Chapter Three
Christ alive.
He hadn't felt this nervous since those fifteen minutes between when Grace had yanked him into that dark office to make out and meeting her in the parking lot.
In between, he'd been forced to drink wine he didn't care about, eat pizza he didn't want, make infuriating, calm chitchat with his team, and not look at the woman he could still taste on his lips.
Those fifteen minutes had felt like hours. They'd felt like prison bars.
That wonderful, reckless girl had sent him from sad resignation, to shock, to mindless joy, to uncontrollable lust in that short space of time. Ill-advised, really, to drag a lovesick man through such an emotional ringer. She was lucky she hadn't been pinned to the nearest car hood and ravished hard and proper once he'd stuttered his excuses to the team and came looking for her, all hot and bothered and ready for more.
He'd found her sitting in the driver's seat. He'd nearly ripped off the passenger door. It was in his way. She might have pulled a fast one and started their first make out session, but he damn well started up the next one. As he leaned across the consol, he blew right past her nervous smile and dove in, all anxieties and shyness obliterated as he hungrily pulled her to him and claimed her lips with his, growling deep in his chest with approval. Her lips, and soon her entire body, were now occupied territory.
Fuck being nervous. Fuck the whys and her reasons and his residual questions. They could wait. His pent-up need had accumulated from a single drop to a great lake during their professional relationship and from the moment she gave her consent to his advances, the dam broke like a twig.
He was going to take her. And take her he did. But the fifteen minutes between those two kisses had nearly ended him.
Such was his angst now.
It was late. He was still in the office. Jane slept fitfully on his couch and Lisbon was working late as usual in her office. Cho had gone home shortly after Grace. That had been almost an hour ago. He kept telling himself that he didn't want to follow her too closely and risk Lisbon's ire. But that wasn't the truth and he damn well knew it. He was scared. Shitless, to be precise.
This…this thing they were going to do. It was one of the most sacred acts between lovers. But? It was just as easily one of the most degrading and violent acts a person could force on another, capable of inflicting great pain and humiliation. His fantasy was nothing but the first. Grace's comfort in the soon-to-be reality? He broke out into a sweat. She had asked for it, but would it only hurt her? Embarrass her? Make her feel used and violated? Jesus, why did he ever admit to wanting it? Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut and let her go right on torturing him with her erotic moves?
But it was too late. She was waiting for him even now.
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She sipped her second glass of wine and waited patiently for him on her sofa. Her girly books had explained for this particular activity, total relaxation was crucial. Alcohol seemed like par for the course. She took another sip, feeling her muscles unwind and her blood surge into tipsiness.
She felt calm. Surprisingly so. After spending so many years thinking it was the act that she objected to, she had realized the other night, riding Rigsby into a screaming confession, that it was previous sexual partners that she had balked against.
She hadn't trusted them completely. There was the stripped-down truth. Those boys who'd chuckled at her red expanse below and eyeballed her with a little too much physical interest and not enough genuine affection, they had left her in no mood to trust them with something so delicate. Too much control would have been lost if she'd allowed them to take her that way. Too much respect thrown down the toilet if they'd decided it was a score instead of a gift.
It was an act of complete surrender and domination.
There was only one man in the world she would surrender to. Back then, she hadn't even known his name.
But she knew it now. When a second key hit her lock, she didn't even glance at the door. Smiling into her glass, she whisperingly acknowledged her conqueror.
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Tip 1: Start slow.
He grabbed an empty glass and joined her on the sofa, sinking down right next to her and pulling her halfway on top of him, his mouth searching for his hello kiss. She smiled at his insistence and pressed her lips softly against his.
He tasted femininity and wine. Jesus, tonight was going to kill him. He knew it. He could barely put his lips on her without feeling his restraint and gentleness erode into more forceful, dominating inclinations. The thought of her sitting here, waiting for him, thinking about him, and kissing him like she was currently kissing him the minute he walked in the door…it did things to him. Frightening things.
He took her glass from her and set it along with his empty flute on the coffee table, his interest in drinking forgotten as he pulled her over to straddle his lap. She chuckled in her throat as he locked her down with his hands and leaned up to catch her lips again.
Tip 2: Talk to her. Let her know what she means to you.
"Do you know how insane you drive me, baby?" he whispered softly against her eager mouth.
She shook her head slightly, not wanting to break their kiss. He engulfed her cheeks in his hands, pulling her down harder onto his lips and raiding every recess of her dizzying mouth. She whimpered in willing submission. He pulled back and bit gently on the graceful line of her collarbone. She gasped at his wolfish attack and bared her throat to him, trusting him completely.
"The things you make me want to do to you," he followed the line of the bone with his tongue. "The sheer number of times I've wanted to tear you to pieces, to bite and suck and mark you until you looked like a leopard. My perfect, marked, wild kitty. And you'd let me, wouldn't you?"
Grace closed her eyes and moaned softly. Oh, to hear this man talk. In every other situation, his shyness tripped his tongue and made him awkward and misunderstood. He'd smile with uncertainty, apologize, and immediately dig another hole with his insecure explanations. In Grace's arms, his shyness evaporated and his possessiveness and testosterone did all the talking. His voice dripped with jealous ownership. His hands had no reservations whatsoever in gripping her firmly and claiming her fully. His eyes didn't slant to one side in embarrassment. They ate her up. She felt consumed by him. Dear God, did it feel good to be devoured.
"Yes," she mewled softly. "I'd let you."
"My girl," he growled approvingly. He tugged impatiently at the hem of her top. "Off, please."
She obeyed and yanked it over her head. His hands instantly slid up her back and his mouth fused against her bare shoulder and worked its way in.
"You scare me so bad, Grace," he murmured against her, his tongue outlining the shell of her light blue bra. "I have no idea what I'm capable of when I'm with you."
She shivered at the thought of him out of control. Doing something crazy. Dangerous. He'd already charged armed men and shot down suspects because of her. What terrible, exhilarating things did he picture when fearing for his sanity in her presence? The instinctive pleasure that came from controlling a dangerous mate made her dizzy. The she wolf in her asked as her lover continued to bite at her softly.
"Would you kill for me?" It felt so wrong to like the idea.
"I would. I have." He bit her breast through her bra and she keened and arched into his mouth and words. She ground her hips down firmly into his, feeling his stiff presence straining upwards towards her offering.
"Would you die for me?" Equally wrong. Equally thrilling.
He moved to her other breast and bit down with the same loving possession. Her fingers fanned into his dark hair and fastened into it, holding him to her in desperate encouragement. He rumbled softly at her obvious enjoyment and answered her. "Yes. A million times over."
The woman in Grace went crazy. Her entire being drove down into the man who owned her attention, her body, her will and wordlessly begged for him. A million years of evolutionary imperative forced her thighs open wide across him and pushed the sexiest, most alluring noises out of her throat. She bent backwards, giving him access to anything he wanted. He took without thinking, clasping her waist and running his thumbs over the svelte muscles of her tummy. Looking at it filled him with the insane urge toss her birth control pills into the trash and mark her in a far more permanent fashion. Namely, fuck her until that sweet, tight expanse of skin was round with the irrefutable proof of his child. Proof that he was the lucky bastard she'd chosen. He leaned down and kissed her bellybutton, nipping it gently before dipping his tongue in the well. She went rigid in his hands and cried out softly as his teeth scraped her sensitive nerves and his tongue tried to impregnate her all on its own.
Tip 3: Ask her if she's sure. She needs to know she's in control.
"Talk to me," he whispered, fingering the zipper of her pants. "Tell me why you want this."
She leaned forward again and instantly set to work on his tie, pulling at the knot impatiently.
"I want you," she answered. "Every way there is."
She threw aside his tie and plucked at his shirt buttons, her hair falling around her face as she concentrated on her task. Rigsby found it harder and harder to form words and not actions.
"But why this?" he prodded gently.
Her fingers slowed and she swallowed. Her reasons were murky, hardly forming into words at all. But a tiny sentence skittered into focus, a minnow darting to the surface before disappearing again. Her gaze traveled from his shirt to his eyes. "I…I want you to ruin me."
His pupils flared to the size of dinner plates. "What?"
She went back to the buttons, talking to them instead of him.
"You've already ruined me in every other way. No one else will ever compare, I know it. But there's still one way I haven't be touched by you…been taken by you. There's still one way that someone else could have me that you haven't. I don't want there to be anything you haven't touched. Haven't ruined for every other man. I want to feel you everywhere and know that I'll never have better."
His blood, already boiling and circling his groin, turned into jet fuel.
"Fuck, baby," he growled harshly, taking his partially undone shirt and ripping it open the rest of the way. He shrugged out of it and immediately lifted up enough to yank his t-shirt up and off, furious that her words hadn't found them already naked so he could react instantly to their fuckable content. He rolled her underneath him on the couch and shoved his weight forcibly into her.
"There won't be other men after me," he promised darkly, his hips thrusting hard between her legs. "Not ever."
She arched up into his jealousy and hummed at its delicious heat. "I know," she assured him breathlessly. "So ruin me, baby. Show me. Take the last piece of me and make it yours."
"I will," he swore roughly, "but you have to talk to me every step of the way. Tell me exactly what you want. Exactly how you want it. This is you," he pulled down the cups of her bra, chose a breast and licked it avidly. "This is all about you."
Her arms slithered behind her head to grip the sofa's armrest. Her torso arched into his mouth, her bared breasts pleading for his touch. Her eyes closed, her lower lip pulled between her teeth, she corrected him. "Us. This is about us."
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He started so slowly and so soft that Grace was nearly climbing the walls with unfulfilled pleasure. They were naked in bed, twisting and writhing in every direction, but no penetration. Not yet. He was too busy trying to drive her crazy with petting and kissing and working her aching body in his hands.
His words? Molotov cocktails. Every single one.
He pressed a condom package in her hand above her head as he kissed her languidly. "Put this on me."
Her fingers bent into its crinkly surface. She looked up at him in surprise. Except for their first night together, before they'd disclosed their clean medical records and confirmed that she was on the pill, they'd stopped using condoms. After that first night, he would never have believed that sex with Grace could possibly be any better. Then they'd shyly confirmed the lack of VDs and plentitude of pills and, on the second night, he slipped into her bare. His eyes had rolled back and he learned to never say never again.
Hence her confusion at the foil wrapper in her hand.
He smiled at her burrowed brow.
Tip 4: Use a condom and plenty of lubrication, synthetic or natural.
"I'm going to make love to you first. I need it. I need to feel your beautiful pussy around me. Then? When you've soaked me and made me nice and slippery, I'm going to move lower."
Grace gave a breathy, gasping sob. She stripped the condom from the package and brought it to his tip. His smile never wavered. She pinched the tip and rolled it down his length. She'd already forgotten how condoms were difficult to push down his thick girth, even the larger sizes. His eyes closed with pleasure as she worked it down to the base, using both hands and forcing it against the strain.
"God, your hands," he murmured as she finished.
She smirked proudly. "You gonna reward me now? I've been a patient sport, baby."
Her smirk disappeared as he positioned himself and sank deep into her aching body with no warning. Her limbs fell open wide on each side of him and she moaned as her throbbing center was finally filled to the brim.
Rigsby thanked God that the condom dulled the sensation a bit. Watching her open up to him with such impatient joy made it almost impossible to focus. The smell of latex and the restricted feeling of her tight channel kept his tiny thread of control in check.
Soft. Slow.
He made love to her so gently that she felt like pliant, supple velvet underneath him. Knowing she needed to stay relaxed, she didn't arch or push into his agonizingly slow thrusts. She just let herself enjoy their union, not trying to race to the finish. She stayed beneath him, letting him control everything, sighing with contentment at making love with a man she adored.
"How do you feel?" he rasped between two deep plunges.
"Hmmmmm. Happy," she purred as her knees slid up and down his sides.
"Relaxed?" he asked, stroking her hair and staring deep into her eyes.
She smiled lazily. "Very," she answered. "Can we try it now?"
He nodded and her grin grew bigger. She moved to flip underneath him, thinking that he'd want her on all fours, but he stopped her. "Stay," he said.
Her eyes squinted. "But…don't I need to be…?"
He shook his head. "No. You can stay like this." He grabbed the second pillow next to her head and lifted up so that he could place it under her hips, tilting her up more towards him. He covered her again, his face soft but serious. "I need your eyes for this, baby. I need to see what I'm doing to you."
It was true. His research explained that almost any ordinary position worked, and while taking her from behind was his usual fantasy for this, he needed to be able to read her expression. Any wince, any gasp of pain, and this little experiment was over. He wasn't going to let their first time be so impersonal, or so easy for her to hide her discomfort. He wanted to see everything.
Still connected with her, he gazed into her eyes one more time. "Are you sure?" he had to ask. She smiled with certainty and nodded. "I want this."
He took a deep, steadying breath and withdrew from her. "Tell me everything you feel." It was not a request. She nodded as she felt him pull out, and then with sweet care, probe gently against her ass.
"Different," she murmured as he pressed softly. "Feels different."
He lowered his head and kissed her, his lips as gentle as his probes. "You're tight there," he whispered against her. "So fucking tight. Am I hurting you?"
She shook her head and tilted her hips more, wordlessly asking him to continue.
He gritted his teeth and pushed slightly harder. He felt her muscles give slightly and he groaned as the slickness on his condom gave him an inch's worth of access. "Oh, Jesus Christ, baby," he moaned hotly against her cheek. "I've got to be hurting you. Tell me."
Grace only moaned in answer. Her body felt boneless. He met no tenseness as he moved. As he massaged and worked his way in, she felt a million nerve endings scream with pleasure. It was so sensitive there, she felt absolutely everything. "No," she whispered urgently. "Doesn't hurt…feels…tight…feels good…so good…keep going, please, baby?"
He cursed raggedly and pushed further, pumping in small, measured strokes, continuing to loosen her up.
Tip 5: Revisit Tip 2. Keep talking to her.
"You're the death of me, baby," he gritted out as his cock hit the halfway point inside her. "Oh, goddamn is this good."
She nodded frantically, wanting to push up into him, but knowing that she needed to stay still and relaxed. It was up to him. So she pleaded.
"More. Please, more," she framed his face in her hands, giving him her eyes, letting him see her lack of pain and clear enjoyment. "I knew it," she breathed out. "I knew you'd feel this way."
Mindless with ecstasy, he obeyed.
Holy… "Fuck!" he snarled as he pushed passed the point of no return. He was buried to the hilt, his cock squeezed like he'd shoved it through a straw. The heat surrounding him, the pulse of her body, the last few inches of her virgin territory gently pried open under his thrusts, drove his brain out through his ears.
"Too much…it's too much, Grace…I can't…you're so…Jesus!" He clenched his jaws together to keep from fucking her ass like a delirious animal. She gasped underneath him and he heard no pain in the sound.
"Waaayne," she moaned loudly, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't you dare stop," she ordered breathlessly.
"Won't," he panted. "Can't."
He continued to thrust carefully, never fully withdrawing and watching her face even though it was clear that she was going just as crazy as he was. He watched her hand slip down between them and work her clit desperately while she strained as hard as she dared into his hips.
"Tell me I've ruined you now," he ordered hotly.
"Yes," she answered instantly. "Nothing left…there's nothing left…I don't want anyone else…ever…just you…everything about you…you have me." She cried out as the pleasure in her clit tightened her floor muscles, making his presence all the more overwhelming.
"Your fingers," she begged. "Inside me."
He hissed loudly with animalistic approval, redistributing his weight so that one hand could slip under hers. As his index finger slipped into her throbbing, soaking core, she arched frantically and screamed. "YESSSSS!" Her free hand clasped the nape of his neck and brought him within range to kiss the life out of him. She keened loudly into their kiss as he growled appreciatively.
Every inch of her body felt alive with electrical current. She knew she should relax and take a more passive role, but fuck it. It felt too good. Every entry was filled with him. His tongue. His fingers. His gorgeous cock. There was nothing he hadn't had of her now. He owned everything as surely as if she was his own personal property.
And yet he was so careful. So loving. Her body sang under his assault. She couldn't stand it. In the end, that's what made her say it. She needed to know more of his secrets. She didn't think it through, her brain was too flooded with rapture to even realize she's said anything. But questioning him under duress had brought them to their current state of overpowering pleasure, so her mouth formed the words without her permission, hoping it led to more ephemeral moments of perfection like this one.
"Camera," she whimpered cryptically.
He shook his head to clear it and gazed down at her as he continued to hold off the orgasm threatening to overwhelm him. "What?"
Her unfocused eyes opened and pinned him with the blissed-out high of an addict. "Have you ever wanted to tape us making love?" Her sentence rose sharply as a second finger slipped into her core. Her eyes rolled back and she sobbed.
"Set up a video camera, you mean?" His voice was so rough that she knew he was as close as she was.
She nodded desperately, the idea gaining momentum and awakening a voyeur in her that she hadn't known existed. "I want to see us. I want to watch how beautiful you are when you fuck me."
"Jesus," he barked. His thrusts, for all his restraint, becoming more forceful. She made a high-pitched shriek of delight and bloomed like a rose underneath him, opening wider, sweeter, than anything he'd ever seen.
"Yes," he answered her, loosing his mind and not caring if she knew it or not. "I've imagined recording us. Putting it on my phone. Watching it when I couldn't be with you. Jerking off to the sight and the memory. Yes. I want it."
His words sealed it.
For the first time in her life, Grace exploded under the exhilarating force of simultaneous multiple orgasms. Her mental arousal, her hand on her clit and his fingers in her pussy, his cock plunging firmly into her ass, all detonated at the same time.
She didn't hear her own scream. Her body became an unbearable hotbed of ecstasy. Somewhere far away, she heard Rigsby roar as her core clamped onto his fingers and made him lose any control he might have had on his own release. He came hard between the tight walls of her ass, screaming like she'd fatally wounded him.
In truth, they'd killed each other.
They convulsed violently together, Grace's breathy sobs barely audible under Rigsby's louder, deeper groans. Their bodies trembled, their minds all but absent, their nerve endings mere puddles.
Finally, Rigsby pulled up from the cradle of her arms and hips and withdrew gently, feeling her tense at his departure. She whimpered softly. He looked down with concern.
"It hurts?" he asked worriedly.
She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "I don't want you to go."
Sated beyond belief, his mouth could barely find the energy to smile. "I'm right here."
Her lips had the same trouble doing anything as complicated and exerting as smiling back. "You know what I mean. That," she lifted her three ton arms up and draped them heavily around his neck, "was devastating, baby."
He nodded before tipping to one side, his arms unable to hold his weight a second longer. His hand made the arduous journey down to his softening penis and removed the condom, tossing it in the small trash can by her bed. She turned and threw herself casually on top of him, her head, arms and legs all seeking their usual resting places under his chin, over his chest and across his thighs. "Was it what you hoped for?" she asked through a yawn.
He chuckled softly, his eyes getting heavier. "Ruining," he answered quietly. "Nothing compares to you, Grace. Nothing. We can't ever break up now. You know that. No woman could ever wreck me like you do."
Grace barely heard him. She wanted to, but her ears were shutting down. Her entire being was burned out. She could feel his total relaxed state and knew he was no better off. She wanted to stay awake, to bask in the post-coital glory of the most amazing physical experience she'd ever known, but too many unstable chemicals had been released into her blood. Too many sedatives had been unleashed to stem the maniacal joy. You did good, her body told her. Sleep.
She obeyed.