Clueless.
Or just
defiantly obtuse—Sara couldn’t really decide which
label
fit the man better.
She finished brushing her teeth, rinsed her mouth and plodded out to
her bed,
slipping into it with a heavy, graceless fatigue, hoping sleep would
stop her
mind from attempting to pick apart the infuriating emotional ravel that
WAS Gil
Grissom—
She felt
his presence behind her, that solid wall of heat that radiated from him
in a
personal nimbus of warmth seeping into her as pervasively as a touch.
Sara
looked over her shoulder.
“You’re
the perfect height—want to re-enact the Melton case with
me?”
Mmmmmm,
those eyes—a girl could drown in a blue that deep. Intense.
Steady. She found
herself nodding quickly—Melton? Something about a struggle
wasn’t it?
“Okay
then--our perp was behind the victim, had her in his arms, like
so—“ came that
deep voice with its flat
Oh
enfolded thrill of that grip! She leaned back against him, letting her
spine
rest on his chest, oblivious to his words, drinking in that body heat,
letting
him purr into her ear.
“—With
one hand, but where’s the other one? I’m
confused—if
he’s got her jaw in his
right hand, turning it towards his face—“
Matching
the action to the mutter, Sara felt him gently cup her face, shift it
towards
his. Close, so close, his breath brushed her slightly open lips even as
his
brows were drawn together in concentration. She took his other hand,
laid it on
the bony edge of her hipbone.
“Bruises
here—“ she lied, easily. Gil’s hand
cupped the bone,
big strong fingers
pressing with a nonchalant possessive touch. She longed for those
fingers to
slide—as soon as the thought touched her mind, his hand
followed,
gliding
inward across her skirt, big palm flat, making her breathing all
wheezy, and
ooohhh God yesyesyes pressing sweetly over the dim curve of her mound,
fitting
it EXACTLY , nestling over it and rubbing in slow thoughtful circles
through
her thin skirt---
“--Would
mean he was distracting her somehow. We know the bite was on the right
hand, in
the webbing between the index finger and the
thumb—“ he
droned, oblivious to
his left hand, which continued the maddeningly sensual grind. Sara
tensed,
wishing he’d speed up and drop the case, just catch a
freakin’ CLUE here—
“Hand
job—“ she panted.
“What?”
Still, he rubbed, sweet pressure between her thighs building faster,
his breath
hot on her face.
“Hand
job, hand job! He was getting her off and shutting her up so she
wouldn’t scream
when she came, Gris—“ Sara panted, rolling her hips
forward
to push back
against his palm, her pulse going turbo now—soon, it was
going to
be soon--
“That’s
it! Of course—Brass can talk to the mother again and see if
Melton had been
dating her—“
The hand
stopped.
“Arrrrrgh!”
Blearily
opening her eyes, Sara glared at the ceiling, well aware of her harsh
breathing, her aching nipples. The dream faded, leaving behind a
familiar
tension now cranked one notch tighter.
Clueless.
Sara
sighed, rolling over to grab the bedside phone and dialing a familiar
number.
“Hey,
I
have an idea about the Melton case—have we considered the
perp
might have been
left-handed?”
End
