Chapter Fourteen
"Sun City Courier, Delivery Services desk, this is Becky. How can I help you?"
Grace leaned forward into her desk, speaking quietly into her phone. "Hi, Becky. I need to arrange a site-to-site delivery tonight. I need a box to be picked up at CBI HQ and delivered to a residential address here in Sac."
Becky chirped, "That's not a problem, we can have your package delivered within the city in one hour. Would that be acceptable?"
Grace drew a resolute breath before pushing ahead. "Sure. That should work. Can the guy be here at 5pm? The box will be down in the mailroom. I absolutely have to have it to this address tonight. One hour max."
She could hear Becky's fingers clicking rapidly over her keyboard. "You got it. It'll be there by 6pm at the latest. I just need the address and your credit card information."
Grace smirked and gave the girl what she needed. They thanked each other and hung up.
As she sat back, the weird sense of total calm she'd been feeling all day lapped gently in her brain. She wasn't sure where it came from, but she'd woken up that morning, cuffed to her bed and spooned by her lover, in an almost zen-like state of mind. Her wrists clinked against their restraints, a reminder that she'd been outfoxed and denied yet again. All of her struggles against his refusals had come to nothing. When he'd finally woken up, that cute bastard had had the audacity to smile at his trapped little leopard as he bent to down to kiss her latest spot on her stomach.
He nuzzled her there and murmured, "You gonna behave if I let you go?"
She answered from her calm place. "Yes, Wayne."
He looked up with surprised amusement. "No tricks? No attempts to get in my pants once you're free?"
She gazed at him serenely. "Nope."
She could have sworn she saw disappointment flicker in his eyes before he smiled and went to her dresser where her keys sat. He jingled them playfully before leaning over her and unlocking her hands. She pulled them down and checked her wrists for marks. Aside from two pink presses from where the weight had rested on the metal as she slept, there was nothing. She rubbed them anyway, unused to being bound. He caught her wrists in his much larger hands, massaging the marks before kissing each one.
"Did they hurt?" There was concern in his eyes and voice now. Concern that he'd taken it too far and made her sore.
She shook her head. "No. Not at all." She smiled with sincerity. He had done no wrong.
He smiled softly back. He had questions. So very many questions. He wanted to know what she was thinking. He wanted to know what she thought about his sudden bid for control. He wanted to know if her deprived sexual desires were making her every bit as crazy as it was making him. Most of all, he was dying to know if she liked it.
But she hadn't said a word about it as they got dressed and went to work. She hadn't said much all day, sitting at her desk and looking cool as a cucumber. He liked to think she was setting him up for another trap, playing all sweet and innocent right before she attacked with another clever, sexy assault. God, last night had thrilled him to pieces. Feeling her get out of bed, wanting to ask where she was going but sensing she was up to no good, only to watch her pull her cuffs from their holder and skulk towards him like a starving hunter. Her cuffs! Oh man, he'd had a hard time playing possum as she slid into his arms and oh-so-carefully tried to chain him to the bed.
Sexiest thing ever.
Then he'd gone and shocked the hell out of himself by masturbating on her writhing, ensnared body. Never would he have considered such a thing before last night. It seemed so disrespectful. The act itself often felt shameful and always intensely private. He hadn't indulged himself like that since he and Grace had gotten together. There'd been no need. Grace more than took care of him in that respect, he never felt anything but disgustingly satisfied. But her little thwarted caper had made something snap inside him, something that loosed an exhibitionist as well as a sadistic tease in an ordinarily reserved and kindly man.
So he'd fucked himself while she begged him not to.
And now he was waiting for the consequences.
He felt almost giddy trying to figure out what she'd do next. He was so immersed in the possibilities that he jumped when Lisbon yelled at him. "Rigsby! Quit daydreaming and move it! Cho's waiting."
He lurched out of his seat and grabbed his coat, not even knowing where he was supposed to go. "Yes, boss," he said automatically. Luckily Cho was standing at the elevators waiting. He didn't have to pretend like he he'd heard her instructions while secretly imagining wrestling Grace to the ground and taking yet more pleasure in tormenting her with sweet caresses.
The men got into the elevator without looking at each other.
"Naked thoughts?" Cho deadpanned.
"Shut up."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
They got back late, almost 5:30 in the afternoon. The building was almost dead, including their bullpen.
Rigsby popped his head into Lisbon's office. "We're back, boss. Where is everybody?"
Lisbon didn't even look up from her mountain of paperwork. "Grace left early and Jane probably saw something shiny and wandered off." She looked up. "Why? You need something before you go home?"
He shook his head quickly. "No, ma'am. I'm good. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
He closed up his computer and left, reaching for his phone when he got to the parking lot. Once in his car, he hit Speed Dial 1.
No answer.
Huh. Okay.
He called her house line.
Same deal.
His brow knitted as he killed the connection. Where could she be? Why had she left early? Was Jane with her? For some reason, he didn't like that thought at all. Not only did naughty things happen when Jane got involved, but he was singularly unhappy with the idea of Grace being with someone else after work. Anyone else. Especially a handsome man. He didn't care how inappropriate it sounded, or how ridiculous, given that he trusted both of them completely and knew that Grace reciprocated his devotion in every way. But that didn't change the fact that he was a man. A man with a beautiful girlfriend. Men reacted to such thoughts, no matter how silly. He growled softly. At himself, mostly, but also at his lack of information.
Where the hell was she?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
He got to his apartment at 6:05 on the dot. He'd considered driving over to her place, but he didn't want to think about how worried he'd get if she wasn't there. Jesus, he chided himself. She's doing chores, she's seeing a friend, she's at the gym, her phone's turned off or in a locker. She's fine. And she's faithful. What the hell is the matter with you? A few hours without her and you're ready to tear the town apart looking for her? Let her live a little of her life without you, freak.
He was so intent on telling himself off that he didn't see the courier until he nearly knocked him over on the landing in front of his door.
"Fuck!" Rigsby sputtered, instinctively grabbing the guy to keep him from toppling over. "Sorry, man. I didn't see you there."
The courier gave him a tight smile as he righted himself, his digital clipboard managing to stay in his hands. "Happens a lot. Don't worry about it. Are you Mr. Rigsby?"
Rigsby let his arms drop and nodded. "That's me."
The guy handed him the clipboard. "Sign here, please."
He did so questioningly before handing it back. The guy stepped aside, away from his door. Behind him sat a modest little box, less than three feet by three feet. It looked like one of the boxes that old tvs used to come in, before flat screens took the world by storm. He looked at the guy. "What's that?"
But the courier was already sliding past him and hopping down the stairs. "It's a box. Enjoy your evening."
Rigsby watched him trot out to his marked van, gun the engine and take off. Lots of packages to deliver, no time for chitchat. He turned back to the box on his stoop, cocking his head and trying to remember if he'd ordered anything in the last few weeks. Books? Movies? Kitchen appliances? He shook his head. Nothing. Not since Christmas, he was fairly certain.
He slipped behind the box and keyed his lock, opening the door wide before leaning down and picking it up gingerly. The weight surprised him. He slid his arms under it carefully, securing it to him, before walking inside and shutting the door.
He set it down in the living room, noticing that the top of the box wasn't taped up, but rather was one of those ornate folding jobs. There was no company logo. No return address. No receipt in a sealed plastic pouch. Nothing. Just a box.
Hell with it.
Leaning down, he popped the folded pieces of cardboard open and pushed the four lids aside.
"Jesus," he gasped.
Grace. Or so it appeared to be. His eyes riveted onto the body of a woman, curled up in an impossibly small fetal position, her bright red head bent down sharply into her chest. His arms dove into the box, pulling her out with a frightening amount of force. She unfolded and fell out into his arms limply, her head still hanging down so he couldn't see her face. Her clothes. What the hell was she wearing? She was wrapped in some sort of white sheet, loosely covering her from neck to ankles.
"Grace! Grace!" He fell to the floor and flipped her so that she was face-up in his arms. She was unconscious, her eyes closed, her body totally unresponsive. Panicked, he cupped her chin and shook her gently. Oh, fucking Christ, what the hell had happened to his beautiful… "Baby," he whispered. "Wake up, baby. Come on. Oh, Jesus, honey. What happened to you? What—?" He didn't finish.
An envelope was taped to her chest. His brain froze with horror.
She was dead. Someone had killed her and FedExed her dead body to him. Red John. A jealous ex. One of the million psychos walking around out there.
He was hyperventilating. His rational side was trying to tell him that she was warm. She was breathing. But his fear whispered that she was poisoned. She was a vegetable. She was gone and nothing would ever—
"Read the fucking note," he hissed at himself, tearing the envelope off the sheet and ripping it open. It might have instructions. It might explain what's wrong, how to save her, what the fuck they want in return for her safety.
His terror made it difficult to read. As he got a few lines in, his shock made it even harder to process what it said.
Dear Mr. Rigsby,
Congratulations on your purchase!
Meet your own personal sleeping doll, the lifelike, life-sized bed partner. Built to your specifications, she is everything you need for a night of sexy, adult fun.
With a catch!
She isn't programmed to awaken unless she's activated by a hard, vigorous fuck culminating in her owner's release. She won't move an inch until this happens, nor will she speak. She's very flexible and can be bent into any position you wish. She will hold it, no matter what you do, until you move her again. You're invited to take her any way you like. She's anatomically correct and will awaken regardless of where you choose to come. We encourage you to try any or all three options. We heartily recommend starting with a blowjob. This model is adept at deep throating larger men.
Don't be alarmed by your doll's unresponsive behavior. She's not built to actively participate. She's merely a vessel for your own pleasure. There's no need to feel shy or uncertain with her. She was made for one thing—getting fucked by you.
Best of luck to you, dear customer. Many of our clients have tried valiantly for several weeks to revive their dolls, but lacked the power required to satisfy her and thus kept her in hibernation. We urge you to consider this when engaging with her. She's not for the faint-hearted. Don't hold back.
Hopefully you're man enough…
Rigsby, trembling and panting with fear, was too stunned to move.
He sat on the floor, Grace in the death grip of his embrace, for nine whole minutes as he read and reread the note. He looked down into her face. A perfect, sleeping angel. He lowered his face to hers, nudging her with his nose. "Grace? Honey, please. Open your eyes for me. Show me you're okay."
He waited. And waited.
Nothing.
She slept on, boneless in his arms. He sensed no indecision in her. She didn't tense at his request, nor did her eyes flutter behind her lids. The instructions were dead on. She wasn't moving a muscle.
He exhaled raggedly.
He starting tugging at the sheet wrapped around her. It was freaking him out. It looked like a death shroud and he wanted it gone. Once it was off her, he'd be able to think. He'd be able to try and work out how to get her to…
Oh, dear God.
The sheet fell away from her. What was underneath was definitely not a death shroud, but it did nothing in terms of helping him think.
She was wearing pink. Bubblegum pink. The satin ribbon around her neck. The bra that wasn't a bra. Rigsby's heart leapt into his throat. That bra was a mere outline of a bra, complete with all of the straps, but no cups. Her perfect breasts were bare, luscious as cream between the triangles of straps. A pink garter belt on her tiny waist, holding up twin stockings of the same color. No panties.
Candy-colored lipstick. Blush and lightly made-up eyes.
A sex doll.
"Grace," he hissed warningly at her. "This isn't funny. Wake up!"
Oh, sweet Christ, he needed her to wake up. Fear had spiked his heart with adrenaline and lust was unleashing testosterone in dangerous levels and he didn't like how he was reacting one bit.
Her sexified body lay in his arms, over a rapidly growing erection that dwarfed all other erections he ever sported until this moment. Relief that she was okay was manifesting it the most primitive way.
Fuck. Her. Now.
He pushed the thought down. "Goddammit, baby," he hissed at her again. "Wake up now or I'll…"
Come inside you after a hard, vigorous fuck.
No! He huffed loudly and pulled her upright. She came to him easily, sitting up in his lap and, to his surprise, staying that way without his help.
…any position you wish.
"This isn't fair," he almost whimpered as he rubbed her back, hoping for a reassuring response, but getting nothing. Her breasts, so enticingly set in those open cups, were just inches beneath his chin. He raged against his eyes as they wandered lower, groaning at how sexy she looked in garters and stockings and noticing that she had waxed today. Her pussy was beyond beautiful. Bare and shiny from the wax, it begged to be played with. Fondled and licked. Stroked inside and out. His tongue was trying to leap out of his head to get to her. Fuck him if he didn't want to come with.
But he did. So badly.
He hugged her savagely and moaned into her loose hair. He wasn't strong enough for this. He gently set her away from his lap for less than a minute. That was how he needed to strip himself naked and rejoin her.
Holding onto his last, tiny thread of control, he set her up on her knees before mirroring her position in front of her. "Please, baby. You win. I'll make love to you. Completely. No more teasing you, I promise. I'll spend the rest of the night giving you everything you want, but I need you to open your eyes. Please, Grace? Open your eyes."
He waited. And waited.
Nothing.
She faced him. She beckoned him. She broke him. And yet she didn't move an inch.
Her beautiful mouth that refused to talk. As he stared, he broke down even harder. After all, three days was a long time. He had no choice now. He was rigid with need. His cock had never looked so dangerous, straining and pulsing hungrily for the feast before it. Her little game was completely annihilating his and withered his control to nothing.
Hating himself but needing her beyond reason, he stood up.
He braced his feet, cursing her name as he held her head and slowly slipped into her mouth. The hot, wet heaven that he adored sealed lightly around his length. Every nerve ending screamed with pleasure as he arched into her, groaning at the sensation that he'd abstained from for far too long. He withdrew slightly and pumped back in, keeping a slow rhythm as he watched her peaceful features. Aside from his dick between her lips, nothing changed. Nor did she move internally. Her tongue did not swirl. There was no suction as he thrust. She took him inactively. But the feel of her lips surrounding him—coupled with her blind passivity—caused him to twitch and jerk inside her.
Such soft compliance.
She really was just a vessel for his pleasure. Her closed eyes didn't flutter. She didn't moan like she always did when she sucked him. She wasn't responding at all, just like the instructions said. He was fucking her mouth all by himself. No help. No encouragement. No express permission or enjoyment from her.
Except that she had set this whole thing up.
He was fucking a lifeless doll in the mouth because she wanted him to. She wasn't encouraging him because encouragement hadn't gotten her anywhere in the past three days. She needed sex so badly that she put herself in a self-induced coma and then dared him to fuck her out of it.
Looking at her now, her plump lips wrapped around him, on her knees exactly as he'd set her, his sex-starved body rocketed over the edge before he was ready.
"Fuck!" he swore angrily, cupping her head and pumping a jet of white, hot desire into her mouth. He held her carefully and thrust several times, grunting and shaking as his premature orgasm coursed through him. Dammit! He'd come too soon. He'd been holding out on himself for too long, and the sight of Grace as a slutty, passive sex toy had been too much. Now she was going to wake up and he wasn't going to have the full experience of this mind-blowing little game of hers and…
Wait a minute.
He pulled himself gently from her mouth, watching her closely.
He waited. And waited.
She wasn't moving.
Rigsby cupped her face, tipping it to his and he bent to meet it. "Grace?" he whispered. He turned her face this way and that, waiting for her eyes to open. Waiting for her mouth to smile and speak. Waiting for her to get up, dust off her hands, and laugh in triumph that she'd finally broken him down and made him take her.
Except she wasn't moving. At all. She held the position. Her face was motionless. Stone still. He could barely sense her breathing.
Hopefully you're man enough…
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he hissed into her face. Sure, those instructions had been a rousing call to action, but he hadn't thought for one second that she'd actually…
"Wake up, Grace. Open your eyes." He wasn't angry, more like impatient. Yes, she'd won their little battle of wills. She was perfectly entitled to gloat and giggle at him. But first she needed to wake up for her victory dance, right before he resumed taking advantage of her sexy little body in that sexy little outfit.
Not a muscle.
He pulled back from her, growling with frustration. So now he wasn't man enough, huh? She'd dressed up like a sex slave and drove him to break his experiment and give her what she asked for and now she was going to impugn his manhood? He circled her, watching her statuesque body with growing annoyance. Seriously, what the fuck did she expect? She wasn't the only one who'd been dying to get laid. He'd been slowly killing himself ever since he started his plan. He'd had to endure all kinds of little hells to get them to this point. No ejaculation, then no penetration. No divine dips into her irresistible body. But resist he did, and fuck if he didn't deserve the Congressional Medal of Honor for that impossible feat. But, oh no.
He huffed at her, getting seriously worked up at the sight of her motionless body and face.
Scaring the shit out of him wasn't enough. Breaking him wasn't enough. Sucking him wasn't enough. His breakdown hadn't met her standards of a vigorous fuck. Okay, so he supposed it had been a bit one-sided and quick, but Jesus! Give him a break. Abstaining had made him trigger happy. So sue him. It wasn't all about her.
He didn't even realize in his anger that he was already growing hard again. His sexual fast was the biggest culprit, followed by his indignation that she was all but telling him that his orgasm wasn't up to scratch. But there was also the fact that her lack of presence was allowing him to get mad at her as an object, not as Grace. He was a docile man when it came to people, but he got mad at inanimate objects all the time. If the tv was on the blink, he'd hit it, if the coffee table stubbed his toe, he'd hit it, if a flashlight was flickering, he'd hit it, if the computer was giving him grief, he'd hit it.
Sometimes, it made the object work again. Always, it made him feel better.
The object in front of him was broken. The only way it would work again was to fuck it. Good and hard.
Pulsing with fury, Rigsby was suddenly happy to oblige.
"Fine."
He swooped down and scooped her up. He didn't look at her face. He knew she wouldn't react. For the first time that night, he was glad. Holding her limp body in his arms, he walked over to his dining table and laid her out on top of it.
"Any position, right?" he muttered darkly as he spread her legs wide at the table's edge. Wide like only Grace was capable. He pushed them along the line of the table so that they nearly made a 180-degree angle. Until she was essentially on her back and doing the splits. He'd seen her do it in yoga before. It had always turned him on to no end, and now he was going to take it for a spin.
He positioned himself at her entrance. Her serene expression took him to new, terrifying heights of aggression. He gazed at her gorgeous, sleeping form and hissed low and angry.
"Hibernate through this."
He rammed deep and roared. Her natural tightness clenched him in all of its wet, scorching glory. He gripped her splayed thighs and thrust himself completely inside her, his balls slapping her in the ass as he forced her to take all of him as quickly and roughly as his hips could piston against her.
She wanted it hard. He'd give it to her hard.
He pumped frantically. He grunted against the insane pleasure he felt, wanting instead to focus on the anger. Ecstasy shot through his system as her inactive body squeezed and soaked him until his pressurized cock was dripping wet and hotter than he could ever remember it being. The softness he felt inside her, the sweet, glorious, silky softness, made him positive that he'd leave more than come when he finally exploded in her perfect depths.
He'd leave his soul as well.
"No!" he roared in irritation, redoubling his efforts and driving into her madly. No sweet thoughts. No admiring her perfect, playful, adorable ploys to win him over.
He had to focus on fucking her into screaming wakefulness.
So far, she'd slept through it. The rutting animal in him raged against her lack of response, but the man in him had to give her credit. Her sweet little pussy was the only one actively encouraging him with its slippery warmth. The rest of her was still sleeping soundly.
Oh, I'll come for you, baby, he thought savagely. But not before you come for me.
Fuck what the instructions said. He'd make her come screaming and writhing before he returned the favor. She would not sleep through it. No fuckin' way.
"Christ, I missed your pussy, baby," he leaned forward as he panted to her. "You feel so damn good, the tightest little glove I've ever felt. Except for your ass. You're so tight there that I might have to fuck you twice before I come. Just to stay locked inside you."
He was breathing hard, which is why he couldn't be sure when he thought he heard her whimper. He grinned, knowing she couldn't see it, and continued his manic pace. His hands cupped her breasts, tweaking her pink nipples.
"I fucking love how hot you look," he purred. "You've never worn anything like this before, have you? Not for anyone except me. You love being slutty for me, don't you?"
She lay perfectly still, but he knew. He could feel in the instinctive tightening of her muscles around him that he was getting to her. She wasn't immune to this. He clenched his eyes shut and moaned loud. She loved it when he was loud.
He slid his hands along the silky lengths of her stockings before lifting her legs up to his shoulders. Her ankles were now around his neck, pulling another moan from him as he wrapped his arms around her thighs and yanked her closer to the edge of the table. He'd been pumping so hard that he'd pushed her into the center.
"Thaaaat's it," he gritted out as he thrust even deeper. "This is where your legs belong, baby. Up in the air, gripping my head. This is all you should be allowed to do. Such an exquisite. Little. Fuck!"
He rammed deep once more and her eyes shot open. Her legs clamped him tightly. Her core that was sheathing him so perfectly tried to strangle him. His little lifeless sex doll arched violently and screamed.
"Waaaaaaayne!" The shriek filled his entire apartment and ricocheted in his skull.
Smug with his tiny victory of making her come first, he gave in. His head snapped back and he screamed at the top of his lungs. No words formed. He forgot them all. His semen shot deep, splitting his cock in half as it exited like a waterfall. Instinct owned him, his nervous system jolting and shoving him harder against her. His entire being wanted Grace to envelop every last inch of him, wrapping around him and sharing the same perfect, tight warmth that she gave one piece of him so sweetly. Grasping and sputtering, her parted her legs and collapsed on her, unable to support his own weight anymore.
He didn't need to look to know that her eyes were still open. She lay quietly beneath him, panting softly. Tentatively, she brought her arms around his back, petting his shoulders as she held him.
He let himself catch his breath before he lifted enough to look at her. His expression was calm as he gazed into her hazel eyes, but loving fury sparked in his blues. "Don't you ever scare me like that again." It had to be said.
She inhaled softly and cradled his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how frightening it would look. At first."
He pressed his forehead into hers, crowding her with his insistence. "Then why didn't you open your eyes when I asked? Why did you let me think the worst, even for a minute?"
She nuzzled his face, seeking reassurance. "Because I wanted you, baby. I needed you so bad. I knew you'd read the note and see I was okay. It was supposed to be cute." She gazed at him with wide, innocent eyes. "It was supposed to surprise you."
"Fuckin' A, it did." He dropped his face more fully against hers. "You shock the hell out of me. Every single day."
She smiled hesitantly, wrapping her legs carefully around his waist as he continued to pin her onto the table. "You liked it?"
"Are you serious?" he pulled back, smiling sweetly. "This is your new house outfit. Anytime we're home, this is what you're wearing. And this!" He fingered her nipples before running his touch over the straps of the non-bra. "Are you trying to kill me?"
She shook her head, her hair rippling as she did. "Just break you. Break you good."
He chuckled and lifted up, bringing her with him until he stood with her wrapped around his upper body. When she looked into his eyes, she knew the truth before he said it.
"You broke me the day you shook my hand and told me your name."