A/N: Smut alert! Nothing too graphic--enjoy!
February 15, 2010 in Las Vegas Chapter 2
Gil Grissom slept nearly eight hours on the jetliner heading west; checking his phone he saw several missed calls from one person and called Sara as he hurried to catch the flight to Las Vegas. He had called Brass with arrival time, trusting his old friend with his surprise. As soon as he got home, his dog was bouncing with joy and ready to be walked, then he had walked around their home—the place he and Sara called home even if he was six thousand miles away. He noticed her book by the sofa, plucked an apple from the bowl in the kitchen, and ran his hand over the stack of accumulated mail. He loved how Sara kept the house organized, everything had a place, and, standing in the kitchen, he sniffed—nothing smelled quite like Sara's clean house. He touched a few books, noticed she had placed a few things from his office around the living room, and she had replenished her herb garden in the window.
Grissom ate the apple as he thought about what the past year—two years, he corrected—had been for them. He was happier than he had ever been and most of this feeling was centered on his wife. His current tenure in Paris would be finished soon and, even though it did not look like they would get a research grant this year, there were several possibilities for them to work together. He was surprised she had returned to the lab, but she had talked about the need for closure, a certain sense of duty to her friends, when she was in treatment for her breakdown, and even later, in Costa Rica, she had worried about the others. Ecklie's request for help had come at an appropriate time; Sara was not a person who could spend endless hours in idle or frivolous activities.
He picked up his bag and headed to the bathroom. He smiled at the fresh flowers in a vase and a clean towel placed beside the sink. Some things would never change. He peeled off his clothes, opened the closet to find it as he knew it would be—his shirts were arranged by color on a rack, his shoes paired on a shelf, his underclothes and pants were neatly folded—with Sara's attention to detail. Before they lived together, he was a drop and roll guy; he dropped his clothes where he took them off and he rolled anything clean. He stuffed his soiled clothes into the hamper and turned on the shower.
An oversized showerhead poured forth a powerful spray of hot water. The Paris apartment had a very nice shower but nothing could match the pressure of water in Vegas. Quietly, he begin to sing the words of an old popular song, one he had heard in his headset on the plane, and the words remembered, he sang and hummed the rest, turning slowly in the flowing water.
When he heard the bathroom door open, he stopped singing. Through the steam covered door, he could see a familiar silhouette, which divested itself of clothing. The glass door opened, and standing there in a cloud of steam, a small bar of lavender scented soap in one hand, was Sara Sidle Grissom—naked but wearing a broad smile that covered her entire face. Without clothes, she was smaller, thinner, delicate appearing but perfectly proportioned.
Her smiled became mischievous, playful, as she reached a hand toward him and drew a heart shaped figure across his wet chest. "That's nice," she said. "I had to make sure you were really here!" Then, after a few seconds, "Are you going to invite me in, Mr. Grissom?"
He laughed as she entered the shower, stepping close enough so the tips of her breasts just barely touched his chest, and kissed him lightly on the lips.
"Tell me what brings you to Vegas?" She asked with a soft low murmuring voice. Then she handed him the soap.
She turned beneath the spray, raising her face to the water and finger-combing her hair. All Grissom could do was watch until she leaned both hands against the tile wall and asked, "Would you be a sweetheart and wash my back?"
"Hank?" He asked as he worked up a creamy lather, and slid his hands up and down, sideways, letting his hands slowly caress her butt before moving his hands upward and leaning against her backside.
Sara laughed, "Yes, he always meets me at the door—but you left his leash folded on the table—so I knew you were home." She stretched her arms up and turned around. "Don't forget the front." She felt the heat emanating from his groin and kept her body in contact with his, a rush of emotions infused her mind and body.
He didn't. After she was well-lathered, he leaned forward placing his hands on either side of her head on the wall behind her. Sara touched his jaw with her fingertips. "I've missed you." Her hand slipped along the wet skin of his neck, his shoulder, his chest and she heard a low, hungry groan deep in his chest. Her hands moved upward to encircle his neck. He reacted immediately, pressing tightly until she was against the tile and his aroused body molded to hers. Her leg wrapped around his, opening her body to his.
"Sara." He drew a deep breath. "I need you." He kissed her again, and she responded, parting her lips as she pushed fingers through his hair.
One of his palms closed over her left breast and a warm, wonderful tension began to build deep inside her. His thumb circled her nipple and she heard herself make a soft, husky moan. She kissed his throat, his chest, and he shuddered as her hands moved along his sides until she reached his hips and then circled his erection with her long fingers. He made a sound, half groan, half muffled laugh as he captured her hands.
"Enough," he rasped.
The shower had been specifically designed by these two—large enough for them to enjoy showering together, with a large high pressure shower head, and a second rainfall sprayer with a gently mist of water—intended for times like this. Grissom's hand found the touch-button and the water flow changed. The shower also had a long bench and he backed up to it, holding her as he sat down and pulled her to his lap. Her legs parted as her knees straddled his hips.
A moment later she felt the firm thrust of his erection pressing against her thigh. His arm reached around her butt and his fingers eased their way to the most intimate place on her body. He touched her, finding the damp, throbbing entrance to what he sought, and gently eased one finger inside her. She twisted, seeking more, leaning against him until he was pressed against the wall.
Against his mouth, she said, "I am ready—for you—not a test!"
He chuckled as he guided his penis, pushing gently, filling her completely. She felt him move inside her, unhurried, as she began to move against him, and slowly they rocked together as he drove himself deeper. The muscles of his back were rigid bands beneath her palms as a sweet passion built inside her. She clutched him closer.
"Sara." His mouth opened in a heavy groan. His muscles tightened as waves of passion sent sensations through his body. "Sara."
Sara had bent her head to his neck, rocking with him as orgasmic contractions had moved from her toes to the top of her skull. This crashing of waves pounded in her between her thighs and abdomen moving to her breast and upward to her brain. At some point, when his mouth had closed around her nipple, she made a sound—an aroused cry before she collapsed against him.
The gentle rain of the shower, or the restrictions of movement on the tiled bench, ultimately got them to move from bathroom to bedroom. Grissom grabbed a cream colored towel and patted her dry, but fell into bed beside her with water dripping from his hair. It took all the control he possessed not to consume her—beginning with her lips and moving to her breasts, downward to her navel and to the small, sensitive bud hidden by dark curls and intimate folds. But he moved slowly, drawing out their play, just as she did with him.
The towel has been thrown somewhere behind them and Hank had been closed out of the bedroom before he lowered himself onto the bed. For a few minutes, they kissed holding each other tightly. His palms slid down her spine, feeling the elegant curve from her waist to her hips. When his fingers closed over the firm flesh, she moved and a little shiver went through her. His fingers traced the cleft that separated the swells of her butt.
Sara made a breathless sound as she laced fingers through his hair and whispered his name against his ear. Her lips nibbled at the edge of his ear before she returned to his mouth and kissed him with an urgency that made him groan. She could feel him—pressed against her thigh, heavy and rigid with desire.
He slipped from her arms and leaned down, kissing her knee. Her hands brushed his hair and with a single motion of his head, she separated her legs. His mouth moved along her thigh, kissing and tasting, until he was between her legs, discovering and rediscovering the exquisite, delicate scent he found there. He could live the rest of his life on the fragrance of Sara, he thought. In his dreams, this was what he imagined—the heat of his own body, this drugging fragrance, and holding Sara.
The small bud between her folds throbbed as he touched it with his tongue, sucking gently and blowing warm breaths. When he eased a finger into her, she clenched around him and gasped, her fingers tightened in his hair. He probed, he kissed, he slid another finger into her and felt her muscles contract rapidly from the stimulation. Finding the cluster of nerves inside her, he pressed and stroked as she moaned, her breathing coming in rapid puffs of air. Her entire body tensed.
He knew—sensed from the wetness on his hand, the strong contractions against his hand—that her climax was immediate. In a moment, he moved, covering her body with his, one hand guiding his erection as her hands grabbed and clutched furiously for him. His mouth covered hers as he slipped inside her, swallowed by her furious desire.
A/N: And it's not over! Review quickly so this love-fest can continue!