Chapter Five
7:34PM
Grace sat back into the bubbly warmth of her bath and sighed gratefully as her muscles went lax in the heat. She was wonderfully sore from lips to calves. Her fingers wandered to her mouth as her smile made her wince slightly. Wayne had certainly done a number on them. They were swollen and raw and sensitive to her touch. Good, she smirked. She lifted her leg from the water and lazily sponged it off with her favorite luffa and some peach soap. Long baths were one of her weaknesses, and with the boy out of the house, she could draw one without fear that he'd swoop in and crack her bathtub in half with another passionate coupling.
She'd sent him to pick up their SUV from the bar, then back to his place to get some clothes. He had stared at her in panic when she told him to go. She grinned at his totally irrational fear that, after a day and night of total life-altering intimacy, she'd send him packing. Instead she smacked him lightly on the ass and giggled.
"I don't mean leave leave, Wayne. I mean go get our car, then go home and get some clothes. I want to go out to dinner since you won't let me finish a meal in this house."
His face lit up like a small city. He'd called a cab, dressed, then yanked her naked body into his arms one more time before the taxi rolled up.
"Be back soon," he whispered before dropping his head to her stomach and swirling his tongue in her navel. She laughed as he groaned hungrily. "God, you taste good."
"Hurry back," she giggled as he set her down.
That had been over an hour ago.
The sponge felt soft and pliant as she raised her other leg and lathered it gently. Soapy water ran off in rivulets down her calf and into the arc of her knee before rejoining the lake of the bath via her thigh.
How much of her sweat was running off with it? How much of his? She shivered as she considered how much of him had been transferred to her since last night. The cop in her couldn't help but think of bodies from cases they'd covered. Bodies with the DNA of someone else covering every inch of them. True, she didn't have much anymore as the bath carried away most of his presence, but right now he was out there somewhere, covered from head to toe in hers. She felt a strange sense of territorial pride at the thought. No one else could have him now, he was invisibly tattooed by her.
She sat up, running the sponge over her arms and breasts, noting their over-sensitive reaction to being touched by anything that wasn't him. Odd. Her breasts felt nothing but erotic electricity when he touched them. Now, her skin shied away from her ministrations. It was as if her own body had abandoned her in favor of its new owner. Someone it would obey far more readily then it would her. She wanted to laugh at the idea, but she knew better. He'd claimed her in bed, and she'd agreed with him. Her brain had no choice, really. It was only one organ against the army of her body, and it had surrendered willingly to his touch. Even her brain couldn't hold out for long under such a delicious siege.
She reached into the bubbles and pulled the plug. The tub made an angry burp as it began sucking the water down the drain. Grace stood up and grabbed a towel. She needed to get ready. She knew he wouldn't be gone long and she wanted to be all done up by the time he got back. She smiled to herself as she dried off. She had plans for tonight.
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Rigsby cursed every second he wasn't with her. The taxi ride to their car took a thousand years. The drive back to his place convinced him that his apartment was actually in Oregon, not across town. The time it took to shower, dress and pack clothes for the weekend felt like a decade. He was annoyed as he turned his head to one side and caught a whiff of his aftershave and astringent soap.
Her smell was gone.
As much as he'd hated to do it, he'd jumped in his shower and washed away all the olfactory evidence of Grace on his skin. He threw shampoo in his hair and scrubbed lather into his body, despising their artificial tang. Honestly, why did scent have to be such an elusive bastard? Why couldn't it be something he could capture and keep with him? Every time he needed to be reminded of her, to be soothed by her, why couldn't her scent be something permanent that he could fold up in his wallet or wear around his neck, ready for those moments? Instead he watched her invisible traces circle the drain and disappear. He turned off the water and dried quickly. He threw on dark jeans and a black shirt before throwing his stuff in a bag and launching himself back into the SUV. He was losing time.
He pulled up to her building and killed the engine. In his rearview mirror, he saw his suit hanging from the side window. He hadn't been sure about that. It was only Saturday night, after all. Would she want him to stay tomorrow? Tomorrow night? Monday morning? He desperately hoped so, so he brought his work clothes just in case she allowed it. He tried to tell himself it was no biggie if she didn't. It's not like they'd planned to spend 50 hours straight together. She might have chores to run, or friends to visit. He immediately scolded his foolish heart for feeling abandoned at the thought of her living her life and interacting with other people without him. He didn't own her. He didn't want to. But damn if he didn't feel instantly lost without her.
He jumped out of the car and tried not to race to her door like an over-excited dog. He used the keys she'd tossed to him and opened her door, instantly inhaling deeply. Peach and perfume. God, he wanted to roll on every surface until he was covered in these scents again. Wayne, Jesus, he admonished himself. You really are a dog.
"Grace?" he called out, throwing her keys on the dining table and shutting the door.
"Be out in a sec!" she answered from her room. He started to walk back to it, but she called out again. "And don't come back here! It's a surprise."
"Kay," he said. Instead he went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass and some OJ. He noticed as he poured some that the mess from breakfast had been cleaned up in his absence. He cursed silently. He'd meant to do that for her. It was the least he could do since he destroyed half her flatware and mucked up her floor. He made a mental note to take her to Pottery Barn. She'd have a whole new set of stuff.
He downed the juice and poured another glass. He hadn't given a single thought to food all day, but his stomach alerted him to the fact that he was starving. No dinner last night, not much breakfast this morning and no lunch had made him ravenous. He was glad about her suggestion to go out and eat. Despite his famished state, he didn't think he could sit through an entire meal without attacking Grace again. He shook his head. Since when did his libido become so crazy? Since when did his self-control decide to take a vacation to Barbados and leave him a howling, needy wreck? But he knew already. The last 24 hours proved to him that he might as well go out and buy a collar and chain for himself. Wuff.
"You ready?" Grace's voice startled him out of his thoughts and he turned from the fridge to face her.
Oh, dear God.
Déjà vu.
A red dress. The red dress. She was wearing that hail Mary, love you forever, totally indecent, completely edible, should be illegal, fuck her in front of everyone and who cares if they see it, red dress. His legs turned to jelly.
"No," was all he said.
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His expression caused her breath to hitch. Oh, yes. She'd definitely made the right choice. She knew from all the months ago how much he'd liked this dress. The way his eyes had tried to look everywhere else told her as much. Now he was allowed to look as much as he liked and damn if she didn't thrill at the look on his face now.
And it wasn't just his face that thrilled her.
He was in dark clothes again. Jeans that pulled against his muscular legs and a black shirt that couldn't hide the definition in his arms. His blue eyes flashed brightly against the blackness of his outfit. In other words, he was too sexy for words.
She felt her heart spike in her chest.
"No," he said to her.
She frowned. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected. "No you're not ready?"
He shook his head exactly once. "No, you can't wear that dress."
Her frown deepened and she looked down at the outfit in question. "You don't like it? I thought you-,"
He was suddenly right in front of her and she gasped as he lifted her up by her hips and set her down on the counter. He pulled her legs apart and wedged himself deep between them. A moan escaped her lips as the rough fabric of his jeans pushed against her thighs and the thin layer of her panties. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her like he hadn't seen her in a year.
She broke away from him and smiled against his lips. "So you do like it?"
He nipped her lips and ground himself against her. "I'll never make it if you wear this tonight. Go change."
She giggled and nipped him back. "Nope. I bought it for you. I'm wearing it for you. I'm not changing, so you'll just have to behave."
"How am I supposed to be a gentleman when you're dressed like this?" His fingers were working their way up her thighs and grazing under the fabric. His voice had the auditory quality of a velvet brick. "This dress is just begging to be ripped off."
Grace murmured incoherently as his hands moved higher. Her head tipped back and her hair fell away from her throat, revealing his collection of bites that she'd artfully tried to conceal. He couldn't help himself as he leaned forward and pressed chaste kisses against each mark. She grabbed his shoulders, leaning back against the counter as he peppered her neck. Her perfume filled his nostrils and he growled contentedly, happy to be immersed in it once again.
"No," she whispered softly, pushing at his arms. He instantly pulled back and looked at her in concern. She smiled at his worry and pecked his cheek. "Food, Wayne. Food."
He smiled sheepishly and lifted her off the counter and gently back to her feet. "Fine. But if I end up jumping you at our table, just remember that I warned you."
Grace laughed as she smoothed out her dress. "I'll risk it. Right now, just feed me."
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At first Rigsby thought that going out in public would help lessen his irrational desire to strip Grace naked and ravish her in a corner booth of a fusion restaurant, but as he watched her walk in front of him as they approached a pan-Asian place that she liked, his need to do just that merely increased. What the hell? Twenty-four hours ago, he had seen sex in public as a juvenile, tasteless affair. Who couldn't keep it in their pants until they got home? Who ignored the social contract like that and made everyone else witness their tacky groping? Jerkoffs, that's who. Normal people did it behind closed doors.
His own inner voice mocked him now. Not so high and mighty now, was he? In fact, Yesterday Rigsby was laughing his ass off as Today Rigsby imagined fingering Grace senseless under the table while she stroked him into oblivion with her nimble little hands. His tactical mind ran through every semi-private place in a restaurant he could conceivably pin her to a wall. What was wrong with him? It was dinner! And he was 31, not 15. He could control himself long enough to sit with his girl and have a meal together. He had all weekend. He could take a break. Not to mention that Grace would probably find the whole idea disgusting anyway. That thought calmed him a little. She was lovely and sweet and deserved to be treated like the lady she was. He'd be nothing but respectful. So keep your shit in check, man.
He shook his head and guided her through the door, his hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. God, give him strength.
The waitress led them to a corner booth in the dimly lit room. Of course, Rigsby thought exasperatedly. How much temptation could he possibly withstand? Grace snuggled against him and opened her menu, her finger and eyes sliding down the page as she read. From his vantage, he could see her cleavage pressed invitingly against the V of her neckline. He smothered a groan and instead placed a small kiss on the top of her head. She looked up and smiled.
"What are you going to have?" she asked.
He read her menu over her head. "I have no idea. I don't have much experience with Asian food."
She chuckled. "Do you want me to order for you? I'll use all my powers of observation to guess what you like."
He kissed her head again. "Go for it. If I were a noodle dish, what would I be?"
Grace turned back to the menu and cleared her throat. "Hmmmm. Let's see…Wayne… Waaaaayne-nah…" She dragged his name out as she scrolled the various choices.
"Is he kung pow? No, that's not quite right. Iiiiiiis he moo goo gai pan? Noooo…too tame."
Without looking away from her menu, Grace slid one of her hands off the table and into his lap, her fingers moving lightly up and down his jeans. He flinched, but said nothing.
"This is a tricky one," she murmured to him, still reading. "I think you're more of a curry man. Something…hot." She increased the pressure on his leg as her hand wandered deeper between his thighs. Just when he thought it couldn't get any more unbearable, she gently hooked her bare knee over his, spreading her legs just a tiny bit.
Just then the waitress appeared again. Rigsby thanked God that the table was high and the tablecloth long. She couldn't see the brain-destroying teasing going on just under that white linen. "Are you ready to order?"
Grace nodded, still caressing him between his legs. "Please. I'll have the pad thai and he'll have the green curry."
Oblivious, the waitress nodded as she wrote the order. "Any drinks?"
Grace palmed his erection gently. Fuck! He nearly slammed his fists on the table. He had no idea how he managed to keep still and quiet. "Tiger beer," she smiled innocently.
The waitress smiled. "All right. Be back in a jiff." And she disappeared.
Rigsby turned his body into hers and cupped her face before kissing her savagely. Her hand didn't let up, so he captured it in one of his own.
"You don't want to play with me like that, baby," he growled into their kiss.
She broke away and gave him a cute little pout. "But I like playing with you."
"Not here," he murmured.
She gave him the most carnivorous smile he'd ever seen. "So you weren't thinking about it from the minute we left my place?"
The knee hooked over his pulled slightly, opening his legs wider as well as hers. All he had to do was look down to see her dress riding up her thighs. His breath was getting shaky.
"I was," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'll act on it."
She giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. "Such a good boy all of a sudden?" Her arms went around his back and smoothed down his shirt. He felt her shifting next to him, her legs folding down, off the bench.
"Then I guess I'll have to be a bad girl."
He gasped raggedly as she slipped down under the table, underneath the linen. Her arms slithered from his back and into his lap, still not visible to anyone except him. She gave him no warning before she massaged him roughly through his pants.
Rigsby hissed and jumped several inches.
"Don't move," she whispered from under the table. "Look straight ahead."
Rigsby clenched his hands on the table and strangled a groan in his throat as he felt his zipper open and two warm hands reach in. She pulled him from the confines of his boxers and stroked him gently, not that he needed it. He'd had a permanent hard-on the minute he saw her in that dress.
"Grace, Jeee-sus," he whispered hoarsely, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Shhhh," was all he got before he felt her hot little mouth suckle softly at his tip. His legs and hips spasmed at the contact. He looked around wildly. He was positive that every single person in that joint knew what was happening. His body was on fire and surely that meant everyone could see his pathetic struggle as he tried to stay calm and still as he was sucked like a popsicle. But no one was even looking his way. For all they knew, he was just a guy patiently waiting for his girlfriend to come back from the bathroom. His short nails broke the skin of his palms in his fists.
She picked up her pace, her mouth pulling him in and out rapidly. The suction increased as she pulled as much of him in as possible. His groan was barely audible, but she paused to lick him and whisper, "Hush, good boy. You have to be quiet."
His hand shot under the tablecloth and gripped her hand tightly. "You're killing me," he whispered.
She swirled her tongue around his length. "Then I'll make it a mercy killing." And with that, her speed and suction exploded. He was pulled and sucked and licked with such ferocity that his eyes rolled back and his breathing hitched. He felt his climax building quickly in his balls, but he couldn't warn her, she'd insisted on his silence. So when he exploded into her mouth in a shattering orgasm, he bit his own cheek and squeezed his eyes shut to keep from screaming. Grace didn't miss a beat. She caught every drop of him as he emptied himself onto her tongue. She massaged his thighs gently, still moving up and down slowly on him until, with one lingering suck, she released him. He felt her dab him dry with a napkin before carefully tucking him back in his pants. She slithered back up onto the bench beside him, as if she'd never left. She hugged him around his back again and nestled her head into his neck. She inhaled deeply and burrowed her nose against his skin. His smell was back. His tangy, soapy, male smell that drove her so crazy.
"How was it?" she asked, planting a kiss against his jugular.
His breathing was still jagged as he croaked out a chuckle. "I'm dead, remember? You killed me." He took a deep breath before adding, "It was unbelievable. Please don't get offended, but you suck me like I've never been sucked in my life."
The waitress appeared with their beers and set them up, disappearing just as quickly.
"Wayne?" Grace whispered against him.
"Yeah, baby." He wrapped his arms around her as well, hugging her tight.
"I love you."
Her sentence cut through his blissful haze like a broadsword. What?