Eight
days later on
the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Sara climbed into the taxi, her
stomach full
of hornets. For anyone else they might have been butterflies, but given
her
state of internal aggravation, the constant turmoil within could only
be
hornets. After tucking their suitcases into the trunk and closing it,
Grissom
climbed in next to Sara, looking slightly tense, but amused at her
scowling
expression. The driver, a thin black woman with bright pink lipstick
looked over
her shoulder at them both.
“Welcome!
Where can
I take you folks?” she inquired. Sara sighed.
“The
Ocean Inn off
of
“Good
choice! We’ll
be there shortly,” the driver assured them, pulling out and
away from the tiny
terminal. Sara glanced back at the Cessna field dully.
“I
thought the
flight would be longer—“
“You’re
thinking of
commercial flights. Private charters don’t have as much
waiting time or as many
added complications,” Grissom replied quietly. “And
considering how hard it
would have been to get anything else on such short notice we were
lucky. I
hardly ever get to use my connections.”
Sara
tilted her
head to look at him, a smile briefly crossing her features as she did
so. He
was wearing a navy blue sweater over a dress shirt, his good grey
jacket and
navy slacks. Even his loafers had been polished. Resting on his knee
was a gift
bag that held a tissue-wrapped bottle of wine of a vintage that was
sure to
appeal to her dad, and a small bouquet of dried flowers for her mom.
“You
look like a
total suck-up, you know that, don’t you?” Sara
pointed out lovingly. Grissom
shot her a wry grin, eyes twinkling.
“I
have ulterior
motives, so deal with it.”
“Pffft.
My mom’s
going to love you and my dad will check out your sports preferences
then argue
with you about every Cubs and Giants game ever played. Tom will ask me
how much
you make and if you’re divorced, and I have no idea what
Sophie and Sam will
think of you, if anything,” Sara replied, toying with the
gold locket draped
against her olive green corded sweater top.
Grissom’s
mouth
twisted slightly.
“I
can live with a
fifty percent approval rating as the starting baseline. Gives me
something to
shoot for over the course of time.”
“Downright
Machiavellian of you,” Sara murmured, trying to sound
disapproving. The taxi
sped along the curving highway threading through the rolling hills
covered with
groves of Eucalyptus trees. Eventually they crossed over the topmost
ridge,
catching sight of the Pacific, endlessly panoramic in slate blue off to
the
left. The driver hummed under her breath, and Sara shifted uneasily.
“I
don’t see why
you’re nervous. They know you—“ Grissom
pointed out. She rubbed her forehead
with one hand, trying to think of exactly how to unburden herself.
“Gris,
I’ve never
brought anyone back with me before, okay? This particular phase is
completely
new to my family and me so bear with me here. We’ve got the
next four days to
get through, and I have no idea how any of it’s going to go.
That’s making me
just a LITTLE uptight.”
Grissom
leaned back
and snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so he could
whisper
against her hair.
“A
little? I’m
going to check the upholstery buttons before we get out of the cab,
Sara.”
She
rolled her
eyes, but couldn’t help a quick grin, even as the cab turned
onto
“Ocean
Inn,” the
driver announced pleasantly.
Sara
squared her
shoulders and looked over at Grissom, shooting him a wry smile.
“Ready for
this?”
“Ah.
The real
question is, are you?”
Sara
very maturely
stuck her tongue out at him; Grissom ignored it and climbed out,
helping the
driver unload the bags. Taking a deep breath, Sara pulled herself out
of her
momentary inertia and the cab as well, looking up at the B&B as
the scent
of salt water filled the air.
The
Ocean Inn stood
proudly, if a little stodgily, on the far end of the cul de sac, a big
Victorian with eight rooms, two living rooms, a massive kitchen and a
wraparound porch. Sara could see the dangling wind chimes of driftwood
and
shells hanging from the corners of the porch, and the bits of green and
blue
glass imbedded in the cement steps leading to the front doors. The
clapboards
were slate blue, the trim white, and two wreaths of sea oats and dried
flowers
adorned the glass doors.
The
cab pulled away
just as one of the doors opened, and a short, dark-haired girl in a
flowered
shirt and overalls came barreling out towards Sara.
“I
win, I win!” she
yelled happily, not quite able to slow her momentum as she plowed into
her
aunt. Sara rocked a little under the impact, but grinned widely,
hugging the
child in a good squeeze.
“Second
year in a
row, Soph, baby! I’ll tell Grandpa you get the lookout money
fair and square—“
At
the door, a boy
appeared, taller than the girl, but with the same dark hair. He looked
peeved.
“No
fair! I was in
the bathroom!”
“You
leak, you
lose, Sam. Rules of the game pal!” Sara called to him. He
made a face,
presumably at his sister, and came trudging down the steps as Grissom
watched
the unfolding drama. Both children looked up at him suspiciously.
“Hi,”
he offered
mildly. The boy nodded; the girl blinked and slipped behind Sara,
peeking out
around one hip.
“Granny
Avra says
you’re a bugger guy,” the girl piped up. Looking
suitably startled, Grissom
managed not to laugh. Sara did, snorting as she slipped an arm around
the
child.
“Sophia
Danielle
Sidle, you introduce yourself nicely and find out who this really
is.”
The
girl came
forward, extending a pudgy, less than clean hand to Grissom, who
engulfed it
with his own.
“My
name is called
Sophie. Who are you?”
“I’m
Grissom.”
“Do
you touch
bugs?” she demanded suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“Ewwwww!”
Sophie
made a disapproving face while her brother shot Grissom a favorable
look.
Grissom bent lower in a confiding way and added, “Sometimes I
even eat some of
them.”
“Gross!”
“Cool!”
Sophia
backed up a
step while Sam came closer grinning. Grissom shrugged, risking a look
at Sara,
who was hiding her smirk behind one hand.
“He
promised not to
eat any while he’s here, okay? Just go tell your dad
we’re coming in,” she
directed. Both kids clambered back up the steps, neatly dodging around
the
person just coming through the doors.
“Sara,
darling!”
Avra Sidle sang out, wiping her floury hands on her apron and gliding
into a
tight hug with her daughter. They were of a height, and Grissom saw
that many
of Sara’s sweet features came straight from her mother, most
notably the big
brown eyes and slim tall figure.
Then
the woman
turned to him, and in her sharp clear gaze Grissom felt a prickle of
amused
appreciation.
“Oh
he’s so virile
he GLOWS, girlchild. Definitely Alpha blue to the core!”
“Mom!
Not now—“
came Sara’s hissed warning. She forced a smile and reached
for Grissom’s arm,
hooking hers around it as much for comfort as anything else.
“Mom, This is Gil
Grissom, Gil, this is my mom, Avra—“
“I’ve
been looking
forward to meeting you,” he politely and honestly told her,
holding out his
hand. Avra, however, bypassed it and hugged him tightly; startled,
Grissom let
her, looking a little stiff as she laughed up at him.
“As
have I, Gil, as
have I. Welcome to Ocean Inn!”
Looking
at Sara
didn’t help; she flashed her famous grin and shrugged.
“Did
I forget to
mention I’ve got a huggy, touchy feely family?”
“Ohhh—“
he weakly
replied.
Avra
pulled back
and looked up at him again, blushing a little when she saw his
discomfort.
“Sorry
Gil, but at
Ocean Inn, no one’s very formal. Come in, come in and sit
down! My you look
nice, but you didn’t have to go to all the trouble,
really—“
Chattering
away,
Avra led Grissom up the steps, never letting go of his arm as Sara
watched
them, a bemused expression on her face.
“Oh
that’s fine,
mom, go on in, I can handle the suitcases all by myself,
don’t worry—“ came her
mild taunt. Avra waved a dismissing hand at her.
“Now,
now--Tom will
be right out, don’t fuss so, Sara!”
Grissom
found
himself propelled through a large and airy foyer and into a sunken
living room
with a large stone fireplace at one end. The hardwood floor gleamed
between
various thick rugs, and a lovely scent of baking bread drifted on the
air. He
noted several seascape watercolors dotting the walls, a large and
inviting
bookcase, and comfortable overstuffed furniture arranged throughout.
Avra led
him over to a round table where a man sat piecing together what
appeared to be
a tiny picture frame out of pieces of seashell.
“Will,
Sara’s
sweetie is here.”
Grissom
felt
himself blush a little. The other man shot him a bemused look, his
heavy silver
mustache twitching.
“Sheesh,
honey, if
you introduce him like that it saps the testosterone right out of
him,” came
the grumble. Slowly, he rose, grasping the cane hooked on the edge of
the table
for support. He smiled into Grissom’s face, eyes direct and
fearless, another
Sara trait.
They
shook hands,
and Grissom felt the gnarled strength of the other man’s
solid grip against his
own.
“You’re
Gil
Grissom. Good. I’m William Sidle; call me Will. You any good
with tweezers?”
“Actually,
yes—“
Grissom nodded. Will gave a sigh of relief.
“Good!
I’ve been
trying to get this damned mussel shell glued on, but it keeps slipping.
Think
you can grip it in place long enough for me to glue it down?”
Ten
minutes later,
Sara walked through the living room to find Grissom and her father both
bent
over the picture frame, speaking in hushed tones like a pair of
surgeons on a
delicate brain operation.
“There.
Thanks for
the assist.”
“Pleased
to help. I
take it the shells are local?”
“Yep.
Avra picks
them up for me from the tide line. I wash them, varnish them and sort
them by
species and size for easier use.”
“The
frame is very
nice,” Grissom observed. Will gave a little nod, but his
expression was
distracted as Sara came up behind him, laid gentle hands on his
shoulders and
kissed the top of his head.
“Thank
you, but
I’ve done better. It’s tough to get good frames
these days. I usually make my
own, but I got stuck with a store bought one this time.
Sara--” he smiled up at
his daughter. She studied the frame with a loving eye.
“That’s
a nice pair
of jackknife clams along the bottom—“ she
commented. Will smiled, touching them
softly. At that point the boy came barreling in, followed by Sophie,
dashing up
to the table.
“Grandpa,
it’s not
fair that Sophie gets the lookout money two times now!”
Grissom
sensed
amused gravity in the older man’s tone as he spoke patiently
to the boy.
“Did
she spot the
taxi first, Sam?”
“Well
. . . yeah,
but I was goin’ pee!” Sam protested mulishly. Will
reached over and squeezed
the boy’s shoulder.
“Rules
are rules.
Next year you might win. Sophie?”
“Yeah?”
the child
looked up at him, beaming. Will snorted at her, reaching to tweak one
of her
ears.
“You
won, but stop
rubbing it in, little girl. You and I will settle up after dinner. Now
you two
go play on the beach while your grandmother gets dinner
ready.”
Quickly
the two
took off again, clattering through the living room and out through
various
doors while Grissom watched them go. When he turned back, Sara and her
father
were looking at him.
“They’re
a good
pair. Tom’s got custody and he’s close enough to
bring ‘em by regularly. You
have any nieces, nephews of your own, Gil?”
Slowly,
Grissom
shook his head.
***
*** ***
The
heat on Sara’s
face could have ignited a forest. She clutched the edge of the
doorframe, not
looking at either her mother or Grissom as they all stood looking into
the
room.
It
was cool and
blue, with a décor that ran to fishnets and prints of
sailboats on the walls; a
tiny balcony opened onto the Pacific. Avra was speaking in confiding
tones.
“
. . . Only one
with a queen. I hope you two don’t mind. Dinner’s
in half an hour, so I better
go get the pasta boiling.”
“It’s
lovely. Thank
you,” Grissom politely told her, and she smiled, turning to
head back down the
hall. Sara weakly tottered into the room and dropped herself into the
white
wicker rocking chair, a hand over her face.
“I
can’t believe
she did this. My own MOTHER—“ came the anguished
moan. Grissom waited until
Sara looked up again.
“I
thought it was
amazingly considerate and open-minded of her to give us a room
together.”
Grissom took off his coat and hung it up in the closet.
“Frankly I was
more than willing to sleep on a sofa bed,” he commented
softly. Sara shot him a
lovingly exasperated look. Rising, she crossed the room and smacked her
hand on
the wall, making a dried starfish rattle.
“It’s
insidious,
Gris. Yeah, we’re in the same room, but right next door are
my parents, and on
the other side, Tom. So while we’re allowed to sleep
together, there is no real
privacy here. The walls are thin, and from this point on it will be as
if this
room is wired for sound.”
Grissom
slipped
behind her, nuzzling her neck. She resisted for a moment, and then with
a sigh
tilted her head to give him better access as he kissed her under her
ear. He
whispered against her skin.
“So
out loud we’ll
be boring, and in other matters we’ll
be—discreet,” he assured her as his hands
slid up over her sweater to cup her chest. Sara squirmed,
managing a lot
of contact as her ass pressed against him.
“I
bet the bed creaks.
Twenty bucks.”
Grissom
wrapped his
arms around her and marched her over to it, dropping with her onto the
blue and
white checked bedspread. The bed made a tiny noise of contracting
springs as
Grissom grinned. Gripping Sara, he turned, gave an experimental bounce
and the
frame creaked obligingly under them, a soft little sound that carried
in the
room.
Sara
burst into
husky giggles.
“I
win and lose at
the same time—twenty bucks please—“
“I
didn’t accept
your wager. And besides, it’s a tiny creak. Barely
audible.”
“Sure
you say that
now, but once it starts making a rhythm that’s as good as
announcing on a
loudspeaker: Attention! People having SEX here!” she
complained, but softly.
Grissom felt good holding her, and she loved the scent of his
aftershave.
He kissed her forehead.
“So
we go without
intimacy for a few days,” he offered.
Sara
quickly,
unthinkingly pouted, and he laughed at her expression.
“Sara,”
Grissom
chided, his ego gratified at her stubborn look.
“Get
real,” she
replied with a little sigh. “We couldn’t share a
bed celibately now, not even
if our lives depended on it. We’re acclimated to each other.
Symbiotically
settled. By Saturday we’ll be miserable. At least
I’LL be miserable . . .”
“We
can’t have
that. We’ll just have to think outside the bed,”
Grissom replied teasingly.
Sara
blinked at him
as all sorts of possibilities popped into her head, but before she
could say
anything, a hard rap on their door startled them both. Sam’s
voice ragged and
out of breath called through it.
“Sara!
Grissom! Dad said to get you right away! We need you guys!”
his youthful
urgency was tinged with real panic, and hearing it, Sara shot to the
door as
Grissom followed her. They moved down the hall and curving staircase to
the
living room. Sam pointed at the big table.
“We
found him by
the big rocks! Dad says you’d know if he was going to be
okay—“
Sara
pushed her way
to the table, looking down at the towel on the table, at her
brother’s big
hands cradling the little limp body under the overhead light. For a
moment no
one spoke. She bent forward, her chest tight.
Gently
she picked
up the kitten’s body, touching the matted orange fur and tiny
white paws. She
propped the limp little head up, trying to gauge the breathing. At the
edge of
the table, Sam and Sophie held very still watching, bursting with
questions but
wise enough not to interrupt. Avra slipped behind them, wrapping an arm
around
each child.
Grissom
took the
body from Sara and lightly turned it face down. Long trickles of water
spilled
out of the tiny open jaws onto the towel. He delicately pried one
eyelid back
enough to see the clouded nictitating membrane over the pupil.
He
pursed his
mouth. “Sam, I need to know exactly where you and
Sophie found this
kitten. Right now. Can you take me there?”
“Yeah!”
The boy
nodded. Grissom looked at Sara and spoke in an undertone as he laid the
little
kitten back on the towel.
“It’s
dead, but the
body is still warm. Get a box, a heat lamp or pad, any eyedroppers you
can find
and something to re-hydrate any others we find.”
“You
think there
are more?”
“Yes.
More often
than not, kittens get abandoned or drowned in litters,” he
grimly told her. Sam
was tugging impatiently at his sweater, and Grissom nodded in
acknowledgement,
following the boy out the back doors towards the beach. Avra was
holding on to
Sophie, who had burst into tears.
“The
kitty’s dead!
“ She wailed, burying her face in her grandmother’s
lap. Avra hugged her hard.
Tom carefully wrapped the kitten up and looked at his sister, sighing.
“So
much for a calm
evening. Think you can get that stuff he mentioned while I take care of
this
little guy?”
She
nodded.
Sam
and Grissom
returned twenty minutes later, just as the sun was beginning to set
through the
clouds. The wind had picked up and the air was cold coming off the
ocean
towards the land. Sara held the door open as Sam ran in ahead.
“Grissom
found
more! He got them out of this box way out in the rocks, Dad! Do we have
some
towels?”
Sara
looked out as
Grissom lumbered up. He was holding his good sweater bundled in his
arms, and
his slacks were soaked to mid thigh, but he flashed Sara a tense smile
as he
spoke, the evening breeze stirring his curls.
“Two
more dead,
three alive. I don’t know for how long, but we can
try.”
Sara
nodded, her
throat tight at the sight of him carefully shedding his wet loafers on
the back
porch and stepping into the house with his armful. Avra took it from
him and
carried it to the table. Sara hugged Grissom briefly; he nuzzled her
hair and
moved to the other side of the table and the light.
Wordlessly,
Avra
yielded to him and he gently unwrapped the sweater. Three wet balls of
shivering fur made piteous squeaks, and Grissom gently picked one up,
cupping
it in his hands as he quickly scrutinized it under the light.
“Waterlogged
but
feisty. A male, about six weeks old I’d guess. He needs the
salt washed off of
him, wrapped up and held close to benefit from body heat.”
Will,
who was in
the kitchen, carefully brought in a pan of warm water in one hand while
he
gripped his cane in the other.
Avra
smiled at him
and dipped a washcloth in the water, then handed it to Grissom. He
looked
around the table in surprise at all the faces watching him as he
carefully
rubbed the tiny kitten in the heated wet cloth. It tried to fight him,
but he
was ruthlessly gentle, cleaning off the brine from its grey fur.
“Sara,
would you
mind cleaning up one of the other kittens? Sophie, do you have a
sweatshirt
with a big pocket in the front?”
The
girl nodded,
her brown eyes big and locked on him. “Yeah, my SpongeBob
one.”
Grissom
smiled.
“Go
get it and put
it on. We’re going to need you to carry this baby in that
pocket for a while.
Sam, do you have one as well?”
“Yeah,”
the boy
nodded, already dashing for his room. Tom glanced uncertainly at
Grissom, who
shrugged back.
“Body
heat. Kids
radiate much more of it more quickly than adults do,” he
explained. “Besides,
they want to help.”
Sara
had carefully
washed off the second kitten and was reaching for the third while
Grissom
examined the one she’d handed to him.
“Another
male,” he
muttered with a hint of distaste. Sara glanced over and smothered a
laugh as
she saw the thin trickle of urine running down his wrist.
“I
think you’ve
just been scent-marked,” she teased. Everyone chuckled, and
Grissom carefully
set the little defiant kitten down as he wiped his hand on a towel. The
mostly
black kitten swayed a little, and plonked his rear end down; Grissom
wrapped
him in a soft clean washcloth, then handed him to Avra, who cuddled the
kitten
against her chest.
***
*** ***
Dinner
was a noisy
affair; everyone tried to talk to everyone else, and the kittens were a
prominent topic in the conversation. Sophie and Sam took
their
responsibilities as kitten warmers seriously and proudly wore their
sweatshirts
to the table, complete with bulgy pockets. The table was loaded down
with
pasta, bread, salad and Grissom’s bottle of wine.
“More
spaghetti,
Gil?” Avra pressed, passing the pasta his way. Grissom took
it, catching Sara’s
smirk at his second helping as she broke off another hunk of French
bread. She
sighed.
“You’re
a hero now
you know—this is going to be one of the stories Mom will tell
all the
visitors—“ she warned him. Across the table, Tom
nodded, grinning in a way Grissom
was recognizing as a Sidle trait.
“Oh
yeah. The great
kitten rescue. Right along with the time Sara fell off the balcony, and
the
summer that dead great white washed up. Ocean Inn
legends—“
“You
fell off a
balcony?” Grissom arched an eyebrow at her; she blushed.
“I
was trying to
catch a dragonfly and leaned out too far. Hey, it
happens—“
Avra
shook her head
with loving exasperation as she moved around, ladling up sauce on
Grissom’s
plate, then did the same to Sara’s, Will’s and
Tom’s.
“She
hit the
rosemary bushes and not the redwood deck, thank goodness, but still
ended up
with a concussion and a broken collarbone. I’m SO glad
she’s past those
dangerous sorts of things.”
Both
Sara and
Grissom were suddenly very interested in their plates. Sam piped up
giggling.
“My
kitten’s
wiggling! I think he’s trying to get out!”
“Well
that’s a good
sign. He must be feeling better. How’s yours doing,
Dad?” Tom asked, rolling a
forkful of pasta as he spoke. Will patted the small lump on the inside
of his
shirtfront and smiled.
“The
orange one’s
purring a bit. I can feel it against my skin.”
“I
think it was
mean to put them in a box in the water. The people who did that are bad
and we
should tell the police,” Sophie announced loudly. Everyone
stopped eating and
looked at her for a second. Her father sighed.
“We
all agree,
Sophie baby, but I don’t think we’ll ever know who
did it. And right now we’d
be better off just making sure the three we’ve saved are
okay. Any idea
what were’ going to do with them?”
Avra
looked
troubled; Will hid a smirk under his thick mustache and cleared his
throat.
Sara nudged Grissom and he caught her amused look.
“Come
on old woman,
you KNOW you want to keep them. It’s been a long time since
we’ve had a pet
underfoot,” her father began.
Avra
sighed. “Oh
Will, some people are allergic to cats. We’d have to warn
people and go to all
the trouble of changing our ads—“
“A
line or two,
nothing major.”
“And
it means cat
food and litter boxes, and vet visits—“
“We’ve
got enough
set aside for it—“
“And
SOMEONE will
have to make sure they stay out of my darkroom—“
she warned darkly, but her
tone was weakening as a grin crossed her face.
“Done!
So, what
will we name them?” Will beamed.
***
*** ***
Sara
sighed as the
hairbrush stroked her scalp once more. Standing behind her, Grissom
smiled as
he continued to brush her curls slowly before the mirror in the
bathroom off
the bedroom.
“I’m
so glad you
stopped straightening it,” he told her in a low voice. She
looked over her shoulder
at him and gave a little awkward bob of her head, a shy gesture.
“Catherine
was the
one who talked me into that. She told me that the heat would make me
frizz, so
straightening it would cut down on the problem. And it did,
sort of, but
it took forever, and sometimes it just didn’t seem worth
it.”
Grissom
nodded, set
down the brush, and slipped his arms around her waist, hugging her
gently while
staring at their reflections in the mirror. She pursed her mouth
thoughtfully.
“You
ruined your
slacks and loafers today. I can’t believe you did
that.”
Grissom
said
nothing for a moment, but his look was both wistful and amused, a
bittersweet
expression. Finally he sighed.
“When
I was a kid,
I used to collect dead animals from the beach in Corona Del Mar. I
studied
them, knowing it would help me be a better biologist and I’ve
seen a lot that
didn’t die naturally, or died of exposure. A pair of pants
and shoes are a
small price to pay for saving lives, even those of kittens. Besides,
your dad
seems tickled about having them.”
As
he spoke,
Grissom let his hands slide along Sara’s front tugging the
pajama top up off of
her. She sighed, standing sweetly exposed in her black thong and
nothing else
as he appreciatively nuzzled her shoulder and cupped her bare chest.
“Yeah,
he loves
animals—Grissom—“ her tone changed, husky
and strained as he tweaked her hard
nipples with a light roll of his fingers.
“Not
in the mood?”
he breathed, following up his words with a tender nip. Sara shivered,
her chest
flushing quickly.
“Oh,
in the mood
all right, but—“ she glanced through the door at
the bed wistfully. Grissom
snorted and let his fingers skim down over her skin as he toyed with
her tight
stomach and sculpted hipbones.
“I
understand. You
don’t want anyone to hear you when I take you deep and slow,
Sara. When I
pleasure you completely—“
She
squirmed,
responding to his sweet suggestive tone as much as his stroking hands,
and the
reflection in the mirror intensified her breathing. Grissom sighed
happily and
turned her around to face him again, kissing her deeply. She tasted of
toothpaste as her tongue slipped around his in hungry strokes.
Grissom
felt
himself stiffen swiftly, pressed against her thigh through his pajama
bottoms
as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again.
Sara’s arms slid up
around his neck, her hands cupping the back of his head. He laughed
into her
mouth.
“You’re
in a feisty
mood—“
“I’m
nearly naked
and you’re not. It makes me want you even more,”
she confessed. One of his
hands slipped into the back of her thong, gripping it, tugging it. Sara
squealed.
“Hey!
No wedgies!”
“Shhhhh---“
he
warned, gentling his grip and pushing the thong down. Obligingly Sara
shimmied
out of it, letting it drop to the fluffy bath rug they were standing
on.
Grissom
reached up
and flicked out the light, plunging the room into shadowy darkness.
Sara
blinked a little at the loss of light, but the slow sweet stroke of
Grissom’s
hands down her back reassured and aroused her. Willing she let herself
be
pulled into his wet, hungry kisses.
“I
want you, Sara,
so much—“ he muttered into her mouth, teeth nipping
her lower lip even as his
hands intensified their glide over her bare excited skin. She nodded, a
little
dazed. One of his hands slid between her thighs, cupping her mound and
stroking
it with his palm, pressing with just the right lovely pressure to make
her
moan. Grissom chuckled, pressing her against the bathroom door.
“Shhh—we
have to be
quiet, Acushla. Very quiet—“
Sara
nodded, boldly
pushing forward against his hand again, rubbing herself against him.
Along her
thigh his cock throbbed through the thin flannel She reached for him
and it was
Grissom’s turn to choke a bit, his chest expanding as
Sara’s fingers caressed
him through the cloth.
“Come
here—“ she whispered.
Carefully she led him over to the wicker rocking chair and sat down in
it;
Grissom was confused for a moment, but Sara leaned forward and undid
the
drawstring to his bottoms.
“Oh.”
He managed in
a surprised tone as she laughed up at him. Between them in the dark,
his cock
surged forward, nearly bumping her nose.
“Mmmmm—“
and so
saying, Sara opened her mouth and rocked forward.
Grissom
bit his
lips hard to fight the long low howl that threatened to rise out of his
throat.
Sara’s mouth slid onto his cock in one long wet plunge, then
pulled away as she
rocked back. He reached for her shoulders, but she grabbed his hands
with her
own, weaving her fingers in his as she rocked forward again, tongue
caressing
his cock as it thrust into her mouth once more.
The
tempo drove him
insane; that deliberate back and forth of her caressing lips and
tongue, moving
back and forth with every plunge into her mouth. The rocker was silent
on the
carpeted floor, but in those long pleasure-filled moments Grissom heard
the
little wet sounds of Sara’s sucking, felt the building molten
pleasure that
made his balls ache with tension.
His
fingers
tightened on hers warningly and he whispered to her in a hoarse tone,
“Sara! Sara, you have to stop
honey—“
She
made a little disappointed
growl, but slowed the rocker. Grissom tugged on her hands, pulling her
up
again, kissing her wetly, wildly.
“One
more minute
and—“
“Wanted
that—“ Sara
hissed back in frustration, but Grissom shook his head. He swung her
away from
the rocker and took her place, sitting in it, tugging her down onto his
lap.
“Oh!”
she gasped,
sliding her thighs around his hips, feeling him plunge into her in a
one deep
thrust. Grissom’s head lolled back and the cords of his
strong neck stood out
in the dim light. One hand pressed to the small of her back holding her
against
him, the other slid between their bodies, his thumb stroking the hard
little
nub of her pulsing clitoris.
He
rocked.
Sara
writhed,
impaled and tense, feeling the amazing shift with each rock of the
chair, the
slick heaviness of Grissom’s cock throbbing tightly inside
her as his thumb
teased along her fur. Rapidly, furiously the roiling tension flared
through her
hips and she clung to the arms of the chair, blind and lost as her
orgasm exploded
in searing waves of incredible pleasure drenching each cell of her
body.
She
collapsed
against his shoulder, dimly aware of his ragged breathing, feeling
slick
thrusts between her thighs and a sudden gush of heat deep within as he
helplessly groaned against her throat, teeth nipping at the tender join
of her
neck and shoulder.
They
still rocked,
slower, but with leaden satisfaction, loosely wrapped together with
every move.
Sara turned her head, lips pressing close to Grissom’s damp
ear, and she chuckled
very softly.
“Outside
the bed is
. . . good.”
He
gave a little
affirmative groan, hands sliding to cup her bottom as he nuzzled her.
“I...“
“Yeah?”
“I
love you. And I
think we need to buy a rocking chair,” he decided.
Sara
laughed.
