Candy Shop: Off the Clock

Stage One





To: Henry


From: Mr. Peppermint


Re: Tickets to Cairo 


Henry:



I know you already have the dates booked for my vacation, but I forgot to mention that I’d like to stay at the Mena House Oberoi again. One of the concierges there, Mr. Lindon, already had my preferences and itinerary on record, so that should facilitate the reservation.



Thanks,


Mr. P—


 

To: Henry


From: Jelly Bean


Re: Va-cay in Rio!


Henry, dude—



I’m down for de Janeiro, right? Nightlife, fleshpots, rounded nubile women with itty-bitty bikinis---oooohyeah. I need to know what vaccinations to get before I go, and the name of a good local bail bondsman just in case—don’t want a repeat of what happened in Cape town and Reykjavik, you know? (Tokyo doesn’t count since they never proved it, and anyone could have annoyed that Sumo wrestler.) Thanks, you’re the best—



JB



 

To: Henry


From: Gum Drop


Re: Lawrence Welk Cruise



Mother and I need to know if you’ve got us booked for the cruise yet. Actually, Mother wants to know, and I plan on having an emergency at the last minute, so I can make the Creation Con in San Jose without her this year. You did get me a suite on the Con Guests floor, right?



Gum Drop


 

To: Henry


From: Jaw Breaker


Re: Great Texas Birding Classic


Hey Henry,



I know this is late notice man, but could you upgrade my reservation in Port Arthur for two people?  I’ve got someone special I want to take along this time. Don’t worry about an extra ticket—I already registered her and myself online for the Big Sit, so we’re good there.  



Thanks,


Jaw Breaker


PS  Usual deal right? Four jars of my mom’s homemade salsa = Warrick doesn’t find out my vacation plans. 

 



To: Henry


From: Licorice


Re: Madam Renault’s  


Henry:



Thanks for wrangling that weeklong blues gig for me with Slide and Richie J. over at Madam Renault’s. I owe you big-time, seriously. Let me know what I can do for you when I get back from New Orleans.



Licorice


 

To: Henry


From: Miss Chocolate


Re: Paris


Dear Henry,



I’m going to be delayed for a few days—the only time the dry dock can take on a yacht the size of the Boston Bohemian is right before your booking, so if you could pleeeease push back my reservation by about three days I’d appreciate it. Just leave the tickets in my name at the airline gate.



Thanks very much,


Miss Chocolate


 

To: Henry


From: Sugar Daddy


Re: Costa Rica



The resort called and said that they’re willing to take dogs if we can prove the furball’s had all his vaccinations including Bordatella, which he has. They also confirmed the four tickets for the rain forest tour and the moonlight concert with Javier Miranda. Thanks for booking all that along with the hotel, Henry; I appreciate it.



S. Daddy  
 



To: Henry


From: Bubble Gum


Re: Creation Con, San Jose



Thanks for the reservation and special Cabaret Night tickets, Henry! I’ll see if I can get you Marina Sirtis’ autograph along with that filk tape you wanted. And remember, not a WORD to Gum Drop—I’m not going to have that annoying tagalong blow my chances at the Masquerade again.



Th’Gum!


 

To: Henry


From: Miss Lollipop


Re: Unused Vacation days


Dear Henry:



Accounting tells me you’ve accrued nearly a month of vacation days and you need to use them up before the end of the fiscal year. Please book some time for yourself before you lose your benefits or your sanity—we can’t afford to replace you, dear!



Let Cotton Candy know when you’d like to get out of here and have a lovely trip—Cancun is nice this time of year.



Miss L— 



***    ***    ***

Grissom allowed himself a moment to breathe. He looked out across the glittering expanse of Lake Mead and to the distant, elegant image of the Boston Bohemian gliding across it, sails full and curving in the haze of the afternoon. The sunlight glittered on the water in spattered gleams, and through the binoculars he could see Miss Chocolate on deck, confident and lean in her bare feet and tiny shorts as she worked the lines.



Along the main mast of the Bohemian, the United States yacht ensign was snapping in the wind, bright and cheerful. High above it, at the top of the sails a sweet little burgee fluttered in the breeze, and seeing it, Grissom smiled so hard his face hurt.



The swallow-tailed pennant showed a field of diagonal red stripes on a white background, and laid over those, a heart, in rich deep brown. The little flag was a beautiful piece of work, elegant and simple, but eye-catching as well; the personal declaration it made left him aching in body and soul. Grissom studied it for a moment longer, then made his way down the path towards the beach far below, shifting his backpack to a more comfortable angle across his shoulders. It would take him half an hour to descend to the beach, if he didn’t stumble.



By the time he reached the beach, the Bohemian was already turning into the cove and making her way towards the little dock. Grissom strode out to the end of it, and watched with admiration as Miss Chocolate brought the yacht alongside the pier and tossed him a line. He snagged it with one hand, looking at her and fighting the urge to grin.



She had already given in herself, smiling broadly as she locked the wheel. “Hey.”



“Hey. Looks like you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”



“Nope.” She deftly tossed him the other line, and Grissom wrapped it into place, securing the half-hitch with professional pride. He looked over at her standing on the deck and cleared his throat, feeling a little foolish and very eager.



“May I . . . . board?”



“Grissom—“ she smiled, beckoning him forward, and as he stepped onto the deck it dawned on him she’d called him by name. The warmth in his stomach spread, and he moved to her, scooping her into his arms.



Sara, he thought with dizzy pleasure, and kissed her. It was a slow kiss, with both of them moving in restrained little nuzzles against each other’s mouths, warming up into a deep, sweet very reciprocated embrace. Breaking off, he kept her close and lightly kissed her ear.



“I missed you. I had no idea I would miss you so much.”



“The feeling is very mutual,”  she assured him, her long arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “You’ve been on my mind the whole time, you know.”



“Worried about me?” Grissom murmured, enjoying the taste of her skin. She laughed gently.



“A little. You’re pretty unforgettable you know—“



Grissom shifted to look at her, but she cupped his face in her cool hands and they drifted into another kiss, this one slightly more aggressively delicious as each of them tried to take control. Finally Sara yielded, moaning a little as Grissom circled his tongue around hers and gripped her ass tightly. He broke away wetly to smirk at her.



“Mine.”



“Oh yeah?” she smirked back, and slid her hands to his rump, squeezing hard. “Mine.”



“We’re very possessive,” Grissom mused, bending to lick her throat.



“Let’s get naked,” Sara replied.



“Phone.”  



“What?”



“Give. Me. Your. Phone,” Grissom growled softly. Sara pulled away and fished out her cell, handing it to him, her face confused. He took it, and tossed it over his shoulder; it fell into the depths of Lake Mead with a bubbly ‘bloop.’



Sara blinked. “Um . . .”



He pressed his index finger to her lips, silencing her. “No interruptions. No calls, no Candy Shop—nothing but the two of us, the water and the sky, Frango my love. I don’t care if the rest of the universe goes up in a supernova . . . we’ve been good to duty, and now there is only us.”



The entire time he whispered this, Grissom leaned closer until his lips rested along her temple. Sara hugged him tightly, shuddering at the sweet impact of his words. He felt the wet trickle of her tears against his cheek and hugged her more closely.



“I love you.”



It came from both of them at almost at the same time, and for a moment they both smiled. Sara shifted to shoot Grissom a sidelong gaze.



“Come to bed.”



“With pleasure.”



She moved to the ladder, but Grissom caught her arm and pulled her towards the main mast, pressing her against it and kissing her hard once more. It wasn’t a tender kiss this time; this one burned against her mouth and stole her breath.



“But . . . please--show me. Show me ALL of you Sara, I want to see you, want to watch you so much—“ he breathed softly in her face, his blue eyes full of desire and wicked challenge as he stepped back from her a bit.



“Here? Out in the open?” she blurted, looking around the little empty cove.



Grissom nodded, his expression intense. “Ever since that phone call I’ve been picturing you in my head . . . God, the images I’ve thought of—“



Sara slowly grinned. She slid her hands into her shorts, pushing them from her hips, letting them slide down over her thighs and calves until they rested on her feet.



Grissom swallowed hard.



With deliberate slowness she stepped free of the shorts and lifted her chin, eyes half closed as she struggled with the hot waves of desire pulsing wickedly through her stomach and straight between her legs. Sara rubbed her hands over her breasts, her shirt sagging around her shoulders as she did. Mesmerized, Grissom watched her fingers slide around her breasts; toy brazenly with her hard nipples. Sara gave a strangled sigh.



“Damn it, Grissom me too. Every night I’d lie in bed and touch myself, thinking about you. About your body, remembering how your tongue tasted—“ she taunted. Grissom’s hands slid along the muscles on the front of his thighs even as he stared at her. Sara shifted her hips, her touch slow and moving south as she spoke again, her voice throaty and wild.



“Drove myself crazy. I’d rub myself, tease my own pussy and the noises I made—begging you, ordering you to kiss me there, lick and suck me—“ her fingers glided down into the forest of dark curls between her thighs, raking through the thick down. Grissom groaned.



His broad hands fumbled as he yanked open his straining fly. Freed, his big cock swelled forth, flushed and dripping as he gripped it. His blue eyes glittered with a searing lust, and Sara felt a little animal whimper come out of her throat at the sight of him standing there out in the open, so swollen for her. Her hands slid lower, and she widened her stance.



“Watch me—like this, baby. I’d caress and play with my hot little box, feel the honey dripping out of me.” Sara taunted. Her fingers glided in loving strokes, lasciviously toying along her glistening cleft, massaging it delicately. Grissom’s hand tightened on his cock. Sara sighed, licking her lips. The utterly insane excitement of pleasuring herself here on the deck while Grissom watched her was pushing her very close to the edge, and she began to move her fingers faster, savouring the erotic power over him.



“Come closer—“ He hissed.



She shook her head, smiling up at him.



For a long moment they stood locked in a sensual duel for dominance, neither one willing to submit. Sara felt her stomach begin to tighten as she started the slow hot tumble towards mindless release. Her fingers danced faster.



Grissom moved like a striking snake. His big hot hands caught her bare hips and yanked her forward to slam up against the iron bar of his cock. Instinctively she reached to balance herself, her own hands flying to Grissom’s shirt covered shoulders, snagging the thin cotton. Sara hissed as the underside of his burning shaft slid wetly, perfectly up between the slick folds of her sex, gliding on top of the hard little button she’d been caressing. Grissom threw his head back and the heavy groan that rose out of his throat was just enough to tip her over the edge.



Sara came, hard.



Grissom bucked his hips, stroking himself against her, his shaft trapped between their grinding bodies. The moment spun out in a tangle of heated friction so shockingly intense it hovered on the edge of pain. Sara’s head lolled as she clung to Grissom, her fingers digging through his shirt. His voice was wet and hot in her face as he pushed her up against the cold metal of the mast.



“I’m going to COME, God, I’m going to come so HARD and I’m not even IN you—“ he grunted, furious at his straining sweaty cock. Gently cupping the nape of her neck, Grissom urged Sara to look down, to watch the passionate tango of their hips. She shuddered under the force of his thrusts. With a long growl of surrender, Grissom came, thick spurts gushing between his stomach and hers, slick and hot and seemingly endless.



They barely managed to stay standing, swaying together; Grissom locked his arms around Sara’s small waist and dropped his mouth to her shoulder. She clung to him, lost for a time in the smells, the feel of Grissom in her arms here in the open air.



They made their way down into the yacht, quietly; swiftly. Grissom followed Sara to the bathroom and they showered up in the tiny space, wrapped up in each other. When they toweled off, Grissom pulled Sara onto him as they tumbled to the mattress in the main cabin. They held each other for a long contented time as they lay listening to the water lapping against the hull.



Sara hummed.



“You sound pleased,” he broke the silence in a low tone. She shifted to look up at him in the dim light filtering through the portholes smiling with a rare sweetness, her long dark hair tousled.



“Close to it—“ Sara agreed.



“Oh? And what small stumbling block mars the serenity of this second, sweetheart?” he challenged her softly, reaching up to brush his fingertips over the smooth curve of her cheek, trailing them down her chin.



“Perfection will be when you’re IN me—deep and slow all night. THAT will be worth living for.”



His blue eyes shone, and through the depths she found the glimmer that was hers alone.



“Striving for perfection is always a worthy goal—“ he remarked, shifting so she could feel the heat of his stocky body, the eager thrust of his rising shaft against her thigh. Sara flicked a tongue over her lips, feeling the restless ache of need building between her thighs once more. She raised her face to his, and for a moment caught the shadow of another expression there, a lonely longing one.



Swiftly she moved to kiss it away.



“Lay it aside, whatever it is, Grissom—it will wait until tomorrow,” she urged him as her hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him down to her. His firm mouth descended on hers. The slow rise of passion was deep, profound. Sara kept her eyes open, drinking him in, his muscles, his scars, his restless hunger. Grissom moved slowly but not gently, his need for her blatantly unapologetic. When Sara lazily lifted her hips, he seized them and thrust hard, his big frame pinning hers under him onto the cool sheets.



She lost herself in the intimate cocoon of the moment, licking his sweat as it rolled down his throat, cradling him in her hips as they rocked together.



Dimly she knew he was making love to her soul as much as her body, and that insight sent a hot shudder that left her weak and close to tears. Grissom held back longer than she thought any man could, and when he finally came, it was relentless and scalding and deep enough to fulfill her craving. 






                                                                                                                                                                                       Off the Clock 2



                                           
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