Chapter 10
There was one particular thing Grace loved about relationships, and that was watching her man get ready in the morning. She couldn't really explain it, but she found the rituals fascinating. The no nonsense showers, the shaving, the hair regime (if any), and of course, them getting dressed. The last one in particular was worthy of close observation. Perhaps because she enjoyed the knowledge that she had been the cause of his undress in the first place, perhaps because she enjoyed the knowledge that she'd rip those clothes off later that night. Either way, she was a shameless voyeur.
But there was something decidedly different about watching Rigsby get dressed on Monday morning. After their shower, they came back to her bedroom to suit up for work. She pointedly sat on her bed in her towel and made no move to dress as he started rummaging through his bag for boxers and socks. He turned back to her and cocked his head at her.
"Plan on going into work like that?" he asked teasingly as he tossed his towel aside. He stood naked for a moment and smilingly watched her watching him.
She shook her head. "I'll get dressed in a minute. But first I have to see this."
Rigsby chuckled. "There isn't much here you haven't seen."
She smiled. "Well, that will never get old. But what I meant was that I want to watch you get dressed."
He looked intrigued. "Okay. Why?"
"Because." She shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. "It's just kinda…erotic, I guess."
His voice dropped an octave and went decidedly rougher. "Erotic."
She searched for a better explanation. "Yes. It's like, I've seen you in the most private way possible now, and now I get to watch you turn back into Agent Rigsby, the man I work with and have a secret crush on. It's almost like there are two of you."
"Two of me," he processed what she meant as he slowly pulled his boxers up his legs and settled them on his hips. She thought he'd question it further, but instead he wordlessly began to dress. She could tell he was doing it much slower than he normally would. For her benefit, no doubt. He reached down and pulled a white tee shirt from his bag and, with his back to her, pulled it over his arms and head before smoothing it down his torso. She watched his back muscles as they stood out in sharp relief, rippling under his skin before the fabric cruelly covered them up. Still turned away, he reached over to grab his dress shirt hanging from the doorknob and pulled it over each arm before shouldering into it and settling it evenly on his chest. When he turned to face her, his head dropped down to supervise his fingers as they started with the bottom button and worked their way up. Next came his slacks. He stepped into them and pulled them up his legs, tucking his shirts into the band before zipping up. He grabbed his belt from his bag and looped it through, stopping at the sides so he could attach his gun holster and badge before he slid the buckle into place. He didn't look up at her once.
Grace was enthralled. It was like watching a real-life documentary on Clark Kent, the crime-fighting superhero as he put on his everyday suit over his steel body to blend in with the masses. Except this hero's costume was his suit, not his disguise. The man beneath it was flesh and blood. Strong, but vulnerable. A warrior. Adorning himself with 21st Century armor. Outside in the parking lot was his noble steed.
He finally reached out and pulled his tie from his coat hanger. As he slipped it around his neck, Grace stood up and walked over to him. His hands paused as hers covered them, the tie ends pressed underneath.
"Let me," she whispered.
He still didn't speak, his expression soft. He lifted his hands away and she gently took the tie ends in her hands. She measured them out on either side before crossing and looping them. Her loose hair danced on her shoulders and arms as she worked. Rigsby was oblivious to her progress, he could only watch her and marvel at her many abilities and how surprising he found each one. He looked down and noticed that her movements were slowly loosening the towel wrapped around her body. He slowly reached out and tugged at it gently. It fell to the floor without a fight. Grace started and looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly, Rigsby understood exactly what she meant when she said she wanted to watch him transform. Just as she deftly slid the knot into place at his throat, he'd stripped her completely. Naked Grace. Agent Rigsby. Suddenly their private and work relationships stood out in visual contrast.
And he found it incredibly erotic.
He ran his hands gently over her waist, traveling slowly up her sides until he cupped her bare breasts. Grace gasped softly. She felt it too. Something about him being fully clothed and fully armed while she stood naked and exposed struck a deep primal urge that stabbed deep inside her. As he molded her breasts in his hands, she suddenly felt so womanly. So desirable. She arched into his hands and mewled softly.
"You just had to be this sexy, didn't you?" The gravel in his voice betrayed his lust. He dipped his head low and tongued her nipple. She moaned and leaned back into the support of his arms.
"You just had to watch me get dressed, only to make me hard and rip it all off again." He moved his mouth to her other breast, sucking that nipple with a bit more ferocity and rolling it gently between his teeth.
A surge of wetness coursed between her legs. His voice, so full of need, was also laced with the smallest trace of anger. Anger at her for making him lose control. Anger at himself for needing her so badly. And anger that he wasn't really angry at all. And that she turned her on so much that her hips bucked against his pants.
"Keep talking like that," she whispered.
He growled and sucked her harder. One of his hands left her waist and moved between her thighs. She groaned with relief and rubbed herself against his fingers, desperate to relieve the throb he had so evilly ignited in her. Damn him. She'd only wanted to watch him dress out of honest curiosity. He wasn't supposed to seduce her. He wasn't supposed to stand there, all imposing and masculine, and make her want to bend over and beg him to fuck her as hard and as fast as he could. This was his fault, not hers. How dare he blame her? Well, she'd show him what was what.
She pulled his other hand from her back. She looked him straight in the eye as she brought his index finger to her lips and sucked it into her mouth, still rubbing her wet pussy hard against his fingers. She swirled her tongue around his finger, dragging her soft inner cheeks and lips against it and sucking as hard as she could.
"Fuck!" he swore loudly. His fingers pressed harder against her clit and she moaned around his finger. Her hips moved faster, her legs grew weaker. But her indignation was still growing. Her hands found his crotch and cupped him roughly, massaging him too quickly and erratically. He hissed and shoved himself hard against her hand.
"You wanna play with me? Is that it?" Grace's eyes fluttered at the menace in his question. She wanted to play with him, all right. She opened his fly and reached in, using the same rough technique through one less layer of clothing. He began to thrust rhythmically into her palm.
"You want it rough, Grace? Is that what you want? Does my sweet angel want me to fuck her so hard that she screams?"
She moaned louder, pulling his finger as deep as it would go, spurring him on. They stared each other down as they continued to handle each other forcefully. Rigsby's fingers glistened with the evidence of her excitement. Grace's hands were wrapped around the evidence of his. She let his finger go with a pop and moaned breathily.
"The mirror. I want to see."
Rigsby knew instantly what she meant. Her sliding closet doors were paned completely with two mirrors.
He pushed her to the front of her closet door and loomed behind her. Their eyes riveted to the reflection in front of them as his hands moved roughly over her body.
"You see this?" he growled in her ear. He stroked her breasts, her hips, her thighs. She was captivated.
He turned them to the side, facing each other and both clearly visible in the mirror. Still watching them, Rigsby reached for his belt, unbuckling it before quickly unzipping his fly. He shoved his pants and boxers around his hips, his erection standing away from his body.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his cock. "You feel what you do to me? Every single second since I met you?" He wrapped his fingers around hers and pumped him madly. Grace keened and leaned into him for support as they worked him together. His other hand cupped her jaw and forced her eyes to his.
"I want nothing more than to bend you over and punish you for making me want you so much." Her eyes grew heavy and her knees grew weak. She tried to sink to her knees so she could work on punishing him instead, but he held her up against him.
"Oh, no you don't." He wasn't about to let her get the upper hand. Instead, he released her hand on his. "Since I can't take you from behind…" he gestured to their height difference. "…I'll take you from the front."
Rigsby grabbed the back of her thighs and yanked upwards. Grace gave a startled cry as her legs instinctively went around his waist. He readjusted quickly, hooking his elbows under her knees and locking his hands on her lower back. Grace gasped as her thighs were pulled taut against his abdomen. Their hips lined up flawlessly. He captured her lips with his and kissed her savagely before releasing her and growling softly.
"Put me inside you. Now."
Grace nodded, giving up all pretense of anger. She reached down, grasped him firmly, and guided him into her body. Grace moaned and Rigsby gave a rough, throaty snarl. With her thighs secured to his stomach, the angle let him go amazingly deep. He fought to stay upright as Grace clenched her inner muscles around him, adjusting to him once again.
He lifted her up and brought her down on him hard, impaling her on his cock before lifting her and slamming her down again. "Yes!" she hissed loudly.
His hands were locked behind her, so he used his words to roughly caress her.
Lifting and dropping her rhythmically, he turned his head towards the mirror. "Look at us."
Grace turned her head and rested her cheek against his, watching him as he held her up and pistoned in and out of her. She moaned at the sight, a naked girl getting thoroughly fucked by fully clothed man. His pants were barely open, you could see nothing of him. But she was bare to the world in the most vulnerable position imaginable. She was shocked by how sexy she found the scene before her.
Rigsby was no less captivated. He watched with wide eyes as he pumped wildly into her. When he spoke, he spoke to the mirror.
"I've imagined this a thousand times," he murmured, all of the frustration gone from his voice, replaced by wonder and awe. "Everyday at work, just like this. Every single inch of you, open to me. Wanting me. God, Grace!" he broke off and moaned as electricity bolted through his body. She was so wet. Her juices were trickling down his balls.
And she wasn't helping. Her arms gripped his neck and she was making all kinds of breathy, sobbing noises that drove him crazy and made him lift and drop her with more ferocity. He turned to their reflection again, roaring at the sight.
"Please, more."
Grace couldn't hear herself. She was crying out, keening, whispering to him as he battered her body with crushing waves of pleasure. Maybe it was the helplessness of her position that made her so hot. Maybe his words. Maybe everything. But as her climax came rushing at her with blinding speed, she knew that getting fucked by Wayne Rigsby was her one life-defining moment. She went rigid in his arms.
"WAAAAAAYNE!"
A lion's roar answered her as Rigsby stiffened, timing it so that he dropped Grace onto him just as he came deep and hard in her womb.
"Fucking love you!"
He almost fell forward and crushed them both as his climax struck him with torrential force, taking with it all of his strength, but by some miracle he managed to stay upright long enough to sink to the floor, Grace sobbing and trembling in his arms. His head fell against hers as they fought for air. His clothes felt too hot and stifling, but not enough to make him move. Instead, he pull his arms from under her knees and banded them around her back and shoulders, tracing them with the rough pads of his fingers.
"You own me, baby," he murmured into her hair, not really hearing himself.
Grace giggled softly as she lifted herself up. He tightened his grip and grunted his disapproval, but she pulled his arms from her and stood up. "I don't want to mess up your pants, sweetie."
"Fuck my pants."
She giggled harder and shook her head. "Sorry. We can't be late and you don't have any clothes here yet, so no cuddling in your lap. Get up, mister."
He growled softly as he stood up, but his heart thumped hard in his chest at the word 'yet'. He didn't have any clothes here yet. Sweet Christ, this was really going to happen. He and Grace were romantically involved and with that came all the relationship swag he'd only dared to dream about. A space in their closets for each other. His and her side of the bed. Odd socks and underwear turning up in each other's laundry. Movie night. Cooking together. Watching tv on the couch. Hell, even corny romantic walks on the beach. They weren't sad little fantasies in his head anymore. They were eventualities. Fuck, yeah.
He smiled softly as he cleaned himself up with a tissue and readjusted his clothes. She was right, they needed to get going if they were going to talk to Jane first thing. Grace dressed with surprising speed and grabbed her makeup bag from the bathroom.
"I'll do this in the car," she explained.
He smirked at her. "Girly girl."
She blushed and poked his chest. "Shut up, am not."
He grabbed her finger and poked her back in the ribs. "Are too."
She flinched at the tickle. "Am not!"
He pulled her into a bear hug and laughed. "You're so fun to rile up."
She smiled despite herself. She relaxed and hugged him back before speaking again. After a few moments, he pulled away. "Okay, really time to go now."
She nodded. As he pulled away, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Wayne?"
He turned back. She looked down at his fingers as she stroked them. She whispered softly to them. "Me too."
"You too, what?"
"You," she looked up at him. "You own me too."
His eyes melted and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. "You…you make me so happy, baby. I don't deserve you."
She punched him softly. "You stole my line again, buster."
They grinned at each other before pulling away and grabbing their stuff on the way out. They were going to have to step on it now.