This fic is dedicated to my lovely friend saturdayslump, whose birthday is coming up. Please be warned that it contains explicit material which is only suitable for mature audiences.
I do apologise for the short chapter, but it has just worked out that way, and it will also make it easier for me to update due to familial responsibilities ie. baby and children duties!
This story is a work of fiction by an amateur writer and is for entertainment purposes only. The writer is in no way associated with Criminal Minds nor anyone connected to the program. No Copyright infringement is intended and no monetary compensation has been received by the creation of this story.
All publicly recognized characters and storylines are owned by The Mark Gordon Company, Paramount/Viacom, Touchstone Television, CBS Television Studios, ABC Studios, and their related entities.
All original characters, settings and/or storylines are Copyright protected. Any duplication or distribution of this story, in whole or in part, expressly prohibited without written consent of the Author.
"Sir! Sir!"
Hotch looked up from the item of evidence he had been perusing with a magnifying glass. "Yes, Constable?"
Constable Anderson looked anxious. "There's a lady here to see you, Sir. A Lady Emily Prentiss."
Hotch frowned. "What is it in relation to?"
"She says she may have some pertinent information in relation to Mr Barron's death, sir."
"I see. Show her in."
Hotch stood up, raising his eyebrows when Anderson hesitated. "What is it, Constable?" He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. The case had been perplexing and complex, and he had had barely eight hours sleep in the last three days. To make matters worse, his right hand man was not on hand to assist him. To say he was nearing the end of his tether was a slight understatement.
"She is uh, a mighty fine lady, Sir."
Hotch glared at his subordinate. "I beg your pardon, Anderson?" he bit out. "Have some respect, man."
"Oh! No, no, I did not mean, uh…" Anderson blushed redder than a beet. "I meant she is the daughter of the Marquess of Knightsbridge, sir."
"All right, thank you, Constable." Hotch resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Anderson made it sound as if the queen herself had deigned to visit their humble station in Bethnal Green. "And if that is the case, it is probably best that you don't keep her waiting longer than you already have, don't you think?"
"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir!" With that, Anderson rushed out of the room.
Hotch walked towards to door in anticipation, glancing back at the state of his desk. It was strewn with papers and reference books, as well as a variety of daggers. His visitor was doubtless going to think him a disorganised in deed, and therefore in thought, but it was too late now.
"Sir, this is Lady Emily Prentiss."
"Inspector Hotchner." The low, melodious voice struck a chord in his heart which he had thought had been long dead and buried.
But it was her face that caused him to still. It was the face that had haunted his dreams and his every waking thought. It was a face that he had never expected to see again. For the first time in recent memory, he was struck speechless. As his eyes took in the finely carved patrician features of her face and the eyes that were blacker than the darkest night, he could see that she too, had recognised him.
The polite smile that had graced her mouth slowly faded as her lips parted in shock.
"Uh…" Anderson's head whipped back and forth between the two, eyes wide. "I'll just leave now, sir."
When the dark haired couple ignored him, he quickly left, closing the door behind him and shrouding the room in near silence.
Hotch stared, completely entranced as a blush softly coloured her porcelain skin, impossibly accentuating the utter perfection of her face. "It's you," she whispered, her gaze locked with his.
He finally recovered his voice, though not his thoughts. "Yes," he replied simply.
Images tumbled through his mind as if a jumble of photographs were being scattered about him. There, at the back of that crowded room at Madame Sagnier's, the most infamous brothel in London where debauchery was rife and where its members were known for their sexual excesses, was where he had last seen that same face, her red, red lips a mere whisper away from his. A red lace mask lay around her eyes, but it had done nothing to disguise them, so close were their proximity that the delicate scent of jasmine, warmed by her body lay heavy in his nostrils.
Even as the memory came to him, that familiar scent was again upon him, and just like before, his manhood responded, hardening instantly. And despite his rational mind knowing precisely how inappropriate it was, at that very moment, he would have done anything to have her in his bed and under him. So desperate was his need for her that he did not need to look at himself to know that desire was etched upon his features and blazed fiercely from his eyes.
Exactly as it had that night.
What he did not anticipate were the words that came from those soft lips. They shocked him even though he had heard almost those exact words a month ago.
"I still want you."
Sorry! For the cliffhanger that is. More to come very soon, I promise. It'll be my priority. In the meantime, do leave me a review if you can, I'd love to hear what you thought of the start of this fic.
