Chapter Eleven
Rigsby was relieved that he didn't see Grace for much of the rest of the day. She was working with Cho with some witnesses, so it kept her busy in the interrogation rooms, just opposite of the observation room where he'd bitten her an hour before. When she did finally emerge, her hair was indeed down and scattered around her neck, obscuring his mark from view.
He kept his eyes on his computer. He didn't want her to see his satisfied curiosity. He wanted her to see a calm, collected professional doing his work with detached efficiency, no sideways glances, no emoting of any sort. Certainly not the kind of man who attacked female colleagues in locked rooms. No ma'am.
He hoped like hell that confused her.
Unfortunately that also meant that he couldn't clock her reaction to his newfound stoicism, and for the rest of the day he had to keep his eyes forward and his mouth shut. Unlike Cho, he'd never been a military man and he chaffed badly under the self-imposed discipline. But endure he did.
Jane had been right. As usual. His mind was already flush with all kinds of wrenches that he wanted to throw into his girlfriend's careful experiments. What would she say to this? How would she respond to that? Suddenly he understood her delight in examining their relationship from these angles. It was fascinating. It was hot. And it was just little bit scary.
She was blowing his skirts up, as his uncle used to say. Thrilling and shocking him with every touch and whisper. He wanted to know…could he shock her just as wonderfully?
By the time they got home that night, he'd solidified his plan.
It was well past nine when Grace fell across the couch, her head landing in his lap as the rest of her stretched out comfortably. He smiled down at her.
"Grrrrr," she moaned as she scissored her legs, working them loose. "Long day."
His hands covered her stomach and forehead. "Poor baby," he crooned smilingly.
"You're not tired, too?" she looked up at him in surprise. "We've been at the office for over twelve hours."
"I know," he answered as he stroked her hair softly. His fingertips skittered over her navel at the same time, making soothing little circles.
She closed her eyes and hummed contentedly. "So." She lifted an elegant hand and swiped her hair away from her throat, exposing his now very impressive love bite right over her jugular. His hand stilled in her hair as he looked at it. Deep purple and almost two inches across, it was a very angry and obvious hickey. He fought to keep his eyes neutral, hoping his concern that he'd bitten too hard didn't show. He continued to stroke her hair and tummy, his expression blank.
"So," he repeated mildly.
She smirked at him playfully. "Care to explain this, Agent Rigsby?"
Admit nothing. "Explain what?"
"This!" Gave him a playful look of outrage as she pointed to her throat. "This bruise is the size of a Wendy's. Would you like to tell me why I was bitten like a Bon Temps waitress?"
It took a lot to keep his smile down. He shrugged instead. "No idea what you're talking about."
"I see," she smiled. "Sooooo, I got this from one of my other boyfriends and just can't remember?"
Normally her teasing about other men had him growling and tearing her clothes off, after which he'd slip inside her and force a retraction from her over and over again. His lack of reaction had her squinting in confusion as he shrugged again noncommittally. "Must be."
She arched her brow, studying him. "Huh," she said at last.
They were silent for awhile, Rigsby massaging her scalp and watching her relax under his touch. It soothed him like few things did. When she melted into him like this, trusting her weight and her unguarded self to him, he could feel himself circling around her completely, wanting to block her off from everyone else. There was pride in it, and protectiveness. There was also a startling sense of greed. These private moments they shared were like gold nuggets to him. Precious and—he was more than certain—enviable. If anyone had any idea how priceless it was to just sit on a sofa with Grace as she purred softly at his ministrations, they'd try to take it. Take her. It made his shoulders tense and roll upwards, ready for a fight. Part of him knew he was being paranoid, but that didn't stop him from thinking all kinds of bloody thoughts as he looked down at the soft, sweet woman cuddled into his thighs. She sighed happily again and his mind was lifted to a more peaceful place.
Suddenly she turned towards his stomach, her face burrowing into his groin.
And his planned experiment for the evening just got one hell of a lot harder.
Playful, but not overtly sexual, Grace smiled and nuzzled her nose and lips against his zipper, her knees pulling into a ball at his side. She was curled completely into his sitting form. The innocence behind her carnal position tore him in several dizzying directions at once: adoration, pure love, amazement, and animalistic lust. How was it possible to want to worship and fuck someone at the same time? How did she manage to look so childlike in her trusting sweetness while rubbing her lips across his rapidly tightening pants?
She was every and none of the other women he'd ever been with. She made him hornier than a thousand naked models ever could. She brought out a protectiveness in him, which before now had been reserved for at-risk children. She drove him to biblical covetous desire. Oh fuck, did he covet. And most of all, she just made him so damn happy. Happy like he hadn't even understood the fullness of the word before. And just as surely as she drove him completely insane sexually, she also stilled his restless, impatient soul by sharing her inner calm with him. His hands, always twitching for a task, found peace when holding her. His toiling mind settled instantly when he heard her voice. His darting blues held firm on hazel. He exhaled and suddenly he was…whole. A more patient cop. A calmer person. A better man. He understood now that he'd been restless all his life because he'd been waiting for her.
And right now he watched this stunning woman practically give him a blowjob through his pants.
Grace would be the death of him. He knew it. And amazingly, she was totally unaware.
"If you don't tell me why you bit me today, buster," she looked up at him impishly, "there will be no skirt-wearing tomorrow. Spill."
It startled a grin from him. Dammit. He was supposed to be playing dumb. He cleared his throat and lifted his eyes, thinking quickly.
Admit to the bite? Or risk her wearing pants?
Eyes upwards, he clucked his tongue in annoyance. He needed her in a skirt tomorrow. He looked back down to her amused expression.
"You were right last night," he answered cryptically.
One of her fingers was weaving around on his shirt before it found its way between two buttons and disappeared under the fabric. "About what?"
Her finger only encountered his t-shirt, but it still got him worked up watching her trespass into his work clothes. He stared as her hand spread wide over his stomach. "There wasn't a scratch on you when we woke up."
He reached out and caressed his bite. "It had to be rectified."
She giggled and snuggled tighter into his crotch. "I thought you were worried about hurting me."
"I told you before, Grace," his voice deepened of its own accord. It pleased him how the gravelly pitch made her shiver. "I'd bite every inch of you until you looked like a leopard, if I could. Remember?" He craned down, bringing his face within three inches of hers. "Remember what you said when I told you that?"
His daunting closeness ensured that her answer came out in a squeak. "I said that I'd let you."
His white teeth flashed with satisfaction. "That's right. You'd let me," he repeated smugly.
The playfulness drained from Grace and suddenly she was pushing herself into his groin in earnest. "Baby," she whimpered softly.
Delight shot through his system as she arched and nestled deeper into him, cooing softly. Mother of mercy, but she was irresistible.
"I love when you call me that." Dammit. The stoicism thing wasn't going like he wanted it to. Be cool, he admonished himself. Quit rolling over.
Luckily, she didn't seem to notice his sentimental expression. Her eyes were closed in pleasure as she sheltered in his lap like a housecat. Her lips brushed over his annoyingly obvious bulge and she gave him a decidedly feline smile. "Anything I can help you with?"
Yeah. Take my cock out and suck it until I pass out. His mouth opened and betrayed every single cell in his body. "Nothing at all."
Her eyes widened in surprise. He desperately tried to recall every American president's ugly mug as a sex goddess nudged his erection with a little more force. "You sure about that?"
Distract her. Distract her! Otherwise I'll come right here in my pants.
He pushed her legs out, forcing her flat again, before his hand slipped deftly into the front of her pants, into her panties, and right into the gloriously hot inferno, already soaking wet. He rubbed the entire length of her, growling at the fact that she was so wet just from laying on top of him. Grace froze at the sudden invasion and moaned. She turned her face away from him and lay facing up again, her eyes rolling back as he stroked her with rough fingers.
"How about you? Anything I can help you with?" he asked.
She strained upwards into his touch, moaning incoherently. The tightness of her trousers didn't allow for much movement, so he restricted his efforts to massaging her clit with his index and middle finger. She keened again softly, a single word falling from her lips. "Why?"
Not stilling his attentions, he cocked his head at her. "Why what?"
"Why?" she moaned loudly. "Why do I let you? I've never let anyone touch me like you do. Never." She bucked into his fingers as she spoke. "How do you make me feel this way?" Her dilated eyes searched his pleadingly. "How do you make me need you this much?"
Her desperate questions made him swell impossibly larger, to the point that he feared for the seams of his pants. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the plan for tonight. Stay strong!
But she was moaning so sweetly and rubbing against him so invitingly, he cracked one eye open to watch. Grace was arching off the sofa to push herself harder against his hand. Her arms slithered behind her to grip the armrest next to him. Spread out completely and fully clothed, she made savage love to his fingertips, moaning in pleasure as he slowly brought her to the boiling point.
He was not a disciplined man.
And Grace was that one extra cookie. She was not jogging in the morning because it's raining outside. She was classic episodes of Star Trek when he should be catching up on paperwork. She was 'just this once'.
Just this once, he'd alter his experiment slightly.
He scrapped The Plan- Holding Out on Her.
He'd been so sure he could do it; teasing her just like he was now, and just when he got her all hot and bothered and begging for more, he'd planned to kiss her softly and stop everything. Just stop. No getting her off. No penetration. Just leaving her (and him) high and dry and screaming with unsatisfied pleasure. That had been The Plan.
But he should have known better. Looking at her now, he'd been stupid to think that he could ever deny her anything. She was too powerful. He was too whipped. Her honest need for him was too hard to leave unfulfilled. And she was so beautiful like this, losing herself in his touch, he had to keep doing it, just so he could continue to watch.
So The Plan was amended- Hold Out on Himself.
He brushed her cheeks with his fingers. "Tell me what you want, Grace."
Still moving with his other hand, she answered. "You," she killed him a little. "I want you."
With that, he removed his hand and slid them both underneath her, lifting her easily from his lap as he stood up. "Anything, baby. Anything you want."
He took her to the bedroom, laying her out on the duvet. She watched him loom above her, those dark eyes that sparkled with her belief in ghosts, God and him. He reached down and slowly peeled her pants away as she lifted up and stripped out of her top. Clad in only her bra and panties, Grace was going to make even his amended plans the hardest thing he'd ever attempted. She was just so fucking…
"Beautiful," he rasped softly, his eyes devouring every curve of her toned, slender body.
She smiled indulgently, the smile that told him that she didn't really agree. "And lonely," she pouted up at him, pulling her legs primly to one side. "Join me, pretty boy?"
He snorted and yanked at his clothes. "Pretty? Who you callin' pretty, Pretty?"
She grinned as he shed his shirts and pants, standing in just his boxers and looking very pretty indeed. "You. Prettiest boy I've ever seen."
He dove at her. Grace shrieked and brought her knees up, instinctively warding off his attack. He roared playfully as she blocked his chest with her shins, halting his advance. He slid his hands between them and roughly pried her knees apart, his body falling instantly into its rightful place between them. He pinned her down as she bubbled with laughter, trapping her between his locked arms, his eyes blazing down at her. "Still lonely?" he asked smilingly.
She giggled, reaching behind her and releasing her bra before tossing it aside. "You're still pretty, though."
"Knock if off," he warned with a growl. "Men aren't pretty."
Grace clucked her tongue in disagreement as she wrapped her pliant legs around his waist. "Would you prefer it if I called you stunning? Lovely? Exquisite?"
Rigsby uttered a cross between a laugh at her words and a groan as she caged him. The idea that she thought he was any of those things made him dizzy, so rather than combat her vocally, he simply lowered his head and planted his lips directly over his bite.
She gasped sharply and moaned.
Rigsby smirked against her skin. His little leopard had just one spot. That would change tonight. Then we'll see how lovely she thinks I am. She whimpered softly beneath him, expecting another bite and enduring a little hell as she waited for his teeth to sink in. He knew this. He could feel her anticipation as she unconsciously strained against his mouth.
He gave his mark a soft, chaste kiss. "Pretty kitty," he whispered to her.
Suddenly his head dipped and before Grace could react, he'd latched onto her plump outer breast and bit down softly. Grace went rigid and cried out as her sensitive flesh was pulled in and marked with the same soft ferociousness as her throat had been. She arched into him wildly, fearing and asking for his attack. The throat was one thing, but a woman's breasts were so delicate, she fought her instincts to pull away from his nip. Instead she pushed into it. Oh God, this is amazing. Intense, but not painful. Despite his sudden apparent need to bruise her in multiple places, he was exceptionally careful, using suction more than teeth on her tender flesh. She was trembling by the time he pulled back to admire his handiwork.
"There," he grunted with satisfaction. The mark, every bit as big as his first, would darken in no time. He'd chosen a more private place for it on purpose. From now on, all of his marks would brand in her in places only they could see. The solitary bite on her neck was enough of a public display. It was juvenile, he knew, but he wanted that bite to signal to everyone who saw it. Private Property. Keep Out.
"Oh, my God," she moaned hotly. Her forearms crossed weakly over her breasts, as if to protect them. "What are you doing to me?"
He hooked his thumbs into her panties, sliding them down her smooth legs, before divesting himself of his boxers. When he covered her again, he drew a deep breath, swearing an oath to himself that the suicidal plan was going forward. He blocked as much of her beautiful body, soul-stirring eyes and sweet voice as was humanly possible.
"You asked for me," he answered with finality.
He stroked two tiny inches into her. She inhaled sharply, expecting more of an invasion at his sudden thrust. If only she knew the torture that was to come, she would have begged for a quick, hard fuck right from the beginning.
"Mmmmmmm," she moaned softly, thinking this was a sweet preamble. "More. I can take more. I'm so wet for you, baby. I promise, you won't hurt me." She smiled up at him encouragingly. "You never do."
Fucking. Agony.
"No," he answered decisively. His plunges were tight and controlled as he kept himself shallow. He could already feel the natural suction of her tight body trying to pull him deeper. Oh, Jesus Christ. Rigsby, never one to refuse an invitation, had always taken full advantage of that welcome. And now his body was screaming at him not to be rude. He should go in. All the way in. Embrace her loving body and show her what a pleasurable guest he could be.
But he didn't. Two inches only.
His poor little subject looked up with uncomprehending eyes. She rubbed his arms up and down. "I'm not sore," she soothed, thinking he was worried about their rough encounter the night before. "I'm okay. Really."
Oh God, she was cracking him in half.
"I know you are, sweetheart," he offered softly, lifting a hand to trace her face. "But this is as far as I'm going."
Her lips parted and he saw an argument coming, so he slipped his hand from her cheek to down between her wonderfully parted folds. Impossibly soft flesh and maddeningly slippery wetness pillowed his fingers as he went back to teasing her tiny little bud. The effect was immediate. She gasped and pushed into him, her narrow channel clasping more desperately for the rest of him.
Rigsby groaned as his cock fought furiously against his restraint. It didn't want to be just a dildo, only here to perform a service. It wanted to fuck. It was granite hard for the woman under him, getting harder with each second of denial.
But no. Only her.
He clenched his eyes shut and continued his short thrusts. Thank God that massaging her had distracted her enough to let him concentrate. If she'd well and truly begged for him, his plan would suffer further amendments. As it was, she was already coming gently against his barely-there lovemaking.
She didn't scream like she usually did. Instead, she gasped softly, tensing as her superficial release washed over her. She whimpered as it took its course. It made her happy, but it merely whetted her appetite. He continued to stroke her, carefully bringing her down from her mild height.
Despite her sated state, she continued to cage him, pulling at him with her thighs and whining softly as he slowed to a stop.
"Please," she begged. "I want more. I want you harder. I want you to come with me." She was looking at him with big, desperate eyes. He could only gaze back and ask the Almighty where he got his strength to refuse.
He gave her a pained smile. It was all he could spare as he fought against his body's raging need to comply with her wishes. "You can have as many of those as you want," he gritted out quietly. "But you can't have it harder. And," he gave her a pointed look, "I'm not coming inside you."
Her eyes sparked with mischief at his last sentence and he was quick to rephrase. "I'm not coming at all, baby. Just you."
"But," she nudged at his painful erection, already wanting him again, "I want you." She didn't understand his sudden bizarre take on abstinence. "You want me, too. So why won't you come with me?"
As agonizing as it was, he began to rock inside her again slowly. Two inches only, and his fingers continued to play her like a stringed instrument. Her eyes rolled back in euphoria as he started all over. Her questions lost their urgency. Her second release was already on the horizon.
For the rest of the night, Rigsby suffered what was surely its own special level of hell. He kissed every inch of his angel. He made love to her with strokes as soft as butterfly wings. He pushed her over the edge more times than she could remember. He took her to the same level of satisfaction as he had when he'd fucked her with no mercy the night before.
But he never took her fully. And he didn't come once.