Chapter Fifteen

"So I give up. How the hell did you send yourself to me without half the building seeing you in your underwear? And how did you bend into that box? And how did you fold it closed? I'm dying of curiosity here."

Grace laughed low in her throat as she nibbled languidly at his neck. They'd ended up going two more rounds in the bedroom before their exhausted, sated bodies fell limply onto the mattress. Grace still wore her pink stockings and cupless bra. Rigsby wouldn't let her take them off, even insisting she sleep in them, if and when they ever got to sleep that night. He couldn't stop touching her. Her silky stockings drove his fingers crazy with soft invitation. Her garter belt, something he'd never encountered personally, won special attention. He kept gripping her waist, sliding his hands over the alluring, supple scratch of the lace before catching one of the laces holding her stockings up and flicking it loose. Grace was more than happy to take it off, now that the little charade was over, but he grunted in disapproval and dragged the string back up, reattaching it. And her bra. He could not leave that particular garment alone for five seconds. His palms, his lips, his flat, wet tongue all kept returning to her full, bare breasts on scandalous display and mauling them with gasp-inducing, masculine craving. She adored it.

She stretched lazily, luxuriating in her post-coital stupor. She'd finally, finally got what she wanted. A hard, pounding fuck. Three of them, actually. And he'd come every time, hard and screaming and deep inside her body. She could feel their combined fluids filling her center and wetting her thighs. She smirked with pleasure. Folding herself up in a box for an hour had totally been worth it. Watching him lose his mind inside her was worth almost anything.

"It wasn't easy, I'll just leave it at that," she offered softly.

"Aw, c'mon. At least tell me how you got yourself via box into the mailroom without anyone seeing you," he paused and tugged her chin up to look at him. "No one saw you in this, did they?" He slipped his other hand under her garter belt.

She grinned her kitty cat grin at his worry and budding jealousy. "Oh, the mail guys were super helpful. I sashayed down there in this getup, and asked really nicely if they'd send me to your address," she couldn't hold back a giggle. "Aren't they just dolls?"

He growled playfully, his rough hands groping her ass possessively. "Don't make me shoot them if they're innocent. Promise me no one saw you, that's all I need."

She melted at his angry lust, just like always. "Of course no one saw me. I died of embarrassment just putting this stuff on, and I was alone!"

He chuckled softly, letting his hands coast over her back and arms. "God knows why. You look so sexy I nearly shot off just looking at you."

Grace hummed happily and arched into his exploration. "Glad you didn't. Soooooo glad you didn't."

They lay quietly for a while, stroking each other softly, basking in the simple pleasure of being in a world of their own.

At last, Rigsby broke the silence. "So where do we go from here?"

"Mmm. What do you mean?"

"Well," he began, "you've regained control, haven't you? Here I am, a broken man, at the mercy of a sex doll."

She giggled lightly at the mention of her new persona. She'd add it to the list, alongside prostitute. A police-like lineup of a naughty nurse, a dominatrix, a cheerleader, and a librarian flashed across her mind. Who else could she be for him? Who else would he break for? Grace felt a delicious sense of power knowing that as long as it was her in the outfit, it didn't matter. He'd break. Always for her, he'd break.

His right hand wandered near hers and she caught it, bringing his palm to her lips. She kissed it softly before pulling back and studying the lines. He was right-handed. This hand was responsible for so much. Pain. Pleasure. So much pleasure. As little pain as he could manage, given his line of work. The pain, and the training that went into preparing for the pain, had hardened the large hand currently cradled in hers. She traced the lines with a single finger, following the progression from deeper faults into small, shallow seems. The three longest, deepest lines formed a rough M just above the heel. She wondered which lines creased deepest when he fired his gun or when he punched. Which ones smoothed out completely when he caressed her as he was doing now.

Strange thoughts, she knew. She brought his palm to her lips again and kissed it like she would his mouth; slowly, with nips and gentle tonguing. He gasped softly, curling his fingers until they cupped her cheek. She moaned into his skin, liking the slightly aggressive feel of his hand clapped over her mouth. Even in gentle caresses of her own making, Grace once again felt the stronger, formidable tendencies in Rigsby simmering just beneath his tenderness. She breathed into his palm. Her breath followed the curvature of his fingers and warmed her cheek.

"How about we choose our next project together?" she murmured into his hand. "No more power plays, no more surprises. Just us trying something that we both want."

His fingers fanned out across her cheek as he tipped her face to look at him. "Together, huh?"

She smiled. "Yeah. We'll choose something. Equally. Something that doesn't give anyone the edge. Something wild and wonderful and a little scary. "

His eyes went dark and thoughtful. He moved his hand away from her mouth, using his knuckles to brush her jaw. "Together and equal," he repeated slowly.

She smiled warmly. "Any ideas?"

He didn't return her smile, just watched his fingers trace her face. "Scary and wonderful," he repeated distractedly. When his eyes met hers, they were as certain and cool as blue steel. "Marry me."