They had to make the drive separately, though Emily had no idea where his apartment was. He couldn't stay in the house. It was painful. He'd given it to Haley in the divorce anyway. Still, there was comfort in having to lead the way, ensuring her car was behind him at each turn, each traffic light. He got out of his car and waited for her to do the same before leading her up to the complex. His hand found hers, lacing her fingers with his as they boarded the elevator.
She had no idea what she was doing. Absolutely none. Every rational part of her was screaming for her to turn around, go home, forget this was even happening. Not only did it feel too good to be true, but the whole situation was incredibly surreal. She was about to walk into his apartment to talk about why their relationship wasn't just about sex. Never, in a million years, would she think of this happening to her.
Hotch kept a hold of her hand as he used the other to unlock the door, pushing it open and almost pulling her in behind him. He wasn't about to even give her thirty seconds to escape, or at least no more time than he had to. He was pretty sure Emily would all but physically change his clothes for him simply out of concern. That had potential, now that he thought about it. He heard her take a deep breath.
"Go, get changed," she encouraged. She saw the apprehension in his eyes and managed a smile in amusement. "I'll be here, I promise."
He didn't take Emily's promises lightly. He'd never known her to make a promise when she didn't mean it. So he let her go, moving off into his bedroom. Emily looked around the apartment with a grin. She'd bet that he'd had help decorating the place. It was a bachelor pad, dark woods, dark furniture, beige walls. There were no pillows on the couch, so there hadn't been a woman's touch in the slightest, not that she particularly blamed him. Haley had done a number on his heart and psyche when she left.
It really didn't take him long to change and she had a feeling it was partially fear of her leaving that had him almost rushing through the process. She tried to play calm, an easy smile. "Do you own anything else?"
He was dressed in sweatpants and an FBI t-shirt. Hotch looked down at himself, smiling ruefully. "Well…"
She shook her head. "I'm just teasing."
Silence fell and Emily found herself playing with her fingers in anxiousness. "Look, I… I don't know what's going on here. I…" She sighed. This most definitely wasn't the time to start hiding. She wasn't sure there was even a point, not with the way their relationship had changed. "You said you wanted me."
He took a deep breath. A nervous and vulnerable Emily Prentiss was not one he was used to. He was used to quick wit, fast thinking and razor-sharp intelligence. He was used to professionalism, to a woman who never broke down, who never showed emotion. Then his mind pointed something out. Wasn't that simply Agent Prentiss? What did he really know about Emily? "I do." He'd made that perfectly obvious he was sure.
"I can't tell you I don't," she admitted softly. "I can't tell you that I'm not attracted to you, that… that what you said to me in the gym wasn't incredibly appealing-"
"Then don't." He stepped closer to her, the primal part of him screaming in triumph when she didn't back away. She stayed where she was, arms wrapped around herself. Vulnerable. Hotch didn't like it one bit.
"There's so much at stake," she argued, her eyes fearful. She'd never expected to have to deal with this. She'd ruthlessly stamped down attraction before, specifically attraction to him. She was having a hard time understanding why it was so difficult now. She'd fought so hard for her place on the team and mere attraction wasn't enough to pull her away.
But was it mere attraction? She remembered the day she'd discovered the transfer had gone through. She recalled shivering in remembrance of the man who would now be her supervisor. She remembered their conversation in his office and seeing him again, very little different from the first time she'd spotted him running security clearances for her mother's staff. Something had sparked in her then too. So had this simply been a long time coming? Had Haley simply been a barrier that had inadvertently and unwittingly bowed out gracefully?
There was a distinct difference in the way she handled him now. Gone were the days of simple tolerance, obliterated in a night of connection that had probably been an absolute fluke. She'd opened herself to him before, without really being conscious of what she was doing. She hadn't realized that it had, quite simply, always been easy to open herself to him. So she had to be insane to not welcome a return of her attraction, didn't she?
When she zoned back into him, he was right in front of her, reaching out to brush his fingers over her cheek. She couldn't resist him and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
"We've thrown caution to the wind before." And he'd almost regretted it. He didn't regret having her in the slightest, but he did regret not giving her the choice herself and he most definitely regretted not being inside her. He was determined to let her come to him this time, determined to convince her that no matter what the Bureau tried to pull, the potential fire between them was worth more. And it was definitely fire.
That much was true. It was difficult to fight something like that when he was so close. They'd thrown caution to the wind before and she'd just about melted into a puddle at his feet. The beam and his body had been her only support. It had been a long time since she'd felt like that, felt her body responding with the gentlest touches against areas she'd never thought of as erogenous. She closed her eyes, his hand trailing down to cup the side of her neck. She waited for his mouth to touch hers, waited for him. It took her a few minutes to realize he wasn't going to make that move.
And it was in her hands. She shivered. He wanted her to make the decision. He'd made his wants clear – extremely clear – and now, it was her turn. Her hand brushed up his arm, slipping in to cup his cheek and pull him forward. She wasn't a bloody saint.
Hotch felt relief sweep his system as she gave in. His arm wrapped around her back, pulling her flush against him. The cold that had seeped into his bones from the rain was quickly replaced by the heat she generated in him. This time, he wouldn't be denied. Behind closed doors, away from everything, he was going to take what he wanted until neither of them could move. She fit against him so easily and so snugly that he had no idea how he'd missed it before. His hands went down her side, under her sweatshirt and tank top, pulling away for the thirty seconds it took to whip them both over her head.
She shivered at the contrast between the gently passionate way he kissed her, touched her and the rough way he virtually ripped her clothes from her body. She couldn't decide what she wanted to do, whether she wanted to knock him to the floor and have him or if she wanted it to be sweet, like his kisses. He made the decision for her, yanking her up and against him roughly, pushing on her ass to lift her into the air. Emily went with a happy squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as she bent to kiss him as thoroughly as she could.
The path to his bedroom was bumpy to say the least. She giggled as he backed himself into the wall, giving them both stability for the few moments it took to get his shirt off, then further down the hall for her bra, her head fell back as he latched onto a breast, kissed around then in, suckling, licking, as his hands pushed her against him. Her fingers linked around his neck, back arching into him, pushing her shoulders against the wall for support. His hands went up her back, pulling her towards him to get her off the wall.
He groaned as her fingers slid between them, slipping under the edge of the elastic of his sweatpants. He needed to get her to his bed and he needed to do it soon. Heat swamped his blood, feeling her nails scratch gently up his sides. She wanted them between their bodies, against the sparse hair she could feel against her breasts. She settled for the hair at the nape of his neck as he plundered her mouth again, stifling both of their moans.
Emily squeaked into his mouth, pulling away with laughter as he dropped her on the bed. He followed her quickly, nudging her up towards the pillows. She wiggled awkwardly underneath him and it took him a minute to realize she was kicking off her socks. Thank goodness for a woman that could somehow hold onto thought enough to remember them. All he could think about was her smell and her skin.
"God, I want you," he said, leaning down to nibble at her earlobe. "I want to take you to dinner." He placed an open-mouthed kiss at the corner of her jaw. "I want to know that everyone in the room is watching, knowing that you're with me." He kissed down her jaw to her chin. "I want to bring you home and lie you here, peel your clothes off slowly."
The thought of it was making her hotter. She wasn't sure he was even aware he was talking. "Please," she whimpered.
"But tonight… tonight I'm going to figure out where you like to be touched. I'm going to find every part of your body that makes you moan. I'm going to discover what makes you blush, what makes you shake and what makes you scream my name."
Jesus, he was killing her. If he hadn't convinced her with his kisses down the hallway, that would have melted any and all resistance. "Hotch, stop talking," she breathed. Emily yanked his head down to hers, shoving his sweatpants and underwear down his body, hooking her feet in the fabric to shove them further down his legs. She wrapped her leg around his hip and pushed.
He was taken by complete surprise by her strength, surprised by her ability to flip him onto his back, straddling his waist. She ground down on him, pressure and friction that stimulated her as much as it stimulated him. Good God it was good. Her hands were everywhere but where he wanted them, though it didn't matter much. The juncture of her thighs, the friction of the fabric wasn't as good as he was sure the actual heat of her would be, but it was relief for now. And the picture of her above him, naked to the waist would fuel his fantasies for nights to come, he was sure.
There were hands, lips, and grinding bodies, and she was still wearing pants, a thing that bothered him. He wanted her as naked as he was. She seemed perfectly content to let him roll them again, helped him by lifting her hips as his fingers hooked into her yoga pants. She almost laughed when he groaned at her layers, the gasped as he all but ripped her shorts down her legs, quickly followed by her panties.
Then he was on top of her, pinning her arms above her head with one hand on her wrists. He met her eyes, watching them darken. She pushed up against the leg he had between her thighs. Skin on skin was something she had not been prepared for. Her breath came in short pants, her body arching her towards him, an offer he took willingly, latching onto a breast again. But that wasn't where she wanted him. Her body was winding tighter and tighter. She wanted to release some of that tension.
Hotch, however, wanted to take his time. He had her here, underneath him, and he wanted to make sure he took his time. He wanted to imprint himself on her, make her think of nothing but him. Her eyes were dark and blazing when he looked up at her, impassioned and almost desperate. He was losing his control to see her under him like that, curvy, sexy, aroused.
"Mmm?" He balanced himself precariously on the arm holding hers and his knees so his hand could trace up her stomach to cup a breast. His thumb flicked across her hard nipple, evoking a loud groan.
Emily had to take a minute to remember what she wanted to say. "Please…"
His laugh was low and surprisingly dark. "Please what?"
She actually cried out when he removed his hand from her breast. She struggled under his hands, wanting her hands on his body. She wanted to touch him, to bring him to the edge like she was. But Hotch was stronger than she was and held her down, one hand on her hip, one still on her hands. She was helpless under him, exactly the way he wanted.
"What do you want?"
The words were whispered hotly in her ear and Emily whimpered. "God, Hotch, touch me, please."
He chuckled in her ear, the hand on her hip lifting, skimming to trace inside her thigh. She moaned and threw back her head. He was smirking. "You're pretty when you beg," he breathed at the same time his forefinger touched her clit.
And she was gone. Her body contracted, her breath choked and all she could manage was to hiss out his name as her body reminded her how to breathe. He'd sent her over the crest, but there was still an empty feeling inside her. He'd let go of her hands now, willing to let her play too. She pulled him to her roughly, attacking his mouth with her own, expressing the passion still flowing through her blood. He responded in kind, not giving her an inch in their battle.
But Emily had a secret weapon. She closed her fist around him, feeling him hard and hot for the first time. It made her shiver pleasantly and kicked the burning ember he'd left up. She wanted him inside her. Soon. Hotch seemed to understand. He reached for the bedside table, and the protection he'd stashed there after That Night. He'd always planned to have her here eventually, he'd just never been sure the best way to go about it.
She was the one to rip open the package and roll the condom on him and he'd have died right there without iron control. As it was, he had to pin her wrists down again to give himself enough time to settle between her splayed thighs. Then came that gloriously slow, hot push. She almost killed him when she clenched around him. Emily moaned loudly, eyes falling closed. Why had she not wanted to do this again? She most certainly couldn't remember now.
He started moving, slowly at first, waiting until she matched his rhythm with her own thrusts. Then he changed the angle, sliding deeper inside, stroking zones inside her body that made her see stars, while grinding his pelvic bone down on her at the same time. She was losing her mind, the only thing she could focus on was the feel of him inside her, around her. All she could smell, taste, touch, see was him and what a fantastic feeling it was. Her hands gripped his back as his anchored her hips, their mouths meeting briefly every once in a while. He increased the pace slowly, building, watching her, concentrating on her.
Her second climax was not nearly as loud as her first. She could feel the second one coming, could probably countdown to probably the exact second it was over. Then he surprised them both by following her almost immediately, thrusting erratically and sending another orgasmic wave through her every time. Finally, spent and exhausted, they lay there, Hotch still on top of her, attempting to hold his weight on his forearms. She actually moaned in disappointment when he pulled out and moved to the bathroom.
He came back and slid under the covers, holding them for her to crawl under too. She wasn't leaving tonight. He'd only just begun. He wanted more from her and there were things they would need to discuss, but with her body right there, exhaustion creeping through his hormone cluttered brain and blood, he knew it could wait until morning. So, he turned on his side, reaching out for her hand. He saw a small smile crawl over her face at the gesture, then watched her expression turn shy.
"Can I stay?" she asked quietly, nervously.
His heart jumped, starting a double beat he'd just calmed. "Please," he replied. "Please stay."
Her smile was glorious as it spread across her face and she hunkered down further into the pillows. His hand was still in hers, their eyes locked, though she could tell he was ready for sleep. She pulled their linked hands over, pressing a kiss to his hand. "Good night Aaron."
He smiled back, leaning over to nuzzle her cheek and kiss her gently. "Good night, Emily."