DISCLAIMER: We all know that I don't own them. By now I'm pretty sure that it's also been established that suing me will result in you owning half of my nothing. You can't own my ideas though....
SERIES: This story follows Her Hand in Mine, Her Lips Against Mine and She Did Not Need to Speak
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Take Me Home
By Amy Jo

I have so many questions I want to ask her. So many things I want to know about her. There was so much to be said and so much that needed discussing. But now was not the time. Now was the time to just be with her. To watch her without worrying that she will notice me watching her.

We walk into the restaurant holding hands and we are greeted by a smiling hostess who seats us in a corner booth. It is cozy and romantic and there is no place for us to sit but next to each other. As the hostess walks away she tosses a knowing glance in my direction and I know that she sat us here for that reason. If it were at all possible, the grin on my face gets bigger as I slide into the booth next to Sara.

I order us a bottle of wine, a chilled Lambrusco, and we order dinner. I order a basic alfredo, and Sara orders a salad. One of the things I love about Vegas is that no matter the time of day, somewhere in Vegas you can find anything you're looking for. Like perhaps a romantic Italian dinner at 9:00 a.m.

We have a booth big enough to sit at least five people, and yet I find myself sitting so close to Sara that our knees are touching. Since we left work there has hardly been a moment when I haven't been touching her. And I love it.

I sip at my wine, trying not to blur the edges of my time with Sara. Part of me still fears that at any moment I'm going to wake up only to find that this has all been a dream. That we didn't share that powerful kiss, that we're not really here at dinner together. I'm not sure if it would be a dream or a nightmare.

Sara breaks me out of my reverie when she asks me if I'm okay. I consider asking what she means. I am definitely okay. I'm better than okay.

"I'm fantastic. Why?" I ask as I take another sip of the wine. If we're about to have this discussion, and I'm about to tell her the secrets of my life, I think blurring the edges might help. I'm such a wuss when it comes to these things.

"You just looked a little pensive. What were you thinking?" I notice that she has drunk more wine than I have, so maybe she's nervous too.

"I was thinking that I don't want to wake up from this dream I'm having," I respond. I nearly jump out of the booth when she puts her hand on my thigh *her hand is on my thigh, oh god*. I stop sipping the wine and start drinking, pouring myself and her another glass.

She says to me, "Me neither. This is the best dream so far."

I think she just admitted to dreaming about me. My thigh is burning as her hand rests there. I feel my desire for her flare up. It has been lingering under the surface of my skin since she kissed me and is now settling in a slow burn between my legs.

Our dinner arrives and we both stop talking and just eat. Again the silence is comfortable. She leaves her hand on my thigh while we eat. I'm not sure when, but sometime while we are eating she has begun moving her fingers in circles on my leg. I wonder how it's possible that she can make my blood boil and yet my skin is covered in goosebumps.

I finish eating and place my hand on top of hers, stopping the motion of her fingers. I'm not sure if I can take much more of this treatment. It feels so good and I definitely like the attention, but I fear I may soon reach the breaking point. I'm either going to spontaneously combust or lay her down in this booth right now.

I feel the heat of her hand, and I'm sure she feels it as well. We have both finished eating and are simply staring at each other, lost in our own world. Between the two of us we manage to finish off the wine and the bill appears at the table. I leave the money on the table and grab her hand to lead her out of the restaurant.

Where we go from here is completely up to her. I will take her back to the CSI building if she wants, or to her place. What I really want is to take her home with me. As we get to the car she understands my hesitation immediately.

Her hand is till in mine and I have not yet opened her door. She is slightly behind me, giving me room to unlock the door. She tugs on my hand and I turn to look at her. Before I have time to blink she steps close to me and pulls me even closer to her. For a second time today she presses her lips to mine.

I am lost in sensation. She has stepped forward and I am now pinned between her and the car as her lips and tongue devour mine. Aware that we are not at work this time, we have both become more daring. This time it is my hand in her hair holding her tight to me. My other hand has wandered down her body to caress her curves and settles on the roundness of her ass.

She has slipped a hand underneath my shirt again. Not content to leave her hand under my shirt at my side, she is slowly moving it upward and closer to my chest. Were it not for her tongue in my mouth I would have screamed in delight as she plays with the fabric of my bra.

All that I manage is a cross between a growl and a high-pitched moan. Whatever it is, it certainly encourages Sara as I feel her slip a finger under the fabric and run the tip of her finger along the underside of my breast.

The feeling is electric and my hand pulls her lower body further into me as I pull my lips from hers and moan a low, lusty "yes" into her shoulder, where my head has fallen. I feel the muscles in her face move and know that she is smiling down at me.

She tilts her head down to whisper in my ear as her hand remains under my shirt playing with the fabric of my bra and brushing against the skin of my breast. It takes me long moments to figure out she has said something to me and I have to ask her to repeat herself.

When she does her voice is low and husky and I could nearly melt into an orgasmic puddle as she says to me, "Take me home."

The End

Sequel Asleep in Her Arms

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