The
“Yes,
your reservation is right here, sir. The Pacific View
Suite in the twelfth floor. I have you listed for four nights with us,
from
today, Wednesday, through Saturday. Our checkout is at noon, and we
have a full
concierge service available for any needs or concerns you may have
during your
stay. Please don’t hesitate to call us for
anything.” This last came with a
full bright smile, and Grissom nodded politely. He turned to Sara and
she could
see the amusement in his expression as he handed her one of the black
and gold
card keys.
“And
how many times have we been on the other side of that
smile, Sara? How many times have the employees avoided us because we
were
processing a suite instead of checking into one?” he breathed
to her in a
self-deprecating voice. She tried to smother a grin, far more
comfortable with
this familiar Grissom and nodded.
“Frankly
I’d LOVE going to a crime scene and having someone
else tote my case up.”
“You’d
have to tip them—“ Grissom teased lightly, holding
open the elevator for her. They rode up on the express, swaying
slightly as it
rose with commendable swiftness up. Sara shot a sideways glance at
Grissom.
“So
we’re in the same suite?” She spoke up, trying to
grapple with this idea and finding it both amusing and frightening.
Rooming
with Grissom. Staying in close proximity to Grissom. God, sharing a
bathroom—
“Yes.
Moment of truth, Sara—I suspect I snore,” Grissom
admitted, staring at the carpet. At that she grinned, fleetingly
picturing it.
Before she could say anything, however, the elevator stopped and
Grissom herded
her out. They found the door easily; the bellhop had opened it and was
setting
the cases onto the rest stands. Sara looked around, enchanted and awed
by the
room.
The
living room was large and airy, done in soft sand tones
with large framed pictures of seashells and wreaths of dried sea oats
on the
walls. The far side of the living room showed a glass-enclosed balcony
facing
the wide blue of the Pacific and a panorama of the wharves of
“Wow—I
don’t know about the Bureau’s expense budget, but I
wish Ecklie could foot the bill for something like this when we go out
on those
conferences.” A shiver went through her; nervousness she
hoped.
“You
can keep on wishing, Sara—Ecklie considers air
conditioning and an ice machine luxuries.” He said this with
a sour grin and
Sara couldn’t help but laugh. She wandered around Grissom to
look in the
doorways on either side of the suite’s main room. On the
right, an opulent
bedroom done in blue and white, with nautical décor of
semaphore flags, white
fishing net and dried starfish. Sara caught sight of the king sized bed
and
felt her skin go clammy. She nearly jumped out of her skin as Grissom
came up
behind her.
“Your
room,” he murmured, and turned away. Sara looked over
her shoulder at him and he waved a hand at the other side of the suite
where an
identical bedroom lay behind the other ajar door. Immediately Sara
blushed.
“Oh.
Yeah. Two rooms. Of course,” she stuttered, looking
around wildly for something ELSE to focus on. Grissom calmly ignored
her and
went to the phone on the coffee table, dialing a two-digit number. Not
knowing
what else to do, Sara wandered into her room.
The
window here also looked out over the Pacific, and Sara
found it comforting to see something so familiar. She hadn’t
realized how much
she’d missed it, and a thick lump rose in her throat at the
sight of all that
endless blue dotted here and there with a white boat or two.
She’d seen this
ocean stormy and wild, lit up by orange sunsets, calm and serene, like
this and
never realized how much it had been a background for her childhood. A
soft
footstep her way brought her out of her reverie.
“We
aren’t meeting with Grace and Damian until tomorrow, so
if you’d like to call your family, maybe arrange to meet them
for dinner?”
Sara
shook her head gently, amused at his almost clairvoyant
concern.
“Much
as I’d love to, it would still be a three hour drive
for them, and my Dad’s not in shape for that. My mom
won’t come to the city
without him, so—it’s probably best not to even let
them know I’m in town.
Besides, what could I tell them? That I’m sharing a suite
with my supervisor?”
Grissom
gave a small shrug, but his expression was cautious.
“Sara,
maybe we need to set a few things straight before
this goes any further—I hope I don’t need to remind
you that our purpose here
is to do a preliminary processing of a potential crime scene. The fact
that you
and I are sharing a hotel room has no bearing on our professional
conduct.”
“I
understand that, Grissom, yes. I’m well aware of the case
and our bearing on it. And you don’t have to worry about me .
. . doing
anything, you know—stupid.” She tried to explain,
feeling very young and very
hot in the face. Grissom looked at her as he leaned against the wall of
her
room, arms across his chest.
“Stupid?
You’re one of the most intelligent people I know,
Sara. In fact, you’re the only one I can think of who can
even begin to pull
off the charade we’re going to have to do on Friday
night.”
The
backhanded compliment pleased her in an odd way; Sara
walked towards Grissom and looked up at him for the first time since
they got
out of the elevator and managed a crooked smile. Grissom held her gaze.
She let
her jaw work a moment before speaking.
“Thanks,
but that’s not what I meant. You know there’s a big
‘this’ still hanging between us, Grissom, and
it’s not going away.”
A
troubled look crossed his expression, and seeing it, Sara
flinched, a knife of anxiety slicing down her chest. Babbling. Doing it
again,
always at exactly the wrong time---
“Sara,
it’s never going to go away, at least on my part.”
His voice dropped low, and became husky with emotion.
“You’ll always tempt me,
even though I’ve vowed to myself not to screw your life
up.”
She
shivered, hard, at his words, hearing them but not
hearing them, feeling them pass through her and over her and dance in
her head
to her pulse. Sara gaped at Grissom, who gently reached over and
squeezed her
shoulder.
She
batted his hand away, hard.
“Screw
my life up? Grissom, my life was screwed up before I
came to Vegas. You’re one of the things that were working in
it, at least for a
while. I thought—hell, it doesn’t matter what I
thought, but everything that’s
happened in the past two years has helped me get my head on straight
again. I
accepted that you’re not interested in
me—“
“—I
AM, Sara,” he hissed suddenly, his blue eyes bleak.
“That’s the damn problem! Of course I’m
interested. MORE than interested. I
have been for years but I have . . . Christ, what’s the right
way to put this?
Hang ups, I suppose. Issues. Doubts. Needs.” He spat the last
word out with
extra bitterness, and Sara tensed.
“The—scenes.”
“Yes.
And no. After I asked you to Vegas, I knew it was for
more than just checking on Warrick and filling a post, Sara. I knew I
wanted
you. I pretended it wasn’t. I lied to myself and to you,
honey, and got away
with it until that EMT stepped in and I realized I’d been
holding you at arm’s
length just to have you, but not HAVE you.”
“Grissom!”
Sara shouted, stepping close enough for her
breath to stir the curls along his temples, “Jesus!
That’s EXACTLY what I’m
talking about! Having me and NOT having me—it
doesn’t GO both ways. Either take
me or let me go, but I’m tired of being jerked
around!”
“Take
you?” Grissom echoed, eyes narrowing as he cocked his
head. Sara rolled her eyes in exasperation and reached to try and draw
him to
her in a clumsy kiss.
She
never got the chance. Moving swiftly, Grissom spun her
and slammed them both against the doorframe, hard enough to make the
pictures
nearest to them rattle a bit. He pinned her frame against the wall with
his,
one strong thigh pressing hard between hers, his breath hot against her
cheekbone as he held her wrists to the wall. Sara fought back a quick
whimper.
“Sara,
you have no idea exactly how MUCH I want to take you,
so be careful what you give me permission to do—because
that’s all I’m held
back by right now.”
And he
pulled away, quickly, leaving her shaking against the
wall, knees barely keeping her upright. Grissom ran a hand over his
forehead
and straightened up. The hot tension of a moment before faded away,
leaving a
hint of emotional ozone in the air.
“It
seems like it’s all I ever say to you Sara, but . . .
I’m sorry.”
She
blinked, her eyes deep pools of rich umber, sweet and
fathomless.
“Grissom?”
“Sara?”
“Show
me,” She whispered slowly. “Show me what you need.
I
want to know.”
***
*** ***
The cell
phone in her hand buzzed; Sara nearly jumped, but
flicked it open quickly. Grissom’s low chuckle tickled her
ear.
“All
right. The first thing I must ask, is are you
absolutely serious about this?”
“Yes,”
she snapped back, pacing a little. Despite the size
of the suite, she still felt a little claustrophobic and glanced at
Grissom’s
bedroom door. As if on cue she heard it lock.
“Very
well, Sara. This all starts after you make two
promises to me here and now. Let me tell you what they are, and then
you can
decide if you’re strong enough to do them.”
“Okay.”
“First
of all, you need to follow my directions. This is a
matter of trust, Sara, and I need to know that you will do everything I
tell
you to do without fail.”
“Everything?”
she demanded suspiciously, hearing the soft
chuckle again.
“Yes.
You should have enough faith to know I’m not going to
ask you to do anything dangerous or humiliating, but as the submissive
under
me, I expect full and prompt obedience from you in verbal and nonverbal
commands. Nod if you understand—“
Sara
bobbed her head, and frowned at the phone, waiting for
Grissom’s laugh. It didn’t come, and she cleared
her throat. “Okay, and what
else?”
“You
have to be honest with me, Sara. I’m not there in
person, just a voice over the phone. Here and now you can say whatever
you
feel; whatever you like,” came his soft words.
Sara
glanced around the suite, lit by the setting sun
streaming through the glass balcony. Despite its beauty, the room
seemed a
little melancholy, and she sighed.
“All
right. Why did you lock yourself in your room?”
“I
need to be out of sight. This is the easiest way to keep
the focus on you, Sara. I want you to take your shoes and stockings
off,
please.”
Amused,
Sara toed her way out of her shoes and sat down to
peel the knee-highs off, wriggling her bare feet against the thick
carpet and
enjoying the sensation. “Wow, that was easy. If all your
commands are like
that, no problem, Grissom.”
“You
have pretty feet, Sara. I like it when you wear
sandals. I’ve noticed you don’t use too many bright
colors on your nails, but
your feet are slender and strong. Sometimes I think about your resting
them in
my lap.”
“Uh,
okay . . .” she muttered, dropping herself gracefully
onto one of the overstuffed sand colored sofas. Sara flexed her feet
and let
them touch one of the pillows at the other end as Grissom spoke again.
“But
this isn’t about me and what I daydream about. This is
about what Sara likes. What Sara wishes for. So tell me, what feels
good for
you?”
“Lots
of things,” she replied a little nervously as she
stared at her feet. “Hot baths, a long run in the park, new
silk pajamas,
sleeping in—need more?”
“No,
that’s an excellent start. It tells me you’re a
tactile
sensualist. If someone shakes your hand, do you want the grip firm or
soft? Do
you grip back firm or soft, Sara?” Grissom asked in a slow
voice. She felt
herself relax a little to the sound of it, and thought for a moment.
“I
have a good grip, but I don’t like my fingers crushed. I
hate old lady handshakes. So something in the middle—firm but
not overbearing.”
“Good,”
Grissom praised, and she was oddly amused at his
tone. “So you prefer touches that are felt but not forceful.
Definitely
tactile. In touching, do you prefer to do the touching or to be
touched?”
“Touched
how?” she asked, feeling a little prickle move down
her spine as she glanced over at the locked bedroom door. Sara wondered
if
Grissom was sitting in a chair, or looking out his window, or lying on
that
king sized bed as he spoke to her.
“Touched
personally, Sara. In the ways that men and women
touch each other—“ He breathed, and that was enough
to send the flare of goose
bumps down her arms. Sara watched them with fascination.
“Um
. . . I like to touch, yeah,” she admitted after a long
second. Grissom sighed.
“Good.
Unbutton your blouse, Sara.”
She held
her breath, softly shocked at the request, but her
hand was on her top button before she knew it.
“Grissom?”
“Shhhh.
Rule number one, remember? I’m not there, Sara.
You’re all by yourself and I’ve given you a
direction.”
She
hesitated, but then set the phone down and swiftly undid
the buttons of her blouse, fingers trembling as she reached the
bottommost one.
When she picked up the phone again her voice was almost a squeak.
“Okay,
I did it. This is weird, you know. Not really like
what I was expecting, but then again—“
“—Shhhh,
Sara. Relax. You did what I told you to do, and
that’s perfect. I’m pleased. Just settle down and
take a breath. You’re a
beautiful woman with a lot of erotic potential in touch, and
I’m sure you know
that your skin breathes better when it’s not trapped. So you
have bare feet and
looser shoulders now. Do you like massages?”
She
moaned a little, trying not to, but the image of
Grissom’s hands sliding on her shoulders, rubbing the
stiffness out was so
immediate and arousing that she couldn’t quite stop herself.
A low answering
sound came through the phone. “Asked and answered I see. Yes,
a tactilist like
you probably would. How long has it been since you’ve had a
massage, Sara?”
“Y-years,”
came her response. Grissom sighed.
“Take
your blouse off, honey. Leave it on the coffee table.”
Slowly
she did so, letting it drop onto the smooth wood
surface, and gave a little shuddery sigh into the phone. It felt both
odd and
exciting to be sitting in her bra only a few feet from the locked
bedroom door
and the man beyond it, and Sara felt her nipples stiffen against the
cotton
cups.
“Is
this strip phone sex?” she asked nervously, getting a
little laugh in return.
“No.
This isn’t sex at all, Sara. You’re merely
indulging
your skin and drinking in the sensations of freedom. No one’s
touching you but
you, honey, although the thought of you half-dressed out there is . . .
but
this isn’t about me. How do you like your kisses?”
“Huh?
Um, Grissom, I’m not sure I understand.” Because
she
couldn’t take the feel of the sofa under her anymore, Sara
rose up and wandered
towards the curtains of the balcony. The sun had dropped so low in the
water
that it looked like a floating tangerine, and the color made a long
path all
the way to the wharves.
“Being
kissed. Having warm lips pressed on you, either on
your beautiful mouth, or along special places on your body. How do you
like to
be kissed, sweetheart?”
Her
pulse was faster now, she could feel it running hard
through her veins, and the damp warmth between her legs was undeniable.
She
clutched the phone a little more tightly because her palm was moist
now, and
gave a little nervous laugh.
“Jesus,
Grissom, that’s not exactly an easy question to
answer, is it? I like different kisses at different times and ways, of
course.
It’s dependent on who I’m kissing or
who’s kissing me. Saying hello to my great
aunt Mitzi is not the same kind of kiss as the sort from Peter
Saxenhalter.”
“Peter
Saxenhalter?” Grissom’s voice asked softly, and
Sara
swore she could hear a hint of laughter in it. Impatiently she touched
the
glass of the window.
“Yeah,
he was in my Spanish class in Junior High. He and I
went steady for a month and he kissed me a lot, okay?”
“Sounds
memorable if you can still recall his entire name,
Sara.”
“He
wasn’t bad,” Sara conceded with a grin of her own,
earning a slightly different sound from Grissom over the phone.
“Fair
enough. That still doesn’t quite answer my question,
though, and I’m waiting to hear your response.”
Sara
took a breath, feeling a surging giddiness in the pit
of her stomach. This phone call captivated her, made her feel loose and
tight
at the same time, and Grissom’s voice was like a stroke down
her bare back.
“I
liked to be kissed gently, at first. Nobody wants to be
mauled, you know, but just light kisses to start. Um . . . and almost
anywhere
is good for me, except maybe my elbows or something. I’ve
never been too crazy
about kisses on my arms. It makes them itch, and that’s just
really
distracting—“
“Mmm
hmmm,” Grissom agreed in a low tone. Sara shifted the
phone to the other ear and paced by the window. Down below, the lights
of
Fisherman’s Wharf were glowing softly.
“—And
that’s about it, really. Oh, and I like more than one.
One kiss isn’t any good all by itself. They’re
better in bunches.”
“Take
something else off, Sara.”
A flush
of hot then cold ran over her skin, and her mouth
dried out.
“Wh—uh,
Grissom?”
“Do
as I say, honey. It’s important.”
Fumbling
for a moment, Sara debated between her bra and her
slacks. The slacks won, and she undid the zipper in the back, blushing
when the
little growl of it echoed through the suite. The pants dropped to the
carpet
and Sara stepped out of them, shivering with chill and fear. Her eyes
flew back
to Grissom’s door and she paused, her breathing a little
harsh.
“I
agree with you about kisses being better in a
collective,” came his low rumble, “Good kisses have
an addictive quality to
them, fueling desire and feeding the soul.”
“Yeahhhh--”
Sara replied stupidly. The heat of the cell
phone in her hand seemed to be the only warm thing in the room; Sara
walked
away from the window, and the growing twilight beyond it, aware of
being in her
lingerie and nothing else.
“Sara?”
“I’m
here.”
“How
does your skin feel right now?”
She
clenched her teeth, lost for a moment in the prickle of
goose bumps, the tingle of arousal and excitement surging like
electricity just
under the surface of her body.
“Cold,”
she replied. Something caught her eye, and she
stared at Grissom’s door, slightly stunned.
“I
don’t want you cold, honey. If it’s too much, you
can put
on my shirt—“ Grissom told her. Sara swayed on her
long legs, looking at the
button-down oxford broadcloth now hanging from his doorknob.
The
shirt that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Sh-shirt?”
“Of
course. But it should be all you need. But—“ his
voice
grew slower, thicker. “If you want to wear it,
you’ll have to take the rest of
your own clothing off. I believe in giving you a choice, Sara.
Always.”
She
blinked, moving slowly through the room towards the
shirt hanging off the knob, her entire focus on it. Just touching the
cloth was
enough to make her whimper a little; it still held his body heat, his
soft,
clean musk. Sara’s fingers gripped it and in her ear
Grissom’s voice chided her
gently.
“You
cannot have it both ways, Sara. Shirt and nothing else,
or no shirt.”
“God,
Grissom!”
“Shhhh.
The door is locked again, and I’m here on the other
side. Go with what your skin wants, honey.”
She
wanted the shirt. Suddenly, fiercely, to have Grissom’s
shirt against her naked body was EXACTLY what she needed, and Sara knew
it. She
tossed the phone to the floor and yanked her lingerie off, letting it
fall as
she reached for the shirt, pulling it around her with a moan of
delight. Warm.
Still warm and big—she slid her arms into the sleeves and
pulled the edges of
it around her, engulfing herself in the scent and heat of Grissom,
savoring it
in a head rush that left her trembling and very, very damp between her
legs.
She
staggered a little, slumping against the door, cheek
pressed to it. At her feet, Grissom’s concerned voice called
up to her.
“Sara?
Sara honey?”
She
retrieved the cell phone.
“Your
shirt . . . is kissing me, Grissom. Oh God—“ she
managed through a dry mouth. And the rub of the soft fabric did feel
like
kisses; cotton intimacy on her breasts, her spine. She drew in a shaky
breath
and let a hand slid across her stomach, pressing it on the warmth in
the
threads. “This is crazy . . .” Sara whispered, only
to hear Grissom’s low sigh
deep in her ear.
“I
love the thought of you naked in my shirt, Sara—“
he
growled. The sound of it made her roll along the door and reach for the
knob,
tugging on it with impatience, but it didn’t turn.
Locked.
“Grissom!”
She called, hearing how tremulous her voice
sounded, how low and needy. She tugged again, hard, rattling the knob.
“Sara,
patience—“
“Screw
patience! Grissom, don’t DO this to me and stop when
I need you most . . .” she croaked, fighting a prickle of
tears. Unexpectedly,
loudly, the lock turned and Sara looked up at the door swung open.
Grissom
stood there, bare-chested, his silver steel hair
slightly tousled. Deliberately he let the phone in his hand drop to the
carpet
and reached for Sara’s, brushing it out of her grip with one
sweep of his
fingers. She surged towards him; Grissom slid strong bare arms around
her arms
and ribs, pulling her firmly to him in a first hug so powerful that
Sara felt
the air leave her lungs in one noisy ‘whoosh’.
So good.
The kiss of his frame against hers, with only
cotton between them. The press, heat mingling with heat, making her
skin sing
with pleasure as Sara clung to him hard, rubbed, trying to keep herself
against
Grissom, melding with his skin, WANTING him, NEEDING him—
Whimpering,
Sara turned her face up to his, seeking his
mouth, but Grissom merely held her gaze even as his big hands slid
down,
cupping her ass tightly, pulling her up harder against him, molding to
his
hips.
“Kiss
me with your body, honey . . .” came his harsh
command, and Sara, lost to a wave of hunger like she’d never
known before, did.
She wound one long leg around his hip, rubbed against him, writhed and
rocked,
pressing harder and faster, finding the grinding rhythm that left her
panting
as Grissom’s hands gripped her ass. Sara felt the undeniable
surge of erotic
joy flare between her thighs; she let her forehead fall against
Grissom’s bare
shoulder and cried out her pleasure, teeth knocking against his skin as
her hips
slammed into his, hard.
She
slumped; he held her up, murmuring soothing sounds of
praise and comfort, stepping back enough to rest his spine against the
wall as
they stood there, catching breath. Sara pressed her face into
Grissom’s damp
chest, licking a salty trickle along the breastbone. She felt light.
Weightless. Hollowed out and serene; as if all tension and stress and
turmoil
had been flushed from her system. Slowly she raised her face to look at
him.
Grissom’s
expression broke her heart. The soft, vulnerable
stare of his glacier blue eyes was hard enough, but the trace of
wetness
through his long dark lashes left her fighting tears of her own. Sara
opened
her mouth, but he let one hand slide up to lay his palm on her lips.
“You
terrify me, Sara Sidle. I’ve never come so hard in my
life.”
“Oh
. . . .” Aware of the wetness between them, Sara
shifted, feeling foolish and proud by turns. She blushed and shifted to
talk
around his fingers. “I-I-I didn’t even
realize—I was going crazy, Grissom, just
WANTING you and—“
“Shhhhh.
You need to know how incredible that was, how
beautifully responsive you are. I always thought you had potential,
honey, but
for a first scene—this is unprecedented. Fucking
amazing.” Grissom replied,
letting his fingers stroke her cheek. “You followed my
commands perfectly and
I’m very pleased. Right now you need a bath and rest, Sara,
and time to think
about what we’ve done. Our moment here is over, I release
you.”
Sara
blinked, feeling the loss and clinging to Grissom a
moment longer before he gently began to pull away. She stood
uncertainly,
willing herself not to show the whirl of emotions in her, but Grissom
caught
her wrists and kissed them.
“Sara—“
She
looked at him, blinking hard. He smiled at her, his face
serene.
“Sleep
with me.”
***
*** ***
Morning
was overcast, and when Sara awoke, Grissom was
already making the complimentary coffee; the scent of it drifted into
the
bedroom, rich and familiar. Sara stretched, and felt a wave of
contentment
slide over her. She looked over the bed, slightly bemused at the
realization
that she’d done precisely what Grissom had asked and no more.
She had curled up
next to him and slept, all right, deeply and soundly through the night
without
waking once.
Better
than she’d slept in at least a year, in fact.
Feeling
guilty, she climbed out of bed and went to the
doorway of the suite, clutching Grissom’s shirt around
herself and peeking out.
He was on the sofa, sipping a cup and when he saw her he smiled.
“Morning.
Coffee?”
“Yeah,
please.” She came to sit next to him, feeling both
self-conscious and curious. Grissom was already dressed, and he shot
her a mild
look.
“We’re
due to meet Grace and Damian in about half an hour.
I’d suggest dressing in something easy to get in and out of,
because I suspect
Grace will take you shopping today. What’s your shoe size,
Sara?”
Taken
aback by his neutral tone, she brushed a strand of
hair from her face and replied, “Eight and a half, narrow. Um
. . .”
“Yes?”
“Are
we even going to . . . you know, talk about last
night?” came her awkward plea. Grissom set his mug down and
looked over at her,
his blue eyes actually twinkling. He drew in a breath.
“What
words would be adequate, Sara? Certainly not mine.
Maybe Beckett: If you do not love me, I shall not be loved; if I do not
love
you, I shall not love.”
Sara
stared at him, sharp joy rising through her as he said
this, and reaching out, she touched his cheek, gently, just the way
she’d done
almost three years earlier. He closed his eyes a moment, resting
against her
caress, then straightened up and raised an eyebrow.
“You
do realize this is all completely contrary to the usual
scenario, don’t you Sara? Most dominants and submissives
already have a
relationship before they undertake games of love and duty.”
“Who
said we DON’T have a relationship, Grissom?” Sara
tossed over her shoulder as she rose and headed for her bedroom. He
paused as
she laughed, and slipped through the door.
End of part two
