A/N: A new chapter! Enjoy!
Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2
Chapter 20
By the time arrangements were made to travel, there were two cabins left on one of the ships that cruised around the Galapagos Islands. Less than one hundred ships traveled around the islands and people planned years in advance for their vacation-of-a-lifetime.
Grissom knew Sara had spent hours searching, organizing, making sure his mother would have accommodations she needed. He read review after review-less than one hundred passengers aboard a vessel that wasn't built as a cruise ship but as a research ship, no room service, no balconies, but the company had an excellent reputation.
He wasn't sure about the plane he was in. Or the pilot—who was young and talked a lot. The plane lurched in an air current as it cleared the last range of mountains; at last, Grissom could see the coastline.
Finally, on the tarmac with his bag in his hand, he could laugh at the flight as he looked around, quickly realizing he wasn't at the airport—not the real airport where jets landed.
The other passengers, all ten of them, headed to a building—a warehouse—in the distance.
Catching up with a couple of stragglers, he asked, "Where are we? This isn't the airport." Then repeated what he'd said in Spanish.
In Spanish, one of the men said they were near the docks. He pointed to the west and swept his arm eastward, thought for a minute and said, "Cargo runway."
Grissom pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and showed it to the men. After conversing for a few minutes, the two men pointed again.
"Taxi," one of them said.
After thanking the men, he hurried across the landing strip, finding an opening between two of the warehouses, and kept walking until he found a street. And then he walked another five or six blocks before he found a taxi. In twenty minutes, he was at the hotel, a modern structure near the city's international airport, where he was meeting Sara—and his mother. Only one night and then the flight to Baltra; he had arrived hours before their flight was scheduled to land.
Thinking he would make good use of his time, he called the desk for a laundry pick-up, unpacked his one bag and stuffed everything in it into the hotel's laundry bag. Then, he stripped off naked and pushed those clothes in with the others and placed the dirty clothes outside the room's door.
By the time the laundry bag was picked up, he was in the shower, thankful for hot water and a good bar of soap. Afterwards, he wrapped a towel around his waist, folded the bed covers back, and stretched across the king-size bed, sheets smelling lightly of bleach and a soft pillow that actually cradled his head. In minutes, he was asleep.
When he woke, his first muddled thought was confusion before remembering he was in a hotel bed; he thought he'd been asleep for an hour, maybe two, until his eyes cleared. The room was dark and he was tucked underneath covers. And someone was in the middle of the bed.
Sitting up in bed, his eyes adjusting to darkness, his legs made contact with those of his wife. He made a surprised grunt, unable to believe he'd slept so sound that he'd not heard her arrival.
The noise he had made caused her to stir and then he knew she'd opened her eyes. Her hand touched his backside.
"You're awake," she whispered, her voice husky from sleep.
He reclined, realized a towel was bunched around his middle, and tugged it free. He said, "I can't believe I slept through—through everything." His arms slipped around her warm body; his hands touched a soft tee-shirt. "When did you get in? How was the trip? And Mom—how is she?"
Her response was a soft murmur as her lips touched his neck and gently tracked upward to his chin until their lips met. Her hands, fingers were running through his hair. A leg wrapped around his thigh. His hand floated to that place where her panties met her thigh; his fingers moved under stretchy lace and found the crevice of her butt.
Tightening his grip, he pulled her closer. His hand circled, pushing her panties down as she lifted her hips.
Gil Grissom had not forgotten how much he loved his wife. For weeks, he had thought of her; thought of the time in his life before Sara Sidle. She was such a contrast to all other women he had met. Intelligent, compassionate, and beautiful; God, he loved every cell in her body.
In the midst of very heated, passionate kissing, he slipped his hand between Sara's legs and immediately broke away from the kiss.
"What's this?"
Sara giggled.
His fingers probed gently. After a soft chuckle, he said, "What's going on?"
Another giggle.
"I need to check this out." Grissom's head disappeared beneath the covers. In absolute darkness, his fingers explored. "This is not familiar! What's happened?"
With his head totally buried between Sara's legs, he decided to do what he wanted to do. Gently, he touched his tongue to the swollen bud not quite hidden by tight curls.
Sara shivered and made a sound—a stifled squeal—he was certain of it but the strong tug of her hands on his hair caused him to move upward, quickly. And then he was perfectly fitted along her body, his appropriate appendage sliding between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness of her against sensitive skin.
He had lost the ability to speak. She found his mouth again, lifted her hips to his, and, as he had discovered many times, he knew this woman was made for him.
His hand fit along the curve of her breast. Stretching over her, his body seemed to conform to her curves. He stroked gently, finding sensitive places until she drew a sharp breath and twisted against his hand.
The intimacy of the moment drove a desperate need he had shoved deep within his mind for weeks. When he thrust inside her, exquisite pleasure unleashed waves of passion. No longer in control, he felt Sara's fingernails in his shoulders.
"Sara." His voice was filled with surprise; then he felt her orgasm, gathering like a sudden storm. For a few moments, he continued moving, slower, his eyes opened as he watched desire and ecstasy bloom on her face. He felt her muscles tighten around his penis; somewhere in his brain, one cell tried to slow his actions.
In an instant, he exploded. In the heart of her storm, floodgates opened. The muscles of his back turned to granite; his mouth opened with a muffled shout, and then his climax was on him. A second wave of pleasure flashed and pulsed between them before either could catch a breath.
Lips crushed lips, hands soothed, hips rose, legs entwined; finally, Sara stretched along her husband's body, elbows resting on his chest.
"I don't think I can walk," she whispered in a voice edged with laughter.
After a long kiss, Grissom laughed with her, saying, "I know I'll be walking funny!"
The room had brightened with early dawn; soft morning light diffused shapes into furniture, luggage, and clothing. And they could finally see each other.
"We're to meet in the lobby—at seven." Sara said as she stretched long legs along his, sliding her foot against his calf.
Suddenly, he remembered. "I have to check you out—something very unfamiliar is going on."
Giggling as she rolled to his side, she flipped covers away, giving him an approving perusal from face to groin. "I got waxed." Her eyebrows lifted with amusement.
Grinning, he scooted down the bed, gently spreading her legs as he sat up. His fingertip traced along her skin. "It's heart-shaped." His fingers slipped between her soft cleft.
Sara shivered as he continued to touch her. "I got a new swim suit—I—I got my legs waxed and when I told the girl I was going on a cruise, she—she suggested." Another soft giggle and tremor as his finger slowly swept inside her.
Grissom leaned over and kissed the heart-shaped tangle of short curls. After the kiss, his tongue darted in and out several times which caused Sara to lift her hips to meet his mouth. As he continued, her sounds turned to a low moan; his hands cupped her butt to hold her and he felt her hands tangled in his hair.
He should have gotten a haircut, he thought, as she twined and twisted his long hair in her fingers. That thought disappeared quickly as his tongue tasted feminine fluids, his lips brushed soft tissue, his teeth gently grasped her swollen bud, and he felt the heat of her body.
As he murmured unintelligible words against her, encouraging her to come, he felt the intense heat of a white-hot flash of pleasure. For a moment, he feared she would pull away as he slid fingers into her wet passage. Several minutes passed before the pulsing energy of her orgasm climbed and crested and she collapsed into a panting puddle.
When he settled beside her, pulling the bed covers to their chins and keeping his hand cupped between her legs, he whispered, "That's for the heart."
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