Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist.

I got inspired after watching a re-run of Red Sauce and Rigsby in THAT outfit.

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Grace chewed her pen absently. Her thoughts were elsewhere, tied up in images of a muscle-bound, mafia-esque Rigsby coming to her home to ravish her. To walk in, pick her up and take her to the nearest wall. Hands held high above her head, forced onto the tips of her toes to maintain contact with the ground as he moulds his free hand to her covered breast, his eyes boring into hers.

Strangely, her imaginings never included a kiss. Something so private and intimate; and something so willingly given in public once. Twice, counting the first approach in the mens' room.

She was lost, mind filled with memories of the tight white t-shirt and black pants that clung to his firm, high backside. She could feel the hardness in his arms, the strength as they lifted her and pulled her legs around his slim waist. In the fantasy she closed her eyes, thinking of his warmth, his power, his hot desire for her. She could smell it.

What?

She blinked and her eyes focused, the pen-chewing stopping momentarily. The office lights were down low, silence all around. Everyone had clearly left for the evening. She could still smell it, the heated, masculine smell that she knew was his.

She started to turn her head and two large hands reached from behind her and took her wrists in a firm grip. She recognised the hands, and her breath caught in her throat, her pulse sped.

Lips at her throat, a tongue darting out and flicking at the beating point on her neck. She shivered and tilted her neck to grant him access. He laughed softly, the sound travelling through his chest and on into her own body.

She pulled her hands from the desk and turned her chair to face him.

He still wore the sweats and t-shirt, his dark jacket slung over his chair. To add to the look, his eyes were dark, certain of her desire for him. She stood and reached to kiss him but he shook his head. He wanted to kiss her, but first he owed her so much more.

Reaching down he stroked up her thighs as far as he could decently reach. Watching her eyes he pushed further, hands bunching her skirt as he swept them agonisingly slow upwards. Instead of heading for her centre as she expected, Rigsby crept his fingers to the side. Only a smirk and a slight crinkling of his eyes betrayed what he was going to do and she opened her mouth to protest as he pulled at her underwear, ripping it from her. The material tore slowly, a languid, sexy sound echoing around the room.

Pushing her gently back to sit on her desk he drew her arms behind her. A soft 'click' and she was trapped in his handcuffs.

He put his finger to her lips, shushing the words she had started to form and nodding to the corridor outside. Although the blinds were closed she could see the outline of the security guard walking past. Her eyes widened and he grinned.

Kneeling at her feet, he began his slow torment. He would have her scream his name tonight.

His kisses were gentle at first, interspersed with a flicking tongue and hot breath as he worked his way up her leg. When he reached her knee though, he experimentally nibbled at the supple flesh of her thigh. She gasped and he nibbled harder, scraping teeth along her skin. Her hips bucked on the desk and he rumbled his appreciation, noting the reaction for later.

By the time he had completed his upward torment of her thighs, Grace was biting her lip with dark, hungry eyes.

His hands moved to the inside of her thighs and pushed them wider. The simple movement left her more vulnerable than she had ever felt and she fought to close them.

"Oh no you don't," he smiled, head resting on her thigh and looking up at her.

His head lifted and seconds later his tongue was smoothing over her soft, wet centre. She bucked again but his hands held her, and this new instrument of torture was lapping gently at her clit.

Her mind was in turmoil. She was at work. At work! And here was the man of her sordid daydreams holding her prisoner on her own desk. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, closing as she recalled her dream from earlier. His large hands holding her, his huge weight pinning her, that deep voice coaxing her with sweet obscenities and she came against his mouth, rotating her hips and arching backwards over her papers.

Her body floated back down to her and she winced as she felt the handcuffs digging into her lower back. Her dangerous teddy-bear was up on his feet, eyes sparkling and reaching for her, pulling her skirt down.

"Come on, we have to leave... that was a little too loud for security to ignore!"

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Reviews are welcome, as is Wayne Rigsby. Yummy!