AN: (pokes at the fandom) First foray into the world of CSI fanfiction. If you got something to say, say it to my face, please. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Thanks to Sprogy for the beta; you popped my beta use-virginity. Wow that sounds so wrong. LOL. But thanks. And much hugs to everyone over at Geek Fiction for inspiring me, especially Binx.

But she knew that this wasn't enough; Grissom was a man who knew how to keep her dangling, giving her just enough to keep holding on longer, like a hapless fish caught on the hook of a fishing line, struggling to get away against the force of the pull.

Would she ever be able to escape him, his magnetic orbit that drew her in and imprisoned her? Damn him and his ability to effect her always, no matter the circumstances or the environment. It was as if her heart and his were covalently bonded, separate yet together. But the bond was not in her favour; he was the stronger one, drawing her and her heart towards him against her will.

His hand was cupping her face, his touch like a whisper of sensation yet resonating powerfully in its subtlety. His thumb ran slowly across her lower lip, and she resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out and taste his skin. She wanted to pull back, turn and run from the terrifying promise in his eyes and touch. But she dared not, because this was all she was going to get, and curse her heart she wanted to savour it.

This wasn't enough, and yet it was too much. It was confusing and frightening, the way he was staring at her, those blue-bright eyes searing into her, scorching away the layers and raining upon her, leaving her sizzling, naked and vulnerable. She wanted him to stop looking at her, to stop his goddamn games so that she could sleep in peace. In her dreams he haunted her, kissed her, smiled at her and whispered silkily of sensual promise.

"No. No, don't," she hissed.

"Yes," he murmured, fingers moving to grip her chin, pressing into her skin firmly. A hair's breadth away from bruising.

His lips pressed onto hers and she resisted, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of victory, of giving him the right to kiss her like a lover. But he was insistent, ruthlessly gentle and persuasive, and she gave in, hating, cursing her weak heart. His tongue swept in, moving with purpose and she felt violated, as if he was raping her, taking from her something that she didn't want to give. Not anymore.

When his lips pulled away, she pushed, the sting of humiliation and anger welling up. But he grabbed her arm, pulled and collided with her. But this time, instead of hitting a wall she easily melted into him, into his arms, into his heart. Belonging, quiet wonderment, wary joy, they all coalesced like water swirling down the drain, making the weight on her heart a little lighter, more bearable.

"No," she whispered. "No more. I can't, not anymore. I'm tired, you can't do this to me."

There was no belief left in her. No strength or conviction left to believe that he was honest, that he was being true. Because chances were, he wasn't. He remained silent, his cheek resting atop her head and his beard scraping against her temple like sandpaper.

No. She had said no.

But she really meant yes. He knew, she knew.