That Last Year in Vegas Chapter 10
The missing teenagers were found—and Grissom was not the only one pulled from late sleep on a Saturday morning. When he called, everyone showed up, searched roadways, and ball fields, interviewed other teenagers and their parents, processed a load of evidence—including a van—before finding the bodies of the teacher and her student lover.
Grissom was asleep on the sofa when Sara returned with Hank; she let him sleep while she prepared a salad, heated soup and bread, and set their table. She woke him with a kiss.
"Dinner is ready."
"Oh, honey, I need a shower—didn't mean to sleep."
"Eat first, then we'll take a shower," she smiled, and placed a hand on his cheek, letting her thumb rub across his beard.
"It itches," he said.
"Let's eat."
Instead of a shower, she ran a bath, throwing a handful of citrus scented crystals into the water, turning the taps completely open, putting towels on the heated rack. Grissom surprised her by handing her a slim metal blade after he had lathered his face. She had done this twice before tonight, and each time she had nicked his face causing great concern on her part and laughter from him. His response to her question has been given in one word, sweet, warm, sexy, she thought as she leaned closer, moving one thigh against his groin. She put the razor to his skin, and carefully drew it across the lather with a light, careful stroke. She wiped the razor on a towel. With one finger she touched the shaved patch, gently pulled the skin, and touched him with the edge of the razor and scraped again. Wipe, stroke, once, twice, three times; she dipped a washcloth in hot water and pressed the cloth to his shaved skin. He winced at the touch of the hot cloth and then stood perfectly still as she shaved, rinsed, shaved the next area until she had removed his beard and his face was smooth.
She picked up a bottle of soothing skin cream, poured some into the palm of her hand, and closed her hands together before taking his face in her hands and massaging his skin, gently, smoothly. She smiled and backed away.
"No nicks—I knew you could do it." He said as he inspected his face in the mirror.
She sat on the edge of the bathtub watching him. "Why?"
He chuckled. "I decided you had suffered enough—beside Warrick made some comment about your boyfriend today that didn't sound very complimentary." He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it in the direction of the hamper.
"What did he say?"
"Something about finding the wrong underwear." He stepped out of his pants and into the tub.
Sara hand covered her mouth as she laughed. "That was a very long time ago! How did this come up in conversation?"
"He asked me if I knew who your boyfriend was. I made no response so he told me the story of the panty search."
She kept laughing, asking, "What did you say?"
"Nothing, just drove faster." He had gotten into the tub and stretched out. "Coming?"
She stood by the tub, looking at his naked body. He seemed younger, his face relaxed, and his voice had the deep rumble of expectations. She grinned, feeling a growing pleasurable ache deep inside. She quickly discarded her clothes, got into the tub, and knelt astride him, her knees against his thighs.
"In the tub," she said, quietly, as one hand circled him in a most intimate way which started, or continued what had begun with the way her hands had caressed his face as she shaved him.
The bath tub was large enough for both of them, but making love in a tub of water had been a new experience for both. A few days after they had moved in—and Sara had peeled the protective plastic off the new tub—she had filled it within inches of the lip, added a small amount of nice smelling fragrance, and closed the door. They were still in early days of intimacy outside of the bed and Sara wasn't sure what he would think of her bathing in a tub—of her soaking in a tub. Or perhaps it was she who was uncertain of the implied pleasure of the big tub. But she had closed the door, dropped her clothes, slipped into the water, and held her breath for one long minute as the sensation of hot water with a scent of citrus seeped into her skin, and Sara Sidle, at an age past thirty, learned the sacred ritual of long soaks in hot water. Of the wonderful feeling of submerging one's body in the fluid of life, and letting thoughts disappear.
A week later, Grissom brought up her disappearances behind a closed door. "So—are you going to let me in on what's going on in the bathroom?" They were eating and he raised one eyebrow in a very subtle but sexy way that Sara loved.
"I'm taking a bath."
He made a slight nod of his head. "It's a big tub."
She grinned. They had showered together several times in the small shower in her apartment and had christened the new shower in the same way the night they had moved in. She propped her chin on her palm and said, "Do you think we can soak together?"
That deep rolling chuckle gave her an answer. "I think we can do more than soak."
Tonight, Sara's hand cupped against his groin as she stretched along side him; there were certain things they had not figured out, but the basics were pretty easy. Kissing was easy and the hot water, wet surfaces, even holding one's breath, turned basic feelings into erotic touches. Movements came automatically as passion took over. Sara could imagine being in fast flowing water, of waves gently washing over their bodies. She felt her belly roll, her hips jerked as if someone was pulling a tight thread from her center. She felt the warm breaths against her neck as Grissom moved faster; she knew she was on the edge of ecstasy; she had to jump into the pool.
She hesitated, whispered, "Come." He was on top of her now, moving faster, deliberately controlled, as she rode the excitement to climax unable to speak as she fell back; his hand caught her head and managed to keep her nose above the water. But he was not finished.
Grissom pulled her from the tub, dripping water as he back-walked her to the bed, flung aside the covers and pushed both of them on to the bed. He pulled covers over them creating a warm shelter before continuing what had started in the bathtub. He stroked her folds, found the swollen bud with his fingers, and rolled it gently between thumb and finger. He literally kissed the water from the surface of her skin, bringing a whirlwind of emotions swelling inside her.
"Gil." The way she said his name was a plea, an appeal for more, as her hips twisted, rose to meet his mouth. She grabbed his shoulder, fingernails sinking in his skin. "You, now!" She knew where he was taking her, but in her current state, she wanted him—the engorged erection she had felt earlier, seen as he covered them, even now could feel hot and throbbing against her leg. He continued to stimulate her with his fingers, his tongue, his lips. Her body moved in the grip of intense pleasure
With a skill she had developed over several months, she moved her leg, sliding her foot under his arm, tugging with her knee, as she said, voice low and husky with desire, "Now! Quick!"
He let his body move, gliding across her belly, her chest, pausing to kiss each breast before coming to her mouth.
"Ahhh," he breathed, and lowered himself to her.
Days and nights, working shifts and off-days rolled by with the usual madness and mayhem of Las Vegas. As often as possible, Grissom paired with Sara for assignments; he liked to have her close and if he were truthful, he worked better with her than any of the others. Some times he had to send her with someone else and some nights crime exploded from hour to hour and they all worked separate scenes.
Sara and Catherine were working a home invasion-robbery when an early dawn crash occurred on a major thoroughfare and as everyone else was already elbow deep in other investigations, he sent Sara. The crash sight spread over four corners of expensive property, involved two cars, a city bus, and a group of pedestrians and had the potential of major involvement with lawsuits. She documented for hours as early morning traffic increased and spectators gathered.
Finally, Grissom showed up to assist, taking her camera as she turned. She smiled as his fingers slowed and stroked her arm as he removed the camera. She mouthed a "thanks" as he took her sketches, and a few minutes later, he reappeared with a bottle of water. Together, they finished the work and watched as the last car, a red one, was hauled onto a flat-bed truck.
"I guess this carnage could have been worse," Sara said.
"How many people?" Grissom asked.
"Twenty hurt, two dead. Two in the Mustang, one in the Honda, twelve on the bus, and seven on the sidewalk. Honda driver and one pedestrian killed. The driver of the Mustang said something ran across the street, over corrected and all this happened."
"Breakfast?" He asked.
Again, she smiled. "Yeah—at home if you can make it."
It was his turn to smile. "I'll meet you at the lab. We can unload and file all of this—be finished and get home before noon."
The crowd had dissipated, wandering back to hotel rooms and twenty-four hour buffets, leaving a trail of debris, cups, bottles, candy wrappers, and assorted litter. The owners of destroyed property—a coffee shop, a camera shop, a dress boutique, and a jewelry store—were huddled with assorted insurance agents and the traffic patrolmen were directing traffic through the intersection.
Grissom attempted to leave minutes after Sara left but a stack of messages, a professed important conversation with the Under Sheriff, a stop in the hall for a briefing from Brass caused a delay much longer than he had anticipated and the sun was no longer overhead by the time he left.
Sara's cell phone chirp woke her from a nap on the sofa.
"I'm sorry," were his first words.
"It's fine—I took a nap." She was up and heading to the kitchen. "I've got lunch ready—or almost."
"I'll be there in ten minutes." He paused. "Sara, we have tomorrow off—let's get outside."
She smiled. "Sounds perfect."
Home and their time together was their quiet oasis; they read, watched movies, listened to music, and walked Hank in the park. At times, arranging days off seemed impossible, but by modifying the schedule, Grissom could work a double shift and be at home at the same time as Sara. No one seemed to notice.
They ate, lay together on the sofa and watched a movie—Grissom missed the end of it because he was sleeping. Knowing they were at the beginning of twenty-four hours without prying eyes, with no need to hide affectionate contact, the two seemed to crave the touch of each other and Sara stayed on the sofa, watching him sleep.
More times than they would count, their quiet night, the scheduled day off, was interrupted by the persistent ringing of Grissom's phone. And tonight, the phone beeped and rattled against the table as he slept. Sara reached for the phone, recognized the number, and kissed him awake.
"Better answer this one," she said.
He shook himself awake and answered with "Grissom" in a tone that indicated his mood. Closing the phone, he looked at Sara with sad eyes.
"Multiple bodies. We'll all need to work this one."
"How many?" Sara asked as she moved to get up.
"Six--showgirls living in one house."
A/N: Up to 'Empty Eyes'--enjoy! Thanks for a review, your comments!