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The door slammed behind them the second they stepped inside. Emily Prentiss tossed her go-bag onto the couch with enough force to send a cushion flying. Aaron Hotchner stood close by, still in his suit, jaw tight, eyes burning with that controlled fury only she could pull out of him.
“You could have gotten yourself killed, Emily.” he said, voice low but already cracking at the edges.
Emily spun around, hands on her hips. “And you could have let me do my job! I had him, Aaron. I had the unsub in my sights. One clean shot and it would’ve been over. But no, Unit Chief Hotchner had to order me to pull back like I was some rookie who didn’t know how to handle herself!”
“You’re damn right I ordered you to pull back!” Hotch shot back, stepping closer. His tie was already loosened but the tension in his shoulders made him look ready for battle. “I’m your superior in the field. I made a tactical call. You have a different perception of danger than the rest of us and you know it. You push too hard, too fast. I wasn’t going to watch you bleed out because you thought you could take him alone.”
Emily laughed bitterly, closing the distance until they were inches apart. “Different perception of danger? That’s what you’re calling it now? I’m good at my job, Aaron. Better than good. And you undermined me in front of the entire team, Morgan, Reid, JJ, all of them watching while you treated me like I needed protecting instead of backing me up!”
“I was protecting the team!” he roared, the rare shout echoing off the walls. “Including you! Because if anything happens to you—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence like it’s some noble sacrifice!” she yelled right back, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to play the worried husband when you’re wearing the badge that says you outrank me. Make up your mind, Hotch. Am I your agent or your….”
The rest of her sentence disappeared as he grabbed her by the waist and crushed his mouth to hers. It was angry, desperate, all teeth and heat. Emily’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him harder against her as she kissed him back with equal fury. For a moment the argument dissolved into the familiar language they always fell back on, bodies pressed together, her back hitting the wall, his hands sliding under her blouse.
Then Aaron broke the kiss, breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said roughly. “Not while we’re like this.”
Emily’s eyes flashed with pure frustration. She shoved at his chest, though not hard enough to actually push him away. “Are you serious right now?” she snapped, voice shaking with anger and want. “You start this and then you pull back?”
Hotch closed his eyes for a second, clearly fighting for control. “We can’t keep solving every fight by falling into bed. It doesn’t fix anything.”
Emily stared at him, chest heaving. The silence stretched, thick and dangerous. “Fine,” she said, the word sharp as a blade. “You want to prove your point? Okay. If we can’t resolve our arguments with sex anymore, then let’s see how long we can go without it. At all.”
Hotch’s head snapped up. “Emily—”
“No take backs.” she cut him off, a dangerous spark in her eyes. “No sex. None. Until one of us admits the other was right about today. Or until we both lose our damn minds. Whichever comes first.”
She stepped back, arms crossed, daring him to argue.
Hotch looked at her, really looked at her, frustrated, turned on and already regretting the words that had led them here.
“Jesus Christ.” he muttered.
Emily gave him a tight, challenging smile. “Game on, Unit Chief.”
Aaron Hotchner didn’t move. He stood rooted in the middle of the living room, hands still clenched at his sides, the ghost of Emily’s lips burning on his. The silence after her challenge pressed down on him like a weight.
No sex. At all.
He understood exactly what that meant. The full, brutal weight of it hit him immediately. Their relationship had always burned hot, intensely, almost desperately. What started as stolen nights between cases had become the language they both spoke best. When words failed them, and they often did, two guarded people carrying too much baggage, their bodies took over. It was how he showed her he was terrified of losing her. It was how she showed him she was still here, still choosing him despite everything.
Now that door was slammed shut by their own stubbornness.
Emily made her way to the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door just to have something to do. She stared at the contents without seeing them, her pulse still hammering from the argument and that kiss. Her skin felt too tight. She hadn’t fully processed the bet yet. It had flown out of her mouth in the heat of the moment, a weapon to match his withdrawal. She grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap too hard, and took a long drink, trying to cool the fire still licking through her veins.
Back in the living room, Hotch finally exhaled a slow, controlled breath. He ran a hand over his face, the reality sinking deeper. Days? Weeks ? How long could they actually hold out? Their appetites had always matched, ravenous, insatiable, especially after tough cases when the adrenaline needed an outlet. Some nights they barely made it through the door. Other nights it was slower, deeper, the kind of intimacy that let him whisper things against her skin he could never say in the daylight.
And now nothing.
He heard her moving around in the kitchen. The sound of a cabinet closing a little too firmly. She still didn’t get it. Not really. Not the way he did.
Emily leaned against the counter, arms braced, head bowed. The anger was starting to cool, replaced by a restless energy she didn’t know what to do with. Usually she’d walk back out there, grab him by the tie, and they’d fight and fuck until everything made sense again. That was them. That was how they worked. But she’d just drawn a line in the sand. She took another sip of water, still not grasping how much this was going to hurt.
Hotch remained motionless, eyes fixed on the doorway to the kitchen. He could feel the ache already, the deep, gnawing need that went far beyond physical. Sex wasn’t just sex between them. It was trust, it was relief, it was love, raw and unspoken.
And he had just agreed, by silence, to starve them both of it. He closed his eyes.
“Fuck.” he whispered to the empty room.
From the kitchen came the sound of Emily setting the bottle down harder than necessary.
Neither of them moved toward the other. The bet was real now. And the long, difficult night had only just begun.
.
The silence between them had grown heavier by the time they retreated to the bedroom. Neither wanted to speak first. Words felt too dangerous now. So they fell into their usual nighttime routine by muscle memory, until the shower.
They always showered together. Always. It was part of their rhythm after long days: hot water, wandering hands, quiet conversations that turned heated more often than not. Tonight, neither suggested skipping it. Pride wouldn’t let them.
The large, open Italian-style shower filled with steam as hot water poured from the rainfall head. Emily stepped in first, letting the water cascade over her shoulders. Aaron followed a moment later, keeping what little distance the spacious shower allowed. He tried. God, he tried.
But his body had other ideas.
Emily turned slightly to reach for the soap and froze when she saw him. Aaron stood under the spray, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the tile wall, every muscle in his body rigid with tension. And there, unmistakable despite his iron will, his cock was fully hard, thick and straining toward her like it had a mind of its own.
“Jesus, Aaron.” she breathed, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice was low, a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Hotch’s head snapped toward her. Water streamed down his face, his chest rising and falling faster than the situation warranted. His erection didn’t fade. If anything, the way her eyes lingered on him made it worse.
“Don’t.” he growled, voice rough with frustration.
Emily’s gaze flicked back up to his face. She saw it then, the raw conflict in his eyes. He wanted to strangle her for her stubbornness, for throwing down this ridiculous gauntlet and yet his body betrayed him completely. He couldn’t hide how much he still wanted her, even while furious.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he said through clenched teeth, stepping back until his shoulders hit the cool tile. “To prove your point. To show me how impossible this is.”
Emily swallowed hard. The heat in the shower had nothing to do with the water anymore. Seeing him like this, naked, aroused, visibly struggling hit her harder than she expected. She hadn’t fully grasped the consequences of the bet until this moment. Their physical connection had always been effortless, instinctive. Now it was a weapon turned against them both.
“I…” She trailed off, suddenly unsure. The water continued to pour over them, highlighting every line of his body, every sign of his desire he couldn’t control no matter how disciplined his mind was.
Aaron let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a groan. “Yeah. Exactly.” He turned slightly away from her, but it did little to hide the obvious evidence of his need. “I can control what I say. I can control what I do. But I can’t control this. Not with you standing right here.”
The air between them crackled. Emily felt her own body responding, tightening with want, the familiar ache building low in her belly. This was their love language, stripped away by one heated argument.
They dried off in heavy silence and climbed into bed, careful not to touch. The sheets felt too cool, the space between them too wide. Aaron lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, still half-hard and painfully aware of it. Emily curled onto her side, facing away from him, the realization of what she’d started finally settling in like a stone in her chest.
.
The bed felt like a battlefield.
After the excruciatingly tense shower, they had both slipped under the covers wearing more clothing than usual, Aaron in gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, Emily in an old FBI Academy shirt and shorts. The distance between them on the king-sized mattress might as well have been a canyon. Aaron lay flat on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, his body still thrumming with unresolved need. Every shift of the sheets reminded him of how close she was. How impossible it was to ignore her.
Emily stared at the ceiling, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The ache between her legs hadn’t faded. If anything, seeing Aaron so visibly affected in the shower had only made it worse. But she refused to be the one who broke first.
The silence stretched until she couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re really going to do this?” Emily asked, her voice cutting through the dark.
Aaron didn’t move his arm from his eyes. “We’re both doing this, Emily. It was your bet.”
She turned her head to look at him. Even in the low light from the city glow outside the windows, she could see the rigid line of his jaw “My bet?” she shot back. “You’re the one who pulled away in the middle of that kiss. You’re the one who said we can’t keep solving everything with sex.”
“Because we can’t.” he replied, voice low and strained. “Not when the argument is about me giving you a direct order in the field and you ignoring it. This isn’t just about us, Emily. It’s about trust. About protocol. About me not watching you die because you think you’re invincible.”
Emily sat up slightly, propping herself on one elbow. “And you think punishing us both like this is going to prove your point? Look at you, Aaron. You were rock hard in the shower. You can barely control it. We both know how this usually ends. We need it. It’s how we talk when words aren’t enough.”
Hotch finally dropped his arm and turned his head to face her. His eyes were dark, frustrated, and filled with a hunger he wasn’t hiding well. “You think I don’t know that? You think this isn’t killing me right now?” His voice dropped even lower. “I want you so badly I can barely think straight. I want to pull you under me and bury myself in you until neither of us can remember why we were fighting. But that’s exactly why we’re doing this. Because if sex is the only way we know how to work through the hard shit… then maybe we have a problem.”
Emily’s breath caught. Hearing him say it so plainly sent another wave of heat through her body. She pressed her thighs together under the sheets. “So what?” she challenged, stubbornness winning out. “We just lie here suffering? Proud and miserable?”
“Yes.” he said simply, though his hand fisted the sheet like he was physically restraining himself. “Until one of us admits the other was right. Or until we find a better way to fight. I’m not backing down, Emily. And I know you won’t either.”
She let out a frustrated huff and flopped back onto her pillow. “You’re impossible.”
“So are you,” he muttered. “That’s why this is going to be hell.”
The silence returned, heavier than before. Their bodies were hyper-aware of each other, the sound of breathing, the smallest movement under the covers, the magnetic pull that had always drawn them together. Aaron’s erection strained against his sweatpants, obvious and unrelieved. Emily’s skin felt flushed and sensitive.
Neither of them reached across the space. Pride held them in place.
.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds but the mood in the room was anything but bright. Aaron had barely slept. His body ached with exhaustion and a deep, throbbing frustration that had only grown worse overnight. Every time he had drifted off, the feeling of Emily’s body so close yet untouchable had pulled him back awake. The no-sex bet already felt like a mistake but his pride wouldn’t let him admit it.
Beside him, Emily stirred. She lay curled on her side, watching him through half-lidded eyes. The absence hit her hard this morning. No sleepy morning sex. No lazy kisses that turned hungry. No Aaron pulling her close, sliding into her with that perfect mix of control and desperation that always started their day right. Her husband felt miles away even though he was right there. It wasn’t normal for them. Their physical connection was their anchor and its sudden loss left her feeling raw and empty.
“Aaron…” she started quietly.
He sat up without looking at her, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m going to shower.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Aaron stripped quickly, his cock already half-hard just from the memory of her voice. By the time he stepped into the shower and turned the water on cold, he was fully erect, thick, heavy and aching. The icy spray hit his chest and shoulders but it did nothing to calm the fire. If anything, the contrast made his dick throb harder. The head was flushed dark red, almost purple, glistening with precum that the cold water couldn’t wash away fast enough. It hurt. A deep, insistent pain born from hours of unrelieved desire.
He braced one hand against the tile wall, head bowed under the stream. His other hand wrapped around his cock without hesitation.
“Fuck.” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Aaron started stroking slowly at first, his grip firm and familiar. His hand moved up and down the thick length, thumb brushing over the sensitive head on each pass, spreading the leaking precum. The cold water made his skin hypersensitive. Every stroke sent sharp pleasure mixed with frustration through his body. He tightened his fist, pumping faster, imagining Emily on her knees in front of him, her mouth hot and eager instead of the cold shower.
His breathing grew ragged. Low groans escaped him as he fucked his own hand, hips thrusting forward involuntarily. The sound of wet skin and rushing water filled the bathroom. He was rock hard, veins standing out along his shaft, the head swollen and angry red from the prolonged need. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, squeezing just under the head the way Emily knew he liked, and a guttural moan tore from his throat.
“Em…” he whispered, eyes closed, lost in the fantasy. In his mind she was pressed against the tile, legs wrapped around him as he drove into her tight heat, her nails digging into his back, her voice moaning his name.
His strokes became rougher, almost punishing. The ache in his balls tightened, pleasure coiling fast and brutal at the base of his spine. He jerked himself harder, forearm flexing, water cascading over his clenched abs and dripping from his heavy cock. Precum mixed with the cold spray, making everything slick and obscene.
With a strangled curse, Aaron came hard. Thick ropes of cum shot across the shower floor, pulse after pulse as his hips jerked into his fist. He kept stroking through it, milking every last drop until the intensity bordered on pain. Even after he finished, his cock remained mostly hard, twitching with aftershocks, still not fully satisfied.
He leaned his forehead against the cool tile, breathing heavily, water running down his back. The release had taken the edge off but left him feeling hollow. This wasn’t what he wanted. Jerking off in the shower while his wife lay in their bed wasn’t enough. It wasn’t them.
In the bedroom, Emily heard the shower running and felt the absence like a physical wound. She missed her husband more than she thought possible after just one night.
.
The jet cabin was quieter than usual.
The team had sensed the storm brewing the moment Hotch and Emily boarded. Hotch sat at the head of the table, jaw locked so tight it looked painful. He hadn’t said more than the absolute minimum since they left Quantico. Emily sat across from him, arms crossed, staring out the window with a scowl that could cut glass. She was in just as foul a mood, the frustration from the morning still simmering under her skin.
Morgan leaned back in his seat, eyeing them both before deciding to test the waters.
“Damn, Princess.” he said with a grin, “you look like you wanna murder someone. Trouble in paradise?”
Emily shot him a glare that could have frozen lava. “Shut the fuck up, Morgan.”
Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender but couldn’t resist. “Hey, just saying. Usually you two are all synced up. Today it feels like someone kicked both your puppies.”
Reid shifted uncomfortably, flipping through case files. JJ exchanged a quick glance with Rossi, who simply raised an eyebrow but stayed wisely silent. Garcia was on video link from Quantico, her usual cheerfulness dialed way back.
Hotch’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Focus. We have work to do.”
They spread the crime scene photos across the table. Three victims in Atlanta, all male, mid-thirties, posed in their homes with signatures of overkill, multiple stab wounds and symbols carved into their chests.
Hotch spoke first, his tone clipped and professional. “The unsub is organized, intelligent, and angry. The posing suggests a need for control. He’s staging them like failed husbands or fathers.”
Emily jumped in, her voice sharp. “Or he’s punishing them for something specific. The carvings look ritualistic. Maybe religious guilt mixed with rage. These aren’t just kills, they’re sermons.”
Morgan nodded but couldn’t stop himself from poking the bear. “You’re on fire today, Prentiss. All that pent-up energy got you seeing things clearer?” He winked.
Emily’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Derek, I swear to God.”
“Enough.” Hotch snapped. The single word was ice cold. His gaze flicked to Emily for a split second. The tension between them was thick enough to choke on, everyone felt it. The way they avoided looking directly at each other. The way Hotch’s knuckles whitened when Emily spoke. The way Emily’s jaw tightened every time Hotch gave an order.
Rossi cleared his throat. “The victims were all married. Wedding rings left on but positioned to be visible. Could be projecting his own failed relationship.”
Reid added quickly, eager to diffuse the mood, “The overkill points to personal rage. He knew them or someone like them. Maybe he’s recently divorced or widowed and blaming other men for his pain.”
JJ pointed to the timeline. “All kills happened at night, in their homes. He’s comfortable there. Confident he won’t be interrupted.”
Hotch leaned forward, eyes scanning the board they’d mentally built. “He’s local, probably mid-forties. White male. He blends in. Holds a steady job but feels emasculated. The symbols could be his way of marking them as sinners, specifically in their roles as husbands.”
Emily met his gaze directly for the first time during the briefing, her voice challenging. “Or he’s punishing them for staying when he couldn’t. Some people can’t handle the pressure of commitment when things get hard.”
The implication hung heavy in the air. Hotch’s eyes darkened but he didn’t rise to the bait.
Morgan whistled low. “Yall need to chill. This unsub’s bad enough without whatever domestic Cold War you two got going on.”
Emily looked ready to throw something at him. “One more joke, Morgan and I will actually end you.”
Hotch stood abruptly. “We’re landing soon. Prentiss, you’re with Morgan at the latest crime scene. Reid and Rossi, morgue. JJ, you’re with me at the precinct.”
He didn’t wait for replies before moving toward the back of the jet.
Emily stared at her husband’s rigid back, the lack of sleep and the morning’s emptiness gnawing at her. She missed him. Not just the sex, the quiet partnership, the way they grounded each other. This bet was starting to feel like self-inflicted torture, but neither of them would blink first.
Morgan leaned over and whispered, “You sure you don’t wanna just apologize and jump him later? Because this is painful to watch.”
Emily elbowed him hard in the ribs.
.
The jet had fallen into an uneasy lull. Morgan was pretending to nap. Reid had his nose buried in a thick forensic textbook. Rossi sipped coffee while reviewing notes. JJ was on a quiet call with Garcia. The only real sound was the low hum of the engines.
Aaron Hotchner sat apart from the others, in the seat nearest the window at the back, his posture ramrod straight as always. On the surface, he was the picture of control, the Unit Chief, the man who made impossible decisions without flinching. But inside, a war was raging. His jaw remained clenched so tightly it ached. He stared out at the clouds, but all he could see was Emily.
God damn it.
Even now, hours after that miserable cold shower, his body refused to settle. Every time he glanced her way, and he tried not to, his mind betrayed him with vivid flashes: the way water had run down her bare skin in the shower the night before, the frustrated heat in her eyes this morning when she watched him leave the bed, the memory of her pressed against him during their argument, kissing him like she wanted to consume him.
He was painfully hard again. Under the dark slacks of his suit, his cock throbbed insistently against the fabric, trapped and aching. The erection hadn’t fully gone down since the shower. It was a constant, humiliating reminder of how little control he actually had when it came to her.
She’s your wife. Your partner. Your agent.
Hotch closed his eyes for a brief second, forcing a slow breath through his nose. He was Aaron Hotchner, control was his defining trait. He had buried emotions for years after Haley’s death. He had led the BAU through hell. He had faced down the worst monsters humanity could produce without breaking.
Yet here he was, fighting the overwhelming urge to cross the few feet separating them, pull Emily into the small bathroom at the back of the jet, lock the door, and fuck her until they both forgot the stupid bet, the argument, and every reason they were angry.
He could picture it too clearly: bending her over the tiny sink, hiking up her skirt, driving into her from behind while she bit her lip to stay quiet. Or her on her knees, looking up at him with those dark eyes full of challenge and need as she took him deep into her mouth. The sounds she made. The way she clenched around him when she came.
His hand tightened on the armrest until his knuckles turned white. His cock twitched hard in his pants, leaking enough that he was grateful for the dark fabric. The physical ache was bad enough, but the deeper pull was worse.
He missed her. Not just the sex. The way she softened against him afterward. The quiet conversations in the dark where they admitted fears they told no one else. The partnership that had saved them both more times than he could count. Sex was their language, yes, but it was also the bridge over all the walls they had built.
And now they were both suffering because of their pride.
Hotch shifted slightly in his seat, trying to ease the pressure. It didn’t help. His body was screaming for release, for her, while his mind kept repeating the same arguments: She disobeyed a direct order. She puts herself in unnecessary danger. We can’t keep using this to avoid talking.
But another voice, quieter and far more dangerous, whispered back: She’s right here. She’s yours. Take what you both need. He opened his eyes and risked a glance toward her. Emily was staring out her own window, profile tense, legs crossed tightly. She looked as miserable and wound-up as he felt. The sight only made his desire sharper.
For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner, the man who prided himself on unbreakable control wondered how long he could actually hold out before he cracked. The bet had seemed like a stand on principle last night. Now, trapped on this jet with her just feet away, it felt like the worst decision of his life.
He turned back to the window, jaw flexing.
Stay in control.
But for once, control was slipping through his fingers, and the only thing he wanted in the world was the woman currently pretending not to look at him.
.
The BAU team trudged into the hotel lobby like soldiers returning from a long campaign. The flight, the crime scenes, the precinct work and the endless hours had drained everyone. It was well past 11 PM and exhaustion hung heavy in the air.
Hotch trailed a few steps behind the group, hands in his pockets, listening but not really participating. His mind was elsewhere, still trapped in the same loop of frustration, desire and stubborn pride that had haunted him all day.
Morgan stretched his arms overhead with a groan. “Guys, I’m wiped. But I’m thinking about hitting the hotel gym if they’ve got one. Burn off some of this jet lag. Prentiss, you down for a quick boxing session? I know you love putting me on my ass.”
Emily gave a tired half-smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not tonight, Morgan. I’d probably end up actually punching you.”
Morgan chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”
Reid adjusted his satchel, already brightening at the thought of downtime. “I’m going straight to my room. I brought my copy of Pride and Prejudice in the original Russian. It’s my fourth time reading it, but the linguistic nuances in the early 19th-century translation are fascinating. I should finish it before midnight.”
JJ smiled softly, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling Will and Henry before it gets too late back home. Henry’s been asking about the case even though I keep telling him it’s not for kids.” She rubbed her eyes. “Then bed. Definitely bed.”
Rossi clapped a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “I, on the other hand, plan to enjoy a very expensive glass of scotch at the hotel bar before turning in. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.”
The group laughed lightly, the easy banter a small comfort after a brutal day. They collected their key cards from the front desk and started moving toward the elevators.
Hotch lingered at the back, accepting his own key card in silence. He stared down at the small envelope in his hand. One room. One bed. Just like always.
He drew in a slow, silent breath, his chest tight. For the first time in years, long before they were even married, he seriously considered asking for a second room. Separate beds and separate space. It would be simpler, safer. He wouldn’t have to lie there all night pretending he wasn’t painfully aware of every breath Emily took beside him. He wouldn’t have to fight the constant, aching need that had followed him all day like a shadow.
But the thought felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
They had never done that, Even during the earliest, most complicated days of their relationship, when they were still pretending it was just casual, they had always shared a room on the road. It had become their quiet tradition, a small island of normalcy and intimacy amid the chaos of chasing monsters. The idea of sleeping apart now felt like admitting defeat in a way that went beyond the bet.
Emily glanced back at him as the elevator doors opened. Their eyes met for a brief, loaded second. She looked as tired as he felt and beneath that, just as conflicted.
Hotch gave a small nod and stepped into the elevator with the rest of the team. No one else seemed to notice the extra weight in his silence. As the doors closed, Morgan kept talking about the gym, Reid muttered something about Russian literature and JJ smiled at a text from Will. But Hotch’s mind was still on the key card in his hand.
This bet was going to test far more than their sex life. It was testing the very foundation of how they existed together, on the job, on the road, in the quiet hours of the night. And as the elevator climbed toward their floor, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how much longer his famous control could hold.
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the heavy silence of the room. Emily and Aaron stood a few feet apart, staring at each other in the dim light of the single lamp. Neither moved. The air crackled with exhaustion, frustration, and months of pent-up need compressed into barely twenty-four hours.
Emily broke first. She let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed her temple. “This bet is fucking stupid.” she said bluntly. “It’s barely been twenty-four hours and I already hate it. But I’m not saying I was wrong yesterday and I know you’re not going to admit you were wrong either.”
Hotch’s dark eyes burned into hers. His jaw flexed. For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing.
Then he cracked. “Fuck it.” he growled.
In two strides he was on her. His mouth crashed against hers in a bruising kiss as he backed her toward the bed. Emily gasped into his mouth, hands fisting his shirt. He shoved her down onto the mattress, following immediately, covering her body with his.
“I’m not admitting I was wrong yesterday.” he said between fierce kisses, his voice rough with hunger. “But I’m done playing your stupid fucking game.”
Emily moaned as his hands roamed aggressively over her body. He flipped her onto her stomach in one powerful motion, yanking her tailored pants and underwear down her legs in one rough tug, nearly tearing the fabric. The cool air hit her bare ass before his hand was there, gripping hard.
“Aaron…” she started but the words dissolved into a sharp cry as he shoved two thick fingers inside her without warning. She was already soaked.
“You’re dripping,” he snarled against her ear, pumping his fingers fast and deep. “All day you’ve been like this, haven’t you?”
Emily pushed back against his hand, desperate. “Yes…fuck…please baby.”
He didn’t make her wait. The sound of his belt and zipper was frantic. A second later, the thick, blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance and he thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
“Fuck!” Emily screamed into the pillow, fingers clawing at the sheets.
Hotch set a punishing pace immediately, hips slamming against her ass with wet, obscene slaps. One hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise while the other fisted her hair, pulling her head back so he could growl into her ear.
“This is what we both needed.” he rasped, pounding into her relentlessly. “Not your bet. This.”
Emily’s first orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her walls clenched violently around his cock as she came with a broken moan, thighs shaking. Hotch fucked her straight through it, grinding deep, drawing it out until she was whimpering.
He pulled out suddenly, flipped her onto her back and shoved back inside in one smooth thrust. This time he wanted to see her face. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and drove into her even harder, the new angle hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.
Emily’s second orgasm tore through her seconds later. Her back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream as her pussy pulsed and gushed around him. “Aaron…oh god…”
The sight and feel of her coming undone destroyed what little control he had left. His thrusts became erratic, desperate. His balls tightened, spine tingling.
“Fuck…Emily” he groaned.
When he came, it hit him like lightning. His cock swelled and erupted deep inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her pussy as pleasure exploded behind his eyes. He saw stars, literal white flashes as his orgasm ripped through him in powerful, shuddering waves. He kept thrusting through it, grinding against her clit, filling her until cum leaked out around his cock with every push.
They collapsed together, panting, sweat-slicked, and trembling.
.
Emily lay on her back, chest heaving, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on her lips as she looked up at him. Aaron was still buried inside her, breathing hard against her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and asked, voice amused and husky, “So…was that better than jerking off alone in the cold shower this morning?”
Hotch let out a low, exhausted chuckle against her skin, hips giving one last lazy thrust. “Smartass.” he muttered, but there was no heat left in it, only relief and the familiar warmth of her body wrapped around his.
He kissed her slowly this time, deep and tender, as if making up for the roughness. They both knew the argument wasn’t over. But for tonight, the bet was dead.