“I MEAN it, I can’t—“ Sara pleaded, her face burning. Grissom bent and pressed a kiss to her navel, his hot tongue flicking into the soft hollow teasingly.

“Yes you can, honey. It’s easy,” he murmured against her belly. Sara squirmed.

“It’s private! It’s just not something I can DO with you . . . you know-- HERE—“ came her whimper. Gil drew in a breath, loving the scent of her warm skin as he straightened up again. Sara lay sprawled on her back across the bedspread right where he had dropped her, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Gil shot her a patient look, but the hunger in his gaze was strong.

“Sara, do you want me?”

“Yes, of course I do!” she responded quickly, propping herself up on her elbows. Grissom unbuttoned his coat and pulled it off, draping it neatly on the new chair in the corner of the room. Sara’s breathing quickened a little, but he shook his head as he rolled his shirtsleeves up one at a time.

“Good. I want you too. It’s been a long difficult, time-consuming and aggravating week, Sara, and one of the FEW things to get me through that one hundred and forty five hours of NOT touching, kissing or in any way molesting you during that time was to anticipate this lovely moment of reunion. Specifically—“ he trailed off, looking down at her lush body, speculative heat evident in his eyes. Sara felt her hips wriggle a little under his scrutiny.

He gave a harsh sigh.

“And I abstained, the entire time, too. Being a woman you may not fully APPRECIATE the depth of that sacrifice—“ he intoned gloomily. Sara broke into low giggles, curling into a ball.

“I grew up with a brother so yes, I’m WELL aware of the male biological imperative for self-gratification, Gris. Trust me I’m impressed with your—restraint.”

He shot her a dark look, but it was tinged with love and good humor and Sara giggled again. Slowly, like a flower unfurling in the heat of the sun, she stretched out on the bed, looking up at Grissom as he stood at the foot, watching her.

“Sara—“ came his slow tone, patient and hungry. Blinking in the growing light of dawn, she sighed, responding in a sultry surge of erotic energy; Sara shifted her lean thighs. Propping one high heel up, she crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes.

“I have to pretend you’re not there—“ she quavered softly. Gil made a tiny sound of assent, barely audible and Sara relaxed. She rubbed her upper arms in slow strokes and spoke again, her tone breathy.

“When I have—impure urges—I usually wait until after my shower. Once I’m clean and in bed. As I’m getting ready though, I think of things.”

She paused, letting one hand slid up to stroke her throat and dreamily added,

“The dark lets me remember and God, I had such fantasies about you, Grissom—“

“Tell me—“ he urged in the softest of whispers. Sara gave a little hum, and let her hands move down her collarbones.

“Being trapped with you in an elevator—or locked in the Drying Room sometimes—anyplace where we’re alone,” she sighed. Her hands glided along her high breasts and Grissom drew in a breath, watching. Sara slid her fingers over her chest lovingly.

“We’d touch, in the dark. And your hands would slide under my clothes, Gris. Those gentle fingers moving in JUST the right way—“ she purred, suiting actions to her words. Grissom quivered, feasting on the lovely image of Sara shifting her hips in slow grinds as her hands cupped her bare chest.

“You’d whisper we had to be quiet, that someone would catch us—“ she moaned, lost in remembered fantasy, “—And I’d try, but it’s not easy for me, not around you, Grissom—“ came her husky confession.

Sara let her touch shift; one hand lightly circled a hard nipple while the other snaked down her flat stomach in a slow caress that had Gris mesmerized. His bespectacled gaze followed the sensual advance of her slender fingers around her navel and into the hollow between her hips, watching as her nails teased the top edge of the gossamer vee there.

“Sometimes I’d pretend you had a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet—“ Sara sighed, “And I could taste your palm while you touched me—“

Slowly she opened her slim stocking-covered thighs wider, caught up in her own erotic reverie, fingers sliding with eager intent towards the slick pink cleft blooming within the dark curls there.

Grissom let out a hungry groan. He gripped the posts rising on either side of the footboard and braced himself between them, his gaze never leaving the delicate dance of Sara’s fingers as she caressed herself with loving grace for a few long minutes.

“God, it was the sweetest torture, damn it—getting off on being touched with your hands—“ Sara moaned, her body tensing in response to her touches, hips rolling a bit, “—Big hard demanding hands—“

She arched her neck, breathing fast as her touch glided deep between her legs in a searingly erotic image that left Grissom gripping the posts so tightly his fists were white.

Swiftly he let go and dropped lightly over Sara’s hips, kissing his way along the stocking top of one thigh as his hands covered hers.

“Keep GOING—“ he ordered, rubbing his cheek on her curls. Sara gasped but was too close to the lovely edge of orgasm to stop even if she tried. She tensed, chin up, shoulders rounded as she stroked in a quickening pace.

Ohhhh

The sudden wet slide of his warm tongue slithering around her fingers, teasing, tasting, lips on her knuckles, wet noisy kisses punctuating her groans—

Sara cried out, a low wild sound of sheer pleasure as she rose up on the wave of hot undulating spasms rocking through her. Dimly she felt the scratch of Gil’s sideburns against the tender skin inside her thighs—

She sighed, and in that long heartfelt exhalation dropped back on the damp bedspread, thighs akimbo, shaking with aftershocks of pleasure. Sara opened her eyes and wove one hand into Grissom’s curls, tugging him away from his persistent kisses.

“N-no more! God, I can’t TAKE any more—“ she gasped. Grissom’s big hands slid up the insides of her damp thighs and stockings; she shivered at the gruffness of his voice.

“Need. You. NOW.”

No argument, no request, just a simple hard statement of fact and Sara automatically braced her hands against his big shirt-covered chest as he loomed over her, rolling latex on his thick cock jutting from the open fly of his dress slacks.

“Gris!”

He tugged her to him, hooking one of her knees over each broad shoulder as he stared at Sara’s face.

She loved the sight of Grissom in his glasses, mouth and chin slick with her flavor, eyes burning like blue coals. He gave a groan, his fingers digging into her hips as he held himself in check.

“Sara--!”

She nodded and he thrust into her in one driving plunge, the sound of it deliciously wet and deep. Sara shuddered, pinned and impaled under Gil, loving the feel of his dress shirt on her, the scent of his aftershave as he slowly withdrew and thrust again, growling happily.

“Sara yes ohCHRIST yesss so mine mine—!“ he insisted hoarsely, glasses sliding down his nose as he pumped his turgid cock into her. Sara tensed at his intrusive strength, and every spasm of her body made him shiver; he began to build a hard rhythm as he kissed her face, licking at her open panting mouth.

Sara felt her body surge again, the tension growing with every deep stroke Gil pushed into her. She tightened her legs around his upper arms and reached up, lacing her fingers behind his strong neck, feeling the sweat there along the back of it.

“Gil, baby oh God you feel so good in me—“ she cooed against his mouth, thrilled when her words brought a deep groan from him.

“Honey goingto—“ he grunted, his long lashes brushing her cheek as he thrust harder, all muscle and musk pounding into her.

“Oh yeeeeeaaAAHH—!“ Sara choked through the languid rush of pleasure curling tightly between her thighs now. Gil’s fingers clenched and he buried his face in the soft damp haven of her neck as his orgasm rocked through him in long powerful waves.

They lay together, breathless and spent for a while, quietly sated as the first rays of light touched the bedroom curtains.

Sara finally gave a little sigh and Grissom echoed it as he slowly lifted himself from her embrace. She smiled, sliding the sagging condom from him and deftly knotting it.

“Jeez—“ she studied the impressive load of semen faintly visible through the latex, “You have—enthusiastic testicles, Gris---“

The look he shot her was priceless; an open-mouthed stare of perplexed mirth coupled with a soft eyebrow arch.

“Enthusiastic testicles?” he echoed, beginning to laugh at the absurd phrase. Sara held up the condom.

“Citing my source here—talk about flattering—“

Grissom took it from her with a shake of his head, but he was still smiling when he returned a few minutes later. He slid out of his clothes and into bed next to her, reaching to pull her close. Sara nestled contentedly to him, eyes closing. He kissed the top of her head.

“I’d like to point out that parts of YOU were pretty optimistic as well after a week of abstaining,” he whispered. Sara laughed.

***   ***   ***

“Screwdriver—“ he muttered, holding a hand out. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa near him, Sara absently handed him one as she wrote a notation in the photo album on her lap. Grissom rubbed his chin as he concentrated. Around them, the strains of Strawberry Alarm Clock danced around the living room, and the cheerful clutter of dual projects covered the carpet. Sara hummed along to the music as she opened another envelope of unmounted photos.

Grissom frowned, studying the blueprint resting next to his Levi-covered thigh.

“I’m supposed to have two hex screws for this lower plate—do you see any?”

“Look on the coffee table—“ she advised. Gil peered over at the photo in her hand.

“A cathedral.”

“Of Saint John the Divine. I took it for the shadows along the left edge of the Rose window—“ Sara mused with a grin. “I was into photography while I was in Boston—lots to shoot.”

“The Old North church, the Lexington Bridge, the Torrington Beetle collection in Lynne—“ he mused. Sara shot him a look and he shrugged.

“Okay, maybe I have slightly different tourist interests—“ he conceded with a tip of his head. Sara set the album down and stretched.

“No doubts there—I bet you know every bug-related museum in the United States—“ she snorted, but gently. Grissom nodded as he set the blueprint down on the carpet and looked over the toolbox.

“I’m getting a soda—want one?” Sara asked, rising from the sofa, setting the album down. Gil shook his head and watched her saunter away, loving the sight of her as she walked into the kitchen.

The ant farm had been an old project, one he’d meant to do ages ago. Sara urged him to set it up and found her own unfinished job when she unpacked the box of photo albums. It was a lovely lazy way to spend a late Saturday afternoon, and Gris was looking forward to taking her out as a reward for her patience.

He glanced at the album. Images of Boston lay in it neatly labeled now, with the occasional shot of Sara and friends, mugging and smiling. She’d worn her hair longer then, and favored cable sweaters.

Gil turned a few pages beyond where she’d been working, and a few loose photos slipped out. He scooped them up, and stiffened.

It was a photo of Sara, but not an image he’d ever imagined seeing. She gazed at the camera with swollen eyes; dried blood crusted under one nostril, bruises livid and fresh across her chin and cheekbones. The mint colored hospital gown looked to be huge on her, and made the rest of her skin look deathly pale. Shocked, Grissom noted the dark oval bruises on either side of her throat and recognized them as thumbprints.

It was the expression on her face that froze his guts, that bewildered hunted animal look in her half closed eyes. Quickly he flipped the loose photo over to see the neatly typed label on it:

Sidle, Sara admitted 7/5/89 BGMH

Recording officer: T. Munro

The second photo was a close up of the neck bruises, a flash shot showing the long line of dark purple ovals down the back of her neck. Sara was holding her hair up, and with a prickle of fearful fascination, Gil noted other bruises along her arms.

“I was feeling like something Italian but if you—“ Sara called to him as she came back into the living room. Guiltily Grissom looked up and her gaze went to the photos in his hand. She stiffened. The soda can dropped out of her grip and fell to the carpet with a wet fizzy thunk.

“Sara—“

She stared at him, her expression unreadable.