Grace Van Pelt is not the kind of woman to spend hours of her time daydreaming about sex. She was raised in a good Christian home, with morals and values and she has a very important job that occupies almost all of her time.
Or it did. Until she lost her orgasm.
Once is a fluke. It's happened before. Not often but a few times when the man she was with just wasn't getting it done. But not like this. She was seeing a guy, and then after him another with no spark. She thought maybe she wasn't over Rigsby but an encounter that she will swear up and down to her grave was a lapse in judgment and not a test produced the same results.
It's been three months and the underlying panic of oh-my-god-what-if-I-never-have-one-again paired with the stress of trying to block any semblance of dirty thoughts from Jane has her at her wits end.
This is the only excuse she has for what she is doing. She knows where to look. A case a few months ago involving rival escort services fighting over "talent" with a client ending up dead gives her a wide breadth of search terms to work with. She squints at the tiny screen, trying vainly to press buttons that are too small for even her delicate fingers. You'd think with the kind of money these places are asking for they could at least spring for a mobile version of their website.
She jumps, her phone tumbling from her hand and clattering to her desktop loudly and she can practically feel Jane's impish smile beaming into the back of her head.
"Jane," she says evenly, hand reaching to cover her phone on her desk, trapping it between her palm and the metal top.
"Jumpy," Jane replies, sauntering his way around her desk, a cup of tea in one hand, the other shoved in his jacket pocket.
"It's late," she replies a little more curtly than she intended and even though she knows Jane doesn't buy it, she offers him a smile in an effort to soothe the sting.
Jane gives a short nod, bringing his tea to his lips. His eyes hold hers over the rim of the mug and she looks away, her hand pressing down harder on her cell phone trying to think of a brick wall or the ocean.
A sharp cling as Jane returns the cup it's saucer. "I'm sorry, I didn't even offer you any. Here."
Before she can even think otherwise, her hands are coming up, taking his offering and his hand darts down, snatching her phone up.
"JANE!" she exclaims sharply but her hands are full of hot tea and breakable ceramic ware which is a good thing considering her first instinct is to reach for her firearm.
His eyebrows raise ever so slightly, chin tipping up as his thumb scrolls and scrolls and scrolls some more.
"Drink that it'll help with your nerves. It's chamomile," he interrupts, pinching two fingers over the screen to zoom in and his eyebrows raise even more.
"It's for a case." Van Pelt blurts and with everything she's got, forces herself to believe it. Because the only way to lie to Jane is to also lie to yourself.
"Really?" Jane asks, distracted as he zooms out again and looks up at her, eyes full of mischief. "Which one?"
"The murdered John three months back," she replies, a secret part of her hoping her choice of words trips him up and the slight twitch of his cheek shows his amusement, but the dark flicker in his eyes is a warning. No need to get nasty.
"Thought that one was closed," he replies with nonchalance, scrolling again and Van Pelt itches to snatch the device away. "Besides, why would you need to use your own credit card if it were for a case?"
Van Pelt's eyes close, hearing the scrape of the plastic as he plucks the card from her desktop. When she opens them again he's pressing it to his lips in giddy amusement, watching her squirm.
"It's not what it looks like," she says finally, trying to remain calm even though the panic is slowly creeping in.
"Sure it is," he says, reaching forward to press the pads of his index and middle finger to the back of her elbow, the motion spurring her to bring the tea to her lips.
"It's really not," she says with a shuddering laugh, feeling sweat beginning to form on her upper lip which she wipes away as vapor from the tea.
"So you haven't lost your orgasm?"
The cup hits the saucer hard enough to break and Jane winces at the sound as hot tea splashes over Van Pelt's hand. She winces, finally setting the damn cup down which Jane grins at widely.
"I…I… what?" Van Pelt asks and Jane continues to stand there smiling, arms crossed over his chest. "that's… I don't… you're not…"
"I admire your thought process what with trying to seek professional help and all," Jane says looking down at the phone again. "but wouldn't a doctor have been easier?"
"I did see a doctor," Van Pelt snaps, snatching the phone and her card away from him and he looks at her bewildered, whether from her rudeness or her confession she's not sure. "I mean… I…"
"Have you tried taking care of it yourself?" Jane asks seriously, crossing his arms over his chest and his expression is one of deep concern.
"You know," he says, gesturing vaguely at her waist but his eyes hold on her face.
She can feel her ears turn hot and as much as she tries to remain calm she feels herself becoming more and more flustered by the moment. Jane's hand reaches for her wrist and she only struggles for a moment before giving up entirely and letting him read her pulse.
"So masturbation is against your good Christian morals but paying for sex is fair game," he deduces, his eyes boring in to hers, reading her as easily as if the words were printed on her forehead. He smiles boyishly. "Interesting."
"Yes fascinating," Van Pelt snaps, reaching to rip her hand away but his grip tightens.
"I can help you," he says, the confidence in his voice the same as when he announces that a suspect is innocent or guilty.
"I…I…what?" she asks, recoiling slightly and Jane's hand leaves her immediately, either sensing he'd crossed a line of hers or maybe having accidentally crossed one of his own.
"It's a mind thing, Grace," he says evenly as if explaining a parlor trick to a child. "As you said your doctor found nothing wrong-"
"I never said that."
"Oh, then is there something wrong?" he asks and the concern in his eyes would be believable if she hadn't seen him fake it so many times.
"No," she mutters and his grin returns.
"Good then let me help you," he urges and she looks at him skeptically, chewing her bottom lip. "Come on Grace, I know you've been…" he trails searching her eyes, "stressed," he pulls the word from her mind with a smile, "for a good month now," she shifts and his concern deepens, "oh dear, three?"
She moves swiftly, looking to sidestep him and run for the elevator but his hands close on her biceps trapping her in front of him. She could throw him off if she wanted to…
"No, no I bruise easy and there'd be too many questions. Come on let me help you Grace," he says, as if he were merely offering to take her to the airport instead of mind trick her into finding her orgasm. "Strictly between you and I," he says, one hand lingering on her bicep while the other slices the air, an authoritative gesture. "No one else knows."
She eyes him skeptically and finds his face open and honest, a trick he pulls effortlessly but there's something small inside her that begs her to believe him. A spark in his eyes seems to hear that voice and before she's even fully committed to accepting his offer, he's taking her by the arm and leading her over to his couch.
Her feet stutter across the floor, "what-what are we-"
"You're getting comfortable. I'm getting ready."
His hand leaves her arm and gestures for her to sit as he shrugs his shoulders back, shucking out of his jacket. She lowers herself tentatively, watching as his fingers deftly undo his cuffs, rolling up one sleeve and she feels her stomach flutter.
"It's nothing like that," he says simply, reaching to roll the other. "This is a no-contact sport."
He says it amiably enough but the authority in his voice isn't mistaken. He won't be touching her and she most certainly will not be touching him.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks finally, dragging a chair over to her and lowering himself on to it, sitting on the edge, feet planted firmly and bent towards her in earnest.
"Um…" she says, looking at Jane's couch in confusion. She's never actually sat on this couch before.
"Lie down if you need, it's quite comfortable," he says, leaning back in his chair and resting an ankle on one knee, hands folded in his lap.
She keeps her eyes on him, turning slowly to lie on her back and looks up at the ceiling, a patchwork of cracks and water stains. She startles when she hears his voice, closer than she expected.
"I want you to listen to my voice, Grace," he says, his tone silky smooth almost like a caress. "You feel safe. Calm and secure. Nothing can hurt you here…"
She feels her eyelids droop but forces them open again, her limbs going heavy and vision pulsing with the steady thrum of her heart beat.
"Good," Jane says evenly, his inhale loud in her ears and she feels goosebumps break over her skin. "I want you to reach back, to the last time. You don't have to tell me who you were with-"
"Rigsby," her mouth forms the word and her voice is foreign to her. Somewhere deep down she knows she should feel embarrassed but not right now. His chuckle sounds far away.
"Well, okay then. Remember how that was…" he trails and she can feel tears beginning to well up in her eyes the wound reopening and in her hyperaware state she can feel Jane tense next to her, hear the scrape of the chair legs as he tries to pull in closer. "No, there's no pain here Grace. There's only peace and warmth. Listen to my voice…"
His voice. A shiver quakes through her and she hears his exhale, a sound of relief and she vaguely feels her hand reach out for his, wanting the contact. The backs of her fingers brush his knee and he tenses, shifting away from the touch.
"Think of what you want, Grace," he says lowly and she feels him take her wrist, pressing it between his two fingers and thumb.
His index and middle finger settle over her pulse and it's as if she's mainlined into a pleasure source, her breathing going uneven as the sensation travels through her veins.
"Think of how it feels when a man puts his hands on you…" he trails and she can hear the smile in his voice, "or maybe a woman?"
She frowns, making a disgruntled noise and she can hear him chuckle. "I'm only teasing. A man then, think of a face…"
His face floats into her mind, cherub features with a devilish smile, golden hair a swirl of bedhead curls. Her breathing quickens and she begins to squirm.
"Hold that face in your mind. Think of hands, strong, capable hands moving lightly over your skin. You're safe here, Grace. It feels good."
His hands roam her body and she can't tell if this is real or not. Did she somehow end up naked on his couch in CBI headquarters? She wants to worry about it but she's not; there's no need really. She's safe here. And it feels so good.
"How does it feel?" his voice is no more than a whisper and she feels her neck tip back as his hand slides up her chest, smoothing up her breast bone and reaching for her jaw.
"Good," is her breathless reply and she can see him smile as he hovers over her, his mouth millimeters from hers.
"Good. He's going to kiss you now…"
The narration drowns out as his mouth covers hers, lips soft and smooth, his hand slipping under her hair at the back of her neck. The tip of his tongue traces her bottom lip and she opens her mouth willingly, granting him access. She moans against his tongue, feeling a deep throb between her legs.
"You're very warm now. Body humming. He's still kissing you but his hands have started to roam again…"
He palms her breasts, her nipples hardening against his hands as he moulds them slowly. He moves to pinch her nipples lightly, his lips dragging down her jaw and she lets out a deep groan as he takes one peak into his mouth, pushing her hips up into his, the tension in her lower belly building.
"Good, you're doing good Grace. How does it feel?"
"More," she whimpers, her fingers coming up to lace in his silken curls, guiding his mouth down her stomach.
She can feel him smile against her skin, large hands skimming up the outside of her thighs as he sucks at her hipbone, nails scratching at her skin as she wiggles beneath him.
"Just tell him what you want him to do Grace. He wants to know…"
"Please," she murmurs, fingers fisting in his hair as she watches him snake his tongue along his lower lip, a Cheshire grin pulling across his face as he lowers his head between her legs.
Her back arches off the couch, a soft cry pulling from her throat as his tongue prods her gently before lapping at her wetness with warm, wide strokes. Her breathing is hitching, nails scratching at the leather of the couch as her feet look for purchase.
"He's doing exactly what you like, everything you've always wanted done and always hated having to ask for…"
His lips close around her clit, fingers dipping in to her heated center and she whines, hips pushing forward. She feels coiled tight, ready to spring at any second but it's just out of reach. His fingers curl and a deep throb of pleasure pulls in her belly and she wants it so badly she can taste the copper of adrenaline.
"Careful Gracie," he murmurs and the scene flickers as he comes into focus over her, fully clothed now, his thumb gently tugging her bottom lip from between her teeth, dabbing at it with a handkerchief. "Tell him what you want."
"Fuck me," she whispers and the scene snaps back, Jane's head between her legs, fingers buried deep in her pussy.
His head lifts, eyes dark with lust as he crawls up her body, lips dragging in starts and stops from her hip to her rib cage, nipping sharply at one dusky peak before his mouth finds her neck, sucking at her pulse point hard enough to bruise.
"He's going to give you what you want… you feel loose… you feel at ease… you want him…"
"Yes," she moans, feeling the tip of him resting against her lower belly for an instant before his hand is reaching between them guiding himself to her entrance. "Please…Patrick…'
"Focus on him," his voice is silky but stern, "He's the one touching you…" a brief pause, "…fucking you."
A guttural groan rips from her chest as he presses in slowly, the stretch of her inner walls a slow burn against his intrusion. He's panting over her, nose nuzzled against hers and she can feel his eyelashes brushing her cheek as he blinks rapidly, fighting for control.
Her hands hold him at his ribs, his arms locked over her shoulders as he presses his hips fully to hers, causing a deep ache to throb inside her, almost too much. Almost.
"He's giving you exactly what you want… what you need. Can you feel it Grace?"
"Yes," she breathes as he begins to move, his hips slow and fluid and she tilts her head back, fireworks blooming in her vision.
"It's close," he whispers, his voice a dry rasp and yes, of course he's close she thinks. How long has it been for him?
She hears his teeth grind and looks up to find his face a deep mask of pleasure, jaw going slack only to tighten again as he fights for control.
"You feel tight and warm," he intones and she can't tell if the choked sob he emits is him or him as his pace quickens, the tug in the pit of her stomach becoming more urgent.
"Please," she whispers, fingers clawing at his skin, at the leather of the couch, at anything she can grab hold of.
His lips press to her ear, breath panting hotly against the shell as he whines and her arms wrap fully around him.
She can't take much more, the pleasure so close, his skin smooth against hers, body burning its way in and out of her. She can't listen to him whimper and plead with her, wanting her to get there before him, whispering her name like an oath.
"It's okay Grace," his voice washes over her in thousands of tiny pin pricks, her inner muscles trembling, "Let go."
Her back arches, a shout pulling from her lungs that he silences with his mouth, sucking on her lips as she tries to cry out over and over, her body convulsing as her thighs trap his hips against hers. She shivers, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip and what had begun to wane comes back full force, tearing another cry from her lungs as his face buries in her neck. She feels his back tighten, her name in the tiniest whimper passing his lips as he spills into her. Her arms lock around him, holding him close as he shudders and shakes through his release.
One breath, two breaths, she feels her heartbeat begin to slow, his breath tickling her collarbone. Her fingers reach up to lace back through his hair when…
She blinks, Jane's hand pulling back from her shoulder where he had just tapped her twice. He looks remarkably unruffled, sitting in the same position with one ankle on his knee, eyes watching her carefully. She's still panting, her camisole damp with sweat beneath her suit jacket, wetness smeared along her thighs and her head falls back against the arm of the couch immediately, one hand moving to run over the damp hair at her temple.
"Found it," he sing-songs and she can just hear the smug little grin in his voice. She glares with her eyes closed, trying to sort through her feelings.
Calm. Safe. Well-rested. Satisfied. So satisfied.
"Are you alright?" Jane asks delicately and she shivers at his tone, the memories of him inside her so real yet impossible.
"Yes," she says thickly, then clears her throat. "Yes…um… thank you."
He chuckles, his smile at its widest. "Oh don't mention it."
She hesitates. "Jane."
"Don't mention it, Van Pelt," he says softly, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder, warm but stern.
The next morning, when Van Pelt gets into the office and makes herself her usual morning coffee, instead of sitting at her desk she makes herself comfortable on Jane's couch. She's halfway through her mug before she even thinks to ask herself what she's doing.