The Jar Part Five

Title: The Jar
Authors: Cincoflex and Kristen Elizabeth
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to us.
Author's Notes: It took awhile to get this chapter out, but we hope you'll like it! We're still having so much fun writing these scenarios, but it's even more fun to share them with you. Thanks for reading!!



The Jar
by Cincoflex and Kristen Elizabeth

*****

For a week, they’d lost the jar. Sara looked for it on the nightstand, remembering that they’d both had it on Sunday morning as they lay in bed, restocking it with scenarios, occasionally looking at each other and smirking.

Sara was sure back on Sunday she’d seen Grissom write: Cameraman and Actress on a slip of paper, but he’d noticed her peeking and had hidden it with his hand, shooting her one of his stern glances, and giggling huskily she’d made a big production of rolling over to work on her own scenario.

They’d refilled the jar; of that she was certain, but where it had ended up was anyone’s guess. When she mentioned it was missing, Grissom had followed her into the bedroom and they’d begun searching it together. That had made her chuckle all over again. “I feel like we’re processing the place,” Sara had told him.

Grissom made little grunt of agreement, bending down to peer under the bed. He gave a growl of triumph, pulling the jar out and setting it on the quilt. “It must have fallen and rolled under since it was on its side.”

“I guess that means YOU get to pull a slip as your prize,” Sara agreed cheerfully, tossing herself lightly onto the bed. Grissom considered this, and her, then stretched out alongside her and let his fingers curl around the lid.

“To the victor go the spoils,” he murmured, and unscrewed the jar. He rustled around the little slips and fished one out, glancing at it quickly. Watching him, Sara saw the quick flush of pink on his face, and instinctively her interest was piqued. She held out her hand, and noted that Grissom hesitated.

“Come on—we can’t do it if I don’t know what it is, Gil—“ she coaxed him, wondering what fantasy had him blushing. His mouth quirked a little, and dutifully he held it out to Sara. She read his printing aloud. “The tourist and the Playboy Bunny.”

For a few seconds Sara managed a straight face, and then burst out laughing. “Let me just *guess* which part *I* get to play.”

Grissom said nothing, but for one moment he looked . . . mortified, and Sara realized her mistake. She spoke up again, rushing to smooth over her faux pas. “Hey, it’s definitely great fantasy material, that’s for sure—and I’m pretty sure I know where I can get the, um, outfit.” Reaching for his arm, she rubbed it and added. “Frankly I’m flattered as hell that you think I can pull off being a Bunny.”

“You’d be a classic Bunny,” Grissom murmured with absolute conviction. “Tall, knockout legs, cute grin, with an ass that could tempt the Pope, Sara.”

Sara chortled at that, throwing herself back onto the bed, feeling both giddy and aroused. “I’m not even going to ASK how you know that!”

Grissom grinned.

*** *** ***

He was Joe; Joe Jones from Ashbank Illinois, and he'd won the trip in a contest at work. Good thing, too, because he'd heard the pirate show at Treasure Island was pretty amazing, and he always wanted to try the slot machines there. Too bad he'd had that mix-up with his flight, but the night was young, right?

Grissom readjusted his baseball cap with the Cubs logo on it and tipped the cabbie, who took the money with a bored grunt. He drove away, leaving Grissom just outside the locked gates in the twilight of the evening. Grissom eyed his mismatched luggage with a grin. A lone Samsonite bag, well scuffed, and a smaller dufflebag sat at his feet. He pretended to check a slip of paper in his hand, wondering if anyone up at the large house could see him.

He hoped so.

After a moment, he pressed the buzzer at the gate, and it vibrated under his finger, then a voice came on. "Um, hello?"

"Yeah, hiya. I'm looking for a Mister Fernandez?"

"Who?"

"Mr. Fernandez?"

"You're not Mr. Fernandez," came the slightly giggly reply. "I *know* Mr. Fernandez, and he doesn't sound like you."

"I'm NOT Mr. Fernandez, Miss, I'm LOOKING for him," Grissom replied with some exasperation. "Is he there?"

The entire time this exchange had been happening, Grissom was squinting up towards the mansion, noting the lights on there. The driveway was a good fifty yards, but flat, so it wouldn't be too much of a hike.

"No he's not here, Mr. Fernandez. You should totally tell him you've got the same name though when he gets here, because he'd love that. I'm going to buzz you in now, 'kay?" came the cheerful reply, and Grissom fought his own exasperated grin at the thought of exactly how ditzy Sara was playing this.

He picked up his bags when the gate clicked open, and stepped through, letting them close behind him as he began the walk up the driveway. It was a nice walk, along the manicured lawn, overlooking impressive flowerbeds, and Grissom wondered idly how many kinds of beetles might be lurking along the box hedges. Maybe if there was time later . . .

Stepping onto the porch, he set the bags down again, adjusted his cap and reached out to press the doorbell.

Grissom didn't get the chance. One of the tall, mahogany doors swung inward, and a woman launched herself out towards him, pulling him into her arms and kissing him soundly. Startled, Grissom rocked back but manfully caught her, relaxing into the divine taste of strawberry lip gloss and hot lips, but it didn't last long. Pulling back, she grinned at him coquettishly.

"Hi Mr. Fernandez, and welcome to Bunny Mansion west!" Sara gurgled, laughing.

Grissom blinked, taking her in, totally lost for a moment in the vision of her that surpassed anything he'd ever conjured up when this scenario had come to mind. He licked his bottom lip helplessly, tasting lip gloss again.

"Hi," he managed.

Sara giggled again, a lovely husky sound that came out naturally at the sight of Grissom so completely bowled over. She took a moment to repair her lip gloss, pulling the tube from deep in her cleavage to run it over her mouth, then tucking it back again, "Hi. Okay, um, my name is Suzie, and I'm in charge of showing you a good time while you're here with us, Mr. Fernandez!"

Grissom was still staring. Sara wore the strapless black satin corset suit like a second skin, along with the black stockings and black satin pumps. Everything else was there too--bare shoulders, cleavage, the white cuffs, the bow tie, the satin ears--all of it looking amazing on her. She preened a little under his gaze, and deep in her eyes, Grissom noted her shy sense of pleasure in provoking his stare.

"I really, really hate to tell you this, Miss Suzie, but I'm not Mr. Fernandez. I'm just Joe Jones and I'm supposed to MEET Mr. Fernandez so he can comp my room and get me some show tickets to stuff in town," Grissom babbled, still sweetly enthralled, his Chicago accent all the thicker. "See, I missed my flight on account of snow, and so I didn't get the limo ride, but that's okay because I caught a cab, so everything's copacetic, right?"

"You sure talk fast," Sara replied, batting her eyes at him. "Um, okay Mr. Just Joe, come inside, okay?"

Grissom hauled up his bags and followed Sara into the mansion, feeling a giddy thrill deep in his stomach. It wasn't often that they laid out money for their games; most of the time the expenses were fairly modest in the scheme of things. But when Sara managed to book an entire weekend at La Salle House, they'd agreed it would be worth the money, even if the Game didn't work out.

So far though--given the outfit . . . . Grissom eyed the fluffy tail on Sara's pert ass and gave a quick moan. God yeah, she did indeed have an ass that would have tempted the Pope, the Dali Lama, every ayatollah and probably Buddha himself. He shifted the duffle bag across his shoulder and reached out, wanting to touch the fluffy tail.

Sara rounded on him and waggled a finger. "Ah-ah, Mr. Just Joe Jones, no tail tweaks! That's against the rules!"

"Oh," he stammered, blushing now. "S-sorry."

She wiggled her nose a little at him. "I know it's tempting and all, but if I lose it, I have to pay for it, and I just can't afford that right now. Let me check the register---"

There was a book on a stand near the door; clearly a guest register for the place, and Sara made a big show of flipping through it, shifting her weight from hip to hip as she spoke. "Hmmm, nope, nope, nope--oh yeah, here you are, for the nineteenth! Alberto Fernandez!"

"Jones--" he reminded her, crowding close.

Sara closed the book before he could peek inside. "I know, I was just teasing. But it says you were supposed to be here at noon. Most of the other guests are out at the casinos, and won't be coming back for a while."

"Mix up with my flight," Grissom told her as earnestly as he could. Sara was wearing perfume, and the scent of it was making him twitchy. One of the delights he'd always loved was stripping her down to find out exactly where she'd dabbed it on----

"Poor guy," Sara sympathized. "Tell you what. I'll get you a plate of dinner from the kitchen while you go unpack in your room, and I'll bring it on up. I can give you a tour of the place, and after that, we'll . . . find some way of entertaining ourselves, okay?"

It sounded very okay to Grissom, who took a moment to glance around the foyer of the mansion. "Sure. Quite a joint here."

"Yep, it's huge. Let me take you up to your bedroom and get you comfortable," Sara purred deliberately, beckoning him with a finger. Grissom scrambled to get his suitcase and followed her to the mahogany elevator just under the staircase. She pointed to the curving rail of the stairs. "Sometimes when it gets slow around here, me and some of the other girls slide down the bannister. Shhhh--don't tell, okay?"

"Not a soul," he vowed to her, following her into the elevator and trying desperately not to think of Sara riding down that metal rail. Given those legs and that ass---

"Yeah, sometimes we're all bad girls around here," Sara told him, adjusting a cuff. "So, you won a contest?"

"Yep. A weekend here at the, ah mansion. I didn't think I'd win, but the guys talked me into filling out a ticket same as them, and I got . . . lucky," he finished as the elevator came to a stop. Sara pursed her lips in an attempt not to laugh. From the Cubs baseball cap to the Hawaiian shirt, jeans and sneakers, Grissom was as touristy as possible. She noted the digital camera in his breast pocket, just in front of the airline ticket folder.

"Yeah, you look totally like a lucky guy, Mr. Just Joe Jones."

*** *** ***

Sara carried the tray up, smirking to herself at the selections on it, and hoping Grissom had a bit of an appetite. The kitchens of La Salle were huge but customers were expected to bring their own supplies. Luckily Mariposa Catering was willing to do a two day, four person deal for her at the last minute, so there would be plenty along with leftovers once the weekend was through.

She reached the suite door, knocked, and walked in without waiting for a response, catching Grissom hanging the last of two more lurid Hawaiian shirts up in the closet. He smiled at her and the tray. "Wow, now that's a hell of a room service. I'm not really hungry just yet though--is that okay?"

"Sure," Sara agreed. "It will keep, no problem." She set the tray down and put her hands on her hips. "So, wanna see the place?"

"Ohyeah," Grissom agreed, fishing in his pocket. "In fact, would you mind if I got a shot of you? Because Stan and Leo are *never* gonna believe I met a knockout like you without a photo."

"Sure!" Sara chirped, determined to delete the photo later in a private moment. "Go right ahead!"

Grissom snapped two shots off, grinning at her in pure pleasure, well aware that Sara would try to erase them at some point; with luck he could download them before she had the chance. He tucked the camera back in his pocket and waved to the door. "Lead on, Miss Suzie, because I am *dying* to see the joint."

Sara was pleased she'd had a few hours to explore the place on her own, and confidently led Grissom through the rented mansion, making up stories for him as she did so, prattling away in her best psuedo Valley Girl voice. It was unexpectedly fun to swing her hips and bat her eyes. The outfit wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it was going to be, and she made a mental note to thank the costume shop for all their help.

"And this is the Game Room, Joe--Cards, Darts, Billiards--"

"I dunno about those, but that's a helluva nice pool table," Grissom enthused, stepping in and laying a reverent hand on the felt. "Niiiiiiice."

Sara grinned naughtily. "Oh yeah. I'm planning on doing my pictoral down here in two weeks."

That floored him; Grissom swung around, wide-eyed at her, and Sara wanted to laugh at the love-sick lust in his face. Clearly the thought of her naked on the mahogany pool table was leaving him a little speechless. "R-really?"

Sara preened a little, cocking one hip. "Oh yeah. Hef loves the way I fondle a big cue, and I told him I liked rolling the balls down my naked tummy . . . he said it would make like, a *very* hot spread."

For a moment the two of them smoldered at each other, and Sara squirmed a little under Grissom's hungry stare. She flirtatiously broke the gaze first, and stepped over to one of the round tables near the bay windows. "But I know another game I'm really, really good at. A card game . . . wanna play?"

Grissom settled in one of the plush leather chairs, a gleam in his eye as he adjusted his ball cap again. "Bring it on, honey--five card? Draw?" He cleared his throat. "Stud?"

Sara pulled out a deck of cards and lazily shuffled them. "Crazy Eights."

*** *** ***

The card game nearly broke him, and Grissom admitted to himself that there was something so sweetly screwball about this particular scenario that made him feel good, all lust aside. It was wonderful to see Sara scantily dressed--that was always a big bonus of course--but to hear her laugh as she won game after game, to listen to her teasing Valley Girl tones as she ragged on him was fun. Tapping into the wonderful playful side of Sara; enjoying her trust had him feeling tender.

"You--" he accused her after finally giving up, "Are an Eight Shark, aren't you?"

In answer she giggled again, collecting the deck and stacking it neatly in the center of the table. "Totally. The girls around here aren't allowed to play poker, because that means we either have to bet money, which is a no-no, or we end up in strip games which is a BIG no-no, so most of us Bunnies go with other games. It's a crack-up how many grown men are lousy at War, or Gin Rummy or Crazy Eights."

Privately Grissom thought it was because the enticing view of cleavage across the table probably kept any sane man from being able to concentrate. It had certainly played hell with his. "Suzie, I'm having a damned good time, but I think I could probably go for some dinner. One bag of American Airlines honey peanuts isn't cutting it right now."

"You know . . . " she purred, rising up and coming over to him, stepping behind Grissom to rub his shoulders gently. "You really should have a tub dinner. The tubs upstairs have a tray, and jets, and you'll end up feeling like a million bucks if I draw one for you."

"Gawwwwd--" he groaned. "So far this is the best damned vacation of my life and I haven't even left the building!"

Sara leaned down to breathe in his ear. "It gets better----"

Grissom swallowed hard.

The tub was indeed everything she'd promised; a deep round black marble one in a square base set into one corner of the bathroom. Grissom noted that there was a round window on each wall of the corner, and hanging ferns as well, but his attention was predominantly focused on the thick shelf seats in the tub, and the slightly raised black marble tray table nearby. He shook his head in amazement. "Christ, would you look at that? Custom job like this would cost about thirty grand outta my shop, and that's without the water heater and filters. Jacuzzi, am I right?"

Sara shrugged. "I dunno. But it's pretty sweet, Joe." As she spoke, Sara moved to flip the drain lever, and turn on the water; instantly a rush began filling the tub. "We're gonna love it."

His eyebrows went up, but Sara prattled on, adjusting the temperature and pointing out the heated towel rack. She poured something into the water and it began to mound with foam in a gentle musk scent, the lather heavy and white. Grissom shifted uncomfortably. "That's . . . a bubble bath. Gals do those."

"So do guys."

"Not THIS guy."

Sara pretended to pout, pushing her lower lip out and letting it tremble. "Aw Joe . . . it's one of the best things EVER. And you're a plumber--don't you ever like, indulge, professionally?"

He arched his eyebrow at her, and Sara spluttered into giggles, then reached to undo the buttons on his Hawaiian shirt, coming closer to him. Grissom hitched a breath, taking in the warmth, the perfume, the sexual aura that Sara was radiating as visibly as a force field. He reached out, letting his hands span her waist, the black satin cool to his touch. "Maybe you need to show me--It's your town, you know."

Sara looked up from helping him out of his shirt. "Well, I do know a few thi--OhmyGod! You have a tattoo!"

She blinked at Grissom in confusion, staring at the small red and blue Chicago Cubs logo on the rugged muscle of his upper arm.

Grissom grinned. "Well yeah. I got more than one, actually."

Sara drew in a breath, taking a moment to eye the design before crookedly smiling again. "Oh Joe, you are a guy full of . . . surprises."

"And you are . . . amazing," Grissom responded in a gentle voice, shyly dropping his gaze as she slid his shirt off his arms. "Why someone so beautiful would hang out with a bum like me is crazy."

"You make me laugh, and you're sweet, and I love the way you smell--" Sara murmured, nuzzling under his chin. "A guy like you is something mondo special."

It was the perfect response, and Grissom gave a happy little moan, sliding his hands around Sara's slender back, seeking a zipper. There was none, and for a moment he was stymied, but Sara gently guided his right hand to her left side, and he found the seam of the corset. Slowly he undid the hooks from their eyes and Sara shimmied out of the corset, her bare breasts coming into view, the ruckered nipples soft pink.

"So gorgeous," Grissom murmured, rubbing the side of his face against hers. She was in his arms, warm and alive . . .

Sara laughed and artfully let the corset/bunny suit slide down her stocking covered legs to her feet. Grissom glanced down, and another breathy moan escaped from him as he noted her panty hose, sleek with their peekaboo center. It was the sort of hosiery he'd never thought of her wearing, but seeing now, Grissom dizzily wondered why he never had before, especially considering how much the vision made his cock ache.

Bunny ears, bow tie, cuffs, and those stockings---

"Panty lines are a no-no," Sara informed him saucily.

"Yeah," he agreed thickly. "Good rule."

To further torment him, Sara stepped out of the corset and turned as she bent to pick it up, providing Grissom with the image of her sleek, long legs, from pert buttocks to slender feet inch three inch heels, the showcase being how the window in the panty hose highlighted her sex. When Sara heard him moan outloud, she grinned to herself and rose slowly, stretching a little.

It was fun to be a sex object, she decided, at least it was around Grissom, who clearly appreciated her sacrifices. The heels were a pain, the hose was embarrassing when she'd first put it on, but for a moment like this---

Sara felt hands settle on her hips, fingers caressing gently. "You're missing your tail," came the low, lust-filled voice. She looked over her shoulder at Grissom, shivering as he slid his fingers along the open seams of the panty hose. Wherever his touch trailed her skin caught fire, and she put her hands on the edge of the tub to steady herself.

"I guess that makes me a lop--" came her feeble joke. Grissom chuckled softly, and dropped to his knees behind her.

"Poor bunny," he murmured, and nuzzled the back of her thighs. His warm breath and hot, licking tongue made Sara wriggle, especially when Grissom moved to the inside of her thighs along the particularly ticklish skin there.

Grissom indulged himself, taking the time to taste Sara. She was always delicious to him; juicy as a peach and warm under his tongue. He loved the scent of her, the flavor of her, the sweet feminine anima of her body responding to his caresses. If he wasn't so close to the edge himself, Grissom would have adored staying right where he was, but everything--the setting, Sara's stockings, the sweet and naughty foreplay all through the mansion--had him throbbing now. With a last flickering kiss, he reluctantly pulled back and rose up again, hands sliding up along Sara's hips.

She turned and pulled him to her, kissing him with a sweet ferociousness that made it clear that she was as aroused as he was. "Tub--let me get these off--"

"Hell no," Grissom told her with a gleam in his eye. "Stockings stay."

Sara grinned. She reached for his jeans, noting the sizable ridge as she tugged on the fly. "Now I *know* you're from Chicago--pushy, pushy!"

"I'll make it up to you--" he promised, waiting for her to catch a glimpse of his boxers. Sara did, her grin widening as she took in the sights of boxers on his boxers.

"Truth in advertising, you big dog--" came her throaty tease. Grissom laughed softly, toeing his way out of his sneakers and letting his jeans drop. Sara flirtatiously helped with the boxers, her talented fingers stroking him in ways that had his pulse racing. She pressed close to him and kissed Grissom once more. "I'm such a bad bunny around you---"

"I can live with it," Grissom told her sincerely. "Come here--"

They climbed into the tub, wading through the mounds of foam. The tub was deep in the center; nearly thigh high, and the water was welcomingly warm. Grissom dug the suds out of the way, slightly impatient, but Sara gently pushed him back towards the corner of the tub, and he felt the edge of a seat against the back of his knees. Gratefully he dropped into it, and she slid onto his lap, close enough to tease as she played with his Cubs tattoo.

"You get me hot, Joe--" she breathed against his cheek. "A big sweet hunk like you."

Grissom throbbed, and pulled Sara closer, nuzzling her neck; the heat of the water had made her skin damp and he licked it, tasting a hint of her perfume. "Suzie baby, you're so damned gorgeous---"

Sara rose up, and the sight of her wet, stocking covered legs; the drift of foam clinging to the wet curls between her thighs nearly had him coming right there. She reached down for his cock and shifted, guiding it.

"Pat the bunny---" she groaned sweetly, and slowly settled down the length of him.

They splashed, sloshing waves of water from the tub onto the fluffy carpet. Sara gripped his shoulders and moved, feeling the thick push of Grissom's cock under the water, filling her, stretching her. Grissom's hands gripped her bare ass, and he grunted, his mouth sliding on her chest as she moved over him, her breasts bouncing against his face. "Ohhhhhhhnnnnnnnnggghhhhh---" Sara felt her body begin to tense; her thighs were wide, and the heated thrust of Grissom's prick had her focus moving rapidly down her stomach to the rub and tickle of his wet fur against hers.

Grissom shifted, taking one of her hands and guiding it between their bodies. "I'm close, I'm soooo fucking close--" he warned, panting, his voice low, "Rub it, come with me--"

Sara shifted her fingers and pressed her face to the crook of Grissom's neck, rubbing herself, feeling him swell within her. She stroked herself harder, and the sweet rush of impending orgasm intensified. Grissom's hands tightened on her ass in a hard grip, and Sara opened her mouth, biting hard on the defined ridge of his shoulder as her muscles clenched along his cock, squeezing hard in achingly erotic spasms. She felt him thicken, throb and grunt, thrusting strongly enough to lift them from the seat and nearly clear the water.

He was growling obscenities, but sometimes Grissom couldn't help it; Sara could bring out the brutish side of him and once in a while the sweet madness of sheer fucking undid whatever manners or civility he had. Grissom hadn't known he even had the capacity until Sara; she was the only one who could make him lose it.

They sloshed back into the tub, clinging to each other; Grissom laughed a little and stroked the back of her head. Sara lifted her face and gave a low cry of distress.

"What? Sara, are you all right?" Grissom demanded softly, turning to look at her. Her attention was on his shoulder.

"Crap. I bit you, Grissom---" There was a perfect biteplate against his shoulder, complete with a little gap between the front teeth marks. Grissom eyed it and broke into a soft smile.

"Bunny love bite. Nice souvenir."

She eyed him uncertainly, then smiled herself when he brought a hand out of the soapy water to caress her cheek. "You sure, Joe Jones from Chicago?"

"Yep."

They didn't speak for a while, and finally, Sara pulled herself away from him and stood up, looking down at her wet pantyhose and laughing. "So has this always been a kink of yours, babe? This wet crotchless panty hose thing?"

"Oh it is now," he sighed in appreciation. He rose up and she passed him a towel; as Grissom climbed out, Sara spotted another tattoo.

"Grisssooommm-----"

He paused and looked over his shoulder to where she was looking. Right cheek. He batted his eyes at her. Sara was trying not to giggle, but her gaze was riveted to the small familiar design adorning the cheek of his ass. She reached to touch it, tracing the tattoo. "I should have guessed. And what's the story behind this one, Joe Jones?"

Grissom toweled off and looked both sheepish and adorable. Lovingly he peeled off her panty hose, set them neatly on the edge of the tub and wrapped her in a towel, then picked her up, effortlessly. Startled, Sara clung to him and he carried her out of the bathroom.

"Well, THAT tattoo started with my favorite men's magazine, and a lot of beers and this really stupid bet----"

*****

*****

*****

As soon as Grissom pulled the piece of paper from the jar and read the words printed on it, Sara's whole face turned bright red. She vividly remembered scribbling down the fantasy, as well as how long it had taken her to work up the courage to add it in with the others. There had even been a few times over the months since they began playing that she'd thought about fishing it out and throwing it away before it could be drawn.

This fantasy would be different than their other sessions. There would be no elaborate costumes or settings, but it was going to challenge them far more than any of their previous encounters.

Grissom picked up on this right away. He looked at Sara for a long, silent moment. "I know what I'm thinking," he finally said. "But it's in your handwriting, so we'll do it your way. Tell me what to do, honey."

Sara gave him a soft kiss. "Book a hotel room for Friday night."

"Any specific hotel?"

"It just needs to be a Marriott. Remember?"

He drew in a ragged breath. "Yeah. How could I forget?"

****

She still had the dress and, if possible, it fit better than it had ten years ago. Sara had to congratulate herself for that. It was simple and black, short to show off her legs, sleeveless to tempt him with her bare arms. Even now, she could remember trying it on in the store. It had been purchased with a single man in mind. Ten years later, it was being donned again with the same man in mind.

The shoes she'd worn that night had been thrown out several years earlier, but she had a pair that were nearly identical. She let her hair dry in curls, like she had back then, and pulled it back from her face with two barrettes. She wore no makeup; nowadays she liked a little powder and lip gloss to cover up the gentle marks of time, but back then, she'd been naively anti-enhancement.

Just as they had ten years earlier, Grissom took a cab and Sara drove her car to the restaurant Grissom had chosen. Although it wasn't the cozy seafood bistro overlooking the Bay, it was off the Strip, small and intimate, a perfect substitute.

The food was excellent and as they ate, they talked as they would at any other meal. Cases were discussed, lab gossip shared, and Grissom outlined some of his ideas for his next lecture series at UNLV.

When the waiter cleared away their entrees and left them with a dessert menu, Grissom sat up a little straighter in his chair and cleared his throat.

"So, Miss Sidle..." he began.

Sara dropped her eyes to the napkin in her lap. As she had so many years earlier, she began twisting her fingers around the fabric underneath the table. "Sara," she blurted out. "It's okay...you know...to call me Sara."

His answer was the same one he'd given her that night. "You're a student of mine."

"No," she corrected him. "I stopped being your student when your lecture was through." Her hands felt clammy; it was far too easy to slip into this scenario. She'd already lived it once.

It took him a second, but he lowered his chin. "Sara, then." He paused as if lost in the same memory. "Hebrew for princess."

"Some princess," she murmured.

Grissom looked like he wanted to say something, maybe something he hadn't been able to ten years earlier, but right then, the waiter reappeared.

"Can I interest you in something off our dessert menu?" he asked brightly.

Their eyes met over the flickering candle that separated them. Finally, Grissom shook his head. "Just the check, thanks."

****

Sara pulled up to the side entrance of the Marriott, put the car in park, but left the engine running. It was a cold night, not as cold as that night had been, but enough so that as they sat there in silence, the windows began to fog up.

"I'll be leaving in the morning." Grissom's voice was heavy as he glanced at her. "You've been a joy, Miss..." He stopped himself. "Sara."

Her hands were shaking. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea. She closed her eyes for a second, surprised to feel moisture collecting along her lashes. Ten years had passed, but what had happened next still smarted.

"The night..." Sara swallowed and tried again. "The night doesn't have to end here." It didn't make any sense because she knew his answer would be different now, but she braced herself for the expected response, the excuses. I have an early flight tomorrow. The rationalizations. I value our friendship too much to jeopardize it. And the regret. I wish things could be different.

She felt Grissom's hand cover hers like it hadn't on that night. Shocked out of her memories, she looked at him with wet eyes.

"No," he said. She couldn't help it; she stopped breathing until he smiled softly. "It doesn't." He reached out and touched a single curl. "Would you come upstairs with me?"

All Sara could do was numbly nod her head. She didn't have to act. When he used that voice, she was twenty-six again, trembling with desire she had never known before she'd met him.

*****

It was a standard hotel room, perhaps cleaner than most. Grissom would have checked beforehand to make sure it was up to par. He always did whenever they stayed overnight somewhere; it was one of the little things that counted so much. Once inside, he turned to her, almost as if he really was nervous.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He glanced around and found the complimentary coffee pot. "Coffee?"

"I'm not thirsty." She put her purse down on the closest of the two beds and shrugged out of her jacket. It was a credit to the way the dress molded to her body that his stare immediately shifted down to her chest.

"I've never done this before," Grissom suddenly said.

Sara blinked. "What?"

"I'm not a virgin, honey," he chuckled weakly. "I just meant...I don't usually go to hotel rooms with women I've just met." He shook her head. "But you're different."

"So are you," she said softly. "I can't explain it."

"Some of the best things in life defy explanation."

The corners of her lips turned up. "That's interesting to hear from a scientist."

Grissom walked to her until he was so close that her entire body tingled. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but she held back and let the scenario unfold. As they stood there, his eyes roamed her face, a look of wonder on his.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Sara Sidle?" He touched her cheek and her eyelashes fluttered. "Has anyone ever told you? Said the words out loud?" Grissom ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "You walked into my lecture...and I haven't wanted to take my eyes off you ever since."

Before she could think of anything to say, Grissom's lips touched hers, delicately at first, like a butterfly's wings against her skin. She kissed him back on instinct, harder and deeper until she couldn't tell where his mouth ended and hers began.

She felt his hand settle over her breast and he broke the kiss long enough to pant, "I want to touch you, Sara." His fingers found her hard nipple even through the fabric of her dress. "Let me touch you?"

There was a desperate quality to his voice, like if she denied him, he might go insane with unfulfilled need. This was what she had wanted that night ten long years ago. To be desired. To be pursued. To know that she wasn't alone in feeling like the entire world had changed.

"You don't need to ask," she whispered. She reached behind her back and found the zipper of her dress, drawing it down slowly.

The air was cool and felt wonderful against her warm skin. Sara could feel the centers of her breasts grow tight, pebbling with anticipation. The dress pooled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but a scrap of lace that hid nothing.

"I'm not a virgin either," Sara said reaching behind to undo her hair. It cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves. "But it's been a few..." He slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her up against his chest. "A few years," she managed to finish before he kissed her again. "Dr. Grissom..."

"Gil," he said, probing her lips. "Call me Gil."

His name came out on the tail end of a moan as he moved down the sensitive nape of her neck.

"That's right," Grissom murmured. "I want to hear you say it. When I'm inside you...I want you to say it, Sara."

It was all she could do to nod. His thumb was circling her nipple and the feeling of his beard against her throat was making her knees buckle.

The next thing she knew, Grissom swept her up into his arms. Caught off guard, Sara pushed at his shoulders. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. He just lowered her down onto the bed and stood back, admiring her mostly-naked body against the hotel comforter. As he looked her up and down, he began undoing his shirt buttons one by one.

Sara sat up on her elbows. "Do you have...you know...anything with you?"

After his shirt landed on the chair, Grissom dug into his pocket and produced two condoms. Sara took them and set them on the small table between the two beds.

He reached for his belt buckle, but she beat him to it. On her knees on the mattress, Sara kissed him while she stripped off the leather strap of his belt and unzipped his pants.

She looked down, then back up with a playful smile. "Boxers. Well, that answers one question."

Grissom grasped her shoulders gently, but firmly and guided her back down to the mattress, kicking his way out of his pants as he crawled over her. His mouth found hers again, exploring it as thoroughly as he would a crime scene.

He hooked a finger around the lacy strap of her panties at the same time she reached into the slit of his shorts. She found him, hot, heavy and hard.

"Jesus," he gasped as she wrapped her hand around him and began slowly stroking. "Honey...hold on." He pried her fingers off his cock and pinned her hand against the bed as he worked her flimsy underwear down her legs. Once they were gone, his fingers found her wetness. Sara's eyes fluttered when he dipped one finger inside of her.

"It has been awhile," he murmured. "You're so tight." Her whole body stiffened as he added a finger. "Relax, honey. Tell me what you want."

"I want..." She shook her head against the hotel pillows. "I just want you."

Grissom's fingers stilled, but stayed inside of her. Sara shifted, enjoying the delicious feeling.

"Why?"

The one word made her stop. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Because...you're the only man I've ever met who has even cared about what I want."

When he kissed her, it was slower and sweeter. It was a loving kiss. "I don't know why you've picked me, honey, but I am so glad you have."

Sara wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down until she could feel the warm skin of his chest against her bare breasts.

"Make love to me?" she whispered into his ear. "Please."

Somehow managing to nod his head and kiss her at the same time, Grissom reached for one of the condoms. Sara grabbed his wrist. "No time," she told him, only half-joking. Ten years earlier, she wouldn't have been on the Pill, but she was now and there was no reason to put latex between them. "I need you...right now."

He shed his boxers in a flash. She felt the blunt tip of his cock drag through her silky-wet folds. She didn't have to pretend to gasp when he slowly thrust forward; it was always a delicious sting of pleasurable pain. The first time they'd made love, she had almost cried when she realized that a part of him was inside her.

Sara kissed his neck and hugged her arms around his upper back. She loved it when they were joined like this. Skin to skin, her legs framing his hips, her breasts pressed against his heart. Grissom lifted himself up on his arms in order to look down at her as they undulated together.

Looking back at him, straight in the eye, Sara licked her bottom lip. "I can feel every inch of you." Grissom thrust madly. "Oh god," she moaned. "More!"

Her eyes flew open in shock when, instead of thrusting harder, Grissom suddenly withdrew. The emptiness overwhelmed her. "What are you...?"

"Turn over, Sara."

She didn't recognize his voice. It was low. Guttural. His eyes had darkened to the point where they almost couldn't be called blue anymore. When she didn't move, Grissom grasped her waist, rolling her over onto her stomach. She didn't need him to lift her hips off the bed; she rose up on her knees without biding.


Sara glanced back at him with a very small, yet very enticing smile. It was an invitation he took with a single thrust, burying himself back in her warmth. She pitched forward from the power of it and found herself grabbing the sheets for balance.

"Look at the mirror," he demanded.

She lifted her head just enough to see their reflection. Two naked, sweaty bodies mating, loving, fucking. Moisture tickled the inside of her thighs, her own juices flowing freely. She couldn't ever remember being as turned on as she was right then. He was behind her, around her, inside her, taking her, wanting her, needing her.

"Gil," she murmured, biting her lip as the pleasure began to build. "I lov..."

Before she could get the word out, she felt herself being dragged backwards, still connected to him. He slammed his own back against the headboard and seated her in his lap, her legs spread on either of side of his, open wide for his now-gentle thrusts.

His lips found her ear and sucked on the sensitive lobe. One hand covered her breast, kneading her painfully stiff nipple while the other drifted down to the place where they were joined. "Watch me touch you," Grissom ordered.

Her head lolled back onto his shoulder, but her hooded eyes never left their mirrored image. His fingers expertly worked her to bliss as she squirmed in his arms. It was too much. She was going to explode.

Sara shattered with a throaty scream. He wrapped his arms around her until she stopped shaking, until every last spasm passed and she fell back against him, boneless and sated. It took her a few minutes to realize he'd found his own climax in the middle of hers.

When she could lift her head up, she turned her face and met him in a slow, deep kiss.

"Don't leave tomorrow," Sara said, her sweat-kissed breasts rising and falling with each breath. "Or if you have to...take me with you." She reached up and behind to stroke his cheek. "We could have this every night."

Grissom thought for a second. "All right."

"All right?" Sara frowned. "Is that it?"

He tilted his head to one side, confused, when she pulled off his lap and turned around to face him. "Well...we do have this every night."

"We do now," she snapped. "But if I'd asked ten years ago, would that have been your answer?"

"Sara." Grissom gathered her hands between his. "Ten years ago, you met a fool who thought you were too young to ever find him the least bit attractive. That night you dropped me off at my hotel...I didn't turn you down because I had to catch a flight or because I was worried about our friendship. I said no...and believe me, it took everything I had...because I realized that as soon as I knew what it felt like to be inside you, that would be it. For the rest of my life, I would only want you."

She pressed her cheek against his chest, just over his rapidly-beating heart. "That's how it happened for me, regardless. You've been it for me for all these years. Long before I knew what I was missing."

"If we had done this that night, everything would have been different. And not necessarily better." He kissed the top of her head, pausing to inhale the fragrance of her hair. "We were different people back then. Maybe we wouldn't be where we are now if we'd started there."

"You're basically saying..." Sara drew herself up and looked down at him. "You have no regrets?"

"Other than the fact that you were hurt that night..." Grissom shook his head. "I would only regret it if we'd never managed to get here."

She stared at him for a moment before letting out the smallest of sighs. "You are impossible." Brushing her lips over his, she added, "And I love you more than I can say."

They settled into each others arms, content to simply hold one another, until Grissom broke the silence. "Why did you put this one in the jar?"

"I guess..." Sara shrugged her shoulder. "I don't know. We've been other people in other places. Maybe I needed to know that our story was just as..."

"Hot?" he guessed, nuzzling her temple. "Did it live up to your expectations?"

"Surpassed them," she murmured, a satisfied smirk playing on her face. "You always surprise me, baby." Sara kissed him again, moaning when he dipped his tongue into her mouth. "And thrill me." She put her lips to his ear. "And every time you make me come, it's better than the time before."

Grissom's hand snaked around her waist and drew her even closer towards him. "With talk like that, it's good thing I rented this room for the night."

"You want me again, Dr. Grissom?" she teased.

Pushing her onto her back, Grissom started at her neck and began kissing his way down her body. Just before he disappeared beneath the covers, he looked up at her and answered, "I want you forever."

*****

To Be Continued