BURNING UP

As he looked back on things, he should have known they would end up this way. His attraction to her had been almost instantaneous, with that wide smile, luminous eyes, dark hair… and the little of her legs he'd seen the day he'd met her had him thirsting for more. But they were colleagues in a tiny unit, so he'd pushed those away, trying to avoid noticing the curves of her waist, the way some of her cotton t-shirts she favoured on the road clung to curves that made him salivate.

When his publicist had told him that one of his 'biggest fans' – and according to Alice Ravencliffe he had many – would absolutely flip if she could get him to attend a charity gala, he hadn't expected her to be there. Really, it was a stupid assumption. These were all top donors, all politicians and high-ranking elite. Of course Emily Prentiss would be in attendance.

But the red heels matched with a red dress… She was a completely different woman than he saw daily in the office. There were no dark suits, no straightened hair or FBI jackets. Instead there was just red. Oh, and miles of leg, beautiful curls and those curves showcased to their absolute best. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. As if he didn't have enough wet dreams of the sexy brunette without adding this red-wrapped siren to the mix.

"David!"

He winced. Alice was a pit bull when it came to his book tours and carefully planned publicity, but she was otherwise generally irritating.

"There's someone you have to meet."

He really didn't want to meet any more of the rabid fans Alice tended to introduce him to. Back when he was sowing his wild oats, he used to love it when she did, especially if the 'fan' was a woman. He was a charming man when he wanted to be and back in those days, his bed was rarely empty. But things were different now. Thrice married and divorced, with a very specific beauty on his mind, Dave wasn't looking for a simple body to warm his bed.

Not unless that body smelled like coconut and something flowery he could never seem to put his finger on.

"David, I want you to meet Emily Prentiss."

That caught his attention fast. And made other parts of his body respond in a similar fashion. He allowed himself to chuckle. "Emily and I have met."

"You have?" The question was directed at Emily.

"We work together, Alice," Emily said, amusement colouring her voice. "At the BAU."

"Oh my gosh!" Alice exclaimed, "I totally didn't make the connection!"

How Alice could be so good at her job and so generally thick at the same time? He exchanged a look with Emily, hers more amused than his baffled one.

"Well, I'll leave you to talk about your…" Alice wrinkled her nose and waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. David, try not to piss anyone off."

Emily was laughing heartily as Alice took off, waving down someone else. "She definitely has you down to a science."

He let out a sigh as he watched the whirlwind attach herself to a young and admittedly handsome man's arm. "She should. She's my publicist?"

"Alice?" She whistled in appreciation. "It's a small world."

That caught his curiosity and his inherent need to learn as much as he could about the enigmatic Agent Prentiss. "How do you know her?"

"College roommate." At his incredulous look, she laughed again and Dave found himself completely smitten with this unrestrained woman. "I know. It's an opposites attract friendship."

That was an understatement of his thoughts if he'd ever heard one.

"So what brings you to an event like this?" Her head was tilted at an angle he recognized as genuine curiosity.

"Alice," he replied. "Apparently the host is a huge fan."

"Do you even know who the host is?" she asked with a knowing raise of her eyebrow.

He shrugged and she rolled her eyes. This was what he was used to, though she didn't seem as stiff as she was in the FBI. She wasn't as guarded. Hours passed, and they stayed side-by-side, whether it was to make their way across the room to the bar, or dancing through the innumerable songs that floated around the room. Dave had to admit this was the most fun he'd had in a while. Emily was enchanting and endearing company while off the clock, something he'd wondered about and felt immensely blessed to experience.

"Redhead, other side, left of the bar," she murmured continuing a story-telling game he'd inadvertently started. Between the two of them, they'd created some rather interesting life stories for the guests at the gala. He'd been absolutely floored by the creativity Emily had stored up before he realized that this was probably a game she'd played at the political galas she'd attended as a child. He found the woman in question, noticing the sour look, the tense posture. He arched an eyebrow in her general direction.

"She's the secretary of the man with the terrible dye-job," she murmured and he found himself intrigued by where she was going as he spun her out and back in, falling easily back into the steps of the dance they were supposed to be absorbed in. And that murmur, the low melody of her voice… It was one of the most glorious sounds he'd heard.

"Okay," he replied, his own voice deliberately low and warm as he waited for her to continue her story. Not to mention probably a little huskier than it needed to be. He took pleasure in the slight warmth he could see in her cheeks as he snuck a look at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Mmhmm," she nodded. "And she's having an affair with her boss. Clichéd, I know, but look at the way she's absolutely glaring daggers at the woman he's dancing with."

They read behaviour for a living, he wasn't about to question her conclusion. "Jealous type."

She chuckled. "All women are to a degree," she pointed out. "We don't appreciate it when someone else is stepping on our territory."

"Yours?" he arched an eyebrow. "What makes you think that men like being treated like objects any more than women do?"

Her eyes were amused and mysterious as they met his. "Call it intuition."

Actually, he really wouldn't mind being Emily's objectified man. In fact, that idea suddenly had tremendous appeal. "And how good is your intuition?"

She let out a sound of consideration. "Women know all sorts of things by intuition," she replied.

Was he dreaming up the breathiness of her voice?

"We know when we're being watched," she offered, her breath warm on his ear. When had they started exactly that close together? "We… can feel the gaze… Especially if it's an admiring one."

He was caught. He had to be caught. That was the only explanation he could find for the reason they were having this particular conversation. He had to know that he was absolutely smitten with her. He pulled back from her slightly, locking his eyes on hers. There was a knowing spark there, there was a heat, an affection… It honestly surprised him.

"Let's get out of here."

His suggestion was met with a bright smile and he slipped his arm around her waist, his fingers stroking her opposite hip as he nudged her off the dance floor and towards the door. Then they were out into the night air.

"How did you get here?" he asked against her temple, trying to avoid darting down to her ear, the seductive curve of her neck…

"Cab," she replied with a shiver.

Excellent. Better than excellent. Fantastic… Every other adjective he could think of that was synonymous with those words. It made his life so much easier. So he started walking down the street, his agent personality having kicked in as he parked and making him refuse the complimentary valet service. He walked down the sidewalk with her, glad he'd had the luck of finding a parking spot rather close to the hotel itself.

Her hand stayed on his thigh for the entirety of the ride to his home, a surprisingly modest-looking building. He had his hunting cabin just outside of Little Creek, but this was the place he stayed most often. The commute to Quantico wasn't as brutal. They made it inside without incident, and Emily, he noticed, took the chance to look around while he hung his jacket, to see what new facet of his personality she could discover from his decoration choices.

Not only was most of his place not his own decoration – he didn't spend much time in it and really didn't see the point in decorating anything but his bedroom to his own specifications – but he really didn't want to wait. He wanted her. Plain and simple. And he wanted her to know it. He stepped up behind her, his hand sliding across her stomach as he brushed her hair out of the way with the other. He placed a long, slow kiss on her neck, one that left her with no doubt of what his intentions were.

They'd both been drinking, but neither enough to not be consciously aware of what they were doing. Her body arched into that first contact and he kept her facing away as his mouth continued to worship the skin of her neck. He could smell the coconut, the flowers, that scent he still couldn't for the life of him name. But here, it didn't matter. Here, she was in his arms, arching her neck to offer more of the soft skin to his gaze, to his mouth. He accepted the invitation without having to be asked twice.

This was the one place he knows neither of them expected to be. Sure, they'd been having fantastic fantasy sex – or at least he had – for as long as he could remember, but they'd never expected to actually be experiencing it was a foreign concept to both of them. But that didn't slow him down in the slightest. Instead, it spurred him on because he wanted nothing more than to take advantage of a scenario he never thought he'd actually be in.

His hand crept up her body from where it was splayed across her stomach, cupping her breast through the fabric, stroking over the skin until he could feel her nipple start to pebble beneath his touch. Her body arched forward, her ass pressing into him enough to make him groan. He'd bet she didn't even really realize she was doing it. Her hand settled over his, urging him on, showing him where to touch, how to touch, and it was so hot that he knew he needed to distract them both or this was going to be over much sooner than he'd like.

Because Emily Prentiss wasn't the type of woman you just walked away from. She was the type of woman you cherished, the type of woman, as Dave had already proven, that got under your skin and just bloody stayed there. And she was gorgeous like this, her stance spreading as he tugged up the skirt of her dress so he could get a hand on the soft skin of her thighs. His hand crept upwards, stroking up, only to stroke back down again seconds later. He concentrated on that, on the sounds she made, on how her muscles tensed and released beneath his hands.

"Dave," she moaned.

"Patience," he replied. Hoping through his touch he could convey that with her, he wanted to take his time.

Emily knew him better than most, the same way he knew her. They'd exchanged battle scars, metaphorical wounds, and deep dark secrets. She was well aware that most of the women he'd used in the past – and 'used' was really the best word for it – had known the score: in, off, out. But Emily… He couldn't do that to her.

But he did allow his fingers to trail higher on her thigh, brushing against lace.

"God, tell me these aren't the panties you wear in the office," he growled into her neck, nipping at the skin at the same time as he pinched her nipple.

The onslaught of sensation meant he had to wait a moment for her reply. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Oh yes. Yes he would. But that would be a conversation for another day. Because there would be another day. They'd barely started and he could already tell that he wouldn't be able to let her go. Not when he had a woman that was usually so reserved and self-conscious in his arms. When she was Agent Prentiss, that awkwardness faded, and tonight – though he chalked it up to the alcohol they had consumed – their inhibitions were a lot lower, but now that he had her, now that he knew…

His fingers finally reached her, feeling nothing but searing wet heat and he couldn't stop the groan that rumbled in his throat. "You're so wet for me," he whispered in her ear. She shivered against him as his fingers slipped under the lace, stroking gently. Her hips moved with him, trying for harder, faster, deeper, more… But he held back, knowing that the build was most of the fun. He watched her carefully as his fingers delved into her core, finding what made her whimper, what made her moan and what made her call his name in want and need.

As she came apart in his arms, Dave could do nothing but watch and hold on to the tethers of his own need in favour of this. She was a picture of utter perfection with her head thrown back, her hair cascading over his shoulder. They were both still fully dressed too, which made him smile wickedly. He was going to enjoy divesting her of that red dress. In fact, he was starting to hope he would be able to see it still splayed across his floor in the morning. There was something fantastic in the thought of Emily's clothes strewn about his room.

His hand slipped out from her panties and her skirt dropped to its original length. He pulled her back with him, and mentally measured his steps to his bed as she tried to catch her breath. He made it to the bed before she did so. He swept her off of her feet, laying her out on the bed and chuckling with her as she allowed the heels to dangle then fall. He found himself fleetingly wondering if she'd put them back on for him some time, but filed the question away. For now, he was much more interested in other, more current pursuits.

She was all dark hair, pale skin and red fabric, fabric he had every intention of removing from the rest of that pale skin. Luminous eyes watched him as he stroked up her body, both admiring and looking for the way the dress came off. Which meant she could see when he was starting to get frustrated. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wrapping her arms around his neck to kiss him soundly.

"Dave," she said in a husky whisper. "It just comes off."

So, he hauled her up against him, putting her on her own two feet again and continuing to kiss her while he bunched the skirt up her body. When it was high enough that his hands could feel the skin of her hips and the edge of her lacy underwear, he divested her of the dress, pulling it over her head and watching with heated eyes as her hair fell back around her shoulders. He dropped the dress behind him as he tumbled them both to the bed.

Her hands were surprisingly steady as they worked on the buttons of his shirt and he took the time to simply explore the miles and miles of skin now open to his touch. He grinned darkly when he discovered dragging a hand up her spine made her fingers falter. He chuckled at the throaty moan she released as he skirted the edges of her bra, not actually touching the sensitive skin of her breasts. He was so busy teasing her that he didn't realize she'd dealt with the fastenings of his pants while she was doing the same for the buttons of his shirt. Her hand on him woke him up, his hips bucking upwards of their own accord.

Her smile was hot as she balanced above him, wrapped in black and red. "Are you sure you want me to have patience?"

Even with her hand on him, he was more than sure. He wanted to take his time, for though he knew he now wouldn't be able to let her go, there was no reason she would agree to the proposal. Which meant he needed to distract her, and fast. He flipped them over, pressing his hips into hers to keep her back on the mattress. It was unnecessary, as her hands went immediately to his shoulders to brush his shirt from his body. He leaned down to kiss her, to distract himself from her exploratory hands, soft touches, curious fingers. While she explored his body, he explored her mouth, constantly changing the angle.

Emily was the one to tear her face away first, needing the reprieve to catch some air. That really didn't affect Dave in the slightest. He turned to her neck, her collarbone, her chest, the upper swells of her breasts… anything within the range of his mouth. She managed to distract him from his focus by pushing on his pants. He helped her kick them off, then found himself rolling and not of his own accord. He grinned widely as Emily sat up, her pelvis right against his own straining need. He should have known she'd be strong enough to flip them.

"David, I'm done with patience," she said, her hands dragging up her thighs, and over her stomach. He watched with rapt attention as her hands reached her breasts, following the underwire of her bra until she came to the valley between her breasts. With a quick flick of her wrist, she'd opened the front clasp to her bra and opened the cups, releasing dark and aroused peaks. He reared up, unable to stop himself, and latched onto one of those peaks. Her back arched, sending more of her breast into his mouth. Still, he took his time, licking around her flesh, testing with his mouth while his fingers tease the other tight peak. She moaned above him, rubbed against him, and Dave knew the only thing keeping him from just flipping them over and driving into her was the thought that this was something he needed to see.

He pulled away from her breast, ignoring her whimper of disappointment, even as it made him grin. He turned her focus to his fingers as they brushed down her front.

"Emily," he said, hoping that she wasn't too sensitive for this. "Look at me."

She did and he had the irreplaceable pleasure of watching her eyes darken as he touched her, of her mouth going slack. He saw the flush in her chest spread as his finger made contact with her clit, rubbing in circles, experimenting until her body went tight again, her thighs shaking this time with the climax. She collapsed against his chest and he smiled as he rolled them, kissing her gain, slowly, carefully, waiting until she responded in kind before reaching over for a condom.

Her eyes opened slowly, a foggy look in them that told him even though she'd started to respond, she wasn't completely over her last orgasm. Still, he smiled gently as he tore open the packet and rolled the condom on before positioning himself.

"Once more," he whispered as he slid easily inside, two orgasms making her wet enough to make it quick and easy. Still, she was tight around him, wet and hot and tight and good Lord he wasn't going to wake up in the morning after this.

She mewled slightly as he started to move, so he paused, turning to touch, to finding the ways she responded with just his hand on her skin. He knew there was a tenderness in his touch that belayed the fact that they both knew better than to continue this. Her eyes met his and they held more emotion than was definitely healthy for the situation. Still, it went unaddressed, both of them, whether they knew it or not, being show-not-tell personalities.

He leaned down to kiss her, his hands coming up to cradle her face as he settled more fully against her. He started moving, slowly, steadily, listening carefully and feeling carefully, waiting and watching for what she liked and where she was still a little too sensitive. He took his time, the first time he was able to without much protest from her. Her hands ran up his back, her fingers digging into his back when he hit a spot that made her uncomfortable. Then, Emily adjusted and he slipped into her just a little bit further…

And she arched against him as he hit that spot. He found that the hidden, self-conscious Emily had well springs of passion he didn't realize ever existed. She arched against him, moaning deep in her throat, a sound that vibrated right back into him.

"Jesus, Emily," he breathed against the skin of her neck. He couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace, even if he wanted to. She moved against him of her own accord, rocking against him, meeting every thrust. He moved faster, his chest starting to grow tighter and tighter, not just because of the tension growing because of the intense pleasure sweeping through him, but because of the emotion was starting to overwhelm him. "Emily…"

She gave a little cry and convulsed around him and the sheer surprise at her third orgasm through him over the proverbial edge. His vision blackened around the edges and when he came to, it was with his head on her breast and her hand in his hair. She looked down at him as her fingers started to move.

"We can't do this again."

He would be more inclined to believe her if she was moving away, but he didn't call her on it just yet. Right now, he knew Emily would be likely to actually run if he fought her on the decision. Instead, he shot her a grin as he managed to maneuver them beneath the blankets.

"But you can stay the night."

She smiled right back. "Yeah. I can do that."


I never thought I'd be saying thank you to the Jonas Brothers, but their song (which might have been where I kidnapped the title from) is what inspired this. I'm starting to debate turning this into a little series since I've been spending way too long in RossiLand.

Pretty please review?