Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Many, many thanks to Mingsmommy for all her help and patience. :D She's simply awesome.
Pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat, her teeth nipping gently at his skin, J.J. says, "I can get coffee anywhere."
Hotch growls and the sound has her body tightening with need. A stray thought runs through her mind. One that says she's not this girl – the girl who sleeps with her boss, her still technically married boss, without regard for the repercussions. But here she is, standing in his living room with one of his hands squeezing her ass while the other twists in her hair. Then his lips are on hers and he's kissing her the way she never imagined he would or could.
Holding her still, he simply devours her. Hard and demanding, his mouth molds itself to hers, his tongue pushing past her lips to stroke against her own. And she finds herself meeting him half way, sucking on his tongue, teeth bumping against his, mouth opening wider and wider. He tastes faintly of beer and the shadow of beard is scratching her cheeks and chin and she never wants it to stop.
The kiss in the car was totally unexpected. But this one is exactly what J.J.'s been waiting for. Very possibly what she's been waiting for her entire life. He's kissing her like he might not be able to breathe if she tells him to stop and no man has ever made her feel like that before. If she's honest, she'll admit she's a little afraid no one ever will again.
Tugging his shirt free of his pants, she manages to slide the last two buttons free. Then she's shoving the fabric off his shoulders and groaning when she encounters his undershirt. "Do you always wear this many clothes?"
Hotch releases her, flashing a grin at her obvious frustration, and works the material up and over his head. "Not always. Stick around and I'll prove it to you."
She opens her mouth to respond. But then he's standing in front of her half naked and she can't seem to get her mouth to work.
"Holy shit!" her mind screams. He's magnificent; broad, muscular shoulders and abs that just might make Morgan jealous. Given the fact that his five o'clock shadow starts showing up around noon most days, she's surprised by the acres of smooth, warm skin for her to explore. She wants to stare, to memorize every detail so that she'll be able to call up a picture of him like this whenever she's alone in bed at night. Hands on his chest, she glides her fingers over his skin, loving the play of firm muscles against her palms. Under her hands his heart is beating strong and fast. Flicking a fingernail over the flat disk of his nipple, she moans when she hears him gasp. He cups her cheeks and the heat in his eyes has her insides trembling. Then his lips are on hers again and she can't think or breathe or worry about any of the hundreds of things she should be worried about.
All she can think about right now is how much she wants him to touch her. She needs to feel his hands on her skin, so she steps back and lifts her sweater over her head. When she looks up, he's watching her, his eyes black in the soft golden light.
"My God, J.J.," he whispers, his voice tight with arousal. Reaching out, he cups her breasts. "You're beautiful." The words leave his lips on a rush of air.
Suddenly nervous, she gives him a shaky grin. It doesn't help that he's stroking his thumbs over her nipples, raising them into tight, hard peaks beneath her bra while he simply watches his own hands touching her. For a moment, the only sound is their breathing and the quiet hum of the refrigerator filtering in from the kitchen. Then he makes a low, desperate sound and his lips are on hers again, softer this time but just as needy.
The rest of their clothes seem to melt away. She would laugh at the foolishness of such a notion but she's too caught up in his mouth sliding along her neck, his teeth nipping at the muscle along her shoulder, his tongue tracing the line of her collar bone, his fingers brushing between her legs. She's too caught up in the feel of him, the solidness of his body, the warm heft of his cock in her hands, the way he looks with the lamplight casting shadows over the hollows of his face. With her hands resting on the firm cheeks of his ass, she tugs him closer. Hard and thick, his erection presses against her belly. And more than she wants to draw her next breath, she wants him inside her.
"Hotch?" Her voice is rough and thick and she hardly recognizes it. He raises his head and she can't resist running her fingers through his hair and over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "Are we going to do this here?"
For a moment he looks puzzled, his eyes clouded and his eyebrows drawn down in confusion. Then he looks around and he grins. "Maybe I should take you to bed."
"Maybe you should." She looks up at him through her lashes. "Or take me against the wall. Or on the sofa or the table. It's your choice."
With a quiet moan, he slides his hands down her back and cups her ass with his warm, rough palms. "Why don't we start with the bed?"
His smile is unabashedly sexy when he tightens his arms around her and picks her up. She lets out a gasp, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist. And he's there. Hot and velvety and nestled against her sex. With every step he's sliding against her in a way that has her moaning his name. Vaguely, she wonders if it's possible for her to come before they make it the twenty feet from the window to the bed. Her head drops back and she's digging into his shoulders with her fingers, her hips rocking against him.
"J.J., when I thought about this, about having you like this," Hotch chokes out, "I never dreamed it would be like this."
The incredible feel of him between her legs has her mind fogging over. But somewhere underneath that she realizes he's thought of her, of fucking her. And she comes. Her thighs clenching around his hips she clings to him and lets the orgasm flood through her.
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They are two steps away from his bed and J.J.'s wrapped around him, making the hottest sounds he's ever heard. She's pulsing against him and he's never felt anything so fucking good in his entire life. He loves the way she feels in his arms, and the way her smooth thighs are gripping his hips and the flush of arousal on her chest and throat. And right now, in this moment, he's pretty sure she's the sexiest woman he's ever seen.
He holds her until she's stopped jerking, until he feels her body relax. Then he holds her just a little longer. When her eyes flutter open and she looks at him, he feels his heart clench. "Hey." He can feel himself grinning.
"Wow," her voice trembles and she looks away. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
Hotch takes those last two steps and gently lowers her to the mattress. Leaning over, he brushes his mouth over hers and follows her down until he's stretched out beside her. "I'm glad it did. Takes some of the…um…pressure off me."
"Trust me, Agent Hotchner, I don't think you have anything to be worried about." She smiles up at him as she wraps her hand around his erection.
"Aaron." He kisses her again, a light press of his lips to hers. When her eyebrows draw down in confusion, he says, "I want to hear you say my name. Aaron."
"Aaron." Her voice is slightly husky, a little amused and so tender it makes him want to weep. She must see it in his eyes, the thing he's been hiding from her for years. It must be right there on the surface, because she closes her eyes and he would swear she's hiding from him.
"J.J.…Jennifer…" He wants to tell her that he's been falling in love with her for years. He wants to tell her that she makes him laugh, brings sunlight into his life. But she places a finger over his lips and shakes her head.
"Stop talking." She's grinning at him but her eyes plead with him to let it go. "Right now, I want you inside me."
This time she's the one who kisses him. A wild meeting of lips and tongues. Rough and demanding, as if she's determined to erase the words he almost said. And he lets himself be distracted, promises himself he'll tell her later. Because right now he's sucking a nipple into his mouth and she's arching up to meet his lips. Her fingers are in his hair and she's whimpering, a needy little sound that makes his cock throb.
"Condom," he manages to gasp out, after she rolls her hips against him in a way that tells him she's nearing the end of her patience. Rising up on his knees he fumbles in the nightstand for the box that Sean sent him as a joke when he found out about Haley. Hotch almost threw the things in the trash, convinced as he was that everything would work out with his wife. But right now he's just glad he dropped them in the drawer instead.
She helps him roll the condom on, her hands trembling as much as his. Then he's between her legs, and her feet are running along his calves and he can feel her along every inch of his body. Soft and sweet and hot and wet and his. No matter what he saw in her eyes. Right now, in this very moment, she's his and he'll deal with the rest later.
Using every ounce of restraint he possesses, he pushes into her. So tight. So fucking tight. She's like a warm, wet fist around his cock and he wants to come right then, right that very second. More than that, he wants to pound into her until she screams his name and shatters around him. J.J. draws her legs up higher, angling her hips and he feels himself slip in just a little deeper.
"Fuck." He growls the word against the side of her neck.
There's a hint of breathless laughter in her voice when she says, "That's the idea."
Chuckling, Hotch begins to move. Long, slow strokes in and out, out and in. She's moving with him, rocking up to meet him. And his entire world is reduced down to nothing more than J.J.. The feel of her, the scent of her, the taste of her. Release is tingling at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of his belly.
"Tell me." He whispers against her shoulder. "Tell me what you need."
Without a word, she takes his hand and guides it between them until he can feel her slick flesh against his fingers. His thumb finds her clit and he begins rubbing circles against the sensitive nub. She's shaking beneath him, and he watches the telltale flush spread across her chest. Then she's over the edge, her body convulsing with the power of it. Hotch lets go then, driving into her with short sloppy strokes that have him hurtling toward the edge. And then he's coming. The force of it stealing his breath.
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Hotch is drifting, his mind processing the events of the evening, when he feels her slip out of bed. He's not sure he's ready to discuss things so he mumbles a bit, then snuggles deeper into his pillow in what he hopes is a convincing imitation of sleep. J.J.'s steps are quiet as she heads for the bathroom. The sound of the toilet flushing and the rush of water in the sink filter through the closed door and he lets himself drift on the cusp of consciousness. He realizes he must have dozed when he feels her fingers ghost over his cheek.
"Oh, Hotch, I'm so sorry." She sounds so sad and he tries to keep his breathing even, tries not to let her know he's listening. "Please don't hate me."
He wants to tell her that he couldn't possibly hate her, to tell her that he loves her or at least he could, given half a chance. But she doesn't linger. Instead, he listens to her leaving the room and allows his eyes to slide open. He can see her shadow moving in the living room as she slips into her clothes. Then the door opens and closes and she's gone.
In the morning, he calls a cab to take him to his car. He hits a Starbucks drive through and picks up a latte with an extra shot of espresso and is at his desk just as dawn is breaking outside his window. And he's very proud of himself when he barely pauses in his reading when her shadow passes by his office.
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It's been six months. Six months and he still remembers how she looked against his sheets, pale and golden and sexy as hell. Six months and he still gets hard every time he thinks of how she feels and smells and tastes. Six months and he still jacks off in the shower with his memories of her playing in his head.
He's still not sure what happened, why she continues to pretend that their one night never existed, why he continues to let her pretend. But he's not the kind of man to ask questions like that. Asking would be more Dave's territory and he's nothing like Dave. Nothing at all like Dave.
The situation in New York is tense. Extremely tense. The whole team is on edge. Hell, the whole city. The unsub is leading them on one wild goose chase after another, and Hotch is totally preoccupied as they head into the hotel for the night. He's heard the gossip about J.J. and that detective from New Orleans but he doesn't give it much weight. Gossip is, after all, just gossip. Maybe that's why he's so surprised to see a familiar face in the lobby. But, as he looks around, he realizes nobody except him seems shocked to see the detective. Before Hotch can puzzle out why the man is in New York, J.J. is moving across the lobby. Suddenly, things begin to make sense.
Not sure how he feels, or even how he should feel, Hotch is completely unprepared for what comes next. She's pregnant? J.J. is pregnant? And even though, logically, he knows the baby isn't his, for just a moment he allows himself to imagine it could be. Then he hears the detective say he's asked J.J. to marry him and Hotch realizes he has to move. He has to get away from these people who read others for a living. Because there is no way he can keep this to himself. He's been sucker punched and he knows it shows on his face.
He heads for the elevator and she's behind him, calling his name, saying she's sorry. He wants to tell her he's heard that before but he can't because that would be admitting he was too much of a coward to face her that night. He wants to tell her that he deserved better but he keeps it in, burying it behind the stoicism he wears like armor. But inside he's hurting and he knows she can see it in his eyes.
"J.J., you could've told me." He's surprised he sounds so calm when what he really wants is to scream. What he really wants is to tell Will about J.J. moaning Hotch's name while he fucked her.
"I know." They are two simple words but they say so much. It's not just about the job. It's about the detective and the baby she's carrying and the fact that Hotch still wants her and that she still wants him. Because she may be pregnant with another man's child but she can't hide the catch in her breath or the heat in her eyes when he stands too close – at least not every time.
"I understand if you need to take some time." Go away. Pack up and go back to Virginia and leave me alone so I can work this out in my head. But it can't be that simple, that easy.
"No, I wanna be here." There. It's right there. Sadness and worry and confusion and love. And damnit, he wants to kiss her. He wants to take her up to his room and fuck her until she can't remember another man's name. And for just a second he lets her see it. He lets her see and then he cuts it off.
"Okay. Seven a.m." With that, he escapes.
In his room, he slips out of his jacket and hangs it in the closet. Loosening his tie and the top buttons of his shirt, Hotch takes a miniature bottle of scotch out of the mini bar and pours it in a glass. Then he settles into the desk chair and pulls out the file he brought with him. Determined not to think about J.J. and Will and what could have been, he turns himself over to his first mistress. There's a case to solve.