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

More you say? More!

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Her dreams were going to ruin her sheets at this rate. Hot, sweaty and more than a little turned on, Grace embraced the memories of that last beautiful dream.

There had been laughing as they sat in the car, the beginnings of a kiss before Wayne had gently pushed himself away from her and with a heated glance towards his passenger, started the vehicle.

Her hands had not stayed still and although her body was restrained by the seat belt she eagerly snaked her hand across to the driver's side and inched her fingers across his upper thigh. The muscle underneath twitched, and Wayne had gripped the wheel firmly as he shot a steely look at her. Her eyes were wide, sparkling with laughter as she had reached further; far enough to grip his hardness through the fabric of his pants.

His breath came out in a small gasp and the car lurched violently to the right. Grace snapped her eyes forward to watch as the car swung onto a small lane off the highway. The trees were high and the street lamps had soon run out as they continued.

The car screeched to a halt in a lay-by and her seat belt was thrown off by an impatient Wayne. Before Grace had time to breathe she was pulled firmly into his lap, her backside against the steering wheel. One click and the seat flew back, his hand firmly at the back of her head as he guided her down towards him for a kiss.

The kiss wasn't gentle; nor was the hand at her hip pushing her down, grinding her into his lap. Without the barrier of her underwear she could feel his excitement thrusting upwards in a simulation of what she wanted to be doing. Sighing, she rolled her hips over him, causing a delicious friction. The feeling was obviously mutual, as his hips pushed further upwards in response.

Her hands loosened his tie, pulled at his shirt; unwilling to wait for the controlled action of unbuttoning his shirt they ripped the sides apart to expose a broad and muscular torso. Trilling in glee she ran her hands over him, thanking his exercise and job for negating the effects of his huge appetite.

He, for his part, had not been idle. Matching the enthusiasm Grace had had in undressing him, he had marvelled at the smoothness of her thighs as he once again stroked up them, the supple roundness of her arse as he slid his hands over her cheeks and squeezed.

He was not at all surprised therefore, when she had reached down and freed him from the constraints of his pants.

He was, however, extremely surprised when she took his hands in hers and held them above his head as she once again attacked his mouth. The discarded tie had been wound around his wrists and before he had focused on what she was doing his wrists had been bound firmly to the hand rail above the door. He pulled against the restraint, chest arching fruitlessly as Grace leaned back to admire her work.

Her mouth descended, working swiftly across a hardened chest, tongue laving attention down his stomach until her chin brushed evidence of his excitement. Licking her lips and glancing up at him she flicked her tongue across the head before swallowing him. She tried to get as much as possible into her mouth, but realised that with the length and breadth under her tongue she would need a little more practice. Reluctantly she let him slide from her lips and stroked her hands down his now slippery cock. Replacing her mouth at the head she began to use her hands and tongue to build an agonising rhythm.

Daring to look up she felt a deep throb within her own body as she reacted to his gaze. Half-wild, eyes wide and mouth uttering unheard profanities she laughed at her own power over him. The vibration travelled through her throat and he bucked upwards with a loud groan.

Wayne couldn't believe his eyes, touch or luck. He also knew that unless she let up sometime soon he would be spilling down her throat, and with that thought came the verbal warning. She ignored him, drawing up once more and smiling at him before renewing her attentions with even more vigour.

His cursing grew louder and more explicit as he recited a repertoire of words Grace didn't even think he knew, until the final call of her name and wetness down her throat signalled the peak and end. She had continued to stroke him gently with her tongue until he struggled slightly and begged her to stop.

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