One Night

(Author’s notes: This is a series of short complete vignettes set in the framework of a single night in Las Vegas. It’s not a commonly used story format, but is does qualify as a story.)



Saturday night in Las Vegas slides over the land, cooling the heat of the day and bringing with her a renewed sense of appreciation for the contrast. For those who work in the artificially lit half of those twenty-four hours, a velvety weekend night before them adds a charming freedom to indulge in a reconnection with the very fountain of life itself.




On the northeast side of the city in a bungalow off Caliente Way, Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle are in the last rounds of a slow strip poker match that has been going on for over an hour. Grissom smiles faintly, sure of his victory; his pouting, sultry-eyed victim sits across from him clad only in her dainty sandals and tiny La Perla lace panties.  It has taken him only three rounds to get her down to her delicate thong; it’s taken Sara eleven and all her chips to get Grissom out of his shirt, shoes and socks.


Sara however is even now is raising the stakes by murmuring an alternative offering to the two remaining chips before her. Grissom cannot deny the allure of her salacious suggestion, particularly when he holds four nines in his hand. He will give her the confidence to bet again, then let her call, and see his cards. The La Perla panties will end up under the table as Grissom ruthlessly collects his winnings, scattering cards and chips when he lays Sara down on the green felt cloth and demonstrates his in-depth skill at other, more deeply sensual forms of poker.




Across town, Greg Sanders stirs under the quilt of his bed, lost in hot and compelling images moving through his REM sleep. Visions of Clementine, smiling and gorgeously naked, taunt him, and even as he pursues her enticing figure though vaguely familiar halls, he shivers. Desire, unrestrained by consciousness and civility courses through him and he freely lusts for her in these dreams the way he never allows himself to in waking life. Aching and aroused, he clutches his sheets, his senses befuddled with longing, and comes in a few hard thrusts against the mattress, waking in confusion and embarrassment to find his dreams have once again dampened his sleep and left him aware of this attraction that confounds him.




Standing in the moonlight shining through the window of her bedroom south of the Fifteen, Heather Marazek moans a little as strong fingers dab a creamy blob on her collarbone. The Cool Whip slides down the slope of her elegant chest, melting slightly with the heat of her skin. A low voice laughs, and Jim Brass licks the sweetness from her satiny skin, letting his tongue sweep over the high firm nipple. His other arm is around her slender back, hand splayed possessively over the swell of her taut ass. Heather tips her head back, inviting more kisses and licks along her body, her hands caressing Jim’s strong back. This impromptu game, set off by a sly comment about being good enough to eat is quickly heating up, and both of them feel a coiled urgency between them now.


Heather nibbles her way through a few strategically daubed blobs along Jim’s body; aware of his undeniable passion for her, and in a move that both delights and startles them both he takes her up against the window, the moonlight silvering their bodies. Heather wraps her legs tightly around his waist, pinned between the chill of the glass at her back and the searing heat of Jim’s lust inside her thighs. She tips her head back again, lost, gloriously lost for the moment in the waves of pleasure washing through her body as a deeper connection is being forged in this confectionary heat to her delighted, devoted lover.




In an upper-class neighborhood east of the Strip, in a staid and stuffy bedroom, Conrad Ecklie makes love to his wife. His eyes are closed, (as are hers), and he is concentrating hard on the image of Sophia Curtis. In his mind’s eye he sees her cool contempt and lazy self-assurance wiped away by his amazing technique; he pictures Sophia panting under him, blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, calling him erotic names and raking his fuzzy back with her nails, begging him to take her back to dayshift so they can make love each lunch hour at the Hushabye Inn.


His moment of personal ecstasy quickly arrives when she moans in his ear that both Sara Sidle and Catherine Willows long to be in a threesome with him, and oh by the way Grissom is gay. As he shudders his release and sighs, slowly relaxing, his wife whines and pushes his body off of hers, silently fretting about his continued premature ejaculation problem.




On a porch swing off the side of the family vacation cabin at Lake Mead, David Phillips is discovering that his fiancée is just as thrilled to be seduced out of her clothes as he is about it. Both he and Sylvie have been practicing a great deal of patience and restraint through their engagement, but under the alluring light of the full Las Vegas moon his bride-to-be is an enchanting siren with amazingly warm skin. After setting both of their glasses aside on the rattan table next to the swing, David stretches out his full six feet on the cushions, pulling Sylvie down onto him. She wriggles delightfully, and he laughs, feeling the curves of her chest against his as she runs her fingers through his hair.


Her kisses set off little firecrackers of desire through him, and David indulges in the sensual joy of playing with elegant curve of her bottom, delighted at her eagerness, her uninhibited pleasure in leading him, Mr. Shy and Proper, oh so very much astray--




On a bluff overlooking a spectacular view of Las Vegas, in a car that is growing increasingly cramped, Warrick Brown is finding that the amusing idea of showing Catherine Willows where he used to take his dates for a little necking is becoming less amusing--and more arousing--by the second.  He’s not sure if it is the power of suggestion, or just the glint in Catherine’s eyes when she asked him if he was out of practice, but the small voice that tells him how juvenile groping in the car is for people their age is rapidly fading.  With his free hand he fumbles under his seat for the release lever, desperate for more room; his half-formed intention to postpone things until they get back to his place crumbles as Catherine takes advantage of the move and settles herself athwart his lap.


Abandoning caution, he grins and pulls her closer, absorbing her wicked smile with his own mouth.  Her kiss is sweet and hot; her fingers are in his hair, and his are sliding down her back between her slacks and her satiny skin, and as her supple form moves against him he blesses the fact that she has no qualms about dating a subordinate.  Then she leans back, an arch of beautiful woman silhouetted against the Nevada sky, and pulls his hands around and up under her blouse.  As his palms cup the warm weight of her breasts, he stops thinking entirely. 




In a modest house far from the glitter of the Strip, Detective Sam Vega lies still in the darkness, cradling the sleeping form of his wife.  The cancer has eaten her energy and its treatment has worn away both the rich curves he adored and the abundant dark hair that was her pride, but his love for her has only deepened over time.  She is too frail now for its physical expression, but nearly twenty years of marriage have taught him many other ways to show her. 


She stirs against his chest, smiling a little, and he thanks God that her dreams are good, and lays a kiss on her temple.  He prays for a miracle; but he knows that without one he will not have her for much longer.  Every bittersweet moment is precious to him now.  He will not sleep tonight.



In the back bedroom of a condo southeast of the Strip, David Hodges eyes his date for the evening with a resigned sigh. Not many sexual partners weigh only eight ounces, but this bottle of Astroglide is the one he normally keeps in his travel kit. A quick flip of the cap, the appropriate amount and he lies back, letting his mind flip through the little black book of his own mind. The most recent pages are all dedicated to his co-workers of course; even now Hodges can’t believe his luck in that department. Foxy Catherine with her great ass; Sophia and those delectable tits, God, the overall Sara package including that wickedly tempting mouth of hers—


But his lascivious thoughts turn to a single woman, the one with the coolly dismissing smile and hint of heat to her graceful demeanor. In his mind’s eye Hodges sees Mia Dickerson luring him into a storeroom, stripping off her lab coat to reveal her glorious nudity, throwing herself at him, begging him for the magnificent sexual satisfaction she knows only HE can give 
her . . .



By the light of a few candles, Al Robbins lies in bed reading poetry aloud to his wife Simone. The flattering play of shadows and gold glow give his grizzled chest and broad shoulders an appeal she can never resist. He is her orso, her big bear, and with his soft deep voice reciting the timeless lyrical beauty of Shakespeare sonnets, Simone is utterly in love. She looks down at him from her perch across his hips, and holds out a forkful of tiramisu and he eats it thoughtfully, amused at the sight of her, hair down to the middle of her back, astride him with a plate of dessert.


Later she will set the confection aside on the nightstand, near his artificial legs, and settle herself again along his big body, savoring the familiar sweet joys of knowing him as deeply and well as she does. Robbins loves her now more than he ever has; after nearly three decades the taste of her body, and sound of her passionate sobs still fuel the hunger, and the candles will burn low before both he and Simone are sated.



It’s been a quiet thing between them. She’s not really his type, or so Nick thought at first, but he can’t deny that the woman in his arms is constantly surprising him in all the best ways. From her shy smiles, to the day she asked him out for coffee nearly three months ago to this moment tonight, LVPD front desk receptionist Judy Talbrick keeps him on his toes. Who would have thought that the curly-haired squeaky little darling from the office was a football fanatic, a monster truck maven, a good cook and as hooked on lifting weights as he was?


She’s got her lean thighs wrapped around him, and God Almighty, Nick feels as if he’s finally found what he’s been needing all this time when she gives a little sob against his cheek. He knows it’s right, almost perfect now, and with his heart thudding loudly in his chest he whispers words into her ear that change everything for them both.



And so the night rolls on through the glittering city, moving with the relentless tick of the earth on her rotation, as timeless and unchanging as the stars that pass overhead, shining down indifferently on the private joys of those under them, casting a silvery light through ten different moments in ten connected lives, linking them in chain of circumstance and serendipity that none of them will ever realize. And the added delight, though only the pale silver moon bears witness to it, is that even for Las Vegas, those are amazing odds.


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