A/N: Here's the next chapter, rated "M" cause it has a few words in it that might be rated mature! Enjoy!

I'll Take You Home Chapter 7

It had been so long—Sara had ached for him and then felt all was lost for so long, that the excitement of being held and loved by the man she loved nearly caused her to lose her balance, aware only of the man holding her, his voice, the scent of his skin, the softness of his shirt, the crushing pressure of his mouth. Her body felt weightless, responding to the demand of his hands and lips pulling her from a shell she had kept tightly shut for months.

Finally, with a joint relieved sigh, they turned and walked to her bedroom where she had already turned down the bed. A single lamp cast its light upward, softening the colors of her new pillows and coverlet. Beside the bed, discretely placed in a small crystal bowl, were several condoms. For the same reasons common to many women, Sara took birth control pills but she had decided the option of additional protection might ease Grissom's unspoken concerns.

"Are you certain?" He asked some time later. They were in a very slow process of undressing each other, or he thought of it that way because his shirt was no longer buttoned and his hand had found its way to her butt. The feel of her skin, the silky texture of her panties—he knew they were new—was enough to push him into a tangle of emotions that surpassed anything he might think or say. He had managed the tiny pearl buttons on the front of her shirt; he could still take in air.

Sara's passionate kisses seemed to will him into lovemaking; his mouth opened on hers, his tongue responded to hers, and then hands were urgent and demanding, removing her thin shirt. Sara felt his hands cup her breasts and his mouth enclosed her left nipple and she closed her eyes to let herself be engulfed in the heat that seemed to flow from his touch. His mouth lingered on her breasts as he managed to slip his shirt from his body, pulling away as he did so. She opened her eyes, surprised to find how cold and lost she felt without his body close to hers. In a moment, he was holding her, pressing her body along his.

Their bodies curved together as each remembered, softness and hardness fitting together. Sara slipped her hand between their bodies and slid her slim fingers and palm along his very hard penis, listening to the sound that broke from his lungs, loving the feeling of knowing she could do that to him. Quickly, his arm reached for the wrapped packet at the bedside but Sara was the one to open it, and when he pushed himself away from her, she rolled the thin covering onto his erection.

Grissom stretched above her on the bed, brushing her skin with long strokes that felt like a warm current of water against her shoulder, between her breasts, and along her abdomen. His fingers reached the triangle of chestnut hair between her legs and explored her dark, wet center, reaching deep inside, his mouth on her breasts again, sucking, licking her erect nipples. Sara's breath came in a lingering moan as she tried to pull him into her, but he would not yield. His fingers and mouth possessed her, heating her until she seemed to grow into a long flame that blocked out everything else. And then he moved and Sara felt the wonderful warmth of his body above her; she raised her hips and pulled him into her, the plunging hardness of him, the sureness of his movements—her body followed, moved with his as she was filled by the man who loved her. Her body came alive as a morning breeze came through the open window. They moved together in a rhythm known to lovers so closely entwined they made one shadow on the wall.

Sara slept and when she woke, the sun had brightened the room and the cool morning breeze had settled into an occasional warm draft. She opened her eyes and found two sapphire ones watching her. She smiled, drowsily. "I dream of waking up and finding you here. Did I sleep long?"

Grissom slipped an arm around her and cradled her to his chest. "About an hour. Long enough for me to recover." The smile on his face released any nervousness of waking in bed with a new lover.

"I feel good—really good." She closed her eyes and placed small kisses on his chin, his chest, the hollow of his throat.

Raising himself on one elbow, Grissom leaned over her and kissed her eyes, her lips, moved along her neck, down to take her breasts in his mouth, first one and then the other, playing with his tongue over nipples, slow, teasingly, while his hand, just as slowly and lightly, moved along the soft skin inside her thigh. Sara lay still, letting the waves of sensation built within her, lifting her as if she were floating in a dream.

They made love slowly, tasting each other, learning the soft sounds and tiny movements, gestures and expressions that lovers know, laughing as the past and present merged and the emptiness inside them filled—longing and loneliness gone. They made love again and talked through the day, the sounds of the afternoon came to them as if from a distant place. They pulled the pale blue bed sheet around them and the closeness of being wrapped together aroused them again and, almost without moving, Grissom was inside Sara and they moved together in natural rhythm to culminate in the passionate sound of her name on his lips.

Some time later, as they had both dosed after climax, Sara felt his lips along her shoulder, his hand caressed her neck, his thumb traced along the angle from ear to chin. "Sara," he murmured, "I didn't think—this last time—I did not use a condom."

Instead of the concern he expected, he heard her quiet laugh. "I'm safe, Grissom, as I'm sure you are." She turned her face to his. "I've waited a very long time for this—I don't want you to think I'll do something foolish—I could not do that." She touched his face, gently, as drawing it from memory. "I am extremely private," she laughed again, "in case you have not noticed. All I want is you, Grissom."

Her tender words unexpectedly touched Grissom. He knew more about Sara and her past than he would ever tell her. When he asked her to come to Vegas, it had not taken much of a search to learn her mother had killed her father—not details, but enough to know why Sara was so passionate and obsessed with cases involving battered and abused women.

He kissed her, smiling. "I know, honey, I know." He unwrapped the sheet from his body, tucking it around Sara. "I'll be right back." He slid from the bed and walked across the room.

Sara watched him, his naked legs showing the angle of one knee slightly off center, his foot pointed inward, his butt round and muscular. There was energy in his walk, she thought, an air of tenacious intensity. She stretched in bed, remembering the weight of his body on hers, the embrace in his eyes, the sound of his voice. He had closed the bathroom door and took longer than she expected, but in minutes, the door opened and he returned to her bed, sliding beside her.

"I could get use to this," he said, his arms wrapping around her at the same time his legs found hers. When his damp face touched hers, she realized he smelled of soap and mouthwash.

"You cheated," she said, pushing herself away from him and out of bed. "You smell good." By the time she returned, he was asleep, middle of the bed, arms and legs spread in the position of the Vitruvius man. She found her gown and went to the sofa. In the middle of the small table was her mail, an official letter from Human Resources requiring her to attend counseling for her "alcohol related incident". At least the director had been tactful; she re-read the letter. One line "with the concurrence of your supervisor" fixed into her mind.

She wrapped a light weight blanket around her shoulders, curled up, and tried to sleep. She choked back tears; Grissom had not mentioned the letter or the counseling—this was the part of their relationship that was going to be most difficult—separating the man who was her supervisor from the man who was her lover. She sniffled and closed her eyes. She wouldn't think about it now, she thought; she was tough and flexible and secretive. Counseling was not new to her, neither were secrets. But Grissom could have warned her about the letter.

A/N: Good news-we've extended this one to 10 chapters. So enjoy, review, please! How's the sweet smut?