Testimony
Clueless.
Or just defiantly obtuse—Sara couldn’t really
decide which label fit the man better. She finished brushing her teeth, rinsed
her mouth and plodded out to her bed, slipping into it with a heavy, graceless
fatigue, hoping sleep would stop her mind from attempting to pick apart the
infuriating emotional ravel that WAS Gil Grissom—
She
felt his presence behind her, that solid wall of heat that radiated from him in
a personal nimbus of warmth seeping into her as pervasively as a touch. Sara
looked over her shoulder.
“You’re
the perfect height—want to re-enact the Melton case with me?”
Mmmmmm, those eyes—a girl could drown in a blue that deep. Intense. Steady. She found herself nodding quickly—Melton?
Something about a struggle wasn’t it?
“Okay
then--our perp was behind the victim, had her in his
arms, like so—“ came that deep voice with its flat
Oh
enfolded thrill of that grip! She leaned back against him, letting her spine
rest on his chest, oblivious to his words, drinking in that body heat, letting
him purr into her ear.
“—With one hand, but where’s the other one? I’m confused—if
he’s got her jaw in his right hand, turning it towards his face—“
Matching
the action to the mutter, Sara felt him gently cup her face, shift it towards
his. Close, so close, his breath brushed her slightly open lips even as his
brows were drawn together in concentration. She took his other hand, laid it on
the bony edge of her hipbone.
“Bruises
here—“ she lied, easily. Gil’s hand cupped the bone,
big strong fingers pressing with a nonchalant possessive touch. She longed for
those fingers to slide—as soon as the thought touched her mind, his hand
followed, gliding inward across her skirt, big palm flat, making her breathing
all wheezy, and ooohhh God yesyesyes
pressing sweetly over the dim curve of her mound, fitting it EXACTLY , nestling
over it and rubbing in slow thoughtful circles through her thin skirt---
“--Would
mean he was distracting her somehow. We know the bite was on the right hand, in
the webbing between the index finger and the thumb—“ he
droned, oblivious to his left hand, which continued the maddeningly sensual
grind. Sara tensed, wishing he’d speed up and drop the case, just catch a freakin’ CLUE here—
“Hand
Job—“ she panted.
“What?”
Still, he rubbed, sweet pressure between her thighs building faster, his breath
hot on her face.
“Hand
job, hand job! He was getting her off and shutting her up so she wouldn’t
scream when she came, Gris—“ Sara panted, rolling her hips forward to push back
against his palm, her pulse going turbo now—soon, it was going to be soon--
“That’s
it! Of course—Brass can talk to the mother again and see if Melton had been
dating her—“
The
hand stopped.
“Arrrrrgh!”
Blearily opening her eyes, Sara glared at the
ceiling, well aware of her harsh breathing, her aching nipples. The dream
faded, leaving behind a familiar tension now cranked one notch tighter.
Clueless.
Sara
sighed, rolling over to grab the bedside phone and dialing a familiar number.
“Hey,
I have an idea about the Melton case—have we considered the perp
might have been left-handed?”
End