
union. Grissom’s mouth twitched a bit.
“—Consumed
by the bright essence of another’s soul?” he teased, but lightly. Sara arched
an eyebrow, not sure what to say. He laughed.
“I read that little phrase in a
Harlequin Romance in this very house almost thirty six years ago. As an
unimpressed ten year old I thought it was an incredibly corny way of announcing
the characters had had sex. But now—“
“YOU read a Harlequin Romance?”
Sara bit her lips at the very thought of Grissom as a boy hunkered over a yellowing
paperback, rolling his eyes and thumbing through it. He gave in to her
amusement and laughed.
"I was trapped here, caught
without my standards of Gray’s Anatomy and copies of
“Tough
choice.”
“Tell me about it—a summer full of Blaines and Cathys falling into
each other’s arms,” he sighed with a hint of melodramatic emphasis. Sara
propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze taking in the room once more.
“So are you going to tell me about
this house?”
“I have every confidence you can
put the clues together and figure it out yourself, Sara. A keen mind to go with
your delectable body—“ as he spoke, Gil let his thumb
rub lightly over her rosy nipple; Sara felt it stiffen eagerly against his
touch. She let her head drop back for a minute and savored the sensation.
“This house used to belong to a
woman, that’s pretty clear—“
“And you can tell that from--?”
“The décor
mostly.
The little touches like glass knobs and flowerboxes and Harlequin Romances. And
the bath oil of course. So given what few hints you’ve dropped, I’d say that
this place was either your aunt’s or grandmother’s house.”
“Very good,” Gil praised, hand
sliding from one breast to the other. Sara bit back a moan and tried to stay
focused.
“And by your own admission you
spent time here as a kid, probably your summers since that would be both
logical and likely—“
“Top of the class so far, honey—“
“—And if you don’t STOP that I’m
going to have to jump you—“ she warned. Gil laughed,
dropping his mouth to her nipple, letting his tongue circle
it before pulling away reluctantly.
“Tempting as that is, we’ve got a
few things to do before we indulge again. How much furniture are we looking at,
Sara?”
She bilnked, running through a mental inventory as she rolled
her head from shoulder to shoulder.
“Three sofas, a chinese
armoire, coffee table, some rugs, assorted household goods I threw into boxes
mostly without labels—and bookcases of course. A few other
things.”
“No bed, appliances, Christmas
ornaments?” came Gil’s curious tone. He sat up, letting his glance linger over
her nude form. Sara dropped a shielding hand between her thighs in the age old
gesture of modesty.
“Probably, and keep your roving
eyes to yourself, Doctor Grissom—“
“Too late. I have breeched the gates of
paradise and fully intend to do so again, Sara my sweet.”
She looked up at him, meeting his
clear pellucid gaze and in that moment heard him whisper it in soft wondering
tones. Her eyes stung and she dropped her head, overwhelmed. Gil took her chin
in his hand, raising her face, smiling at her.
“Surprised?”
“—Yes,” she gulped. He drew her
close and kissed her forehead.
“We’ve got to get dressed. I’ll go
pick up some groceries and a few amenities for us, all right?”
Sara nodded, thinking hard.
“For—the
weekend?”
Gil nodded,
tugging on his slacks, fishing for his shirt as he replied.
“Yes. Think of this place as a--neutral
zone of parity. My house, your furniture.”
“A love nest—“
Sara asked in an odd voice. He lifted his head to look at her, seeing
the fleeting expression of confusion and bitterness cross her face. Gil froze
as she scrambled off the bed.
“Jesus! I don’t intend on being a
KEPT woman, Grissom. That sort of arrangement went out with fedoras and Philco radios! In the twentieth century women aren’t
property you know, we HAVE intelligence and wills of our own—“ she tried to
push past him to the bathroom, but he snagged her by the waist, reeling her in
against his bare chest. She struggled, but he tightened his grip on her,
pinning her against the broad hot muscles of his chest.
“You’re not being KEPT, Sara.
You’re free to walk out of this house and this relationship whenever you want
to,” he admitted thickly, “But this--it’s all I can OFFER you right now.”
Sara tensed at the pain in his
voice and looked up, seeing a bleakness cross his
face. Gil sighed, his eyes closed.
“The more I want to--control you--the
more I realize I can’t. Not without your consent, Sara. And I WANT you so very,
very much—“
She swallowed hard, forcing the
bittersweet words out.
“I want you too. But I’m NOT your
plaything, Gris. I’m a grown woman and I don’t hand myself out on a platter to
just anyone.”
Gil gave a nod, a reluctant
acknowledgement of her personal autonomy; Sara felt him tense and knew how much
that little admission cost him. She tipped her head to flick her tongue along
the cleft in his chin, sighing softly, waiting a long moment.
A serious
moment.
She sighed.
“And with that being said and
understood, all right. You go to the store and I’ll get dressed.”
He blinked, stunned at how quickly
the crisis had passed, his blue eyes searching her brown ones wonderingly. Sara
smiled crookedly.
“I think you ought to get a
bathmat—I’m not about to risk another concussion.”
“Jawohl—anything
else?” he recovered, letting his grip around her loosen. She kissed his chin
again to hide her expression.
“You might think about sports
cream—some of the stuff that’s coming is pretty heavy—“ Sara
muttered sweetly.
Grissom looked wary.
*** ***
***
While he was gone, Sara set out to
explore the bungalow on her own, holding the key Gil had pressed into her hand
tightly. It was slightly rusted, and hung on an ancient
The kitchen cupboards were empty,
the shelf paper in them a pattern of faded daisies. Sara noted the enamel sink
was chipped, but the window over it was utterly charming, opening out on the
back yard through thin embroidered cotton curtains. She carefully undid the
hook and eye latch for the back door and opened it, looking out onto a broad
flat brick patio.
Sara wandered out, amazed. Someone
had carefully laid out the brick flowerboxes that bordered the yard, arranging
them along the perimeter to make a cozy enclosed area easily bigger than her
entire apartment back in town. An ancient towering cottonwood stood in the far
back, casting shade over the yard along with smaller pines around it. She
looked again.
“Oh my God—“
Through the branches she could see
the faint ancient boards of a platform, a rudimentary treehouse
high in the branches. Stepping out, Sara felt a sweet shiver run through her at
the sight of what had undoubtedly been a young Gil Grissom’s sanctuary. A huge
smile crossed her face, and she shaded her eyes.
“Evidence of an actual CHILDHOOD—will
wonders never cease—“ she muttered to herself. Walking
carefully across the lawn, she kept her eyes on the platform until she stood at
the base of the tree looking twelve feet up at the bottom of it.
“I’ll bet you spent a few nights
out there, looking at stars between the leaves, wondering about your place in
the grand scheme of life, huh, Gris—“ she sighed. She turned to go, and
something caught her eye. A strange mark on one of the brick flowerbeds seemed
oddly familiar, and Sara squatted to take a look. Overgrown weeds obscured part
of it; she swept them back to stare at the brick, seeing a handprint in white
paint against it.
A small
handprint.
Cautiously, Sara reached out her
own palm and laid it over the mark on the wall, her hand engulfing it easily.
Looking right, she saw—another. Slightly larger.
And beyond
that one, another one.
Along the back wall of flowerbeds
half hidden by the weeds was a graphic timeline, moving from left to right in a
series of white painted palmprints, six in all, each
larger than the last, with the biggest jump between then third and fourth
prints. Sara smirked, touching them.
“Growth spurt, big boy. Must have hit puberty with all those raging hormones. I’d
say this hand probably started getting a workout right about then—“
Laughing at her own words, Sara
rose up and walked back into the bungalow, still grinning.
She scooped some water from the
faucet and took a drink, then wiped her hands on her hips and walked over to
the living room again, looking at it a bit more critically, trying to place
invisible furniture in it. Faintly in the back of her mind she wondered why she
felt so off-balance, and a sudden thought came to her in one solid rush, like a
punch to the stomach.
//Like
newlyweds.
Setting up a home. Oh GOD//
She swayed a little, laughing and
crying in the same moment, overcome with the idea. Not an apartment, not hotel
room somewhere, but a true trysting spot.
A trusting
spot.
Panic set in, and she looked around
wildly, wondering how Gil would react if she simply left—jumped in her car and
drove off, back to the city, leaving boxes and furniture sitting on the porch
and driveway in a scatter of debris—
The doorbell chimed,
a rusty note that startled her so badly she actually flinched at the sound. Through
the curtains of the bay window nearest the door she could see someone trying to
peer in. Sara sighed.
“Hey, you got here—“ she smiled weakly at the two men on the porch. One of them
was long and lean, with a shaggy mullet. The other was as round as a three
tiered snowman, and held out a clipboard to her.
“Ms. Sara Sidle?”
“The one and only—“ she admitted, taking the paperwork and looking it over,
trying to hide her jitters. The two men slouched as she checked the sheet.
“We made good time,” the snowman
ventured. Mullet nodded. Sara shrugged.
“I guess you did—well, the living
room’s ready so, haul away—“
They did. Moving with the practice
of an old team in sync, Mullet and Snowman managed to bring in two of the sofas
before Sara heard the Tahoe crunching up the drive. Grissom climbed out,
staring into the open end of the van with fascination as she slowly walked out
to meet him.
“Look at that—“
he pointed to the upper reaches of the interior.
Sara looked. A small yellow and
grey spider sat in the middle of a glittering web between buckle straps on the
ceiling.
“A spider,” she noted.
“Not just a spider, it’s a House
Grey all the way from the Bay Area--Hey, do we have a jar?” he asked eagerly,
climbing up into the back of the van. Sara crossed her arms over her chest,
holding in the woozy surge of tearful giggles that threatened to rise up again
at the sight of him.
After
the movers left a few hours later, Sara looked at piles of stacked boxes
cluttering the living room and dropped her hands on her hips. She glanced over
at Gil, who was staring at his feet, hands deep in his pockets. The moment of
truth, hot and awkward stretched on between them, and Sara wasn’t sure how to
breech it. She ran a hand over the nearest carton to cover her emotions.
“You
look nervous—“ Gil blurted softly. Sara looked up at
him.
“I’m
standing here wondering if I should just leave everything in the boxes or not—I
mean, it’s not as if anyone’s going to LIVE here, so why bother, but I haven’t
seen some of this in a few years, so I’m caught between those two conflicting
urges—“
“Unpack,”
Gil urged softly. “Leaving things in boxes doesn’t do anyone any good. You
forget what you have, you lose track of WHO you are when your past sits in
cartons.”
Startled,
Sara met his compassionate gaze and then let her glance flick to one of the
dusty bookcases. Gil followed her eyes and gave a shrug.
“Let me
show you something—“
Turning,
he walked to the side door leading outside to the free standing garage, and
Sara trailed after him, intensely curious. He reached for the keyring once again and found the one for the rusted Yale
lock that closed the hasp of the garage door.
The
lock was stiff, but he finally opened it, and pushed the door open, reaching
overhead for the dangling chain. A quick pull, and a
sickly yellow light from an overhead bulb lit the garage.
Sara
let her eyes adjust to what she was seeing. She cocked her head at the sight of
cartons. Dusty footlockers, drape-covered crates all neatly stacked against the
far wall. Gil sighed.
“This
is the legacy of an amazing, proud, strong woman---all that’s left of my aunt
Doreen.”
Sara
stepped closer to the nearest box, looking at the neat label printed in a
curved feminine hand: Native Wildlife Files 1967-68 Buzzard through Gila Monster. Native Wildlife Files 1967-68 Horned Toads through
Yucca Mice.
The
next box held records for 1968 through 69, and Sara could see other years
stacked up behind them in other cartons. Gil stepped closer to her.
“In
those boxes are twenty years of field reports on all native fauna for the
“It’s—“ She began, slightly stunned, but Gil shrugged.
“--Sweetly sad. She was dedicated to her work, and good at it, but
ultimately it’s all anyone but I remember of her. I couldn’t bring myself to
get rid of these copies.”
Sara
looked at a few of the other boxes, reading labels as Gil moved behind her,
slipping his arms around her waist, burying his nose in her hair.
“Over
and over, the same lesson keeps rolling through my days, Sara, a lesson I THINK
I’ve learned until I realize I haven’t.”
“And
that is--?”
“Simply
that a vocation is NOT a life, sweetheart. Dedication is well and good, but can
never replace the tangible beauty of that heavenly connection to someone else.”
Sara
swallowed hard. After a moment she spoke softly, glad she couldn’t look at him
while the words flowed out of her, the quote she recognized even from the first
time she’d seen it.
“Yeah I
read something about that connection once. It went—‘I
love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you
straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know
no other way than this: where ‘I’ does not exist, nor ‘you’, so close that your
hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep’—“
“--Pablo Neruda—“ he
breathed, his grip tightening around her in a delicious ferocity. Sara moaned
low.
Wordlessly she turned, wrapping herself about him tightly,
pressing as if she wanted to meld with his very frame, and Gil easily lifted
her, clutching Sara in an embrace that left them both breathless.
“Sweetheart--?” his voice, low and hungry, sounded strained in the
dank garage. She said nothing, simply nodding her head in sweet agreement to
the unspoken plea in his voice.
Acquiescing.
The light had changed in the bedroom, tinting everything with
golden hues of late afternoon as it glinted off the walls. Sara’s huge Chinese
armoire sat against one, the beveled mirror on the door reflecting the image of
the four-poster bed. Still holding Sara in his arms, Gil turned and studied the
glass thoughtfully.
“It fits the room.”
Sara smiled. She had seen a pair of stockings amid the other
supplies Grissom had bought, and a little shiver of pleasurable anticipation
ran through her this time, a frisson of eagerness at the thought of being under
him again--if not in the literal sense then the metaphorical one for sure.
“A serendipitous circumstance, really,” She sighed, snuggling into
his neck, which smelled good.
“A sign of things to come—“ he corrected
with a smile, “Wait here—“
Sara did, peeking into the armoire drawers while Gil was gone,
delighted to find a few items she’d forgotten were still in there when she’d
packed it. Clean underwear for one—certainly a lucky break, she chuckled to
herself. Before she could delve further, Gil had returned, a plastic drugstore
bag in hand.
She arched an eyebrow at
him, but he moved closer, driving her along until the back of her thighs hit
the edge of the bed. Gil loomed over her as she slowly landed on the mattress
and planting his knuckles on either side of her head he dipped his face and
kissed her quickly.
“Sara, Sara—“ he smiled, his eyes bright
and hot; so blue they practically gleamed, “Will you play a game with me?”
She held up her wrists, but he merely kissed the pulse points on
them and shook his head. Sara frowned.
“But--I was starting to—look forward to it—“ she
didn’t MEAN to pout but did anyway; Gil laughed, cocking his head.
“Stockings yes, but not on your wrists, not
this time. I’m giving you a little more freedom than that, sweetheart.”
Puzzled but intrigued, Sara rubbed noses with him, drifting into a
kiss of delicious intensity that left them both gasping.
“Ohhh you’re so good at that. Okay
Grissom, what’s the game?” she gurgled when she could catch her breath again.
Gil smiled.
It was the slightly dangerous smile; his anticipatory look of
sensual craving that she was beginning to recognize now. He sat up and stroked
her cheek.
“They say love is blind, Sara.”
Licking her lips, tasting him on them, she glanced down at the
bag. Slowly Gil fished out a single stocking, dangling it between his fingers,
his voice low and soothing.
“A blindfold. You won’t see me, but
you’ll feel me, taste me, hear me, honey. Think of it
as a workout for your other senses.”
“Blindfolded?” Sara asked softly, feeling her face flush.
“If you think you can
handle that,” Gris nodded, watching her expression carefully. Sara reached out
and touched the stocking, her skin hot now, tingling.
“But I won’t be—tied up,” she quavered.
“No, not—physically.”
She nodded. Gil waited a slow tingling pulse of a moment, then
stroked her cheek again, his eyes locked on hers, brows slightly furrowed.
“Good. Take your clothes off for me, Sara.”
Fumbling, she pulled her shirt off and shimmied out of her pants,
leaving them in untidy heaps on the hardwood floor. Gil didn’t touch her, but
the weight of his greedy stare was as palpable as a caress when he sighed.
“You’re like a secluded beach, Sara Sidle—long and curved and
unforgettable. Cool and hot, a feast for the soul, and a siren’s call to the
untamed beast in a man like me—“
So saying, he moved behind her and looped the stocking over her
eyes, wrapping the stretchy fabric twice around her head before knotting it in
the back with the quick release loop and letting the long ends dangle to her
shoulders.
Sara stood by the edge of the bed, trembling
a little, chills racing through her as this outrageous assault on her senses
began.
The still, warm air of the bedroom. The
scent of dust and wood and sex drifting on it. Gil’s breathing, quicker
now—
He touched her arm and she jumped, lips parting in a gasp.
“You’re naked for me, Sara. Alone in a house with a bed and we’re
going to use it, aren’t we?” he purred into her ear.
“Oh God I HOPE so—“ she laughed
nervously, head jerking a little back and forth. Her hand came up, reaching for
him but met empty air. Sara sensed him shifting away and around her; she tried
to turn but Gil was quicker, coming to press up against her long spine, his
clothed heat a lovely shock against her bare skin.
“Mmmmmm--I love you in your nudity Sara.
If I could have my way you’d never wear much in this house—“
“That’s going to make winter a little rough—“ she reached behind
her, running her hands along his hips, feeling the fabric of his Khakis, the
material smooth to the touch. Gil gave a little growl and pushed forward,
unsubtly, rubbing himself against her ass. Her fingers cupped the straining
ridge of his hard on and she laughed deep in her throat.
“Is that a mountain range or are you just happy to see me?”
“Why don’t you do a little hiking and find out—?“
he countered saucily into her ear, his hot breath sending quivers down her
spine. Sara nodded.
She turned around and let her hands slide up to find the buttons
on his shirt. Working by touch gave a new sensitivity to her fingertips and she
marveled at the sensation of warm fabric and under it, hotter skin. As she
struggled with his shirt, Gil’s hands were sliding along her bare hips,
stroking her.
“Appropriate language for appropriate situations and God, I don’t
feel like being polite at the moment, Sara.”
She leaned closer, tugging the shirt from his shoulders, pressing
her teeth against the flesh there and nipping; he sucked in a laugh. She lifted
her face, unable to see him as she smiled her own dangerous grin.
“Bad language, Gris? I’ll believe it when I
hear it.”
His hands guided hers downward, to the zipper of his tented fly.
“I’m going to fuck you, Sara, harder than you’ve ever HAD a man
before, sweetheart—“ he crooned, ruthless sincerity in
his bold words.
Sara flushed, delicious shock filling her system. Words like that
from Grissom—her fingers twitched, but he pressed them to the tab of his fly.
“Show me you want it, honey, make me yours—“
She tugged, pushing his slacks down, letting her fingers find the
hot pulsing shaft surging up between her palms.
“H-hot—“ she muttered feeling the burn of
his flesh, the ache of her hard nipples as she stood swaying, caressing his
cock. Gil’s breathing rasped against her cheek.
“Hot—“ he agreed thickly. “I love it when
you touch me Sara.”
He guided her down onto the bed, the combined weight making the
mattress creak under them, but Sara was utterly caught up in the muscled heat
of their bodies pressing together, thighs and hips and stomachs. Not seeing,
only FEELING Grissom was a heady experience and her fingers were flying everywhere,
touching as much of him as she could while she cataloged his body.
Soft tangles of curls at his nape, the warm
heavy weight of him pressing down on her, his skin scented of clean musk and
ardent arousal. The scrape of his faint whiskers against
her cheek, the heat of his breath on her shoulder.
“Naked in my bed, oh so sweeeeet, Sara—“
Gil sighed, one hand cupping her chin, turning her face as he lay next to her.
His tongue flicked out along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance and she
moaned. Sara kissed him eagerly, delighted to taste the silver-sweet flavor of
his mouth. Her hips wriggled.
“Mmmmm—“ carefully
Grissom cupped her face in his hands; she felt the weight of his stare.
“What can you see, honey?”
“—Nothing—“ she admitted with a low
helpless laugh. She heard him sigh happily.
“I can see YOU. No panties on, nothing but satin skin and big hard
nipples—“
She gasped as his mouth dropped onto one, his mouth slick as
porcelain and hotter than a furnace. Arching, Sara slid her arms around his
broad shoulders, clinging to him as he suckled one nipple, then the other, his
tongue a silken rasp on tender flesh.
“God I want you so much, Sara. I want to slide into that lovely
slick clench of your body, feel it grip my cock while you make me moan—“
Sara fiercely clutched him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
He laughed.
“Too much bad language?”
“Damn it Gil Grissom! I am going to ride you like a rollercoaster—“ Sara growled in a hot squeak, “—One slow fucking incline
at a time.”
He tensed in her arms, her words delighting him and she took
advantage of the moment. Sara snaked a long leg around him and pulled, using
her leverage to shift his bigger body under hers. Gil went willingly, a chuckle
warming her ear. She slid herself on top of him, enjoying the sensation; Gil
was a big man, solid and stocky under her fingers. Sara touched the thick silky
tufts of hair under his arms, let her fingers sliding across his chest, pausing
over the strong beat of his heart.
“God, it’s like a continental shelf,” she blurted, and he DID
laugh at that, one big hand sliding down her shoulder.
“If that’s a comment about middle-aged spread—“
Sara lunged to shut him up with a kiss. Quietly she whispered,
“I’m seeing you through my hands, lover—It’s so different. I never
actually realized how big you are, how strong.”
His palms glided down the back of her ribs, coming to grip her ass
in a tight possessive clench.
“And you have NO idea how long I have broodingly lusted for this
peach of your ass. One of your dangerous charms, Sara.”
“Dangerous?”
“I caught Greg eyeing it once when you leaned over a counter and
took appropriate action—“ his fingers tightened and
Sara moaned, rubbing shamelessly against him. Under her, his cock throbbed
against her pubic bone.
“A-action?”
“Three hour mandatory seminar on sexual
harassment in the workplace.”
“For looking at my ASS?” shocked and delighted, Sara raised her
blindfolded face to him, feeling him flex hard against her fur.
“Yes it was petty and jealous and I’d do it again in a moment,
Sara. Newsflash--Gil Grissom does not Share Well with Others,”
he admitted bleakly.
Sara pursed her mouth and
tipped her head to one side, unaware of the beautiful picture she presented to
him when she did so.
“You know--I don’t either—“ came her
sultry whisper. He sighed at that, pulling her forward and into a kiss of
questing sweetness, enfolding her in his arms. Sara shifted, rubbing herself
along the ridge of his cock, letting herself writhe a
little and feeling a surge of delight at his low groaning.
“Damn it Sara—“ he warned her, his voice
shaking a little. She purred, rising up, bracing her hands on his chest, proud
of her sense of power.
“I WANT you this way-- can I have you, Gris?” she sighed. His hands
slid up her long thighs.
“Yessss—“ he
growled, his hips bucking her up as he pushed himself against her. She lightly
tapped his chest.
“We need something—“
“—Here—“ Sara felt the little plastic
packet thrust into her fingers and laughed again.
“Ohh a challenge! Think I can get you
sheathed with my eyes closed?”
“I’m COUNTING on it—“ Gil snapped
impatiently. Sara tore open the packet and fingered the thin latex. She rose up
on her knees and tilted her head as she brought her hands around her slender
spine.
“Blindfolded AND behind my back—“ came
her brag. Gil groaned loudly as her fingers slid the condom on; he gripped her
ass and lifted.
“Amazing—here, let me show you my—appreciation—“
Gil rasped as he slid her down onto his thick shaft. Sara lifted her
head and a low happy howl rose out of her slender throat. She quickly braced
her hands on Gil’s chest, her entire body thrumming with pleasure as she
impaled herself on him, savoring the magnificent FULLNESS stretching her from
within.
“Ohhhhhhhhh—“ Gil groaned, thrusting up,
surging hard against the counter rhythm Sara made as she bounced on him, little
chuffs of delight echoing in the room. She wiggled a little, losing herself in
long moments dedicated to the luscious tug and tension, hearing the lovely
slick sounds of their bodies striving into each other.
“Oh Goddddd—“ Sara
gasped, feeling the hot spiral of erotic tension tighten relentlessly through
her muscles. Her fingers scrabbled on his chest, seeking purchase, trying to
hold on as her body rocked harder.
“Sara I can see us in the mirror—“ Gil
hoarsely whispered, “Naked and wild--honey, you’re going to make me come so
hard—“
And that did it; Sara shuddered, fingers digging into the damp
skin under her hands as the fiery weightlessness of her orgasm rolled through
her slender frame, squeezing the air from her lungs and leaving her utterly
dazed.
“SaraSaraSARA!!!”
She slumped a little, and
dimly felt her hips gripped hard, felt the powerful deep throbs of Grissom’s
cock thrumming deep within her, each one like the gift of his heartbeat.
She dropped onto his chest and into that twilight consciousness,
the wash of afterglow welcome after such exquisite focus. Softly, one of Gil’s
hands came up and tugged on the stocking, but Sara shook her head no, and
contentedly drifted off into that deep sleep of utter satiation.
She woke up alone. Muzzily, Sara peeled
the blindfold off and blinked into the darkness, trying to figure out the time.
She patted the bed but it was still empty although the sheets were still warm.
“Gris?”
“Kitchen. Intercourse gives me
an appetite—“ came the cheerful call. Rolling her
eyes, Sara stretched and flexed, feeling a tiny bit sore but oh so sated. She
slid out of bed and reached for the first item of clothing her fingers could
find in the dark; judging by the feel of it, Grissom’s shirt. Swiftly she
tugged it around her and padded out towards the faint light coming from the
direction of the kitchen.
Gris was there, his back leaning against the counter wearing his
glasses, an ancient grey sweatshirt and his boxers, cheerfully digging into a
plastic tub of sour cream dip with a tortilla chip. He offered her the bag, and
Sara took it, scooting closer to him as she crunched on a few.
“I bought soups and canned vegetables and crackers but forgot
plates or bowls,” he confessed, staring into the dip with embarrassment. Sara
laughed.
“We can always pick some up—this is Vegas, things are open twenty
four hours, you know. What I’m more concerned about is clothing, to be honest.
I’ve got some clean underthings, but everything else
is sort of—“
“Permeated with the scent of lust?” he waggled his eyebrows and
sucked in his cheeks, trying to look innocent, but Sara swatted his arm
lightly.
“I’m serious—I’ve washed my lingerie in a sink before, but two day
old slacks are just—grungy. Didn’t your aunt have a washer and dryer?”
“Yep—had them in the garage. I’d have to hook them
up again—“ he paused, cocking his head to look at her,
“—if--?”
“—If--?” she echoed back uncertainly, nibbling on a chip. Gil
stared at her and she could see him weighing his words carefully.
“—If it’s something we’re going to need.
If Casa Caliente here going to be more than a single
weekend for us,” he finished heavily. Startled at his somber tone, Sara set the
chips down and looked down at their feet.
Both of then were standing
on the brick floor barefoot, and she was fascinated with how well formed and
strong Gil’s feet were, the tarsals and metatarsals
clearly delineated against his pale skin. There was a slight inward turn to his
left foot, and she carefully lifted one of her own to caress it with her toes.
Gil watched her.
“The only aspect of my life with which I’ve been patient is YOU, Grissom. I’ve waited and watched and bided my time and EVERY gain I’ve ever made in regard to you has been worth it so far,” she murmured, letting her arch slid along hi