Rubbing Off
Rated R
The drive back from the strip club took longer than normal, as they became embroiled in a traffic jam.
Greg took it as a prime opportunity to play his favorite game. "It's free association. I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to your mind."
Sara groaned. "Cath, can't you put the flashers on and cut a path through these cars?"
"Yeah, and as the driver I'd be the one with my ass in a sling when Ecklie caught wind of it," Catherine retorted, changing lanes slowly.
"Come on, it'll be fun," Greg whined. "Sara, you playing?"
"Fine. Go."
He clapped his hands in excitement. "Excellent. Okay. tree."
"Leaf."
"Football."
"Playoffs." The game was already boring her.
"New York."
"Yankees."
"Cake."
"Ice cream."
He squinted. "Strip club."
"Lap dance. Greg, this game is stupid."
"Okay, okay." He slumped back in his seat, sulking. "Hey Cath, you ever give lap dances when you were a stripper?"
She glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. "Honey, I was the queen of the lap dance."
"For real?"
"Oh yeah. Four hundred bucks a pop, and they lined up to get one."
"Four hundred bucks?" Sara shook her head. "Jesus. I'm in the wrong industry."
Greg leaned forward so she could see him waggle his eyebrows. "I'd pay way more than four hundred bucks for a lap dance from you, Sara."
She laughed shortly. "Greggo, you'd be wasting your money. I have no coordination. I'd probably strain my back or something."
"All it takes is a good teacher," Catherine said. "I didn't know what I was doing when I got here. Sassy Saint Claire taught me all I know."
"You knew Sassy Saint Claire?" Greg was suitably impressed. "Sara, you've got to let Catherine give you lessons. This is the sort of thing that needs to be passed down to each generation."
"Hey!" Catherine objected. "You're acting like I'm twenty years older than her, for god's sake."
"My bad, my bad." Greg raised his hands in surrender. "So what do you say, Sara? Lessons?"
The truth was, it intrigued her. She'd always wanted to take control, to be smooth and lithe and captivating. "Yeah, sure. Why not." She tried to sound bored, but when she sneaked a look at Catherine, the blonde was grinning at her knowingly.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
"So whatever happened with those lessons?"
Sara rolled her eyes at Catherine. They were relaxing in the break room after a long night, and Greg sounded like he still had far too much energy.
"What lessons?" Nick walked in, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Catherine said she'd teach Sara how to give a lap dance," Greg supplied eagerly.
"Oh, really," Nick drawled, raising an eyebrow at Sara. She blushed and looked away. "Oh come on, Sara, at least show us what you've learned."
"What have you learned?" They turned to see Grissom leaning against the doorway.
"Nothing," Sara said firmly, turning to look at Greg.
Greg completely missed her warning glance. "Sara took lessons in how to lap dance from Catherine!" he crowed.
Grissom froze, staring at Sara. She sank into the couch, wishing she could disappear.
He cleared his throat. "I'm not sure this is appropriate work conversation," he said uneasily. "Shift's over. Go home."
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
She called Grissom from her cell phone. He could hear the irritation in her voice. "Griss, it's Sara. I went to drop off those forms for you to sign, but you weren't there."
"I'm at home," he answered mildly. "Swing by my house, I'll sign them for you."
She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Okay. I'm on my way."
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
He answered the door wearing a collared shirt and jeans, and she bit the inside of her cheek. "Um. here's the forms."
"Thanks." He took the papers and walked into the house, leaving her to follow him with uncertainty. "So tell me." he said, signing page after page. "Did you really get lap dancing lessons?"
She heaved a sigh. "Greg's an ass."
"Is that a no?" He still wasn't looking at her, but she noticed redness creeping up his neck. This was interesting.
"I got lessons from Catherine, yes," she admitted. He swallowed, and she cocked her head, watching him, wondering how far she could push him. "Want me to show you?"
His head shot up, his expression a mixture of reproach and intrigue. "No."
"What, you think I'd be that bad at it?" She narrowed her eyes. "Or you think I'd be that good at it?"
"I don't think anything," he said, shaking his head when he heard what little sense he was making.
"You were the one who asked about it," she reminded him. Her tongue darted out to lick her top lip, and he swallowed again.
"It wouldn't be appropriate." He was almost desperate, vacillating between wanting to accept her offer and wanting to hide under his bed.
"It's an interesting process." Her voice was low, smooth. "It's about power, about control. Very psychological."
He didn't blink, and she knew he was close to saying yes. "Get a chair, and sit in the middle of the room."
Before he knew what was happening, he'd acquiesced. He sat in the middle of his living room, clasping his hands together in his lap to hide his tremble of anticipation. Sara circled him slowly once, then twice.
"Hands behind your back."
Eyebrows raised, but he complied. The authoritative pitch of her voice was more arousing than he wanted to admit.
"No touching me with your hands." This earned her a smirk, as if he was wondering what else she thought he'd touch her with.
She walked over to the stereo with long strides. Her jeans were tight, hugging her ass in all the right places. He swallowed. I never should have agreed to this.
A flick of the knob and the thumping bass of techno music blasted from the speakers. Sara spun on her heel, watching him with dark eyes as she approached. He'd never seen her move like this, like a cat stalking its prey in the dead of night.
She arrived in front of him, placing her hands on the back of the chair on either side of his head. Her palms brushed his shoulders, and his skin tingled.
"See, it's all about contact," she said, her voice husky. She straddled his legs, squatting over his lap without touching it, moving in close so that their chests were pressed together lightly. He tilted his head up to look into her eyes. She leaned her head down until he could feel her breath on his lips.
"C-contact?" Grissom's voice cracked.
"Mmm." She drew closer to his lips, waiting for his eyes to close. When they did, she drew back. " Contact, and lack of contact."
His eyes shot open in frustration. "Sara-"
Her index finger touched his lips, tracing down to his chin. The music pumped through the apartment, making her hips sway, making his blood rush. She stood, still straddling his legs, then swooped down, rolling her pelvis so that it dragged up his thighs to his waist.
He drew in a breath sharply, his hands coming forward to grasp her waist to him. She slapped his cheek, and his eyes flashed with anger.
"What did I say about touching, Dr. Grissom?" She licked her lips, her gaze unfocused as she lowered herself onto his knee. Stifling a groan at the warmth, at the nearness of her core, he reluctantly put his hands back behind the chair.
"Good." Her praise made his heart leap. Her hips were gyrating to the beat, rubbing his knee, and he swore he could feel wetness through the dual layers of denim. His eyes fluttered, but he forced them open, unwilling to miss a glimpse of the wanton woman before him.
She ran her fingers through her hair, then stood and turned, arching her back and lowering that perfect ass onto his lap. This time he couldn't bite back the moan, as the crotch of his jeans grew uncomfortably tight. She was rubbing all the right places, and keeping his hands behind his back was killing him. He wanted to grab her, hold her in place while he ripped away the damned denim and thrust into her over and over.
Straightening up, she turned again, pushing her knee between his legs onto the chair. Her thigh was tight against his groin. She leaned in close, hooking a finger under the strap of her tank top and dragging it down over her shoulder. He realized that there was no bra strap, and his head swam. Before he knew what was happening, his mouth was on her, licking her collarbone, biting her shoulder lightly. Her skin tasted like coconut and autumn rain, and he moaned, so loudly that he drew back in surprise.
She pulled the strap back into position, smirking when he groaned in disappointment. The music was reaching a fever pitch, and she wondered if he could smell her arousal.
Returning her hands to the back of his chair, she straddled him again, letting her core touch him lightly. She felt the hard ridge of his bulge and bit her lip, straining to remember Catherine's instructions. Softly, she swayed her hips from side to side once, twice, three times before firmly rolling her groin forward along his length. He uttered a low, guttural sound as she repeated the four strokes over and over.
Their breaths were coming in short gasps, and Sara found herself growing light-headed. She sat down on him, hard, and he lost any semblance of control. Bringing his arms forward and up her back, he clasped her shoulders from behind, pulling him down onto him roughly. They thrust against each other, moaning and rocking, clawing at each other desperately in an attempt to get closer. He heard a strange staccato noise, and realized it was coming from his own throat. She leaned forward and captured his bottom lip in her mouth, sucking and licking it before biting down. The sensation put him over the edge, and he came hard, harder than he knew he could, seeing stars and blackness and the indescribable vision of Sara throwing her head back as she cried out in climax.
They collapsed onto the chair, panting and clutching each other tightly. As his head cleared he removed his hands from her ass, looking at the floor with growing discomfort. "I, uh. well, hmm. Yes. You were right, it was very interesting. Psychological, yes."
She grinned at him. "Oh, that was just the first part."
"First part?" His pulse quickened, and he dared to look at her.
"Mmm, yeah. It has six parts."
"Six?" There was no way he was already growing hard again. No way. Not possible. But her grin grew wider, and he knew she felt it.
"Yup, six. Sit back and relax, Griss, this may take a while."
END