Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc.
A/N: Thanks for all the updates... this should make some people pretty happy... :) ...don't worry, I'll make you all sad again in another chapter or two. hehe! Please review!
Chapter Eleven:
By the time Sara had finished her smoke break and moved back inside, she decided she'd just wait for the man in his office. He had to come get his briefcase at the end of the night. He couldn't avoid her forever.
But his office was already dark, the door locked. When she paused, looking at the room in confusion, a very pompous David Hodges moved up behind her, speaking all too knowingly next to her shoulder. "Left early… said he wasn't feeling too well. …Grissom never leaves early. Bet something's up… You wouldn't have any idea what that would be, would you?"
"W-What..?"
He smirked. "Oh, nothing."
At first, Sara didn't know what to do with herself… the last hour and a half of shift was spent pretending to look through missing persons reports, though in truth she was determining what to do about Dr. Gilbert Grissom and his elusive ways.
When she finally clocked out, she realized that there was nothing to be done for it, she would have to go to his townhouse. …She hadn't been there yet, on a personal level—they'd always gone to her place. So it did feel almost like she wasn't allowed, but she couldn't just do nothing. She was quickly losing the man, and needed to make him see sense. She needed to talk him out of whatever it was he was thinking.
His car was parked outside when she pulled up, and she took a moment to breathe deeply before getting out of her car and walking—straight-backed—up to his door. She knocked, and the answer was quick. He did not look happy to see her there. "Sara…"
She made a face. "Can I come in?"
He looked reluctant, like he didn't want her to come in, but after a moment stepped back, pulling the door open to allow her to pass. She walked in, trying to remain confident—the man had proved seducible before this, she would just have to do it again. He stood in the entryway, watching her, having no intention of inviting her further into his home. She sighed.
"Look, what Nick said… it doesn't mean anything. You didn't hurt me."
He shakes his head. "Sara, it… I haven't been fair to you, these last few days… I haven't been fair to you these last few years, really. I know that you've wanted a relationship with me, and I seem to encourage that notion as often as I reject it, and I'm sorry about that. …I'm going to be very clear now, instead. We… we can't be together. The age difference—"
"Means nothing. I find you more attractive than any—"
"Maybe the age difference means something to me."
She stops then, taking in his words. Was he saying he wished she were older? …She hardly thought she was young enough for this to concern him, beyond his insecurities. …She joked with the guys, but she wasn't ever immature. Her forehead creased, and he took advantage of her uncertainty.
"And I'm your boss, Sara. It's… it isn't ethical. We just… we need to put a stop to this."
She shakes her head, opening her mouth to argue, when a knock comes at the door. They both freeze, aware of the precarious nature of their relationship and the shaky balance of secrecy that it depends on—even if it was over, they needed to hide what had happened between them.
Their eyes meet. "I'll, uh… go in the bedroom. If it's someone we know… if they know I'm here… I was using your bathroom."
He nods, and she hurries off, closing the door and listening intently with bated breath. …It turned out to be a girl scout, selling cookies very early. Grissom tried valiantly to turn her down nicely, but she was persistent. Sara grinned, looking around his bedroom and making a snap decision.
Grissom eventually agreed to buy a damned box of cookies, just to get the little girl to go away, and once she had left, happily skipping to her next victim, he turned to the bedroom door, calling out, "Sara, you can come out!"
He moved over to the couch, running calloused hands over his weary face—but Sara didn't come out. He tilted his head, and called her name again as he began walking to the door. No answer. He opened the door—his curtains had been drawn, and the room was dark. He could only make out the shape of a figure lying across his bed seductively—the light being enough to show off the lines of lacy undergarments.
He swallowed hard and gripped the door frame, to keep himself from moving immediately over her and making her his—proving to her how gently and lovingly he could take her… how reverently he could speak of her skin and her body and her mind and her worth… how sweet and seductive he could be. …How unlike Nick and Greg's accusations he could be.
"Sara… what are you doing?"
"Making a convincing argument… Is it working?"
He groaned out loud. "No, Sara, it isn't. Please put your clothes on."
She shakes her head, laughing lightly. "Nope. I'm sorry… I'm afraid I'm going to be here until you do something about it."
He shakes his head too, his mouth dry. "I'm not sleeping with you again, Sara."
She smiles. "You don't have to… but you do have to come give me a kiss. If, afterwards, you want me to leave, I will. I won't ever look back. But… maybe you'll want me to stay."
He rolls his eyes. "Stop playing games, Sara. I said no. You need to get dressed."
"Mmm… no. If you don't want to kiss me, I'll just stick around all day… but you'll have a tough time explaining to the team why I've missed work. …I suppose you could always call the police, but… then you'd have to explain why I'm naked in your bed, and that wouldn't make Ecklie too happy, I imagine…"
He huffs in frustration. "Fine, Sara. If I kiss you will you just get the hell out?"
"…Yes." Her smile is clear in her voice.
He moved grumpily over to her—but the way she was laying, he had to crawl up her body to reach her lips. Immediately her hands moved up to rub gently against him. He was already hard, despite his protests. He moaned, missing the feeling of her skin against his. Still, his voice comes out a warning.
"Sara…"
She giggles. "As soon as you kiss me, you can tell me to stop…"
He moved up further, bending to kiss her, when she scooted down, pressing herself against the leg perched between her thighs. Grinding herself again him, she let a soft moan escape her lips, and his hands dug into the comforter, trying to regain control, his breathing coming a little heavier.
She giggled again, but her voice wasn't playful—it was deep and dark and husky. "…Can you feel how wet I am, Gil? …Maybe not through your pants, but if you moved your hand…" She takes it, guiding it down her chest and stomach, and though he does not participate, he no longer fights it, letting her lead, his hand trembling. As soon as it brushes over the rough lace between her legs, pressed against his, and exceedingly wet, he's lost, his hips rocking forward and gripping hers insistently.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Sara reached down and quickly unbuckles and unbuttons and unzips, kicking his pants down his legs in one quick burst. He looks alarmed again, but she rocks her hips against him, reminding him exactly what he was getting in exchange for his tacit participation, and the worry in his eyes faded into a deep and consuming desire.
Kissing her hard, it takes only a moment for the remainder of her clothing to be removed while she's still struggling with the buttons on his shirt. Determining that three buttons is enough, she pulls it over his head instead, running her nails down his chest in appreciation of the completely masculine feel of him. She feels the goose bumps as they break out, and can feel the length of him pressing insistently against her, only his boxers between them.
Right now, that feels like an extreme barrier, and her hands struggle with them in frustration, needing to have him as close as possible after the day she's had… needing the reassurance of his hands on her body, his lips on her mouth, to have the most intimate part of him completely enveloped in her. Mercifully, he removed them, his breathing coming in short gasps now, hot and thick.
She wraps a hand around him, stroking slowly, but the anticipation is too great—there's no room for foreplay, and after a moment she lets her hands fall away, her legs sliding further open. He positions himself against her, slowly adding pressure until Sara was breathing like she'd run a marathon, moans and 'please's coming in between each breath, the wanting in her so real and all-consuming that she can't see straight or think straight, she just knows she needs far more than what he's giving her.
When her fingernails in his back become painful, he pushes into her quickly, slipping a hand between them and starting a steady rhythm immediately. Hardly a moment passes before her body begins to shudder and her nails dig deeper, a deep and guttural groan breaking from her lips followed by a stream of 'oh god', 'yes', and 'Gil', in no coherent order.
When her lips still and her body untenses, eyelids fluttering feebly in an attempt to regain control, he takes a slow, deep breath. That might have been the most erotic thing he's ever been witness to, but he can't think about it if he wants to last. …And he does. He wants to love her soft and slow, with a reverence that would put young Greg and his ideals about bedroom interactions to shame. He wants to replace the hurt of every mark left on her skin with absolute, undeniable pleasure, again and again…
At his slow pace, he worked her back up to a second, softer orgasm, which gripped her almost gently—her shaking body going and going, and never interrupting the rhythm of his movements, until she was begging him to stop for just a moment, so she could come down. The stimulation was making her breathless, and it was almost too much to endure… She had never imagined one could need a break from pleasure, yet Gil had taken her to that height.
And when she nodded that she was ready again and he began to move with increased speed and pressure, it hardly took seconds to build, and then she was begging he go with her… that she needed him to come with her. She needed it like her life depended on it. And, in some ways, it did.
As they went over in a delirious wave of absolute bliss, both had only cognition enough to think that this was the most perfect moment they had ever shared with another person. They were both heavy-lidded and nearly half-asleep as they came down, wrapped in each other, their afterglow slipping into contented dreams.
Sara Sidle was very convincing, when she wanted to be.