Author's Note: Thar be smutty, fluffy, smuff ahead. Ye be warned.

Chapter Two

She gave her address to the cabbie.

So that was it. They were going to her place. She sat beside him, looking straight forward, cool as a cucumber. He snaked his hand out and rested it on her thigh. The fabric of her skirt felt wonderful and infuriating all at the same time. He delighted he was finally touching her this way, impatient because he had to behave himself for the length of the ride.

"Did you want to continue the list?" he asked casually.

Grace didn't look at him, but cracked a smile as her hand slid over his on her leg. "No," she said simply.

He gripped her thigh and moved closer to her. Her hooked a finger on her chin and turned her face towards his. "Did you want me to be a good boy and go home?"

Her tiny smile didn't falter. "No."

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

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Click

Grace's front door closed behind them. Rigsby pressed his back against it as he watched Grace drop her things on her sofa before turning back to him. The room was dark, save for the soft streetlight streaming through the windows. She smoothed her hands over her skirt as she slowly walked back to him.

The effects of the beer were wearing off now. Rigsby could feel his brazen confidence slowly fading into heightened worry and excitement. His worry increased at the thought of Grace coming down from her high and changing her mind. Not that he ever wanted to take advantage of her being drunk, but he desperately hoped her desire for him wasn't purely alcohol-induced.

She came to a stop in front of him and hesitantly raised her hands to his chest. "You look nervous," she whispered.

"So do you, sweetheart," he whispered back.

She nodded slightly. "I guess that means we're sobering up." She took a deep breath and dropped her head. "Do you still--?"

"Yes." He didn't let her finish. Her eyes came up to meet his gaze and she smiled nervously.

"But I can still go home, if you want me to. I told you, I don't want you to regret anything," he added, starting to feel more and more like a pushy first date. He needed her to know he could stop, that he would stop no matter how far they took this, if that was her wish.

Her smile became softer and her hands slid down his chest, under his arm, and to the door behind him. He heard the deadbolt as she slid it into place. "Don't go," she whispered. He leaned down and kissed her gently, pouring all of his love and desire into the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue and lips. She felt amazing. She tasted amazing. He had to rein himself in as he kept his hands and kisses light against her.

Grace didn't understand how a man built like a tank could kiss as softly as a feather caressing her lips. Or how his hands—hands built for punching and crushing—could feel like gentle and inquisitive velvet moving over her body. She murmured against his lips, wrapping arms around his back and pulling him tighter against her. She almost needed confirmation that it wasn't just feathers and velvet in her arms, but Wayne.

Her hands confirmed it: 6'5", 225lbs.

Her man.

She smiled into their kiss at the thought as she increased the pressure on his lips. She loved his tenderness, but her desire was becoming more urgent. She needed more. So. Much. More.

Rigsby felt her eagerness and responded. His deepened their kiss, plumbing her mouth and riveting her hips against his own. She moaned into his mouth, making him bolder. He felt his erection growing fast and instead of pulling back slightly to hide it, he ground himself harder against her.

Grace gasped and broke their kiss, snaking her hand down his front to once again cup him through his clothes. The weight and breadth of his bulge made her shiver. Although she'd been with a few men in her 26 years, there hadn't been many, and there certainly hadn't been any lately. And now, even fully clothed, she could feel that she literally had a big one on her hands. As he grew and throbbed in her palm, she knew that Wayne wasn't simply going to be the tallest man she'd ever been with, but the biggest as well. An ache bit deep between her legs as she massaged him. She felt excitement, lust, and a tiny sprinkle of fear at this. How big was too big? Would it actually be painful? But she pushed the thought aside as the pleasure of hearing him groan distracted her.

God, she was killing him. Her hand wasn't letting up and if he didn't stop her soon, she'd make him come right there in his pants. He decided to take the upper hand. He grabbed her hands from him and lifted her arms clear above her head. He pulled her tee shirt from her skirt and stripped it clean off her. Oh, God. That didn't help at all. More of her body than he'd ever seen was bare and stunning and waiting for him. He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, mostly so he could close his eyes and block out the sight. He unclasped her skirt at her back and pushed it off her hips, his hands stroking up and down her hips and thighs as he did so. She felt like sunshine. Like silk. Like laughter and love and Christmas and cupcakes and anything else that made up sublime happiness. He felt her tug impatiently at his shirt and he broke their kiss so she could lift it over his head. He saw her pupil dilated and she unconsciously licked her lips as she stared at him.

"God, Wayne," she moaned. And without warning her lust kicked into high gear. She kicked off her heels. She grabbed him by the shoulders. She jumped upwards and he instinctively caught her as she wrapped her long legs around his waist. How many times had he imagined what those legs would feel like wrapped around him? And now she was kissing him greedily, holding his head firmly in her hands and attacking his mouth with hers.

"Take me,"

kiss

"to bed."

kiss

"Hurry."

Always the gentleman, Rigsby carried the half-naked lady to her bedroom, as per her request.

They tumbled onto the mattress. Rigsby managed to kick off his shoes without losing any contact with her glorious body. Her hands were pushing impatiently at his track pants from underneath him. He helped them along and pushed them, along with his boxers, all the way off his legs. He lay sprawled across her, naked and hungry and kissing her in a way that gave her no reprieve. She cried out against his mouth, arching into the brick of his body and sliding her legs along his. She brought her hands down and gripped him. Hard. She moaned loudly as she confirmed her suspicions. Big. Huge. Nine inches at least. And thick. She held him in both hands and stroked him once. Twice. On the third time and grabbed her hands from him and she mewled in disappointment.

"I won't last long if you keep that up," he growled in her ear.

She whimpered beneath him as he kissed his way down her throat to the valley between her breasts. He reached behind her and unhooked her pink bra, yanking away the offending fabric and groaning at the bounty behind it. Her breasts were heavy and incredibly well-shaped. Her nipples were small and pink, tiny little pebbles against soft, creamy swells. His cock jumped and suddenly his blood was made purely of testosterone. The body beneath him was made for two things: him and making babies. His babies. The thought came unbidden out of the most primal recesses of his mind. Suddenly the modern dating world dropped away and was replaced with the caveman imperative. Beautiful woman. Take her. Love her. Protect her. Have children. Love them. Protect them. Die happy.

He smiled softly and shook his head. First things first.

He kissed his way up one delicious side before he latched his lips to that adorable pink tip. Grace arched into his mouth and called his name. Her fingers wound themselves into his hair and held him against her, moaning and whimpering as his teeth gently scraped and nibbled this most wondrous of fruits. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same delicious attention as he did the first.

Grace thought she was going to die of frustration. His touch was magic, but it was also a curse. It made her jump and writhe and moan and want far more than what was being given. As his mouth moved from her breasts down her stomach, she was almost shaking with need.

"Wayne. Please. Need you now," she called to him.

He looked up and smiled at her. "Soon, baby. Very soon."

He reached the top of her panties. Also pink. Also offending. He hooked his thumbs in the band and pulled them down gently. Another groan shook him and another flash of caveman need struck him hard. He didn't think. He spread her folds with his fingers and descended. Grace jerked upwards and cried out before falling back and moaning his name. His senses were flooded with her smell and taste. She was soaking wet. It was delicious. All of her exercise and healthy eating made for an unbelievably sweet cocktail as he lapped and sucked at her. He circled her clit before tonguing it mercilessly. He adored the sounds he ripped from her as he sucked it into his mouth and carefully—so carefully—bit down. Grace gave a breathy scream and her soft thighs clamped around his head.

"Now! Need you now!" she cried out as she ran her hands desperately through his hair. He brushed his lips quickly against each beautiful thigh before he crawled up her body again and kissed her deeply. Her arms went around his back and pressed him hard into her breasts as she returned his kiss with all of her might. She opened her legs wider, making room for his hips as he positioned himself as her entrance.

He paused and looked down into her eyes. Their gaze held. This was it. After this there would be no going back. Rigsby, for one, wouldn't allow it. If he took her now, there was no way in hell he'd let her get away. He loved her. He was going to make love to her. And that act would bind them. She would belong to him. He already belonged to her. He'd make her see this. He had to.

Grace stared into his baby blues and lost her heart completely. After so many cold nights dreaming about him. After so many days of avoiding his eyes and touch, just so she could hold onto her sanity. This was it. After this, she would no longer be able to look him in the eye and not tell him how she desperately needed him. Wanted him. And yes, loved him. She loved him so much that sometimes it hurt to even look at him.

She brought her hands to his hips and pulled him in.

Rigsby gasped and swore loudly. So, so wet. But as her wetness pulled him in, he instantly met resistance in her muscles. He pressed slightly harder. He suddenly broke through and the resulting tightness nearly caused him to black out. She was far too tight. It felt too agonizingly wonderful to be real. An animalistic gasp tore from his throat as he pulled back.

"No, I'm hurting you. Sweet Jesus, baby. Why are you so tight?" he groaned against her ear. He felt elated and devastated all at once. She was, without a doubt, the most mind-blowing sensation he'd ever felt. But he couldn't have her. He couldn't dare push any deeper. His frustration hit him so hard that he almost felt like crying.

Grace was in agony as well. She'd felt him inside her for one beautiful second, then he'd pulled away. She'd only had an inch of him before it was cruelly withdrawn and she cried out in anger. Why was he stopping? Why didn't he plunge all the way in and give her what she so desperately needed? But then she heard his raspy lament in her ear and her heart leapt with love at his concern. He thought he was hurting her. She marveled as she hugged him to her. She thanked her God for sending such a decent man to her before she capturing his lips in a comforting kiss.

"You're not hurting me, Wayne. Don't stop. You feel so, so good." She pulled at his hips again. He pulled his head up and looked into her eyes, searching carefully for any hint of a lie before he let his cock brush against her once again. He reentered slowly and growled lustfully. Once again her wetness pulled at him while her walls squeezed him torturously. He groaned and panted as he broke through again, making himself move slowly. When he was buried to the hilt, Rigsby had a religious experience. Specifically about Heaven. He had always pictured Heaven as a wonderful, incorporeal place. A place of cool air. A place of breezy, spacious light. That, he realized, was completely wrong. His convictions changed the moment he entered the body of Grace Van Pelt. He knew now, with absolute certainty, that Heaven was wet, tight, and gloriously hot.

Grace sobbed his name and arched up frantically as he entered her. Her walls were forced wide against his girth. He filled her so completely and so perfectly that he almost clicked into place. No one had ever felt this good, and they hadn't even started. Oh God. She mourned the idea of ever having sex with any man except the one currently in her arms. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His body melted against hers in a way that she'd never even imagined was possible. In just seven seconds, Grace had been ruined for every other man on earth. This was her mate. She was certain of it.

Rigsby withdrew and reentered slowly, locking his arms and holding himself above her as he thrust into her body. He hissed and babbled lustfully as he started to fuck this angel beneath him. "Jesus, sweetheart…so wet…so hot…beautiful…need you…oh, my God…Grace…How can you be this tight?"

Each thrust into her made her keen and cry out. She gripped his ass, angling him so that he hit just the right spot. She answered him between his deep plunges. "Yoga…and…no sex…since…I moved here. Oh, God!" She cried out again.

Her outrageously sexy answer drove him crazy and he snarled possessively, pumping faster and harder.

"Not anymore. You," he swirled his hips and was rewarded with a moan.

"are going to be having sex," he moved one hand between them and rubbed her glistening clit.

"every single day until further notice." He leaned down and bit her throat, sucking hard and marking her for all to see.

His teeth.

His fingers.

His huge cock pumping into her sex-starved body.

It was too much. She screamed. Her body went rigid and her core, already so snug around him, clamped down and locked him into place. Rigsby gave a startled and ragged shout of ecstasy as his cock was wrung with no mercy while Grace writhed and bucked underneath him.

Agony. Bliss. Most definitely Heaven. Rigsby could only hold on and roar while her convulsing body held him prisoner. He'd never experienced anything that bordered on pain and paradise at the same time. His lungs couldn't get enough oxygen. His hips couldn't thrust in or pull out. His back was scored by ten little nails raking across his skin. Looking down at his woman, he knew he'd never have a more perfect sexual experience than the one he was having right now. And with that thought, he lost it. He rammed his hips hard against hers and ejaculated violently and deep in her womb. His orgasm shook him so hard that he screamed at the top of his lungs just to release the pressure. He pushed once, twice, three more times as she gasped and cried out as the last of her climax ripped through her.

He was melting. He was sure of it. But even in his boneless haze, the last thing he wanted to do was collapse on her and force her to take his weight. He snaked his arms around her back and rolled them. Grace's knees fell on either side of his hips. Her head spooned into the hollow of his shoulder, a spot that she knew now was made just for her. She tucked her hands between them, her palms on his chest. They lay joined and sated and panting harshly against each other.

They didn't talk for the longest time. They just basked in their happiness and amazement and didn't want to ruin it with words. Grace was content to just listen to his heartbeat as she lay snuggled against his chest. Rigsby wrapped his arms tightly around her back, absently running his fingers through her hair.

After a time, Grace raised her head and looked down at the man she had pinned to her bed. He smiled softly at her, still running his hands over her body in a light, undemanding way.

She brought his injured hand to her lips and kissed it lightly. "Does it still burn?" she asked quietly.

He watched her lave affection on his burn and smiled. "Only from where a pretty lady kissed it," he answered. She smiled against his hand and gave it one final, lingering kiss before letting him go.

"Well," she sighed as she settled deeper into his arms. "I guess this is it. We're now officially in a secret, forbidden relationship. Such a shame. I was really looking forward to telling Jane that he was right about your sexual prowess."

She giggled as he scowled at her. His hands tightened around her as he pretended to growl angrily. "Sorry, lady. You're not leaving this bed. Ever. I'm keeping you in it indefinitely. You have nine months of torturing me to make up for."

She squealed with laughter as he suddenly attacked her ribs, tickling her mercilessly while trapping her wrists behind her back. She squirmed and pushed and screamed her delight as she fought against his impossible hold.

"Not...fair! I…didn't torture…you!"

He laughed. "Didn't torture me? You killed me every day, little girl!"

He flipped them and trapped her underneath him again, pinning her wrists in his hands and bracketing his legs over hers. She continued to fight as his lips moved to her ear and nibbled her lobe.

"This red hair. These long legs. Sweet little lips. Delicious smell. Beautiful eyes. Sexy little outfits. You. Tortured. Me."

His kisses along her throat moved in time with his words and Grace stopped fighting and instinctively pushed into his body, into his words.

"Good," she whispered. And she quickly proceeded to torture him all over again.