A/N: You know what? Looking back at my last several chapters, I haven't given you people a good, nasty sex scene in ages. It's all angst and suggested naughtiness. That's wrong. That's a gross violation of everything I stand for. I've strayed from the formula! I've ignored my roots! It needs to be rectified immediately. This is a continuation of Gone, Stonewall, Bereft and Ang Mo. It comes free with a 'happy' ending. And I mean, like, the backdoor Thai massage kind of happy ending.

Happy

His fingers caught on fire the minute she slipped her hand into his and casually led him to a plush sofa on the far side of the room.

It was even darker in that corner, almost as dark as the black velveteen cocktail dress that she was wearing. Rigsby stared down at it, shocked at her attire. That damn dress must have been in a hurry. It barely stuck around long enough to cover her from cleavage to upper thigh. His knuckles brushed along its ridiculous softness at her hip. He inhaled sharply. The thinness of the material could be felt even in that minuscule touch. His body was coiled so tightly with questions and fear and lust that when she kittenishly put her hands on his chest and pushed him down into the seat, he fell like a rock.

Keeping up appearances, she crawled into his lap, mewling and curious, as if she'd never had the pleasure a thousand times before. Rigsby grunted with effort, the familiarity of her weight making him deliriously happy when he should be paying attention to their dangerous situation and not delighting in her scantily clad body sliding along his.

"You stubborn bastard," she whispered through her kitty cat smile. Her eyes had yet to lose their frightened glaze as she flayed his jacket open on either side and set about opening his shirt, one button at a time.

Eric was looking on with detached enjoyment. His little pet was clawing at her new plaything. He liked giving her presents. He liked watching her healthy appetite for them. So if she wanted to maul this poor soul who'd stumbled into his joint before finding out who the fuck he was, it was the least he could do. His Ang Mo liked pretty things. And she found this man pretty. To Eric's rather simple view, that meant that she now owned him. At least until they found out his identity and what to do with him. But for now, she could play.

Rigsby did his best to keep his hands to himself as she shimmied and rocked in his lap, her character, Ang Mo, obviously taunting an unfortunate trespasser. But he remembered this. Oh God, did he ever. And he'd missed it. Never mind when she'd gone missing and torn a hole in his life, but before. She'd left him. She'd left him and he'd been an absolute wreck. The memories of her closeness had driven him so crazy that there were many days when he didn't think he'd make it into work. He just couldn't face seeing her. Knowing what they'd shared. Knowing that she didn't want it anymore. Didn't want him anymore. Those thoughts had made him wonder if he was clinically depressed. Now she was in his lap, exposing his chest as her fingers flicked lower, pretending to look for a wire that she knew wasn't there while taking predatory pleasure in undressing a handsome stranger. He groaned behind clenched teeth, his dense musculature rippling wildly underneath her.

She kept her feral smile in place. Her eyes stayed terrified.

She leaned forward, as if to kiss him. "What the hell are you doing here, Jimmy?" she asked through her phony smile.

"Looking for you," he gritted quietly. "Fuck, you can't keep touching me, baby. I've missed you too much. I can't take it. I can't concentrate."

A half-frightened, half-relieved snort of disbelief huffed between her ruby lips. "I have to. Eric thinks I'm searching you," she paused and licked his mouth for effect. "Ang Mo would. She hates cops about as much as she likes men."

Rigsby bit his lips, tasting her on them. His eyes nearly rolled. She tasted even better than he remembered. "What's going on?" He was careful not to say her name, even at a whisper.

She was performing beautifully as she continued to tug at his pockets and frisk every inch of clothing she could reach while stridently seducing him. Only Rigsby knew better. She was trembling violently, her fear evident in the shaky explorations of her fingers. He kept his eyes on her face. His hands, however, inched their way until they splayed lightly over her bare thighs on either side of his hips. Her soft skin all called to him, teasing him with more memories. His grip tightened a fraction. Her search slowed as her eyes closed briefly at his touch.

"Long story," she murmured as she leaned to his side, hiding her face from the room. "I'm Eric Yang's accountant. I was in one of his clubs one night when he approached me. He introduced himself as the owner and bought me a drink." She gave a nervous laugh into his shoulder. "He liked my hair, he said."

"He has excellent taste."

She smiled wanly and continued as she moved to his left inner jacket pocket, carefully fishing in it and pretending to find nothing. "I knew who he was. I took a chance and insinuated that I was a bookie. He took an interest. He was looking for someone good with numbers."

"Who does he think you are?"

She moved to his right pocket. "Leah Catterson. It's the name I gave at the time. I informed Narcotics about my conversation and the immediately set up her identity. They moved my bank account to fit with my story about overseas activity. They moved me to a new apartment to keep them from finding Grace Van Pelt. Eric is very thorough in his employee checks."

She leaned over to a table by the chair, pinching a small amount of white powder from a baggie on its surface. She brought it back to him, smiling wide all the while. "I'm sorry," she whispered through the grin. "If you're not a cop, he'll assume you got my name because you want to score." She balanced the pinch on her index finger just under his nose. "Snort it. I'll note that you had to in my Narcotics report."

Rigsby stared at her over her finger. "Jesus," he breathed in amazement. "Are you sure that's necessary?"

She nodded. To anyone in the room, she was assuring a customer that their product was clean. Was affordable. Was his every single dream come true. "He won't let you leave if he's suspicious. A cop wouldn't take blow right in front of him."

Rigsby nodded slightly. He hadn't so much as dropped a lick of acid in his entire life. He had no idea what to expect. "What will it do to me?"

A tiny bit of warmth entered her smile. God, she missed her boy scout. She cupped his cheek and took a risk. She lowered her finger just long enough to brush a kiss over his lips. He immediately kissed her back. It was so full of heat and longing that she moaned in his mouth. When she pulled away, she kept her hand on his face. "It will make you happy," she whispered.

Her kiss galvanized him. Without another word, he grasped her hand gently, brought her finger back under his nose, and inhaled sharply, snorting the hit. Knowing he was a coke virgin and his first reaction would be to sneeze and reject the powder sticking to his sinuses, Grace swept forward and kissed him again. Hard and with every ounce of sincerity that had built up over the last three terrifying months. She'd worked alone in this lion's den they were currently sitting in. She'd slept alone in a foreign bed, unable to call anyone because Leah Catterson's phones were most certainly tapped by Eric. She couldn't talk to anyone outside of the Narcotics team about her assignment. Lisbon had been made aware of the situation, then kept updated, but not included. Grace had also told her parents that she was going to be difficult to reach for the next few months because of work, but that she was okay. She'd walked into this warehouse every single day for three whole months, never knowing if her identity as a CBI agent had been uncovered. Never knowing if a bullet waited for her behind that heavy metal door. Never knowing if she'd ever again see the man she was deeply in love with, and to whom she hadn't even said goodbye.

She should have known he'd find her.

Her very own bloodhound. Their breakup had wrecked both of them. Had she really thought that he'd simply let her disappear the way she had?

She felt his face contorting against hers as he fought his body's rejection of the drug. But his lips didn't stop moving with hers. She opened her mouth to him, wanting him deeper. Wanting him everywhere. And wanting him safe, which meant they needed to keep this up. She thanked God that both motives meant that she got to keep touching him.

She slid down his throat, nibbling him just the way he liked, no longer pretending to seduce him. "You'll have to take another, Wayne. Can you do that for me?"

He pulled her closer, coke and kisses driving him crazy. "Yes," he murmured into her hair. "I can take more." He nuzzled her ear and groaned hotly. "Fuck, you smell good."

"You too," she replied absently, moving lower to his exposed chest, kissing her way across his pectorals. They tensed and quivered under her attention. She'd never had such a dizzying effect on any man before him. "I missed you so much," she confessed into his skin.

His erection, already prominent under her, jolted at her words. Her mouth watered at the memory of it. So thick and rigid and talented. And comforting. She hummed with desire, remembering that coming against Wayne felt like coming home.

She reached to the baggie and took another pinch. He looked at it, then at her again. "Won't he expect you to partake?" he asked curiously. She smiled again. His pupils were dilated. She wasn't sure if it was the coke or the kissing that had changed them. She shook her head. "Employees never take the product," she murmured quietly. "Can't trust a cokehead in your organization, now can you?"

Rigsby gave her a lopsided smile, lowered his face to her finger, and snorted again. "Fuck!" he hissed tightly, the sting of a foreign substance making him wince. She swooped in again, covering his reaction with her face. She rubbed her nose against his, knowing how much the drug was irritating it.

"S'okay," she whispered soothingly, stroking his arms. "It'll pass, I promise."

"Grace," he gritted against her lips. "Christ, I need you so bad."

Her eyes fluttered shut at the deliciously familiar feeling of his aroused body underneath hers. "Me too," she confessed in a whimper. God, it had been so long. She was so tired of being alone. Being afraid. Being cold.

Wayne was solid and warm and reassuring. He was all of those things she'd missed on this assignment. Hell, he was all of the things she missed the moment she'd pushed him out of her life.

For the first time since taking this under cover job, she was grateful for the chance to act like Ang Mo.

"Open your pants, Wayne." He barely heard her, she said it so quietly.

He shook his head. The coke must have been messing with him more than he realized it would. He'd imagined that, right? "What?"

"I need you," she kissed the words on his lips. "And Ang Mo can have anything she wants."

He cupped the nape of her neck and dragged her even closer, even harder of top of him. "Are you asking me to fuck you in this room full of addicts and drug lords?" His words sounded angry. His body vibrated between her thighs like it had never heard such a fantastic suggestion.

"Just a little," she pleaded softly. "No one will notice. Or if they do, they won't care. Please? I need you close."

His other hand was already pawing his zipper discreetly between them. "Only because I fucking need you so bad that I can't see straight," he grumbled darkly.

She nodded quickly. She levered up onto her knees above him, cradling his head between her hands. "Hurry."

He yanked himself free and pulled her down quickly. In one sharp move, he'd pulled her panties aside, positioned her, and sank her down completely.

Grace gasped as her tight, neglected body stretched wide around his granite cock. Rigsby jerked her forward, his forehead buried against her shoulder, before he let himself groan in unbelievable pleasure as her soft, pliant body yielded to his entry. He panted harshly against her, his raging emotions, drug-addled state and horny-as-hell hormones all screamed at him to start fucking upwards and not stop until he was a puddle of sated jelly on the floor.

Grace sealed her lips to his ear and exhaled raggedly. "Don't move," she guessed his thoughts. "Just stay. Stay with me."

His arms went around her waist and plastered her to him. A single hair couldn't have fit in between. "Yes," he rasped, searing her with burning, kisses along her collarbone. "I won't move. Just hold me. Hold me and don't let go, Grace."

She nodded against his hair, looking quickly around the room. Eric had left his chair, probably to attend business somewhere else. The rest of the couples were oblivious, many of them engaged in far more explicit activities than they were. Still Grace didn't let herself raise and sink onto him like she wanted. She didn't want them, any of them, to see their intimate moment. It belonged to the two of them. Not to Ang Mo and Jimmy. But Wayne and Grace. They were pressed together and purging the fear and distance that had built since their separation. She thought of all the nights she'd dreamt of holding him like this again and moaned, clenching him in ecstasy.

He moaned back and bucked slightly. "More. Squeeze me harder, Grace."

She squeezed him again, capturing his lips to keep him quiet as pleasure ricocheted in his groin. "Ang Mo," she chided with a small smile. "How did you find Ang Mo?"

"Didn't," he murmured, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Jane found you. He told me where to look." He bit his cheek as her muscles continued to flutter and release around him. It was torture not to stroke into that tight little channel like he wanted to, but it was also heaven just to let her whole body hug him over and over again, just like her many kisses felt like sunshine, each one making him warmer and warmer. "Who's Ang Mo?" he panted.

She leaned forward and bit his lobe playfully. Rigsby growled and she giggled. Using her teeth on him drove him absolutely nuts and she knew it. Now she was teasing him by scraping hers along the shell, punctuated with agonizing licks. "My nickname. It's the Chinese equivalent of gringo." She shivered on top of him, his presence - but stillness - in her body was making her crazy. She wished like hell that they were alone. There was so much she wanted to do, now that she'd broken her oath to stay away from him. She pulled back and chuckled shyly. "Literally, it means 'red hair'. They think it's lucky."

His rigid body flinched, fighting hard against his inertia. His smile was tight as his cock ached savagely at her internal massage. Slowly, he slipped two fingers between them, parting her folds and rubbing her gently. "Come for me, Gr-" he lost her name in the warning bite she gave his lips. He purred as her bite turned soft and her moans told him that she'd desperately missed his light touch. "I've needed you for five fucking months. Now I'm inside you again and I'm staying there until you come just for me." His steely arm banded around her back, forcing her harder onto his gentle fingers. His pupils, huge from coke and lust, shone bright in the dim of the room. "Show me how lucky I am, baby."

She crested and fell. Diving into the safety of his bare chest, she sobbed as quietly as her orgasm ripped her open and flooded her with euphoria. She gasped and panted, licking his throat eagerly as she rotated her hips in tiny strokes against him, her instincts winning over her discretion.

He tensed under her and gasped into her hair, both hands shooting to her hips and holding her in place as he shot hard into her delectable pussy. She put her hand over his mouth, letting him grunt loudly behind it, his teeth nipping her palm in pure reflex. The bite made her twitch, her thighs opening wider over him as he emptied himself inside her. She felt him spill hotly deep in her womb and she pressed yet another moan into his throat. She would never get over how amazing he was at this.

They came down slowly, their breath evening out until they were lounging placidly in the chair, Grace straddling his lap and snuggled tightly into his chest. At length, she spoke from her sanctuary against his neck. "I haven't touched anyone since you. Not even for the sting."

Rigsby, through his euphoric fog, felt heartened by her words, but not surprised. "I know," he said quietly, cocking his lips to her ear and kissing it languidly. "I haven't either."

She smiled against him. "I know."

"So what now?"

She pressed harder into him. "You need to pay me for the drugs. I tell Eric you came looking for a score. You go tell Lisbon and Narcotics what happened."

His arms tightened around her in disapproval. "I'm not leaving you here."

The woman in Grace made her weaken fractionally. It felt so good to hear those words. More than anything, she wanted to go along with them. She was almost - almost - willing to let him carry her out of here, put her in his car, drive her to his place, lock her in his bedroom and make love to her until they couldn't remember their own names. She could sleep well for the first time in ages and wake up to the sun instead of the various cycles of the moon. She could roll onto his chest, warm and safe, and tell him everything. Her fears, her dreams, her secret assignment, her feelings. All of it. And he would listen. He was such a good listener. And when she was done, he'd wrap her up tight against him and whisper, "I love you, Grace."

She missed her name. Even the Narcotics team called her Leah and Ang Mo, just to keep her oriented. But Wayne would never. He'd weigh the practicality of calling her by her undercover names and simply decide that 'Grace' was the only name that truly fit her. She might bite him and chastise him for it, but deep down, she preferred it. Even needed it. The deep scratch of his voice suited her name perfectly. No one else managed to repeat that sound as alluringly as he did.

When Wayne called her Grace, she felt herself wilt.

She pulled upright in his lap and took a cleansing breath. Now was not the time to wilt. She let herself stare down into those blue eyes and slowly shake her head.

"You have to. You need to pay me, then go. Don't come back again, Wayne. You'll put me at risk. Go back to Narcotics and tell them what happened. I promise," she hesitated, then leaned down and kissed him lightly. "I promise to come back soon."

"No," he argued weakly, taking and giving kisses in turn. "Please, Grace, don't-"

She lifted to her knees again. Rigsby groaned as his penis slipped out of her. "Zip up," she whispered.

He reached down and quickly put his clothes back together, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. When he finished, he shocked her by slipping his finger between her thighs and taking a quick swipe at her. She jolted at the electricity he produced in such a small move, stunned as he brought his finger, slick with her juice, up to his mouth and sucked hungrily. Their stared never broke. She exhaled raggedly, watching him lick himself clean.

His eyes were still unnaturally wide as he spoke low. "I'll go," he gruffed angrily. "But you are coming back, babe. And when you do, I'm going to pick up where I just left off."

His sexy threat hit her deep in her belly, already wanting him to fulfill it. She began to shiver all over again, but found the strength to merely nod as she slid from his lap.

Rigsby stood, his limbs now loose and confident from the explosion of drug and sex-induced dopamine in his bloodstream. He reached behind him and took out his wallet, thumbing out two one-hundred dollar bills. As he put his wallet back, his other arm looped her waist, dragging her close. Grace, as Ang Mo, let him. He brazenly slid the folded bills down her shoulder, down her chest, and slowly into the top of her dress. He nestled them neatly between her breasts until only their green tops peeked out. He kissed her hard, his hands coasting over her breasts and ass in a manner befitting his feelings and their cover.

When he broke away, he smiled serenely. "You were right. That made me very happy."