You've been haunting Emily since February, and she simply cannot contain herself anymore.
The October air bit at Emily's cheeks as she walked, each breath forming small clouds that dissipated into the darkness. She should have driven—it was eleven at night, for god's sake, and the wind cut through her blazer like it was tissue paper. But she'd needed the time, the twenty-three minutes of brisk walking from her apartment to yours, to talk herself out of this.
Dead leaves scraped across the sidewalk, and she pulled her blazer tighter, though it did nothing to help. The cold wasn't the problem. The problem was the heat beneath her skin, the burning that had been building for nine months and finally reached a flashpoint tonight when you'd smiled at her across the bullpen, tucking your hair behind your ear in that way that made her stomach flip.
Her fingers were numb by the time she reached your building, but the rest of her felt like she was on fire. She stood outside for a full minute, frost creeping into her lungs with each inhale, trying to convince herself to turn around. To walk back home. To let this terrible, dangerous want die in the cold autumn night.
Instead, she climbed the stairs.
It was a bad idea, Emily knew that. She knew that showing up outside your apartment at 11:32 pm was the worst thing she could do for herself.
From the moment she interviewed you, she'd known. You were a bad idea. Too perfect. Too capable. Too everything she should avoid. And yet, every time you brushed past her in the hallways, every time your laughter floated across the bullpen, every time your hair caught the light just right, she had to lock herself in her office.
The door swung open, and there you were: pajama shorts, tank top, no bra. Her breath hitched, sharp and involuntary, and her mouth went dry. She tried to form words, tried to warn herself, but her body betrayed her. Her hand found the center of your chest, demanding, and she pushed you gently backwards.
Your feet shuffled as you stepped back, the door closing behind you as she invaded your space, "Emily?" Her hands found your waist, both hesitant and sure that's where they belonged.
Her eyes searched yours, looking for that fire of want she's been trying to ignore for months. That tiny, reckless flame that ignited whenever you smiled at her, whenever your hand brushed hers over case files, whenever you leaned into her gaze.
You'd wanted this for nine months, every stolen glance and imagined touch boiling into the present, raw and urgent. You wanted to know the curve of her skin, the taste of her lips, the sound of her voice whispering against you.
You froze, the tension snapping tight around you like wire. Then, slowly, deliberately, your hand brushed over her shoulder, and your voice was calm, steady despite the fire inside you, "Okay."
The word broke something in Emily, and she breathed in the stillness for a moment longer before pressing her lips to yours. She hummed in satisfaction, and she pulled you closer, hands tightening on your waist.
Her tongue swiped across your bottom lip, and you melted against her, mouth falling open to her with a whimper. She swallowed it like it was a lifeline, hand snaking up your stomach and chest to cup your jaw. Her grasp kept you exactly where she wanted you as her lips set a heavy rhythm.
Heat blossomed in your core and crawled across your limbs, up your neck, need and desire creeping through every vein in your body. Your hands tangled in her silver hair, and she gasped against your lips.
You pulled back to breathe, and her lips didn't stop, landing where your jaw and neck met as she tilted your head to the side, "Emily."
She growled softly against your skin, the plea in your tone causing her deepest desires to feel so tangible, "God, Y/n, you have no idea what you do to me."
Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt her smile, "You like that, huh?" Your breath caught, and she kissed your neck gently, "You like it when I murmur sweet things against your skin, pretty girl?"
Emily knew she had you exactly where she wanted you; it was apparent from the way your chest heaved against her and how she felt your nipples against her when it did. God, it made her want skyrocket, and she couldn't contain herself anymore.
She pulled back enough to tilt your chin up to look in your eyes, "You say stop, we stop."
You swallowed and nodded, hands loosening on her hair as she kissed you gently. You slipped your fingers into her belt loops and tugged her further into your apartment. A clash of hands, teeth, and tongue until she pushed you to sit on the edge of your bed.
Her hand cradled your jaw, and she gazed down at you softly, your blown eyes, swollen lips. The need is heavy on your lids as you lean into her touch, "This is such a bad idea." She knew it was the truth despite her voice dropping into something dripping in seduction like honey.
"An awful one." You responded, eyes sparkling with mischief, hands snaking around her thighs.
She pushed you back gently, and you crawled to the center of the bed, resting on your elbows, eyes locked on her. She unbuttoned her blouse as she slipped off her shoes, her shirt sliding off her shoulders and onto the rug.
You felt awestruck as she crawled onto the bed and to you, eyes dark, black lace bra barely containing her breasts as she leaned against your chest, "See something you like, darling?"
Her finger gently pulled your eyes back up to hers, and the flash of her smirk made your thighs clench together, "Fuck, I know you're so wet for me, aren't you?" Her hand ran over your side, "And I've barely touched you."
Emily presses closer, her warm breath fanning against your neck as she trails teasing kisses along your jawline, "I've been thinking about this all day… about making you squirm beneath me."
You whimpered as her thumb and finger gripped your chin, hands finding her ass, "Emily, please."
She lets out a low, sultry chuckle at your desperate plea, her body shifting to straddle your hips, "Patience, baby. I want to savor every second of your need for me." You moaned quietly at the feeling of her weight on top of you, and your hips rolled under her.
Emily grinds down deliberately against your movements, her eyes darkening with desire as she watches your reaction, "You're already so needy, and I've barely started. You're gonna be such a good girl for me, aren't you?"
You moaned a little louder at her praise, and your cheeks flushed, trying to pull your face away from her. She grips your chin tighter, forcing you to maintain eye contact while her other hand slides down your stomach.
"No hiding from me. I want to see every expression you make when I touch you."
You swallowed, and arousal took every fiber of your being, skin burning under her touch through the thin tank top. Her fingers slip beneath your top, tracing slow circles around your belly button as she leans down to whisper in your ear, "You're burning up for me, aren't you?"
You nodded desperately, "Yes, Emily, I need you."
She suddenly pulls your top up, exposing your breasts as her mouth hovers over one nipple, "And you'll have me… after I make you beg a little more."
Her lips wrapped around your nipple, and something needy and desperate fell from your lips, "Emily!"
She sucks harder, swirling her tongue while her hand moves to your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between her fingers, "Keep saying my name like that."
Your hips rolled against her deeper, and your hands tugged her closer, "Emily, please, please, Em."
She switches to your other breast, biting down gently while her hand slides into your shorts. Your mouth fell open against hers silently as her hand cupped you bare, hands finding her shoulders.
Her fingers press more firmly, sliding through your folds as she murmurs against your neck, "Fuck, you're dripping for me."
A shiver ran down your spine, and you pleaded into her hair, "Emily, please." She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, to scan your swollen lips and flushed cheeks, before her fingers circled your clit.
A soft moan floated from your lips, and she nearly growled, "Fuck Y/n, you're so beautiful like this."
Your hands gripped her shoulders tighter, nails digging into her skin through the lace as she maintained that torturous rhythm. She watched every micro-expression cross your face, cataloging each flutter of your eyelids, each parting of your lips, storing them away like evidence she'd review later in the quiet of her own apartment.
"Look at me." Her voice was commanding, the same tone she used in interrogation rooms, and your eyes snapped open. The vulnerability there, the complete surrender, made her chest tighten. "That's it, baby. I want to see you."
She increased the pressure, fingers moving in deliberate circles that had your thighs trembling against her. Your breath came in short gasps, and she leaned down to capture your mouth in a kiss that was somehow both gentle and consuming. You whimpered against her lips, and she swallowed the sound, her free hand sliding up to wrap around your throat.
Not squeezing, just holding. Just reminding you who was in control.
"Emily, I'm—" You couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't form coherent words as the tension built low in your belly, spreading like wildfire through your limbs.
"I know." She kissed along your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. "But not yet. You're going to wait for me."
You made a sound that was half protest, half plea, and she smiled against your skin. Her fingers slowed, pulling back just enough to keep you on that edge without letting you fall over. You writhed beneath her, hips chasing her hand, and she pressed you down with her body weight.
"Emily, please, I can't—"
"You can." She pulled back to look at you, her own breathing ragged now, control slipping. "You're doing so well for me, pretty girl. Just a little longer."
She shifted, removing her hand from your shorts, and you actually whined at the loss. She brought her fingers to her mouth, maintaining eye contact as she tasted you, and the sight made your core clench around nothing.
"Fuck," she breathed, and something in her composure cracked. "You taste even better than I imagined."
Her hands moved to your shorts, tugging them down your legs with your help, and then she was settling between your thighs, pressing them open wider. The cool air hit your heated skin, and you shivered. She kissed the inside of your knee, then higher, then higher still, her breath ghosting over where you needed her most.
"I've thought about this," she murmured against your inner thigh, "so many times. In my office, during briefings, in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep." She bit down gently, and you gasped. "Thought about how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd look falling apart for me."
"Emily." Your hands found her hair, fingers threading through the dark strands. "Please." Desperation seeping out of every syllable.
She looked up at you, eyes dark and hungry, and then her mouth was on you. Your back arched off the bed, a cry escaping your lips that you barely recognized as your own voice. Her tongue moved with purpose, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, and you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel.
She hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body, and her hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for her. You tried to close your legs around her head, the sensation too much and not enough all at once, but she was stronger, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.
"That's it," she murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, "let me hear you."
She slid two fingers inside you, and your hips bucked against her hand. She set a rhythm that matched the movement of her tongue, curling her fingers to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and perfect, mixing with your moans and her soft encouragements.
"You're so tight," she breathed, "so perfect. Taking my fingers so well."
The praise made something in your chest bloom, made you clench around her fingers, and she groaned against you. She added a third finger, stretching you, and the slight burn mixed with the pleasure until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
Your thighs started to shake, and she knew you were close. She could feel it in the way your walls fluttered around her fingers, in the way your breathing became erratic, in the way your hands tightened in her hair almost painfully.
"Come for me." Her voice was muffled against you, but the command was clear. "Let go, baby. I've got you."
The permission was all you needed. The tension that had been building snapped, and you came with a cry of her name, body arching, thighs clamping around her head despite her grip. She worked you through it, fingers and tongue gentling but not stopping, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you were trembling and oversensitive.
Emily’s lips pressed to your inner thigh gently as she looked up at you, “You’re so beautiful when you come apart like that for me, god, my perfect girl.” She crawled up your body, pressing gentle kisses as she settled on top of you again. You were still catching your breath, eyes glazed and unfocused, and she smiled down at you with something that looked almost tender.
"Hi," she whispered, brushing hair back from your forehead.
"Hi." Your voice was hoarse, wrecked, and you felt your cheeks flush at the sound of it.
She kissed you, slow and deep, and you could taste yourself on her tongue. It should have been strange, but instead it felt intimate, like she was sharing something with you. Your hands slid up her back, fingers finding the clasp of her bra, and she pulled back just enough to let you remove it.
The black lace joined the growing pile of clothes on your floor, and then her skin was against yours, warm and soft and perfect. You ran your hands over her shoulders, down her sides, mapping the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine. She shivered under your touch, and you realized with a start that she was just as affected as you were.
"Your turn," you murmured, and she laughed, the sound low and breathless.
You nodded, hands moving to the button of her pants. She helped you, lifting her hips so you could slide them down her legs along with her underwear. And then she was bare above you, all pale skin and dark eyes and that mouth that had just taken you apart.
You rolled her onto her back, settling between her thighs, and she looked up at you with something that might have been vulnerability if Emily Prentiss allowed herself such things. Her hands found your shoulders, and you could feel the slight tremor in her fingers.
"I've got you," you echoed her earlier words, and she smiled.
You kissed her slowly, thoroughly, hands exploring every inch of skin you could reach. Her breasts fit perfectly in your palms, nipples hardening under your touch, and when you rolled them between your fingers she gasped into your mouth. You kissed down her neck, across her collarbone, taking your time even though you could feel the tension in her body, the way she was holding herself back.
When you took her nipple into your mouth, she arched into you, one hand flying to your hair. You sucked and licked and bit gently, giving her the same attention she'd given you, and her breathing became ragged. You could feel the heat radiating from between her thighs, could feel how wet she was when your leg pressed against her.
"Please," she breathed, and the word sounded foreign in her mouth, like she wasn't used to asking for anything.
You kissed down her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under your lips, and settled between her legs. She was beautiful like this, spread open for you, and you took a moment just to look, to memorize the sight of Emily Prentiss undone in your bed.
"Y/n." Her voice held a warning, a plea, and you smiled before leaning in.
The first taste of her made you moan, and she echoed the sound, hips lifting to meet your mouth. You explored her with your tongue, learning what made her gasp, what made her grip the sheets, what made her thighs tremble. She was already so close, wound tight from getting you off, and you could feel it in the tension of her body.
You slid two fingers inside her, and she cried out, back arching off the bed. She was tight and hot and perfect around your fingers, and you curled them, finding that spot that made her curse. Your tongue focused on her clit, circling and flicking, and her hand found your hair, holding you against her.
"Don't stop," she gasped, "fuck baby, don't stop."
You had no intention of stopping. You added a third finger, stretching her, and she took it easily, her body opening for you. The wet sounds mixed with her moans, and you could feel your own arousal building again just from the sight and sound of her falling apart.
Her thighs started to shake, and you knew she was close. You increased the pressure of your tongue, the pace of your fingers, and she was chanting your name like a prayer, like a curse, like something sacred.
"Y/n, I'm—fuck, I'm going to—"
She came with a cry that she tried to muffle with her hand, body going rigid before the waves of pleasure crashed over her. You worked her through it, gentling your touch as she became sensitive, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs as she came down.
When you crawled back up her body, she pulled you into a kiss that was messy and grateful and still hungry. You collapsed beside her, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, and she turned to face you.
"That was," She paused, seeming to search for words. "That was incredible."
You smiled, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw. "Yeah, it was."
She caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and something in your chest tightened at the tenderness of the gesture. This was Emily Prentiss, your boss, the woman who commanded rooms with a look, who could make hardened criminals confess with a few well-chosen words. And she was here, in your bed, looking at you like you were something precious.
"We should talk about this," she said quietly, and you felt your stomach drop.
"About how it was a bad idea?"
She shook her head, fingers tracing patterns on your hip. "About how it wasn't. About how I've wanted this for nine months. About how I don't want it to be just tonight."
Your breath caught. "Emily—"
"I know." She pressed her forehead to yours. "I know all the reasons why we shouldn't. I'm your boss. There are rules, protocols, HR nightmares waiting to happen." She pulled back to look at you. "But I don't care. I want you. Not just like this, though this was—" She smiled. "This was perfect. But I want coffee in the morning and late-night phone calls and someone to come home to after bad cases."
You felt tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the honesty in her voice, the vulnerability she was offering you. "I want that too."
She kissed you softly, sweetly, and you melted into it. When she pulled back, she was smiling. "We'll figure out the logistics. Maybe I can transfer you to another unit, or I can request a different position. We'll make it work."
"Okay." You nodded, feeling lighter than you had in months. "Okay."
She settled back against the pillows, pulling you into her side, and you rested your head on her chest. You could hear her heartbeat, still elevated, gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you felt yourself starting to drift.
"Stay," you murmured, already half-asleep.
"I'm not going anywhere." She pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I promise."
You fell asleep like that, tangled together in your bed, the weight of nine months of wanting finally lifted. And when you woke in the morning to find her still there, hair mussed and makeup smudged, smiling at you over coffee she'd somehow made without waking you, you knew that this bad idea was actually the best decision either of you had ever made.
The conversation about logistics could wait. The talk with HR could wait. For now, you had this: Emily Prentiss in your kitchen, wearing your shirt, looking at you like you hung the moon. And that was more than enough.
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