Disclaimer: This story is coming out of hiding and would like to sincerely apologise. I cannot believe that this has not been updated since January... of last year... I would also like to warn readers that the end of this chapter is probably closer to M than to T but I'm sure that will tempt a few grins! Spider info comes from a book simply entitled Spiders by Michael Chinery which does indeed have a chapter the topic discussed which made me laugh. And I think I may be terribly crazy, I've started thinking about GSR in my real life! I was in Agent Provocateur last week and they had a gorgeous bathrobe which I really thought Griss should have bought for Sara – black silk and covered in flowers, dragonflies and yes you guessed it Spiders! And it was only... £565! Yikes!
Author Notes: If any of you are still reading this, thank you and thank you to all of you who have been reviewing this story... you all know who you are! I watched last night's CSI (Two Mrs. Grissom's) this morning and the happy ending made the need to finally fix all my long standing problems with chapter 6 of this fic overwhelming. So for the love of Grissom and Sara... here it is! Please, anyone let me know if I've missed any of the POV switches I should have made. I have been looking at these words a long time! x
Holding Patterns
Chapter Six
His footsteps were quiet across the smooth grey tiled floor.
Measured, collected and steady.
But she heard him approach anyway, and the anticipatory quiver in her stomach felt good. She took a breath, tilting her head back into his space as he came up behind her, drawn to stand closer than they normally allowed themselves too.
The deep breath she drew once he stepped into her shadow caused her back to brush against his warm chest, made her all the more aware of their new proximity.
Very aware of herself, of her heart, fragile and yet brave, beating faster inside her, causing her breasts strain against her top with each wavering rise and fall.
She took a long slow swallow of wine, as if unaffected, concentrating on enjoying the richness of the alcohol, but only seconds passed before she gave up the pretense, lowering the delicate glass onto the shelf and away from her suddenly unsteady fingers.
Instead she tried to occupy her fluttering mind with trying to turn the crazy looking symbols on the spines of the books before her into words and then into cognitive sense, when she felt crowded in a good way and shy and flustered.
She wasn't used to being this nervous around him. Being this close physically always gave her the good kind of fumbles, it was natural to be giddy when in close contact with someone you felt attracted too, but usually she had clear boundaries about what would and wouldn't be happening between them.
This time all bets were off, well and truly off.
o0o0o0o0o0o
He had felt her swallow.
Felt the waves of her muscles dance as the heady wine had slid warmth.
He licked his lips slowly, tasting the wine from his own glass there, pungent and fruity.
They were standing close, but she didn't act as if he was crowding her. In fact she had leant casually back into his body as if they stood together like this all the time.
Which was nice.
And didn't make him as apprehensive as he had foolishly feared it might.
It was a heightened awareness of her that only came with being able to feel stray wisps of her hair brush against his beard as she breathed.
Of being close enough to see her curves rise and fall.
He longed to kiss her, the quick peck on her doorstep hadn't been nearly enough. He needed to taste her, to taste the wine on her lips, its nectar fortifying and sweet. Sharing a bottle in a more intimate sense.
But they had time, and he had patience.
Well, he had self control.
He had promised her a date, food, conversation, flirtation.
And her interest in his diverse library gave him the perfect conversation starter.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"Doing some research?" His voice was quiet, teasing, low. She could feel it stirring her hair.
It was then that she took the time to blink and to read the gold leaf print on the spine beneath her browsing fingers.
'The Mating Habits of Crab Spiders.'
Only an entomologist.
Only Grissom!
Laughing softly, she bumped teasingly back against him with her shoulder, misjudging it ever so slightly so it was more clumsy than graceful, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Fascinating reading..." he persevered.
He was using that Professor voice of his, the one that had captured her attention from his very first sentence all those years ago, the very one she would be willing to learn about anything to hear him speak to her in that tone.
"Is that so," she coaxed, "and what tips might I learn from Ms. Spider?"
"Plenty."
Her eyes lulled closed at the seduction in his voice, only flicking open again as his wrist brushed hers in the process of withdrawing the book from the shelf.
He flicked through the gilt edged pages, the scent of old paper filling her with nostalgia for her favourite second-hand bookshop in the Bay.
Finding his page he leant the book against the shelf, the carefully etched diagram before her was elegant and beautiful.
"Did you know that the female Crab spider likes to play?" His breathing was slow and intimate. "She's a real temptress, entices a male into her web and then allows him to tie her down to it with a few flimsy strands of its silk?"
Oh god, that voice and spider sex...
He chuckled, clearly aware, as she was, of how bizarre this conversation was becoming.
It took entirely too much concentration for her to complete simple tasks such as focus and swallow.
"So she's pinned and squirming and that's when he has his wicked way with her?" her enquiry was all innocence, her grin sly, trying to ignore the interest her body seemed to have suddenly vested in this conversation.
His chuckle rumbled through his chest and her spine straightened as his palms came down on either side of her, effectively pinning her against the shelving.
"Indeed, but she clearly knows who is in charge," he continued with a murmur, lips closer to her ear now.
Trapped between Grissom and textbooks, it was so wrong that this situation turned her on.
And of course she already knew he had a certain proclivity about this. About being in this kind of scenario with her.
And she already knew what her pounding heart was trying desperately to alert her too, the fact that pinning her down was a very mutual fantasy.
And what was extremely clear, was that they were both remembering that encounter, at the very same time, with enough vibrancy to make it feel very, very real.
Except this time she couldn't see his face. Couldn't loose herself in the depths of restraint and expression that existed in those eyes of his.
And she wanted too.
There was no hiding from the fact that just the memory of the look he had given her that day still sent thrills through her and scrambled her brain in ways that nothing else could.
But the situation had been wrong, there had been a dead girl, there had been a case, a ticking clock and fraying tempers.
And enough misunderstanding and second guessing and vulnerable self-consciousness to flood the desert.
But that look had still remained as effective, even when the hot shame and embarrassment of her reaction to him had cooled.
And she knew now, knew with a confidence and surety she had never imagined she could gain, that what he couldn't say with words, or even borrowed words, he said with those eyes.
She needed to see his eyes.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"Fascinating reading..." he persevered, fighting to ignore the warm scent of her hair that teased him with every intake of breath.
"Is that so," she coaxed, "and what tips might I learn from Ms. Spider?"
He grinned, feeling wicked, repositioning his feet very carefully, making sure that she did not notice, but bringing himself just a little closer.
"Plenty."
Her breath hitched at his words in a way which shouldn't have made him feel masculine, but it did.
He could not resist the urge to touch her, an innocent desire and yet so far from it too.
Eternally surprised at just how soft her skin was, the delicate derma of her wrist brushing over the rougher, faintly haired of his own as he drew the book she was touching from the shelf and selected the page he was after.
"Did you know that the female Crab spider likes to play? She's a real temptress, entices a male into her web and then allows him to tie her down to it with a few flimsy strands of its silk?"
This was madness, this tempting proximity, this taunt and tease, this barmy conversation.
The chuckle that escaped him was a little tension released.
"So she's pinned and squirming and that's when he has his wicked way with her?"
That made him swallow slow, her innocent act, playful and flirty, a behaviour he had seen from her only on the rarest occasions.
She knew just how much this was exciting him.
How the image of her pinned beneath him and straining stirred something primal in his soul.
Something he had fantasised about since that fated case where she had commanded he pin her down.
And now, in a rush of lust he realised that now the freedom was his to do so.
His arms came down around her.
His grip harsh against the wooden shelf. The edge of the wood imprinting across his palms.
"Indeed, but she clearly knows who is in charge," the low growl of his words was only just controlled on the bookshelf's edge of pain digging into his flesh, sweat breaking out along his hairline.
She wavered in the frame of his arms, before turning towards him, forcing him to reign in his thoughts, relax his face, even if there was no chance of slowing the staccato race of his heart.
o0o0o0o0o0o
Turning in his arms was easier than she expected, the soft floaty material of her cardigan fluid around her, he accommodated her motions, loosening his arms, but not releasing her.
Her face tilted up, looking at him from beneath her lashes.
"Hi," she sounded so breathless, and the corner of her lips quirked up shyly.
"Hi," he mirrored her expression, but his eyes and the teasing quirk of his brow assured her he was anything but shy.
The new confidence there caused her to swallow again.
Oh yes, he wanted this too.
"How's your head now?" he asked softly, his voice now lilting with care and concern, the thread of conversation diverging, both feeling more comfortable now, having teased past some of the nervousness to find themselves in a place where they could finally put aside their residual shame at always seeming to humiliate themselves in random heartbreaking ways.
Her gaze glanced away, amused now at their earlier fumbled collision.
His lips breezed gently against the faint bump on her temple, his breath stirring hair.
Her heart gave a sweet little thump.
His lips soft and gentle, soothing the small bruise which would no doubt form under the soft skin, his forehead creased in guilt as he withdrew.
"I think that's the first time our intellect has collided quite like that!"
She couldn't help but laugh softly at his terrible joke, he was trying so hard.
The next breath she took was deep and slow, her body swaying with the motion of it.
But it steeled her just enough.
Gave her the courage to rush up on her tiptoes and spontaneously peck a kiss to his head in return.
Nervousness enhancing her clumsiness, endearingly.
As she lowered back to her heels their eyes met, barely a whisper between them, their breath warm against the others skin.
And the ache was so present it was incredible.
Their lips met in that wonderful slow motion way.
Stroking slowly at first.
Her lower lip barely brushing against his top lip.
Breath warming the delicate skin.
Sending beautiful shimmers of pleasure down tingling nerves.
The groan that filled the air was hers and brought colour to her cheeks, but it was worth it.
Things intensified at the sound. The light, dipping contact becoming more heated, pressure increasing, teasing tastes of wine and promised pleasure, a definite prelude to what had better follow after all this heady build up.
She was so ready for this.
Her fingers sank into his hair, nails lightly scratching.
God, this was good.
o0o0o0o0o0o
Her face tilted up to his, slowly, and the beauty of the woman before him crashed over him more intensely than ever.
Shy, powerful, vulnerable, intelligent, nervous, and his.
Her heavy lashes lifted, her breathless, "Hi," reminding him how tremulous this moment was.
Allowing him to reveal some of his own trepidation, and to encourage her too, his smile easy, his brow lifting to draw a smile from her lips too.
"Hi."
He sounded confident, ready, assured.
Oh yes, he wanted this too.
And so did she.
"How's your head now?" he asked, watching amused as she glanced away in mild embarrassment. Yes, the Sara he knew was still with him.
His thankful lips caressed over her forehead, as his mind once again dammed his inherent clumsiness and his hard head!
"I think that's the first time our intellect has collided quite like that!" he murmured as he withdrew.
She laughed, that smile of hers wide as she squinted her eyes at him, appreciating his bad joke.
Then her gaze grew softer, as she rose onto her toes to return his kiss.
His eyes drifted closed as the petals of her lips pressed against his forehead.
She was soothing the wrong side of his forehead, but he didn't have the heart to point that out.
This woman in his arms could kiss him where ever she deigned fit.
Her nose slid against his as she drew back, but she did not retreat as far as before.
She hovered, her soft, warm breath against his lips.
He wanted her so badly.
And he got her.
Taking his sweet time.
Their lips barely touching, faintly caressing as if they were forming words against one another's mouths, but words paled into insignificance at how this felt.
Until she groaned.
He hadn't expected that, such a low aching sound which could have easily have escaped from him too.
He couldn't resist such encouragement, taking her mouth, hungrily. Tasting the wine and the desire.
Her fingers reaching for him, landing on his chest, in his hair.
The sensations she was raking against his scalp were rumbling through his body.
She felt amazing against him, warm and alive, and his wandering fingers drew her up against his body.
She was gasping for breath, snatching air between his stroking invasions of her mouth.
He felt lightheaded and freer and powerful and... happy.
o0o0o0o0o0o
She ignored the faint buzz of the oven timer until they could block its irritating alarm no longer.
She moaned disturbed, dragging her swollen mouth away, but his moved on to her throat, melting her knees.
"Grisss?" God, was that her panting?
The only acknowledgement he had heard her was a sensual stroke of his tongue over her beating pulse.
His mouth was so hot.
The groan that escaped him against her skin was liquid and resonated everywhere.
She distractedly wondered how her skin tasted to him, salty, sweet?
How his skin would taste? Where would that clever mouth of his wander next?
"Gris," her head fell back against the shelf, "the food," but her protest lack urgency.
It took him another few moments to lift his head his breathing still rapid and shallow.
His dark eyes were clouded, and heavy.
"What, are you hungry?" he managed to ask, the gleam returning to his arousal glazed eyes.
She could do nothing but laugh, delighted and throaty, surprised at how happy she sounded.
There was no safe way to answer that, she was ravenous in so many ways.
And from his expression he knew it, and felt it too.
He groaned as he finally released her, trying to carefully rearrange himself as he shuffled away to mute the alarm bells, and rescue his culinary attempts.
She watched him walking away, still needing the bookshelf for support a moment or two longer.
Eventually she was able to relinquish the prop of the shelf, scooped up her wine glass and followed him, amused at seeing him in such a domestic setting.
"Need a hand?" she offered, unused to just standing still and being waited upon.
He smiled over at her over his shoulder, then waved a pasta drainer in one hand and indicated the plates with his other.
And together they worked to serve.
Somehow still managing to occasionally jostle and bump one another in the relaxed open plan area.
Orbiting one another in ever decreasing circles.
Enjoying the flirtation and the pull and the familiar act of working together.
When he grabbed a box of matches and disappeared outside she couldn't resist her curiosity, scooping up her wine as a casual pretense, she followed him over towards the growing darkness.
There was a little garden space of sorts beyond his back door.
Cacti in containers, small areas of pebbles and arid plants, and an outdoor dining set.
An ornate tiled table and two matching chairs.
And he was fussing, fidgeting to get it just right.
Darting about the small secluded space, tiny little lanterns hidden by the growing shadows bursting into life in his wake, settling a warm radiance over the entire garden.
She leant her hip against the door jamb and watched smiling, feeling a warm glow bloom.
He was making it special.
For her.
Her nerves rolled, but she swallowed them back down with another slow sip of wine.
And before he noticed her observation she quietly backtracked into his home, and returned with the basket of bread.
He looked up at her when she stepped into the tables glow and smiled shyly taking the basket from her and returned by her side into the house so they could both collect their steaming plates and wine.
And all the while she hoped that he could see how touched she was by his actions, but she held back the words, wondering if telling him might be over stating the obvious, afraid to shatter the serenity.
So instead feeling deliciously brazen she kissed him, stumbling into it, bumping gently against his shoulder, feeling the waves of heat from the plates between them rise up to dampen their chins.
She felt his surprise, and how quickly he relaxed in her tender affections.
And it made that little light inside her brighten sweetening their kiss.
Pulling away she noticed that they both slyly moistened their lips. Tasting happiness.
And to cap it all off her pulled out her chair for her and she fought the wave of chuckles the gesture evoked.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"Griss...?"
Yes, that was his name. Why was she talking now?
Now was too good for talking.
She had tilted her head back against the bookshelf and given him access to her throat and the heady beat of her pulse had him mesmerised.
That soft skin of hers tasted amazing, sweet with a faint hint of musk and the way her fingers tightened in his hair as he stroked his tongue over the beat curled all the way to his toes.
"Grissss... the food!"
Food? What food?
Ohhhhh... that food.
He lifted his head, which felt oddly heavy on his shoulders, "what, are you hungry?"
He restrained from wiggling his eyebrows, and despite that, she got it, her brain was obviously running faster than his.
Her laughter was a wonderful melodious tumble and that made him smile too.
How could he be moving away from her right now, was he crazy?
Yes.
But they needed to slow things down if this night was going to be anything like he had envisioned for them.
He untangled himself from her, groaning softly, adjusting himself discretely so he could walk, ready to shoot the bleating alarm on his oven, and he wasn't a violent man.
He tried to keep his brain on food and preparation, but it kept wandering, of its own volition of course, right back to the woman still reclining against his bookshelf.
He could feel the warmth of her body lingering on his and the way her gaze watched his movements.
He also felt her slow approach, noting with a sly smile that she hovered awkwardly at the edge of his kitchen area, unsure what to do with herself before she finally spoke up.
"Need a hand?"
She seemed relieved when he pointed out the pasta drainer, and from then on things seemed to get easier.
They weaved in and out of one another, bumping occasionally, as they distributed the food. Performing an almost elegant gastronomic ballet.
It was just so easy to be like this with her. She had no pretences, would not be offended at serving her own food, and as always it was a distinct pleasure to work in her presence.
He smiled at her busy back, before snagging the pack of matches and slipping away to light the candles he had scattered about his small garden space.
As each wick caught flame he moved on, until all the shadows were banished from the little alcove.
Gathering the spent matches he returned to the house, meeting her in the doorway, her eyes alight with the glow of the garden and something more.
She liked it.
Good.
And seconds later, pasta bowls in hand he was startled into stillness by the unexpected warm press of her lips to his.
Taken off guard and unable to touch her, he stood a little stunned, feeling the warmth of the bowl in his hand, and the intimate stroke of her lips before relaxing fully into the deepening kiss.
Eventually drawing away smiling, still tasting her on his lips.
Depositing the food on the table he tripped eagerly into gentleman mode, gesturing to the chair he held out for her, settling her in to the table, pretending he didn't see her giddy reaction.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"This is nice," she whispered in thank you, awkward and aware of herself again, but wanting to show appreciation of his behaviour, for the food, for his doing all of this for her.
"It came with the house," he shrugged in as equally quiet a reply; completely missing her intentions, thinking she meant to compliment his garden and furniture. Clearly not expecting thanks for his actions.
But she let it lie, as both began heartily tucking into good food, an easy distraction, as they began to dabble in tentative conversation.
Their words whispered over the small table, even though there was no one around to hear them banter over topics light and humorous. Covering all the acceptable subject matter for such an occasion, right down to the very dregs, of weather and how nice the food tasted.
This was silly, they were clearly avoiding certain things, work being the main, past relationships not that there was much to talk about there, and talking about oneself too much was always a conversation killer.
So eventually they faded into silence.
She nudged her food across her plate, noticing his fingertips drumming against his thigh.
And the wave of laughter she failed to bite back crested.
She finally risked meeting his gaze and he was looking at her, expression one of curiosity.
Her mouth opened, stretched as she tried to explain and then closed again with a twist of frustration.
He nodded, "It's been a while..."
She nodded in return.
"What exactly are you supposed to talk about on a... date?" she mouthed the last as if it was a taboo word of grand proportions.
He licked his lips thinking, and then touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth.
"So, what do you do for a living?"
His cheeky query caught her off guard and after another quiet moment she found herself actually laughing.
"Gris, I think we might be a little past that at this point."
He considered her with a tilted smile, his expression becoming more serious.
"I don't know," he took a thoughtful sip of wine. "I think there are many things I don't know about you."
Her twisted grin agreed, even if she did think that there needed to be some mystery.
"How about Harvard, what was it like being accepted to a school like that?"
And suddenly she had something to talk about.
Harvard, the surprise at the thick envelope when she had thought that just being able to send off an application to a school like that had been a dream which couldn't happen to her. Her initial awe at the place, even the very bricks had history and tradition, a world of hard work and an environment that was an endless source of inspiration and challenge.
And at times a struggle too, she had been younger than other undergrads, and a scholarship student in a mass of rich privileged kids. She had worked hard, had tutored high school mathematics on the sly so she had some money when her friends had suggested wild spur of the moment trips for Spring Break in her first years, and then she had eased away from that life and had found friends who were more likeminded and valued study like she had.
And the stories rolled, finding it so much easier to talk whilst in this little make-believe isolation of fairy lights and quiet.
The way that the candle light glinted in his eyes when the smile was restrained on his lips made the memories they were creating tonight seem so much more precious too.
She could not stop absorbing him.
Couldn't help but make light brushing contact every now and then, passing bread, or demonstrating amusing anecdotes with table top diagrams, any vague excuse would do.
And once the food was gone they both reclined, slipping wine and looking upwards towards the future with hopeful hearts.
The balmy temperature just right, as they lazily watched the final edges of the red sunset disappear for another day.
Around them moths of many kinds had begun to flutter about the candles, drawn to their beautiful glow, much to the delight of Grissom who was telling her tales of his trips to the rainforest, evoking thoughts of green leaves and moist heat, bringing the scent of fresh rich earth to his arid Vegas desert garden.
Taking her hand in his he etched the elegant shapes of the rarest butterflies across her skin, fingertips gliding across her palm all the way to her sensitive wrist, making her shiver happily at the touch and the unrepressed awe, amazement and energy in his voice as he recalled his past adventures for her.
Wide eyed at how romantic he was.
How easily affectionate after so many years of keeping her at a distance.
And the comfort. The ease of just being together was growing with each passing moment.
Offering smiles and laughter and affirming affinity.
The dark soothing them and relaxing their nerves.
"Would you like some more wine?" he asked, his voice now sounding calm and sleepy.
She nodded, murmuring 'please,' listening to the rustle of his clothing as he stood, and collected their plates together before heading inside.
She sat only a moment alone in the contemplative quiet before something happened inside her.
And without giving herself time to question her decision she rose to her feet and followed him.
He had his back to her in the now relatively dark kitchen area, was lifting the wine from his fridge, illuminated by the neon glow within, their two glasses out on the counter top before him, neatly side by side.
She was only a half step from him when he became aware of her presence.
Had just placed the wine bottle onto the counter when her hand caught his.
The heat of her skin was a salve against the bottle's chill as she curled her fingers around his.
His turn towards her felt agonisingly slow.
His eyes trailing from their joined hands, up her arm right into her eyes.
They hovered a moment, their gaze communicating all they needed to say, hearts beating madly.
Knowing it was time.
Before she gave him a gentle tug, feeling more powerful than she ever had as she guided him in the direction of his bedroom.
Maybe it was time to take some tips from Ms. Spider.
o0o0o0o0o0o
The meal went well he thought, over all, there had been the odd quiet moment every once in a while, especially in the early stages, but a few gentle teases and they had been able to delve in and out of conversation, enjoying the sweet feeling of nostalgia wrapping around them as they talked of good memories and moments past.
He would love to take her to the rainforest one day, to show her the butterflies for real.
Seeing them encapsulated on his apartment wall could never convey the beauty of them in the wild.
Just watching the way her eyes glittered, the candle light flickering in them as she had listened to his every word, asking questions from time to time, shivering as his touch had illustrated his words in tingly caress across her bare skin.
Yes, this meal had gone well. The formality had put them on edge, but you couldn't stay wary for long with a good meal and rich wine to soothe your worries.
Thinking of wine, he noticed her glass was low, "Would you like some more wine?"
She smiled, "please," and so he took her glass, and the empty bowls, back into the house for a refill.
The quiet moment gave him time to think.
He stared into the cool illuminated cavern of his refrigerator.
He didn't hear her approach until she was only a step away, and her fingers were capturing his, and tugging, her message clear in both her eyes and her actions.
With a heady deep breath he allowed himself to be pulled in her direction.
The bedroom was dark, cool and shadowy, the shades drawn nearly shut, but the glow from their fairytale garden outside still managed to filter through.
He slowed as she reached the doorway, pausing to reach out and flick on a lamp, but her stuttered voice changed his mind.
"Leave it... please?"
Her words sounded so vulnerable.
He let his fingers drop.
Feeling the same lustful tumbling response inside, the kind he enjoyed most from cresting roller coasters.
It was real now and she sounded terrified.
He moved to her, releasing her hand so that he could slide one palm around her waist to steady her, and with the other he eased to the back of her neck, his fingers starting up a sensual stroking rhythm, his touch sought to soothe her, but his heat and body spoke of tension and desire.
He guided her face up to his.
Her eyes were huge.
The shimmering emotion and love there made him dizzy, and hopeful.
Hopeful that she could see the same intensity reflected back at her.
Before their lips met again and his tongue expressed in fluid motion the way he felt.
And she returned his kisses with fervour, as his fingers set out to explore, starting with gentle touches to her face, her arms, her waist, before continuing to stroke, over her clothes, and growing braver, under her clothes.
Her fingers beginning their own investigation of his chest, his back, sliding through his hair and along his jaw, gentle, delicate examination, which tightened his hold on her.
Her lips sliding away to follow her touch, soft against the scratch of his chin, light against the bob of his Adam's apple, her kiss there causing him to swallow breathlessly.
Then he reluctantly stepped back, his eyes searching hers for permission, and receiving it, he eased the soft cardigan from her shoulders, hearing it rush to the floor like a cascade of silk.
Capturing her mouth again, his hands settled on her hips, determined to take it slow.
But she was twitching in moments, her stomach muscles fluttering as he glided a rough fingertip under the hem of her camisole, hearing her laugh softly into his mouth and she wiggled. With a slow, torturous slide he lifted the soft cotton up and away, halting their kiss only a few moments, their lips reapplied before the discarded fabric hit the floor.
Her underwear was dark red, as dark as the wine they had consumed and beneath the sensual curves of her breasts her heart was pounding madly against her skin, so hard he could see each separate beat.
His thumb brushed over the thump.
His own kept up in almost identical rhythm.
Her bra was released with only the vaguest of fumbling from him, the satin fabric so light it landed without a sound.
And slowly he separated from her again, a slight step back, to calm his racing body, to admire her in all her newly revealed glory.
Her pale skin gleamed, flushed by his kisses, by the warmth in the room, by what was about to happen.
He couldn't take his eyes off her, even when she swayed, a nervous look glinting in her eyes, her fingers beginning to curl at her sides as if she longed to cover herself from his intense gaze.
He murmured her name, "Sara," his eyes meeting hers full on, his tone one of wonder, "so beautiful."
The heat in her skin seemed to spread, cascading down her high peaked breasts, but that and an audible increase in her breathing were her only response.
So before she gave in to her nerves he continued, gently kissing her again working her up to a decent level of distraction before tumbling them both to the bed, the cool sheets, undulating as they landed.
Beneath him she gasped surprised at their change in position before her breathless, husky voice filled his ears.
"You changed the sheets, did you think you were going to get lucky, Mister?"
His laughter escaped so fast his whole body shook with it. His Sara was back!
She laughed too the sound tumbling into an aching sigh as his lips found her neck and slowly begin to stroke.
And she was completely in his arms, and he was in hers.
Feeling the warm welcome weight of her body as they rolled and tumbled.
God she felt good.
Her hot mouth duelled with his in blissful sweet kisses. Lazy and drunk on one another.
His hands clutching her tightly. The scent of her skin all around him.
Their legs slowly intertwining, naturally coming to rest pelvis to pelvis.
And instinctively he began to rock their bodies together; the friction of their remaining clothing a pleasant barrier for now.
His touch caressing over her soft exposed skin again, as her fingers worked in tandem to release the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest.
Gasping into her mouth at the feel of her bared against him for the first time.
Her delicate nipples tracing patterns across his skin as she moved against him.
His lips escaped hers, needing a calming break before things began to spiral.
His hands capturing hers, before they reached their intended target of the buttoned fly of his jeans.
Kissing the pads of her fingers to placate her he let his lips take up motion again.
They trailed their way lower, lilting over the arch of her collarbone, pressing quick between her breasts, his beard faintly scratching its way down her stomach to the fastener on her own.
His tongue flickering into the concave of her sensitive bellybutton, and distracting her long enough to get her to easily lift her hips and allow him to divest her of her trousers.
Her underwear matched, which was a revelation met with a dirty grin.
She was watching him as he used his lips to climb back up her long legs, soft kisses landing on her ankle, her calf, each knee, he could feel her heart racing in every inch of her skin.
Her thighs were trembling, her attention on where he landed unwavering.
Her hands clutching tightly to his bedclothes.
Her breathing loud and erotic, ragged in the still air.
Higher and higher he climbed, making contact just above her knee.
To the tender inside of each thigh, the softest skin he had ever touched.
To where her pulse beat at the point where hip met thigh.
Against the heated silk barely covering the most intimate part of her.
His tongue flicking out to taste her.
Barely making contact with the fabric.
Before a strangled cry escaped her.
And she bolted.