Author's Note: Thanks to all who've asked for more Grigsby. We all know we need it like the literary crack that it is. I own nothing.
An Injury
Grace Van Pelt woke up slowly, her eyes blinked into focus as she took in her surroundings. White, bare, sterile in smell and appearance. She was lying down on a bed that wasn't hers, she knew that much. She slowly became aware of a faint beeping noise somewhere in the background. She turned her head slightly and winced. God, did that hurt. Her skull felt shattered and radiated pain from the back of her head to her eyelashes. She tried moving the rest of her body, wiggling her toes and moving her hands. All toes worked fine and her left hand flexed with no trouble, but her right hand seemed unable to move. She risked shifting her head and pushed her chin down to better take in her situation. She was in a hospital bed, covered in blankets up to her shoulders. She was wearing one of those god awful papery hospital gowns that always made her feel naked anyway. She had an IV in her left arm and that slight beeping noise was a heart monitor. Her heart monitor. Why was she in the hospital?
She didn't see anyone in her room or in the hallway outside. Irritated at her apparent abandonment, she glanced down at her right hand, trying to discover the cause of its incapacitation. Looking down carefully, she saw her hand was wrapped tightly in another, much larger hand. Her gaze followed the hand to its owner and discovered a dark, spiky head resting next to her bed. She knew that head anywhere. Rigsby. He was sitting in a chair, bent over his knees with his head resting just barely on the mattress. His other arm braced his upper body against his thighs. He wasn't moving and Grace realized from his deep breathing that he was sleeping. Sleeping? She was surprised. His position looked so uncomfortable and keeping his hand in hers looked even harder to sustain without an ache setting in. How long had he been here? How long had she been here? What the hell happened to her? Well, let's find out, she thought.
She squeezed Rigsby's hand and whispered his name. Her voice came out like dried leaves crackling. He didn't stir. She squeezed harder, swallowed, and called louder. "Rigsby," she repeated. He woke up suddenly, lifting his head from the side of the mattress. He looked horrible. His eyes were red and bleary from too little sleep. He hadn't shaved in days and dark stubble covered his cheeks and chin. His clothes were disheveled, unbuttoned at the collar, pulled out at the hem. He was pale, too pale. He seemed to have aged ten years. But once he saw Grace looking at him expectantly and squeezing his hand, at least five of those years magically dropped away. He closed his eyes and dropped his head in relief. "Say my name so I know I'm not dreaming it," he said. She complied, swallowing again and forcing her voice from her throat. "Wayne, you're not dreaming. What the hell is going on? Why am I in the hospital and why is my head splitting open with pain?" He spat out a strangled half-laugh, half-choking sound. He brought his other hand up to grip hers and his eyes came up to her face with insane happiness. "Grace, you're awake. Thank Christ. They said you might not, that you might never come back to us. Oh my God. You're back, you're really back," he brought her hand to his face and desperately kissed her fingers, nuzzling his stubbled cheeks against her knuckles. She felt wetness on her hand and saw that he was crying, tears leaking steadily from the corners of his eyes. Still not knowing what had happened, she instantly kicked into soothing maternal mode, cupping her palm against his cheek and stroking him with her thumb. "Shhhh, don't cry, Wayne. I'm here, it's okay. I'm here." He took a deep breath and exhaled, controlling his tears. She smiled at him serenely. "Tell me what happened, Wayne. Why am I here?" He sniffed and nodded.
"We were sent to apprehend a drug dealer. Backup was on its way but we couldn't wait for them. I went into the warehouse first, you followed. We turned a corner and came under fire. We took cover in different directions. You hid behind some machinery and returned fire, but one of the dealers was hiding just behind you. When your back was turned to the fight, he came up behind you and hit your head with a lead wrench. Backup arrived and we arrested them all, but you were still behind the machine and I couldn't find you. When I finally did, you were sprawled on the floor, covered in blood. You wouldn't wake up. You wouldn't wake up!" Rigsby's sob racked his whole body. His grip on her hand was painful, but she stayed silent, letting him hold it for as long as he needed. "How long have I been comatose?" she asked him quietly. He looked up, his face tight with sorrow. "Three days," he answered.
She inhaled slowly. She mentally consulted her slight medical knowledge on comas and guessed that three days wasn't all that bad, considering. As bad as her head hurt, she didn't sense any extreme injuries like cracked or broken bones. She thought she'd better test herself to see how bad the damage was. "My name is Grace Marie Van Pelt. I was born August 22, 1983. My parents live in Iowa. I have three brothers. I work at CBI in San Diego with Agents Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby and Patrick Jane. I hate radishes. The capital of Nevada is Carson City. I repainted my apartment walls last week. I broke my leg falling from a tree when I was eight. My first kiss was Tommy Ecklin," she continued listing random things, math problems, memories, while Rigsby sat beside her, listening to her intently. He simply could not believe it. She was okay. She was awake. And typically, she was being Grace, running a self-diagnostic, checking all of her systems to see if the reboot to her brain did any harm. His muscles felt rubbery with elation and fatigue. He'd spent the last three days standing vigil over this woman. He never left except to use the bathroom. He hadn't eaten, he'd barely slept. He did nothing but sit and watch Grace, silently praying for her to murmur in her sleep, to move her body, to open her eyes. At first the hospital staff had tried to send him home, assuring him they'd call the minute her status changed. He gruffly informed them he wasn't leaving and dug his heels into the floor. They'd clearly need about ten orderlies to remove this stubborn agent from his partner's side, so they decided to leave him in peace. Jane, silently agreeing with Rigsby's decision, brought him a bag of his clothes and left without saying a word. Now Rigsby almost collapsed in relief as Grace chattered away with her list. "And I never finished reading Crime and Punishment because I thought the main character was an idiot," she finished. She looked over at Rigsby, satisfied that her brain appeared to be in order. She reached for his hand again and he took it as she appraised him thoughtfully. "Have you been here for three whole days, Wayne?" she asked him. He looked down, hiding his eyes from her. "Yes," he answered. She smiled gently.
"You didn't have to. You need to get home, get some sleep. You look so tired. Just call the doctors in and then call work to let them know I'm up. Then I order you to go home." He smiled weakly. "You can't boss me around, rookie. I outrank you." She chuckled, then winced. The pain in her head was terrible. Rigsby slowly rose from his chair. "I'll get a nurse, let them know you're awake." He held her hand for a split second longer before letting go and walking out. A nurse came in a moment later to check her vitals, pump some painkiller in her IV and express her happiness and her patient's improvement. Beyond the nurse's voice, she could hear Rigsby in the hallway talking on the phone to Lisbon, letting her know that Grace was awake and informing her that visitors would be permitted the next day. For some reason, Grace was glad she wouldn't be seeing them immediately. She couldn't say why, she just wanted to take stock of herself before she saw anyone, especially Lisbon and Jane. They'd just attack her with questions of her health and general congrats at her being awake. Strangely, she didn't feel that way at all about Rigsby. His presence wasn't intrusive at all. Quite the opposite, he was a strong and comforting force that made her feel safe and watched over. She shook herself. Rigsby had done enough watching over her. He was physically exhausted and he needed to go home and take care of himself. She'd be fine, she'd make herself be fine without him.
Rigsby came back into the room and sat down on the chair. She arched a brow at him. "Go home, Wayne. I'm fine. Come back tomorrow when you've rested." He returned her gaze and jutted his chin at her defiantly. "No," he answered simply, and settled down lower in the chair. She sighed, getting too sleepy from the painkillers to argue with him, plus she wanted him to stay, but she had to think of something to make him more comfortable. The thought of him hunched up in that chair broke her heart. She jutted her own chin at him. "Here's the deal. You can stay, but only if you sleep with me in this bed. I clearly lucked out with a big one here, so there's plenty of room. You will not spend another second curled up like a guard dog at my side, do we have a deal?" He watched her through bloodshot eyes. He too was too tired to argue, and knowing Grace, she'd keep herself awake and risk her own health to badger him about his. He sighed. Ordinarily, an invitation from Grace to share her bed would have electrified his body and melted his brain. But now it just sounded like a fair compromise. He nodded, "Fine, scoot over." She smiled and gingerly moved herself to one side. Rigsby unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He removed his belt holding his badge, gun and cuffs and put it in the drawer next to the bed. He kicked his shoes off and set them under the chair. Clothed in his tee shirt and pants, he crawled into the bed next to Grace and settled on his back, closing his eyes as his body joyfully thanked him for finally lying down. The bed was large for a hospital bed, but still not quite large enough for them to sleep apart. Too tired to worry about it, Grace pulled Rigsby's left arm up and snuggled into his side, letting his arm fall along her back. She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, snaking her arm around his waist. Without opening his eyes, Rigsby tucked his arm around her waist and gently held her against him while his other arm covered hers on his stomach. Her gown crinkled under his grip. He sighed and chuckled softly. Grace looked up from his shoulder. "What's funny?" she asked. He kept his eyes closed, barely conscious of her question. "Before tonight I would have given anything to lay with you like this," he mumbled. Grace continued to watch him, deeply touched by his confession. She already knew that he liked her, but his devotion to her was unprecedented. She'd never known such affection and loyalty in a boyfriend, never mind a man she wasn't involved with. She watched his face relax and his breathing deepen. He was sleeping. Finally. She burrowed further into his arms, relishing how wonderful they felt around her. Knowing it was safe to do so with him sleeping so soundly, she brushed a light kiss on his chest before lying her head back on his shoulder and slipping into a deep sleep.
Rigsby woke several hours later to find himself completely enveloped in Grace. Her limbs were banded around him and her head rested on his chest. He blinked his eyes slowly, taking stock of how he felt. Even though he only slept for five hours or so, he felt unbelievably better. Perhaps because he was on a bed, perhaps because it was Grace's bed, and perhaps because he slept the sleep of an infinitely relieved man. He lay motionless, not wanting to disturb Grace. Part of him wanted to wake her, afraid that even though she'd awoken earlier, she might slip into a coma again. He didn't think such a thing was really possible, but fear made his brain consider the worst. He listened to her heart monitor; it was beeping slightly faster than it had when she was under. He assumed that meant she was in a lesser stage of sleep than before, and that was good. He began to softly stroke her hair, making sure he didn't touch the gash at the base of her skull. After that shootout at the warehouse and after he'd found Grace, the normally gentle man that lived in Rigsby went south and an enraged bear took his place. He manhandled every suspect they arrested until he found the one with blood smeared on his hands and shirt. Grace's blood. He didn't really remember what happened next, but three policemen had to pull him off the guy who ended up going to the hospital with a concussion and several broken ribs. Considering his actions, Lisbon had been a real sport about it. It was clear he wouldn't leave Grace's side, and since he beat a suspect in custody, she put him on suspension with pay. Fine with him. It saved him from worsening his situation by not showing up at the office. And after three days of silent hell, he had awoken to her squeezing his hand and saying his name. He'd nearly lost it. Now she was sleeping peacefully by his side, curled into him and holding him tightly. It wasn't the ideal scenario that he'd pictured for such a moment, but he'd take it. He'd take anything she gave him. He loved her more than he'd ever loved anything in his life and if she wanted him to sleep comfortably next to her as a friend, he'd honor that to the letter.
Just then Grace shifted in his arms, moving her arm from his waist, up his chest, to his shoulder. She snuggled closer to him and sighed his name in her sleep. His name. Jesus, she was snaking her beautiful body around him and sighing his name. She really needed to stop calling him by his first name, all whispery and sweet. It was driving him mad. But she wasn't finished. She continued to move. She dragged her bare knee up his thighs and back down again. The hand on his shoulder was lightly stroking down to his chest. She murmured again, then turned her head into his shoulder and kissed it. He couldn't stand it. She was seducing him in her sleep. He had to wake her before her attentions sparked a reaction in his lower region. Something he'd die if she woke up and saw. One of his hands moved to still hers while the other shook her gently. "Grace? Come on, sleepy. Wake up," he tried to keep it sounding light and not raspy with lust. She whimpered like a little kid who didn't want to get up for school and burrowed deeper into his arms. He couldn't help but smile. "Come on, time to wake up." Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked sleepily up at him. "Don't wanna," she pouted at him. He laughed out loud. Cute, adorable Grace. "You hafta. I need to use the little boys room and you've got me pinned. Retract those limbs, lady." She made a noise of disappointment before pulling her arms and legs off of him as he got up and headed for the bathroom. He closed the door and walked to the sink, turned it on and threw water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. His brain screamed obscenities at him for making up an excuse to leave the one place on earth he wanted to be, but he had to. He couldn't take advantage of her. She was his colleague, his friend, and she'd been injured and needed someone to look after her while she recuperated. She didn't need some pervert abusing his position of trust by acting on her unintentional advances. Still, he couldn't help but be insanely jealous of her past boyfriends. Just the thought of how well she fit at his side, how sweetly she held him, how seductively she moved on him even when asleep, how much sexier it must be when she's awake, all made him want to kill any man who'd ever been lucky enough to sleep with her on a nightly basis. He couldn't help it. It was the enraged bear again, wanting to destroy anything and anyone that came between him and Grace. But in Grace's presence, in Grace's arms, his animal alter ego morphed into a pussycat, arching into her touch and purring with pleasure at her ministrations. But he had no right to feel any of this. No jealousy, no protectiveness, no desire and definitely no love. The bear and the kitty had no mistress, no matter how badly they wanted one.
Rigsby continued to stare at himself when a knock on the door startled him. He opened it to find Grace standing there, clutching the frame for support. He couldn't help but notice how her gown barely covered her upper thighs. "You've been in here awhile. Are you okay?" she asked. He automatically reached for her, putting his arm around her waist so she could lean against him. "What are you doing out of bed? Where's your IV?" he asked. She cast her eyes sideways, avoiding his stare. "I don't want an IV. No more drugs. And I need to pee, so I got out of bed."
Rigsby shook his head at her. "You can't just hop out of bed and rip out your IV. You need it. And I can carry you to the bathroom, you just have to ask. Don't you fall and hurt yourself just because you feel like being Superwoman."
She pulled herself upright. "I'm not an invalid, Rigsby. I don't want you to carry me everywhere. My legs work fine, they just need to stretch out."
So we're back to last names again, he thought. He couldn't help but feel wounded. It was just as he'd thought, she didn't want him. She didn't need him. Once she was well again, things would go back to the way they were before; him dying of love for her and her not even noticing. He needed to just accept it, or he'd make an even bigger fool of himself. He slowly let her go and turned away from her. "Okay then. Go for it."
Grace instantly regretted her tone when she saw Rigsby's hurt expression as he turned away. She felt insecure and embarrassed about her ability to walk and do normal things like pee without help. She wanted to make it clear that she was recovering just fine, thank you very much. But in her haste to prove it, she snapped at her friend for worrying about her and trying to help. And at Rigsby, no less. The man who had done so much already. She felt ashamed. She turned back to him. "Wayne?"
He had started putting on his clothes, getting ready to leave. Shit! He couldn't go, not now. She needed him. What was she going to do if he walked out the door and left her here alone? She'd freak out. She was already freaking out. "What are you doing?" she demanded. He stopped buttoning his shirt and looked at her. "Getting dressed. Going home. You're right, I should get some rest. And you're doing fine now so I'll just get out of your space. You've probably had enough of me to last you awhile." He smiled sadly and continued to dress. She crossed the room in three steps and threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. "Please don't go. I'm sorry. I just hate being helpless. I hate having to need someone. I'm proud and stubborn and stupid and I made you sad. Please don't leave me," she was almost crying. Rigsby caught her up in his arms and held her. "You're never stupid, Grace. You're magnificent. And I won't leave you unless you want me to, okay? I'm here, I'm right here."
She sniffed and nodded against him, embarrassed and glad beyond words. She pulled herself back and looked up at him. "Take me home. Please? I can't stay here. I'll go crazy. I just want my own bed in my own house. I'll take whatever pills they give me and I'll come back for checkups, but I want to go home. Now." He stroked her back soothingly. "Okay, Grace. I'll take you home."
Rigsby had it out with the doctors, but in the end he got his way. They insisted she needed to stay for observation, but he insisted harder that she'd be better off at home. In the end, they struck a compromise. Grace could go home if Rigsby stayed with her and monitored her wellbeing. The minute there was any trouble, he'd bring her in. Rigsby called Lisbon to let her know the situation. She accepted it without question and told him to tell Grace to get well soon. He gathered up their few possessions, carefully buckled Grace into their SUV and took off. He was especially attentive to his driving, taking corners slow and keeping just below speed limits, trying to limit the pull on the car and hence to Grace's head. She gave no sign, but she noticed. He drove up to her apartment building and parked. Grace lived on the third floor. No elevator. Rigsby walked to her side and opened her door, helping her out. "Are you going to get all ornery if I carry you up the stairs, missy?" he chided. She giggled and ducked her head in embarrassment. "Well, you're now my doctor, so if you say I need to be carried, I accept your recommendation." Slamming the car door shut, he bent and scooped her up. Her bare legs dangled over his bicep and her arms went around his neck. Grace couldn't help but snicker. "What's funny?" he asked her, his smile so close to her own. "Just how cliché we must look. Whisking me off my feet and up to my door like a white knight. It's cute," she blushed. She didn't mention that no one had ever literally swept her off her feet before. She would have insisted that it was too macho and trashy novelesque for her taste. But in Rigsby's arms her brain failed to remember why she would have objected, not when he was this close, this strong, and yes, this macho. It suddenly worked for her.
He snorted at her description. "Hardly a knight. Just a guy carrying a girl up some steps. Hold onto me, okay?" He held her tight as he ascended to her door. He didn't slow down at any point and his grip stayed firm and light, like she weighed no more than a stuffed animal. He got to her door and gently set her down. She'd never admit it, but she wanted him to carry her all the way through, past her living room, past her kitchen, through the hallway and into her bedroom. The realization that she and Rigsby would soon be all alone inside her place for God knew how long suddenly gave her a stab of sexual desire that ran from her throat to her groin. She inhaled sharply at the sensation. He glanced at her. "You okay?" he asked. "Fine," she muttered, busying herself with searching her purse for her keys. She found them and opened the door. Rigsby followed her inside and shut the door behind him. Grace instantly felt better being in her own space. She tossed her stuff on the stand next to the door and walked into the living room. Rigsby surveyed her place. It wasn't quite what he'd pictured. It was very clean, which he had been sure it would be. But it was far from what he imagined in terms of décor. No floral patterns, no pastel colors, no outwards signs of girliness. Instead, as he moved through the front of the apartment, he saw dark wooden furniture, framed pictures of classic Mustangs, old bluegrass and Lynard Skynard CDs, stainless steel appliances, books on anything from forensic medicine to medieval history to Hunter S. Thompson, pictures of family, and a stack of case files on her dining room table. He immediately liked her taste, which wasn't dissimilar to his own. He guessed she could probably teach him a thing or two about things that were predominantly male pursuits. He glanced over at her. She was tidying up a few things in the living room, still in her hospital gown. God love her. He walked over and tapped her shoulder. "No cleaning, missy. The doctors say you need rest and lots of it. Get your butt into bed and stay there," he ordered with mock seriousness. She smiled up at him. Without shoes on, she felt positively dwarfed by him. "No way. I'm taking a bath and I'm not getting out of it for six hours at least. I need to scrub this hospital smell off before I gag." She turned and walked towards the bathroom, then paused. She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at him. "Unless you think I need help with that too," she said. Rigsby was sure she was teasing him, but her words nearly knocked him to his knees. He kept his cool and shook his head. "I think you'll manage. I'm going to go out for some stuff. I'll be back in about an hour. Can you stay out of trouble until then?" She batted her eyes at him playfully. "Yes, doctor," she said, and walked down the hall. Rigsby let out a breath. Damn that foxy girl, he thought. He grabbed his keys and headed out.
He came back loaded down with supplies that took him three trips to the car to carry in. Five bags of groceries, his duffle bag of clothes and personal things from his place, a sack full of rented movies and two pizzas. His first stop had been his place. He showered, shaved and changed his clothes before packing his stuff. He felt much less like a bedraggled hobo now, more like his old self. He called out to her when he brought in the last of it, but she didn't answer. He walked down the hall to the bathroom, but it was empty, still steaming from her bath. He called again. No answer. His heart spiked in his chest and he was thrown back to the warehouse when he called for Grace over and over only to find her nearly dead on the floor. No! He ran to her bedroom door and threw it open. Grace was lying on her bed sound asleep. She was wearing a black tank top and matching underwear. Her hair was wet and clinging to her shoulders. There was a pair of cotton running pants next to her, like she'd fallen asleep halfway through getting dressed. He crossed the room, sat down beside her and shook her gently, whispering her name. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He sighed in relief. "You scared me," he said. "You didn't answer me when I called you." She smiled at him. He was so endearing, so sweet, so protective, that suddenly she was overcome with the same desire that nearly struck her down at her door. Before she knew what she was doing she sat up next to him, cupped her palm to his now smooth cheek, and moved in to kiss him. He grabbed her hand from his face and jerked his head back, away from her advance. His entire body went rigid and his eyes went wide with shock. "What are you doing?" he demanded. Surprised, she pulled back. "I don't know," she stammered. "I just felt…I wanted to--," she couldn't find the words, and his shocked expression was making her feel foolish now. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," was all she could muster. She turned away from him and curled up on her side, pulling her legs into her chest. God, how humiliating, she thought. She had totally misread his interest. Somehow, he was just that wonderful of a man and didn't want her in that way. She supposed she should be grateful, having such a good friend. But her heart felt bruised from his rejection. She regretted agreeing to let him stay now. It would just remind her of how she threw herself at him and got shot down. Ugh!
Rigsby felt bomb shelled. She'd tried to kiss him. In her underwear, no less. And he'd stopped her. He'd stopped her! She was awake, she wasn't just moving in her sleep. She wanted him, and he pulled away. What the fuck was wrong with him? He mentally kicked himself. He supposed he still felt guilty, that somehow this still wasn't her, that her injury and vulnerability was making her act out of character. But that wasn't the case and he knew it. This was Grace, regular old Grace, and she had made a move on him and he blew it. He reached out and tugged her shoulder, turning her back towards him. She resisted at first, not wanting him to see her so upset, but he pulled harder until she relented and turned back towards him. She kept her eyes lowered, not wanting him to see her embarrassment. He saw her expression and ached with longing. Didn't she understand? Didn't she see as so many others did how much he loved her? Wanted her? Spent every waking moment thinking about her? How everyday it took every ounce of willpower not to rip her clothes off and take her right there in the bullpen? Of course she didn't. She was earnest and respectful, never reading into people's private thoughts. She could only respond to the information he gave her, which so far had been cryptic and contradicting at best. And she had tried to make her feelings known to him now as honestly as she knew how, with a kiss.
She still wouldn't look at him. He took her by the arms and pulled her upright next to him. He hooked his fingers under her chin and forced her eyes to his. He gave her everything he had. "Forgive me, Grace. You surprised me, that's all. I've wanted you for so long that you trying to kiss me threw me for a loop."
Her eyes widened at his words. He did want her. The bruise on her heart magically healed and she smiled shyly at him. Her smile gave him courage, so he continued. "I can't tell you how many times I've imagined us together. And now I have you half-naked in your bed and I can't help but feel like I'm taking advantage of you. You're hurt, I'm responsible for you. And it would kill me if something happened between us that you regretted. So I didn't kiss you. And I won't until you tell me what you want."
Grace inhaled sharply. His restraint, his strength, his respect for her wishes, all worked on her like aphrodisiacs. Her pulse jumped in her throat and a throb bit deep between her legs. Her whole body ached for his hands, his mouth, his weight, his thrusts. In a flash she imagined their naked bodies locked together, propelling against each other, melding every inch of their skin and screaming in ecstasy. That was what she wanted. She saw him waiting for her answer. She reached for him again and captured his face in her hands. "I want you. Now. Completely. And after that I want to sleep in your arms like I did last night. But first I want your hands on me. I want your kisses. I want you inside of me. I want to touch you, stroke you, feel you in my hands and my mouth. That's what I want, Wayne. I love that you don't want to besmirch my honor, but know that I'm lucid, I'm calm, and I want to sleep with you." She continued to look at him as she finished, gauging his reaction. His body shuddered at her words and he exhaled raggedly, his blue eyes almost black with lust. She arched her brow, still holding his face. "Will you sleep with me, Wayne?" He didn't answer, but gripped her by her shoulders and pushed her back on the bed. She drew his lips to hers and kissed him. Rigsby groaned deep in his throat. His hands circled her back and drew her closer, deepening their kiss. She teased his lips with her tongue, beckoning him to open his mouth to her. He responded and tangled his tongue with hers, loving how she tasted. She pushed herself up and back farther onto the bed, Rigsby following her. She laid her head back on the pillow and winced. Her cut, she'd completely forgotten. Rigsby saw her expression and reared up onto his knees, took her hands and pulled her up against him. He kissed her hard as his hands roamed over her body, slipping his fingers under the hem of her top and grazing the skin along her panty line. She gasped into his mouth and pushed herself into his hands. He pulled back and smiled. "Looks like we can't have you lay down that way, sweetie," he said as he brushed his thumbs along her breasts. She moaned at his touch and her new nickname. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Then what position would you have me assume, doctor?" she asked sweetly. His cock, rock hard from the moment she said she wanted him, jolted at her question. She didn't wait for his answer. She grabbed him by his shoulders and pushed him roughly back onto the mattress. She smiled wickedly. "If I can't lay that way, then I guess you'll have to." She slowly crawled up his long body, lightly pressing her breasts into his erection, his stomach, his chest, as she made her way to his lips again. As they kissed, her hands began to pull his tee shirt from his jeans, running her nails along his abdominal muscles and flicking lightly over his belt. He flinched under her hands, his muscles contracting. She broke their kiss and looked at him in surprise. "Don't tell me you're ticklish, Wayne. A big, strong man like you?" she giggled and traced her nails over his stomach again. Again he flinched and smiled sheepishly. He caught her by her wrists and trapped them behind her back, pressing her flush against him as she laughed and struggled to free herself. "And what does being big and strong have to do with being ticklish?" he asked as she continued to writhe and push against his hold, stimulating him even further. She fell limp against him and gasped for air between her giggles. She gazed up at him in pure delight at his playfulness. "Unhand me at once, you rogue," she declared. He immediately released her hands. "Anything the lady wants," he said gallantly. She smirked. "The lady wants to perform an experiment. Kindly disrobe. I need you naked for this." She slipped off of him and watched him slowly pull his tee shirt, jeans, boxers and socks off, never taking his eyes from hers. It was very voyeuristic and she found it incredibly erotic. He laid down beside her, a very large muscular man that was fully aroused. "Name your experiment, then. I'm at your command." She shuddered and considered abandoning their little game in favor of leaping on top of him and riding him like a stallion. Later. She'd get to that. She reached over and lightly traced over his stomach again. And again, adorably, he flinched. "This experiment is to test whether a big, strong man such as yourself can control himself enough not to move, even through various types of stimulation. I have various hypotheses about the outcome, but I need a guinea pig. May I?" she asked coquettishly as she continued to circle her nails around his abdomen. Rigsby shivered at her request and could only imagine the sweet torture she had in mind for him. This was indeed a test of will. Could he hold still while Grace touched him, caressed him, licked him, sucked him? No, surely she wouldn't go that far. Not on their first time, not sweet, serious Grace. She just wants to tease him, tickle him. He could withstand that, surely. He smiled and cocked his eyebrow at her. "You have my full cooperation. I won't move an inch," he promised. Her wicked smile again. "We'll see." And without warning she lifted her fingers away, swooped her head down and began a series of nibbles and licks across his belly, just above his cock. Rigsby swore loudly, but managed not to move. He'd been dead wrong about her intentions, Grace planned to do whatever it took to get him to cave in. If that meant licking him from head to toe and spending more time on certain body parts, she was delighted to take the challenge. Her tongue followed the planes and grooves of his abs. She hummed her approval of his body, the vibrations moving through her mouth and onto his skin. He gasped. Her hands went up to either side of his ribcage and gently scraped their way down his lats and chest muscles. Rigsby's breath became ragged and shallow. But he didn't move. He would win this, dammit. He could stay still through this. He'd withstood fistfights, boxing matches, broken bones and bullet wounds. He could withstand soft little hands barely touching him. Grace could see he was holding on, but just barely. She was inches away from his weakest point, the area that promised his defeat. She slowly slipped her body between his legs, never breaking contact with his stomach. She let her neck brush against his erect cock, shaking her head slightly so that her hair caressed the shaft and tickled his balls. She brought one hand down and carefully, so carefully, scraped her nails along his sack. And with that tiny little move Rigsby lost it. His hips bucked hard under her and his abdomen shuddered and convulsed under her lips. Ha! She'd beaten him. Flush with victory and dying of lust, she wasted no time. She stripped out of her tank and panties. While Rigsby was still reeling from her teasing, she straddled his hips, positioned him at her entrance, now wet with desire, and impaled herself on him. Rigsby roared with pleasure and arched up into her body, his hands flying to her hips and gripping her tightly. His eyes blazed up at her as he cupped her ass, forcing her wider as he thrust deep. "Yessss!" Grace cried out with delight, gripping his chest with her hands and grinding her hips into his as she kept up with his frenzied pace. This was what she'd imagined, playful, trusting foreplay leading up to fucking each other like wild animals. He felt so unbelievably good. His cock pushed against her inner walls, forcing them wide, creating delicious sensations as he drove furiously into her body. His hands gripped her like loving steel, careful not to hurt her, but not letting her go. His pelvic bone was hitting her clit on every thrust, sending electrical shocks straight through her body and making her sob with pleasure.
This was nothing like what he'd imagined. Jesus Christ. Nothing could have prepared him for this. The Grace in his fantasies disappeared completely as a pale and uninteresting ghost compared to the wild goddess fucking him now. He'd always imagined her as being willing, but also being meek and shyly opening up to him after a lot of trust had been built up. He imagined spending hours kissing her, lightly touching her, and never going anywhere inappropriate until she made it clear it was okay. He'd thought that, should they ever date, such a ritual would take weeks, months even. Sweet, shy little Grace. And he would have been happy to wait for her, as long as she wanted. Man, was he off. He'd never imagined her playful. He'd never imagined her teasing and testing him. And he'd certainly never imagined her crying out as she rode him fast and hard. Her words, her cries, her body, her movements, her enthusiasm and boldness were all infinitely better than anything he'd ever imagined or even experienced in his life. No woman had ever taken him to such heights of emotional or physical bliss. No woman had ever explained what she wanted to do to him and what she wanted done to her. And no woman ever had the power to bring him to his knees with her smile. Or her tears. And now he was looking up at the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, watching her close in on her orgasm, watching her movements stiffen and her eyes close. She came suddenly, screaming with his name on her lips. He lost the fraction of control he had left and rammed up into her, roaring as he emptied himself into her. They continued to drive themselves against each other, slowly coming down from their highs until Grace collapsed on his chest. Gasping, they lay still for a while, trying to retrieve the brains that they'd fucked out of each other. Grace was the first to break the silence as she propped her elbows on his chest and looked down at him mischievously. "Still feel like you took advantage of me?" she asked coyly. Rigsby laughed. "No, I actually think that little stunt was your doing. Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he pulled playfully at a lock of her hair. She giggled and nuzzled his hand. "Well, someone had to make a move. For a second there I thought I was going to have to ravish you with or without your consent." He chuckled. "Rape, Grace? You'd tarnish my reputation and ruin me for all other women like that?" She came down to his face and brushed her lips against the cleft in his chin. "I like the thought of ruining you for all other women." He grasped her hips and splayed his hands across her ass, growling with pleasure. "If anyone could it's you."
She smiled brightly and wriggled out of his arms. She stood up and grabbed his tee shirt, slipping it over her head. It fell in a tent around her. She turned back to him. "How do I look?" she posed for him. His heart swelled. "Perfect," he answered. She grinned. "Please tell me you brought dinner home. I'm starving."
He grinned back and got off the bed. "What happened to falling asleep in my arms?" he asked. She pushed him playfully. "Can't I have a meal before I faint from rapture in your embrace? It's only fair since sex with you is such an athletic endeavor. I need the calories." The phrase 'sex with you' on her lips made him scoop her up and smother her with kisses as she squealed and tried to escape. He set her down and smacked her on the ass as she ran for the kitchen. He grabbed his boxers and a fresh tee shirt from his bag. He didn't think pants were much of a priority now. "Ooooh, pizza! Yay!" he heard her exclaim happily from the kitchen. He called to her, "Warm it up first, it's been sitting there awhile." Grace laughed. "I like it cold. It reminds me of college breakfasts." Oh God, he loved her. Everything she did was adorable. He threw on his clothes and walked out to find her sitting on a very roomy overstuffed chair munching away on a cold slice. He walked up behind her and gently ran his fingers through her hair. "How's your head? Did we jar it with our little exploit just now?" She looked up at him and smiled softly. "It aches a little, but that's been the case since I woke up." She stood up and gestured to the chair. He obeyed, sinking into its cozy depths. Grace climbed into his lap, sitting sideways and curling herself against his chest. She held her pizza slice up to him and he tore off a bite. They sat in comfortable silence as they chewed.
After awhile, Grace spoke up. "What does this mean for us, Wayne? What happens at work? Do we sneak around, pretend we're not together and try to keep our hands off each other? Or do we fess up to Lisbon and hope for the best? The rules say liaisons are a no-no, so she had every right to transfer me." She finished her slice, chewing nervously.
Rigsby wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "I don't know. I guess it's something we need to decide. My gut says we tell the boss. Jane will know anyway, he always does, and God knows what he'll say to her. I'm hoping that if we're honest about it and promise to stay discreet, Lisbon will look the other way. But you're not getting transferred, I promise you that. If they push us, I'll leave the department. I've got plenty of contacts in the city, I'll go into the PD or arson again. But you're staying. You've worked too hard for it to get booted out on my account."
Grace stared wide-eyed into his face. "You'd leave the team to save my job?" she asked incredulously. He kissed the tip of her nose. "I like my job, don't get me wrong. But I'd give up food and water if it meant being with you. No job in the world could tempt me from you, sweetie."
Grace sat up in his lap and straddled his thighs, staring deeply into his eyes. "You have no idea how much sex you're getting for being so noble. I can't believe you'd do that. Not that I want you to. Let's just talk to Lisbon and see what she says first. Can that be our plan?"
Rigsby grinned, running his hands up her thighs, under his tee shirt and up her back. "Sounds good. Now tell me again about how we're together and can't keep our hands off each other and how much sex I'm getting for being noble?" Graced tossed her head back and laughed. "We're soooo together," she purred as she slowly raked her nails through his hair, causing him to close his eyes and sigh happily. "We cannot keep our hands off of each other," she came forward to nibble at his throat. "And mister, you are getting so much sex."
Somewhere deep in Rigsby's mind flashed a warning. He shook his head to clear the headiness. "We need to take it easy. You need to rest. Your head--,"
Grace put a finger to his lips. "Then let's take it easy," she kissed him softly. "I got a little carried away with our first time. Why don't you start the second one." Rigsby smiled into their kiss, aching with love at the mention of their first time. They'd made love for the first time, it tugged at his heart unbearably. He looked at the tee shirt she was wearing and pulled it over her head. She moved to cuddle into him, but he held her upright in his lap. "Let me look at you," he whispered. She blushed and nodded. His eyes and hands explored her body, moving slowly, cupping and stroking every curve. Grace closed her eyes and gave into the sensation of being sculpted by her lover. She felt so sexy and desirable in his grip. No man had ever touched her this way, looked at her this way, like she was the most precious thing in the world. She arched into his touch, uttering little sounds of pleasure as he cupped her cheeks, stroked her shoulders, massaged her nipples between his fingers, traced them down her taut belly, then he moved lower. His fingers dipped between her legs and massaged her clit. Her legs tightened around him instinctively and she gasped.
Rigsby was already getting hard again at the wetness he encountered from their last romp. He could faintly smell sex on their bodies and it was making it hard to concentrate on taking it slow. And she was so damn beautiful. Twenty-four hours ago he'd been inconsolable with sorrow, sitting at her bedside, unsure that she'd ever wake up. Now he was watching her push her naked body into his, wanting his touch, whispering his name, and wet with their mixed fluids. He still had trouble believing it. Grace whimpered in his arms and bucked against his hand, her eyes still closed. "More," she whispered. He smiled, deciding to play his own game. He withdrew his fingers from her and gently shook her. Her eyes flew open. He gripped her hips and looked seriously into her eyes. "No. I said we're taking it easy. You behave or I'm sending you to bed. Alone." She gazed at him in amazement as he continued to stare her down. She searched his face hard and came to the realization that he was teasing her, but that he was also calling the shots. He wasn't going to let her carry him away again. He wanted her, but he also worried about her. He was going to take her slowly. She shivered with anticipation at the resolve in his features and lowered her head as a submissive gesture. "I'll be good," she said demurely. Rigsby's instincts read her compliant posture and rose up possessively from deep inside of him, demanding he pin this woman against the wall and take her, marking her as his. The instincts were wolfish, howling at him to not just fuck her, but claim her. His mate. Only his. He quelled it, but just barely. Instead he chose a different tactic. "Undress me. Slowly."
She nodded into her chest, still not looking up, and reached for his tee shirt hem. He sat forward slightly as she pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. She put her hands on his chest and pushed herself up, standing up and kneeling in front of him. She tugged lightly at his boxers until they slipped down his legs and into her hands. She stood up again, but didn't return to his lap. Instead she stood with her head still down, awaiting instructions. Rigsby again had to suppress an urge to tackle her. He beckoned to her. "Come here, but don't try anything. I'm not fucking you until I say so. Got it?" he tried to sound authoritative. She looked up at him. He detected a small glint of defiance in her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. That's my girl. Instead she wordlessly crawled into his lap again, straddling his thighs and sitting back on his knees. They sat naked and staring at each other. Rigsby slowly reached between her legs again and circled her clit with his thumb while using his index and middle finger to penetrate her. She gasped and reached for him, tightening her legs around his and digging her nails into his shoulders as he caressed her. Rigsby hissed at the delicious pain her nails caused him. She peeked up at him from under her lashes. "Am I allowed to touch you back?" she asked. He nodded. "You may." She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his cock, holding him firmly and slowly milking him up and down. Rigsby helplessly arched into her hand and groaned. Still looking down, Grace smiled. He wasn't completely in control after all. They continued to stroke each other, sighing and moaning at the sweet sensations they were receiving. Grace decided to try for a bit more power. She slowly slipped from his lap to the floor between his legs, still holding his thick erection in her hands. Rigsby went to pull her up again by her arms, but hesitated when she looked up at him with big eyes and pouty lips. "I promise to go slow," she whispered, and before he could answer she took him in her mouth and circled his tip with her tongue before taking him deep into her throat. Rigsby gasped and barked her name as his hands flew to the armrests and gripped them mercilessly. Her mouth, Jesus Christ, her mouth. Lights exploded behind his eyes as she slowly, cruelly moved up and down his shaft while sucking as hard as she could. He wanted to stop her, make her follow his instructions so he could be sure their activities didn't cause her any more pain, but the most beautiful woman he'd ever known—the woman he happened to love—was blowing him like a pro and he was helpless to stop it. Once again, his own imagination and experience failed to compare. She was taking it slow, as she promised, but she was also flicking her tongue along his oversensitive skin and dragging her inner cheeks and lips along his length. Watching her perform was like watching high-class porn. She moved so provocatively, glancing at him as she took him deep again, and continued to devour him in the most excruciatingly wonderful way. After a few minutes Rigsby tried desperately to pull himself together. Their relationship barely an hour old and he was not about to come in her mouth like a selfish bastard. He forced his voice out. "Stop now, Grace. If you want me, you'll have to stop." She instantly pulled away from him and looked up. "I want you. May I have you now?" she asked sweetly. For the second time that day he cursed this foxy girl before him. How did she manage to steal so much of his control? He nodded to her. "Come here," he whispered. She moved into his lap again, this time sitting as far forward as possible and lowering herself onto his length. She captured his lips with her own and swallowed his ragged gasp as he felt her hot, tight depths take him fully. They sat for a moment without moving, just kissing deeply and slowly. His arms went around her waist and back. Her arms locked around his neck. They broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. Rigsby tightened his arms around her. "God, I love you so much," he whispered. He couldn't stop himself. He wanted her to know, even if she didn't feel as strongly. He loved her. He worshipped her. He'd die for her in an instant. And he had to tell her so.
Grace pulled back slightly and let her eyes wander over his face, tracing her nails along the nape of his neck. He loved her. Not want, not like. Love. She took in his clear blue eyes, his strong jaw, his straight nose, his high forehead, his lips swollen from her kisses, his short dark hair. She had always loved his hair. What was it about this man that broke through her defensive walls like they were made of paper? What was it about his gentle features, his kind nature, his silly attitude, that made her ache for him so badly? He continued to return her gaze, still motionless and nestled deep in her body. She considered carefully, then told him the truth. "I love you too. You've gotten to me, Wayne. I need you. I ache for you. Make love to me now. Please?" His pupils dilated at her words and his hands moved to cup her cheeks. His hips thrust slowly up against hers and once again she gasped at his size. He didn't blink as he continued to hold her face. "Don't, Grace. Don't say anything. I don't want to hear that you love me for the sake of filling the silence. I just wanted you to know." He stroked deeply into her again, forcing her eyes to close momentarily from pleasure. But she opened them quickly and brought her own hands to his face so that they mirrored each other's pose. She bore holes into his eyes with hers, fire snapping in their coppery depths. "I've never told a man I loved him in my life, Wayne. I don't plan to say it for the first time and not mean it. I love you. I love you so much that it terrifies me." She shoved her own hips against his, driving him further down into the chair and forcing him to groan. Her words were angry, her movements were angry, and Rigsby realized with pure joy and she meant it. She loved him. She loved him. He grinned like a fool and brought her face to his and kissed her hungrily. He smiled into their kiss and whispered to her, "I'm sorry, baby. Don't be angry with me. Move with me. God, I love how you move." She smiled back and kissed him again while slowly grinding into his lap.
They kept it slow the whole time, climaxing gently and sweetly in each other's arms. Afterwards, as they lay nestled in the chair, Rigsby asked, "Can I take you to bed now? You've been ignoring my order for rest since we got back." She smiled into his chest and kissed it. "Only if you'll carry me. And only if you hold me all night." He nuzzled her hair and smiled. "Anything the lady wants," he replied. He held her by her back and lifted her up as he rose from the chair. Her legs went around his waist and her arms around his neck. Rigsby's smile was contagious and Grace smiled back. "What's funny?" she asked him. He repositioned her so that she settled more comfortably against him. He kissed her forehead lightly. "I've always wanted to carry you to bed like this," he said, blushing. He walked back to her bedroom and set her down on the bed. She pushed back and pulled the covers away so they could climb in. "No jammies?" he asked teasingly. She smirked. "Oh, no. We're staying naked for the rest of your stay. If I see one stitch of clothing on you, I'll throw you out." He laughed as he settled on his back. Grace molded herself to his side, throwing her arms and legs over him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Wanna know a secret?" she whispered dramatically. "Always," he replied, wrapping his arms snuggly around her. "The minute I woke up and found you holding my hand, I knew I loved you," she confided. Rigsby chuckled and kissed her hair. "I got you beat. The minute you told me your name, I knew I loved you."