Author's Note: This piece has a tendency to fluff, and its short. Oh, that and some smut. So enjoy.
Disclaimer: My cockatiel has a new perch. I still have nothing. Disclaimers also to Anthony Bourdain and Tyler Florence. Please don't sue me.
Part Three
Chapter Thirteen: Nerves
She peeked through the kitchen door to the group of people that had gathered in the building, visibly paling at the sight of their growing numbers. Promptly at 7:30 pm, she was to get up and speak to them, and right now, she didn't think she could do it. In fact, she was damn sure she couldn't do it. Her knees were barely holding her up, her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and her thoughts had turned to an incoherent wash of mud. She crossed the room briskly and sat down with a thump in a folding chair, putting her head between her knees and trying to breath deeply.
A hand on her shoulder made her jerk upright in surprise. She looked around with wide, frantic, eyes, afraid she had missed her cue. She'd had ten minutes when she sat down, but she couldn't be sure if she'd been in the chair thirty seconds or thirty minutes.
She was stunned to see not only Gil, but Warrick, Nick, Greg and Catherine behind her. "Shouldn't you guys be getting ready for your shift?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"Shift-schmift," Greg joked, earning a stern look from his boss. "Hey, you don't look so good," he commented.
"Well, at least my outsides match my insides," she tried to laugh. "Must have been something I ate," she lied. "Been feeling kinda queasy since I ate lunch with the councilman." She was referring to an appointment she'd had with one of the members of the county council who was key for future funding in the non-profit sector. Selling her program to him had been tough -- he was much more interested in photo ops than actual work. She grimaced, remembering the conversation, and how she had been utterly distracted by his hair. Every strand perfectly in place. She wondered if they'd have to change the laws of physics to move it. He wore a small brass name tag on the lapel of his suit jacket that made him look like he should be managing a fast food restaurant.
She stood up, forcing the jitters into the pit of her stomach, hoping her knees weren't shaking visibly. Damned if she was going to let anyone see her looking like a bundle of nerves.
"You're almost on," Nick said, grinning. "We should go out and take our places. Wouldn't miss this for the world!" He clapped her on the shoulder as he let himself into the main room, followed by his colleagues.
All of them except for Gil. He stood in front of her, looking at her very intently. The 'bug studying' look, as she had come to call it, if only to herself. "Liar." His voice was soft and his arm went around her waist.
"Seriously. I think that place served a bad salad or something," she continued her facade, although without any conviction now that they were alone.
His other arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close. "You're gonna be fine," he told her. "I didn't know you had trouble with public speaking."
His nearness had a calming effect on her -- when her shoulders dropped it felt like they fell about six inches. "Yeah, well..."
She heard the gabble of conversation dying down in the adjoining room, and the whine of feedback from the microphone. "This thing on?" a baritone voice echoed through the hall. A chuckle from the audience. The opening speaker began his address, introducing the community center and its advocate. Zero hour was quickly approaching. Too quickly.
She backed away from him, her eyes panicked, a hand clapped over her mouth. "Wastebasket..." was all she managed to say as she whirled around and leaned over the nearest trash can and quietly heaved her mediocre lunch. She sat there for a second, bent at the waist trying to catch her breath. His hands were on her shoulders again. "I can't do this!" she said frantically, shaking her head, near tears.
Hands left her shoulders and she heard water running. Then she knew he was standing in front of her because his knees blocked her view of the room. "Here," he said, holding out a paper cup with some water. "Rinse." She did as she was told, feeling utterly ridiculous. She felt a damp rag being pressed into the back of her neck, and her breathing evened out somewhat. She chanced a look up at him, noting that concern was battling humor in his eyes.
"I'd tell you to just imagine them all in their underwear, but that might not work out so well," he told her, scooting the trash can out the back door.
"Never worked for me anyhow," she mumbled. None of the usual tricks did. She could still hear her own voice and that was what truly bothered her about public speaking. She wished she had a voice more like Lauren Bacall or Ingrid Bergman, with, Heaven forbid, a consistent accent instead of her own peculiar mutt that included the northern Midwest and something of a tornado-alley drawl. She didn't like the way she sounded, and therefore saw no reason to inflict her voice on the innocent ears of the masses.
He stepped close to her again. "I'm just worried you might see something you like and run off," he teased. At least, she hoped he was teasing. The discussion that had followed her 'I love you' a couple nights ago had her wondering, however.
She wrapped her arms around him, smiling as she looked up at him, "not on your life," she said. "Besides, I dare you to find me a better looking man, with a great intellect and a sense of humor, who is also a-mazing in bed. It can't be done. You'd get me on one of your blasted roller coasters first." She flinched a little, realizing what she'd opened herself up for. "I'd kiss you, but I'm reasonably sure I need to brush my teeth at this point," she continued, hoping to distract him from that roller coaster bit. Ultimately, she preferred to keep her feet planted on good old fashioned earth.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers anyway, surprising her so that she forgot to be nervous for a second. "Is there a single person out there whose doorstep you haven't been on?" he asked her, his tone uncharacteristically blunt.
She peeked out the swinging door again. The emcee was wrapping up his comments. She turned back around and shook her head. "You know what they need. And if I know you, you'll move mountains to see that they get it. That's all they need to know. To paraphrase Hillel, 'the rest is commentary.'" He reached over and squeezed her shoulder before he slipped out the door to take his place at the back of the hall beside the rest of his team.
She jogged in place and did a few jumping jacks to dispel the excess energy that was threatening to make the jittering start again, then tugged her shirt back into place, took off her glasses and hung them on the collar of her shirt, and pushed through the swinging door.
Taking her place at the microphone, she took a deep breath and said a small prayer, and began her speech.
Following her announcements, primarily thanking the community for showing their support even while she was in the early stages of developing the community center, refreshments were provided. Vanessa made her way through the room with a cup of coffee, shaking hands, trying to get around the tangles of people to get outside and smoke a cigarette. She felt she had truly earned this one. And a drink. Or something. She'd made it through the entire speech without making a total ass of herself. She'd even made the audience laugh a couple times. She was happy that she was getting such a great show of support from a group of people who, for all intents and purposes, had every reason to be completely disillusioned and disenfranchised with efforts such as this. She looked around, recognizing this as her core group -- the people she would be able to count on to help her push the rock uphill. She sighed, pondering the myth of Sisyphus, realizing his chore had only been impossible because he'd been assigned to it by himself, and thinking how lucky she was to have so much help.
This didn't diminish her desperate need to get outside, to feel fresh air on her skin, to get some nicotine into her system, and to re-center herself after the chaos of being surrounded by people. She was riding on adrenaline now, and she'd pay for it later if she didn't take a time out.
She finally found the door and let herself out, quickly walking around to the side of the building, marveling at how taking the bars from the windows and putting in a few drought tolerant plants had improved the entire atmosphere of the building, and how it had changed how people approached it. It was a new entity, now, she thought. It had possibilities again. The people inside were hopeful. She dug her cigarettes out of her jeans pocket and lit up. She slid down the wall until she was sitting with her bent legs pulled almost up to her chest, elbows resting lazily on her knees. The traffic from the main street was an almost constant drone, blotting out the noises from inside the building, filling the air with the throat tingling scent of exhaust.
All in all, she felt that she was satisfied with life, and how many people could say they had ever felt that? She decided to indulge herself in a little self congratulation -- the work wasn't even remotely finished, but at least there was motion. Like an addict having a moment of clarity, she was faced, not for the first time, with the realization that this was why she invested so much of herself in what she did. Unlike the addict, she came to the conclusion that it was worth every ounce of sweat and every dime she'd never make. She could respect herself and her work, and her work was to act on her instinct to reach out to people. Having all that, it didn't matter if she ever got rich.
"There you are." It was Gil again. "It's going on 9:00, and I need to get ready for shift. The guys have been looking for you, they want to give you their congratulations. No one would have ever known you threw up. Unless of course they inspected the trash can out back."
"I'll go in in a second," she said, stumping out her cigarette and tossing it into the coffee can she'd reserved for such purposes during the refurbishing process. Slowly, she stood up, turning to face him. She gave him a lop sided smile as she moved closer, her arms running around his waist and dipping lower to the curve of his (in her humble opinion) perfectly shaped ass, "I'll make that kiss up to you later," she whispered in his ear. "Come home soon," she pressed a kiss into the skin of his neck before letting go so he could turn around and head for his car. She stifled a laugh when she saw him repressing a shiver and shaking his head as he walked away.
The last of the guests had left around ten o'clock, and she'd stayed behind to give the place a quick clean up before she wandered back to her car. As she drove out of town she pondered the hours before he would be home. In a way she was glad that she would have some time to herself to shake off the jitters that always came over her after being in the middle of a crowd of people like that. She could sit out on the patio, look at the stars, and take in some quiet.
And she could use some of the time to set up a surprise for him. She had, after all, given him a not so subtle hint that she was looking forward to spending time with him when he got home from work. Maybe it was time to do something a little more elaborate. She certainly couldn't see most guys putting up with her -- never mind that be there for her after she finished puking in a trash can. She glanced in the rear view mirror and for a second wondered who the woman with the stupid grin on her face was in the left corner of the mirror. Realizing it was her, she shook her head, scolding herself for acting like a love-sick newly wed. You'll give yourself a cavity! she thought.
Back to serious business, she thought, flipping her left turn signal on to take the high way home.
The desert air smelled dusty and sweet as it swept in the open window. It was still a foreign smell to her -- she was accustomed to the smell of grass and trees, and rain. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever see rain again, but the dull ache in her shoulder told her she wouldn't have to wait long for that. Even the way her shoulder ached in this new place was different. She shook her head, wondering at how she had wound up here and found such good fortune. Spring had been amazing for her -- no aching joints loosening up as warmth leeched the winter's cold damp from them. No sneezing from pollen assailing her sinuses. She had been truly reluctant to leave her home in the northwest, but she also found that while she missed it, she didn't regret it.
She pulled into the driveway; her tiny, older model, well-used car left plenty of room for the SUV. She marched up to the door, fumbled with her key, and eventually gained entrance; her first action was to flop down in a chair with her feet up on the coffee table. She gazed around the house, taking in her options. There were a total of three rooms. Two bathrooms -- one attached to the master bedroom. There was the living room, the kitchen, and the dining-ish area (not an official room -- more of an off shoot of the kitchen). There was the patio. There was the garage.
She cancelled the garage out of hand -- he kept far too many of his pets out there. She was no shrinking violet, but the idea of all those compound eyes watching her at her most vulnerable...well, she just didn't care for it. Forget the garage.
She flipped on the TV, skimming through the channels, hoping something would give her an idea. She landed on the Travel Channel and found herself entertained by Anthony Bourdain getting drunk on Vietnamese homebrew. Then there was a special on hotel bathrooms, so she changed over to Food Network. Tyler Florence was detailing the intricacies of 'tapas,' a tea/smorgasbord assortment of finger food traditional in Spain. Her brain clicked on the concept and she looked down the hall, a glint in her eyes as the thought formed itself. She had a total of four rooms -- one with a bathroom, so she kind of wasn't counting that. She could set up a variety of surprises and let him take his pick.
She reached into the back of the suitcase she'd stashed under the bed in the guest room. With a sigh, she pulled out an ornate box with East Indian art on it. She'd been saving it for his birthday, but that was about three months off yet, and she knew she'd never make it that long. This she set up in the bedroom; she pulled the blankets down, making sure they were perfectly folded and straight, that the sheets were tucked in neatly. On a mirrored tray on his nightstand, she set out bottles, jars, and a small brush. Massage oils, lotions, honey dust -- she thought the theme would blend well with the potential of using the large bath tub...that is, if that was what he chose. She quickly set out scented candles and hid a few bottles of water under the bed. Just in case.
She moved to the guest room. The bed was a single with a mission style head board. Her lips curled in a devious smile. She went to one of the boxes she's stashed in the closet, fishing out a flannel sheet. She folded it in half, length-wise, and cut it neatly and precisely. Then, folding the pieces in half width-wise, made another cut. Finally, she had four separate pieces which she cut three times each, braiding the soft cloth and knotting two on the slats of the head board, and the others at the foot board. More candles, more water under the bed. That seemed to be a decent on-going plan. It needed something else. She laid a sleeping mask on the foot of the bed. Maybe a tray of fresh fruit and some wine. Chess board? Strip chess? She'd set that up at the last minute and see what happened.
Behind door number three -- the room he used as his study, and housed some of his more temperature sensitive pets in -- she hid a small portable CD player. Jars full of exotic specimens always made her think of the rainforest. She hunted down a white noise CD and kicked on the small fountain he never used. Instead of candles, she made good use of the three way lamp, putting a few drops of orchid scented oil on the bulb. The effect was simple, but had great potential.
Finally, the kitchen. She fixed a dinner that could be easily kept warm, in this case chicken parmesan. All she had to do was leave the plate in the oven on warm and throw cheese on top when he got in. She placed a pair of taper candles in the center of the table, set out linens, and went back to the guest room to root through the drawer where she kept her small collection of lingerie.
Everything was set.
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He walked through the door at 8:30 am exactly. She heard the SUV pull into the drive way and stepped into the hallway, keeping it dark so that she could remain relatively obscure in the corner. He latched the door quietly and she saw him carefully taking off his shoes and hanging his jacket on a chair. She stifled a giggle when she realized that he thought she was asleep. She looked down at herself, a piece of her still couldn't believe she was doing this. It was totally out of character. Then again, what wasn't? It wasn't like she'd indulged herself in much of a personal life up until now...
Taking a deep breath, she sauntered down the hall, her steps silent, and leaned against the wall the opened out into the living room, watching him intently.
He must have felt her gaze. He turned around from locking the door and almost dropped his field kit. The only clothing she had on, that he could see, was a very sheer, lace bra, a simple garter belt, the associated stockings, and a pair of stiletto heels. All in matching black.
She just stared at him in silence, allowing herself a small smile at his surprise. Finally, she stepped forward, slowly crossing the room and wrapping her arms around his neck. With the heels, it wasn't as much of an effort to reach his ear as it was otherwise, so at least they had one benefit. "I told you I'd make up for that kiss," she purred into his ear, giving it a small kiss. His arms went around her waist, but his eyes still regarded her with disbelief.
She stepped back, so that she could watch his reaction better. "So," she said, pitching her voice low, "what would you like first. Dinner? Maybe a bath or a shower? I have a few surprises for you, but its up to you," just being near him was getting her heated up.
He looked at her, his eyes running from her toes to the top of her head and back to her eyes. "You look amazing," he breathed.
"You haven't seen the half of it," she smiled, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "You just tell me what you're in the mood for. We have dinner," she nodded toward the kitchen. "Or you can check out your other options," she nodded toward the hall. "I'm yours. I'll be your concubine, and make every erotic dream you ever had real. I can indulge you with a massage. Run you a bath..." she let her eyes fall to his shoulders.
He regained his composure, leaving one arm around her waist as he led the way into the living room. "All this for a kiss?" he lifted an eyebrow.
"Well, that and putting up with me," she said, stepping ahead of him slightly so that he could glimpse her muscular legs, hoping that they would entice him into making a decision quickly.
"I don't know where to start," he said quietly, pulling her around to face him, his hand resting on the curve of her neck.
"Have you eaten since before your shift?" she asked.
"No," he looked a little sheepish.
She pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. "That won't do," she said, leading him into the kitchen, where the table was set. She settled him into a chair, lit the candles, and went to the oven to top the chicken with marinara and mozzarella, then turned the oven up slightly. A few moments later, he had dinner laid in front of him, wine in a glass, and she had pulled her chair as close to his as she could get it.
Her hand ran up and down his leg as she let her gaze wander over his face. You are acting like an infatuated fool, she scolded herself, and she could tell he felt a little awkward. She stood up and stepped behind him, pressing herself into his back as he sat with his meal, and began massaging his shoulders lightly.
He leaned his head back in his chair to look at her, "do we have dessert?" he asked, his meaning obvious.
"Well, that depends," she told him, stepping back to the front and sitting in his lap, winding her arms around his neck and her fingers in his hair. "What kind of dessert are you in the mood for? Something fresh, something exotic, or something quick?" she asked.
Both of his eyebrows went up and he took his time removing his glasses and laying them on the glass topped table. His arms held her tight, and she thought he must be able to feel her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest, wondering what he would want. He was definitely taking his time considering his options, and she began to fidget in his lap, awaiting his answer. One of his hands skated from her hip, over her waist, to cup her breast, running his thumb over her nipple. The sensation, even through the fabric of her bra, set all her nerves on edge.
"Can I get a little more detail?" he asked, the want in his eyes belying the calm of his voice.
She smiled a little, "there are three rooms set up, other than the kitchen. You could, of course, have your dessert right here and now. But only if you want."
She moved from his lap, letting him wander down the hall, while she took his plate and wine glass to the sink, and moved the candles to the side of the table.
"You've been busy," he said slowly, as he walked back toward her. She could hardly believe she hadn't fallen over -- she must be close to a heart attack. How much longer could he draw this out? "I think that I'll start in the bedroom, though," he said, his hands clutching at her waist and lifting her. "That would be 'exotic,' correct?"
She wound her legs around his waist and her arms held close to his shoulders, burying her face in his neck, pressing kisses into his warm skin, as he carried her into the bedroom.
Once there, he set her gently on her feet, and his hands rested on her shoulders. "I'm going to spoil you rotten," she told him as she fingered the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them from the bottom up, then pushing the garment from his shoulders. "I've been thinking of you all night," she kissed his chest as her hands ran the shirt down his arms and finally pushed it to the floor. "Do you have any idea what that does to me?"
"No," he replied, "why don't you tell me."
She looked up into his eyes, a little surprised at his answer. "I haven't had a thought in my head that could be rated under NC-17," she confessed. "I think about how your skin feels next to mine," she told him, pressing herself into his bare chest, "I think about how you smell," again, she buried her head in the crook of his shoulder and indulged herself, "I think about how you taste," her tongue reached out to caress him. "I imagine the sound of your voice," her kisses and light flick of her tongue trailed up to his ear. "The way your hands feel, and your lips, all over me, making me want you," her voice was barely above a whisper, "making me want to make love to you, making me want to feel your weight on top of me, feel you inside me," she felt like her heart would stop, as if to speak was to create the act. "I love you," she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. "I want to take care of every desire you have. Tell me what you want," she looked into his depthless blue eyes again.
"Well, we're even," he laughed softly. "I had to hide in my office all night because I wasn't fit for polite company," his hands covered hers and pushed them down to his waist. She took the hint and undid the button of his pants, then with a quirk of a smile, knelt slowly in front of him and pulled the zipper down with her teeth. Once they were pooled around his ankles, she moved to take the waistband of his boxers in her teeth as well, delicately pulling them down, making sure that her breath and her lips grazed his hardening penis. She pulled the garments, including his socks, from his feet, distracting him from the potential awkwardness of the moment by letting her lips play over his inner thigh.
She slowly stood up again, taking care to make the motion as fluid as possible. "Now what?" she asked. "Tell me what you want."
He said nothing as his mouth met hers, his tongue reaching deep into her, tasting all of her he possibly could. Her own tongue worked over his, reaching and caressing him. She felt the straps of her bra slip down her shoulders under the warmth of his hands and let herself lean into him. Why couldn't he have picked 'quick!' she thought, frustrated; she pulled in a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. He released her from the kiss, and his gaze locked hers. "Do you know what I've wanted all night?"
She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
His lips sank to her shoulder as his fingers reached between her breasts to pop the clasp on her bra. Delicately, almost reverently, he smoothed one panel of fabric away from her breast with one hand, then holding it firmly while the other hand swept away the other side of the garment. "You."
Unable to protest, she let him softly push her onto the bed, so that she was sitting at the edge of the mattress. He knelt down in front of her, his gaze dragging her eyes with him. She watched, trying not to tremble, as his gentle fingers unhooked one stocking from its outer clasp. "I've wanted to lose myself in you," he told her. "To taste your lips," his hands moved to the other stocking, again working the clasp on the outside of her leg. "You were good tonight," he reached further down to pull off one shoe, and then the other. "You're amazing." His hands wandered back up her legs, fingers delving between them this time, completely freeing one stocking and guiding it down her leg, dropping it to the floor. His lips started at her knee, roaming over her leg up toward her hip, while he divested her of her other stocking. The proximity of his fingers to her heated center was almost more than she could bear. "And I come home and find you ready to wait on me hand and foot," his breath on her skin was setting her nerve endings on fire. "You should get spoiled, not me."
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. He was about two steps from neatly turning the tables on her and she wouldn't have that. Her hands went to his arms and she pulled him up on the bed beside her. She leaned into him for all she was worth, pressing her lips to his, her tongue caressing his lower lip, her hands winding into his hair, pulling him onto the bed. She broke away from him briefly, "that's all well and good, but you can start by telling me what you want me to do to you." Her voice was still soft, but the tone had become slightly commanding. She had him lying on his back, and when he reached for her, she dodged him. Instead, she enticed him to stretch out along the length of the bed, and kneeled at the end, near his feet. From the assortment of bottles on the nightstand, she selected a heavy lotion that smelled slightly crisp and spicy, pouring a small amount into her hand and working it into the soles of his feet. Her thumbs pressed into his arches, loosening knots that had been there since he could remember, then slipped under his heels to pull the tension from his Achilles tendon. Watching his eyes slip shut and his breathing slow, she bent forward to kiss the tip of each of his toes, carefully studying his body language for reaction.
Her massaging fingers followed the slow progress of her lips up his well muscled calves. When her hands reached the back of his knees, she gentled her touch, and he groaned appreciatively. "I give up," he said, barely opening his eyes to look at her, "spoil me." His eyes slipped back shut, and she smiled, knowing that she had won this round. Her lips strayed to his inner thigh, her teeth softly closing on the warm flesh she found there, tongue sneaking past her teeth to taste his skin.
Fingers began working with more pressure on the back of his thighs and hips, until she felt the muscle loosen and become pliable in her hands. His breath was coming shorter, punctuated by gasps of pleasure and soft moans. She smiled to herself, and ran her tongue from the front of his hip to just above where the tip of his penis rested near his abdomen, making sure to stay maddeningly close without touching him. The result was no sigh or moan, but a sharp hiss of breath, sucked in through clenched teeth. She sat up, taking a moment to gaze at him before he opened his eyes. His body, stretched out in front of her, took her breath away. He was beyond attractive -- the only word she could think of that would suffice was beautiful.
Thoughtfully, she selected another bottle from the tray. Another lotion, light weight and, according to the bottle, completely edible, the ingredients of which were supposed to be an aromatherapeutic aphrodisiac as well and sensitizing the skin where it was applied. She set it down on the bed for the moment, so it would be within easy reach when she wanted it.
Her fingers reached around his back and worked the muscles there in small, tight circles, using his weight to help her loosen the knots she found. Her lips tasted every tiny increment of his skin they could find, their touch randomly anywhere from a simple brush to more aggressive use of teeth. She found a sensitive spot just below his ribs and sucked warmth to the surface, losing herself for a moment, finding herself glad that a shirt would cover the mark she'd left. As her hands reached his shoulders, she playfully ran her tongue around his nipples, finishing her attention to them with delicate bites, savoring the growl that rumbled in his throat at her actions.
When her tongue found its way to his ear, his eyes opened slowly and he turned to look at her for a moment; she was arrested by his eyes, and while she sat helpless, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her roughly to his lips. The intensity of the kiss stole the breath from her lungs, and left her helplessly sagging into his body. "I want you," he growled, his strong arms tightening around her.
"Really?" she teased, leaning in for another kiss. He mumbled something against her lips, and she smiled, slipping out of his grasp.
He looked at her with an expression that was torn between severe aggravation and utter helplessness. "Please?" he asked, watching as she reached for the bottle she'd laid on the bed. Recognizing that she was nowhere near finished with him, he let his head fall back to the pillow with a resigned sigh.
The substance was like whipped glycerin, sinking readily into skin, leaving behind a smell reminiscent of amber and cinnamon. Taking some between her hands to warm it up, she lightly caressed it onto the skin of his thighs, sinking her hands between his legs and up to his balls, gingerly cupping them in one hand while she let her fingernails graze their way down his stomach to his throbbing penis. Another groan escaped him, and his hips arched up into her hands. "Patience, Adonis," she scolded, paraphrasing his words from the first time he'd made love to her. He scowled at her, but again relinquished control when her lips began paying exquisite attention to his almost painfully aroused shaft. She set a leisurely pace, tasting his skin underneath the smell of the lotion, finding the combination to be an amazing erotic mix. She kissed, licked and sucked at him, listening as his groans became more desperate, his moans louder, and his words incoherent. She used her tongue to massage the delicate, silky skin, and bit back a moan of her own as she felt herself wet and aching for him.
She pulled him into her mouth, swallowing all of him, completely, humming her contentment and desire around the base of his penis. She felt him clamp down on his desire and knew he was close to coming. Still, she let her tongue tease him, bobbing her head, moaning deep in her throat, until a spasm rippled through him so forcefully that he cried out and sat upright.
"Enough," he panted. He pulled her into his lap facing him, two fingers diving into her center, making her throw her head back and gasp. Assuring himself that her need mirrored his own, he sat back against the headboard, pulling her with him. She straddled his hips and lowered herself onto him. His head fell to her shoulder and his voice rose in a cry of need.
He pumped into her a few times, enough to take the edge from his desperation, before his hands were on her legs again, this time bending her knees so that he could hook her (luckily flexible) legs over his shoulder, allowing him better access to her depths.
His first thrust carried him all the way into her, and he propped his legs up to support her back. The transfer of the lotion from his legs to her own was making her flesh tingle, electrifying her nerves at his every touch, no matter how light. His thighs brushed hers with a second thrust, this one harder, and she called out his name in sheer delight.
He was buried in her, throbbing and thrusting and filling her empty, aching need with himself. She found her hip muscles contracting sharply, pulling her body up so that she could lower herself into him. His hands were on her hips, and she was delirious when another cry tore its way from his throat. He was pulling her into him, frantic with need, helpless to the craving she had instilled in him.
She felt her voice leave her lips in an abstracted way, unaware she was going to form words until they spilled from her. "Gil," she gasped, muscles tightening around him as he pushed into her tight, hot core. "Oh Gil...love that. Love...you...more...ohplease.
More. Harder? God...mmmm...godyes..." she was babbling, trying to communicate to him the depth of her desire. He obliged her every request, pumping into her faster and harder, calling her name, wrapping his arms around her to pull her as close as he could.
The world around her became small, her awareness fixed to a pinpoint that was where their bodies connected, becoming one. Then, consciousness expanded. Swelling; or maybe he was swelling, filling her completely, or maybe he was and she was with him; with every desperate, panted demand or plea, her awareness of him grew, as if she could feel him in every cell of her body. And even that wasn't enough. She wanted more. She wanted to be in every cell of his body, so that they could never be separated.
He pulled her hips down onto him again, pushing himself into her as far as he could, and even then trying for more, pushing into her g-spot, brushing her cervix, making her writhe in his lap. Again and again, he thrust into her like this, and finally rolled over on top of her, pinning her to the bed, her legs still over his shoulders. Sweat dripped from him onto her, burning rivulets of him into her skin. His lips pressed into hers passionately and her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his back.
In response, one of his fingers reached between them, finding her clit, stroking the sensitive spot just underneath it, until she felt her hips bucking uncontrollably into his, and her muscles clench spasmodically capturing his heated arousal, pulling him into her and holding him there. His hips met hers with short, intense bursts of energy, enough to push him helplessly into orgasm. He shuddered over her as he felt his pent up seed explode from him.
The first twitch of his release threw her into ecstasy. Her senses were overloaded, inundated with him on top of her, his muscles rippling and tightening and shaking against hers, his voice in her ears, his hands on her body, his lips on hers, the smell and taste of him, the feel of him in her, first spilling into her then the way his thrusts slowed almost reluctantly. Her back arched sharply and she collapsed under him, panting and sweating, waiting for him to lie down on top of her so that she could wrap her arms around him and hold his body close.
It took a few minutes longer than usual for the exhausted couple to regain their breath, and Gil applied his own massage skills to the backs of her legs so that they wouldn't cramp when he let the down from his shoulders. She was lying on the bed, to all appearances, still lost in the ecstasy of their love making. His muscles shook as he unwound himself from her and lay down next to her, pulling her into his embrace.
/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Chapter Fourteen: Subtle
Catherine settled herself on the couch next to Vanessa. The two women were alone in the town house, Gil having gotten sucked into a double. Vanessa, still trying to shake the sleep from her head, cupped her coffee mug between both hands, trying to figure out what the chipper red-head wanted that was worth waking her up after a long night at the community center.
"Wish I had a date for the law enforcement ball" Catherine sighed wistfully, chancing a glance in the other woman's direction.
"Mmmph," Vanessa replied into her coffee. The last thing on her mind was some empty headed social event. The first thing on her mind was crawling into bed and pretending she never had to crawl out again. Somewhere in between the two, she was aware that she was a little hungry. And that her shoulder hurt. In the words of Lindsey, 'duh,' she thought to herself. She'd broken up a fight that evening, but only barely. It had taken all her strength to keep the two young men away from each other, and now she was paying for it.
"I'm sure you can find a date," Vanessa told her, hoping she was hitting the right button. "Who wouldn't want to go with someone like you?"
"I don't know," she sighed again. "Are you and Grissom going?"
"He hasn't mentioned a thing about it. I don't think he's made any plans for it," Vanessa said, taking another gulp of coffee. Catherine was leading up to something, she could feel it even through the aches in her bones that came from pure physical exhaustion.
"That's too bad," Catharine sipped her coffee and looked at Vanessa calculatingly over the rim of the cup. "You'd be the luckiest woman there -- when that man wears a tux, women slip in puddles of their own drool."
"I can well imagine," Vanessa acknowledged. "Despite that, I don't have anything to wear to a thing like that, and I don't have the budget for it," a sly smile crept over her face, "besides. I already know I'm the luckiest woman around."
The senior investigator's jaw dropped, and she broke into giggles, "is that so?"
Vanessa looked at her archly, "a lady does not kiss and tell."
"Pleading the Fifth. That's all the confirmation I needed," she said. "You two are official, huh?"
Vanessa stared hard into her coffee mug.
"You two are just alike," she said, exasperated. "Okay, let's just say I think you two should go. Put a cramp in Ecklie and Atwater's game."
That brought a light to Vanessa's eyes. Then she looked up sharply. "What game?"
"Just the usual stuff. Dump on grave shift. Dump paper on Grissom. That kind of stuff."
"I don't believe that's all there is to it," Vanessa told her flatly, her temper dispelling some of her fatigue.
"The gossip mill has been running over time. He damn near got suspended, again, last week. Ecklie and crew were inferring that you two were together before the proposal was finished."
"Oh really," Vanessa grated, standing up and taking her cup to the sink.
"He didn't say anything?"
"No, he didn't." Vanessa's mind tangled around who she should be more irritated with. Admin for being a bunch of self serving brats? Herself for not picking up on this? Gil for not telling her anything?
"I'll tell you what. We never had this discussion. I'll convince him to go to the event on Thursday. I'll help you figure out something to wear, as well. I used to sew most of my own costumes -- now I just sew Lindsey's," she chuckled. "From g-strings and pasties to Spongebob and fairies"
Vanessa's eyes were hard when she turned to face the other woman. "Done. Otherwise I'm going down there right goddam now. They've crossed two very important lines all at once."
"Which ones are those?
"Doubting the integrity of my work, and threatening Gil -- not necessarily in that order."
Catherine left the house satisfied of two things. That the office politics wouldn't have a chance to hurt the grave shift yet again, and that her best friend had finally found someone who would put him first. She was also greatly looking forward to seeing the two of them together in formal dress. Next thing on her agenda was to get Gil to agree. But she had a plan there, too. If she could convince Warrick to bring his girlfriend, it would take some of the spotlight off the fundamentally shy scientist, and that would help.
Vanessa did her best to hide her temper from Gil when he got home. He was obviously exhausted, kicking his shoes off at the door, dropping his leather jacket haphazardly on the couch, and heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, which he carried into the bedroom rather than spending the time to drink it by the sink.
She'd been dozing fitfully on his side of the bed, his smell lingering on the sheets having a calming effect on her. "Bed hog," he teased her gruffly as he sat down on the edge of the bed to get undressed.
"Just keeping your side warm for you," she said, wrapping her body around him where he sat and pressing kisses into his leg. "Besides. I only hog blankets," she admitted.
This earned her a harumph as he stood up and wandered into the bathroom to rinse his face and hastily freshen up.
"Hurry up, being naked by myself sucks," she called, burrowing further under the covers.
Tired eyes regarded her from around the door frame. "Demanding?"
She pouted, "lonesome?"
He just shook his head and walked back into the room, ignoring her appreciative stare, and crawled into bed beside her. His arms went around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Better?"
She kissed the soft skin on his chest and nodded. His hands went to her shoulders. "What's with the knots?"
"Had to break up a fight last night," she yawned.
"That explains some of it, but what about these?" he pressed lightly on the back of her neck.
She yelped. "What about them?"
His fingers strayed to her jaw. "And these?"
"Again, what about them?"
He tipped her chin up to look at her, "what's going on?"
Her temper flared, "oh, that's just nice. You can read me like a book, but you never let on when something is bothering you?"
He sat back a little bit, eyes growing more alert. "What's this about?"
"A little bird told me that admin is trying to fuck with you again," she said, unable to keep the heat out of her voice. "And as far as I'm concerned, no one gets away with that."
"A little bird? Would that bird's name be Catharine," he ventured.
"I'm really not supposed to say," she said smirking, "but she left me alone to stew on it all morning till you got back, and I've been worrying. I think she's right. I think that damn dance would be the appropriate opportunity for me to set them straight."
"Aha," Gil looked distracted. "The waters are clearing. She was talking to Warrick about taking Tina, and then she tried to convince me to go. Do you know how much I hate wearing a tux?" he looked at her.
"Do you know what a bastard it is to wear heels?" she returned. "But its public. It would be possible for me to corner each one of the problem children and lay things straight with them. No question about whether any deals were made out of the sight of the public..."
"What's to set straight?" he asked, brows furrowed.
"I'll tell you what's to set straight. Nobody questions the integrity of my work. And nobody but nobody dicks you around," she stopped before her language could sink any further than it already had. She was angry enough to start breaking into 'fluent longshoreman,' as she called it.
He didn't wipe the look of surprise off his face before she saw it. "I know. I told you I'm not much of a lady. 'Poor Professor Higgins' would have hung himself from the nearest rafter with his own cravat if he'd had to deal with me," she said, shaking her head. "But I'm serious. I'll cut those bastards, every last one of them, off at their knees if they don't shape up and leave you alone. If they think I'll hesitate before I bury their careers, they'd better think again. It wouldn't take me long to get at the necessary dirt, either, now that I've made some political connections locally," her eyes narrowed. "Wonder if I could buy off Hodges..."
"Forget Hodges," he told her gently, "and you shouldn't worry about me. I've been able to work around them for the last six years, I think I can do it a while longer."
"That's not the issue here," she said sharply, "the point is, they are taking it out on you, and I'm not gonna let that pass for a second. Not from anyone. I don't give a shit who it is. I swear, if I wouldn't get busted for hitting a cop, I'd treat them like the over grown middle schoolers they are and invite them to take it outside." She was getting angrier by the second.
He'd seen that look in her eyes before. There would be no getting her to back off; she'd settle the issue once and for all, and God help anyone who got in her way. In fact, he almost felt a moment's pity for Ecklie and company. He sighed, "Okay. Go ahead and worry about me," he told her, resigned. "Can we at least go to sleep?"
She wrapped her arms around him as he settled down under the blankets, holding him close and kissing him until his breathing deepened and she knew he was asleep. Only then could she drift off herself.
Two weeks later...
It was Thursday night -- Vanessa had spent an hour and a half preparing for their 'outing.' It had taken every wile in Catherine's impressive repertoire to convince Gil to go, and Vanessa had been content to leave it to the other woman to nag him about it.
"Are you almost ready?" there was a tap at the bathroom door.
"I suppose," she huffed, looking at herself in the mirror with a grimace. She was never completely content with her reflection, though, so she put her scowl aside and tried one more time, in vain, to get a few stray strands of hair into the twist at the back of her head.
The door clicked open, and she turned around to face him. Catherine had been right -- no one on the face of the planet had every been more right about anything ever. He looked absolutely delicious in a tux.
"Does drooling ruin makeup?" he asked, hiding a smile.
"Sorry," she fumbled. "You look incredible. I'm gonna have to find more excuses to make you throw on a monkey-suit."
"So its worth wearing heels for?"
"And spending an hour on my damn hair, and putting on more makeup than I care to," she told him. She turned back to the counter quickly and threw on one last spray of her favorite cologne, grabbed her lipstick to throw in her purse, and headed for the doorway, making sure to get a good look at his ass when he turned around to take the lead. Yup. Drool could really ruin makeup, she thought, giving her lipstick a glance.
"You remember that I suck at slow dancing, right?" she reminded him, her heels clicking softly on the driveway as they headed to the car.
"I think you'll manage," he laughed at her.
"Yeah, I hope that's still your attitude when all your toes are broken," she teased.
It took them twenty minutes to get to the hall the department had rented for the evening. Vanessa took a deep breath to steady her nerves as Gil rounded the car to help her out. She took his hand gratefully, three inch spike heels not being conducive to hopping out of an SUV. He leaned close to her, lips grazing her ear, "you're beautiful."
"Flattery gets you everywhere with me," she teased, looking up and batting her mascara-ed eye lashes at him.
"Purple is a wonderful color for you," he told her, his arms sliding around her waist as he led her to the door.
"I thought you didn't like public gatherings," she said.
"I don't. But I get to show you off, and I get to watch you throw a wrench in the administration's spokes, so maybe it won't be so bad. I've pretty much adjusted myself to being here," he sighed.
"I'm just glad that Catherine was able to alter this dress to fit me," she said, looking down at herself. It had been a size too large, but the red head's skill with a sewing machine had brought the hem of the bias cut skirt up to above her knees, and tailored the bodice so that it fit her figure like a glove -- without being restrictive. "If I hadn't found it at the second hand store, I don't know what I would've done."
"Catherine's resourceful, I'm sure she would have come up with something for you," he pulled her close as they entered the hall.
There was a waltz playing, tables were set with white linens along the edges of the room, there was a bar at the back, and French doors opened to an airy patio at the back of the room. "Let me get this straight," she looked up at Gil, "they squawk about overtime, but they can go hog wild with this?"
"With their humblest thanks to the good tax paying citizens of Clark County, I'm sure," he snarked in return.
She nodded and they made their entrance. Catherine, in a close conversation with Nick, was the first to spot them. She was draped in royal blue silk, and obviously enjoying the event. "I really should go over there and thank her again. I know I'm a pain in the ass for fittings," she suggested.
"Your wish is my command," he told her gallantly, steering them toward the other two night shift investigators.
Vanessa scanned the room briefly, trying to locate her targets for the evening. Ecklie was sitting at the bar looking surly, obviously having come by himself. Atwater was hobnobbing with local officials, his wife standing unobtrusively by his side. She also noticed other women in the room darting their eyes at the man by her side. Again, Catherine wasn't making light of the effect he had on the so-called fair sex. Vanessa counted herself fortunate that jealousy had never been among her personal attributes.
When they caught up with Catherine and Nick, they were just in time to see Greg bouncing up to them, wearing a zoot suit, complete with fedora. Unable to help herself, Vanessa laughed good naturedly at the younger man's energy. She'd grown rather attached to him, his antics always making her smile in spite of herself.
"Hey! You look great!" he said, looking up when he heard her laugh. "So you two are outing yourselves, finally?" he looked from his boss to her, grinning widely.
"I suppose that would be the case," Gil said evenly, then looked at the woman at his right and allowed himself a small smile, deciding that she definitely needed to find more clothes in that particular shade of purple. It set off the red in her hair and the gray of her eyes without making her complexion look pale or washed out.
"Do you want me to grab you something from the bar? I was just going to head that way," Nick asked, breaking the silence.
"No, I have business to conduct in that direction," she said, eyeing the administrator with narrowed eyes. "This isn't just a social event as far as I'm concerned," she told the small group matter-of-factly. "In fact, I'm just going to get this over with."
She sauntered over to the bar, aware of Gil's eye following her every move. She suppressed a happy shiver as she neared Ecklie. She sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles, pointing her feet to accentuate the length and musculature of her legs. She'd learned a few things about 'lines' in all those years of ballet. She'd also learned, in her experiences, that posture could be an important intimidation factor. Every move she made was calculated, from how she walked, to sitting behind Ecklie, so that his back was to her, giving her the element of surprise.
She flagged the bar tender, "do you have any pinot noir?" He nodded. "One glass, please," she placed a couple dollars under the napkin he handed her for a tip.
"I can't accept that, ma'am. I'm sorry," he said, eyeing the money.
"Nonsense," she eyed him critically, noting the tired eyes, the callused middle finger, and the student caliber hair cut that he'd done his best to disguise. "What are you studying?"
"Political science, ma'am," he said, looking surprised.
"If you call me ma'am one more time," she shuddered, smiling at him, "you'll have worse things to worry about than that hair cut. What are you planning to do when you graduate?"
He relaxed some, "thinking about going into international relations, so I thought PeaceCorps might be a good start."
"It'd be an excellent start," she told him with an approving nod. She fished in her purse for a business card and handed him one. "I'm doing some work at the University," she started, then pushed the money at him, "and consider this a generous donation to your coffee fund. One social science person to another." She winked and he pocketed the bills discretely, then headed toward the other end of the bar to wait on another couple.
"Well, Conrad, gonna bust me for tipping the wait staff?" she asked, her tone sharpening.
He turned around, the polished politician in him hiding the mild buzz of alcohol in his system. "I don't know, does that have the potential to corrupt your work?"
She sipped at her wine, giving it a casual, approving nod. "Not bad," she commented out loud. "What's this about suspending Gil?" she dropped the question in his lap like an anvil.
"I guess he has to have his woman fight his battles for him now, is that it?"
Vanessa pretended to ponder that for a moment, shifting her gaze to the chandelier above them, then lowering it to meet his eyes straight on. "And I suppose that's why you're here by yourself?" It was a personal shot, a low blow, but it hit a nerve. She rested her elbow casually on the bar and made an effort to pull her face into a pleasant mask. She took another sip of wine and nodded at the bar tender with a smile, "This really is quite good, you should try some."
"Whether I'm here alone or not is not the issue," he countered.
Vanessa smiled, "well, if his personal life is on review here, then yours is too, as far as I'm concerned," she tilted her head to the side, "so what is it, really. Why do you feel like you have to flip him so much shit?"
The administrator seemed at a loss for a second, "why do I...I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," Vanessa chided lightly. "And yes, I'll fight his battles. The difference is I'll be fighting them with him. Its simply a question of difference in how we handle things. That's a luxury you don't have any more, if I'm not mistaken," she told him, watching him wince a little as she again mentioned his divorce, however obscurely.
Recovering, he made an attempt to throw her off balance, "you know, I can see why he likes you. You're cute when you're angry," he reached over and covered her hand with his.
She jerked her hand away as if she'd been burned. "Keep it up. That's another line you've crossed," she glared openly. "Understand this, because I'm only going to tell you once. Don't mess with Gil. Don't question the integrity of my work. And don't ever touch me again," she spat.
He looked a little gratified by her reaction. "That's even better. In fact, that's down right hot," he told her, pushing the conversation a little further.
Vanessa stood up, and to Ecklie's surprise, smiled. It was all teeth, and held no warmth, however. "How big is your house?" she asked.
"Why?"
"In square feet. How big?"
"About 1500. Why?" he was obviously confused.
"Because, when I sue your ass off for sexual harassment, I want to know what I'm going to have to work with when its all over." She turned slowly and walked back to the small clutch of late shift investigators, giving the administrator all the time in the world to watch her retreating form as he spluttered indignantly.
"Well," she said, placing her arm in Gil's, "I think that one is handled." Her tone was crisp. The group had been watching the entire exchange, and with the exception of her glare, no one would have suspected anything untoward had occurred during the exchange.
"You really think so," Greg looked a little doubtful.
"I'd look out. He's bound to be surly as hell for the next few days. But yes, he's handled."
Gil's arm slipped protectively around her waist as another song was cued up on the PA system. It was 'Moonlight Serenade.' Gil looked at her with laughter in his eyes, remembering the first time he'd gotten her to dance with him, to this particular song, and said, "come on. Maybe you'll do better the second time around," and led her to the dance floor.
She wound one arm over his shoulder and let her other hand rest on his chest as he pulled her close. She closed her eyes, breathing deep, feeling safe in his arms. "So what happened back there?" he asked softly.
"Nothing much. I told him I'd sue him if he ever touched me again. I'm not much on frivolous law suits, but there's a piece of me that would do it gladly just to make him miserable. I think that should be enough of a collar on him to keep things level for a while."
He let his head rest on hers, smelling her shampoo, "you're incredible," he told her. "You realize we've slow danced an entire song and you didn't step on my feet once?"
She looked up, startled, and promptly put her foot down on his. "Okay, almost," he teased. "You over think these things."
"This from you?" she countered, laughing a little as they stepped back off to the sidelines. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash go off, turning just in time to see Catherine slip her camera back into her evening bag. Vanessa grimaced. "Is there any way to get that thing away from her?"
"Probably not," Gil told her. Atwater, who had watched the conversation she'd had with Ecklie, was walking toward them, wife in tow. Vanessa felt sorry for the woman, sitting in her husband's shadow, playing the perfect little home maker to boost his political career.
They approached. Atwater was at his polished best, smile beaming, ready to shake hands and spill flatteries in his wake.
He spilled flatteries at Vanessa almost immediately, "well, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you," he flashed too-white teeth at her. "And I never thought I'd see Grissom at one of these things. You must be socializing him."
Vanessa didn't even pretend to smile at his attempt at humor. "You're not getting my vote," she said flatly. "And you'd best start conducting yourself a little more professionally. I'm insulted that you'd question the integrity of my work, or that you would doubt Gil's ethics. If you have questions, you address them to me. You do not sneak around asking the team vague questions. You do not take it out on him, by threatening to suspend him. Are we understood?"
His wife huffed, her cheeks coloring, and she looked at her husband. "Well, if your work was biased by a relationship with a member of the graveyard shift --"
Vanessa cut him off. "And it wasn't. You can dig all you want, and you won't find a scrap of evidence that my work was biased. I, however, am sure that I can find plenty of skeletons in your closet if I dig in the right places."
"Well, who hasn't done something they regret in their lives," the sheriff tried to play down the comment.
"Can we step outside?" she indicated the open French doors. "Have a...private...conversation?" she finished with a pointed look at the sheriff's wife -- who, she noted, he hadn't even bothered to introduce.
She huffed again, but stayed where she was while Vanessa and the sheriff found themselves a relatively quiet spot with an open view of the party-goers inside. She reached into her purse, grateful she'd thought to bring her cigarettes. Although it was a sporadic habit, it was a habit, none the less. She took her time lighting one of them, watching the sheriff's body language intently.
"Dish," she finally commanded, "why the bullshit? And don't play dumb. Ecklie already tried that and it didn't get him anywhere either."
"Can I bum one of those off you?" he asked, eyeing her cigarette. "My wife will have my ass, but this is one of those times when I think it might be worth it."
Vanessa nodded, digging in her purse again, offering him the cigarette and her lighter. "I quit ten years ago and I've wanted one every day since," he confessed.
"That's why I never quit. I don't make a regular habit of them, but they don't nag at me the same way as if I'd stopped. I never really find myself missing them, and it makes it easier to stay away from them most of the time," Vanessa shared.
The sheriff looked intrigued by her line of reasoning. "Just be straight with me," she continued. "I think we both realize we could play games around each other until dooms day. Instead of tripping over each other, why don't we settle it once and for all."
"Its an election year, and he's challenging decisions that I can't afford to waver on right now," he told her, shrugging. "I figured if we could suspend him -- briefly -- for something small, maybe I could get some ground back."
Vanessa nodded again, digesting the new information. "What decisions?"
"Staffing decisions. It was my idea to break up the team. I thought the other shifts could benefit from it. Not my best play ever," he admitted, "that Sidle woman. She oughtta be fired. But he just doesn't go along with anything. Did anyone tell you about that time he broke a coffee pot in the break room because Conrad pissed him off?" The politician was beside himself.
"Backing up his team is what makes him a good supervisor. That's part of why his team excels -- they're secure with each other and in their department. It liberates them to do their job and increase their knowledge without worrying about whose toes they're stepping on to do it," she started. "and yes, I know about the coffee pot in the break room. Its something of a legend," she laughed, genuinely this time. "Do you know why he was so pissed with Conrad?" she asked, sincerely curious.
"That was before my time here," Atwater tapped an ash off his cigarette.
"It was because he was cleaning up after Ecklie's mess. He almost sent a guy to the chair on evidence that he considered to be 'good enough.' Now how would that look for the department, now that so many death penalty cases are getting reviewed? He did you guys a favor. Conrad's ego got a little bruised, but ultimately it was worth it," she told him frankly. "Regardless of my personal views on capital punishment," she added as an aside.
The sheriff looked pensive. "I guess I should be more careful who I get my information from," he said, a little chagrined.
"If you look at the circumstances around his actions, you'll usually find there's a good reason for them. He might not want to share them right away, is all. He's probably the single most intelligent person in the entire department. He isn't terribly people-savvy, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't understand them. That's a mistake that a lot of people make, I think. If some sort of truce could be arrived at between him and Ecklie, I think it would make everyone's lives easier. Ecklie is gonna have to give some serious ground though," she warned at the last.
Atwater simply nodded, appearing to take her counsel to heart. "I don't know how I'm gonna broker that one, and that's a case you can't take anymore," he told her, looking a little sad as he deposited his spent cigarette in an ashtray.
She followed suit, a slow smile spreading across her face, "I think it can be done. Just go in there and step on his throat. You are the boss, aren't you?"
Atwater nodded, obviously still not relishing the conversation ahead of him. "I found that threatening him with sexual harassment works fairly well. I don't know if that's a ploy you can pull off, though. You might hear him complaining about that later, by the way," she turned to find him openly smiling at her. "Have we reached an understanding?" she asked.
"I believe so," he extended his hand and she took it willingly, solidifying their agreement with the age old signature of a hand shake.
"Good. That will definitely make life easier," she said wryly.
The rest of the evening was fairly easy. She relayed her conversation with the sheriff to Gil, who seemed surprised at her negotiation skills. "I think he just doesn't know how to anticipate you," she told him, smirking a little.
The next song was a tango. "You said you do ballroom, right?" Gil asked, raising his eyebrows at her.
She smiled, nodding, and he led her out to the dance floor again. She loved tangos. She would never admit it, but she'd sent Greg to track down the DJ and request one. She felt there was no better dance for showing off what a wonderful man she had on her arm. Let 'em drown in their own slobber, she thought, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of her posture as she eyed the other women in the room.
He started the dance moderately tame, a little to her disappointment. He could tell by her posture that the second they stepped out for this one, that this was no mere exercise. She wanted to perform. It was in her posture, pulled up straight, shoulders back, eyes locked with his. "Who are you showing off for?" he asked, pulling her closer.
"I want to show every other woman here why I have you and they don't. And I want every guy in the room to be just a bit envious," she laughed at herself a little. "It sounds ridiculous, but I guess it comes from that competitive streak of mine. I can't help it. You're the best thing in this room, and I'm lucky enough to be with you," she looked down for a second, trying to cover a faint blush that rose to her cheeks.
"Well then, let's show them a thing or two," he smirked, surprising her. He led her across the floor, pulling her body into his, while she added a sultry sway to the way her hips and legs moved in coordination with his. When he extended his arm, indicating a spin was in order, she followed him precisely, allowing herself to be pulled back into the curve of his arm. As a final move, she stepped back from him with a wink and threw her leg up on his shoulder. He was surprised, but not to be outdone. He leaned forward, and she allowed her back to relax into a particularly deep dip.
She felt it more than she heard it -- a muffled percussion against her left side. Then she heard it. He was swearing through his teeth. His knee had chosen that precise moment to give him trouble.
She looked up at him and smiled, talking through her teeth. "No problem," she let her leg slip down from his shoulder until it was wrapped around his waist, "slowly straighten up and hang on to me with your right hand." He straightened with an effort and with no warning, she let her body drop, almost to the floor, the only thing catching her was their clasped hands. She extended her leg out in front of her while she leaned back on her left one. It'd been a long time since she'd tried this stunt. Still talking through her teeth, hoping to God he would hear her, "lifting with my hips. Just hang on, and make the finish look smooth." He nodded and she slowly, bonelessly, used the muscles in her hips to pull her forward and upright. He extended and lifted his arm over her head for a final turn, then pulled her against him.
Her eyes flew open in shock when he planted his lips on hers. "Very smooth finish," she complimented him a bit breathlessly.
"Why, thank you," he said almost primly, leaning into her to disguise a slight limp. "Good to know you've got my back," he told her, smiling in spite of himself. The rest of the assembled night shift had clapped for the couple at the last, and were waiting anxiously for them to rejoin the group.
"Anytime, anywhere," she told him quietly, pulling his hand to her lips.
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When she awoke, still curled around his body, the first thing she noted was his voice. She looked up, and saw that he was still fast asleep, his breathing deep and even, and a smile on his face. He mumbled pleasantly as she moved against him. The next thing she noted was the head of his stiffened penis against her leg.
She smiled mischievously to herself and carefully moved her leg so as not to disturb him, then equally carefully slid under the covers. She squirmed down until she was even with his throbbing shaft. Smiling again, she licked her lips and bent over him, running her tongue over every inch of him before taking his head into her lips and taking him all the way into her mouth.
"Mmmm," he mumbled, stretching out a little. Her lips tightened at the base of his erection, and she sucked gently as she pulled back up before slowly dipping back down. Once again at the base, she let her tongue roam over the underside of his penis, pressing against the skin at the base, then snaking past her teeth to caress his balls. Her efforts were rewarded with a sleepy groan, but his steady breathing told her he was still dozing. Again she pulled back upwards, this time slowly and increasing the intensity of her suction, letting tongue play over him as she went, taking her time to tease the head, savoring the taste of him. Instead of swallowing him again, she caught him in her hand, curling her fingers around him gently as blew gently across him.
"Mmmm. Ohhh," he sounded a little more awake this time. She smiled and sucked him into her mouth again, all of him, all the way back to her throat, then back up, tightening her lips around him in a pulsating rhythm until she reached the head. Her hand remained where it had been, and continued to stroke any flesh her mouth left exposed.
"Ohhh," this time a breathless sigh, "God. Ohhhh." The last was almost a whimper, an odd sound coming out of him. She wondered if he realized yet that he wasn't dreaming. Her hand slid down to stroke and massage his inner thighs as her mouth once again descended. She was amazed at how hot she could get just being close to him, knowing the effect she had on him. His every moan filled her with an aching need that only he could address.
She felt fingers tangling in her hair, covers being lifted from her body. She looked up at him through heavy, dark lashes, and saw sleepy blue eyes that were almost hazy with desire. She changed her pace, quickening and shortening her oral attentions, varying the suction, all the while, her tongue played over him, wrapping around him, flicking at the underside of his head, rippling down the length of him. His back arched and fell as his hips pushed into her. Her head bowed to meet his thrust and another whimpering noise escaped his throat. "Jesus. God. Vanessa," each word was given in a panted exhale. The hands that were tangled in her hair ran down her neck and over her shoulders. She took advantage of her freedom of movement to drag her lips languorously back up him, keeping her eyes on his the entire time. He groaned in frustration.
"Please, Vanessa," he panted, his gaze locking with hers. "Come here. I...need you."
She shook her head and continued her attentions, the smile she couldn't entirely achieve with her lips showing in her eyes none the less. His eyes closed and he groaned loudly, his voice almost harsh. Her fingernails raked the inside of his leg, lightly, then slipping around the other side where she kneaded the muscles in the back of his thigh, making him gasp sharply. His own fingers were clutching the sheets underneath him as his hips came off the bed once more, thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. She deepened her suction and hummed her satisfaction around the base of his shaft, her lips conducting the vibrations of her voice into the sensitive flesh.
His hips fell back to the mattress and he sat up, looking at her almost feverishly. "Oh, God," he groaned, his hands finding her arms and beginning to pull her toward him. "God, please," he moaned into her shoulder, positioning her over him.
Again she shook her head, although she straddled his hips to tease him further. She glided her hips back and forth along his tortured penis. "Vanessa, God help me," he panted, "take me," his voice was commanding and almost pleading as he lay back into the pillows.
"Nope," she said smiling, reaching down between her legs to continue her teasing, gripping him in her fingers, stroking him, closing her fingers in a ring around the base and tightening them.
"Now. Please?" his voice was quieter, less demanding, more pleading.
"That's more like it," she purred.
His eyes snapped open, realizing what she was doing. She held his penis in one hand, teasing herself a little with the head, inching it back toward her opening. "Tell me how you want me," she said softly.
He almost gave up right then. He could swear he'd never been so aroused in his life. The contrary side of him fought back, though. "Keep it up," he growled, pushing his hips into her again. She anticipated the move and avoided his efforts. "Keep it up," he repeated between clenched teeth, "and I'll...I'll..."
"You'll what, tough guy?"
"I'll spank you!"
She looked at him and chuckled a little. "What if I just want you out of your mind?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave as she leaned over him to kiss his shoulders.
She squeaked with surprise when his hand made sharp contact with her bare ass. "Did you think I wouldn't do it?" he grated as she continued to hover over his engorged shaft. "Please. You have no idea. I need you," even with the slap on the ass, his eyes were pleading.
She trailed kisses up to his ear, finally whispering, "whatever you desire." She took him into her slowly, rocking her hips back and forth into his, relishing the different sensation of him inside of her from a new angle. His hands grasped her hips, controlling her motion and her speed, and she encouraged him. He ground himself into her, filling her, letting her feel the delicious stretch of his throbbing erection against her inner walls. She fell onto her hands, pushing desperately back onto him, pumping harder at the behest of his hands, which were now clutching at her curves as his back arched and his voice left him. He had gone from cries of sheer ecstasy to a breathless chant of her name.
He thrust into her sharply, and she could feel the pulsing spill of him into her -- the very thought of him, buried in her as far as he could go, spending himself into her depths, made her muscles contract and ripple as she clenched around him, pulling every last ounce from him, making his final cry fall in time with her own voice as she called his name. She felt the spasm in her core go seemingly on and on, robbing her muscles of control as she collapsed on top of him in a sweating, gasping heap.
Finally, the heated throbbing slowed, and she looked up at him, smiling. "Was that an okay way to wake up?" she asked, her voice feeling lazy in her throat.
He sighed deeply, returning her smile. "I can't remember waking up better," he told her honestly. "I hope I didn't hurt you..." he said, a frown flickering in his eyes.
"And if you did? You gonna kiss it better?" she laughed. She sensed more than saw his surprise at her question and looked up again at him from where her head was resting on his shoulder. With an effort, she allowed him to slide out of her and rolled over to snuggle him from his side. "You didn't hurt me," she told him seriously, "and it isn't like I didn't have fair warning." She burrowed under the blankets, pulling him closer to her, so that her lips rested just under his ear. "My goal, however, was to please you to the point of incoherency," she breathed. "And since you could still think straight enough to make demands, I guess I'll have to try again."
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The phone next to the bed rang shrilly, causing her to swear and duck her head under the covers. He unwrapped one arm from around her shoulders and reached over to answer it, with no less grumbling than his partner.
"Oh...hi, Mom," she heard him say.