Chapter Four
The next day at work, Grace felt the most peculiar sense of satisfaction as she went about her daily tasks. Her fingers typed. Her hands made tea. Her ears picked up all of the normal office buzzings that hummed in the air.
But she was filled with a secret.
Her brain could barely sit still in her skull. It kept zipping around in its snug cage, reliving over and over the most delicious memory she'd ever made. It felt so naughty. So special. And damn near otherworldly on the pleasure scale. She smiled softly to herself as she worked.
She'd been fucked in the ass. Hard. Sweet. With a huge, John Holmes-like cock and she'd loved every single second of it. And the man responsible was fully clothed and sitting fifteen feet away. He'd taken something from her that she'd sworn she'd never give up and damn if it hadn't been the most delicious sexual experience of her life. She loved the sensations running through her as they each kept their eyes averted and pretended like they hadn't rocked the proverbial casbah last night. She felt wanton. She felt wild and out of control. She felt reckless, like she could do anything with this man and society's ideas of what was filthy and wrong would never apply. After all, they loved each other, so how could anything they did be filthy or wrong?
Grace buried a shiver of excitement that flew up her spine. No one but Wayne knows what a wild girl I am, she thought smugly. No one would believe it, looking at little old me. Not our Grace, they'd say. Not quiet, religious, headband and cardigan wearing, serious Grace. She doesn't break taboos. She wouldn't let herself go crazy like that in anyone's arms. Nice and normal suits her fine. Slot A, Tab B. Nothing fancy. No siree. That girl would spook like a mare if anyone even suggested it.
Her lips worked in a self-satisfied smirk. She felt damn proud. She'd shocked herself crossing that line, and casting her now-wanton thoughts over her imagination, she couldn't wait to find others to jump across.
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Rigsby felt like a million bucks. No, a billion bucks. Wait, what came after a trillion? Cuz that wasn't enough, either. In the end, he Googled it. From the list of enormous numbers, he chose novemdecillion. He had no concept of such a number, but he loved the way it sounded and according to the eggheads at MIT, it had sixty zeroes in it, which sounded about right. Yeah, he felt like a novemdecillion bucks. He'd break Fort Knox and any other financial stronghold, such was his overwhelming sense of worth. He was made of pure gold, laced with diamonds and sprinkled with platinum. Smirking as he sat quietly in the bullpen and pretending to stare intently at his computer screen, he didn't need to look across the way to know his girl was smiling and so sexually satisfied that her glow radiated in his peripherals.
Because of him.
That's right, he mused. I fucked Grace Van Pelt in her little heart-shaped ass and made her come screaming so loud it woke the neighbors across the street. She pulled me in and squeezed me like a vice and all I can think about it doing it again. And again. And again until we've done it novemdecillion times.
He shook his head in wonder. Fuck, it had been amazing. More than he ever would have dreamed possible. And her reasons for wanting it had blown him away. Ruin me, she'd begged him. Take it and make it yours.
How the hell was a man supposed go about his life, drive a car, go to work, or even speak in complete sentences after hearing something like that? How was he supposed to want anything except to be put out to stud in Grace's bedroom? He had half a mind to tell her to just leave him during the day with a bag of food and a water trough, then she could come home and they could fuck each other unconscious, only to wake up and start the whole routine all over again. That sounded just peachy. Screw his plans for a career, he wanted a retired racehorse's life: Eat, sex, sleep, sex, eat, sleep, fan-fucking-tastic sex.
He chuckled to himself. He didn't care who heard it either. Let Cho and Jane draw whatever conclusions they wanted from his smirk or Grace's soft little sighs. Yeah, they were fucking each other into permanent paradise. What of it?
And tonight?
He was going to pull out his digital recorder and immortalize his lover, the most mind-blowing fuck he'd ever had the honor of taking into his bed. Maybe he'd make wallpaper out of it. Who knew? Or screen savers for his home computer. Posters for above his bed. Why not? Yeah sure, Grace would cringe over such tackiness, so he might have to pull it back to a few small outlets, but still. The footage and stills were going somewhere. Somewhere he could watch. Remember.
Somewhere he could just…marvel.
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There was hardly four minutes between their departures that evening. Neither cared if the boss took umbrage. They had to get home. Now.
They pulled into Rigsby's apartment lot at the same time and nearly knocked each other over as they met on the stairwell leading up to his door.
"Oh, my God," she whined softly, clutching him close and dragging him down so that he covered her across several stairs. "Have you been going as crazy as me today?"
He braced his hands and knees on the inclining steps, knees straddling her thighs, hands trapping her head, as he leaned down and kissed her hard, not giving a fuck if anyone needed to get passed them. The building could be on fire for all he cared, the evacuees could find another route to safety.
"Shit, baby," he grunted against her mouth, "I nearly took you right there on my desk."
She laughed into his kiss and broke it, pushing back from the steps and into his chest. "That would have been subtle."
"Screw subtle," he growled as he ground her down into the tiered cement. "If they didn't want floor shows, they shouldn't have made it an open-plan office."
She laughed harder and hugged him earnestly, her passion momentarily overcome by her genuine affection for this sweet, silly boy. She smiled up at him. "You're so cute," she said honestly. "What would I do without you?"
He smiled tenderly, his raging need also subsiding into more loving emotions. "Call the number of the next guy waiting for the chance to be with you. I don't know if you've noticed, but there's quite a line forming behind me."
She grinned and blushed, gazing down the length of his body caged around hers as they perched on the stairs. Nobody knows but him, this side of me. She stroked his arms and chest, feeling the rigid planes under his clothes. She closed her eyes and shuddered, her passion surging forward again. "Tell them to go home," she murmured. "The position's closed."
"Which position's that?"
She leaned up to nuzzle and nip around his collar. "The perfect man."
A rumble formed deep in his chest as she pulled his tie and dragged him down closer. "Bed," she whispered, pressing her open mouth to his and pulling him under.
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Rigsby's directorial inclinations were trumped the minute they got through the door. He had planned to pull out the camera and make a three-hour documentary starting with Grace giving him a slow striptease and ending with her screaming his name so loud that it broke the built-in microphone. Alas, he'd barely jammed his key in the lock before Grace attacked him, viciously pulling at his clothing and nipping none too gently at the skin that she savagely exposed.
He fell back into his recliner, Grace, latched greedily to his chest, followed him down. His cuffs and gun dug harshly into his hips and he grunted in surprise at the mild pain.
"Baby, you need to slow down." He cupped his hands around her face, trying to pull her attention away from ripping at the knots, buttons and zippers holding his clothes together and bring her back to their plan.
No dice. He managed to capture her eyes, but her hands stayed their course. She smiled wickedly at him. "I haven't stopped thinking about this for a single second today." She chest made a deep, purring noise when her fingers found the smooth ridges of his abdomen under his t-shirt.
He smiled and dipped his chin shyly, delighted that she took such obvious pleasure in his body.
"What happened to recording us?" he asked as she pushed his shirts up further, her hands snaking underneath them and spanning across his warm skin.
Her lips, busy kissing a line across his throat, pulled up an inch. "We will. But I've gone for ten hours without touching you and the damn camera can wait."
Rigsby made a whining sound and Grace couldn't decide if it was from disapproval or pleasure as she sucked at his pulse point. Probably both. She lifted up from the addictive flavor of his skin and sat up primly in his lap.
"Fine," she huffed in little girl annoyance. "I'll be good."
He smiled and pulled her down again. She resettled onto his chest, now opened to his t-shirt, his tie and dress shirt laid open on either side. His eyes tracked his finger as it traced her cheeks and nose. She felt an ache bite deep in her chest at the wonder she saw in his eyes. She'd never felt so special as she did when he looked at her. "I didn't say be good," he murmured shyly. "I said slow down."
She smirked at that. "We have a terrible track record for going slow, Wayne. Maybe we should just get on with the show."
She moved to get off of him so that she could pull her head together and go find the camera, but he grabbed her by the waist and held her in place. "Maybe that's something else we need to explore," he mused.
"What? Making love slowly?" she asked. Hell, they'd made love at every tempo the human body would withstand.
He shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "Just sitting here like this, kissing, without trying to tear each other's clothes off."
She cocked her head, intrigued. "You mean, just sit here and kiss? Like we're back in high school or something?"
He grinned. "And my parents won't be back until late."
She grinned back. "And my parents think I'm at Beth's house studying?"
"But you snuck over here to be with me," he finished in a hushed, naughty tone.
She leaned down and pressed a lingering, wet kiss to his lips. "They'd be so mad if they found out," she whispered back, tilting her head towards his other cheek and kissing him softly again. "I'll be grounded for a month."
"No one understands us," he smiled against her mouth. "No one gets how much we love each other." Oh, the teenage angst of it all.
She shook her head, tsking their misfortune. "Just call me Miss Capulet."
"Aw, no. I can't be a Montague! I read somewhere that our relationship doesn't turn out so hot." Rigsby stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. Grace took the opportunity to nibble it before pulling it gently into her mouth.
"Shut up and kiss me, Romeo" she murmured, "and remember that if you stab yourself, I'll have to do the same."
She abandoned their teasing and proceeded to kiss him like she never wanted to stop. Her lips moved lazily over his, her fingers gently cupping and tracing his cheeks and throat. He rumbled softly and returned it, exploring her lips slowly. He opened his mouth and his tongue sought hers bashfully, not fully entering her mouth without its permission. She smiled inwardly and touched the tip of hers to his, stroking and swirling around it, before sliding in completely and tasting all of him.
God, he tasted so good. He was like dark chocolate—sweet, but complicated and laced with heavier undertones. She whimpered quietly, cupping the back of his head, holding her to him and wordlessly trying to explain how desperately she cared for him. He responded, rubbing her back in relaxing, encouraging strokes. His fingers caught and released the ends of her hair, sending tingles into her scalp with their soothing little pulls.
Relaxing completely, they plunged deep into each other, not giving a single thought to taking it further.
They ended up kissing for the better part of an hour. Grace was shocked when she resurfaced long enough to check the clock on the wall and see it had been 54 minutes since she'd landed in his lap. She turned back to him with a sheepish grin and found him thoroughly kissed up. His clothes were even more disheveled. His short hair was mussed like he'd just rolled out of bed. His lips were swollen and his skin was flushed. He was smiling back at her like a man who was having a helluva good time.
For the millionth time that day, she felt proud as hell. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat in a guy's lap and made out with him like he was the cutest boy in school. She and Rigsby had never had the restraint or patience to just kiss without it instantly going to far more naked places. It felt good. Clean. Innocent. Her grin grew bigger and bigger.
He reached up and traced the curve of her lips. "Whatcha thinkin'?"
She smiled dreamily. "That I've been kissing you for an hour and it felt like five minutes."
He returned her dreamy smile, clearly pleased at her answer. She dipped her eyes and added to it.
"I was thinking how sweet you are. How happy I am with you."
His dreamy expression deepened as his hands slid up her sides. "Baby?" he murmured.
Her brows arched questioningly.
"Talk like that will land you on your back."
She smirked. "Threats like that will land you on yours."