Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. That's why I work for a living.
I want to touch you there.
I want to touch your neck where the tanned skin meets the lighter just exposed by a haircut. I want to run my tongue along that line to find out if the two colors of you taste different.
I want to touch you where the open collar of your shirt leaves your throat exposed. I want to place my nose there and inhale the scent of you.
I want to touch you where the fine hair dusts along your forearms. I need to know the texture of that hair against my fingertips.
I want to touch you where the lines fan out from your eyes. I want to feel them as you smile.
I want to touch you where your mustache skims your upper lip. I want to feel it tickle my skin.
I want to touch the silver hair at your temples. I want to feel it curl around my fingers.
I want to touch the strong ridge of muscle that runs along the top of your shoulder. I want to test its strength with my teeth.
I want to touch your thigh. I want to feel the muscles, made strong from years on the job, bunch beneath my hand.
I want to touch your heart. I want to move in and live there.
"Sara!" Grissom's voice drags me back from my wanderings and brings a blush to my cheeks.
"Sorry, I was thinking of something," I reply as I move to study the slide he has under the microscope.