You’re stretched out on your stomach across the bed when you hear the front door open, the familiar sound of Emily’s keys hitting the side table. The soft click of the lock sliding into place. You glance up just as she walks into the room, hair a little mussed from the drizzle outside, rain dotting the shoulders of her jacket.
She looks exhausted, tension in her jaw and dark circles under those sharp, beautiful eyes, but fuck — she’s still so stupidly gorgeous you swear it does something dangerous to you. That tailored coat, dark jeans hugging her hips, the faint flush in her cheeks from the cold.
You’d been waiting for her like a starved thing, picturing this exact moment all damn day. And now that she’s here, you can feel your pulse start to hammer, a low, persistent ache already blooming between your legs.
The smirk you give her makes her brow lift in that way you love — like she already knows you’re about to be a fucking menace. “Why are you grinning like that?” she murmurs, voice scratchy from the weather, loosening her cuffs.
You push up on your elbows, letting your gaze drag over every inch of her, practically licking your lips. “Because you have no idea what I wanna do to you right now,” you reply, voice lower, thick with intent. And God, the way her mouth twitches at that, trying not to smile, makes your stomach twist tight.
You don’t give her time to argue. You cross the room in a few quick steps, reaching for the lapels of her coat, fingers curling into the damp material as you pull her toward you.
Her scent hits you immediately — rain, spice, a trace of her perfume — and your brain short-circuits. You crash your mouth to hers, slow but filthy, tongues tangling, lips parting, that first kiss messy and desperate like you’ve both needed this all day.
The sound she makes when you nip at her bottom lip, the way she leans into you like she can’t help herself, sends a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. You rock your hips up against her, just enough to feel the drag of your panties, to let her feel the damp spot you know’s already there.
“Jesus, you’re worked up,” she groans against your mouth, hand slipping around to grip the back of your neck.
You smile, teeth grazing her jaw as you nip your way down to the curve of her throat.
“Been thinking about you since this morning,” you murmur, letting your hands slip beneath her shirt, palms skating up her warm, soft stomach. She shivers beneath your touch, her skin pebbling.
You swear you could get off just on the way she responds to you, every hitch in her breath, every tiny tremor. “Couldn’t stop picturing your tits in this bra.” You palm them, greedy and unashamed, squeezing until she groans, her back arching into your hands.
“Fuck, baby,” she hisses, but she doesn’t stop you. She never does.
Your fingers work the button of her jeans, popping it open with a flick, dragging the zipper down slow, teasing, loving the way her breath catches when your knuckles graze the warmth between her legs. She’s wet already, the heat of her radiating through damp lace, and you nearly whimper because there’s something about Emily Prentiss slick and throbbing for you in her jeans after a long day that drives you out of your fucking mind.
“You’ve been like this the whole way home?” you tease, slipping your hand inside, fingers stroking through damp curls, down to her swollen, slick folds. She groans, her hips rocking toward you, her jaw clenched like she’s trying to stay composed, and it’s so goddamn hot you feel your own pussy clench in response.
“You’re disgusting,” she mutters, but she’s smiling now, eyes darker, lids heavy, voice frayed at the edges like she’s barely holding it together.
You grin against her throat, tongue dragging over her pulse.
“You fucking love it.”
You steer her toward the bed, one hand still cupping her through her panties, the other pushing her jeans down as she walks backward. She sits with a soft exhale, legs parting instinctively, and God she looks obscene like this.
Dark hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, those perfect tits rising and falling in time with her ragged breaths. You crawl over her, hands everywhere, lips ghosting over her skin. You mouth at the curve of her throat, down the dip between her breasts, teeth catching on the lace of her bra, dragging it down to expose one dusky nipple. You suck it into your mouth, flicking your tongue over the hardened peak, and the sharp gasp she lets out makes your stomach tighten painfully.
You fucking love the sounds she makes.
Low, rough, desperate — the way she moans when you graze your teeth over sensitive skin, the way her breath stutters when your hand slides between her thighs again, fingers finding her clit, circling it slow, teasing. You watch how her body reacts, how her stomach tenses, hips twitching, the muscle in her thigh jumping.
“You should see yourself,” you rasp, lifting your head to meet her eyes, your own voice unsteady now. “So fucking pretty like this. All flushed and needy.”
And she groans at your words, head tipping back, a soft curse spilling from her lips. You watch her hand slide down, fingers brushing yours, and you realize what she’s doing. Your cunt throbs. She’s touching herself, rubbing tight, frantic little circles as your fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance.
“You wanna watch me, huh?” she breathes, a wicked gleam in her eye even as her voice cracks.
“God, yeah. Show me how bad you need it.”
She groans again, fingers slick with her own wetness, hips canting up. The sight of it — Emily Prentiss with her legs spread, touching herself while you watch from between her thighs — is so filthy you swear you could come untouched.
You lean in, tongue flicking over one nipple, your free hand palming her other breast, and you’re not even pretending to be patient now. The air smells like her, like sweat and rain and arousal, and you drag your tongue lower, over the soft slope of her stomach, teeth nipping at sensitive skin.
You yank her panties down and she lets you, one hand still moving between her legs, and you catch her wrist before she can finish. You bring her wet fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean, tasting her, groaning low and shameless because she’s so fucking sweet you can’t stand it.
“Jesus Christ,” she pants, watching you, pupils blown wide.
“You taste so fucking good,” you mutter, sliding two fingers into her slick heat, feeling the way her body clenches around you instantly, and you swear it’s like your own pussy throbs in time with hers. Her hips buck, a ragged moan spilling from her lips as your thumb finds her clit, circling it just how she likes, your tongue laving over her nipples, the sounds of her falling apart filling the room.
Your fingers slip inside her like they belong there, and fuck, the way she clenches around them makes your whole body ache. She’s hot — so wet it’s obscene, your palm getting slick with it as you push deeper, curling just right until her hips jerk.
You can feel how swollen she is, soft, slippery walls pulsing tight around your knuckles, her arousal coating your skin, sticky and warm. Every time you thrust your fingers in, there’s this soft, sinful sound — the wet, sucking noise of her pussy trying to keep you in, and you swear you could come just listening to it.
“Fuck, you feel that, Em?” you rasp against her chest, your teeth grazing over one nipple again as your wrist works between her thighs. “Hear how wet you are for me?”
“Jesus,” she breathes, hips rocking against your hand. Her face is flushed, lips parted, dark eyes glazed with lust. She looks wrecked already, hair stuck to her damp temples, her throat working as she swallows down another moan. You watch her chest rise and fall in fast, shallow breaths, those perfect tits heaving with each gasp you pull from her. God, you love her like this — sweaty, needy, raw.
“You’re gonna make me come so fast if you keep talking like that,” she manages, voice wrecked, a desperate, broken edge to it now.
You grin, licking a stripe up the curve of one breast before you press your lips to her ear.
“Good. I wanna feel you gush all over my hand, baby. Wanna watch that pretty pussy clench and soak me.”
And it fucking does — you feel her clamp down, those silken muscles fluttering around your fingers, and her back arches off the bed like she can’t stop it. Your thumb circles her clit faster now, relentless, knowing exactly how to wind her up tight. Every stroke has her hips chasing your hand, those long legs falling open wider, thighs trembling against your shoulders. She’s so sensitive you can see the way her stomach jumps with every touch, muscles flexing under flushed skin.
Her voice goes high, breath catching, and then she’s babbling, a beautiful filthy stream of curses and pleas.
“Yeah, you are,” you growl, watching the way her cunt grips your fingers, her slick soaking your hand, the obscene wet sound of it filling the room. “Come for me, Emily. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”
And she does.
With a shattered, desperate cry of your name, her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around your wrist as her pussy spasms around your fingers. You feel it — the gush of wetness, her slick coating your hand as she comes hard, hips bucking wildly. Her face contorts, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, dark hair sticking to her flushed face. You can see how her tits bounce with every jerk of her body, nipples so hard they ache to be in your mouth again.
“Holy… shit,” she gasps, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging to your wrist like she can’t bear for you to stop.
You ease her through it, fingers fucking her slower now, still pressing deep, your thumb teasing lazy circles around her clit just to make her tremble and curse again.
When her hips finally settle, when her breath comes in ragged little pulls, you slip your fingers free, watching her shudder at the loss. She looks wrecked — hair a mess, lips swollen, skin slick with sweat and flushed pink. Her pussy’s puffy, glistening, still twitching, folds slick and swollen, and you’re so goddamn wet from it you can feel the ache of it deep in your belly.
You bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them clean, moaning low as her taste coats your tongue.
“Fuck me,” she groans, watching you with half-lidded eyes, voice rough and shredded. “You’re so filthy.”
You grin. “I can be filthier.”
And before she can catch her breath, before she can even think about stopping you, you crawl up and kiss her hard, making sure she tastes herself on your tongue. She groans into your mouth, pulling you down, and you moan when your slick-soaked panties drag against her thigh.
“Jesus, baby, you’re soaked,” she murmurs against your lips, reaching down to cup you through the drenched fabric.
You gasp, grinding down against her hand, the friction unbearable. Your panties are clinging to you, dark with arousal, the gusset slick and heavy against your folds. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs, sticky and hot, every nerve ending on fire. Your clit’s so sensitive it aches, your pussy clenching at nothing, desperate to be filled.
“Been like this since you walked in,” you whisper, voice shaky now.
Emily’s hand moves, pulling your panties aside, and her fingers brush over your slit, collecting your slick before sinking two fingers inside you in one smooth push. You cry out, body jolting, your head falling against her shoulder.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” she growls, pumping her fingers hard, curling them just right. “You love getting off on me, don’t you?”
“Yes — fuck, yes — Em, please—”
She bites your neck, tongue soothing over the mark, and you shudder when her thumb finds your clit. The first press of it has your thighs shaking, your stomach clenching tight. You’re so close already, the stretch of her fingers perfect, the filthy, wet sounds of your cunt sucking her in loud in your ears.
“You’re gonna come for me,” she murmurs, voice dark and possessive. “Right now. Soak my fucking hand.”
And you do — with a strangled moan, your entire body convulses, pleasure ripping through you like lightning. You swear you feel yourself gush, slick pouring down her fingers, your pussy spasming violently around her hand. Everything goes white-hot, your hips jerking, clit throbbing under her thumb as she keeps working you through it.
“Oh, fuck, Emily — fuck, baby — don’t stop—”
She doesn’t, not until you’re begging, tears stinging your eyes from the overstimulation, your cunt a twitching, aching mess. When she finally pulls her hand free, it’s soaked, shining with your slick, and she holds it up, watching the wetness drip down her wrist.
“Look at this,” she murmurs, smirking. “God, I love how fucking messy you are for me.”
You can barely breathe, your whole body trembling, your pussy still clenching at nothing. You meet her gaze, still panting, and grin through the haze of it.
“Round two?”
Her smirk turns downright dangerous.
“Oh, you’re not getting any sleep tonight, baby.”
The look in her eyes makes your stomach flip, heat rushing low in your belly all over again. You're still trembling, your pussy still clenching on nothing, slick and swollen from how hard she worked you. Your skin’s flushed, hair sticking to your damp forehead, but you don’t care. You want her again — need to feel her cunt against yours, to grind until you’re both soaked and overstimulated, until the room reeks of sex and neither of you can move.
“C’mere,” you rasp, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her down on top of you, catching her mouth in a filthy, breathless kiss. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, the kind of kiss that tastes like sweat and come and need. You can feel the slick heat between her thighs as she settles against you, her pussy hot and puffy, and it makes your own clench hard in response.
“Need to feel you,” you mumble against her lips, voice wrecked. “Need you on me. Now.”
She groans, low and raw, reaching down to yank your panties the rest of the way off, tossing them aside like she can’t be bothered to care where they land. Her hands grip your thighs, pulling them apart, and you swear you can feel your cunt pulse at the sight of her kneeling there — dark hair a mess, eyes blown, tits flushed and perfect, her pussy slick and gleaming between her thighs, swollen and needy.
She looks wrecked. You look wrecked.
It’s fucking perfect.
“God, look at this pussy,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing over your soaked folds, spreading you open. You can hear it — the slick, obscene sound of your wetness, your folds flushed pink and shiny, clit swollen and throbbing. She groans, biting her bottom lip, and you feel your stomach clench.
“Stop teasing,” you whisper, desperate now, grinding your hips up.
She smirks, settling between your legs, her hands on your inner thighs, spreading them wider as she swings one of her long, toned legs over yours. The moment her pussy brushes against yours, both of you gasp — the heat, the wet, messy drag of her folds sliding against yours is fucking unreal. You can feel how slick she is, how swollen, how her clit catches against yours in the best fucking way.
“Oh my God,” you choke out, your hands flying to her hips, pulling her down, needing more.
“Jesus Christ, baby,” Emily groans, starting to rock her hips, slow at first, grinding her cunt against yours. The friction is everything — wet, slippery, hot — the messy, soaked slap of your pussies grinding together making both of you moan. It’s not graceful, it’s filthy. The kind of desperate, hungry, sticky grind that makes your thighs ache and your stomach clench, every drag of her clit against yours sending bolts of pleasure through your core.
“Fuck, Em — your pussy — feels so good,” you pant, staring down at the slick mess between your legs. You can see it — her folds spread against yours, both of you glistening, flushed and swollen, your clits brushing, catching, sliding slick and hot. The wet, filthy sounds of it fill the room, your scent thick in the air, and it makes you dizzy.
She’s watching you, eyes half-lidded, a feral grin on her face.
“Love watching you like this,” she pants, grinding down harder, your clits catching in that perfect spot that makes both of you cry out. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you get needy.”
You can feel your orgasm building again, heat coiling tight in your stomach, your legs starting to shake. Every drag of her clit against yours is perfect — slick and slippery and just enough pressure to make you see stars. Your hands grip her hips tight, helping her move, both of you rutting against each other like animals, sweat-soaked, breathless, messy.
“Don’t stop — fuck, Em — I’m gonna—”
“Yeah, come for me, baby,” she groans, her own voice high and strained now, her cunt throbbing against yours. “Wanna feel you soak me.”
And you do.
It hits you like a train — your clit throbbing, pussy clenching, your hips jerking wildly as you cry out her name. Slick gushes between your legs, soaking both of you, and Emily’s right behind you. You feel her stiffen, her pussy clenching against yours as she comes with a wrecked, desperate moan, her body shaking, her hips grinding frantically as she rides it out.
The wet, squelching sounds are filthy, your slick mixed with hers, both of your thighs drenched, the sheets underneath dark with it. Neither of you can stop moving, grinding through it, overstimulation making your bodies twitch and tremble, pleasure blooming so sharp it borders on pain.
When you finally collapse, it’s in a tangled, sweaty heap, both of you panting, skin flushed and sticky. Your cunt’s still throbbing, aching and swollen, slick dripping down your thighs. Emily’s chest is heaving, hair clinging to her face, her own thighs glistening, her pussy puffy and pink and used.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, your voice nothing but a wrecked whisper.
She laughs, low and ruined, pressing a soft, breathless kiss to your mouth.
“I told you you weren’t getting any sleep.”
You grin against her lips. “Good. Hope you’re not either.”
pixelskylines
origamiaround
