It was forty miles to Vegas, seventy
minutes to dinner break and twenty seconds of pure panic when the back
right tire of the Denali blew out. Grissom managed to keep control of
the wheel and guide the vehicle to the sandy stretch dirt alongside the
highway, bringing them from a terrifying sixty-five miles an hour to a
wobbly halt. Even after the car had stopped, both he and Sara simply
sat breathing hard, straining against their seatbelts and not speaking.
Not what they’d wanted OR needed. The evidence was nearly stowed in the back, ready to be taken in and processed, and they’d been discussing dinner options before the blowout, Sara favoring Ling’s Chinese Buffet, and Grissom arguing for Granada’s take out burritos. He’d nearly convinced her too, but before getting her agreement, fate had stepped in—or exploded as the case was.
In any event they were miles from help. Grissom shot a look at Sara. “Are you okay?”
She nodded quickly. “Yeah. A little shaken up, but I’m okay. So—we call in and then change the tire?”
“Seems the most expedient thing to do—Ecklie isn’t going to authorize towing for a tire.”
Sara made a face at the mention of the supervisor’s name as she unbuckled her belt. “Not hardly. Come on—“
They climbed out. The air was warm compared to the chill of the car’s air conditioning, and the scent of heat-baked sand hung in it. Sara laughed. She moved around to the back of the Denali and popped the hood, shifting the evidence to get to the floormat. “On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair—“ she sang.
Grissom sniffed. “I don’t smell colitas though.”
“What are colitas?” Sara asked him as she found the hatch for the spare tire. Grissom coughed a little; his embarrassed one, she realized.
“Colitas is slang Spanish for ‘little buds’ or the tip ends of marijuana leaves, considered the most potent part. It’s also slang for . . . “ he trailed off. Sara had moved closer to him; into his personal space, and while she wasn’t actually touching him, his entire body was immediately and happily aware of her.
“---Slang for?” she prompted in her husky voice. The dark had given her a sense of boldness, paired with the giddy relief of not ending up a smear on the road. Grissom drew in a breath and didn’t move back.
“—for the clitoris.”
“Ah,” Sara smirked. A year ago she would have been flustered at that; would have looked away and changed the conversation immediately. Times had changed though, and hearing the word from Grissom’s mouth made her pulse quicken. She gave a nod, as if in appreciation of his esoteric knowledge. “I guess you’re not smelling that rising up though the air either.”
“Not yet. But the chances of that are greater than of marijuana,” Grissom murmured back. Although the floor mat had been moved and the hatch for the spare tire uncovered, neither of them had bothered to unbolt it and pull the tire out. They stood at the back of the Denali, close enough to mingle auras while the stars glittered above, and somewhere out in the vast dark horizon, the wind gusted little fragments of tumbleweed along.
“Was that a pass?” Sara whispered. “Because that definitely is not something you’d normally say.”
“If by pass you mean a deliberately provocative comment designed to entice a member of the opposite sex, then—yes.” Grissom replied.
Sara moved closer. She leaned in, letting her cheek brush against Grissom’s, and the heat from it warmed her skin as she breathed in his clean, masculine scent. A decidedly sexy smell; one she could have picked out in the dark.
One that she WAS picking out in the dark.
“You have something on your mind, Grissom.”
“Among other places,” he replied honestly, drinking in her nearness. “I’m not sure why, precisely. It’s hardly the setting of choice—“
“Works for me,” Sara murmured, and shifted her head until her lips slid along his. Grissom groaned, and his arms glided around her. They shifted, kissing. Sara opened her mouth under his, tongue flicking against his lower lip; Grissom tightened his grip on her. His eyes closed, and he permitted himself one lovely moment of straight-up carnality, pulling Sara against his body and savoring the way her hips rocked against him hungrily.
It was foolish to do this on the job and out in the open where any set of oncoming headlights could catch them. It felt sexy as hell though, and he tried to chalk it up to adrenaline, hormones and opportunity.
They had to stop. Really.
And they would. In a moment or so. Sanity would return.
“I want to fuck you right here,” Sara growled against his mouth, nipping and sucking his tongue. “I mean it, Grissom. Right here up against the car.”
“Sara!” Grissom was alarmed at how his damned body immediately cranked it to eleven at her words. He’d made the pass all right, but leave it to her to turn it into a potential Hail Mary touchdown.
“You want it,” she murmured, hands sliding to the most prominent evidence to support her claim. Grissom shuddered a little as her fingers slid up and down along the growing ridge in his slacks with lustful delicacy.
“Of course I want it,” he admitted in an urgent whisper. “You, that is. But we’re on the side of a major highway, not the Hotel California.”
“Three twenty in the morning, and we haven’t seen another car in nearly forty minutes. Don’t you want to slide your prick in my mouth?”
That wasn’t fair, Grissom bit back a whimper. Sara never used words like that except under certain situations, mostly because she knew how he reacted to her tone and vocabulary. She was certainly feeling it at the moment.
“We’re . . . at . . . work,” he reminded her, hating himself for it.
“We’re . . . on . . . dinner break, and I’m . . . having . . . “ Sara unzipped him. “ . . . your burrito.”
Grissom stiffened. Literally, emotionally, sexually. He reached for her shoulder, ostensibly to push her away, but the warm wet welcome of her mouth blanked out his higher thought processes, and groaning, he thrust forward.
Side of the road. Getting a hell of a great blowjob.
Goooooooodddddd, oh SHIT gooooooooooddddd
No thoughts, just the happy hum of Sara on her knees and the building heat between his thighs, and the thudding of his heart, the rasp of his breathing.
Sara hummed, feeling the rush of being utterly BAD flooding her underwear, and happy for it. It wasn’t often she could completely overwhelm Grissom, but the nudge of giddy mortality from their near accident had given her the impetus.
And besides, it was fun.
Given the building reaction of Grissom deep in her mouth, he was certainly In the Moment. She pulled back and kneaded his thighs, looking up at him around the bobbing cock. “I bet you can smell colitas now—“ Sara laughed.
Grissom bent, hooked his hands under her armpits and hauled her up. Sara had known she wasn’t particularly heavy, but the ease in which he manhandled her was startling, and she tried to protest. “Hey!”
He said nothing, but yanked open the passenger side door on the desert side and dropped her lengthwise on the seat, her legs hanging out the door, his hands moving to tug her slacks off. Understanding came to Sara in a flash, and she wriggled, peeling off her pants in several quick tugs. The night air felt delicious on her bared skin, and she gasped when Grissom slid his palms up her stomach to shift her blouse and bra upwards.
“This could be heaven, this could be hell—“ he muttered. She giggled and tried to reach for him, but he dropped his head and began licking her stomach.
Oh NOT fair! She always went nuts when he did that! Whimpering, Sara bit her lips, trying not to howl like a sex-crazed coyote as Grissom did long, hot tongue swipes down along her navel and moved south, his hands gripping her hips.
She lost the battle, even with a hand over her own mouth; little happy cries began leaking around her palm when Grissom stroked a thumb up the slick seam of her pussy and followed it up with a probling lick. Blissing out, she vaguely heard, “Such a lovely place--“
Oh there was no doubt she was livin’ it up now, Sara whimpered. Given Grissom’s dedication to bushwork, she’d be lucky if she didn’t end up completely boneless and drooling . . . oh GOD, but what a way to go!
It didn’t take long. Between the lust, the night air and Grissom’s happy groans---
Arching her hips up, she clutched his hair, aware she was pulling too hard, but Jesus, nobody else in the world did her like this, slow and hot and GodshewasjuuuuuustaboutTHERE----
The struts of the Denali bounced, and Sara’s long happy wail echoed out, startling a few jackrabbits, and bringing an answering howl from a very interested four-legged beast off in the distance.
She propped herself up on her elbows and blinked in the darkness at the head rising from between her thighs. “Wh-wh-what at nice surprise--“
Grissom said nothing, but the smile he shot her was both hungry and smug; she groaned again, and managed to hook a leg around him, urging him forward. It took a moment, between his pants and hers tangling a bit, but—
The first forward plunge, squelching juicily made them both groan, drunk on the sheer lust of it; the hot, urgent drive to get Grissom’s cock as deeply into her pussy as possible. Sara gripped his damp torso, her teeth sinking into Grissom’s shirt-covered shoulder as she hitched her butt up higher, angling to accommodate. He thrust harder, and sweetly they found their rhythm, slickly moving together on the velour seat, the creaks of the car and the soft smack of damp flesh beating out a tempo that announced serious sex in the dark.
After a few long wild minutes, Sara glanced at the rear view mirror and slid her hands from Grissom’s shirt-covered back to his pumping muscled ass. She raked her nails over it, thrilled when he grunted and pounded her harder, his hot breath puffing along the side of her face. “God, Sara!”
“Come on, deeper--“ She urged him on, and to emphasize her point, she sank her nails into his ass.
The effect was immediate and gratifying.
Grissom muffled his howl against her neck, his reckless thrusts pinning her hard to the seat while the searing spray of his climax flooded deep within her. Sara whimpered at the scald of it, clinging to him, feeling a sense of power at having goaded him to madness.
“I saw a shimmering light—“ she wheezed. Suddenly alert, Grissom rose up on his forearms and peered over the back of the seat towards the hatch and the highway beyond.
Nothing. He looked down at the woman on the seat under him and shook his head. She sighed happily, pulling down her shirt.
“You know, I am so relaxed . . . “
“—Programed to receive? Yes, I’d vouch for that,” Grissom told her, struggling to pull away and beginning to redress himself. Sara sat up and kissed him; as always, he lost himself in the sweet soul-tingling power behind it.
Pulling back, she smiled at him, a deep, satisfied grin. “That does it. Once we fix the tire and get home, we’re going to listen to the whole album and do it until we can’t MOVE anymore.”
“We’ll stop for some pink champagne,” Grissom promised her. He helped her into her slacks, zipping them up for her and added, “Just so you know—I wasn’t planning on checking out at any time.”
She smiled at him. “Me either. Even if I have to leave.”
He nodded, stroking her cheek. “I know.”