Sara’s
eyes went wide at this quiet bombshell, but Grissom gave a thoughtful
nod,
looking down at the child.
“He
has your—energy,” came the quiet observation. Wyatt
was patting Sara’s face and
kicking happily now, revealing four white teeth, two on each gum.
Greg
smiled, an earnest glance at Grissom.
“Oh
yeah—this is not a quiet Wyatt—but that too is
definitely a Sanders trait to
which you can probably attest. Ah-ah-ah! Be
careful—“ this last was to Sara,
who was rubbing a finger over the baby’s chin,
“—He’s teething, and at the
moment can rival a Great White for per square inch bite
pressure—“
“How
old is he?” she shifted her touch to the baby’s
cheek. Grissom spoke up before
Greg did.
“I’d
guess about fourteen months, give or take a week—“
Greg
nodded, shifting the baby gently, his grip firm and practiced.
“Correct
of course.”
Grissom
shrugged, and in an undertone just to Greg added, “Som man
reder sa ligger
man--We must lie in the bed we make?”
Greg
lifted his chin a little higher, giving one nod, pleased and resolute.
“Once
again a family tradition, regrettably.”
Grissom
gave a soft smile and cocked his head.
“The
deeds of a man say more than any words he speaks, Greg. Neither your
grandfather or you have anything to apologize for.”
“You
should have TOLD us—Catherine would be totally NUTS for him,
Greg—“ Sara rose
up and shifted her gaze to him. Greg gave a careless shrug, tightening
his grip
round Wyatt’s waist.
“Ah.
Yes, well due to circumstances I’d rather not go into at the
moment, keeping
the fruit of my loins on the QT is kind of important to me.”
“Custody
issues,” Grissom intuitively guessed. Greg nodded, his
expression slightly
grim.
“Just
so—and if I lose him, I’d prefer not have the
entire lab trying to be kind or
commiserating about it. Let them bag on my love life, diss my hair,
judge my
taste in music, but Wyatt—Wyatt here is sacrosanct, you
know?”
The
pride, love and desperation in his voice were obvious, and Sara nodded
tightly,
stroking the baby’s soft cheek. Wyatt burbled happily.
“Of
course, Greg. And if you need time off or
resources—“ Grissom added quietly,
letting the offer trail off. Greg nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Wyatt
looked up at Grissom and burped, loudly.
“Definitely
a Sanders—“ Sara laughed.
***
***
***
The
clouds had grown to an angry dark layer above, and although it
hadn’t rained,
the threat of it hung in the air. Sara and Grissom carried in the two
bags of
groceries and made it to the porch just in time as the downpour hit.
Within
half an hour Gris had a cheery blaze going in the fireplace as he as
Sara
curled on the sofa together and sipped soup from big mugs. She was
resting her
back against his chest, enjoying herself with all the different sources
of
warmth: the split pea pottage in her hands, the fire a few feet away
and
Grissom against her spine. She gave a happy sigh.
“Secrets—“
“Not
secrets—just unvoiced truths, Sara. What happened to you in
“Yeah.
I can’t believe he’s got a
son—it’s just so—“
“--Hard
to imagine? No it’s not. You saw him,
Sara—conscientious, loving, devoted. He
started pushing to get out in the field a little over a year ago, and
now I see
it must have been right around the time Wyatt was born.”
“Better
pay, better benefits—“ Sara nodded as a pang in her
chest make her voice drop,
“Thinking of his kid’s future.”
“Precisely,”
Gris nodded, sipping his soup. Sara shifted and looked over her
shoulder at
him, her smile crookedly sweet.
“So
what’s YOUR unvoiced truth, Grissom?”
“Which
one would you like to know?” he replied, rubbing his nose on
her shoulder. Sara
thought about it for a moment, working her jaw back and forth.
“I
want to know why you don’t mind giving head
but—“
Grissom
winced softly and then laughed, a low self-deprecating sound. He
reached over
and set his mug on the coffee table while Sara wondered if
she’d overstepped
some boundary with her question. He looked at her, his blue eyes
meeting hers
guilelessly.
“You
remember what I told you from the very beginning, Sara—that
trust and
submission were my framework for intimacy.”
She
nodded. He turned his head to look into the fire.
“It
wasn’t always like that. In my late adolescence I was
well-read, but
inexperienced and just as prone to the ruthless drive of my hormones as
any
young man.”
He
gave a ghost of a smile. “Maybe MORE so—but
whatever the case, I didn’t fully
appreciate the degree of vulnerability sex demanded. In my first
serious
relationship I was infatuated with a girl who had a far better grasp of
emotional manipulation through sex.”
“She
played mind games with you—“ Sara translated
sympathetically, loving the look
of Grissom’s classic profile in the firelight. He made a moue
of admission.
“Oh
yes. There’s a fairly crude term for my state of mind back
then, all the more
painful for being true. I did anything and everything to please her,
just to
keep the privilege of her intimate company.”
Sara
studied his long thick eyelashes, his handsome brows. Gil spoke again.
“She
had—rules. One of them was particularly inflexible. No
ejaculation during
irrumation.”
Sara
bit down an unexpected giggle, and Grissom shot her a slightly
exasperated
glance tinged with affection. She blinked.
“Sorry,
sorry—I just hadn’t heard THAT term in a very long
time, Gris.”
“Fine—
in layman’s terms, no go on the blow,” he growled,
giving in to a quick
embarrassed grin. Sara tried to look serious again, but it was
difficult to do
when Grissom himself was lighting a smile.
“She
taught me a great deal about—control. But after a while a
rebellious streak in
me didn’t want to give in. And one night I refused to play by
her rules and
took my own pleasure.”
Sara
waited; Grissom sighed.
“Afterwards
she got off her knees and leaned up to kiss me—then spit the
entire mouthful
back in my face.”
Sara
gasped.
“Then
she hauled off and slapped me, called me a disgusting selfish beast and
stormed
off leaving me standing there with semen dripping off my face and my
jeans and
boxers around my ankles.”
“Oh
jeez—“ Sara gulped, stunned at this image. Grissom
gave a half-hearted shrug,
but she could feel his tension pressing into her back.
“It
was fairly humiliating, but liberating too. After that I vowed never to
put
myself in a position where I couldn’t enjoy pleasures that
were rightfully mine
and that philosophy worked right up until you, ah—took
matters into your own
hands, as it were.”
“At
the motel—“ Sara murmured, remembering it well, her
face growing hot. Gris
nodded.
“And
again in the backyard. I lost control for the first time in years,
honey.” He
sighed, pressing a quick, light kiss to her shoulder. Sara nodded,
looking
down.
“I’m
sorry. I just—I like the taste of you, and I figured I could
make it good.”
“Don’t
apologize-- Good isn’t a strong enough superlative for your
talent, Sara. Try
amazing, incredible, fantastic, marvelous, wonderful,
mind-boggling—“
“Whoah,
whoah thesaurus man,” she laughed, “It was JUST a
blowjob.”
Carefully
Gil caught her chin and turned her face to his, holding her gaze.
“With
you, Sara Sidle, there are no ‘justs’. The power
and passion with which you
love is nothing short of astounding and I refuse to take any of it for
granted.
If all I can get are two days a week with you I’ll take them
and gladly.”
Sara
blinked, a little shyly overwhelmed by his declaration. Gil kissed her
nose,
trailing down it until he reached her lips, planting a thoroughly
possessive
one there. He reached for the red-covered book sitting on the coffee
table and
handed it to Sara.
“Finished
with your reading?”
“Ah—yes.
I wanted to ask you about the lists though—“ she
stammered, trying to follow
his cheerful change of mood. He waited until she opened the book and
looked
over her shoulder the indicated lists with a smile of knowing
indulgence.
“So,
Sara my sweet—what is an absolute NO from this list of varied
pleasures?”
She
rolled her eyes and pointed at a phrase; he arched an eyebrow.
“No
tattooing, no piercing no shaving—body modification is right
out,” Sara
insisted, setting her jaw firmly.
“Fair
enough—I’m not fond of modern primitivism as it is.
No piercings then. Although
you DO have an utterly gorgeous navel—“ he teased.
Sara shook her head.
“No.
And none of THAT—“ she tapped another item on the
list. Gil’s mouth twitched.
“I
can agree there—we’ll pass on the showers, golden
or otherwise—“
“And
not THIS one either. I’m strictly one on one you
know—“
“There
goes my threesome fantasy with you, me and
Ann-Margret—“ he sighed, his dimples
deep. Sara shot him an ‘Excuse ME’ look and he
laughed out loud.
“Ann-Margret
is ancient, Gris—“
“I
beg to differ. Even at sixty three she’s
still—hot,” Grissom solemnly smiled.
Sara rolled her eyes but said nothing and pointed to something else in
the
book.
Grissom
paused. Sara looked at him, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
Sara
blushed, aware she was trying to visualize the option in question.
“No?”
he asked, very softly. Sara hesitated.
“I
haven’t actually TRIED it before, but it just seems like it
would—HURT.”
“Forty
percent of all American couples have tried it at least once, and twenty
to
twenty two percent indulge in it on a semi-regular
basis—“ Grissom replied,
holding up a hand to stop her comment and adding, “Masters
and Johnson Survey
of Sexual Practices, compendium edition, two thousand one.”
“Forty
percent? Eek!”
“Given
the degree of pornography currently centered on it, I have to assume
the
statistics are correct—“
Sara
struggled with herself. She looked at him and finally muttered,
“Is
it—is it something you LIKE to do?”
He
surprised her by shrugging.
“I
don’t know—I’ve never done it
either—at least not beyond a certain degree.”
“A
certain degree?” she echoed faintly, wanting to squirm
suddenly. Sara was all
too aware of his arms around her, and something else under her.
“Sara—“
he smiled into her ear and she DID shift at the low growly sound of her
name.
“Gris,
I don’t know—It just
seems—weird.”
“I’ll
tell you what—go take a nice long bath, come back to me in
about forty five
minutes and I’ll be happy to show you what a certain degree
is like. Give me
your trust, and I’ll do my best.”
***
***
***
Sara
hesitated in the doorway to the living room, her entire lanky frame
tense and
tingly. She looked at Grissom’s outline against the glow of
the fire, realizing
he’d changed while she was in the tub. He wore a slate blue
terrycloth bathrobe
now, with corded black piping that matched his black pajama bottoms.
Grissom
stood near the mantel of the fireplace, a book in his hands, his
glasses
sliding down his nose; he looked up at her and smiled gently.
“Nervous?”
“You
have NO idea—“ she blurted honestly. He laughed at
that and tilted his head.
“Come
here, honey.” His voice was soft and compelling; her feet
moved before she
could even think about it. Sara clutched her towel tightly around
herself as
she finally stopped in front of him. He set the book down and drew in a
deep
breath.
“I
can’t have you just wearing a towel—“ he
mused. Sara glanced down, clutching
the terrycloth a bit tighter, but Gris pointed with his chin to the
coffee
table, and Sara spotted the black gift bag on it. With his wordless
encouragement, she picked it up. Heavy. Sara peeked into it and her
brown eyes
widened.
“I
didn’t have a five pound note to wrap it in so
we’ll improvise—“ he told her,
lifting the heavy strand of pearls out and draping it around her
slender neck.
Sara shivered at the feel of the heavy necklace, the roll of the cool
pearls on
her shoulders and down her chest. Gris gently unwrapped her bath towel
and
looped the strand a second time around her.
The
necklace was so long it hung to mid-thigh on her rattling softly as
Sara
shifted her weight and tried to calm down. It wasn’t easy;
the pearls were
ticklish and beautiful, and as Grissom looked at her she could feel
herself
grow apprehensive with excitement.
“You
have a complexion born for pearls, Sara. You bring out their
luster—“ he
observed tenderly, his knuckles brushing her cheek.
“Please
tell me these aren’t real, Gil—I mean that would be
THOUSANDS of dollars—“ she
choked even as her fingers stroked the long strand reverently.
He
said nothing, merely sighed at the image of her there, the fire
gleaming off
her magnificent bare body under the rope of glowing beads. Cupping her
chin,
Gris lifted her mouth to his and kissed her, deeply. Possessively.
Sara
molded to him with sweet hunger; Grissom took her mouth with deliberate
force,
sliding his tongue deeply into hers in a loving power play that left
her
breathless and aching all over. She gasped and he pulled back, a lazy
laugh in
his eyes.
“That’s
the starting point. There isn’t an inch on your delectable
body that I won’t
kiss, Sara Sidle. All of it is sweet, tender, exciting and most
importantly,
MINE. So if I want to lick between your toes, or along your armpits, or
behind
your knees then I’m going to do it,” he warned her
with a determined look.
Sara
bit her lip and he nodded.
“Oh
yes, even along your spine and deeper, honey. The sweet little rosebud
there
too—all mine.”
Sara
flushed deeply, and pressed a hand on his bare chest as she tried to
catch her
breath. She felt dizzy, felt her skin grow hot and cold by turns. Her
pulse
thrummed in her ears as she looked into the earnest blue of
Grissom’s eyes
behind his glasses.
“—Yes—“
she sighed in the tiniest of voices.
He
smiled.
Gently,
he steered her to the coffee table and sat her down on a cushion there,
kissing
her shoulders and throat gently, whispering her name over and over.
Sara felt
his touch slide up her stomach to cup a breast, hefting its proud
weight in his
palm. She turned her face up and kissed his throat, gratified to hear
him sigh
with pleasure. A trail of kisses down his chest worked well too, and
when she
lightly worried one brown rivet-like nipple, Gris groaned deeply.
“None
of that—this is about YOU right now—“ he
managed through clenched teeth. Sara
laughed low.
“I
can’t help it—I want to play with your body
TOO—“ she protested playfully. He
shot her a slightly frustrated look and got on his knees at the side of
the
coffee table.
“Later.
I MEAN that—“ he chided as she tried to reach for
him again. Sara gave in when
he kissed her once more, and tugged on the strand of pearls.
“I’m
going to look at you in the firelight, honey. Open your knees like a
good
girl—“ Gil requested firmly. Sara shivered, but
obediently widened her knees.
He turned her until she faced the fire, and the heat of it against the
insides
of her thighs felt wonderfully arousing.
Grissom
bent and pressed a kiss to one hard nipple, then the other. The string
of
pearls clicked when he shifted them across her breasts. Sara braced her
hands
behind her, fighting her tremble at his delicate touch.
“I
feel pretty—exposed—“ she quavered
huskily. Gris kissed one knee and flashed a
grin at her.
“Let’s
take a look together then, shall we?”
So
saying, he laid warm hands on her thighs, widening them. Sara glanced
down the
length of her body with surprise; it wasn’t anything she
hadn’t seen before,
either at the doctor’s office or at home, but here in the
firelight the lush
folds of her sex seemed exotic. Grissom gently stroked a hand over the
silky
curls between her thighs, sighing happily.
“Such
a lovely amber garden. Very enticing,” Gris ran his fingers
through it softly a
few times while Sara wriggled a bit.
“I
thought of shaving—“
“—Don’t,”
he insisted firmly. “A woman should be proud and natural,
Sara.
Sara
laughed, her low chuckle ringing out at his facetious description of
the
typical showgirl trims. It changed as he slid his fingers down and
along the
insides of her thighs and back up again, his touch deft and knowing;
slow.
“You
have no idea how many times I’ve wondered about your body,
Sara. About what it
looked like, felt like under your clothes—to have you open to
me like this is
beyond pleasure—“ he told her as his fingers grew
bolder, sliding up between
the velvety folds in tender strokes, circling ever so lightly around
the little
button near the top. Sara moaned as she watched his hand.
“Um—yes,
that feels really—nice—“
Grissom
just smiled, and kept his touch light. His other hand braced behind the
small
of her back and he nuzzled her ear as he continued to stroke her.
Sara
wriggled and moved, feeling languidly sensual in the firelight, the
pearls
rolling across her skin. The slow tease of Grissom’s hand
drove her crazy, and
she practically whimpered when he began to nudge the underside of her
bud with
his thumb, stroking it with feather light touches.
“Patience,
pet—“ he pressed the tip of his index finger into
her, toying ever so lightly.
Sara pushed up, trying to move against his hand but he moved with her,
keeping
only the first digit in her sweet warmth. Despite all their previous
lovemaking
Sara was still tight, and Grissom savored the grip of her body, the
lovely
pressure. Gently he pushed in a tiny bit deeper and was rewarded with a
moan
from her as his thumb rubbed a little bumping stroke along her
slickness.
“Driving
me CRAZY—“ came her hoarse confession as she tried
to lift her hips again.
“That’s
the idea. Ready to take a bit more?” he asked, licking her
ear. Sara nodded,
rocking her hips against him. Gris pushed his index finger deeper in a
slow
stroke, then withdrew it. With deliberate intent he did it again,
setting up an
unhurried rhythm. Each stroke of his big hand jolted her bud, and Sara
writhed
happily, her breathing growing erratic as she pushed against him.
“God
you’re wet, Sara—“ Grissom growled in her
ear, then dropped his head to lick
the nearest rock hard nipple. She let out a hissing sigh of pleasure.
“More,
God, please—“
He
smiled and let his hand move faster, working into her freely now, his
touch
wickedly arousing. Sara felt the slow rise of goosebumps along her skin
despite
the fire’s heat and her own searing excitement. She turned
her face to Grissom,
her eyes half-closed, mouth slack. He kissed her and shifted his hand;
she
groaned with unexpected pleasure as his middle finger lightly pressed
against
the damp rosebud.
“Oooohhhhh!”
she squealed, stiffening, gripping his moving finger tightly. Grissom
slid his
thumb over her bud and she spasmed hard and fast, the boiling
sensations
swirling through her long frame, dying away slowly as she slumped back
against
the table.
Grissom
slowly withdrew his hand and very deliberately licked his thumb and
index
finger, then leaned over Sara, kissing her until she gasped.
“We’re
going to bed, Sara Sidle, and I’m going tie you with pearls
and kiss every inch
of you—“ he intoned.
Sara
moaned.
