Chapter 5

"What the hell did she think she was doing? I'm a forty-one-year-old man, for Chrissakes! You don't just walk in on a forty-one-year-old man when he's sleeping like that! What if I'd had been "doing something?" Not that I was in the habit of "doing that," he thought as he lay stiff as a board on his bed. "But I "could have been!" He thought irritably. "And I'd have every right to!" He closed his eyes on that thought. "Well, maybe not "every" right. This was, after all, "her" apartment. You just don't go into someone's home and jack off. Not that I would have," he thought again as he waited for his erection to ease up some. "But I "could have been!"

"Hey! Are you going to stay in there all day? Or come out for some breakfast?" Sara called from the other side of the door.

"Oh, sure—"now" she stays on her side of the door; when she's probably standing out there with a mouth full of some kind of breakfast commodity, but not when I'm in here dreaming that she has her mouth full of something else. No—just barge right in then and find what she may!"

"I'm coming," he grumbled as he rolled into a sitting position but quickly regretted his comment when he heard her start giggling.

"Oh, good, because, after all, I've been eating for the last five minutes so Id hate to have you sleep right through the entire experience. What fun would that be?"

He listened to her walk away as he grabbed his pants and pulled them on. Socks were left off as he sauntered into the kitchen to find her sitting at the counter, tackling what smelled to be the most wonderful French toast he had ever had the fortune to come across.

"Good morning," he said with even less enthusiasm than before.

"Good morning, yourself. Get a cup of coffee," she told him. "The cups are up there. There are two extra slices of French toast on the counter beneath the cupboard. The whipped cream and blueberries are in the refrigerator. It isn't t quite as entertaining as flying lobsters—but it's rather tasty if I say so, myself. But, if you're hungry for anything else, you'll just have to rummage."

"This is fine."

He poured a cup of coffee then turned and looked at her as he leaned against the sink. "Is she aware that her breasts are larger than I remember them? Does she know that they're pressing against the front of her blouse and separating the cloth; pressing against the buttons that seem to want to pop off their threads at any moment so they may reveal themselves more fully to me in their magnificent splendor? How can she sit there, shoveling bite after bite of French toast into her mouth, between those luscious lips and bite it with those gapped front teeth and still manage to make me twitch inside my damned boxers?" He wondered to himself. He watched as a small gob of whipped cream slipped off her fork and landed below her lip, prompting her to slide her tongue out to pull it back into her hot mouth; that heavenly tongue and mouth that did so much to him only a few minutes ago while he was sleeping. The next fork of food carried some blueberries covered in the white mixture and he watched as two of them slid off the utensil and landed on the top of her chest, then with an agonizingly slow slide, made their way down her warm flesh that was already melting the whipped cream before burying themselves between those golden mounds of pure delight.

He wasn't a man known for ogling women, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to remove his gaze. He watched as she grabbed her napkin and rolled her eyes at her lack of dexterity before wiping at the cream spread across her chest.

"I can't believe how clumsy I am," she said as she put her napkin back down, completely forfeiting the two plump blueberries lodged between her breasts.

He took a deep breath. "What am I supposed to do now? Do I ignore it? If I do, it could prove to be embarrassing to Sara when she finally did find the berries. If I don't, I'm not quite sure how to go about informing her," he thought, so as was his usual custom when unsure about his direction—he stumbled.

"You—uh—um." He pointed toward her with one hand as he held his coffee with his other. "You've got. . ."

"Yes?" She looked up at him in question.

"Between your. . .I mean, down your. . .um. . .when the cream slid out of your mouth. . .I mean, when you dropped the cream, it. . .um. . .went down. . ."

"Grissom!" She stood up and moved to stand in front of him in an exasperated manner with her hands on her hips. The effect was that it spread the cloth across her breasts even more and he could look right down at the two perfect beads of fruit that were lodged between her two perfect globes of pleasure. He, for some inexplicable reason, couldn't seem to take his eyes off of them. "What—are you trying to say?"

"The berries are. . .um. . .they fell down your shirt."

She looked down the front of her shirt. "Where? I don't want it to stain."

"No. Not-the outside. They're. . .in. . .there."

She looked at him blankly then down the front of her blouse. "Oh."

She grabbed her napkin and started pushing it down, between her perfect mounds of heaven and he felt himself tighten even more as she stood no more than two feet from him.

"You might. . .not want to shove it down there like that. You might squash the berries and then it will stain your. . .um. . .brazier."

She looked up at him with her fingers still between her breasts. "My what? My "brazier?" No one calls it a brazier anymore, Grissom."

"Okay, then down your. . .under garment."

"You can say "bra," Griss. It isn't a dirty word, ya know."

"Does it matter what I call it? You're going to stain it if you keep pressing against them like that."

"Pressing against what? My tits or the blueberries?"

"The berries," he said stiffly. "They will stain your. . ."

"You can't say it—can you?" She smirked as she removed her hand and gawked at him. "One of the top CSIs in the country—and you can't say "bra."

He looked at her and raised a brow then slowly turned and placed his cup of coffee on the counter. He took the napkin from her hand and stepped closer then lifted it to the top of her breasts where she gave him a "go ahead, I dare you" look, making him slide his fingers down between the warm flesh that was making him want to do anything but simply use his fingers on them. He gently probed, allowing himself as much pleasure as he could handle at that moment as he retrieved the two, still plump berries.

"Your lost treasure, my dear." He handed her the napkin with the offending fruit and watched the slow smile cross her face before she actually chuckled at him.

"Now, see? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"If I had asked you to reach in and get them out so I wouldn't squash them—you would've been falling all over yourself to get back to the bedroom and hide and probably choked on any words you would've tried to utter on the way." She tossed the napkin in the trash and turned back to her meal where she picked up a fork full of cream and held it in front of her mouth then slipped her tongue out to retrieve it in the most amazing fashion he had ever witnessed. Very vivid images of what that tongue could do rocked him. "See? Not so bad?"

He watched as she turned and walked back to her bedroom and even if she was beginning to waddle in the slightest way, it was turning him to mush. He turned around so fast he nearly knocked the mug of coffee off the counter that he had been reaching for.

"Damn," he breathed as he grabbed it and steadied it. "What the hell's wrong with me? She's got me so damned riled up that you'd think I hadn't had sex in years! Wait. Oh. I guess I "didn't" have sex in years. But still! It never bothered me this much before. Jesus, I want nothing more than to grab that pert ass of hers and tip her upside down on the sofa and hold her ankles in the air as I plunged so deep that she'd squeal with pleasure. Oh, Jesus," the thought of her making "any noise" with pleasure hit him directly in the groin like a lightning bolt and made his knees week. He closed his eyes in complete frustration.

He held onto the edge of the sink for support and could hear her padding up behind him. He didn't know why she would have taken off her shoes, but he didn't ponder on it very long as he felt her hands slid up under his shirt, over his back and onto his shoulders.

"I guess I stained my shirt after all," she cooed against his ear and the sensation of her breathy whisper made him even tighter.

"I'm sorry," he said very weakly as he stayed standing as he was with his eyes closed. "I should've been more careful."

"Yes, you should have." She stepped up even closer and pressed her protruding belly into the bottom of his back as her fingers found their way around to the front of him where they danced over the muscles of his chest then down, ever so lightly, over his stomach to his abdomen where she found the top of his jeans and slid inside to barely touch the hair she found growing there. "If you had been more careful, we wouldn't have "this" little obstacle, now would we?"

"I—I didn't mean that," he said as his breath caught in his throat.

Her light touch, back and forth, over his coarse hair was driving him insane. He could feel himself swelling and if it hadn't been for the obstruction of his jeans, his erection would be right up there, past where her fingers were taking such an inordinate amount of pleasure in playing.

"Then, what did you mean?" Her mouth was much closer to his ear now and he felt her lips touch him. She drew his lobe between them and gently sucked then bit equally as gently before sucking again.

"Your clothes. I should've been more careful with your clothes."

"Oh, I took care of that," she breathed against him. "They're in the laundry."

"Then what are you wearing?" He began to turn around but she didn't let him, instead she used her free hand to pull his tee-shirt up until he assisted her in taking it off, then she pressed herself more fully against him and he could feel her bare stomach and breasts as they pressed against his back. "Jesus, Sara."

"Do you like this?" Her other hand moved around him until it was joining the one still stroking the top of his pubic area. "Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"Then show me. . ."

She didn't even have time to complete her sentence before he was opening his jeans and moved her hand to push it down inside. He covered her hand with his as he wrapped her slender fingers around his immense thickness and pulled him free of his constraints.

"Like that," he choked.

"Now what? Hmm?" She pulled his ear lobe between her lips again and ran her tongue over it.

He covered her hand again and started moving it up and down his shaft, showing her the pressure and speed that was giving him the most pleasure. He had to part his legs in order to keep his balance as she pressed up against him from behind and stroked him. Soon, he released her hand as he grabbed onto the edge of the sink again, allowing her to work the most sensational magic on him.

"Hey, Griss! I've got a doctor's appointment today. Would you be interested in going along? I mean—if you want to." Sara's voice broke through to him and his eyes snapped open. He spun around toward where she was standing in the kitchen doorway, still wearing the same clothes she had been wearing when she went into her bedroom a few minutes before. She looked at him with scrutiny then let her eyes wander down over him as she placed her hand on her belly. "Jesus, Grissom! Do you always walk around with a perpetual erection? The only time I remember you being in this kind of shape was the night we made this little bug."

"I'm sorry! I—I. . ." His cheeks burned with embarrassment. What was he doing? Standing in her kitchen fantasizing about her jacking him off! What the hell was he? Fourteen years old? He grabbed his coffee and bolted past her to his room. Dammit!

Sara watched him disappear behind his closed door and wondered just what he was going to do in there! "He better not think he was going to go "service" himself while I'm out here so damned horny I could go completely insane with need! No frickin' way!" She turned, ready charge up to his door and demand to be let in but stopped when she saw him come back out of his room with a hand full of clean clothes and disappear into her bathroom.

"Oh. That's better. A cold shower wouldn't hurt him. Well, yeah, maybe it would for a little while, but he deserved it. Sitting in a fancy French restaurant with his fancy little whore, Dr. Miller! Okay, maybe she wasn't a whore—and by the looks of her, she wasn't. She looked so tightly wound that he probably wouldn't have been able to pry her frickin' legs open. Hee-hee! But, still! It's the idea! And all 'I' can get out of this guy that's French is imitation French toast! AND I had to make it myself! Fucker! Go take your damned shower and leave me out here hornier than hell! See what I care! I hope your prick shrivels up and drops off!. No—wait. No, not that. I'm hoping to see more of that. Okay, then—well, I just hope it's really painful when that cold water hits it! Hee-hee!" She took another step into the kitchen and got another dollop of whipped cream on her finger that she promptly licked off and another hee-hee escaped her. Oh, hell. She was beginning to feel good about this.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"So how are you feeling this month, Sara?" The obstetrician approached her with a tape measure and waited until Sara lowered her maternity pants so he could measure the size of her abdomen.

"Oh, just peachy," she murmured.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. My life." She lifts herself up on her elbows as she looks at the doctor. "Is it true that it's harder to have a baby if you don't "stretch" the birth canal?"

"What?" He chuckled as he wrote her measurement.

"You know—sex. Is it better if you have sex while you're pregnant?"

"Why? Are you afraid you're going to shrink before you go into labor?" He chuckled again.

"Look! I can switch to a female obstetrician damned fast! So, don't push my buttons! A female doctor wouldn't think it was funny!"

"No, Sara," he said indulgently, as if he had heard it all before. "You aren't going to shrink if you don't have sex. I mean, not significantly enough to make it one bit harder to deliver a child than if you did."

"So, if I had the opportunity to. . .would it hurt?"

"No," he said as he came back and urged her to lie flat again then started probing her abdomen. "It shouldn't hurt. If it does then call us and make an appointment. That could mean you have an infection or. . ."

"No! I don't mean it that way! I mean—if I had the opportunity to do it—would it be "alright?"

"Oh—yes. Of course. Married couples have sex all the time, ya know."

"Oh, shut up," she said miserably. "Now you're patronizing me."

He laughed at her again. "No, Sara. Really. It's become quite common for couples to engage in intercourse up until the day she goes into labor. Sometimes it's even "suggested" as a stimulant to help labor begin."

"Oh—and does that mean if I do it "too" much that I'll go into early labor? I mean, I don't want to have the baby prematurely."

"You should be fine. You should be able to monitor it yourself. If you feel it's too much—then it's probably too much."

"I don't know," she said as she sighed and shook her head doubtfully. "The way I've been feeling since he showed up, I don't think I could ever get my fill. I'm afraid I'm going to go at him so much the baby will come out saddle sore." She looked up at him again. "Are you sure it can't do any harm? I mean. . .this baby's father is rather. . .large. For all we know, we could be giving the baby brain damage from repeatedly poking it in the head."

The doctor went to wash his hands as he continued to smile at her. "Now, Sara. You're a well educated woman. You know all of this isn't possible. What's wrong?"

"I think I'm some kind of a freakish pervert," she said quietly as he moved to sit at the desk.

"Why?"

"The baby's father finally found out about it and has sort of moved into my apartment. I've been going nuts with him in the next room. All I want to do is jump on him and do things you wouldn't believe. I don't even want to go to work. Just do it in his bedroom, and then in "my" bedroom, then in the living room on the couch, out on the kitchen counter, in the bathroom, on the sink, on the chair in the living room, in the car. . ."

"And how often have you actually managed this spectacular feat?" He asked with amusement.

"Not once. He only arrived last night." She leaned forward and whispered, "but he keeps getting erections! God! Just the thought of him makes me want to go out to the waiting room and . . . well, let's just say there would be a lot of women putting their hands over their children's eyes."

"It sounds like your hormones are acting very normal for your pregnancy. It isn't uncommon for some women's sexual drive to become over-stimulated. And it sounds as if this man is more than capable of fulfilling your desires. Why don't you go home and just let nature take its course?"

"Because he doesn't remember ever touching me before."

"Still hasn't remembered yet, huh?" He shrugged his shoulders as he got to his feet and assisted Sara to the floor. "I say go for it, Sara. Who knows, maybe you'll make something in his memory click and everything will fall into place for him."

She watched him exit the room, thinking that was much easier said than done. At the rate she was going now, she'd have to tie him down to the chair and straddle him! 'Oh, damn,' she thought as she started putting her shoes back on. 'that's a thought. Getting him on the chair and straddling him. Man!' She walked out to get her next appointment and looked at how Grissom sat in the waiting room looking completely out of sorts. He tried to make it look like he was reading a magazine but something about the way his eyes kept wandering to the hall where she was standing told her he wanted nothing more than to have her join him and get out of there.

"Dr. Grissom!" Sara watched with wide eyes as her obstetrician approached Grissom with his hand extended. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Uh. . .thank you." Grissom got to his feet and shook the man's hand.

"I've heard a lot about you?"

"You have?"

"Sara admires you very much as a colleague. She tells me you're a leader in your field."

"Oh." He sounded relieved. "I think Sara may be exaggerating a bit."

"I'm sending Sara for an ultrasound next month. I think it would be a great time for you to meet your son or daughter." He stopped as if a thought occurred to him. "Wait—would you like to hear its heartbeat? I can take her back in and we can listen to it."

"No—no. I'm sure Sara wants to go home. I don't want to bother her."

"Oh, I'm sure it's no bother. I'll just put her in the collections room and have a nurse come in with the monitor. It will only take a few minutes."

"But. . .but. . .," Grissom seemed nervous as he looked up at Sara and she stopped in front of him.

"It's okay, Griss. If you don't want to hear your baby's heart beat—you don't have to. I can understand this is all very new to you. It isn't like "you've" been lying around for six months getting sick every time "you" smelled food. Especially French cuisine. I bet that didn't affect your dinner at all the whole time you sat with Terri, just waiting for her to satisfy your elegant little appetite. And you weren't reminded daily of the baby's existence whenever someone would come into your home and load up the IV hooked into your arm, keeping you prisoner in your own apartment. After all, how could you maintain your carefree image with Terri if you were stuck at home all the time? And like now, it really isn't as if "you" have to get up and go to the toilet every hour because someone's inside your body squeezing your bladder as if they were playing the accordion. You're much too concerned with the prospect of squeezing something other than your bladder. I mean—it's really all very understandable."

Grissom looked helplessly at the doctor who was, as usual, amused by the situation. "You'd like to go listen to that now?"

"Yes. Please," Grissom told him as they started back the hall and a nurse took Sara to a small room. He looked up at the doctor before they went inside with her. "She—she seems a little cranky, more than I remember her being before she was pregnant."

"Yes, well. Sometimes that happens."

"I'm hoping her mood will lift. It can't be good for the baby, all this—stress. I mean, I know I'm responsible for a great deal of it, but. . ." He looked up at the doctor again. "Is there going to be a flip-side to this. I'm hoping she doesn't stay in a dark mood for the next three months."

"Oh," the doctor chuckled as he gestured for Grissom to go inside the room with the others. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. When the time is right, she's going to be "very" affable."