Horatio approached her, as he would approach the most rare, most beautiful flower ever grown; with wonder, delight and a sense of anticipation of discovery. She lay naked on the bed, the way he had left her a few moments ago when he went to shower.
He had slowly undressed her, taking delight in the privilege, in the treasure he'd found under each piece of the too common garb she had worn.
This was after having brought her into his bedroom, kissing her, pulling at her body, smiling at her eager responses. The two of them had more or less led each other down the hallway from the front room, she showing her willingness to get there, and he because he knew the way. That had been after nearly an hour of very heavy petting on the couch.
They had often engaged in petting over the previous couple of months and tonight, somehow, seemed right for the culmination. He was more sure now of her feelings for him, that she liked him, wanted to be with him.
Sometimes, with Lee Bell, it was hard to tell; she had a fierce tongue, an almost fervent command of language and a raunchy sense of humor. When she combined the three in one direction, as she often did towards him, he sometimes ended up feeling bit tattered. He had to keep reminding himself it was her defense system, usually gone awry, that was spouting, that she often didn't mean to sound so harsh, that she was parroting voices from a roughshod childhood.
He never could quite figure out how it was a woman with a degree in Language Arts and a Masters in European Literature could be a rough talking bar maid at a small Miami biker tavern. He'd asked, of course, and not yet gotten an entirely satisfactory answer. Usually she had countered with her own questions like what the fuck he, a detective, a criminalist, one of Miami's finest, was doing in a dark, ass-wipe place and drinking, of all things, coffee! She had accused him of being on a stakeout, of being gay, trying to pick up a biker dude and of being FDA, trying to buy drugs. It took him a while to realize she was not only just not answering his questions, but that, a natural tendency to keep his business private, only encouraged her accusations.
He had been reluctant to tell her that his first visit had been purely an act of slumming on his part, a need to be in a dingy, slightly dangerous place where he could brood, where he wouldn't be recognized, wouldn't be disturbed. Instead he'd found her. At first he was annoyed at her persistence to engage him in conversation with remarks like,'How's the java?' 'You're new, just move here?' 'Freshen up?' She'd confessed later to having been bored by a slow night and wanted to see how far she could push this pretty new face into distraction. He could never quite bring himself to confess that there was just something about her that fascinated him, drew him back several nights later and then more often.
When he found out she liked car racing he invited her to join him in the VIP section of the grandstands at the Miami Grand Prix. On a tour of the pits, she had almost gotten into a fight arguing over some fine point of fuel mixture with a crew boss, using language that obviously shocked even the tire jockeys. Walking away, looking up at him, she'd wrinkled her pug nose, mischievously indicating she'd done it just for fun.
Then she had surprised him by taking him to the gallery opening of a startlingly sophisticated exhibit of metal sculptures done by one of the patrons at the bar. Not only had she worn a dress and heels for the occasion, as opposed to stretch pants and plunging neckline jersey tops she affected at the bar, but made polite, even delightfully charming small talk with other guests and limited her swearing only to the several works she thought to be incredibly ugly. For the rest of the display she had insightful and rather erudite observations even declaring that, one day she would like to own one.
All of that, wrapped around the more and more intriguing conversations at the bar, plus the personal attraction he felt, which led to petting sessions (no other word could be used for the activity with her), either in the parking lot of the bar or after make shift meals at her home or his, had brought the two of them to now, this evening, here.
He had risen from the couch and tugged at her hand. Rising, she had given him a sideways look, a smirk on her face, and then glanced at the hallway. He had raised his chin and looked down at her, a slight smile on his face and embracing her, had walked a couple of steps backwards, pulling her with him. From there had been a mutual push and pull, kiss and fondle waltz to the bedroom.
It wasn't until much later he realized that allowing him to undress her was the supreme act of trust for her. She had admitted to being a control freak and to an absence of trust in her fellow humans so, to allow him to do this, was more than unusual for her.
For Horatio, undressing Lee Bell was an act of adoration. To just do it, slowly, carefully undo each button, buckle, snap and hook, to gently lay aside each piece, ah, what a joy.
Earlier in the evening she had confessed to having a restless night before and being sleepy, so he invited her to take a brief nap while he cleaned up. His day had been long and hot with visits to two different crime scenes, one in the everglades and he'd picked her up right after he got off of work, so fresh, he was not.
Now, dressed in a light cotton robe with a pastel tropical design, his hair still slightly damp, he came to wake her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gently pulled a light brown tress from her face. She opened her hazel eyes and smiled.
He wasn't even sure why he had put on the robe. Certainly not for modesty since he had undressed under her gaze less than half an hour ago. Then, watching her hand stray up his knee to the overlapping fold of material, he knew exactly why. There was something wonderful about feeling a woman's fingers stray under his clothing; it wasnot just sexually stimulating, andmore than just being touched andexplored, it was an invitation.
His own hand, reaching across to her far shoulder, roved over itand down the outside of her flowing breast, down to her waist and out over the wide flare of her hips. Responding to her touch under the robe, he wrapped a palm onto her hip and filled his hand with her, pulling her up, inhaling deeply.
Smiling she withdrew her hand from under the material and, reaching for the sash at his waist, tugged to loosen it. With a flourish she pulled the strips open and pulled at robe edge that lay over his belly, all the while looking into his face and smiling lazily. Her hand fell gently to the top of his exposed thigh where she dangled a couple of fingers playfully across the course red hair.
He drank in the color her eyes, light brown, flecked with a mossy green high lighted with flashes of gold. Of all eye colors, hazel brown was the most beautiful to him and hers were the best he'd found. Or perhaps, it was just the owner of these jewels, but at the moment he didn't particularly care.
Her hand wandered slowly up to his waist where she gently stoked his skin with the backs of her fingers. She left the other side of his robe untouched still covering half of his body.
The hand on her hip had released it's grip and was now splayed out over her stomach, his fingertips feeling the deep, luscious softness of the skin. From there it started a slow roam north to in between her breasts where, after a brief pause, exploring the valley between, strayed west and settled gently, cupping tenderly, catching an erect, ragingly pink nipple between the sides of two fingers.
He supposed he knew it was coming, had to come, saw the swallow in her throat, the flash in her eyes that heralded it. "Hey, Pansy-ass, you going to keep dicking around with me like I'm a fucking Barbie-doll or you going to use that tool you got under there and start pinning me to the mattress?"
Maybe that's what he'd wanted to hear. Maybe her savage frankness was what he needed to pull him away from the reality of death and crime he lived from day to day. He stood and shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor. Putting his hands on his hips, he turned just slightly and in his best arresting manner he commanded, "Move it over and spread 'em."