Chapter Four
Four hours later…
Nine? Ten? Oh, God. She wasn't sure. Grace collapsed on her stomach, panting and uttering little moans of pleasure as she tried in vain to remember exactly how many orgasms she'd had in the last 12 hours. She'd lost count. Or, more accurately, as the toll climbed up, her brain had stopped counting and began marveling at her body's ability to come so easily with him.
The man responsible for her blissful stupor lay on his back just beside her, panting as just as hard and sweating from exertion. She turned her head on her pillow to look at him as she fought to catch her breath. His hair was slick and damp. His skin glowed and his chest muscles worked furiously as his lungs undulated rhythmically in his ribcage. Grace smiled. At least she wasn't the only one who gotten the wind knocked out of her. As she watched him recuperate, she thought about his threat last night. She hadn't realized at the time that he was serious, but apparently Wayne was actually planning on keeping her in bed forever. Just like she hadn't realized that when he said 'bed', he actually meant 'anywhere in her apartment'. After her little syrup stunt, she thought she'd done a pretty good job of knocking him out. Oh, how she had underestimated him. After just six minutes of rest, he had taken her to the damn sexual Olympics.
He dragged her onto the dining table again and laid her out on her back like his favorite meal. He grabbed her ankles, opening her legs wide on either side of his hips while he stood at the edge and thrust deeply. She moaned in ecstasy as her walls stretched wide, adjusting to his hard, thick presence. He pumped with frantic abandon, his eyes becoming more and more intense as his thrusts ripped louder and louder cries from her throat. As she neared her climax, he'd released her ankles and gripped her thighs, pistoning in and out until she screamed his name, her juices coating him just like her syrup had.
He gave her no rest, instantly dropping to his knees and taking her still-quivering pussy into his mouth. He suckled every last drop of her wetness before he attacked her clit. Her hips bucked under his mouth as she tried to escape and embrace this brutal over-stimulation of her sensitive nerves, but his hands kept her in place and his tongue brought her to her second orgasm in record time. Her sex-addled brain wondered briefly if her neighbors thought she was being murdered, what with all of her screaming. Hell with it. Let the cops come and find them going at it like animals, she was far too dazed to care.
Only when he stood up did she see he was still engorged and hadn't come yet. Oh, no. She was in for more delicious punishment then. Sure enough. He picked her up from the table, only to walk over to a wall free of picture frames. He pushed her back against the wall, hiked her slim legs around his waist and pushed again into her fluttering wet heat.
"You like that?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Oh, my God," was all she could manage as her body welcomed him in yet again.
He thrust hard, their flesh smacking together. He kissed her deeply, grabbing her hands from his back and trapping them above her head in one hand while the other slid down to stroke her breasts and taut stomach. She cried out, arching against him, begging with her body. He cupped her jaw, forcing her eyes open. She sobbed loudly, fighting against his hold on her hands, arching her back, wanting to touch every inch of him as he withdrew and plunged again deeply. Finally he let her go and she clamped her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into him. He hissed and grunted excitedly at the pain, pulling her legs tighter around him and driving their hips roughly together.
"Come for me," she whispered.
He gasped into her neck and his pace became frenzied. "No," he grunted. "You come for me. Now."
She whimpered. The roughness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She wasn't sure if she could come again so quickly, but she knew he wouldn't stop until she did. She summoned up her willful, mischievous streak and whispered to him.
"Make me."
He roared in angry delight at her challenge and propelled her against the wall to hard that pictures on the other walls shook. He knew she was already spent from their romp on the table and it would take a little extra to get her off again so soon.
So he used his words.
"Make you, huh? Is this what you need?" He moved his hand between them and nestled in her soft curls, pulling and rubbing her throbbing clit. Her eyes rolled back and she gave a breathy little sob. Rigsby smiled viciously.
"Oh, I'll make you come, baby. You'll come for me and scream my name in that sexy little voice of yours."
Grace sobbed louder and felt her body tighten at his words. His dirty, sexy words. He rolled her clit between his thumb and forefinger and she bucked between his body and the wall as she neared her climax.
He bent forward and licked her ear. "You'll come for me harder than you've ever come in your life." He felt her nod frantically against his shoulder. She was so close now, she couldn't believe it. Oh yes, she would definitely come for him.
"And when you look at me at work, all you'll think about is how fucking good we are together." His last statement pushed her over the edge. She went rigid against him before screaming his name and shuddering all around him. Rigsby cursed and gasped as he finally let himself go and emptied deep inside of her.
They shook against each other as they slowly came down. Grace could feel his legs trembling as his orgasm drained the last of his strength. His head fell against her shoulder and she gently stroked his sweaty hair. "Sweet man," she murmured softly, loving that even in his weakened state, he still held her up in the protective ring of his arms. He gently pulled her from the wall and hugged her to him, still breathing raggedly against her.
He pulled his head up and gazed at her. "I'm still not through with you," he whispered hotly. "But I'll let you name the next place I take you."
She hummed and shivered before pulling his lips to hers. She already had a new favorite activity: kissing her partner for hours on end. She loved the softness of his lips surrounded by the scratchiness of his dark stubble. She loved moving her lips to each side of his mouth, exploring how the prickles felt against her cheeks and nose. She supposed it was exactly like kissing any other clean-shaven man, but she'd never noticed before. Hell, compared to Wayne, she never noticed anything about any man before. Her previous kisses and sexual encounters had been normal acts that came with relationships, not soul-shaking events that rocked her whole world. Now, every single inch of her lover represented acres of wondrous discovery. She wanted to know every hair on his head, every freckle, every scar. She wanted to map out every smooth muscle, every plane, every curve. She wanted to bottle the cleft in his chin. She wanted to capture his scent in her hands. She wanted to paint her apartment walls in the same color blue as his eyes. She wanted it all. This wonderful man holding her in his arms and asking her a question.
"What?" she murmured, still planting kisses on his face.
"Where should I take you next?" he repeated playfully.
"Hmmm. Bed. Take me to bed. I want to hold you," she answered.
Rigsby rumbled his approval and walked back to her room, gently laying her down and locking her body in his arms. He made love to her again, slowly, sweetly. They came gently together, their groans never seeing the light of day as they were swallowed in a long kiss. Afterwards, they fell apart exhausted.
Grace shook herself from her reverie, her eyes focusing once again on Wayne. His breathing was slow and even now. She reached out and ran her fingers along his throat, just like she'd wanted to last night at the bar. Even though they'd made love for hours on end since then, she still thrilled at such a simple, intimate touch. She'd so often wanted to, now she could. It gave her goosebumps. He turned his head at the feel of her fingers and looked at her. She saw happiness in his eyes, and something far more intense behind it. What was he thinking about?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Rigsby had always considered himself a simple man. Not intellectually, but as far as tastes and habits go, he was pretty straight-forward: sports on weekends, good food, cold beer, decent books and someday maybe a little family in a pretty white house, God willing. And that was good enough for him. No drugs, no excessive booze, no womanizing, no violence outside of what was required in his job, no gambling, nothing. He got along just fine without any of that crap, thank you.
Not anymore. Now he was nothing short of a depraved addict. This addiction clawed at his brain and tore at his body. It clouded his judgment. It electrified his nerves. It blurred his vision. It destroyed him with pleasure and laid him to waste.
For the last nine months he'd kept a tenuous hold on it. It bothered him, but he was able to perform his duties, eat normally, and sleep fairly regularly, if occasionally tormented by dreams. This siren substance had attracted him to no end, but her sultry song had never called to him directly, so he managed to keep himself in line.
Not anymore. Now this siren was not just calling his name, but screaming it. She begged him, she cried out to him, she welcomed him in every conceivable way and he was powerless to do anything but throw himself at her feet and hope she took pity on his lovesick soul. Even knowing that sirens only wanted men dead and broken on the rocky shores of their island, he still had no choice. He was beaten. He was hers. And with one lazy flick of her finger, she could break him in half.
Grace.
Oh God, how he loved Grace. But it was more than that. It was worse than that. Now he'd had a taste of her. It was bad enough before when he could smell her skin, now he could run his tongue from her throat to her thighs. It had been torture imagining what her breasts looked like before, now he knew that tweaking her nipples brought the cutest little gasps from her lips. It had been wonderful to watch her smile at something he'd said before, now he'd felt her smooth tummy contract with giggles when he tickled her ribs.
He was no longer a simple man. He was a slave. He was a whore. He needed her with a ferocity that scared him to death. He didn't dare think about the things he would do for her. The laws he'd break. The pride and self-respect he'd throw away. The gods that he'd forsake. All for her. Grace. He'd kill for her. He'd die for her. That dead, distant orb in the sky had nothing on her smile. That was his sunshine. He could bask in it for the rest of his life and be nothing short of deliriously happy.
She was looking at him now as they lay in her bed, running her fingers down his neck and smiling at him sleepily. Did she know? Could she sense how completely she owned him? Did she care? For the last few hours, he'd been hell-bent on making her care. As well as slaking his addiction, he'd tried to brand her. As he thrust into his sweet angel, he'd willed her to only want him for the rest of her life. He wanted her to equate sex with him, something only he could give her instead of 50% of the population. When he kissed her, he hoped that he infected her with his desperation and lust. He prayed that as they moved together, their combined sweat, saliva and come would distill an elixir so powerful that it would bind them, even when they were apart.
Suddenly he believed in voodoo. Suddenly he believed alchemy. Anything that would make Grace Van Pelt love him even a little, he would instantly convert to.
She was still smiling at him, laying on her stomach with her other arm nestled to her chest. Amazingly, he felt himself stir again. He couldn't help it. It was her. She could make him do anything, including produce an endless supply of hard-ons.
Her eyes wandered down his body and giggled at his hardening state.
"Again? I don't think I can move, sweetie." Rigsby couldn't see it, but he knew her tummy was quivering with her giggles. He reached out and traced her hip.
"Then stay where you are, just raise your hips," he whispered smilingly.
Her eyes grew round and her lips puckered in surprise. She said nothing, but slowly raised up on her knees, arching her back and pushing up on her elbows.
"Like this?" she asked.
His cock jolted hard at the sight. Grace on her hands and knees. Waiting for him. Jesus Christ.
He pulled himself up and crawled behind her. His hands slid over her hips and ass and he groaned at her submissive position and how fucking hard it made him. His hand slipped between her thighs and rimmed her pussy, still just as hot and wet as when he left it. She gave him a sexy little moan and raised her hips higher, giving him better access. She looked at him over her shoulder and her expression stopped him cold. She looked…nervous.
"Grace?" he pulled back and rubbed her back reassuringly. He would stop immediately if she wasn't comfortable with this. She just had to say. His eyes searched hers questioningly.
She smiled and swallowed. "I just usually…don't…do it this way. It scares me a little."
He instantly pulled back and moved to join her at the top of the bed, but she put her hands over his on her hip, stilling him.
"Please? I want it with you. I trust you. Just…be gentle?" Her tiny voice nearly destroyed him. He learned down and kissed her lower back.
"I promise. Show me, Grace. Show me how you want it."
Her smile grew in confidence and she nodded. She resettled her knees and offered herself to him. "Slowly at first," she whispered. "Tease me a little."
He smiled and brought his raging erection to her entrance. He played with her a bit, gently rubbing the head over her slick folds and throbbing clit. She sighed with pleasure.
"Yeah. Like that. Mmmmm, Wayne. You feel so good," she was practically purring.
Her voice was so heavy with sex that he nearly came right there on her ass. Hold it together, man, he thought.
He entered her slowly, those tight walls feeling just like they did their first time. He just couldn't understand it. They'd had sex a dozen times since then and she was every bit as tight as she was when she hadn't had sex in a year. He grunted as the most beautiful place on earth opened to him, adjusted to him, pulled him deeper. He inhaled sharply.
"Baby, tell me. Is that too much?" He bit out through clenched teeth.
She sighed softly. "No, it's perfect. You're perfect," she looked over her shoulder and rotated her hips back against his, taking all of him. He hissed and riveted his hands on her waist. "More, please," she asked sweetly.
He nodded and plunged again slowly, building up an agonizingly lazy rhythm. Grace hummed and cooed, adorable sounds that made all others in Wayne's past sound like cheap, overacted porn. Her sounds were soft and real. She only screamed and cried out when she lost control. Her crescendo. He could elicit an entire symphony from her, from the soft beginning to the shattering end. She was music itself. So he played her.
He picked up his pace by a fraction, alternating his thrusts from slow and deep to quick and shallow. He couldn't hear himself as gravelly words escaped the prison of his teeth and fell over his lips in a hiss, but Grace did.
"mine…mine…mine…love you so much…gorgeous…sweet…no one else…mine!"
Grace heard. She heard their sincerity and shuddered under him in ecstasy. He was claiming her. Oh, God. Her body responded to his ownership and tightened around him in wordless agreement. And he loved her. She'd known it before, but to hear it again with no drugs, no hypnosis, just him in the throes of passion, made her head tip back and her eyes flutter shut. Her loved her and she was his. She called out her answer to his claim.
"Yessssss!" Her first-ever orgasm in this position ripped through her and she bucked backwards against his hips. He plunged deep just as her core constricted and every inch of him was squeezed and pulled inward. Rigsby roared. His semen was strangled out of his cock and he nearly fainted as pleasure battered his body in violent waves. His head snapped back and he screamed her name over and over.
Blackness overtook them both as they fell to their sides, Grace curled in the spoon of his body. As the storm of their climax retreated into smaller waves lapping gently over their bodies, sleep took them.