8/5/06
RUBATO
EPILOGUE – A Matter of Trust
The fire in the fireplace was starting to die down. It was late. I really ought to head home, Nick thought to himself, but he was extremely comfortable, sprawled out on the couch in Heather's four-season room, with the little cat sleeping on his stomach. Heather was seated on the floor in front of the couch, going through old photo albums.
Occasionally, she would pull out a picture to show him, a smiling, gap-toothed, seven-year-old Zoe, she and her nine-year-old daughter playing dress up. Nick thought it was good that Heather could now look at the photos and remember the good times. She was beginning to let go of the bad, although Zoe's death still haunted her and probably would for the rest of her life. Nick understood this. There were just certain memories that one learned to live with, but never entirely let go of.
He and Heather had spent several evenings, here, in this cozy little room talking about both of their pasts. She was an amazingly strong woman and Nick found that strength to be the sexiest thing about her. Although there was a definite attraction between them, the relationship had, so far, remained fairly chaste. They had kissed, but even these kisses had been more tender than passionate, despite the fires smoldering just below the surface for both of them, as if they were afraid of unleashing those intense emotions.
Nick gave an experimental little stretch and the cat immediately raised her head to glare at him reproachfully, as if to say, don't even think about getting up. Heather had renamed the cat 'Pandora', for her penchant for getting into everything. So, Nick had started calling her Dora the Explorer, a reference that had been completely lost on Heather. When he had explained that Dora was the title character of a children's program, the dominatrix had simply smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with suppressed amusement.
Feeling a little defensive, Nick had said, "Well, it's the only thing on TV early in the mornings, when I get home from work. And it helps me with my Spanish..."
Heather had merely laughed and kissed him. Now, she closed her photo albums and gathered them up. Standing, she placed them on a nearby side table.
"It's getting late..." she commented, moving to the fireplace, to close the flue and the glass doors, her back still turned toward Nick.
Removing the disgruntled cat and placing her on the floor, Nick sat up and said, "Yeah, it is, I should probably get go-."
"Maybe you should spend the night," Heather said, interrupting as she turned to face him.
Nick opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He had no idea what he wanted to say. His body was screaming, yes, yes! But his brain was still hesitant, although he wasn't sure why. Heather was wearing a pair of loose, black pants of some clingy, drapey material with a matching lace-edged camisole. Over this, she had thrown on a black, silk kimono-style robe, which she'd left unbelted. She looked amazing. So, why was he holding back?
"Do you trust me, Nick?" she asked, her voice very grave.
"Yes."
She held her hand out to him and he took it without hesitation. He stood and she led him out of the four-season room and around a corner. Opening a door, a back staircase was revealed. It was quite narrow and steep.
"This was originally the servants' stairs," she explained. "It led directly to their quarters, which were quite separate from the rest of the house. After all, the master of the house wouldn't wish to mingle with his servants, even inadvertently. When I remodeled the house, I had those rooms converted into my master bedroom suite. Ironically, I have more privacy that way."
At the top of the stairs was a short, narrow hallway, with only one door. Opening this door, Heather ushered Nick inside. The room he stepped into was quite large and open. A huge, queen-sized bed sat up against the wall, in the middle of the room, making it the focal point of the room. The walls were painted a muted, dusty mauve and the hardwood floor was covered by a very large, Persian rug, worked in deep shades of blues, reds and greens.
The room had very little furniture in it beyond the bed. There was a large, well-stuffed chair, covered in deep blue upholstery in one corner, beside the walk-in closet. A large, darkly-stained, hump-backed trunk sat at the foot of the bed and there was a built-in window seat beneath the room's only window. A few framed black and white, Helmut Newton photographs hung on the walls. A glass vase filled with white tulips sat on a small side table near the overstuffed chair.
Heather led Nick to the bed and sat him down on it. She stood in front of him and repeated her earlier question, "Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"You haven't been with a woman since the night you were kidnapped, have you?"
"No."
"It's been almost a year. Why haven't you?"
He looked away. "I don't know. I guess, I just do-."
"Don't feel safe?" she finished for him.
He looked up at her, but didn't speak.
Heather ran her fingertips lightly down his cheek. "I want to help you feel safe again."
Abruptly turning, she walked to the foot of the bed and pushed up the lid of the trunk. Reaching inside, she took out several items, which she concealed in the loose folds of her robe. Walking back to the bedroom door, she closed it and switched off the overhead light. The room was plunged into almost complete darkness. The only light was the faint glow from The Strip seeping in through the curtains of the lone window.
The sound of a soft crack drew Nick's attention and he could see Heather standing in the faint light of a green glowstick. She placed the stick on the nightstand beside the bed. Slowly, she walked around the room, placing more of the activated sticks as she went, until the room was filled with an eerie, green glow. Nick sat up straighter on the bed. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat and his heart rate increase, and not necessarily in a good way.
He had told Heather the details of his kidnapping, so she knew exactly what she was doing and what affect her actions would have on him. This is supposed to make me feel safe? he asked himself, trying to keep his rising panic under control. She moved to stand in front of him again.
"You told me that you were initially bound during your kidnapping," she said softly. "What were you bound with?"
"I don't really know, my hands were behind my back," he said, his voice low and his throat dry. "Whatever it was, it was very strong and thin, and hard."
"Hmm, probably a zip-strip," she mused expertly.
Returning to her 'toy chest', she dug around for a moment, before moving back to the bed with a long, white strip of plastic. She held it out for him to see.
"Was it something like this?" she asked.
"Could be," he whispered.
Heather cupped one hand along his strong jaw. "You don't have to do this and we can stop at any time. You say the word and everything stops."
She looked beautiful and unearthly in the dim, eerie, green light, like some fierce, pagan goddess. Nick felt himself trapped in the darkness of her unwavering gaze. He nodded his acceptance to her and she reached down and grasped the hem of his dark blue t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He accommodated this action by raising his arms. Now shirtless and feeling very vulnerable, he took a deep breath and tried to will his racing heart to slow. Shifting his body away from her, he placed his hands together behind his back.
He flinched involuntarily at the slight growling sound of the strip 'zipping' tight around his wrists. His mind was suddenly transported back to the SUV, having just woken up to find himself bound, disoriented, and at the mercy of an unknown attacker. He felt his panic abruptly surge. And then he felt Heather's hands pressing against his back, cool and comforting on his suddenly overheated skin.
She moved around to sit in front of him and placed her hands on either side of his neck, gazing deeply into his eyes and grounding him, keeping the panic at bay. He took a couple of deep breaths, forcing his erratic breathing back to normal and concentrating solely on Heather's eyes.
As she returned his stare, she saw the unconditional trust in his dark eyes. He was trusting her not to hurt him. She needed to trust herself not to as well. This was not Johan Sneller, the last man she had been with, and the man who had tortured and murdered her daughter. This was Nick Stokes, one of the people who had helped to bring Sneller to justice, but also one of the most gentle and empathetic men she had ever known. Hurting him now, at this point, would be the worst act of betrayal on her part.
Realizing that her own hands were trembling slightly with the weight of her responsibility, she drew him closer, sliding one hand into his hair and the other down the warm, bare skin of his back. Pressing tightly against him, she could actually feel his heart beating against her own chest. As their eager mouths met, she could taste the desperation on his lips and it was like a drug to her.
She wanted more. She wanted to press him down on the bed, climb on top and devour him alive. As she continued to feed hungrily on his lips, she found her fingernails unconsciously digging into his flesh. The soft whimper from deep in his throat brought her back to reality and reluctantly, she released him.
Sitting back to look at him, she saw that he was breathing just as heavily as she was and his pupils were dilated, making them appear huge and black in the dim light. He looked excited, slightly dazed, and more than a little frightened, quite a heady combination for the dominatrix. She felt a tightening in her body and anticipation prickled along her skin. It had been a very long time since she'd felt this turned on.
She wanted Nick Stokes and she wanted him badly. She could see immediately that, as alluring as his current bound state was, having his hands behind his back was going to prove inconvenient for her future plans. And the zip-strip would not be the most ideal restraint either. She would have to make adjustments. But that was all right, she was good at rolling with the punches and she'd already successfully triggered the correct mental associations for him.
Leaving Nick, she went again to her toy chest. Locating what she was looking for quickly, she returned to his side, bearing a pair of police-issue handcuffs. It took her longer to locate a pair of scissors with which to cut the zip-strip off and when she had done so, she saw that she'd been a little overenthusiastic in zipping them tight. Nick's wrists already bore matching red stripes from where the plastic had bit into his skin. She brought his hands up to her lips and tenderly kissed the red chafe marks and soothed them with her cool fingertips.
With a last kiss on each palm, she gave him her soft command, "Lie down."
To her immense pleasure, he obeyed without question or complaint, stretching out on the bed beside her. The headboard of her bed had been specially designed by Heather and meticulously crafted by one of her former clients, who was a master carpenter. It had several small, metal rings and clasps, which each had its own slot, so they could lie flush against the carved wood when not in use, thus allowing the bed to look quite 'normal' most of the time.
Taking his wrists, she brought them over his head. She attached the short chain of the handcuffs to one of the clasps of the headboard then snapped the cuffs around Nick's wrists, binding him to the bed.
Moving to sit at the foot of the bed, she began to untie Nick's boots. Removing them and his socks, she rubbed his feet for a few minutes, trying to help him relax. When he'd closed his eyes and the taut lines of his body had loosened some, she knew she could proceed to the next level. Scooting further up the bed, she began on his jeans. His eyes flew open again, but much of the wariness in them was gone and he seemed more curious than anxious.
Unbuckling the belt and unbuttoning the fly, she folded the front of his pants back to reveal a pair of black boxer shorts with a white skull and crossed bone pattern on it. She looked up at him with one eyebrow arched inquiringly. He gave her a sheepish grin, but said nothing.
"Hmm, shall we hoist the Jolly Roger?" she asked softly, a slight purr to her low voice. "Prepare to be boarded, Matey."
Without allowing him time to respond, she grasped the top of his pants and yanked them down, boxers and all, off his narrow hips. Tossing the jeans onto the floor, she stepped back from the bed and stood for a moment, admiring her handiwork. Seeing him stretched out, naked and at her mercy, while she was still fully clothed gave her a feeling of power. She ran one hand lightly along his nearest thigh, up and over his hip, and across the flat plane of his stomach.
Gazing down at the abundance of golden skin before her, she felt like an artist looking at a blank canvas. She had an incredible urge to decorate that smooth, beautiful skin with a lovely pattern of bright red stripes. She forced this desire down. Nick would not enjoy that... yet, and this was about him, making him feel safe and giving him pleasure. But there were plenty of other things she could do to him that she was certain he would enjoy.
Climbing onto the bed, she straddled his thighs, placed her hands on either side of his chest and leaned over him, her lips hovering millimeters above his. Their eyes were locked and she could feel his quick, warm breaths brushing her lips like the ghosts of kisses. Moving her mouth lower, she pressed it against his neck and she could feel his rapid pulse beating against her lips.
Continuing to move lower, she very, very slowly kissed, sucked and nibbled her way downward, across his smooth chest, to lavish attentions on his small nipples, each in turn, and down to his stomach. By the time she reached his hips, she had him literally writhing in delicious agony. His breathing was coming in shallow pants and he was making the most incredible, soft whimpering sounds. Those sounds alone were enough to further excite Heather, but she wasn't quite finished torturing him yet.
Deliberately avoiding the center of his heated agony, she kissed her way down his left hip, 'accidentally' grazing her teeth over a slightly prominent pelvic bone. Continuing down to his legs, she took her time with the strong inner thighs before moving on to the back of the knees.
After having thoroughly kissed and primed his body for the next step, she once again took up her previous position, straddling his legs. Once again, capturing his eyes with hers, she made a deliberate show of slipping the black silk robe off her shoulders and tossing away. With equally slow movements, she drew the camisole over her head and it joined the other clothes on the floor.
Topless now, she sat for a moment, just gazing down at her prize, while he gazed up at her. She saw his hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching. Oh, how he wanted to touch her, she realized, with a deliciously little thrill, but not quite yet.
Climbing off the bed, she slowly untied the drawstring of her pants and eased them off her hips. She let them drop to the floor, to pool around her bare feet and stepped out of them, to stand gloriously naked before him. She picked up the key from the nightstand and leaned over to unlock his handcuffs.
She was surprised by his quickness and by the strength of his deceptively slender build, as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her up and over onto the bed beside him. Before she had even realized what he'd done, he was half-draped across her body, pinning her to the bed. For a brief second, she saw a wild, animal need flit through his eyes, which awoke a tiny thrill of something close to fear in the pit of her stomach, but then it was gone, leaving her even more excited.
"May I?" he whispered, his voice thick with his desire.
Oh, could this man possibly be any more perfect? she thought to herself.
"You may," she purred.
Despite her teasing and the urgency of his need, their lovemaking was as beautiful and gentle as she had imagined it would be. Nick Stokes was probably incapable of physically hurting a woman in most situations, but certainly in an intimate situation such as this. He was attentive to her needs, but just forceful enough to let her remember that he had needs of his own.
For Nick, Heather's plan seemed to have worked perfectly. He had forgotten all about the green glowsticks, all about Walter Gordon and the abduction. Nick's mind was focused solely on the beautiful woman in his arms and the perfection and pleasure of this moment. Nothing else existed, only he and Heather.
For Heather, it was a release of long pent-up emotions, grief, desire, sexual frustration, and yes, even her anger. At the climax, she was surprised to find that there were tears in her eyes. Afterward, they lay for a long time in silence, simply holding each other and lost in their own thoughts.
"That was amazing, thank you," Nick said softly, at last breaking the long silence.
"Yes, it was. I suppose I should thank you as well."
He leaned close to kiss her, but was distracted by the sound of scratching at the closed door and a forlorn-sounding mew. They both laughed.
"Well, I think someone's feeling a little left out."
Slipping out of the bed, he padded to the door and opened it. Pandora immediately darted inside and ran straight to the bed. She was already firmly ensconced in the middle of the bed by the time he climbed back in. He found it amazing that such a tiny cat could take up so much room, in such a large bed. Eventually he and Heather fell asleep, spooned up together, with the cat between them.
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The late afternoon sky was a vibrant turquoise, unmarred by even the faintest trace of cloud. A pleasant breeze lifted stray strands of Heather's loose hair as she sat in a wicker chair in the shade of her front porch, sipping tart lemonade and watching the black SUV as it pulled into her small parking lot. She watched as the man climbed out of the vehicle and approached her somewhat apprehensively.
"Good afternoon, Heather," Gil said. "May I join you?"
"You may," she responded, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of the small, round table. "Would you like some lemonade? Although I warn you, it's not very sweet."
"Oh, that's alright, I like my lemonade tart," he said, seating himself across from her.
Reaching for the antique, pale green, Depression-ware pitcher on the table, she filled the matching, empty glass beside it and handed it to the entomologist. He accepted the glass with a smile of thanks and the two sipped in silence for a few minutes.
"It's quite a lovely afternoon," Gil commented.
"Yes, it is. I've always loved this time of day. It's not as hot and there's a pleasant laziness in the air as the afternoon fades into evening."
"Heather, I... I wanted to stop by on my way in to work, to say that I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but I know that you were angry with me. I just wanted to make sure that we've moved past that. I do value your friendship."
"Yes, I was angry with you for a time, but I have moved past it. You have no need to apologize."
"I'm glad. You seem more at ease. I'm glad to see that you're coming to terms with your loss."
"Yes, I am, but I've had help."
"Really? Well, I'm glad."
They both returned to their lemonade and the silence fell between them once more. It was broken by the sound of the front door opening. Nick stepped out onto the porch and turned toward the couple at the wicker table.
"Oh, hey Gris, I didn't know you were here," the Texan said in some surprise.
"I haven't been here long. Heather and I were just chatting," Grissom said, his voice carefully neutral.
"Oh, well, I was just about to head in to work." Nick walked around the table to give Heather a chaste kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you later," he said to her.
"Yes, later," she said with a fond smile and a smoldering gaze.
"Well, I'll see you in a few," Nick said to the entomologist as he passed by, on his way toward the steps of the porch.
Grissom nodded and watched as the younger man walked toward his own SUV, which the supervisor had failed to notice earlier. Several questions flitted through Gil's mind as he watched the Texan climb into the vehicle, but he kept them to himself. After all, if, as Heather had pointed out, Gil had forfeited the right to give her advice, he had most certainly forfeited the right to ask about her love life. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his lemonade. Glancing over, he saw Heather watching him with a mysterious, little smile.
THE END
A/N: Okay, I'm sorry that took so long to get posted, but I haven't been feeling well and it's rather difficult to write a hot love scene when you're feeling like crap : ). Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed and anyone who read and didn't review!