Chapter Twelve
Mean mean mean mean mean!
The word pounded through Grace's mind with the same relentless urgency as the excruciating throb radiating from between her thighs. She tried to focus on work to relieve the first. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair to relieve the second. As she ran down the latest lead in their double homicide, she strove to dedicate her entire train of thought finding three unlisted addresses for a series of front companies used to embezzle millions of—
Mean. Damn, he's so mean. Why wouldn't he give himself to me? Why wouldn't he let me make love to him the way he made love to me? Why would he bite like a crazed animal, then barely touch me? Not that it wasn't good. Hell, it was wonderful. But half of my pleasure comes from his pleasure. He knows that! I don't want to just get off! I want him unraveling with me! I want him screaming and sweating just like I am! Why would he—Oh Jesus. Grace, work!
She shook herself and redoubled her efforts. The search engines whirred under her knowing keystrokes, but her thoughts refused to leave her in peace.
And it wasn't just her mind that was annoyed at his restraint. Her body—her core—was painfully aware that her mate was sitting in the same room, and that he was suffering from extreme sexual deprivation. He hadn't said a word last night or this morning as they drove into work, but she couldn't tell from his tight expression during, after and when they woke up that he was desperate for release. Each time she reached for him, he deflected her hands by making her come apart under his.
She'd come apart many times for him. But not once did he for her.
There wasn't a cell in her body that was okay with that, apparently, because they were gearing themselves up for hours of furniture-smashing sex. Her skin was hot. Her breathing was labored. The computer screen was too bright, which told her that her pupils were dilated. Her breasts, now baring proof of his ownership, were tight and aching. Her tongue was impatient for his taste. All of his tastes. Her bare calves slid against each other, creating a sensual friction that she couldn't stop herself from indulging. And the apex of her thighs beneath her professional skirt was a seething expanse of unrequited, burning desire.
She was dying to fuck him. Really fuck him. Not that sweet little ballet recital session last night, she wanted a thrash metal mosh pit of fucking him.
And it was driving her absolutely crazy. She couldn't think. She couldn't stop thinking. Her engine was all revved up and here she was without a driver. Her greed wanted a hard, pounding orgasm. Her generosity wanted to give one back. God, this was a thousand times worse than when she was single and had only her vibrator to ease her tension. After all, her vibrator didn't ram deep, scream her name and make her heart leap with excitement. Nor did it wrap itself around her afterwards and make her feel like a rare jewel.
But that's how he'd behaved. Like her vibrator.
She Grace bit her lips and squirmed in her seat again. She had no idea why he'd decided to torture her this way, but it was ending today. Wear a skirt, indeed. The moment the opportunity presented itself, she was going to rip him out of his pants and make him fuck her. And once he did, she'd use every art she possessed to make sure he lost his mind in her arms. Just like she always lost hers in his.
Lunch.
Yes, definitely. She'd corner him at lunch. She'd take them somewhere, anywhere, and take care of this immediately. She had to. In order to focus on her job for the rest of the day, she'd have to indulge in some very unprofessional activities. It was the only way. And she was sure, on some level and if explained in delicate terms, that management would agree.
Absolutely, they'd say. Get it out of your system. Do the deed, clear your head, get back in the game.
Yes, she thought decidedly as she took a cleansing breath and checked the clock. Fifteen minutes to go before lunch.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Lunchtime, he thought excitedly. Finally.
Oh God, today had been torture. She'd been a good girl and had worn a skirt like he'd asked. Watching her shapely legs as she walked back and forth to her desk was driving him insane with unsatisfied hunger. His pants were threatening to rip open again, only this time he wasn't in the privacy of their apartments. Somehow, that forbidden edge to their game made his little problem even worse. The harder he tried to quell the tent in his pants, the more obvious it became. The more he tried to tell it 'later', the more it demanded 'now'.
Probably because his body knew he was lying to it.
He had a plan for lunch, but once again it wasn't going to involve him getting any relief. He'd formulated this idea yesterday just before he'd bitten her. At the time, he hadn't been sure, and last night made him wonder if he was capable at all.
Then he'd watched Grace at her desk all day.
And now he was positive. What had been a weak-ass break with his original plan of No Nookie had yielded some interesting results. He hadn't been strong enough to refuse her, and yet it was clear that she was distracted. He was intrigued as he watched her getting steadily worked up in her seat. When she started sliding her legs together in slow, seductive strokes, she pinned him with those smoky eyes and he'd known. She was going crazy.
He wasn't sure why. She been a boneless tangle of limbs by the time he'd finished with her last night, but you'd never know it looking at her now. Her body language was communicating to the whole office that she was horny as hell and angry that it wasn't being serviced right there and then. He'd never seen her so out of control in the workplace. She was always so cool. Collected. Professional and personal stayed separate in front of the others. Always.
So when her eyes sought his the moment that clock hit noon, he knew his plan would work beautifully. Keep her guessing and drive her crazy. It was only fair. She'd already bamboozled him so many times.
Now it was his turn.
Wordlessly, he stood and grabbed his coat as if heading out for lunch. Grace grabbed her purse and followed. They entered the elevator together without a glance. Rigsby pressed the button for the basement. Grace swallowed and said nothing. She was too far gone. She'd assumed they'd go out to a hotel nearby, but hey, if he wanted to take this somewhere else, that was fine by her.
She resisted the urge to touch him as they went down. There were security cameras. She knew an innocent touch to his hand wouldn't be caught by the guards, but she also knew that she was too desperate to merely touch his hand and leave it at that. If she touched him now, she'd attack. Best to wait.
The doors opened. Storage level. He stepped out and she followed right behind. Staring straight ahead, he headed towards the back of the cavernous room and suddenly Grace realized where they were headed.
A series of small research rooms had been set up so that agents could read their files in peace, away from the bustling of the bullpen. There were four in all, ten by ten feet, with a desk and a chair. And a lock on the door.
They were all empty.
Rigsby chose the one on the far left. They walked inside, Rigsby locking the door behind them.
And they pounced.
Grace got to him first. She threw herself against him, nearly knocking him over as her raging hormones made her careless. She clasped his cheeks in her palms and kissed him hard, hard enough to make him grunt with surprise. She knew it drove him crazy when she was the aggressor. She hoped like hell it got him out of his pants that much faster. She opened her mouth, her tongue sliding into his and exploring each delicious recess.
Rigsby was blindsided. Her hands were clawing at his clothes. Clawing. Without their usual consideration for buttons or seams. She was literally going to tear him out of his suit. Fuck work. And her mouth! Christ, her sweet, soft, gentle mouth was attacking him. Raping him. Pushing into him regardless of his wishes and taking what it wanted. And damn, it was hot. He moaned against her tongue, stumbling backwards and landing in a sitting position on the table's edge, Grace following him between his legs.
Rigsby nearly forgot himself. Her busy little hands had found bare skin and had opened zippers. She was reaching in, stroking, petting…fisting.
Oh, fuck yes! Christ, her warm little fingers clenched around his raging hard-on and pumped him with tight, slow strokes. Yesyesyesyesyes!
"No!" he roared louder than he should have as he grabbed her errant hand and yanked it away from his cock. If she touched him now it was game over. His erection had the pressure sensitivity of a landmine at this stage. Any little redheaded girl pressing into it would set it off and cause a very messy explosion.
Landmines were dangerous. He clucked his tongue at her. "Bad girl," he rasped.
He whirled around, standing and switching their positions so that she was sitting on the table and he stood in the shallows between her knees. Her very tight skirt didn't grant him further entry.
He cupped her face and kissed her with as much savagery as she'd kissed him. As his tongue invaded her mouth and claimed it as his own, he made it clear who was still in charge here. She felt his domineering force and whimpered with sexy disapproval into his mouth.
Her attack had failed. She was being repelled. She wasn't going to astound him out of his clothes and into her body before he was aware of what was happening. He'd literally taken the high ground and was kissing her from above, her sitting position making her even shorter than normal. She squirmed uncomfortably, the knowledge that she wasn't going to startle him into fucking her making her core flood with excess moisture. She was ridiculously wet. She had been all morning. Now she was actually worried about soaking straight through her skirt. The solution was to lose the skirt and fuck on the table until they cracked it in half.
She wailed in breathy frustration against his lips. Her hands were already peeling her skirt up to her waist and away from her bare legs, enticing him closer. Her lonely hips rolled and rotated in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure that this sexy, mean-spirited bastard was creating and not attending to.
She begged. "Fuck me," she pleaded into their kiss. "God, please fuck me. I need you so bad, baby. Please."
Her sweet boyfriend would always gasp and comply before she'd even finished her sentence. This mean man merely chuckled. He looked down at her, dragging his eyes over her lifted skirt and heaving chest before settling on her eyes.
"Oh, baby. You're so not getting fucked."
She threw her head back and squealed in fury, her hands sliding back to brace her as she leaned back and offered herself to him shamelessly.
"Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase," she drew out desperately. How the hell was this not working? What did she have to do to make her boyfriend make love to her? Why was he punishing her like this? She opened her legs wider, her skirt sliding up the final three inches to settle at her waist.
"Sorry, Grace," he whispered darkly, watching her writhe like a bitch in heat for him. "You're here to make me lunch."
Her dilated eyes fought to keep focus on him as she squinted with incomprehension. What?
"What?"
He leaned over her, grinding between her legs and planting his hands on either side of her hips, swooping within an inch of her lips. "You're going to sit on this table, spread your legs, and let me eat you up for the next hour."
"Oh my God," she moaned hotly, her eyes rolling up. He couldn't be serious. Jesus, was he serious?
But he wasn't finished. Skimming her lips without kissing them, his lips moved to her ear. "I'm starving, baby. You know how much I eat. So you're going to be a good girl and come for me over and over, just to make sure I get enough. Aren't you?"
Grace lost her words. She lost her mind. A whimper escaped her.
He smiled against her cheek before he continued to purr. "I've been thinking about your taste all day, Grace. You taste like sweet tarts. You taste like lemon drops." He paused and chuckled as she shuddered and moaned, rubbing herself weakly against him. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Take off your panties and gimme some candy."
Her panties hit the floor before he'd finished.
He growled with pleasure and skimmed down her body. Grabbing the chair, he sat deep between her thighs, settling comfortably as he prepared to tongue fuck Grace for sixty whole minutes.
He'd always imagined he could eat her for hours on end. One hour was a good goal for his first training session.
He gazed lecherously at what she was offering him with such eagerness. Her bare folds were glistening with a startling amount of wetness. She had indeed worked herself into a serious state. As she fell back against the table, elbows bracing her weight so that she could watch, he saw the shivers of intense sexual need in her arms and legs.
He nuzzled her inner thigh, slowly kissing his way up to where her leg met her hip, one tantalizing inch away from her center. Her impossibly soft skin made him choke on a groan. He placed the softest kiss there, ignoring the delectable smell of her dripping sex as he did. God, she smelled delicious. So womanly and clean. And horny. Christ alive, nothing made him hotter than the scent of Grace when she wanted him. Her pheromones intoxicated him. Just another example of how she drove him so wild that sex at the office even entered his head. Just another rule that no longer seemed to apply. He had to have her. He had to show her how reckless she'd made him.
Nestled against her flawless, warm skin, he gave her a reminder of how completely she'd turned him.
"Pretty kitty," he murmured.
He bit down.
Grace went rigid and keened loudly before smothering the sound, jerking harshly against his mouth. Two inches of her upper, inner thigh was pulled and nipped and sucked with his signature attack, creating a purple oval that she'd see for many days after. The overwhelming pleasure that came from a simple bite nearly had her coming after only a few seconds. His tongue swirled over the flesh trapped between his teeth. Her legs spasmed on either side of him, making him groan with appreciation.
After half a minute, he pulled away gently and pressed a kiss into her new spot. His eyes lifted to hers and his wicked smile returned.
"Show me your tits."
Grace mewled incoherently at his vulgar demand. With trembling fingers, she slowly undid the buttons holding her blouse together. She parted the material, her sinfully itty, bitty black bra winked at him, her cleavage spilling over the lace material. He grunted deeply. "Open."
Her eyes were liquid desire as she slowly undid the front clasp, the material parting, but not falling away, from the stunning swells. Grunting again, he reached up and flicked the offending cups aside, her full breasts and achingly tight nipples greeting him underneath.
Fucking exquisite.
Satisfied with her obedience, he nodded and lowered his lips, blowing softly on the pool of wetness waiting for him. She spasmed again, her back arching as she moaned his name softly.
His eyes met hers again. "Now. You lie back and focus on making me all the honey I want. This is acceptable," he ran his fingers lightly over her core and she jolted. He smiled again. "For now."
He lowered his head again and ran his tongue up her entire length.
Grace gasped and fell backwards. He was really going to do it. He was going to eat her for lunch for an entire hour. No sex. No pounding, satisfying orgasm. Just his tongue torturing her as her body fed him the honey he was so greedily lapping up. The wondrous agony, the anticipation, the bite, the licks.
She came against his mouth immediately. Her back went rigid as she gasped and jolted hard against their homemade electricity. Her core clenched angrily. It was empty and furious. Knowing he was close, it produced even more wetness. It surged forward as her muscles clasped desperately for his presence, pouring onto his tongue and making him growl happily.
"That's my baby," he rumbled between licks. "Get wet for me. Keep coming for me." He glanced up quickly, groaning at her straining bare breasts and partially-nude, shivering body. He reached up and rubbed one of her nipples gently.
He ignored his own painful erection as she pushed into his hands and mouth. Instead he licked his lips and gave her a wolfish grin. "I'm nowhere near full."
He bent down and proceeded to lick her clean again.
Grace was in agony. She wanted to scream her head off. His fingers on her breasts and his lips on her sex completed yet another circuit, looping the electrical current through her at a terrifying voltage. She flailed underneath him and sobbed behind her hand. Some tiny part of her brain remembered they were at work.
She must bear her electrocution quietly.
She could already feel the next orgasm approaching, her frantic body needing as many as possible in lieu of his thick cock's presence. Oh God, if only she could touch him, taste him, feel him so deep that her infuriating itch was scratched good and proper.
Somewhere, she found her voice. "Wayne, please," she begged again. "Let me have you. Let me…oh, God…please let me…let me touch you…"
He pulled up an inch to answer in a low pitch. "Every time I turn around, my dick is in your mouth." He dragged his scratchy cheek against her creamy thigh. "Now you're going to give me what's mine."
He sucked her clit into his mouth and drove her over the precipice again. More wetness flooded him. More smug pleasure etched his features as he feasted.
In the end, she proved a very good girl. After fifty-two more minutes of trembling, sweating ecstasy, she'd come for him five times.
He went back to work dying for a fuck, but at least one hunger had been satisfied.