A/N: I'm still sitting here with my fingers on in ears going "LA LA LA LA LA!" every time the show comes on and insists that Grace and Rigs are broken up. Nope. Sorry. Didn't happen. They're still getting it on every other hour. LA LA LA LA! Anywho, to prove it, here is another needlessly smutty installment of Tango. Imagine them even younger, hotter and with zero impediments to their relationship. Oooooh, yeah.

Provoked

Grace cried out in wrung-out ecstasy as she crested for the third time.

"Pleeeease," she moaned hotly to the man plowing her mercilessly from behind. She didn't know if she was begging him to stop or to keep fucking her forever. Her arms trembled violently under the strain. She was exhausted and awash with so much satisfaction that she was positive she was going to black out and he'd have to reach the finish line alone.

He drove himself deep until he couldn't fit another millimeter of himself inside her and stilled, pumping against her without withdrawing. "Bad girl," Rigsby hissed adoringly at her.

Still shivering, Grace no longer denied it, as she had been all day since the incident. "Yes," she whispered, nodding her head at the mattress.

She could feel his smirk as he resumed a more languid, cocksure pace. Damn him. "Why are you bad, Grace?"

Her pussy continued to stretch and throb around his stubborn hard-on that refused to ejaculate and leave her in peace. Panting, sweating, she repeated his accusation, owning up to it at last. "I provoked you."

Large, deft fingers crept from their steely grip on her ass around to her clit. They assaulted her, running talented circles around her tiny bud, causing sparks to fly through her nerves. She sobbed and buckled under the pleasure. "Wayne, please."

But he merely chuckled and continued his firm, hard strokes into her tight, quivering channel. Plead as she might, there was no way in hell he was ending this. He'd been thinking about punishing her all day, ever since she'd walked into the beginner's course he occasionally stepped in to teach, sat in the front row in a pathetic excuse for a skirt, and kept cucumber cool as she splayed her legs just enough for him to see that she wasn't wearing panties. For one solid hour, he'd been forced to keep his head together and talk about the broader aspects of fieldwork to first years while his beautiful little angel sat ten feet away and cockteased the shit out of him. Oh, and she'd been so indifferent about it, too. Cruel little minx. She kept her legs crossed most of the time, sitting demurely and listening very respectfully to a lecture that she'd already taken the semester before, but as the talk wore on, she slowly uncrossed them, edging her knees further and further apart until she was blinding him with her gorgeous little pussy that peeked invitingly at him in a room of a hundred people. But her face remained oblivious, almost daring him to make a scene and attack her right there in her chair.

He snorted. He knew most of her classmates thought she was frosty. Beautiful as she was, others took that to mean that she was bitchy instead of shy.

If only they knew.

Rigsby looked down at the glistening, wanton woman on the business end of his cock and roared with pride. She wasn't frosty. He drove hard against her perfect ass again and basked in her searing cries. She was lava itself.

He leaned forward, knuckling the mattress next to her hands, changing his angle as his chest curled lovingly around her slender back. She whimpered as he shifted all around her, tucking her smaller frame into his. His smile went soft. She couldn't hide how much she loved being surrounded by him and it drove him abso-fuckin-lutely crazy. She was so strong. Impervious to everyone's ridiculous and unfounded opinions about her girly inability to take care of business. Steel filled her gaze when she looked at them, instantly bulletproof, as she went about her day. But for him? He banded his arm around her taut belly, cupping a breast as he continued to slide in and out of her. She cooed his name in naked adoration. For him, she was as sweet and yielding as honey.

"Why did you provoke me?" he whispered the question into her vivid hair. He could feel that she was already weak from his time-intense fuckathon that he'd inflicted on her. Her first orgasm has been torn out of her with his tongue the minute she'd stepped into his living room. Her second had crashed into her when he'd pinned her to the floor under him, pile driving between her tight folds until she screamed. Her third had just barely subsided and he was already working her towards her fourth. But he was not a pitiless man. His arm tightened around her, accepting much of her weight. She gave it to him gratefully, crooning insensibly and leaning back gently into his thrusts. It had taken him awhile to trust himself while on top of and behind her, but she had been so trusting in their explorations and today? She'd gone and snapped his control. So he'd fucked her like an animal and trusted her to guide him if he pushed too hard.

"Tell me, sweet baby," he prodded smilingly. No pretending he'd fucked her speechless already, although that was definitely on the menu.

"I..." she began haltingly. "I...provoked you..."

"Yeeees?" he said sweetly, squeezing the supple breast filling his hand. Christ, sometimes it still blew his mind that the woman he loved happened to be such a stunning piece of ass, pardon his French.

She exhaled shakily as her pussy fluttered helplessly around his relentless cock. "...because you make me feel..." she broke off and gasped as he tensed around her. His body was responding to the simple fact that he made her feel anything. He swore loudly, a prisoner of his own reaction.

"Feel what?" he rasped raggedly, fighting off his own release. It was hard enough, knowing that she was able to come so easily when he took her like this. It was a first for him. He clutched her tighter, his blind worship of her evident in every thump of his manic heartbeat against her back.

Her knees were ready to give out under her weight. Her whisper barely disturbed the air around her lips. "Safe. You're so safe, Wayne."

Rigsby snapped back into a kneeling position behind her and roared. His angel keened desperately as she achieved her fourth leap over the precipice while he bucked and emptied his aching balls into her quaking depths.

Gasping and shaking, he growled harshly at her intoxicating admission that the woman who didn't need anyone, who refused to submit to anyone, was his to protect. She didn't just her budding sexuality to him, she trusted him with everything. Her weaknesses. Her femininity. Her guilts and perceived faults. Everything that she hid from the world, fearing its censure, she gave him. Entrusted to him. She felt safe.

"Jesus Christ, Grace," he muttered, awed. His arm still curled tightly around her middle, he held her to him and he moved to his side, her little spoon to his big spoon. Once there, he wrapped his other arm under her neck and pulled her back against him by her shoulders. Her damp hair swirled around his face and he inhaled deeply, taking a hit of her delectable scent. Still shuddering with release, he didn't hear himself whisper to her. "I prayed for you."

Shaking in his arms, Grace didn't seem able to respond. She merely tucked herself tighter into the crook of his hips, his dick still snuggled deep inside her, refusing to leave. Her hands rested on each of his arms, clutching him. Their mixed sweat dried quickly on their rapidly cooling bodies. Sleep seemed inevitable.

Because of this, he hadn't really expected her answer.

"I never even dreamed you were possible."