Another night, another crime solved, another idiot behind bars. People kill over the stupidest things. I mean some really stupid things. But it pays my bills so I can’t complain too much. Besides, I love what I do. Which is, in my opinion, the secret to happiness. Find what you love to do and do it. If that job happens to turn people off, in my case, women, so be it. Someone has to do it.

I picked up the phone and turned the ringer off. Why is it just because some people work days and sleep nights they think the rest of the world does too? Anyone important knows to call me on my cell phone. Sometimes there’s nothing more irritating than to be woken up at one in the afternoon by someone wanting to save me a few bucks on my long distance service. Makes me want to call them up at one in the morning and tell them how to keep their family safe from intruders.

All I want to do is go to bed, read my new issue of Entomologists Monthly and maybe if I can keep my eyes open long enough, do a crossword. It wasn’t as if last night’s shift sucked, as Catherine would have said, I’m just tired. Too many nights on and not enough off. The doorbell rings as I slip my shoes and socks off and I pad over to the door grumbling about how I wish people would just leave me alone.

I open the door, ready to give my deadly glare. The glare that makes Greg Sanders quiver in his shoes. A glare that makes my subordinates wish they were in the deepest jungle fighting off mosquitoes and huge spiders. My glare makes everyone stop in their tracks. With one exception. Catherine. She never quivers, wishes she was somewhere else or stops in her tracks. Obviously today is no exception.

She just looks at me, raises an eyebrow and asks, “You alone?”

I snort. Like I’d be anything else. I’m always alone. Well, almost always. In lieu of answering, I open the door wider, allowing her entrance. I recognize the look in her eye and suddenly the article on blowflies doesn’t seem so appealing after all.

Before I’m prepared, I’m flattened against the door by a beautiful woman. Who am I to complain? Absolutely no one, that’s who. I take what she has to give, my hands sliding around her waist. But she’s having none of that. She grabs my hands, threads her fingers through mine and raises them up, pinning them against the door. That’s when I realize she’s not here because she had a bad night, she’s here because her feminity has been challenged. The way she’s kissing me; forceful and possessive, yet totally erotic makes me think that if she could she would hit me over the head, drag me to her cave and take me from behind.

I tried to remember what case I’d assigned her. I’m sure it had something to do with death, but as the blood rushes from my brain, I can’t think of anything but what she’s doing to me and what I want to do to her. I want to touch her and even though she has let go of my arms, she’s the one in charge. Alpha Catherine is here and I’m content to go along for the ride. It’ll be my turn soon enough.

Her fingers nimbly unbutton my shirt as she nips and sucks on my neck. Her hands move to the fly of my slacks, jerking my hips forward before unfastening the belt. My slacks and boxers were around my ankles before I have a chance to blink. After a final searing kiss, she drops to her knees and goes to work on my erection. At first she keeps her ministrations to the sensitive tip, sending the shock waves zinging through me as she flutters her tongue against me. Then she slides her hands up my thighs, resting her fingers low on my hips as she continues her hands free blow job.

It doesn’t take long before I’m ready to shoot and I groan low in my throat, threading my fingers through her hair. She stops, holding my cock in her mouth as I come. She swallows quickly and then continues, her mouth sliding along my length, not allowing me to go soft. Clearly she’s not done with me. And again, I’m not going to argue.

She lets go of my shaft and stands, stepping away from me. Her clothes are gone before I can help and I gaze at her for a moment. God she’s gorgeous. A beautiful face with a knockout body. Yeah, who’s your daddy now, Sweetheart?

“Sit,” she says after I follow her to the couch. This is not some S and M relationship; we’re not like that. But sometimes one of us takes the lead. I’m content to let her be the leader today.

I sit down and lean back as she straddles me. Her mouth is doing wonderfully erotic things to my neck; why did I tell her that’s one of my erogenous zones? I’m ready to feel her hot, sticky wetness surrounding me, but she’s enjoying her damn teasing game so I’ll let her continue. It’s all part of our game; she wants to make me lose control, I want to resist long enough to make her lose it. I would say I win this part of the game, she would say she does. In truth it’s closer to a draw.

Suddenly she ups the ante by leaning back and rising up on her knees. Her eyes are glued to mine while she moves her right hand down her body and fingers her clit before sliding two fingers into her depths. With a wicked smile, she rubs those fingers on my lips, giving me a taste of her essence. My control slips even more when she kisses me, our tongues dueling between her fingers. She lowers herself again, rubbing herself against my cock. I growl in protest as she stops, her eyebrow raised in challenge. God, she can be so evil.

Grabbing her hips I thrust up, uttering a low groan when I bury myself deep into her depths. All control is gone and I thrust into her, giving her what she wants. She starts to moan, the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard in my life, and then my name is next.

“Oh, God, Gil.” She cries, her hands moving to her breasts, pulling at her nipples and the sight is so overwhelming I close my eyes.

“Gil…Gil…Gil!”

My eyes snap open at the urgency in her voice and realize that I’m sitting at my desk, asleep in a puddle of drool. Jesus mother-fucking Christ, the object of my lust has woken me from the best sex dream of my life.

Sitting bolt upright, I hastily wipe the residual drool from my cheek and blink rapidly, trying to dispel the haze and focus on the red-head standing in front of my desk. Damn! She looks so hot in those tight pants and almost as tight button down shirt. And as much as I want to rip her clothes off, throw her on my desk and fuck her like the stud I secretly am, there’s a part of me that’s wants to kill her for interrupting me before the orgasm. My face flushes as I feel the warm wetness in my boxers.

Oh God! Can this day get any worse? I’ve been caught, at work of all places, having a wet dream by the woman who just had the starring role. And star she did. Two thumbs up. There is no way I’m moving from this chair. Uh-huh, no way, Jose. I’m a tree and I’m rooted to the spot. If my gun wasn’t across the room, I’d get it and put myself out of my humiliated misery.

“You okay?” She asks, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, fine. Why?” Is it just me or do I sound panicked?

“Because you’re flushed and you were moaning. Did you have a nightmare?”

I choke back hysterical laughter. Nightmare? That’s rich. No, Baby, I didn’t have a nightmare, but if you want to reenact the fantasy I just had, let me know. I’m free everyday starting now. I promise I can give you a ride you’ll never forget.

She’s standing in front of me and as I’m wondering how the hell she moved so fast, she runs her fingers across my forehead and then lays her palm flat against my damp skin. “Are you sick? You’re sweating.”

I stare at her, unable to speak; my entire body is reacting to her touch. I’m hard, again or still, I don’t know but my dick is pressing against the confines of my clothes, reaching for her. Damn thing has a life of it’s own, of that I’m sure. But how do you tell your hormones that now is not a good time?

Her eyes drop to my crotch and she misses nothing. I taught her too well obviously.

“You started without me?” Her voice is low and sensual, filled with lust and longing. Her hands drop to my fly and she caresses me through my clothes. “Mmmm. Feels like you finished too. Wanna play again?”

My heart is pounding wildly and I’m sure I’m going to have a heart attack. Especially when she fuses her mouth to mine as she makes quick work of my belt and zipper. She kneels gracefully, she’s always so damn graceful, testament to her dancing years and releases my cock from its confines. My hips buck when she takes me deep into her mouth and I watch her movements for a moment, threading my fingers through her silky hair. As I let my eyes close, I note the door is still open. God, now that’s hot.

My cell phone rings and I groan low in my throat. Why can’t people just leave me the fuck alone? I try to ignore it and concentrate on the sensations zinging through my body, but it keeps up with incessant ringing and I open my eyes, focusing on the ceiling fan slowly rotating above me.

Wait! Ceiling fan? I don’t have a ceiling fan in my office. I have one in my…Oh fuck! It’s a dream. The whole damn thing was an intense, hot, vivid dream. There was no sport fucking on my leather couch. No intense blow job in my office. Just me, my bed and my imagination. I want to cry from frustration. The phone is still ringing, or maybe it’s ringing again, I don’t know and I really don’t give a fuck.

Swearing, I fumble for the phone with one hand while my other checks out the equipment. I’m not checking to make sure it’s there, it’s extremely evident that it is. I just to relieve some of the tension.

“What?” Hopefully the tone of my voice will scare the piss out of whoever is calling.

“Where are you?” Catherine’s irritated voice echoes in my ear and my dick jumps in response. “You were supposed to meet me a half an hour ago, Gil and I don’t enjoy hanging around the mall waiting for you.”

God, she’s sexy when she’s pissed. I don’t consider myself a perv, but after the dreams and with her voice in my ear, I can’t stop myself. My right hand starts stroking as I press the phone closer to my ear.

“Sorry, must have overslept.”

A moment of silence, then, “You’re still in bed? Jesus, Gil! What the hell is going on with you?”

I groan, knowing this isn’t going to take long. I just need her to keep talking. Thankfully she took my groan as irritation at her for being irritated at me and she launches into a lecture about my apparent Swiss cheese memory and the rudeness of making her wait. I must be a masochist because that’s all it takes for me to spew my load. Another set of sheets going straight into the washing machine. She’s going to be the death of me, that’s for sure. I can see the obit now. ‘Man dies of constant sexual frustration, funeral at two.’

“Cath, you need to get laid.” Did I just say that? No, I didn’t, I couldn’t have. I, Gil Grissom, would never suggest to her that she needs to get laid. God! She might take me at my word and go find some guy who will give her what she wants. And I can guarantee that guy won’t be me.

A moment of silence, then her laughter rings out. “Man! If I didn’t recognize your voice, I’d swear I had the wrong number. Good one, Gil.”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You think you could handle me?” Her voice challenges and mocks me.

Are we really having this conversation or am I dreaming once again? If I am, when I wake up, I’m going to kill myself. End this once and for all.

“The question is, could you handle me, Catherine? Not only would you not be able to walk, you wouldn’t be able to think.”

Another pause, then her voice, sexy and low, and I swear she’s purring. “That a threat or a promise?”

“Both.”

I have to hand it to her. There’s no laughter, no squeal of excitement, no comment about how long she’d been waiting for me to say something. Just a simple, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Then a click as she disconnects the call.

My eyes widen as the reality sinks in. I’ve got twenty minutes to shower, shave and change my sheets before she gets here. I jump out of bed and trip over the tangled sheets, landing on my knees, but the pain is soon forgotten. Proof that I am awake and I didn’t dream the conversation. I have to hurry, I only have twenty minutes before my dreams become reality.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So here I sit, at my desk, the smug grin I’ve been trying to hide all shift erupting in full as she walks in and shuts the door.

“You bastard,” she growls. She lowers herself carefully into the chair in front of my desk. Very carefully, I note.

Adopting my best innocent look, I ask, “You talking to me?”

“No. I’m talking to the sex god standing behind you. Yes, you! I can’t think, can’t concentrate on a damn thing. I’m sure I’ve fucked up evidence, but I can’t quite think of how. And it hurts to walk. You should be punished.” She tugs at the jacket she’s wearing and huffs out a frustrated breath. “How long ‘til the end of shift?”

I chuckle. I can’t help myself. She’s so damn…everything. “Your place or mine?”

Her answer is quick and almost desperate with need. “Mine. Have to get Linds to school.” She stands, wincing slightly at the movement. She stops at the door, one hand grasping the knob. “You don’t have to look so…smug you know. You win. Satisfied?”

“Satisfied? Maybe after 50 years, but I’m just getting started. And I’d say we both win, wouldn’t you?”

She smiles and I feel the zing in my gut. “You’re right. We both win. Oh, and I get to be in charge this time. Got it?”

“Anything you want, Cath. As always.”

I watch as she leaves my office, a sigh escaping as I remember the hours spent in bed this afternoon. My dreams have finally become reality and I, for one, cannot be happier.