. . . And
so to say thank you for all your help in getting my lovely things back
wanted to drop these off,” the little old lady beamed at Sara.
but polite, Sara reluctantly took the paper bag, feeling warmth seeping
it. The wafting scent of freshly baked cookies rose up like an edible
and she couldn’t help but smile.
you Mrs. Machina. They smell great.”
special,” the woman nodded knowingly. “Packed with
ωθήσεις. Just the thing you and
that courtly Mr. Grissom need after a long
blinked a little, not sure what to say. The words didn’t make any
Mrs. Machina was looking at Sara in a meaningful way, dark eyes as
apple seeds. She leaned closer and Sara had to bend down to hear her
again. “Oh you know--καλές
ωθήσεις! Best to devour those
while they’re still hot. Let them work from the stomach out.
Sara began, feeling a little trapped. The cookies DID smell wonderful,
had been quite a while since her last Grande of coffee; weakly she
herself nodding. The crone smiled happily.
then!” Pulling her sweater closer around her, and giving her
cottony hair a
pat, Mrs. Machina shot a look around the glass halls of the lab and
sigh. “Technical achievements are good, but sometimes something a
bit more . .
. hands-on is needed.”
Sara agreed, as visions of all the aspects of evidence collecting came
the dusting, the bagging, the sorting and reconstructing. Hands-on was
good way of describing the job. The old woman’s head turned
sharply, as if
she’d read Sara’s thoughts, and an impish smile crossed her
what I meant, dear, but it’s a start. And if you’d do a
favor for an old lady
. . . I’d be grateful if you’d make sure that passionate Mr. Grissom gets the first cookie. After all, he did manage to get my Simon out of the chimney.”
didn’t he?” Sara smirked at the memory of Grissom examining
the fireplace, the
huge black cat dropping on his head amid the sound of claws scraping on
flue bricks, and a muttered vocabulary of surprising obscenity.
Grissom DID know certain Anglo Saxon words, and could hiss them with
menace when the situation called for it.
Machina nodded. “Yes. And the bleeding stopped fairly quickly, so
it’s all to
the good. Anyway, I’m certain my cookies will put some things
back in balance.
I’ll be off then, and thank you so much, Miss Sara. Remember--
. . safe? Edible?” Sara questioned. The little old woman nodded.
Mrs. Machina replied. “It's just an organic enhancer that ought
to wake up a
few taste buds. Enjoy!”
watched the old woman sweep out down the hall, her long black skirt
the polished floor, then turned away, feeling slightly bemused. Mrs.
Machina was not the first eccentric old lady she’d ever met in
the course of a
case, but she was certainly one of the most interesting. With a sigh,
her way down the hall towards Grissom’s office, paper bag in hand.
examined the photo with the magnifying lens and absently rubbed at the
Band-Aid on his neck. There was something about the setting that
but it kept eluding him, nagging at the edge of his awareness;
something on his
radar that wasn’t coming into focus. A knock at his door made him
look up, and
Grissom felt a sharp flush of pleasure at the sight of Sara there,
bearing gifts from our latest victim.”
beckoned her in, silently savoring the sweet curve of her hips, the
her hair. Sara looked very good today. Healthy. Savory. Good enough
Mrs. Machina insisted you have the first one.
They’re—“ Sara held back, not
sure if she should tell Grissom about the mysterious ingredient the old
claimed were in them. She set the bag on his desk. “—An
apology for the whole
cat on your head . . . thing.”
scowled, briefly. “Yes well the hazards of the job are many and
eyed the bag and sniffed a little. “Chocolate chip?”
look. She did say you were supposed to get the first one.”
wished that hadn’t sounded so suggestive, but then again, Sara
said it, and
everything Sara said these days took on a tinge of innuendo. He felt at
as if he was back in high school when certain verbs and entire phrases
automatically think of sex. He was a man; he thought about sex as a
course, but in the last few months it was as if some renewed surge of
reared up every time he was around Sara.
Grissom wished he hadn’t acknowledged that. The word rear brought
mind instantly. So taut, so tempting, so . . . God damn it--grab-able.
the field a lesser man would have at least brushed against it and
Grissom could only sneak peaks and fight his dry mouth. Sara’s
ass was a thing
of beauty, worthy of at least as much attention as the other
features on her.
little hungry,” he admitted in a slightly choked tone. Sara
parked a hip on the
edge of his desk and folded her arms over her chest. That reshifted his
upward, even as his bloodflow headed south.
since nobody else can have one until YOU do—“ she motioned
to the bag. “Dig in
to my proffered goodies and have at them.”
sexual imagery crossed his mind instantly. Sara in nothing but a tiny
white checked apron, her long naked legs and tempting chest peeking out
both ruffled ends. Cookie dough everywhere, waiting to be smeared and
of her shoulders and flat smooth tummy, her navel filled with chocolate
he could slurp out with his tongue—Somewhat desperately, Grissom
the bag, the rustle of it loud in the office.
her full mouth, fighting a laugh as she watched Grissom open the sack
into it. He was rattled; although why cookies would get to him she
Maybe it was some weird Betty Crocker fantasy--- impishly she conjured
image of Grissom, strapped naked to her kitchen table with dish towels
she iced his nipples with frosting and drew pink and green arrows down
rounded tummy towards his—
look good,” Grissom’s words broke into her smutty reverie.
Sara felt heat on
her face as she blinked and tried to look demure. Tried, anyway. She
the cookie. Ohhhh . . . it was a thick craggy disc of confection
Studded with chips, wrinkled and heavy, the rich perfume of sugar and
wafting through the room. Grissom held it up and she wanted to crawl
top of the desk and eat it out of his fingers. Then lick those fingers
And keep licking.
stared at the way Sara stared at the cookie. Heat flooded parts of him
NOT need any more heat at the moment and he shifted a little. This was
surreal; after all it was just a cookie. A big, heavy cookie probably
real butter and brown sugar, thick and sweet, the perfect flavors to
in Sara’s mouth—
a bite of your . . . cookie,” Sara admitted while fighting her
thoughts. Confessing to one appetite was safer than just staring in
and letting Grissom assume the worst. He blinked, his blue eyes wide
held it out swiftly, gaze locked on her wet lower lip. Under the desk
was all too aware that his personal hydraulics were in action, rising
toll bridge, like a train crossing gate—inevitably, inexorably.
He didn’t dare
risk standing, not at this point. Enough of him was already starting to
further towards him across the desk and as she braced one hand on his
the unmissable view down the front of her blouse drew his gaze
Grissom firmly bit the inside of his cheek, letting the pain make him
fight the allure of that creamy rounded flesh. So many things could
between those dainty mounds--
what—we’ll go halvsies. That way you get yours first along
with me, okay?” came
Sara’s husky offer. God that sounded smutty, but she was DYING
for a bite of
that cookie, especially right out of Grissom’s grip. She’d
always had a thing
for hot chocolate chip, and right now Sara could almost see the wisps
rising off the treat.
nodded, sure that steam was rising off of himself as well as the
could certainly feel the heat. He took the cookie between his two hands
broke it in half, watching the gooey chocolate of the semi-melted chips
out between the halves in sinful lace. Sara slipped a long finger under
strands and caught them before they dripped on the blotter. The thick
lines across the pad of her index finger blatantly beckoned Grissom.
breathing a little loudly now, and he was pretty sure it was him.
at her finger and drew in a happy breath. Yes it would be tasty and
oh yes she wanted the chocolate, but more than that in this lusciously
moment she knew that Grissom did too. And that if she held her finger
now, he’d slip it into his mouth without a second of hesitation.
trumped the chocolate, big time.
stared at those gleaming cocoa bands on Sara’s finger, breathing
in the rich
scent, feeling his stomach do a flip flop. Sara. Chocolate. Chocolate.
The most succulent combination since Chocolate and FantasySara. The
too much to resist, and even has Grissom dipped his head forward he
God his hard-on wasn’t going to rap against the underside of his
Grissom’s mouth slipped over Sara’s finger, a soft duet of
muffled moans echoed
in the office. Sara felt as if a cannonball had hit her stomach,
breathless. God! Grissom’s lips were soft, and hot and tender and
tongue slid around her finger in a wicked glide, cleaning the gooey
and caressing the skin in ways that should be downright illegal. The
his closed eyes and blissful expression as he sucked was damned near
flood her panties, and Sara groaned again, feeling her nipples flush
hot against her shirt.
sucked harder. The chocolate added an exotic tinge to the overwhelming
of Sara’s index finger. To be able to stroke it with his tongue,
to caress it
under the pretense of slurping chocolate made him shiver. And this was
finger, for crying out loud.
outloud, softly, as the pad stroked the ridged roof of Grissom’s
mouth, and his
bottom teeth scraped her knuckle. Instantly Grissom softened his jaw
his tongue along the skin, soothing it tenderly. He wanted to grip
to steady her hand, but his two fists were filled with half a squashed
each, and he really really didn’t want to pull back from licking
look at the mess he was making. The one in his hands was pretty bad now
a wriggle, torn between wanting to let Grissom keep making love to her
or pulling it out with a naughty ‘pop’ and replacing it
with something much
nicer. Like her tongue. Clearly the crime lab’s resident
amazing oral technique that he’d been suppressing, and damn it,
it was high
time she promoted a little cookie-munication with the man. Sara reached
tugged on the mashed remains in Grissom’s big left fist with her
Sara knew those were supposed to describe the cookie but in truth she
they applied to the man reluctantly letting her finger slide out of his
mouth. Grissom looked rumpled, aroused and with those wide blue eyes, a
stunned. She looked down at his hand.
cookie—“ Carefully she lifted his hand to her mouth.
squeezed his thighs together and tried to get his breathing under
heartbeat was out of the question now—galloping along and
might be able to stop wheezing like a
it, of course, ohhhhh God slid her wicked probing tongue along that
webbing between his fingers tickling him unbearably, making his dick
hard it was a wonder the stitching along his fly didn’t give out.
Sara had lips
like slippery marshmallow, and she was moving them across his palm, her
flicking out in a way that was sending fresh erotic jolts up his arm
his stomach, going lower in a mighty big way. If this was the way the
crumbled, Grissom could live with that. Yep, yep, yep-
impatient footsteps made them both blink; there was no mistaking the
Catherine on the warpath. Grissom glanced to the closed office door,
the sharp flare of panic setting in—why did the odor of cookies
have to carry?
scrambled. Moving with determined stealth, she scooted over the top of
Grissom’s desk and folded herself up, sliding under it in one
maneuver that startled the hell out of him. Where had she learned that?
had she learned that? And dear God, now she was . . . right in the line
as it where—
flew open, and Catherine Willows stood there, hands on hips, her scowl
determined and ferocious. “Gil, let me borrow your
“My . . . ?” he muttered, acutely aware of how completely stupid he sounded. Sara was under his desk, undoubtedly getting an eyeful of his, er, cookie enhanced batter beater, and now he had to try and deal with the Willownator.
swaggered forward, sniffing the air.
“Your scissors. I am going to do something I should have done a LONG time ago, and nobody around here is going to stop me.”
merely stared. It was all he COULD do, because just as Catherine
words, he felt Sara’s warm hands on his knees, squeezing them. Oh
squeezes! That was absolutely knocking on the door of his lust and
cup of sugar.
sugar, exactly, and at this rate it was going to be more than a cup---
am giving Nicholas Stokes a damned HAIRCUT. I’m tired of that man
the poster child for Dorks Are Us. Greg is one thing—Sanders
hair he wakes up with, but I won’t stand by and see Nick make the
rest of us
suffer. You know what he said to me when I told him my plan?”
That sounded normal. Grissom felt sweat trickle down the back of his
Sara’s hands were massaging his knees, pushing them open a bit.
The scent of
cookies still hung in the air.
and I quote--this is a crime lab, not a beauty parlor,” Catherine
disgustedly. She looked down on Grissom’s desk and fished the
scissors from the
cup near the phone. “Hey, is that for sharing?” came her
eyes widened as he took in the implications of THAT loaded statement.
There was only one person he was going to share anything with at this
under the desk, Sara took in the warm texture of Grissom’s
appreciated the hell out of the dim- lit view before her. Knobby knees,
but his thighs were strong, and considering what else she was getting
eye-full of she suddenly understood Grissom’s bow-leggedness.
Talk about heft!
Impulsively, she ran her palms up his thighs, knowing perfectly well
Catherine there he’d be forced to keep his hands on his desk.
Under her touch
his muscles tensed, but she rubbed again, feeling them tremble; and in
lovely moment Sara realized just what καλές
longer Greek to her.
cookies. I know YOU didn’t bake them, so they have to be a
gift—mind sharing the
wealth, Gil?” Catherine demanded pertly. She reached for the
paper bag and
shoved a hand in. “And geez, your fingers are disgusting!”
. . . “
Grissom glanced at his palms, both which were coated with smooshed
globby chips. One was noticeably cleaner than the other, and the
down between his knees at the moment. Grissom stammered again. “I
. . . didn’t
realize . . . “
you’re a chocolate-coated mess? It figures,” Catherine
managed through a
muffled mouthful. “I guess deep down all men are little boys when
it comes to
knew that wasn’t true—HIS appetite had nothing to do with
boyish, and deep down, Sara was certainly reaffirming that. He felt her
shift to cup him through his slacks, and the little trickle of sweat
back of his neck grew heavier. Catherine stared at her own cookie and
“I think you’re going to need a tissue before you’re
through—thanks for the
clips and chips—“ With a wave of her hand she stalked out,
moving like a sleek
Great White on the hunt for a hapless baby seal named Stokes.
the door closed, Grissom pressed his smudgy palms down on his blotter
groaned, loudly. From under the desk came a husky giggle.
he pleaded, caught between wanting more touching, ohh yeah, much MUCH
touching, and recovering a faint, fading awareness of good sense.
is insane—“ he gurgled just as his office door opened once
more, and Greg
Sanders hung off the frame, grinning at him hopefully.
boss—Catherine mentioned you were sharing something sweet and
Grissom croaked. Taking this as an invitation to come in, Sanders did,
firmly locked on the paper bag sitting on the desk.
smell the chocolate all the way down the hall—whoah,
they’re like the size of
manhole covers! —“ Greg muttered, fishing deep into the
bag. “Geez, Grissom if
this is the bounty you receive, you should get more cats dropped on
desk, Sara was gently, ruthlessly tugging on the little metal tab of
fly, pulling it down one tiny tooth at a time. She worked her shoulders
his knees, loving the black excitement of touching him so blatantly. It
insane, but God for this moment she had him, trapped and
turgid—there was no
way Grissom could deny the Vesuvius she was staring at as her fingers
twitched, and glanced up at Greg, his eyes bright and slightly crazed.
Greg asked through a mouthful of cookie. Grissom blinked and repeated
one at a time, expounding his meaning to make himself completely
nodded, managing another semi-smirk coated in semi-sweet.
“Gotcha. I guess
you’re busy. You’re behind your desk for a reason.”
could barely nod. Sara’s fingers were sliding into his boxers
very excited flesh in a way that was making it a hell of a
Ground Zero, Greg reluctantly scooped up the crumpled bag of cookies.
but you know if I take these to the break room, you probably
won’t be getting
strangled his groan. “Trust me Greg, you couldn’t be more
wrong. Just take
them—“ he motioned with his bearded chin to the door,
hoping the younger CSI
didn’t notice his messy palms pressing flat on the blotter. Greg
gave a shrug
you’re the boss—thanks for sharing, man.”
and a door slam; Grissom groaned deeply as talented, talented fingers
and down his urgently delighted shaft. “Jesus Sara, you
lost all talent for language, along with his objections as his dearest
of lustful fantasy giggled and slid her steamy mouth over the head of
gurgled. Not only was Gil Grissom an amazing entomologist and brilliant
was outstanding in his trousers, a man of girth and just as
she was. It was clear to her that what she was ‘doing about
this’ was meeting
with his approval.
hers—Sara slid a hand into her slacks, frantic for a little
pressure of her own as she applied creative suction all along the
Grissom tasted like salt and chocolate and musk, an enticing blend that
both of her hands dance in a steady rhythm—one on him and one on
closer, closer—Grissom sank his front teeth into his lower lip,
crumb-coated hands clutching at the blotter, crumpling the paper. His
tensed, and the low erogenous squeeze building behind his heavy balls
clenched hard and hot, sending sullen pleasure-filled spasms through
gurgled again, and then gargled, feeling the thick flood surge past her
and down her throat, the liquid heat amazingly erotic. The knowledge,
wet reality that she’d not only sucked Grissom’s cock, but
made him come as
well made her fingers slide firmly between her legs and she gave
to the waves of bliss flushing over her skin, prickling it with sharp
slumped, Sara under the desk resting her cheek on his knee, breathless
dazed, Grissom hunched over his desk, utterly stunned and damp, his
rasa as a tabula could get. He couldn’t move; not with his spine
melted like a Hershey bar on a dashboard in summer. Finally Sara
began to move; Grissom pulled back enough to let her crawl out. She
on her haunches and looked up at him, catching his eye deliberately.
Sara swiped her tongue over her lips, a naughty sparkle to her dark brown eyes. “Cookies and . . . cream,” she sighed happily. Grissom moved.
down he caught her by her slender upper arms, and lifted her up,
ass on the desk, He tipped his face and kissed her, deeply, tongue
into her mouth as if to scoop the words out of it. When he pulled back,
He spoke up, his tone husky and imperative. “Sara I love you. I love you I love you and by the way, do you . . . own . . . an apron?”