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A weekend without a case was always something to relish. Especially when said free weekend coincided with one of Penelope’s legendary girls’ nights. Penelope’s living room had been transformed with about a dozen lit candles, a gorgeous charcuterie board, and four personalized wine glasses, each bejeweled and bedazzled by the hostess.
Which—incredibly thoughtful. Obviously. Although… when she accepted Derek’s nickname of Pretty Girl when she joined the team a couple years ago, she didn’t expect it would catch on. Or shorten.
Or that Penelope’s wineglass for her would read PG instead of her name. Penelope had giggled, exclaiming, “It’s a great pair of letters. I would know—they’re my initials!”
Honestly, she didn’t even like the nickname but… she dealt with it. Because… because…
Because Derek called Spencer Pretty Boy, and knowing their nicknames were connected gave her butterflies. Warm fuzzies. Girlish giggles.
All the heart-pounding, palm-sweating, eye-blearing stuff.
Except… maybe that was the wine?
She glanced at her glass, the fake purple jewels spelling PG glittering in the candlelight. Yeah… maybe it was the wine.
“I need more alcohol!” Penelope cried, rushing to the kitchen.
JJ leaned over the charcuterie board, grabbing a little sandwich of meat, cheese, and cracker. “I need more salami.”
“I need…” Emily sighed theatrically. “Dick.” When everyone turned to her, scandalized, she groaned. “What? I thought we were being honest about our vices.”
Penelope returned with a fresh wine bottle, dropping to her seat with a giggle. “Is that the trifecta to keep us happy? Liquor, processed meat, and dick?”
Emily raised her glass, as if to toast. “Perhaps.”
“No one on your roster?” JJ teased, grabbing another piece of salami. “What happened to… what was his name?”
“Marcus.” Emily shrugged. “Fizzled out.”
“No one else you can rely on?”
Emily smirked into her glass. “I have plenty of options, they’re just not of the living and breathing variety.” Following a long sip, she added, “Well… no. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Penelope scoffed. “Nope. Not uh. No hiding stuff on girl’s night!”
“There is… someone I’ve been thinking about. But… jumping back into bed with him wouldn’t be… wise.” Emily groaned. “But I want dick and ladies, he has a very nice one. The biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“What about sleeping with him wouldn’t be wise? Is he married?”
“Divorced.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“We work together.”
JJ choked. “Oh my god. Shut the fuck up. You did not.” When Emily merely shrugged, JJ cried, “WHEN? WHERE?”
“Right after his divorce. So… four years ago.”
Penelope looked between them, frantic. “I feel like I’m missing something and I hate missing something. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is Emily slept with Hotch.” JJ leaned forward, eyes wide. “I can’t believe you never shared this!”
Emily shrugged, Penelope gasped, and she… well, she could only look between the three women, shocked silent. Emily and Hotch? She couldn’t imagine messing around with a teammate, let alone her boss! It’s the entire reason she’d been working hard to squash her crush on Spencer that’d existed for…
Well…
Two years of the two years and two months she’d been on the team.
“Details—” Penelope refilled their glasses. “—now!”
“If you insist. It was actually when we were on that case in Miami and Will joined.” Emily turned to JJ. “I like to think it was the mix of his divorce, seeing you two hiding your romance, and that… je ne sais quoi that Miami has. Whatever it was, we both went to take a midnight swim on the rooftop pool once we wrapped the case and… one thing led to another and…”
“And?” Penelope asked, breathless.
“And that another was him fucking me against the wall in his hotel room.”
JJ covered her mouth. “I’m… I don’t know if I’m more surprised, mad you didn’t tell me, or impressed. But… back up. Let’s return to when you said he has the biggest dick you’ve ever seen.”
“Is there something confusing about that?”
“Um, yes! That’s our boss!”
“Our boss who happens to have a big dick.” Emily sipped her wine. “He wasn’t always Unit Chief. Just Aaron Hotchner, well-endowed and gloomy. He must’ve really messed things up with Haley for her to willingly leave a cock like that.”
“Emily!” Penelope cried, scandalized. “She’s—”
“Dead, yes, I know. But my point stands.”
Silence settled. Emily was unbothered, eating from the charcuterie board. Meanwhile, the other three exchanged looks, unsure how to proceed with the information. Partially, Emily sleeping with Hotch, but mostly, the truth about his…
Endowment.
It was JJ who broke the quiet. “You two really just… slept together, and continued working as if it was nothing? It’s never been awkward?”
Emily shrugged. “Why would it be? We’re not in love. He was nursing a broken heart and I was horny. Sometimes, you use people for their bodies. It’s never even come up. Honestly, sometimes I forget it even happened. Well, until he wears his tight pants. Then I remember.”
“I just… I don’t understand how you can have sex with someone and continue having a normal relationship! As… colleagues but even as friends!”
“It’s not that difficult,” Penelope mumbled into her wine.
Now, three sets of eyes landed on her.
“You’re talking like you’re speaking from experience,” JJ replied. “What are you not telling us?”
Penelope looked between the others, eyes cartoonishly wide. “Um, no—nothing! I was… I just… was defending, Em! That’s all.”
“Liar!”
“I can’t tell you! I promised I wouldn’t!”
“Penelope,” Emily warned. “I spilled the beans. Now it’s your turn.”
“Fine! You got me!” Penelope held her arms up, like she was cornered by the cops. And considering they were federal agents, she kinda was. “So, um, like… oh gosh… remember when I joined you guys in Alaska for that case? And we um… had to share rooms? Well, I was really cold at night, so Derek said I could sleep with him, so I got into his bed and—and—and—it was harmless, really, but then the cuddling wasn’t harmless, and then—”
“OH MY GOD!” they cried in unison.
“It’s not a big deal!” Penelope begged. “We just… had smoking hot sex in the Alaska wilderness and cuddled naked after. But our love transcends sex and romance, ok? So, we just… were able to move past it. But we never told anyone because we knew people would misinterpret our relationship given how we—”
“Talk?” Emily snorted. “You got that right. So. How was it?”
“Amazing, obviously. You’ve seen his body. He’s unreal. And—” Penelope squeaked. “It’s funny you bring up Hotch because um… Derek also has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”
At that, Emily toasted Penelope. JJ sat back in her chair, covering her mouth in shock, and she… well… she looked between the others, unsure what to say. Apparently, everyone was fucking their teammates.
One and done moments and they moved on.
What if…
No, no. Ridiculous.
But not nearly as ridiculous as JJ saying, “I guess I need to fill everyone in on my Rossi story.” When everyone stared at her, mouths agape, JJ choked on her wine. “Oh my god, no! Not like your stories with Hotch and Morgan!”
“Then what kind of story?” Emily asked, leaning forward, as if she couldn’t wait for JJ to continue.
JJ groaned, cheeks pink. “Ok, so, it was right when Rossi rejoined the team, back in my liaison days. I don’t know if you recall, but he hosted a big dinner to introduce himself, all that. Well, during that dinner, I lost an earring, and I couldn’t find it, which had me panicking because Will had given them to me. Rossi told me I could come back to look in the morning, which, I did. But when I knocked, he opened the door half asleep, wearing only a robe.”
“Sounds like Rossi.”
“Yeah, well, he lets me in and I start looking all over. Eventually, I find it, and when I go to the kitchen to tell him, he’s making himself coffee and his robe is open. He’s… naked. And…” JJ sipped her wine. “Let’s just say I understand the three wives, playboy thing.”
Emily snorted. “Shut the fuck up. Are you saying he had a… stick of salami?”
“Yes. A Bonafide Italian stallion.”
“STOP!” Penelope cried, hands to ears. “I don’t want to hear that!”
“I do,” Emily joked. “Maybe I need to become Mrs. Rossi number four.”
JJ laughed, head thrown back. “Who knew all the guys were so… gifted. Must be all the testosterone.”
All the guys.
As the other three laughed—well, more like JJ and Emily laughed while Penelope covered her face and groaned—she couldn’t help where her mind traveled. Nowhere unique and nowhere new.
Always right back to Spencer.
“What about Spencer?” she asked, each word hoarse. “Is he um… you know…”
Emily grabbed her chest, feigning a gasp. “PG! That’s awfully Rated R of you to ask!”
“Or Triple X,” JJ teased back.
She swallowed. “I just—I was… curious.”
“Unfortunately,” Emily replied, “I’ve got nothing on Reid.”
But JJ and Penelope shared a look, one that had giggles erupting from the pair. She shrunk in her chair, her cheeks heating. Why were they laughing? Did they know about her pathetic crush on Spencer? Had they both fucked him and had all the juicy details?
Oh god…
Did he have a micropenis?
“What’s got you two laughing so hard?” Emily asked. “If you two slept with Spencer and didn’t share, I swear—”
“NO!” Penelope cried, practically wheezing. “Oh my gosh, no. Absolutely not. It’s just…” Again, the pair burst into giggles. “I completely forgot about this. Tonight, has been so informative.”
If one of them didn’t answer her question in the next twenty seconds, she might lose every ounce of food she’d eaten.
That’s now nervous she was.
God, could she love him if he had a micropenis?
JJ gasped for air, before settling down with a steady exhale. “Ok, so, when Elle was on the team, she um, went through this phase where she…” JJ snorted. “Sorry. Ok. Elle claimed Spence had a huge dick. She talked about it all the time.”
She took a shaky sip of wine. Elle Greenaway was just a whispered memory to her, since Elle had left the team three plus years before she joined. She’d seen the pictures, heard the stories, and all she knew was that the long-gone agent was a gorgeous badass who left on not-so-great terms.
So… why was she now seething with jealousy at the thought of the stranger sleeping with Spencer?
“Did they…” She cleared her throat. “Did they sleep together?”
“No, and not from Elle’s lack of trying.” JJ laughed. “I think had she stayed on the team, she would’ve worn him down, but back then, Spence was so clueless. He never realized when she was flirting.”
“Then how did she um, know?”
“Their case in LA his first year,” Penelope responded. “Elle claimed her suspicions started after Lila Archer—you know, the actress?—dragged Spencer into her pool. Apparently, Lila gave him clothes to change into, and said clothes included a pair of women’s sweatpants which were very tight. Elle said she saw the outline of his dick, and she was surprised, but not willing to make any conclusions until—”
“Our last night in LA,” JJ continued, “Elle said that Spence had her jacket after she left it in the van. He’d told the team he was going out with Lila, so Elle managed to get his room key, and not expecting him to be in his room, just… walked inside. And when she did, she saw—”
“WAIT!” Penelope cried. “Let me tell. It’s my favorite part.” When JJ waved her on, Penelope took a deep breath, and in a higher register, very clearly her impression of the old teammate, said, “That little blonde bitch was choking on the biggest cock I’ve ever seen!”
JJ laughed. “Yes, that. I don’t know what surprised her more—Spence getting a blowjob from a Hollywood actress, or apparently how… big he was. Anyways, for a solid few months, it came up in conversation all the time.”
“It’s kinda wild when you think about it,” Penelope added. “Elle was… experienced. So—”
“Dr. Reid must really have been impressive,” Emily mused. “This is hilarious. Does Reid know she saw?”
“Nope,” JJ replied. “Elle booked it out of there. And no one has ever said anything because… God, it’d kill him. And then if Morgan found out? The teasing would be relentless.”
As the other three chatted, she stared into her wine, her thoughts rushing a mile a minute. Lingering jealousy burned in her gut at the visions of Lila Archer giving Spencer a blowjob, at Elle flirting with her clueless colleague. Which… was beyond ridiculous. The women predated her. She couldn’t possibly rage at every woman to ever engage with him romantically. If she did, she’d have to hate JJ, since she knew he once had a crush on her!
Thankfully, her ridiculous fixations on Elle and Lila were nothing compared to what truly consumed her thoughts.
Spencer…
Had a big dick.
She hadn’t thought about it much. Whenever she imagined sex with Spencer, it was just—perfect. Romantic. So yes, there was a dick involved, but the dick was perfectly adequate and perfectly average and perfectly normal. She didn’t… let her imagination wander.
Not to the scenarios in her favorite romance novels, or her favorite…
Nope, she was not thinking about videos she’d touched herself to before.
Emily was right. It wasn’t very PG of her.
What the hell was she supposed to do with this knowledge? Or the fact that Emily and Penelope had both slept with teammates and went on to coexist with them, not an ounce of jealousy or awkwardness clouding their relationship?
Panicking, she took a gulp of her wine.
JJ refilled their glasses, still giggling. “God, we have an entire team of big dicks.”
Emily smirked. “Maybe so, but mine’s still bigger.”
Everyone laughed. Even her. Even if she kinda wanted to cry.
Or scream.
Or… she finished her glass.
Nope. She’d just forget about this piece of information.
Easy as—
“Pie?” Penelope asked.
Thirty-six hours had passed since JJ and Penelope dropped a truth bomb about Spencer, and she still hadn’t been able to forget the teasing words.
Spence had a huge dick.
The biggest cock I’ve ever seen.
Dr. Reid must really have been impressive.
Her teammates’ gasping laughter, coupled with Agent Greenaway’s first-hand recount, haunted her all of Saturday night and into Sunday. In bed, at the grocery store, on the Metro. Every giggle lit a fantasy, each subsequent one hotter than the last.
When she finally made it into the office Monday morning, she grabbed her usual cup of coffee and sat at her desk, immediately clicking into her emails.
The words blurred together.
“It won’t fit,” she cried, legs shaking. “Spencer, you’re too big.”
“It’ll fit, beautiful,” he cooed, his thumb on her clit. “This pussy was made for me.”
Her cup went tumbling over, spilling coffee across the wood. She jumped up, frantically trying to slow the spill, when someone came up behind her and dropped a stack of paper towels. Sandalwood invaded her senses, and an arm reached over her shoulder.
A golden hand worked the towels over the mess, each back-and-forth scrub clenching the veins. The fingers were thick, just the slightest dusting of caramel-colored hair, and a shiny watch sat on the wrist, glittering in the morning sunshine.
“You, ok?” Spencer asked, the question tickling her ear. “You jerked so suddenly I thought you saw a rat. Did you know that approximately 89 percent of officer workers in the United States have seen a pest in their place of—”
Yeah, she’d seen a pest alright. But this creature haunted her dreams, not the trash cans.
“I’m fine,” she blurted out, still watching him clean. “Sorry for the mess.”
“It’s ok. I heard we’re going to that coffee shop—”
But his words faded into the background. Her senses failed her. She should’ve smelled sandalwood, should’ve felt her heels digging into her feet, should’ve heard Emily and Morgan talking, should’ve tasted coffee on her tongue…
Instead, only her eyes worked.
She stared at Spencer, leaning forward until she had a front row seat. It was hypnotizing, how his wrists curled as he clumped together the wet paper towels, how his fingers spread as he cleaned the surface with a disinfectant wipe, how his knuckles scraped the drawers as he tossed the materials into the trash.
The fantasies returned with a vengeance. Two hands tracing up her thighs. Ten thick fingers at her pussy, three burying knuckle deep. A wrist jerking as he fucked her—
“—you coming?”
Her lips parted for a pathetic whimper. “W—what?”
Spencer blinked, head tilting, like a dog intrigued by the sound. “I asked: are you coming?”
“To go where?”
His brows furrowed. “The coffee shop. Hotch is calling it a team building exercise, but Rossi says he won’t admit that he wants to try some fancy new donut they have.”
She gulped, nodding quickly. “Y—yes. Of course.”
When Spencer smiled and walked off, promising to return after washing his hands, she could only sink into her seat and bury her face in her arms.
What the actual fuck was that about?
She took a deep breath. It was a fluke—a reasonable reaction to seeing Spencer for the first time after JJ and Penelope’s insane story.
It absolutely, categorically, one thousand percent would not happen again.
…right?
Wrong.
The walk to the coffee shop started normally—well, as normal as a field trip with the BAU could be. Morgan was talking about some movie he saw Friday night, Rossi was singing the praises about a new sushi spot, and Hotch, rather bashfully, admitted his excitement to try the shop’s new cereal-themed donuts.
She liked donuts, and she especially liked donuts that were being paid for by her boss. But as they made it within two blocks of the café, Spencer ended up ahead of her, deep in conversation with Penelope. All she caught were bits and pieces about some new Sherlock adaptation, but Spencer was clearly invested, his hands flying with every sentence.
Her attention was immediately on his hands but…
They crossed the street, and he jumped around a pigeon in the crosswalk. His pants tightened around his thighs and ass, and she…
Her mouth watered.
She slowed down, mystified by his long-legged strides, and the khaki-colored cotton hugging his hips, and how his ass was perfectly shaped, perfectly sized, perfectly situated for her to reach forward…
The fantasies hit her like a tidal wave. Slim hips thrusting forward at a brutal pace. Her legs around his body, her nails digging into his ass, her—
“Are you ok?”
Recoiling back, she came face to face with her Unit Chief. How had she managed to bump into Hotch?
When she didn’t respond, he raised an eyebrow.
“Take this big cock,” Hotch growled. “I know you can, Prentiss. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Fuck, Hotch, please!” Emily dug her nails into his back. “I need it—”
“Agent?”
“Present!” she cried, straightening, her cheeks burning uncomfortably. “At your service!”
Hotch blinked slowly. “I… ok. Let’s head inside.”
With her tail between her legs, she did exactly that. Until she noticed Spencer licking frosting from his fingers. That alone stole a whimper from her lips, but when he bent over to retrieve his napkin from the ground, stretching those pants across his perfect butt?
She whined.
Was this her life moving forward?
On any other day, she’d bemoan being pulled into Rossi’s office to help him with a project. His space, while nicely furnished, smelled like pine and was always a few degrees too hot. But today, she would’ve done virtually anything to get away from Spencer.
After the coffee incident and the trip to the café, she needed time and space away from him.
Rossi kept her busy until the end of the day, and as she packed up her bag and planned her quick escape home, where she’d eat a frozen dinner and fall into bed with fantasies about a certain someone, Penelope threw a wrench in her plans.
“Come on!” Penelope cried. “It’ll be so fun! Pretty please, with a massive bright red, delicious juicy cherry on top?”
Emily laughed. “She’s got me. I’m in.”
“Me too,” Morgan replied. “I can fuck with pasta.”
“Italian sounds good.” Spencer smiled, turning to her. “What about you?”
She gulped. Dinner with the team and… Spencer? No, no, she—she needed—she couldn’t—
“Ok,” she stuttered out. “I’d love to.”
Which was precisely how she ended up at a local Italian restaurant. Hotch and JJ bailed to spend time with their families, and Rossi stuck up his nose at an Italian joint he didn’t hand pick. But the five of them easily found a back booth and split a bottle of wine—minus Spencer, of course.
Instead, he nursed an Italian soda, his lips tight around the neck of the bottle. When an orange droplet escaped, he caught it with his tongue.
Fuck her.
“What exactly is arancini?” Morgan asked, brows furrowing as he flipped through the menu. “Isn’t that like a spider or something?”
Spencer smirked around his drink. Plush, pink lips suctioned over the glass and she… fuck, why couldn’t she look away?
“The word you’re thinking of is arachnid,” Spencer replied, “which are creatures that fall into the Arachnida class. Adult arachnids have eight legs, so people tend to fixate on spiders, but the classification also includes other arthropods like ticks and scorpions. There’re more than 110,000 named species, and just slightly less than half are spiders.”
Morgan sighed and slammed his menu shut. “Pretty Boy, really? Are you an entomologist now?”
“No, I just—”
Spencer rambled on, covering a childhood fascination with bugs, to a case that predated her time on the team having to do with beetles. But for every word that left his lips, all she could do was stare. She was hypnotized by how his tongue would poke out to wet his lips, and how his hands would come up to swipe across his chin when he was extra focused, and how just the tiniest glimpse of teeth would peek during his awkward smiles.
And then Emily ordered the arancini that started the conversation—fried risotto balls, which was finally clarified for Morgan—and Spencer bit into one, moaning at the first taste. She legitimately whimpered into her wine, transfixed as the stretchy mozzarella pulled across his mouth, the vodka sauce dripped along his chin, and the lingering grease shined his lips more than lip balm.
She actually ached.
What the fuck was wrong with her? She wasn’t PMSing. She wasn’t ovulating. Had learning about Spencer’s… endowment really corrupted her thoughts that much?
Another male groan stole her attention. Her gaze darted to Morgan, who nodded as he stuffed his mouth with pasta.
She blinked, her vision blurring.
“Baby girl, look at you,” Morgan teased, each thrust sending the headboard into the wall. “You’re taking that big dick like a champ.”
“Anything for you,” Penelope cried, arching into him. “You feel so good—"
Oh, God. It wasn’t even just knowledge of Spencer. It was all of them!
Panic sent her to her feet, knocking her fork to the ground and the red peppers into Penelope’s plate.
“Oops!” Penelope giggled. “That’s alright. I like spicy—hey, are you ok?”
No, no, no, she wasn’t ok, she was so not ok.
“I um…”
Spencer studied her, lips closed around a forkful of pasta. When he swallowed his food and licked a bit of alfredo sauce from the corner of his mouth, her knees buckled.
“Gotta… feed my… cat,” she mumbled, grabbing her purse. “Just um… I’ll… pay whoever tomorrow.”
With the others calling her name, she rushed out of the restaurant.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! How was she meant to work with these men now that she knew the truth? How was she meant to work with Spencer when every part of his body was acting as a fucking trigger for her to enter sexual psychosis?
And…
Now she needed to adopt a cat!
“Hey.”
Shit.
The next morning, Spencer cornered her in the kitchen. Instead of staring at his mouth, or his hands, or his tight fucking pants, she frantically stirred sugar into her coffee.
Would this nightmare ever end? What if she exclusively watched porn of men with small dicks? Went on dates with ugly, short guys? Changed teams, moved states, joined a nunnery—
“Yesterday, you seemed a little… off,” he continued. “Jumpy, and clumsier than usual, and then you left after barely eating your food and—you mentioned a cat? When did you adopt a cat? Did you know that nearly forty-five percent of American households own a dog, but only twenty-nine percent own cats? Growing up, I always wanted a spaniel, because in The Sign of Four, Sherlock Holmes—”
When she finally braved looking at Spencer, she nearly collapsed into the counter. Her eyes widened.
“Your hair,” she choked. “You…”
He offered her one of his usual tight smiles. “Yeah, after dinner, Penelope convinced me to let her cut it and I think she did a really good job. It reminds me of what Hotch liked to call my boy band hair.” He shook the strands. “What do you think?”
What did she think?
What did she think?
WHAT DID SHE THINK?
Saliva pooled in her mouth, the kind of reaction she expected a dog to have when presented with a steak. She felt fucking lightheaded as she stared at the golden-brown strands perfectly scattering across his forehead, practically glowing in the fluorescent lights, just begging her to—
“There you two are!” Penelope cried, rushing in. “We have a case.”
And thank fuck for that. Giving Spencer only a clenched smile, she rushed to the conference room.
She quickly learned a case wasn’t the escape she thought it was. Not when a string of murders was bringing them to Carson City, Nevada, which meant five hours on the jet.
Aka, five hours with Spencer sitting across from her. Five hours with Spencer’s knees touching hers. Five hours with Spencer’s cologne teasing her nostrils. Five hours with Spencer’s delicious voice babbling about what axes are made of and the Lizzie Borden murders and the origin of the word lumberjack and—
It was hell, 35,000 feet in the air.
Forget their unsub’s weapon of choice. She needed an axe to put herself out of her misery.
Across from her, Spencer clearly wasn’t used to his haircut. Every few minutes, those thick fingers slipped into his hair, brushing loose strands from his eyes. He’d shake his head, and run his fingers through the back, and adjust the baby hairs at his neck, and—
She moaned.
His eyes widened. “Are you ok? Do you need a vomit bag?”
“Wh—what?”
He frowned. “You moaned in pain, so I was concerned. Are you feeling sick? Is that why you barely ate yesterday, and—”
Again, his fingers slipped into the golden-brown strands.
She moaned.
He leaned forward, brown eyes wide with concern. “Look at me. What do you need?”
What did she need?
What did she need?
WHAT DID SHE NEED?
She squeaked. “Just—I um—a nap. I need a nap.”
He held out his cardigan. “Here. You can use this as a pillow.”
Choking out a mumbled “thank you” she accepted the cotton and curled into her seat. When she closed her eyes, she tried to clear her mind, to banish all the dangerous thoughts that’d consumed since girls’ night. But one whiff of coffee and sandalwood, along with Spencer’s soft voice asking Hotch a question, reminded her that the task was impossible.
The only way she was going to get over this… fixation with him was to get under another guy.
So…
If she’d fallen for one guy from Nevada, surely she could fall for another, right?
At least the case was an interesting one—if she was allowed to call murder interesting. But any time she wasn’t faced with a bunch of young women who were sexually assaulted and tortured, that was a win in her book. They’d been called in to investigate three dead bodies, all connected to a local adult recreational basketball league.
There were six teams, ten coaches, forty-nine players, and…
More egos than they could count.
Unfortunately, that extended to the local PD, too. Their lead detective, Myers, wasn’t exactly the friendly type, and as inappropriate as it was, she was disappointed by her… options. Usually, there was at least one hot cop that called for a double take.
This time, her best option was Officer Doogan, and he was divorced, fifteen years older than her, and smelled like cigarette smoke. Attractive in a gruff sorta way, but not exactly her type.
But… could she even have a type when she was feeling as desperate as she was?
She sat at the conference room table, knee bouncing as the flipped through the autopsy report. Spencer stood at the case board, scribbling on the map as he always did. With a pen in his hand and a pen behind his ear, he was a study buddy wet dream.
And when he ran the capped pen up his jaw and into his mouth, where he gently nibbled on the top as he eyed the map?
Her whimper rattled into the tabletop. His gaze darted to hers, concerned. “Hey. Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Ye—yeah. Just… tired.”
He frowned. “Your nap on the jet didn’t help? Approximately forty-eight percent of Americans report trouble sleeping on airplanes, and that number tends to increase for—”
His soothing words didn’t stop. She stared at the sharp cut of his jaw, the same skin she wanted to run her tongue down, until she reached his neck and chest and stomach and—
“—but the circadian rhythm gets disrupted, which causes—”
Her gaze dropped to those tight pants. Her mouth watered. Her toe curled.
“Open wide, beautiful.” Spencer cupped her cheek, running a thumb along her bottom lip. “Are you going to suck my cock like a good girl?”
“Please!” She stuck her tongue out and whined, her hand dipping between her legs. “Need you—”
“—generally, experts recommend blocking out light with the aid of a sleep mask or—”
She bolted up, eyes wide. “Bathroom.”
And before Spencer could get a word in, she raised out of the room. As she rushed outside, in desperate need of fresh air, she nearly rammed right into JJ and Rossi, who were deep in conversation.
Oh god.
She couldn’t stop the fantasies.
“I can see you staring,” Rossi teased, loosening the tie on his robe. “You want to learn a thing or two, sweetheart?”
“I…” JJ bit her lip, blue eyes swallowed by black. “Yes please.”
“NO!”
Around the office, everyone froze. JJ frowned, Rossi raised an eyebrow, three passing traffic cops whispered about the FBI loon, and Emily came out of nowhere, grabbing her wrist and tugging her outside.
Emily led her to a bench. “So… what’s your deal? You’ve been acting really strange these last two days.”
“N—no I haven’t.”
“Oh, get a grip. You ran out of dinner yesterday, talking about a cat that I know you don’t have, and you keep staring off into the distance like you’re having psychic visions.”
She swallowed, fiddling with the hem of her blouse. “Look, um…” Why was the nervous? Emily had started this and was undoubtedly the most sex-positive person on the team. “After our… chat Saturday night, I’m finding it hard to focus because I um… want um—”
Spencer.
Spencer’s hands.
Spencer’s mouth.
Spencer’s cock.
“—dick.” Safe. Generic. “I want dick so bad.”
Emily snorted, hand to her mouth. “Shut the fuck up. You’re all out of sorts because you’re horny?”
“Keep your voice down!” She glanced around, frantic, only relaxing when she saw no one else. “Like you said, toys don’t help, and I’m desperate for the real thing. I was um… going to try to find someone here so…”
Emily smirked. “Doogan has a sexiness about him. Assuming that’s a ride you’re willing to get on for.”
She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. “Ye—yeah. He um… he’s my target.”
“Your target?” Emily gasped in delight. “PG, I didn’t know you had that in you! You need me to wing woman?”
“No.” She gulped. “I got it.”
Emily smirked. “Ok. Keep me updated.”
With a wink, Emily returned inside, and she was left to plot her next steps. It was simple, right? Fuck this random cop and forget about Spencer. Forget about his perfect chiseled jaw and his soft hair and his pink lips and his big hands and his soothing voice and his apparently massive dick.
So simple.
It was not simple.
The next day, another body was found.
When they visited the crime scene, Officer Doogan spit a loogie on the asphalt. Spencer comforted a crying child.
When they returned to the precinct, Officer Doogan pulled his shoe off to shake out a loose rock, showing off a pair of ripped socks. Spencer leaned over her shoulder, smelling of expensive cologne and minty toothpaste.
When they broke for lunch, Officer Doogan talked with a mouthful of tuna sandwich. Spencer offered her half his burrito, passing off the delicacy with a serving of her favorite salsa and extra napkins.
When they shared donuts in the kitchen, Officer Doogan made his thumb bleed from biting off a hang nail. Spencer ran his thumb down her forearm to get her attention, needing to know if she wanted any coffee from the café next door.
She was in her version of hell, trying to compare a beat-up hatchback to a brand-new Ferrari. And ok, maybe a car metaphor wasn’t her best work—especially when talking about Spencer—but how could she compare a messy local cop with a smoking problem to Dr. Spencer Reid, a gorgeous genius with a big heart and apparently, an even bigger dick?
By nighttime, she saw Officer Doogan take a tone with a grieving mother, and that was all she needed to abandon her plan.
The day was a waste.
They didn’t have their unsub, and she didn’t have a dick to fuck.
When they got back to the hotel, she dragged her feet, dreading the return to her room. The big bed would just remind her of how fucking horny she was, which meant she’d have to try to take care of herself, and she’d failed so far, and—
“—good work today, Prentiss.” Hotch glanced up from his phone, still typing away. “Tomorrow, I want to start with the Hornets’ coaching staff, and then we’ll take another look at the schedules. Any concerns?”
“Not with that, but with the wife of Michael Paulson.” Emily shook her head, arms crossed. “Her vibes are off. I can’t explain it.”
His lips quirked. “We can chat tomorrow. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Hotch.”
They disappeared inside, heading in opposite directions.
She blinked.
It was so… normal. How did they see each other at their most vulnerable, their most intimate, and then proceed as colleagues without any awkwardness?
She thought back to Morgan, and Penelope, who while constantly throwing flirtatious language, had a completely normal and loving platonic relationship. No weirdness. No strange looks or awkward touches or wincing interactions.
How did they do it? And maybe more importantly… could she do it?
Her thoughts raced as she returned to her room. Through her scalding hot shower, she considered the facts.
Hotch and Emily slept together and were still polite colleagues.
Morgan and Penelope slept together and were still best friends.
So… logic would dictate that she could fuck Spencer, and their friendship would survive, right?
She just needed to get it out of her system, get him out of her system. Just one fuck and her brain would start working properly, and she’d stop staring at his lips and hands and hair and ass like artwork in a museum.
And yeah, she had a pathetic crush on him, but her feelings were irrelevant. He obviously didn’t feel the same way. Which meant she had two ways to go about this—seduction or… science.
Seducing Spencer seemed out of the question, given he clearly didn’t desire her. But… science? If she appealed to the knowledge hungry side of him, could she convince him her idea wasn’t completely crazy?
She glanced at the clock. 10pm.
There was only one way to find out.
With a deep breath, she ventured to Spencer’s room at the end of the hallway. One knock and he opened, smiling brightly in an orange Caltech long sleeve shirt and gray sweatpants.
“Hey. What are you doing here? Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
“N—yes. Actually, yes. That’s—that’s precisely why I’m here.”
He nodded, frowning. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any melatonin, but I do have herbal tea which is known to—”
Well, time to rip the band aid off.
“Hotch and Emily slept together.”
Spencer straightened. “What?”
“And so did Derek and Penelope.”
“WHAT?”
She swallowed. “Both… dalliances happened years ago. Miami for Hotch and Emily, and Alaska for Derek and Penelope.”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I wanted to demonstrate that two colleagues, two friends, can sleep together without harming their relationship.” She took a hesitant step forward, willing her knees not to buckle. With those caramel-colored eyes watching her every movement, it wasn’t easy. “So, I had a proposition. Given we’re colleagues and friends.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “What kind of proposition?”
“I’m finding myself—” Her gaze swept up and down his body. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t moan. “—tenser than usual, and that’s impacted my ability to focus on the case and sleep. Since sex is a proven stress reliever, I figured that was the natural answer, and since I trust you, you were the natural partner.”
What she didn’t say was and since I’m a fucking pervert who can’t stop staring at your mouth and fingers and ass and dream about choking on your cock and imagine you talking dirty to me and—
She exhaled. “So, I’m proposing that we have sex. Right now. One time tonight that we never talk about and we pretend didn’t happen. We both get a gratifying release, and then, like Hotch and Emily, and Derek and Penelope, we continue on without any awkwardness.”
His stare was painfully intense, pebbling goose bumps across her skin. “You want us to have sex and… never talk about it again?”
“Yes. And um, we can even make it um—” Her horny imagination was desperate for dripping sweat and slapping skin and whining moans. But the part of her terrified of his rejection blurted out, “Clinical.” She nodded quickly. “Super… clinical.”
He blinked. “Clinical?”
“You know like… clothes stay on except underwear. We do it under the blankets. No kissing.”
Oh god, why was she suggesting that when she wanted to ride him into eternity?
When he said nothing, only brushing golden-brown strands from his face, she had no choice but to keep rambling. “Then it’s like um, super clinical, because we’ll focus on where we’re connected. Just enough stimulation to orgasm and that’s—that’s it. No worries about nakedness or weird positions or awkward comments or—”
“That’s what you want?” He took a step towards her, jaw clenched. “Clinical?”
No, no, no, she wanted him to fuck her into the bed, to split her in half with that mythical big dick, to use those Pretty Boy lips to kiss every inch of her body and—and—and—
What if he said no?
Panic consumed. “Y—yes.”
How they had sex didn’t matter. Surely staring into those gorgeous eyes while feeling his cock between her legs would be enough to get him out of her system. Then, maybe she’d finally be able to move on from her ridiculous crush.
He nodded slowly, gaze darting to the bed. “If all you’re looking for is clinical, then I guess I should treat you like a doctor would a patient.” After shoving up his sleeves, he went to the sink and washed his hands. Slowly. Methodically. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Cold and detached? Clinical has two definitions, and I’ll give you both.”
She swallowed, beginning to wonder if she’d approached this night wrong. “Spencer—”
“Get on the bed, under the blankets, and take your shorts off.”
“Oh.” She gulped, nodding quickly. “I—yes. I can do that.”
Shaky steps brought her to the bed, and never once looking away from him, she climbed onto the mattress and under the white bedding. Beneath the sheets she managed to pull off her shorts and underwear, and after kicking them to the side, she let out a staggered exhale. It was pathetic how… ready she was when he hadn’t even touched her. How excited she was for feeling Spencer’s—
“—hands.” He approached the bed, sock clad feet scratching the cheap hotel carpet. “You claim to be tenser than usual and looking for a stress reliever. You want just enough stimulation to orgasm. Do you want to have sex with me, or are you just looking for that gratifying release you mentioned?”
His hands? No, no, no, that wasn’t—she needed—what was he—
“So, we’ll start this way,” he continued, kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his golden-brown eyes dark in the moonlight. “I’m going to manually stimulate you.”
“You—what?”
Admittedly, her brain was as slushed as a snow cone by the thought of sex with Spencer, but even in her most distracted, she should understand his meaning. She knew what the words meant.
But… what the hell was he talking about?!
A hand slipped beneath the covers. When she felt his warm fingers slide up her bare hips, she gasped. His hand slid inward, until it landed between her thighs. At the first swipe of fingers at her clit, she whined.
“You’re so…” Spencer exhaled slowly. “Have you just been walking around like this?”
She whimpered, nodding into the pillow. “It—since the weekend, I’ve just been so—” God, it was embarrassing to say, but currently, her dream man was rubbing her clit, so did it really matter? “—horny.”
“You poor thing.”
There was something… rough about his words. Almost… bratty, like he didn’t mean it. Which, was so unlike Spencer, the same man who’d been asking her for the last two days if she needed anything or if something was wrong.
He inched closer to the bed, until he could move his other arm under the covers. When his second hand slipped between her thighs, she cried out. He shoved her legs further apart, and then moved a hand back to her clit, while the new one…
“Yes!” she cried, back arching at the first press of finger inside her. The same fingers she’d been staring at, fantasizing over, for days. “It feels so good—”
“It wasn’t until the twentieth century that modern medicine understood that clitoral stimulation was sexually arousing for women.” He locked the engorged bud between two fingers and squeezed, before returning to his rhythmic patterns. Flicking, twisting, rubbing, all while a single finger probed her entrance. “Prior, doctors believed that only vaginal penetration was sexually stimulating—” at that, he pressed another finger inside her, causing her to cry out, “—and that clitoral stimulation, or rather, external genital stimulation, was only beneficial to treat what they called hysteria.”
She could only nod stupidly, her eyes fluttering shut at his movements. His fingers were relentless, two fucking her deeply, until they hit that special spot inside her that had her toes curling, while the others were a slickened frenzy at her clit that had her seeing stars.
“Unfortunately, the ailments of women were never taken seriously,” he rasped, still kneeling beside the bed, dark eyes on hers, “and hysteria was used as a catchall term for a variety of symptoms. Headaches, irritability, insomnia, anxiety, depression, and the list goes on.”
A third finger pressed inside her. She screamed. His fingers at her clit turned frantic.
“As I mentioned, physicians determined that these symptoms could be treated with a pelvic massage focused on external genital stimulation.” The pads of his fingers circled her swollen clit slowly, teasingly. “And thus, they would bring their patients to hysterical paroxysm—"
He scissored his fingers inside her, and between the rough thrusts and the breathtaking twisting of her clit, her vision began to blur. Her back arched, her toes curled, and her hands dropped to the sheets.
She sobbed as the pleasure consumed, sending her thrashing across the sheets as he continued his rough ministrations. Squelching fingers, slippery rubs, creaking mattress springs.
“—or what we now call,” he mused, “the female orgasm.”
Whimpering, she buried her face in the pillow, momentarily too embarrassed to look at him. His touch slowed, and while the fingers that were inside her slid up her thigh, the ones at her clit kept rubbing, gentle, soft.
“Spencer…” She moaned. “That was…”
“A gratifying release?”
When his hands disappeared from beneath the covers, she snapped out of her reverie. He stared down at her, eyes dark and jaw clenched. Golden brown strands fell into his eyes, and without tearing his gaze from hers, he brought his hand to his face, sucking two fingers into his mouth.
Oh fuck.
Those same lips she’d been staring at for days wrapped around the digits, the pink of his tongue just barely visible as it lapped up and down his fingers. His gaze on hers narrowed into the type of anger she rarely saw in Spencer, usually reserved for unsubs or inflexible local cops.
He sucked the fingers deep one last time before dropping his hand. Straightening his shoulders, he asked, “Was that clinical enough for you?”
She sat up on her elbows, since standing didn’t seem like an option. Not with how useless her legs felt. “Spencer, I—”
“It’s Dr. Reid,” he interrupted, glaring. “PG, would you like my professional opinion about what you need?”
Swallowing, she stuttered out, “Yes.”
“Considering how your pupils are still dilated and you’re still shaking, it’s safe to assume you’re still horny. And since manual stimulation didn’t work, we’ll need to try oral next.” He stood, his hands fisting into the edge of the bed. “If you don’t like my treatment plan, you should leave.”
Oral.
Just the word had her brain malfunctioning. When she only stared at him, lips parted, he threw the sheets back and climbed onto the bed. He forced her legs apart, hands pressing her knees into the mattress. His gaze bounced from her exposed cunt to her eyes. He wet his lips, and then his mouth was between her legs.
“SPENCER!” she sobbed, burying her hands in his hair. “Oh my god, oh my god—”
His lips locked around her clit and he sucked, hard enough to make her cry out. Those golden-brown eyes continued glaring, and once he’d sucked enough to make her scream, he transitioned to flicking. Up and down, he dragged his tongue, from her quivering entrance to her clit.
“God, you taste so good,” he hissed, momentarily burying his face in her thigh. “Shame we’re never going to talk about this again, right? That’s what you want, PG?”
“Spencer, I—I—”
“Are you going to have another orgasm? You’re so sensitive. I can feel your legs shaking and see your belly quivering.” He mouthed at her cunt again, unhinging his jaw like a snake to capture every inch of her in the warmth. His eyes fluttered shut, and he returned his attention to her clit, sucking and humming. “Does this break your no kissing rule?”
Her lips parted to reply, but she never managed the words, not when he circled her clit with his tongue. It was the final stimulation she needed. The white consumed, and as she sobbed and shook, she wasn’t sure if she was being blinded, entering heaven, or smothering in the hotel sheets.
As she whined and vibrated, Spencer ran his tongue through her cunt one last time. He kissed her clit and sat back on his haunches. When she finally managed to open her eyes, he was glaring down at her again, his chin slick with her arousal, and his lips swollen from his ministrations.
“Spencer—”
Again, her words caught in her throat. He palmed himself through his sweatpants, and her brain sung with the memories of girl’s night.
…clothes included a pair of women’s sweatpants which were very tight. Elle said she saw the outline of his dick…
Heartbeat in her ears, she lowered her gaze to the very noticeable bulge.
She whimpered, whined, shook, like a fucking psych patient. Was this it? Was she finally going to see this mythical big cock that’d been consuming her thoughts for days?
“With the leaps and bounds we’ve made in the medical community, it’s hard to fathom how our physicians of yesteryear could ever believe in the validity of an ailment like hysteria.” He licked his lips, darkened eyes traveling from her cunt to her breasts hidden beneath her tank top. “And yet, I see you on this bed, a whining slut despite two orgasms. One could call you… hysterical.”
She blinked through the haze, his words barely processing. “Spencer…”
“You need more, PG. You’re a quivering mess, and nothing has worked so far. What’s going to fix you?” He stroked himself through the cotton of his sweatpants, his eyes back to her cunt. “My hypothesis is vaginal stimulation. More than fingers can provide. You need something… bigger. Something that can go… deeper.”
Whimpering into the pillow, she gasped, “Please.”
“Your original stipulations are going to impede my experiment.” His hands were quick, practically ripping the tank top from her body, before moving onto his own shirt. With his golden skin glittering in the moonlight, she moaned. “Blankets will hinder, and kissing is an imperative behavior. If you disagree with my methods, again, you should leave.”
When she said nothing, just wiggling her hips, he scoffed and pulled his sweatpants off. “You’re pathetic, needy, feverish—no wonder you’re so tense. Will a third orgasm finally calm you down?”
The second his briefs dropped to his knees, and that big cock sprung into view, she cried, “YES!”
And oh gosh did she owe JJ, Penelope, hell, even Elle and Lila Archer, a thank you for bringing this gifted genius’s other gift to attention. Because his cock—like him—was magnificent. Impossibly long, impossibly thick, with a pretty pink head and a pattern of veins that had her cunt pulsing in desperation. Golden curls framed the base, traveling up his soft lower belly in the world’s most appetizing happy trail.
She was reminded of the old romance novels she’d steal off her mom’s shelf growing up. Of the impossibly big dicks, the ones that were somehow always too big for the tiny, virginal heroine.
But as she stared at his cock in wonder, her lips parted and her breath staggered, she wondered if the fiction really was based in reality.
Swallowing, she spread her legs further. “Spencer, please, I need—”
“I’ll tell you what you need.” He shifted between her open legs, until he could rub the head of his cock against her clit. She gasped, and he immediately slid it south, until it just notched into her fluttering cunt. “Of the bullshit you said when you got here, there was one part I liked.”
She gulped. “Spen—”
“We’ll focus on where we’re connected.” He surged forward, and at the first inch of his cock inside her, she cried out, her eyes fluttering shut. “No, no, that’s not going to work.” He dug his fingers into her thighs hard enough to bruise. “Keep your eyes open and focus. You’re going to watch your tight little pussy swallow every inch of me.”
Dazed, she forced herself back on her elbows, staring down at where they connected. Her attention jumped to him, and he glared. His eyes were entirely black, and between his hips thrusting forward and his furious gaze, she wondered if she’d survive the night.
Inch by inch, he stretched her. She covered her mouth, squealing with every further press of him inside her, all while studying their connection like it was the answer to all the world’s mysteries. And given how horny she was…
Perhaps it was.
“Look at you,” he hissed, pressing his thumb into her clit. “You’ve nearly taken all of me. But that word—nearly—I don’t like it. Very close. Almost. I prefer absolutes.”
His hands jumped to her thighs, and he gripped the undersides, forcing her legs to her top half. The angle had her practically folded in half, with her knees just kissing her earlobes. She moaned, and then his mouth was on hers, rough and warm and as heart-pounding as she’d always dreamed. His tongue pushed between her lips, and she parted her mouth wider, content to just let him take what he wanted.
That extended to her body, too. Because his hands tightened on her thighs, and then he was pressing into her fully, the last couple inches of his cock settling inside her. She screamed into his mouth, the tears dripping down her cheeks.
It didn’t hurt—not at all. It was… overwhelming, how he stretched her, how he filled her so fully.
“There you go, PG,” he cooed, pressing a wet kiss to her jaw, before dropping his gaze to her cunt. “You took every inch of me. I knew you could do it, especially after two orgasms. Those got you all warm and achy, didn’t they? But it wasn’t enough. You needed every part of me, even if you claimed otherwise. And now you got it. It’s your lucky night.”
She could only whine, arching her back in a desperate attempt to urge him on. “Spencer—”
“No talking. You did enough of that earlier.”
With one final glare, he was off, fucking her like a machine. His mind was one, and it was absolutely no surprise that his body was one, too. Every thrust was perfectly paced, snapping his hips in a brutal rhythm. Her breasts shook, her legs quivered, and the only sound she could manage was that same high-pitched whine, something between a gasp, a moan, and a sob. Not that her reactions were all that audible, not with the creaking bed springs, the headboard hitting the wall, and the squelching of his cock hitting deep inside her.
“Fuck!” He panted above her, sweat teasing his temples. “God, you’re taking me so well. You’re taking every last inch. Do you know how deep our connection is?”
When he pulled out entirely, she gasped from the loss of contact. But he wasn’t apart for long, instead snapping his hips forward so his cock could lie on her stomach. With his hips flush against her, his cock hit her belly button.
Oh god.
Her eyes glazed over from the image, from a scene so disgustingly explicit that she knew she’d never forget it.
“Look.” He chuckled. “When I’m inside you, that’s how deep I’m going. Do you like how it feels, PG? You want to cum on my cock?”
She nodded wildly, and he pressed right back inside her. As each inch settled, she screamed, fresh tears dripping down her cheeks. He caught one with his tongue and kissed down her jaw to her breasts. After circling a nipple with his tongue, he moved onto the next, his frantic thrusts never stopping.
“That’s it, PG,” he gasped, fingers tightening around her thighs. “Are you feeling better? You were so whiney when you got to my room, just begging to be fucked because you were horny. You’re usually such a good girl, so that behavior didn’t make sense to me. But now? Now you’re a good girl. Are you going to keep being a good girl for me? Are you going to cum on my cock?”
“Ye—yes,” she sobbed, shaking beneath him, “yes!”
He caught her mouth in another kiss, his tongue as penetrating as his cock. And as he pistoned in and out, machinelike in his consistency, that blinding white returned. She screamed into his mouth, her entire body going rigid as the pleasure consumed. Her hands explored every inch of him, from his chest to his shoulders and finally to his hair, where she embedded her fingers and tugged.
Spencer groaned, continuing to fuck her through the orgasm. “So good, PG. So good. You’re so tight around me, it’s unreal. I knew it’d be this incredible. Shame we’re never going to talk about it again.”
When he pulled his cock out, she whined, her legs dropping to the bed with a whimper. He grabbed her hips and flipped her over, forcing her ass into the air. Leaning over her, he ran his tongue down her spine, tattooing her with saliva that had her cunt pulsing around nothing.
What was wrong with her? She’d had three orgasms, she’d finally felt his cock, and she still—
“—needs more. What a pathetic little pussy.” He smacked her ass, and she could only whine into the pillow, shaking as he steadied behind her. “You called me the natural partner. What’s more natural than taking you from behind? This is how it’s done in the animal kingdom.”
When his cock slipped down her cunt, smearing her creamy arousal from her clit to her fluttering entrance, he hissed. “You wanted me for a release,” he said roughly, “to use me to sate your baser instincts, and then, like a beast, you wanted to discard me and never talk about it again. How is that fair, PG?”
“Spe—Spencer—”
“Does that mean I get to use you?” He pressed into her with one breathtaking thrust. Once his hips were flush against her, his hands jumped back to her ass and squeezed. “Do I get to take what I want and then discard you like you wanted to do to me?”
“Spencer—”
“Stop talking.” One hand tightened around the back of her neck, forcing her deeper into the pillow. His thrusts didn’t slow. “No need for awkward comments. Just let me take my gratifying release and then we’ll pretend this night never happened.”
He slapped her ass. She squealed.
As the headboard thudded against the wall, he gasped, his words wavering, “I’ll call you Pretty Girl like Morgan calls Garcia Baby Girl, and bark orders at you like Hotch does to Emily, and we’ll sit across each other on the jet, playing cards and talking cases like you don’t know what it’s like to have every inch of my cock stuffed inside you.”
She sobbed into the pillow, the pleasure too good. It hurt. It hurt how beautiful he was, how deep he hit, how he pinched her clit, and squeezed her neck, and smacked her ass, and whispered filth in her ear—
Oh God. She was shaking again, those flickers of pleasure blinding her.
“Fuck!” he cried. “I can feel you tightening again. You’re going to cum, aren’t you? Such a good girl, that’s it, cum around my cock so I can fill you with my cum—”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes—” she babbled, the tears soaking the cotton. “Spencer—”
“Every time you say my name,” he moaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, “I’m going to think of you like this. But I’ll have to pretend it’s a fantasy I concocted, and not the result of you coming to my room a horny, hysterical mess.”
When his thrusts became wild, frantic, erratic, she screamed, her body going boneless on the bed. All she could do was accept his cock, that blinding light of her orgasm melting her into nothing but sweat, skin, and sensation.
“SPENCER!”
His hands at her hips tightened, and his mouth latched onto her neck like a vampire. He sucked, moaned, and his thrusts stuttered to a stop. Warmth consumed as his cum shot deep inside her, painting her insides like his smile painted her eyelids and his laugh painted her heart. She could only shake in his hold, whimpering and whining as every last spurt settled inside her.
“Fuck,” he gasped, licking where he’d sucked on her neck. “Fuck, that was—God. You feel so good.”
She moaned, unable to open her eyes. “Spencer…”
When he withdrew, she whimpered from the loss. Cum dripped down her thighs, another dose of warmth that had her eyes rolling back.
He chuckled. “Look at that. Isn’t that pretty?” He squeezed her hips, a gentle touch, so unlike how he’d handled her moments ago. “Is that what you wanted, PG? The stress relief you needed?”
She could only whine.
“When does the forgetting begin?” he asked, dragging the cum leaking down her thighs back to her cunt. “Right now? When you leave my room? When you stop feeling the phantom stretch of my cock inside you? When my marks on your neck heal? When—“ Her responding whimper sent more cum dripping out, and he tssked, pressing it back inside her. “Don’t let that go to waste. My professional opinion is that you need it. Your prognosis isn’t very good without it.”
“Spencer—”
“Dr. Reid.” He climbed off the bed and stepped into his sweatpants. As he tugged them up and adjusted the drawstring, he said, “I’m going on a walk.”
She swallowed, finally dropping to her side. “Wh—what? You’re… going on a walk? Why?”
“Because we’re done.” He glared. “Now, we don’t talk about it and pretend it didn’t happen.”
Her heart thrummed frantically in her chest. That was what she wanted, because there was no other option. Spencer would never want her the way she wanted him and—and—and…
She’d gotten him out of her system, right?
That was the point of tonight. One fuck and she’d be free.
So…
Mission accomplished.
She managed to sit up, even if every inch of her body felt deliciously used. “But we’re still fr—”
“You should probably be gone by the time I get back.” He pulled his shirt on. “I’d like to get some sleep, given we still have an unsub to catch.”
Before she could reply, he disappeared from view.
The door slammed shut.
She took a deep breath.
The hard part was convincing Spencer to have sex with her. So… the next part, aka forgetting, would be the easy part.
…right?
Despite the four orgasms, she didn’t sleep easy that night. Spencer was her sleep paralysis demon, haunting her every second. She felt him all over, from the bruises on her hips, to the bites on her neck, to the soreness between her legs. She smelled him on her skin, she heard the echo of his cries, she saw him every time she closed her eyes…
Sex was meant to fix her problems, especially her disgusting obsession with him. So why was she even more unmoored than before?
The morning wasn’t any better. She trudged to breakfast, exhausted and sore, and took her usual seat beside Spencer. But instead of receiving his usual smile and “Good morning, PG,” she got a clenched jaw and a long, sip of coffee.
She frowned. “Good morning, Spencer.”
He didn’t reply, instead stuffing what looked like half a blueberry muffin in his mouth.
Breakfast ended up being an omen for the rest of the day. He ignored her through a joint interview they had with a pair of janitors at the rec center, walked in the other direction when she tried to approach him in the precinct kitchen, and physically rolled his chair away from her in the conference room so they wouldn’t be in conversation distance.
Her worst nightmares were coming true. Because not only had sleeping with Spencer seemingly caused the kind of damage to their friendship that she’d always feared, but…
Fucking him hadn’t gotten him out of her system.
Not one bit.
If anything, she felt ravenous in his presence. Like a starving zoo animal, she was locked in an enclosure with the thing she wanted most behind a pane of glass, leaving her to salivate as she watched. Every time he ran his hands through those golden-brown locks, or wrapped his lips around a soda bottle, or bent over to retrieve a lost pen, or laughed at a joke Emily shared…
She needed him. She craved him. It was like he’d fucked every last ounce of logic from her brain, and now, all she was capable of was thinking about his mouth, and his fingers, and his cock.
Oh god.
His cock.
A thing of dreams, and it transcended sleep into her day fantasies, too. When she sat at a desk, she imagined being bent over it, his big cock pounding into her from behind. When she went into the kitchen, she imagined him holding her against the fridge, fucking her so hard the boxes of cereal and oatmeal rattled to the ground. In the bathroom, they’d use the vanity, and in the conference room, they’d use the table, and in the parking lot, they’d use the SUV—
Maybe he had a point yesterday.
Because the only word she could find to describe how she fixated on every inch of his body, how frantic her heart pounded in her chest at the sight of him, how feverish her skin was in his presence, how wild her fantasies had become….
Hysterical.
By the end of the day, she was brimming with anxious energy, both from him ignoring her, but also from how desperately her body craved his. And she’d take him in any capacity. Hell, at this point, she’d take a soft peck and a hand squeeze, but Spencer was still avoiding her like the plague, and she was beginning to regret every decision she’d made in her life, starting with attending Penelope’s girl’s night on Saturday.
It was all their faults. Penelope, JJ, and their stupid gossip. Emily and her stupid history with Hotch. Penelope and her stupid sexy snuggles with Morgan. Even JJ and her stupid Rossi Italian Stallion story.
She hated them, and she hated her libido, and she hated that she was currently watching Spencer scribble on the case board, brows furrowed and lips pursed and ass so fucking perfect she just wanted to…
Fuck.
She couldn’t do this.
Vibrating with need, she stormed over to Spencer and grabbed his wrist. He glared, and as he opened his mouth to surely ask what she was doing, she tugged him out of the room. To her relief, he didn’t fight her, instead following her path through the labyrinth of the facility.
At the supply closet she’d retrieved a box of staples from the previous day, she shoved him inside and locked the door. His back slammed into the metal shelving, and when he gasped in surprise, she kissed him.
He melted immediately, cupping her cheeks and pulling her closer. His tongue parted her lips, and her entire body scorched at the first flick. Those familiar butterflies stormed her stomach, only drowned beneath the need pulsing between her legs.
She whimpered and pulled away. He panted, brushing loose hair from his eyes.
“Why did you kiss me?” he asked, blinking quickly. “Because last night, you—”
“You were right yesterday,” she said, sliding her hands down his cardigan-covered belly to his belt buckle. “I do feel hysterical. When I’m with you, I lose all sense.”
He swallowed. “In what regard? Are you… inclined to do stupid things, or things you don’t actually want to do, or—”
“I wanted to get you out of my system.”
His jaw clenched. “As in…”
“I wanted to have sex with you once in hopes of—”
“What? Sating your curiosity? Checking off a pity list—”
“Spencer.” She kissed him again, and against his mouth, whispered, “I thought if we slept together, it might help me move on from the all-consuming feelings I have for you.”
His cheeks darkened into that delicious pink hue that had her thoughts right back to his cock. He wet his lips, and shakily asked, “You… have feelings for me?”
“For two years. You were the first person I really connected with on the team, and within a couple weeks, I had a massive crush on you.” She brushed golden-brown hair out of his eyes. “Within a couple months, I knew I was head over heels in love with you. And since you don’t feel the same—” he opened his mouth, but she kept rambling, “being with you wasn’t a possibility. But then I learned about Hotch and Emily, and Derek and Penelope, and I thought if I could at least have you once, that if we slept together, it’d silence the what if and I’d be able to move on, and our friendship would remain intact but…”
“But what?” He stared down at her, eyes wide, almost doe-like. “What, PG?”
“But it didn’t work. Because I’m still in love with you, and now I know what it’s like to be with you, and it’s consuming me. It’s all I can think about, Spencer. Kissing you, touching you, what if felt like for us to be connected, how you sounded when you—”
He kissed her this time, his mouth frantic against hers. Soft lips and an insistent tongue and two warm hands holding her cheeks close so she wouldn’t dare pull away. All she could do was fall into him, wrapping both arms around his neck until her body pressed into his.
They must’ve kissed for a solid thirty seconds, only the hum of the air conditioning and the wet smacking of their lips audible in the tiny room. Hesitantly, Spencer parted, but he kept his hands on her cheeks, using his thumb to soothe over her bottom lip.
“Last night, I experienced approximately ten seconds of pure bliss when you asked for us to have sex.” He cleared his throat, his gaze darting to the ground. Shoulders slumping, he mumbled, “And those ten seconds were followed by heartbreak after you proceeded to request that we pretend it never happened.” His lips flattened into a thin line. “And then that request was followed by pure agony after you proceeded to suggest that we… fuck under the covers with no kissing and no talking and no—”
“I was terrified that you’d say no—”
“Say no?” His brow furrowed. “PG… are you serious?”
“…yes?”
“You… really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
He kissed her again. “That I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since practically the minute you joined the team. Why do you think Morgan started calling you Pretty Girl? It was to tease me, because he knew how I felt about you. Everyone knows how I feel about you.”
She blinked. Then blinked again. And for good measure, blinked a third time. Because that… didn’t make sense. Spencer couldn’t be in love with her. He was too smart, and too kind, and too perfect—
“You at my doorstep started as a dream come true,” he continued, “and quickly turned into a reminder that you’d never feel how I felt about you. Maybe you were willing to have sex with me, but you didn’t love me like I love you—”
“But I do!” she cried. “I do. I love you so much.”
He swallowed, nodding as he nibbled on his lip. “You… you mean it? Really?”
“Really.” She tugged him closer, burying both hands in his hair. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed about, and now, you’re all I actually dream about. Especially after last night. That was…” Her cheeks warmed to uncomfortable levels. “Brain-scrambling, Spencer. I’ve been absolutely useless to our investigation today, not when all I can think about is your dick.”
He gulped. “Oh. I… I see.”
“You’re um….” She bit her lip, her hands skimming down his stomach until they could tease his crotch. “Very well endowed.”
Spencer choked. “I’ve um—been—it’s been—mentioned before—”
Quickly brushing aside the little green monster that raged at the reference to him with other women, she got to work on removing his belt. And once it’d clattered to the floor, she used one hand to unbutton his pants, and the other to stroke his rapidly hardening cock through the cotton.
“There’s one thing I didn’t get to do last night,” she added, practically hypnotized as she got his pants below his hips. At the first glimpse of his tented white briefs, she moaned. “I really want to suck your cock.”
“You—you don’t have—it’s ok—”
“I want to.” She caressed the bulge, smiling up at him. “I want to make my boyfriend feel good.”
His lips parted. “Your… boyfriend?”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
He nodded quickly, like a bobble-head. “Y—yes! Yes! Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend and—”
Whatever adorable ramble he’d prepared to jump into was lost in his throat as soon as she got him in her throat. The old, dirty tile wasn’t kind on her knees, but she put all her energy into sucking his cock. Gentle kisses down the shaft, tongue flicks at the head, teasing fingers at the base and his sac. She gripped his ass as she worked, moaning with each slide of him in and out.
His eyes fluttered shut, which was adorable, because she felt hers doing the same. Head back, mouth parted, Spencer buried his hands in her hair, gasping with every second of her ministrations. When she got about half of him down her throat, he choked her name, his hips surging forward so roughly he nearly choked her and—
Honestly, would that really be the worst way to die?
“So good,” he whined. “It feels so good—you feel so good—I—I—I—”
“You can cum,” she teased, pressing a kiss to tip, before taking him deep once more. “Right now is about you.”
He nodded quickly, and as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking him like a lollipop, he cried out and—and—and—
The door opened.
Shit. Hadn’t she locked it?
Spencer choked, she gasped, and Emily looked between them, eyebrow raised and hands at her hips.
“Damn.”
Maybe twenty-four hours ago she would’ve been mortified by the intrusion, by her friend and colleague walking in on her on her knees but… she felt strangely empowered. She loved this man and well, she was taking his big cock pretty fucking well, wasn’t she?
“Emily!” Spencer cried.
Emily stared at Spencer’s cock in her mouth. “Elle was right.”
“El—Elle?!” he cried again.
She groaned, glaring at him, her hand replacing where her mouth had been. “Can you not cry the name of two other women while I’m sucking your dick?”
Spencer choked out, “I—I’m sorry—”
Emily smirked. “I couldn’t find you two.” After sticking her head into the supply room, Emily sized up the space. “Will you be much longer?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied, jerking off Spencer, who could only hide his face in his hands and whine. “Why? Do you need something?”
Emily bit her lip. “Yeah. You to cover when a couple of us disappear after a press briefing.”
She gasped. “You mean…?”
“You’ve inspired me.” Emily checked her watch. “Ok, have fun.” Then, to Spencer, “Reid, don’t have a heart attack, ok?”
With that, Emily shut the door, Spencer cried, “what the fuck,” and she kept on sucking, giggling around his cock.
“Wh—what was she talking about,” he whimpered, his belly quivering, “and why weren’t you—”
“Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed about having sex with my boyfriend?” She smirked up at him and took him deep once more. When he hit the back of her throat, she moaned out, “Emily wants the room for Hotch.”
“H—Hotch?”
“Mhm. For this.”
Following one last frantic tug of her hand and tease of her tongue, Spencer let out a delicious sob. She swallowed his cum greedily, never once taking her eyes off him. With sweaty hair in his face and blackened eyes, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Spencer moaned, head thudding into the shelf. After narrowly dodging a falling pack of sticky notes, she dropped to her butt, her knees and thighs exhausted from the attention. She smiled up at him and blew a kiss.
“Well?”
He groaned, eyes fluttering open. “You’re unreal. Everything about you.”
“Funny.” As she stood, she kissed his lower belly. “I was going to say the same thing about you.”
“Emily is um… she’s going to tell everyone, you know that, right? And I don’t want you to feel pressured into announcing our relationship—”
“Spencer.” This time, she kissed his lips. “Let her tell everyone. The team, the Carson City PD, even the fucking unsub for all I care. You’re mine, these are mine—” she traced his lips, “—and most importantly, this is mine.”
When she caressed his softening cock, he choked out, “Fuck.”
It took another deep kiss, but he finally seemed to snap out of his reverie, accepting her help for fixing his pants and his hair. As he wiped spit and lipstick and… other unmentionables from her chin, she asked, “Last night, you kept calling yourself Dr. Reid.”
“I am a doctor. I hold doctorates in—”
“Spence, I know.” She squeezed his hand. “It was hot.”
He chewed on his lip. “Y—yeah?”
“Yeah. And I was curious…” She adjusted the collar of his shirt beneath his cardigan. “Do you have a lab coat? Because I’d be… intrigued if you wore one.”
Spencer swallowed. “I don’t but… they’re not expensive.”
She smiled. “Good. Schedule me for an appointment when we get back to Quantico?”
He nodded quickly, so adorably eager she was ready to jump him again. Instead, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the supply room. Thankfully, they didn’t encounter any other teammates—just a rookie traffic cop who watched them emerge with wide eyes—but they did stumble upon Emily and Hotch alone in the conference room.
She couldn’t hear what Emily said to him, only able to witness the interaction from afar. Emily put a hand on his chest and leaned in, whispering something in the ever-serious Hotch’s ear. His brows flew to his hairline, his eyes widened, and he swallowed, hard.
Amused, she turned to Spencer. He smiled and pulled her into the kitchen. And as he made her a cup of coffee, babbling about all the dates he was going to take her on once they got home, she could only giggle in delight. Mainly because of her perfect boyfriend, but also because Emily sauntered out of the conference room, hips swinging, while Hotch stared at the table, furiously blinking as he adjusted his tie.
Who knew girl’s night was going to cause such a sex frenzy?
Maybe there was something in that cherry pie.
With Penelope Garcia involved, one could never be so sure.