Here's a long chapter-in celebration of two new babies! As well as for all of you who read and review with such faithfulness! Thanks so much!
Enjoy!
Shopping for Sara
Chapter 3
A Bed, A Bug and A Bush (Part 1)
The bullet had been found—it was always difficult to have a case hang on the one piece of evidence that was nearly impossible to find. And everything—all the paperwork, every case, every dead body—seemed to engulf every waking moment of his life. And his own time, the time he wanted desperately to claim with Sara, seemed to shrink to passing minutes. Grissom shoved another folder onto the rising stack on his desk, pausing to think.
When they were together, grabbing a few hours between doubles and overtime, it was an incredibly passionate experience. He knew Sara loved him, yet she would find a reason to leave him—his bed—in favor of his sofa or her own apartment. So he went to her small apartment—exposing their time together to anyone who might drive by her complex and recognize his vehicle. He spoke of his concern; her solution was to pick him up once he had parked in his garage and then drive to her place. And in her own bedroom she would stay in bed with him—most of the time.
As he thought, his fingers ruffled the papers on his desk. Here, he could convince himself he could handle the desire Sara elicited in him. They would handle their emotions while at work—his fingers came to his forehead; Sara more so than he at times. So far, they were safe from prying eyes and ears; he had not heard a whisper of their relationship.
His eyes closed. They had endured too much during the past twenty-four hours, he thought. Everyone had been exhausted, feverishly working as they solved the confusing, bewildering case. Sara had left minutes ago; she would be waiting at his garage door, exhaustion gone from her voice by the time he arrived.
His hand wiped across his face before he began to straightened the stack of files. One wrong turn after another, Grissom thought glumly and he would ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him and he would have no one to blame but himself. It was too much for a methodical, logical man who had lived a single life for too long. He did not think Sara would mind the time he spent with another woman; she trusted him, she would understand, especially after he explained the circumstances. Except some blabber-mouth in the lab had spread the "news" that Grissom had been seen with a woman; he sighed as he thought of several possible culprits.
He shook his head and stood.
Sara was predictable; she worked relentlessly just as the others. But her voice had been drained of its usual eagerness. Sadness filmed her eyes; he knew she had heard the spreading gossip. He blew air out of his lungs with such force, the papers on his desk moved—which caused him to move, leaving his office with one intention.
The knowledge that Sara was waiting for him stirred the hair on the nape of his neck and quickened his steps. He drove home in a mental fog, hoping a certain Prius would be parked near his garage.
And it was…
Without a word, he slid into the passenger seat. A few minutes later, he placed his hand over hers on the center console. Sara raised her brows but offered no comment. At times such as this, Grissom became acutely aware of his poor understanding of the opposite sex. Slowly, he realized Sara was suppressing a grin; she was nibbling her lip in the familiar way she did to keep from laughing.
Neither made a sound as she proceeded through a busy intersection but he could not take his eyes off the curves of her breasts as they rose gently in response to her movements. At last she glanced at him; her sparkling eyes were laughing.
"Uh, Sara…"
She pulled into a parking space and pressed the button to turn off the engine. Shadows hid her eyes; she remained silent.
"Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?"
She blinked, turned to look at him and gave him a blinding smile. He could see light reflecting in lines of gold in her eyes. She said, "No, you haven't, Gilbert."
This was what he needed—had been waiting for hours to hear her voice, filled with love, trust, understanding. His hands moved to cradle her head. "Say my name again." His voice was so low and husky that the words were almost inaudible. He drew his thumb across her bottom lip.
"Gilbert."
A single urgency poured through the palms of his hands. "Again, please."
"Oh, Gilbert," Sara whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. "You are an amazing man—a most maddening man."
She kissed him with such fierceness that her teeth clicked against his. Her undisguised desire was his final undoing. She wanted him; it was all that mattered in this moment. A part of him wanted to take time to relish their lovemaking but he seemed powerless to halt their headlong rush as they tumbled from the car and made their way to her door, inside her apartment, and to privacy.
Sara had made a beautiful and intimate bedroom for them. The room was small—almost wall-to-wall with her wide bed—yet she had managed to add another small table on his "side" of the bed. She had made space for his personal belongings in a bathroom the size of a small closet when his condo had a huge bathroom; his walk-in closet had space for everything hanging in hers. But they managed—somehow—they were learning to live with each other, even if sleeping separately was involved.
Her fingers played with his shirt. He kissed her—lips, eyes, nose, throat—as he slid his knee upward between her legs.
"I can feel your heat through my pants," he muttered.
Sara put her lips to his chest and said something, her words unintelligible but the meaning was unmistakable.
It was in her bed, several hours after very satisfying sex, when he had an epiphany—that sudden leap of understanding as to why Sara left his bed. He almost laughed out loud. He reached an arm toward his sleeping partner, stopping short of closing his hand over her arm. She would wake if he touched her.
He settled his hand a fraction of an inch away from hers and relaxed against his pillow. His epiphany caused a sudden awareness of other things around him. His pillow was one of several on the bed—the one under his head was firm to the touch but yielded to the pressure of his head. He glanced at Sara. Her face was barely visible from her sleeping position on her stomach, a soft pillow under her head, another one crimped under her arm.
No wonder she preferred his sofa or her own bed to his. His bed felt like the back of a covered wagon compared to this one. He had two old, well-used pillows on his bed compared to the variety on Sara's bed. And the size—this was his epiphany—Sara's bed was wide, a king-size bed, while his was the old standard "double". He needed a new bed—no, he corrected—they needed a new bed. His thoughts caused a quiet chuckle.
Fingers touched his. "What's so funny?" Sara's voice was fuzzy with sleep.
He rolled to his side. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Her head lifted, dark curls framed her face. She smiled. "After the past two days, it's good to hear you laugh—even in sleep."
"Sorry."
Without warning, she launched herself across the short space that separated them. She threw her arms around him and gave him a brief, exuberant hug.
The bed sheet lifted lightly before floating around them. Grissom was suddenly enveloped by the warm, tantalizing fragrance of Sara Sidle. A cocoon, he thought, had been created just for them.
He knew he wanted her. Now. He kissed her.
(Part 2)
Sara knew exactly what she was doing. Her mouth moved, deepening the kiss. Grissom groaned. His hands tightened gently on her face. A swirling warmth invaded her, pooled in her lower body and caused a rippling shiver from head to toe. She felt his hand slip to her neck, warm fingers caressed her.
Her fingers combed through his hair as an urgency infused her entire body.
"Gil."
His hand moved slowly down over the curve of her breast and tightened on her hip; Sara closed her eyes as she sank beneath another wave of pleasure. Her hands cradled his head as she buried her face into his hair. The heat and scent of him were intoxicating; she wanted more, all of him.
He pushed aside the sheet and stroked her bare skin; his lips were on her shoulder.
Suddenly, Sara froze.
Quickly, Grissom's eyes met hers, questioning silently.
Her hands, her fingers worked against his scalp, no longer a caress. Her eyes widened with alarm.
"What?" He asked.
As he said the word, she was scrambling to sit, reaching for the bedside lamp with an outstretched arm.
"What is going on?"
Sara's hand remained on his head but she remained at arm's length. "There is something crawling in your hair, Gil."
He had just been kissing her with great passion so it took several seconds for her words to register. His hand went to his head where hers rested.
"I hate bugs." She said as she slipped her hand from underneath his. She stared at her palm.
He started to shake his head but the look on Sara's face kept his hand on top of his head as he got out of bed. "Bathroom," he mumbled.
Sara followed. "I'm checking you for bugs—where were you today?"
"Same place you were."
"Sink," she pointed.
He raked his hand through his hair while bending over the sink. He felt Sara's hand on his back. A small eight-legged insect dropped into the sink.
"Ahhh—that's your bug," he said, amusement barely hidden. "A small tick—a black legged one, I think."
Sara's hand was gone from his back. He grinned as he watched her pull sheets from the bed while naked.
"I can't stand ticks!"
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and checked his chest, his belly, turning to check his back finding his skin free of the dreaded tick. He shook his head again over the sink. Nothing.
"It was only one little tick—not even attached." He called out and heard some kind of mumbling response coming from Sara. He passed his hand over his thigh and into the curly bird's nest of pubic hair. A tick had the effect of lowering his—his spirits, he thought. His fingers stopped on a small lump near the base of his penis.
"Oh, shit," he muttered. Using his fingertips, he felt the small bubble against his skin. It moved. "Oh, shit." He knew he needed tweezers to grasp the tick. "Ouch," he whispered as he pulled several hairs out.
Bending over as far as possible, he found it impossible to see what he was after. It was this position—his butt exposed, his head almost between his legs—that met Sara when she stepped back into the bathroom.
Her first response was a giggle. "And—ahh—what does this mean?" She asked. A frown replaced the giggle. "You have a tick down there, don't you?"
Grissom straightened. "I think so—I can't see it." He pointed to the thatch of hair between his legs. "Here. And we need tweezers."
Sara crossed her arms, finding it difficult to suppress another giggle. She bit her lip. Her hand went inside her robe. "A tick…" She shivered. "I'd better not have one on me."
Grissom laughed. "You were at the same place—probably dropped from a tree." His grin became one of smug teasing. "I'll do a tick check on you after you remove this one." He pointed downward again.
A grimace crossed Sara's face; the corner of her mouth dipped. "A tick—in your…in your man-bush and you want me to remove it?" Her voice emphasized the "me". She turned and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with yellow cleaning gloves and tweezers.
"You're wearing gloves? It's just a bug—a little bug." His fingers disappeared in his hairy groin.
Sara snapped on the gloves. "Stand still, please." Getting on her knees, she said "No funny business—and I want you to remember this for a long time. I hate bugs!" She parted curly hair with her fingers until she found the attached tick, swollen with blood. "Ugh—gross." Her fingers held the tweezers. "There's going to be hair loss."
"Ouch!" Grissom flinched.
Sara's face was so close he could feel her breath on his skin. Her fingers brushed against him causing an immediate reaction. She giggled.
"Down boy," she said as she patted his penis with her hand. "You've still got a tick attached—you need a trim, dear, or I'm going to cause a lot of pain!"
"Just remove the tick, please." He shifted from one foot to another.
She opened a small drawer and found scissors. "Just a little trim of the thicket down here—so I can see what I'm doing!"
For several minutes, she worked with the scissors and tweezers, making little noises and sighs that should have irritated Grissom except that his erection was causing him to think about other things. Her fingers, even in gloves, were extremely arousing; her touch was no longer tentative, but caressing; her breath erotic against his skin.
He thought she was taking a long time to remove a small tick. "What are you doing?"
"Checking you for ticks."
He watched the top of her head. Suddenly, she kissed him, her lips sending a shock of surprise up his spine. The gloves were gone when he felt her hands on his thighs, stroking his bare skin.
He groaned, finally managing to stammer "Bed, baby, not here."
She pulled away and stood, her dark eyes glittered with amusement. "No sheets on the bed." Her lips pressed together as she stepped away so the mirror reflected his full frame.
Grissom's eyes went from her face to the mirror. Seconds passed as he took in his reflection—a few more seconds passed before he began to laugh. Clipped in the center of his hairy pubic triangle was a lopsided, cursive "S".
Sara slipped her arms around his chest. "Mine," she whispered. Her robe parted for skin-to-skin contact. Desire throbbed in her voice.
He put one hand on her sex. She pulsed gently against him. His thumb rubbed gently against the small bud until she quivered in response. He braced her against the counter's edge and guided his erection to her moist entrance. She went very still as he thrust heavily into her. He wanted to go slowly, experience and provide pleasure, but his willpower was slipping away, he discovered. In the grip of passion, he cradled her butt and plunged.
Sara gasped; her body went rigid. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
"Sara." It was passion, desire, pleasure in a breath of air. He began to move while she clung to him, her legs tightened around his. His thoughts mixed—he wanted to move slowly; he wanted to push himself until he was consumed by the heat burning between them.
He did not have to wait, or slow, as Sara twisted and lifted with mounting eagerness. Grissom closed his eyes as a delighted sound of satisfaction came from her. She convulsed, tiny spasms kneading his engorged flesh. As she seemed to turn to sweet, warm liquid in his hands, he pumped and spilled himself into her welcoming body.
Grissom was dimly aware of things being knocked to the floor, but he ignored the sounds and lost himself in a whirlpool of unconscious thought.
Sara floated gently down out of a world of pure sensation and found herself sitting on the edge of her bathroom counter. Grissom was between her legs, still somewhat embedded within her body.
"Gil," Sara stirred languidly against his shoulder. "We need sheets on the bed, dear."
A/N: Another chapter soon! Lots of things happening in our world.