Chapter 25- It's Jane. Miss Cherry, if you're nasty.

It was the evening of the sixth day. That pretty much equaled a week, right? Jane stood outside the House door and argued with himself that the proper amount of time had passed it was indeed okay to be there.

He hadn't said much to Cherry the entire day. After Eddie escorted the girls out, they'd gotten into their car and they all drove back to HQ. Lisbon gave them kudos for their good work and asked Cherry to come back the next day for further planning. She agreed and, without looking at Jane, kissed Grace goodbye and hit the elevator. He didn't get a chance to say a word. Grace had given him a kindly glance before hitting the bathroom to change and wipe the makeup off her face. Jane he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment on Rigsby's face. He snorted. Did the man honestly expect her to finish the workday dressed like high-end tail? Judging from his slight frown, he totally did. This amused Jane to no end. But his momentary distraction didn't last.

Instead his mind kept shifting to a young girl in braids and short shorts who giggled and pouted her way into other men's hearts. What a performer she was. He settled down into his couch and sighed heavily. In truth, he didn't like the young girl one bit. What he did like was Cherry's ability to play her. A very clever, knowing woman had morphed into a clueless co-ed. She was suddenly Spring Break, a sorority girl, a cute little tease. Jane would ordinarily never look twice at such a girl. He was forty, after all, and some girly games staled with age. He found such young women sweet in their own element, but tiring if they tried their charms on him personally. He could be their father. Go find a nice boy your own age.

But Cherry was his age. He could definitely come out and play for Cherry. Her little floozy act had him drooling and wanting to know what other parts she could play. And if he was up to the challenge of breaking her concentration. He grinned as he looked up at the imposing House door. Her playhouse. Full of costumes and props and naughty imagination.

Now if only he could muster the courage to knock.

He turned back towards the street, inhaling deeply and reworking what he planned to say to her when she opened the door.

"You could start by saying you missed me." Jane spun around and found her standing in the doorframe. She hadn't changed since the audition. Her outfit clung enticingly to her body and her braids framed her lovely face. She looked at him expectantly.

Little Lolita.

He smiled. "Who says I missed you?"

She snorted. "Please. You so missed me."

He walked slowly towards her. "Did not."

Just as slowly, she backed into the entryway. "Did too."

He crossed the threshold. "Did not."

Their eyes never left each other. "Did. Too."

Jane closed the door behind him. "Who used my name today at her fake stripper audition?"

She continued to back away from him, her eyes daring him to come farther into her home. "Cherry Jane Delaney. I used my own name and you know it. And anyway, who's on whose doorstep fidgeting like a terrified prom date?"

He took a serious step towards her. "You used your name, but you were thinking about mine. Tell me I'm wrong."

She tsked him. "So wrong. Jane's a girl's name. I didn't think about you. I haven't thought about you in six whole days."

He smiled wickedly. "Is that so? So you didn't think about my eyes?"

She mirrored his smile, stepping backwards up a staircase. The one, he noticed, that led to her bedroom. "Not once."

"You didn't think about my voice?" He pushed at her buttons with his vanity. He loved how riled up it got her.

" 'Fraid not."

He lowered his voice to a whisper as he followed her up the stairs. "You didn't think about my touch?"

Her breath hitched a fraction. Ha! A tiny tell, but he'd take it. She held his eyes. "Sorry."

He suddenly leapt up two steps, the only two steps between them. He grabbed her by the ribcage and brazenly ran his hands down her sides, his thumbs grazing her breasts. He held her eyes. She didn't respond to his touch and he smirked at her burlesque stoicism to such close proximity. Nevertheless, he continued to manhandle her.

"You didn't think about my naked body on you?" He grabbed her palm and kissed it. "Inside you?" He hoped provocative words might startle the response he wanted. "Making love to you in your very own bed?"

He waited. His hands stilled on her body. Their eyes locked and neither one breathed. Her daring look slowly disappeared and a more earnest expression surfaced. "I guess that would depend." She finally answered him.

She finished her backward ascent and walked backward along the landing towards her room. He followed. How could he not?

"Depend?"

"On whether you've thought about me." She back up against her closed door, letting him trap her against it.

"Have you, for example, thought about my eyes?" He could swear that they changed color even as he looked at them. She did it on purpose. Her chocolate, coffee, whiskey eyes. He said nothing as he watched them.

"Or have you thought about my voice?" On cue, it turned low and husky. The pitch that moaned his name. The pitch that begged him for more. Harder. Faster.

"Or maybe even my touch?" Her fingers bypassed his vest and buttons and slithered into his shirt, tracing the skin around his navel. He felt his muscles clench at their gentle touch. She wasn't playing fair. She knew he was ticklish in that spot.

"Or my naked body…" she was almost moaning now, undoing a single button on his shirt, giving her more room to roam across his abdomen. "On you? Around you?" She leaned up to his ear. "Squeezing you so hard that you call me Cherry Jane?"

He flinched first. Damn it all. He gasped loudly against her shoulder and suddenly their little game was over. The loneliness and sexual frustration he'd accumulated over the last six days boiled over. His arms shot out and pulled her to him. His lips locked onto her throat and sucked hard as his hands slid inside her shirt, needing her skin. She mewled against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him hard against her.

"Patrick," she whispered. Her knee hooked on his waist. His hand slid down her thigh and gripped her ass. His other hand moved to her head and wrapped into her braid. He groaned against her neck. God, her taste. How the hell did he manage six days without it? He licked his way up her throat to her candy-colored mouth and riveted his lips to it. His tongue asked no permission as it pushed passed her lips and explored the warm sweetness behind them. Nothing, nothing had ever tasted this good. He pushed her hard up against her door, punishing her for winning, punishing her for her sexy, bewitching ways. He growled with victory. She might have broken him, just like every other man who looked her way, but dammit, he was the one pressing her against the wall and kissing her senseless. Him. The alpha male in him felt positively smug.

Suddenly his head was pulled back as she yanked him a little painfully by his hair. She jutted her chin defiantly at him. "Admit it," she ordered.

He smirked against the pain and the challenge. "I missed you," he gave in finally.

She grinned as the sauciness left her and honesty flooded her eyes. "I missed you," she reciprocated.

She reached behind her, groping for the doorknob. She found it, opened the door and dragged him inside.

They had some catching up to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well?" Grace was getting a little weirded out.

No response.

"What do you think?" Seriously, was he broken?

Rigsby didn't even blink.

She pulled his chin up and forced his eyes to hers. "You've been staring for a while now. You gonna say anything or what?"

But his eyes stayed wide and disbelieving as his fingers continued to caress her. They were lying on her bed. As promised, she'd brought him home, stripped naked and given him an interactive tour of her newly-waxed skin. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak English ever since.

And oh, man, it had hurt like a bitch. Cherry, being a dancer, had it done regularly. Under the arms, the legs and the private bits. She was used to it. Grace, aside from having her legs done once in college, was a wax virgin. They started with her legs. Okay, so that hurt, but she only flinched a little. No biggie. They then did under her arms. Youch. Okay, so that was a little worse. But she still held it together.

Then came the privates.

Lord Almighty, was pain supposed to go that high? She had shrieked with every rip. And there had been several. God, how did women do that every month? It was torture! And she felt so weird afterwards. She body hadn't looked like this since she was twelve. She found it pretty, but she also found it a little embarrassing. A little…unwomanly. She was interested to see Rigsby's reaction to it.

Well, now she had it.

He was entranced. He was absolutely enthralled. He circled and traced her body with his finger like he would a curvy sports car. She skin was so shiny. So smooth. He slithered up and down the bed, looking at her from every angle until she finally pinned him and straddled his chest.

"Helloooo? Earth to Wayne? You're creeping me out over here."

He stared up at her and finally spoke. "I've got the sexiest girlfriend in the whole world."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Please."

He shook his head. "Seriously," his hands kept roving. "I've never been with a woman who…" He looked up guiltily, not sure if he should be talking about past lovers. She smiled reassuringly at him.

He looked down at her sweet little center spread across his chest. "I'm afraid I don't have a choice here."

She cocked her head at him. "Don't have a choice to what?" And suddenly she gasped loudly as Rigsby shot himself through her legs until his head settled firmly between her thighs. His hands gripped her ass, pulling her down and fusing her pussy onto his mouth. She hands shot out and gripped the headboard as she keened loudly. He opened his mouth wide and closed down on her, his tongue flicking along her folds, his teeth scraping and gently biting down. She cried out and bucked against the unexpected attack. She felt so exposed. So vulnerable. As much as she liked oral sex, she'd never sat on a man's face before. It had seemed so dirty. So greedy. So smothering. She couldn't imagine men enjoyed it and thus she wouldn't allow herself to enjoy it.

But she had no choice now. She made a half-hearted attempt to escape, but Rigsby tightened his hold on her and growled disapprovingly, sucking her clit into his mouth and destroying her objections with blinding pleasure. She sobbed and bucked harder, her climax barreling towards her at a frightening speed. She broke and spasmed violently on top of him, moaning brokenly and gasping huge lungfuls of air. Suddenly she was flipped onto her back and her lover loomed over her. Her overstimulated nerves were given no reprieve when she felt his thick length position at her entrance and plunge deep. He reared back on his knees, dragging her hips up to his and thrusting hard against her. His gaze stayed locked on their joined bodies, his cock sliding in and out of her smooth, exposed folds.

Grace watched his awe with equal fascination. As he disappeared into her body, he groaned huskily and immediately pulled out and thrust back in, amazed at their union and how visible it was now. He pushed as deep as he could go, cinching her legs tighter around him and using his weight to sink his cock completely. Grace moaned loudly as her body was filled with him completely. He couldn't stand it. Her voice was so sexy and the view so erotic, he plunged once more and came hard inside of her. It racked his whole body and only one word escaped his lips.

"Grace," he gasped. He sat back on his haunches and pulled her up into his lap. Her legs and their joined bodies locked them tightly together. He peppered slow, wet kisses down her neck and around her breasts. She leaned back into his arms and sighed with pleasure. She literally felt drugged with sex. She honestly couldn't recall a single reason why she hadn't slept with Rigsby from the first moment she saw him. Who cares if they worked together? Who cares if she barely knew him? Who cares if she'd spent years carefully building an emotional moat around her heart? She should have jumped this man on Day One and spent the last nine months ravishing him to death. So much time wasted. So many pointless lonely nights.

She felt him nuzzle between her breasts and laugh softly.

"What?" she asked, sliding her hands down the muscular ridges of his back.

He looked up at her, his hands cupping her ass and pulling her tighter against him. "I hate to be such a guy, but your wax job is hot."

She laughed and slapped his shoulder. "You're right. You are being such a guy." She yanked him by the neck, pulling him out of his sitting position and tumbling him back onto the bed. "But I'm glad you like it."

He smiled and gazed down her body. "So tell me why you didn't want me underneath you."

She blushed and looked away. Did they really have to talk about that? She gave in, after all. She sighed softly. "I just don't want you to feel like you…you know…have to."

She suddenly felt all puritanical and prudish.

He squinted at her. "Have to?" His eyes widened with understanding. "Baby, you think I don't want to?" His arms tightened around her.

"No," she answered him too quickly. "But me sitting on you…it can't be…very…oh, God." She searched for words that wouldn't make her go any redder than she already was. "It can't be very comfortable with me on top like that. So it's okay if you prefer me…" Nope, the blush hit bright red. "…underneath you."

Rigsby stared. So that was it.

He dropped his forehead against hers. "I want it any way you'll give it to me," he whispered hotly.

She looked down. "I just don't want you to feel obligated."

His laughter surprised her. "Gray, nothing I do to you is an obligation. Trust me." He paused, still seeing her uncertainty. He decided to turn the tables.

"Do you feel obligated when you go down on me?"

Her head shot up. Her eyes went round and disbelieving. Could he seriously think that? "No. Never. I love doing it to you."

He knew that, but seeing her shocked by the very idea filled him with glee. He twirled her hair. "Then why can't I love doing it to you?"

She gave him a tiny smile. "I've known men who didn't. That's all."

The muscles in his neck flexed in anger. He gave her a brief, hard kiss. "They're assholes who didn't know what they were missing." He anchored his leg around hers, pulling all of her into him. "And you're mine now. So fuck them."

Her smile broadened and she nuzzled her face against his. "Yes, yours," she murmured softly.

He let her explore his face with hers before pulling back slightly and smiling. "You almost made me explode right there in the office today. Warn a man before you stroll in looking like a walking felony."

Grace chuckled. "The House girls. Kaiko and Babet talked me into it. It's a novel experience walking down the street half-naked. I recommend you try it sometime."

Rigsby laughed at the thought of him in a tank top and ass skirt. "Yeah, I'll get right on that." He rested his hand on her hip and started tracing small circles. He spoke softly. "You were amazing in there today. I hardly recognized you."

She brushed off his compliment. "You have to say that. You're my boyfriend."

Something shot through his eyes so quickly that Grace almost didn't see it. She tried to identify it, but it was gone before she could look more carefully.

"No, it's true. You were a genius. And your dancing knocked 'em dead. You'll have every man alive eating out of your hand."

Knowing he didn't really need it, she reassured him. "Fine, if it gets the job done. But there's only one man alive that I want." She kissed his forehead. "And guess what? He's not the type to frequent skin clubs."

She started tickling him lightly on his sides. He flinched and grabbed for her hands. Soon they were laughing and squealing and wrestling on the mattress, fighting for dominance and using every tickle weakness they knew about each other to win.

In the end, neither won. And both won.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So how did they do?" A purr in his ear. Long nails scraping down his back. Goosebumps rising in their wake.

"Who?"

"Cherry? Gray?" The nail pressure increased slightly at his lack of attention.

"The boss said they did well. Surprisingly well, in fact." A cold, smooth object sliding up and between his legs. What the…?

"I'm glad to hear it." The object met the apex between his thighs and gently pressed upwards into his taint. He flinched. Dammit. He hated when he flinched.

The object pulled back an inch.

"We can always stop if you're uncomfortable." The voice assured him soothingly. "We can always watch tv. Get some takeout. Talk about the weather. A normal date between normal people."

He cursed at her. "Fuck normal. Shut up and push."

The object pressed sharply into the soft tissue just behind his balls and stars exploded behind his eyes. "Don't sass me, Kimball. I don't respond well to it."

"Then you chose the wrong guy." More pressure. More delicious, agonizing pleasure.

"Oh, I don't think so. He just needs to learn some manners."

Cho crushed his eyes shut and ground his teeth. "JFK was not killed by the mafia."

A single, light whip flicked over his shoulder and the pressure between his thighs spiked.

He gasped loudly. "Holden Caulfield needed to quit whining and join the military."

Oooh, that got her. The whip, harder this time, slapped across his back and up over to his collarbone. She had amazing aim. He couldn't decide if the pain overtook the pleasure or the other way around.

"Umberto Eco can write circles around Dan Brown."

Nothing happened.

Cho opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. He was met with two glorious eyes framed in thick, catlike glasses. The whip flicked back and forth in one hand while the other was embedded deep between his legs. He looked at her expectantly just as she looked at him.

Anna Angel smiled serenely. "That, Kimball, is something we can entirely agree on."

Cho cursed silently and quickly regrouped. "Marlon Brando's autobiography was self-indulgent crap."

The whip caught him just under the arm. That's fuckin' more like it.