A/N: Thank you for staying with us! Enjoy!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 16

Gil Grissom wondered how he had ever thought himself experienced as a lover. He had not been with many woman, yet did not consider himself a novice, but things were happening that had never happened before—and he knew would never happen again unless it was with the beautiful woman laying beside him. A few minutes after taking care of—messy things—with a handful of tissues, he felt the surge of heat in his groin. Whatever had been his "normal" wasn't happening today.

Sara's eyes were closed as his fingers played along her long neck—sexy, he thought. He could smell her hair; her skin was flushed the color of a ripe peach, and as soft. And it wasn't just her face, but her visible chest was a darker, soft pink. He smiled, running his fingertip along her chest to the top of the sheet where he flattened his hand and slipped fingers beneath the fabric.

"Sexual flush," he whispered and then kissed the base of her throat. Her little shudder sent a wave of fire through his gut. "The first time I saw you," his breath caught for a second as he lowered the sheet, "from that day, I've wanted you."

"I know," Sara said as she reached for him. Her eyes appeared black, needy, as her lips touched his shoulder.

She arched against him as he took her breast in his hand; his thumb lightly caressed her firm nipple. Then his mouth—hot, seeking—closed over her, gently tugging with his lips, teasing with his tongue. Flesh to flesh was what each wanted. Their skin was already damp and the feel of his lips against her brought her hands into his hair, pressing him closer as she ached for him.

When he slid downward, thousands of nerves thundered, spreading a storm throughout his body. Moving quickly back up to her mouth, her lips took his in hungry, open-mouthed kisses. He could not stop himself from taking her, rising above her. No matter how long he had imagined making slow, slow love to her on a huge bed, the desperation overpowered his dreams.

And she possessed him. No mythical siren could have stolen his mind and soul so completely. He was half crazy with desire—somewhere through the roaring in his brain, he heard her cry as his fingers brushed, circled, entered her. Fighting immediate lusty desire, he knelt between her legs, filling his eyes with the sight of her, slim, naked, her hair tousled around her face, her eyes dark, desirous, focused totally on him.

She sat up, too desperate to wait; her mouth closed over his. Her hands wrapped tightly around him. "Now," she whispered, husky with desire.

He slipped a hand behind her to support her and brought the other down between her legs. The heat he imagined was a volcano at his touch, erupting, as she shuddered. He watched, aroused beyond his dreams, as her head fell back in an unleashed quest for pleasure. He stroked against velvet, kissed her, explored with his finger and tongue as a wonderful, amazing rhythm developed.

Sara's mind could barely function; she had known desire, had dreamed of this—but how could she have known the pleasure, the bliss, of making love to the man she had loved for so long. She wanted all of him. Locking her legs around his hips, she took him into her.

She heard a gasp—that turned into a groan—his eyes turned cobalt as he shifted and filled her. Completely. He moved and she with him. All she could hear was the beating of her heart as fire and heat flamed.

Sometime later, Sara lifted his hand, let it go and watched as it dropped limply to the bed. Smiling to herself, she rolled over, propped her elbow on his chest so she could study him. If she had not known better, she would have thought him sleeping. His breathing had slowed; his eyes were closed. It had been a while since he had moved a muscle.

She kissed his chest, right above his left nipple before asking, "Are you conscious?"

A smiled curved his lips. "You pack quite a punch to be so skinny."

Giggling, she kissed him again—same place—and placed her ear against his chest, above his heart. "You melted me into a puddle—sort of a messy puddle."

With that his eyes opened; he rolled to his side, hugging her tightly, and boosting her a few inches so his thigh slipped between hers. "I like this little honey-pot puddle." His thigh moved slightly against her, stimulating swollen tissues. He felt her muscles tighten as she took a sharp, surprised breath. Smiling, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and then kissed her.

"I had no intention of this happening today," he said. A frown creased his forehead. "I—I didn't—I…" he glanced downward.

When Sara raised her eyebrows, he continued, "I—I didn't use a condom—I should have."

She kissed him instead of saying a word—a kiss of consent—and then added, "It's fine—I—I trust you—trust me."

His eyes met hers. "I know I do—it occurred to me that you would be—might be vulnerable about everything—you know—and I—this—we should have postponed—you know."

He could feel the vibration of her abdomen as she stifled a laugh before she managed to say, "I think we've postponed it long enough, dear."

His unease disappeared. Chuckling, he nibbled her ear and then whispered, "I've been a fool, Sara." The sensation of her against his thigh was almost more than he could take, but he needed time to recover.

She pulled away a few inches. "Tell me—why now? After all this time—what made you decide—the other day when you were here—why?"

Settling his head onto the one pillow left on her bed, he rearranged and shifted so Sara's face was over his, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. He said, "You are so private—no one knows anything about your life. When you told me about your mother—your parents—I realized—I don't know—how to say this—but I realized you are very private, guarded about sharing anything." He stopped talking and rubbed his hand across his face.

Again, he felt the rippling of a quiet laugh. She said, "I don't gossip. I don't talk about my life—past, present or future. I guess I learned long ago to—to stay quiet."

He hugged her, asking, "Do you think we can keep us quiet? For a while, at least?"

This time, she kissed him, teasingly along his lips. Her soft, gentle fingers stroked his chest. "Rule number one—we keep us a secret—I don't have a problem with that."

He shifted a little, saying, "Rule number two—we need a bigger bed."

Sara laughed before pointing out they were using only a small part of her bed most of the time. Morning passed into afternoon; both deciding at some point that a hike would be postponed.

Much later, in the early evening, he drew her close and fed her one of the cherries he had brought in. They had managed to stay tangled in her sheets for most of the day. They had showered—separately—an unspoken time of separation, quickly accomplished. He had returned to his car to retrieve a cooler of food—vegetarian sandwiches, bottles of water, cherries and bananas, and a package of cookies—while she showered. They had eaten and shortly returned to her bed; she had made the bed with fresh sheets while he showered in her scrupulously clean bathroom.

"I'd like to stay," he said quietly.

Sara nodded.

His fingertip traced across the top of her lip. "I'd really like to take you home with me. I'd like to have you sleep in my bed, wake up in my bed tomorrow."

Surprise showed in her wide-eyed expression. "Your place?"

"My place." He kissed her. "And while you are there—look around—I'd—I—would—ahhh—would you think—would you consider moving in?" The mattress creaked as he shifted again. Before she could make a sound, he continued. "We—we can live in the same place—share my kitchen. I have a lot of space—before you say no, and I know you value your privacy—the second bedroom is bigger than this apartment."

She giggled, turning on her back as she laughed. "And the bed is bigger."

"Yes—both beds are bigger than this one!" Taking her hand in his, he said, "I want to be with you. At work—we—we have to keep our distance—for now. Until we figure things out—but I—I'd like to—to eat with you—talk to you—see your tousled hair when I wake up."

Her voice growled, "and stay in bed together—for hours and hours."

"I'd like that," he said. He kissed her again, and the kiss went on and on. "Just once more," he mumbled against her mouth.

"Yes," she whispered. "Once more."

By the time the last word was out of her mouth, he was already accommodating her.

Later, after several hours of exploring each other, Grissom fell into an exhausted sleep. Sara lay beside him, unable, unwilling to sleep. Odd, she thought as she watched his face in the dim light, she had never considered herself the nurturing type but it was very satisfying to lie beside him, hold him as he slept.

What kept her awake, she finally admitted to herself, was she did not know what would happen next. He had asked her—twice—to move into his place. It could be too much, she thought. It would mean making changes—could she live without her privacy? She knew one thing—she could not live without the one sleeping beside her.

Suddenly, he coughed, waking up. She touched her palm to his cheek.

"Shh…everything is all right," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"It's nice here." He snuggled against her. His hand moved to her thigh.

"Don't start something you can't finish," Sara whispered.

His hand moved upward, touched soft curls, and kept sliding up until her warm breast filled his palm. "Perfection." The stirring started low and deep. He had gone so long without a woman. "I was dreaming about you," he said.

Her arms seemed to flow over him like warm water. She sighed and even that heightened his need. His mouth met hers, soft, sweet.

For the next few days as Sara adjusted her sleep schedule for a return to work, Grissom stopped at her place early each morning, picked her up, and they went to his condo. She was quiet, unobtrusive, as he prepared simple meals for them, yet every cell in his body was aware of her.

He could smell her, a fresh, seductive scent; sense her as she moved around his home. He would tell her about work while they ate and soon, the look in her eyes changed. They were both nervous the first morning and the second. But by the third morning, both of them knew what they wanted. And slowly, savoring each moment, they would dance into bed.

Their eagerness for pleasure was so new that neither resisted. His hands lingered over places she had never thought erotic; his mouth devoured hers with unrelenting hunger.

And they used every inch of his very wide bed. He tasted her inch by inch, the backs of her knees, her silky thighs. When he slid his tongue beneath her panties to taste the sensitive flesh underneath, she cried his name as she nearly pulled his hair out. She pressed against him, shuddered, and groped for him. As the first wave cascaded through her body, he entered her, heat to heat, gripping her with a power he had not realized he had.

They made love again, later, slowly, sweetly, while the sun brightened the day.

Grissom was surprised, almost rendered speechless, by the ease he found sleeping with Sara. But it wasn't as easy for her; the first time he missed her he found her sleeping on the sofa. He didn't mention her absence because a few hours later, he felt her stretching against him.

When the day arrived that ended her suspension and she would return to work, she insisted she needed to stay in her apartment so for the first time in days, he slept alone—which meant he did not sleep much but wandered around his place, sleeping on the sofa—because, in his bed, he missed Sara.

He went to work early; Jim Brass called him about a missing person, car found on Boulder Highway. The recent frequent and intense activity had him moving awkwardly as he walked up the highway to find Sofia Curtis already at the scene.

The case was solved; he and Sara had managed to work together without jumping into a closet or hiding in the basement for quick sex. He had not thought about the time spent with Sofia as anything other than a member of his team—and later, he thought it was his extremely sated libido that caused him to open his mouth and ask her to eat with him. He hated remembering the look on Sara's face as she'd stood in the doorway; he had hurt the woman he loved.

The dinner was short; he called Brass to join him and Sofia, but Sara was nowhere to be found. Greg was the one who told him she had left the lab.

When he arrived at her apartment, she opened the door and let him in.

"Do you want a drink?" She asked quietly before turning away from him.

He managed to catch her arm and turn her to him. "I'm sorry." His arms enclosed her. "It's work, Sara. Nothing else."

It had hurt her immensely to see the man she loved with another woman, especially Sofia Curtis who seemed to find it easy to cross a line that she, Sara, had never been able to accomplish; even as she slipped her arms around him, she could still feel the clinched fist around her heart.

How could she explain to him the jealousy, the envy, she felt seeing him with Sofia?

When she said nothing, he stared at her for a moment, and then said, "I—I don't know what to say."

"Nothing—you don't have to say anything, Gil." Tilting her head, she touched her lips to his.

His hands threaded through her hair. "I want to be with you, Sara." His mouth moved to her brow, skimming along to her hairline. "I'm in love with you—no one else."

Sara felt the fist in her chest dissolve.

A/N: Thank you for reading! A special thanks to you who take time to review-giving us encouragement to continue. More to come (probably after an up-coming vacation!)