Thank you for staying with us as this romance develops...

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 21

Sara moved through the condo padding around wearing socks on her feet—almost afraid to disturb the silence. She had cleaned everything, watched TV, fixed a sandwich, and cleaned the kitchen again. Keeping herself busy, she told herself, kept her from missing him. Only it did not.

God, how she missed him!

Gone a few days and she missed him more than she had ever missed anyone. Even her parents long ago when she had gone into foster care—she had been too confused then to miss them. And in the months—years—that followed, Sara learned YOYO—you're on your own. And that had been her philosophy for years.

She dipped her tea bag into the cup of water, pushing the ghosts of her past out of her mind, bringing a more pleasant time into her thoughts.

She thought about Gil Grissom and smiled.

When they had met, she'd never thought she would end up here—in Vegas, living with him, working with him. Missing him. Even while working with Nick, trying to find Cassie McBride, she missed him.

Somehow, Grissom was the exception to her self-declared YOYO, an infiltrator into the self-sufficiency that was well-ingrained in her life by the time they met. The carefully constructive wall she had built was a habit she lived with—and then, she fell in love.

Taking a sip of her tea, she laughed. She was fairly certain she fell in love at first sight with the man who was supposed to be boring. He was funny and cute in the way some men aged, and the quiet intelligence that made him an expert in forensic science. There was something else—a vulnerability in those blue eyes, a slow-to-laugh smile edged around his mouth—that made him irresistible.

By the time they parted, it was as if she'd met a life-long best friend; two years later she moved to Vegas.

Taking her tea with her, she walked to the bedroom—his bedroom. It smelled of him; it looked like his bedroom—framed bugs and butterflies filled the wall space. A bowl on his chest held a jumble of his pocket detritus—Sara's finger poked into the bowl and stirred a handful of coins, several flat metal washers, a folded piece of tape, and three paper clips.

She moved around the room before settling on the bed. Pulling a pillow into her arms, she took a deep breath. It smelled of Grissom; she slipped off her shoes and curled onto the bed.

While he had been out of town, Sara had slept in 'her' bedroom. In reality, it was Grissom's second bedroom where she kept a few things, her clothes in the closet, and several boxes stored in his garage. It wasn't her room any more than the condo was her home.

Rolling onto her back, she thought about the morning he had left—they had almost had a quarrel about a check she had written which he refused to deposit, insisting she should save her money, that he did not expect her to 'pay rent'. Which, in her thoughts, made the condo less of a home to her; it gave her the same feeling she'd had in foster care.

Clutching the pillow against her chest, she swore a favorite term and scolded herself for returning to her past. She was happier than she'd ever been—Gil Grissom played a tremendous role in her happiness so why was she so miserable?

Okay, she thought, she wasn't miserable—she was lonely. Burying her face in the pillow, she took a deep breath and the scent of the absent man caused her to smile.

…The idea of going home early had been quickly made and hurriedly executed. And then the plane was delayed by a storm so it was four hours later than he had expected when the wheels touched down and the artificial bright lights of Vegas flashed by the airline windows.

It did not matter the hour, he thought, as he hurried through the Vegas airport. Hundreds of winners were always arriving and thousands of losers were always leaving. What a place to live and work, he thought, not for the first time, as he found a cab and threw his bag into the seat beside him.

Grissom paid the cab driver at the curb and quickly made his way to the front door, quietly letting himself inside. Back home, one day early, he knew Sara would be at home; even away from the lab, he kept up with who was working, what was happening.

The place was so quiet, he knew Sara was sleeping. It smelled so clean he knew she had cleaned everything—after the housekeeper had finished. His bag hit the floor with a soft thump before he remembered the box inside which he bent to retrieve. At the same time, another, much smaller box in his jacket pocket, bumped his hip. Two gifts—he grinned—Sara would be surprised.

Toeing off his shoes, he walked to the closed door of the bedroom, quietly opened the door to find—an empty room. He pulled an amused face—the room had not changed much since Sara moved in—and, he decided, he needed to deal with that—later. He headed to his bedroom.

In the darkness, he found her—Sara was asleep, curled into a tight ball, a pillow tucked against her chest.

Standing beside the bed, for several minutes he watched her sleep. Her long lashes made dark crescents on pale cheeks. A wayward lock of hair curled under her chin. He smiled; sometimes it was hard for him to believe this beautiful woman loved him. He moved closer; his hand, seemingly moving of its own accord, touched her hair.

A second later, he withdrew his hand. He wanted her to sleep, at least for a while longer. Until he showered. He quickly headed to the bathroom, and ten minutes later, he was back, smiling as he stretched on the bed, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist as he watched the woman he loved sleep. Carefully, he placed the larger box beside the bed; the small box, he placed on the bedside table.

She must have been exhausted, he thought, because it was three or four minutes before she stirred, opening her eyes and smiling.

"You're home early," she said in a voice husky with sleep as her dark eyes focused on him.

"I am." He grinned and found her hand. "I brought you something."

Sara smiled. "You."

For a second, he was puzzled and then his mouth quirked into a grin. "Yeah, me—but something else." He brought the box from the floor and put it between them.

It took a minute for Sara to push up, to lean over and kiss him, and then he kissed her which took another minute—at least—before she got the package in her hands.

Shaking it, she said, "Did you really go there?"

His 'gift' from a conference was often a tee-shirt purchased in the airport. "Yes," he said, "This time I shopped." A smug smile crossed his face.

Carefully, she lifted the top from the pink box; her eyes widened as her fingers pushed away tissue paper and lifted a silky, pale pink kimono out. She had never owned expensive clothing, but this felt luxurious.

As she brought it to her face, Grissom said, "Keep looking."

She found two more items—very tiny lace panties and a short lacy slip gown in the same shade of pink as the robe. She couldn't keep the smile from her face. "No one has ever—ever—given me a gift like this."

He was pleased with her reaction. "I want to see you in it." His voice was low, invigorating, and so darn sexy that nothing could have slowed Sara's desire to please him.

Leaving the bed, she headed to the bathroom and closed the door. Minutes later, after turning in front of the mirror, she returned to the bedroom.

Grissom, sitting in the center of the bed, nodded his head as soon as he saw her. Slowly, she untied the sash, made a turn at the foot of the bed, and parted the robe so he could see what was underneath.

What Sara heard next was an inarticulate groan and realized it had come from Grissom. She moved closer, watched his eyes gleam with desire, as she leaned to his mouth and kissed him.

"I had this fantasy," he mumbled against her ear as she got in bed and then was on top of him, kissing him as his hands made delightful sensations bloom inside her. She meant to thank him for the lingerie but, instead, she felt lightheaded as his mouth, tongue, and fingers explored.

The panties were high cut lace and the texture of the fabric against her soft skin as he caressed her bottom was almost more than he could take. His fingers touched the moist place between her thighs and all future thoughts of lace, satin, and panties simply evaporated.

Grissom was her lover; he stroked her until she was breathless. Until she shivered in his arms, until she twisted, lifted, and turned with him. Her fingers found him causing him to quiver with pleasure when she gently caressed him.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Oh, God, Sara." Grissom rolled on top of her. He kissed her as he steadied her hips and pushed himself into her welcoming body. He felt her tiny convulsions, her sensual warmth and allowed himself the joy of swimming in a sunlit sea.

The waves of this sea washed over, under, through him until his own tremors left him balanced on a fine line between pain and euphoria, then stole his breath and left him damp, weary, and replete. And alive.

He bent his head to the swell of one breast; kissed her nipple while using his thumb on the other one, loving the way she responded to his touch.

Her fingers threaded through his hair. "I'm happy you came home early," she whispered.

Snuggling together, long moments passed as they seemed to gather energy from each other's breaths. Arms and legs twined, hands explored, lips met. And neither had reason to say a word.

A soft gasp constituted the most erotic sound Grissom had heard as his hand slipped to Sara's inner thigh. Almost reverently, he closed his hand around her sex, cupping her warm dampness, shifting her leg to his hip. Gently, slowly, he parted her, taking the firm sexual bud between his fingers. Another gasp was intoxicating. His fingers worked, stroking her gently, watching as another groan slipped from her lips.

Her hand gripped his shoulder while the other twisted the sheet. "Gil!" A whispered plea, a request.

His hand was slick as his fingers stroked, caressed; she throbbed against him.

"Open your eyes," he said as he looked into her passion-dazed face. "Look at me, Sara."

Her lashes lifted and she smiled. At the same moment, her hand found him; it was not often that a man his age could respond so quickly, but those long fingers seemed to work magic, cupping him, sliding along his penis until, quite suddenly, he was hard.

Easing himself into her, the sensation was indescribable, exquisite torment as he slowly sank into her, sighing as he withdrew part way, kissed her nipples, slowly, stringing kisses between each breast. He found it difficult to hold himself as he thrust back into her warmth.

Suddenly, she trembled, convulsed in several roaring explosions as he watched her claim satisfaction in his arms. She clung to him, whispering, "I love you, Gil."

He could feel tiny convulsions as his orgasm released deep inside her.

Sara heard him whisper her name, over and over.

They were still in a sexual stupor; bedcovers off the bed, pillowed askew, yet somehow, Sara still wore the pale pink top.

Grissom's head rested on one hand as the other played across the fabric. Smiling, he said, "I like the way this looks—I should have gotten several."

"Gone a few days and come home horny and with lingerie," Sara giggled. "What next?"

His hand lifted from her chest. "There is one more thing." He reached across to the bedside table and handed her a small box. "I should buy you more gifts."

Slowly, she opened the lid. Nestled against dark blue velvet was a necklace, a gold chain linked to a gold open square. Her open-mouthed silence caused Grissom to smile.

"You like it?"

She nodded, finally managing to say, "This is beautiful." Her eyes met his. "Oh, Gil, no one has ever given me anything like this—ever!"

He touched her cheek with his fingers. "I do love you, Sara. Even if I am neglectful at times. You—you—are my heart."

"Oh, Gil, I do love you," she said with a giggle, "and not just for sex—or things like this." She reached for him.

But he interrupted her move, taking the necklace from her hand and fastening it around her neck. Then he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down on top of him with joyous enthusiasm at being home.

A/N: Thank you for reading-we'll keep the chapters coming as long as you are reading and reviewing! Long live GSR!