The Honeymoon Chapter 2
The Lowlands
"I can't go back."
"Back?! We are in the middle of a swamp!" Sara sat back on her heels and looked at her husband as if he had suffered a heat stroke.
Gil Grissom chuckled. "I mean back to Vegas. I didn't realize how tired I was of all of it until I got here." He stopped what he was doing—collecting ants—and looked at her. His wife was hot, sweaty, dirty, wearing rubber boots that came almost to her knees, a hat covered her head, and she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "You look good," he softly said, "beautiful, actually."
Sara's face broke into a wide grin. "You're just saying that because I'm holding your jars for you!"
He dropped an ant in the clear container and she quickly closed the top, adding it to a growing stack.
She counted the empty containers, saying "Fifteen more to collect." She held a small jar at eye-level. "How does he get these back to France?"
"In his carry-on bag."
Sara's mouth gapped open. "You are joking, right?"
Grissom shook his head, stood and offered her his hand. "He doesn't trust checked luggage so he pads his carry-on and takes them back."
"What if they escape? People would go nuts—ants on a plane! Geez, remind me never to fly with him!"
Grissom laughed and picked up one of the bags. "They are leafcutters—not interested in humans." He saw her grimace. "Well, not much interested in humans."
All morning they had followed a narrow trail through a marshy area locating dry islands and the traps the researcher had placed several days earlier. Sara followed as Grissom checked his GPS for the trail direction. "Not much longer, then we can get back to the tree house," he said as they sloshed through shallow water. "Look!"
His finger pointed at two large birds sailing above them. The bright red, blue, and yellow feathers belonged to only one bird in Costa Rica.
"Macaws—Scarlet Macaws!" Sara lifted her face and watched the birds fly to trees at the edge of the clearing. "They are not usually seen here but everyone hopes they will return with the corridors of protected lands." She knew this because of the nightly discussions at the center that covered every species of wildlife in the country. She fumbled for her camera.
Grissom watched as she pressed the shutter a dozen times. "You know they mate for life," he said. Sara glanced at him before taking a few more pictures. "Like us," he said with a grin and started walking.
When they had completed the ant collections, they had circled several acres of swamp land that provided no shade so the fringe of trees providing a few degrees drop in temperature was welcomed when they arrived back at the tree house. Earlier, they had filled the shower tank so there was enough water for a longer shower and cleaning the mud from their clothes and skin became a priority before eating.
Sara removed her outer layer, dropped her shirt and pants into a bucket of water, and then stepped under the sprinkle of water coming from the overhead container. Once she was wet, she stepped aside so Grissom could get under the shower.
As she soaped herself, and he removed his clothes, she asked, "Did you really mean you would not go back? To Vegas?"
He was stripping his clothes off, rolling each piece into a ball and trying a different toss at the bucket. Sara laughed at the sight of his boxers going between his legs, smacking against a tree trunk and falling into the bucket. There were smudges of mud on the back of his neck and tiny green leaves pressed to one leg and sweat had made a dirt trail down the center of his back. Sara stepped closer and lathered soap from his head to his butt.
"Well, we'll go back to Vegas—we've got a dog and a house there, and good friends, but I won't work at the lab. Ecklie mentioned that before I left, but I can't think of anything that would make me return. Not after this!"
They spent the afternoon in the tree house—a siesta, repacking the ants for their trip down river, watching dozens of birds sail across the tall grass, and eating beans, tortillas, and fruit.
"It's funny—we went from the condo in Vegas to one room." Sara waved her arm around the tent. She laughed, saying "I sort of like this one room idea."
Grissom tossed her a banana. "I'd like a refrigerator added."
She giggled, "And a real bathroom."
"Maybe a real kitchen, too," he said as he fell beside her in the hammock, giving it a push with his foot. "I'm almost tired of beans." His hand came between her shirt and abdomen. "And I like this way of dressing you've adopted." His fingers played across her belly as she laughed.
Exhausted, their hands touched and the quietness of the afternoon slipped around them as a blanket on a cold day. It did not take long for the swaying of the bed, the coolness created by damp skin and a breeze, to lull them to sleep.
Sara was first to wake; sleeping in the middle of the day was a luxury all hot places on earth should adopt, she thought. She smiled as she wiggled closer and touched his chest. Like him, she liked this way of dressing—wearing very little clothing in this cozy tree house where the nearest neighbors were birds in trees. She placed her finger above his navel and gently made a track up the center of his chest to the hollow of his throat.
In late afternoon, in the small space of an odd tree house, Grissom reminded her of the first time they had made love, and when she knew she had fallen in love with him. He quickly removed her panties and parted her legs with his knee as he kissed her. His fingers passed over her soft cleft and one finger curled and dipped, and, with a sweet grunt, he gave full attention to stroking her sex until she could no longer take another second of this kind of stimulation.
"Gil, now!" The hoarse whisper got his attention from other things he was doing.
He loved her, physically, tenderly; relaxed and confident, carefully modulating rhythm and tempo, determination, kissing her all the while. Grissom worked her as if she were an archaeological dig searching for priceless treasure; his fingers and lips sifted, dusted, sketched, touched, and catalogued until she was lying limp and satiated on the hammock, ready to be shipped to a museum in a box.
"I don't think I can move," she purred, pleased and pleasured, and sweaty.
His hand patted her belly and moved downward to the space between her legs he had recently left. She was wet—a mix of fluids including his own, he thought, and the idea brought a warm rising sensation in his groin.
"I might not be finished," he hummed as he turned his body to her. Just his words caused an involuntary spasm to lift her hips to his hand—he smiled at her reaction. She lifted her knee to rest on his, closing her eyes and smiling as she did this. They had grown fluent with each other's bodies with a sense of coming home, finding the place where they belonged regardless of surroundings. They twined together in the hammock and made love, slowly, saying words of love, and occasionally one would realize they were saying goodbye to a previous life and welcoming a new one.
After making love, Sara talked; she told him about memorizing paintings in an old art book while on the ship. "I have never been an aficionado of art—but I would see us. There's one by Chagall—a couple wrapped in a knot and floating above the world." She laughed as she described the painting. "And here we are."
"We can't stay here forever," Grissom said, and, for the first time in days, Sara knew they would leave this paradise at some point.
They had talked of the future in a vague and capricious way—settling and dismissing nothing at the same time. Several days after he had arrived, in a swing on the porch of one of the research center's buildings, Grissom had been as honest as he had ever been with her. He had spoken of their life together, the known past and their open-ended future, his hopes to teach and research, asking her questions for her wants and desires, and she realized he wanted a flow of days where he could take pleasure in the simplest of things and focus on a part of life he had forgotten during the years of working around so much crime.
"No," she agreed. "We won't stay here," she laughed. "One more night and then I want a real shower—or a bath! A very clean tub and lots of hot water."
Somehow, they had moved in the hammock so her feet were in his lap and he played with her foot, her toes. He lifted her foot and examined each toe with a very serious expression on his face.
"Can this toe be prettier after soaking in scented water?" He kissed it, a mischievous grin on his face.
His hands clasped around her ankles and he tugged, pulling her body to his, placing her feet on his shoulders so her bottom fit snuggly against his groin. His hands moved to her butt. "Could I want you—love you any more in a cool room with running water?" He said, teasing as he massaged her buttocks, letting his fingers separate and lift each one in a manner that was suddenly erotic, surprisingly sensual to Sara who, minutes before had thought she was completely satiated and satisfied after two intensely pleasurable orgasms.
The smile on his face let her know he knew what was happening to her body; she felt a rippling tension build deep inside her. Her hands raked along his thighs.
"I can't believe…" She stopped when she saw his smile. His hand had slipped from her rear to the damp area between her legs.
"Enjoy," he whispered as he kissed her thigh, inserting one finger, then a second one into her intimate core and keeping his thumb against the swelling nub at its entrance. Her muscles reacted to the movement of his fingers, the whisper touches of his lips; her orgasm came—long and pleasurable—as she momentarily lost the ability to think.
Grissom lowered her legs and covered her body with his as she floated out of the misty miasma of climax. He kissed her belly, her rigid nipples, the soft places on her neck, and buried his nose in her hair.
"I love you, Sara," he whispered.
She curled against him, murmured similar loving words, too exhausted to think.
At some time during the night, rain came. Sara snuggled into the sleeping bag and Grissom got up and unrolled the canvas on the eastern side of the tent. A wide overhanging roof kept most of the rain out, but covering that side would mean adding thirty minutes to their sleep before the sounds of the marshland woke them up. He crawled back into the hammock, slightly damp and cool against Sara's skin.
"Do we canoe in the rain?" She asked, her voice sleepy and sexy at the same time.
He burrowed beside her. "It'll stop by then." He kissed her temple, wrapped arms around her, and closed his eyes. He felt a nod of her head and her quiet breathing indicated a return to sleep. Happiness welled up inside him, suddenly; this is love, he thought.
A/N: Thanks so much for the kind comments, reviews! Enjoy!