CSI--Take Me There
CSI-Take Me There
Author: kosmickway
Rating: MATURE
Pairing: Brillows
Summary: A companion piece to “The Best I’ve Ever Known,” this is the events of that story from Catherine’s POV.
Catherine could feel Jim staring at her and it was powerfully distracting.
Not that she minded it. What woman would mind having her lover stare at her as if he wanted to take her right in the middle of the room, spectators be damned? Granted, it was a little disconcerting when the room was a crime scene, but hey, it was nice to know she hadn’t lost her touch.
Jim had been staring at her since they arrived at the de Winter home-now the de Winter crime scene-at 9am. It was now well past noon and they’d been working together all morning. Although they were most definitely working-Jim would never be so uncouth or unprofessional as to mix work and pleasure-she could tell that he had their evening date on his mind, especially when she caught him sneaking glances down her shirt and watching her mouth a little too closely when she commented on spatter and blood trails.
The most distracting part, though, had been the kitchen. There was blood spatter on the ceiling that needed documenting and she’d had to stand on the center island to do it. Jim, ever the gentleman, had given her a hand up onto the island and then steadied her with hands on her hips as she tilted the camera back to take photos.
The hands on her hips had been a powerful reminder of what they’d been doing the last time his hands were there--making love standing up against the wall of his bedroom, a memory so erotic she felt herself starting to blush. He’d given her a knowing smile and a wink and she’d felt so flustered that she had to re-take pictures from several angles.
She left the scene for the lab at 2:30, after a stop at a local diner for lunch with Jim, Nicky, and Sara. When they returned to the scene she headed back to Westfall Drive with their evidence and photos, Jim and his big warm hands and their shared looks all that she could think about as she drove back in from Henderson.
By the time she got back to the lab she was so worked up she could barely concentrate. She dropped all the evidence at the appropriate offices, avoiding small talk with Hodges, Archie, and all the others by pasting an “I’m busily ruminating and you’d be wise not to bother me” look on her face. Grissom, thankfully, was busy at another scene with Greg and Warrick, so she didn’t have anyone else to answer to.
She quickly wrote a sign on a piece of printer paper-WORKING ON QUARTERLY EVALS. DISTURB ONLY IF THE WORLD IS ENDING-and taped it to her office door. She shut and locked it (a practice she cultivated with regularity when working on Very Important Projects for Ecklie), pulled her blinds, turned on some lamps so that it would look like she was actually working, turned on the way-too-noisy-for-prolonged-usage box fan (reserved for days when it was 100+degrees and the AC was working to cool the labs, not the offices) and settled into the overstuffed recliner that Greg and Nicky had given her as a gift when she received her promotion.
She NEVER did this-took time out for herself in the most erotic of senses. Not at work, at any rate. Work was work, personal life was personal life, and she rarely mixed the two if she could help it. Warrick … well, he was an entirely different story, the only exception she figured she’d ever make. Until Jim … who currently had her so worked up that she was about to lie back in her recliner and masturbate. At work. With coworkers in offices ten feet from her door. What the HELL was the man doing to her?
Working her up to a frenzy, apparently. She slid a hand down the waistband of her tailored slacks, nudged aside her silk panties, and slid two fingers into folds that were all ready wet and hot.
“I couldn’t wait to lie down with you,” Jim murmurs as he stretches out behind her on the bed, his hand moving to cover the plane of her belly. “I love touching you after a long day of having to keep my hands to myself.”
His hand slides lower until his fingers are inside her, caressing and fondling. She moans softly, grinds against his hardening cock, and feels his hips thrust forward in response.
“Fuck, Catherine,” he groans in her ear. “You’re so wet. What did I do to make you so wet? Tell me so I can do it every time we make love.”
“You make me wet just putting your hands on me,” she breathes, her hips jerking in response to the movements of his fingers. “Mmm.” Her head falls back against his shoulder as her breathing starts to come shorter. “Harder, sweetheart … Oh, god, yes. Just like that.”
God, what an idea. A powerfully sexy, sweet, sinful idea. How she would love to have him pressed up against her, his powerful chest strong against her back, his thick cock pressing against her ass, hardening while his fingers stroke and slide deep inside.
She had to bite back a soft moan as she thought about it, imagining her own fingers were his, sliding, pressing, awakening nerve endings, making her obey the urge to arch her back.
Jim adds the pressure she wants and she digs her fingers into his back, pulling him closer to her. He thrusts his hips, jerking a groan from her.
“I want you to come inside me,” she pants, her back arching against the double assault of the thrust of his hips and the stroking of his fingers. “I want to feel you come while you’re deep in me.”
Then their clothes are off and they’re skin to skin and he’s thrusting into her from behind, using easy, shallow strokes despite the fact that she’s so wet. She groans deep in her throat when he slides in to her all the way, then gasps as he finds the most sensitive places inside of her.
“Cath,” he murmurs, his free hand twining with hers. “Baby. I love the way you feel. I love your body.”
This was NOT good. Catherine knew herself and her sexual habits well enough to understand that if she didn’t cool down, she was going to end up screaming, which was probably the least ideal response under the present circumstances.
She eased the pressure on her clit, slowed her strokes, tried to breathe deeply in between each movement of her fingers. But she wasn’t willing to give up what promised to be an intense orgasm and made a quick mental note to dig the fingers of her free hand into her chair and to not, under any circumstances, make a sound.
“Oh, Jim, I’m about to come,” she pants, her fingers digging deep into his back. “Take me there, sweetheart, take me all the way.”
Jim thrusts, deep and continuous, until the sensation becomes overwhelming and her body explodes into molten sensation. Her hips jerk, her back arches, and her body tightens around the thrust of his cock. He gasps out her name-“Catherine! Fuck, baby!”-- and crushes her to him, his hips meeting hers with every thrust. She falls into a second orgasm, as deep and dark as the first, and can’t keep from crying out as she flies apart.
And fly apart she did, though she did her best to keep from vocalizing it. She grabbed the arm of the recliner and held on hard as contractions rocked through her, sending her hips pistoning. She couldn’t keep a little moan from escaping and she hoped to god anyone passing by would take it for a moan of frustration at quarterly evals and not a moan of pent-up lust for the resident homicide detective.
She lay there, breathing hard, shaking a bit as aftershocks rolled through her, and made a decision. As soon as the work day ended, she was heading to Jim Brass’s house where she would screw him senseless.
END
Author: kosmickway
Rating: MATURE
Pairing: Brillows
Summary: A companion piece to “The Best I’ve Ever Known,” this is the events of that story from Catherine’s POV.
Catherine could feel Jim staring at her and it was powerfully distracting.
Not that she minded it. What woman would mind having her lover stare at her as if he wanted to take her right in the middle of the room, spectators be damned? Granted, it was a little disconcerting when the room was a crime scene, but hey, it was nice to know she hadn’t lost her touch.
Jim had been staring at her since they arrived at the de Winter home-now the de Winter crime scene-at 9am. It was now well past noon and they’d been working together all morning. Although they were most definitely working-Jim would never be so uncouth or unprofessional as to mix work and pleasure-she could tell that he had their evening date on his mind, especially when she caught him sneaking glances down her shirt and watching her mouth a little too closely when she commented on spatter and blood trails.
The most distracting part, though, had been the kitchen. There was blood spatter on the ceiling that needed documenting and she’d had to stand on the center island to do it. Jim, ever the gentleman, had given her a hand up onto the island and then steadied her with hands on her hips as she tilted the camera back to take photos.
The hands on her hips had been a powerful reminder of what they’d been doing the last time his hands were there--making love standing up against the wall of his bedroom, a memory so erotic she felt herself starting to blush. He’d given her a knowing smile and a wink and she’d felt so flustered that she had to re-take pictures from several angles.
She left the scene for the lab at 2:30, after a stop at a local diner for lunch with Jim, Nicky, and Sara. When they returned to the scene she headed back to Westfall Drive with their evidence and photos, Jim and his big warm hands and their shared looks all that she could think about as she drove back in from Henderson.
By the time she got back to the lab she was so worked up she could barely concentrate. She dropped all the evidence at the appropriate offices, avoiding small talk with Hodges, Archie, and all the others by pasting an “I’m busily ruminating and you’d be wise not to bother me” look on her face. Grissom, thankfully, was busy at another scene with Greg and Warrick, so she didn’t have anyone else to answer to.
She quickly wrote a sign on a piece of printer paper-WORKING ON QUARTERLY EVALS. DISTURB ONLY IF THE WORLD IS ENDING-and taped it to her office door. She shut and locked it (a practice she cultivated with regularity when working on Very Important Projects for Ecklie), pulled her blinds, turned on some lamps so that it would look like she was actually working, turned on the way-too-noisy-for-prolonged-usage box fan (reserved for days when it was 100+degrees and the AC was working to cool the labs, not the offices) and settled into the overstuffed recliner that Greg and Nicky had given her as a gift when she received her promotion.
She NEVER did this-took time out for herself in the most erotic of senses. Not at work, at any rate. Work was work, personal life was personal life, and she rarely mixed the two if she could help it. Warrick … well, he was an entirely different story, the only exception she figured she’d ever make. Until Jim … who currently had her so worked up that she was about to lie back in her recliner and masturbate. At work. With coworkers in offices ten feet from her door. What the HELL was the man doing to her?
Working her up to a frenzy, apparently. She slid a hand down the waistband of her tailored slacks, nudged aside her silk panties, and slid two fingers into folds that were all ready wet and hot.
“I couldn’t wait to lie down with you,” Jim murmurs as he stretches out behind her on the bed, his hand moving to cover the plane of her belly. “I love touching you after a long day of having to keep my hands to myself.”
His hand slides lower until his fingers are inside her, caressing and fondling. She moans softly, grinds against his hardening cock, and feels his hips thrust forward in response.
“Fuck, Catherine,” he groans in her ear. “You’re so wet. What did I do to make you so wet? Tell me so I can do it every time we make love.”
“You make me wet just putting your hands on me,” she breathes, her hips jerking in response to the movements of his fingers. “Mmm.” Her head falls back against his shoulder as her breathing starts to come shorter. “Harder, sweetheart … Oh, god, yes. Just like that.”
God, what an idea. A powerfully sexy, sweet, sinful idea. How she would love to have him pressed up against her, his powerful chest strong against her back, his thick cock pressing against her ass, hardening while his fingers stroke and slide deep inside.
She had to bite back a soft moan as she thought about it, imagining her own fingers were his, sliding, pressing, awakening nerve endings, making her obey the urge to arch her back.
Jim adds the pressure she wants and she digs her fingers into his back, pulling him closer to her. He thrusts his hips, jerking a groan from her.
“I want you to come inside me,” she pants, her back arching against the double assault of the thrust of his hips and the stroking of his fingers. “I want to feel you come while you’re deep in me.”
Then their clothes are off and they’re skin to skin and he’s thrusting into her from behind, using easy, shallow strokes despite the fact that she’s so wet. She groans deep in her throat when he slides in to her all the way, then gasps as he finds the most sensitive places inside of her.
“Cath,” he murmurs, his free hand twining with hers. “Baby. I love the way you feel. I love your body.”
This was NOT good. Catherine knew herself and her sexual habits well enough to understand that if she didn’t cool down, she was going to end up screaming, which was probably the least ideal response under the present circumstances.
She eased the pressure on her clit, slowed her strokes, tried to breathe deeply in between each movement of her fingers. But she wasn’t willing to give up what promised to be an intense orgasm and made a quick mental note to dig the fingers of her free hand into her chair and to not, under any circumstances, make a sound.
“Oh, Jim, I’m about to come,” she pants, her fingers digging deep into his back. “Take me there, sweetheart, take me all the way.”
Jim thrusts, deep and continuous, until the sensation becomes overwhelming and her body explodes into molten sensation. Her hips jerk, her back arches, and her body tightens around the thrust of his cock. He gasps out her name-“Catherine! Fuck, baby!”-- and crushes her to him, his hips meeting hers with every thrust. She falls into a second orgasm, as deep and dark as the first, and can’t keep from crying out as she flies apart.
And fly apart she did, though she did her best to keep from vocalizing it. She grabbed the arm of the recliner and held on hard as contractions rocked through her, sending her hips pistoning. She couldn’t keep a little moan from escaping and she hoped to god anyone passing by would take it for a moan of frustration at quarterly evals and not a moan of pent-up lust for the resident homicide detective.
She lay there, breathing hard, shaking a bit as aftershocks rolled through her, and made a decision. As soon as the work day ended, she was heading to Jim Brass’s house where she would screw him senseless.
END