First ever 'Hotly' story!

Warning – 18 and over only please. Not work-safe.

It happened every Tuesday. Emily would arrive at Hotch's house at precisely nine PM, and would be gone, tears streaming down her face, by eleven that same night. Jack would be at his aunt's house for the night, even though they never utilized the entire time. It had been going on like this for nearly three years.

One night, Emily had gone to Hotch, wanting to know that he was alright. Haley had died only a month previous, and no one had heard from him. She'd gone over with a bottle of wine, which had been slurped down within a half an hour. From there the liquor was brought out, and Emily openly offered herself to Hotch. He had been so pathetic, so depressed and lonely that he thought nothing of it as Emily hugged him, pressing her lithe, full body against his. And then she lingered, and he pulled back too slowly to be considered normal.

She had started it and never claimed otherwise. She had comforted him in the only way she could think of, skin to skin. She had shed him of his clothes, not concerned that he showed no interest until they were actually connected in the most intimate way. Then he would become animalistic, taking her body in a way no one had ever taken her before. But she loved it, relished it.

Emily had wanted Hotch since day one. It was the way his eyes would see right through her, the way his voice would caress her ears when he'd command her to do something. She liked authority, and she liked handsome men. Hotch was both and then some. And so it was that night that not only did she allow him to use her, she used him, too. He'd close his eyes the second he would enter her warm, wet core, and not open them until she was giving him that one last glance over her shoulder as she exited his bedroom.

But she hated him. She hated that she pictured him picturing Haley when they'd have sex. Hotch never made a noise, not a sound as he would mercilessly pound into her tight, willing body over and over until he would grunt his release. He never paid attention to her needs, but Emily didn't any help. Just staring at his face, contorting in pleasure, the way his full erection would slam into her, it was enough to throw her over edge every time.

He never touched her before they were in the act, never did he play or caress. Only grope, only grab, only pluck and knead her breasts and nipples when he was close to release. Not once did he allow the position to change, to let her take control. He'd cover her body with his own, taking her in the way she liked best – with him dominating her until they both unraveled. She would claw him, touch him, feel him, but she didn't think he even noticed.

When Hotch had come back to the team, he acted the exact same with her as he always had, the same he did with everyone else. Emily didn't mind, always the good little team member. Everyone would ask her how she thought he was, but she never gave them anything other than a shrug. She didn't have the heart or the energy to look into Reid's innocent, worried face and lie to him. Emily didn't know if Hotch would ever be okay. But she still held tight to the fact that she knew she helped in some way. Some small, tiny way, but helped nonetheless.

When they were away on a case, Hotch would leave a copy of his room key on her nightstand, and his room was always empty of anyone but him on Tuesdays at nine. She would smile for only a moment, but become hard faced and emotionless when she would enter his room. He would be waiting for her, standing at the foot of the bed, staring at a spot over her shoulder as she stripped her clothing on her way to him. She would unbutton his shirt, undo his belt and pants. He was always ready, always hard and so beautifully erect that her mouth would water, wanting just one taste. But this was for him, she would remind herself, even though it wasn't the complete truth.

Emily's heart would break just a little more when she would walk out his door, unable to help the tears that arose in her eyes as she dressed time and time again. She would always turn, just a little, to take one last look at his glorious, toned body sprawled naked on the bed as she'd leave, waiting for the day he would do anything other than lay there motionless. She didn't know exactly what she was expecting, but anything would have been acceptable.

On her way home, his face would dance before her, his eyes shut tight and his mouth parted as he took in ragged breaths. Wetness would coat her cheeks as she would curl up alone in her bed, asking herself for the umpteenth time why she went back every Tuesday. She knew why, though. It was because she needed it just as badly as he did. She needed to feel wanted, to feel needed, to feel as though she were doing her part to keep Hotch sane. Or at least that's what she told herself.

It was on a chilly, dark and raining Tuesday when she once again showed up at Hotch's door, not even bothering to knock before she entered and kicked off her shoes in the foyer. He was waiting, as usual, in the bedroom upstairs. His shoes and socks were off, his tie neatly hanging on the back of a rocking chair in the corner of the room. It happened as she grabbed the hem of her shirt, her eyes sliding shut so she didn't have to see his eyes, that large hands covered her own.

Emily's eyes shot open, wide and shocked. Hotch didn't meet her eyes as he pulled the shirt from her body slowly, instead staying locked on the skin that he was uncovering. She saw hunger in his eyes as he raked them over her bare breasts and flat stomach, not straying from her torso as he easily undid her jeans. Her arms stayed limply at her sides as he pushed her pants and underwear down, her legs automatically working in order to kick them away.

She watched in stunned silence as Hotch meticulously slid each button through the hole of his white button up, still staring at her nude form. It was only once he lifted her into his arms did she come out of her stupor. And she suddenly realized that Hotch was lifting her off the ground, and she quickly put her arms and legs around him, confused by the change. He walked them to the bed, looking at where they were going, never once at her, and her heart began to sink again.

Hotch laid her down gently, sliding her up the bed until they were in their usual position. His fingers skimmed her sides, causing her to shiver with pleasure. But when his hand went to his already hardened member, Emily closed her eyes, not wanting to watch his face this time. His length filled her to the brink, her soft, wet velvet walls clamping down around him as he hit bottom. He stayed there for a moment, and Emily squeezed her eyes shut tighter, thinking she was going insane.

He pulled back halfway, only to easily slide back into her wet cavern. A small gasp escaped her parted lips as he sank into her warmth, only to pause again, as though he were trying to savor the feel rather than just get it over with as fast as possible. And still she kept her eyes closed, even as his thrusts became longer and deeper, making it feel like he were making love to her, not just fucking her until they reached climax.

Emily couldn't stop the moan that left her as Hotch's hand gripped her thigh, pulling it higher over his waist, her other leg automatically following. She hooked her legs around him, the heels of her feet digging into his thighs. He picked up his pace, causing the fire in her stomach to roar with pleasure, her back arching in appreciation at the feel of his rougher thrusts. She all but screamed as he ducked his head, his mouth hungrily taking in her puckered nipple. His tongue laved it, making sloppy circles around the taut skin, his pace quickening.

She resisted the urge to moan his name as his hand gripped her thigh more firmly. An animalistic cry left her as Hotch's teeth grazed her sensitive nipple, only to lick and suck at it in order to soothe the pleasurable pain. Her nails sought purchase along his back as he moved up to her neck, his hand leaving her thigh and resuming the blissful torture on her breast. He placed wet, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and neck as she lifted her hips to meet him thrust for thrust.

"Hotch," she moaned, unable to help it as his lips trailed higher, down one side of her jaw line and then up the other.

He'd never been like this with her before, so tender and yet still so rough. She didn't know what was happening, but she wasn't going to question it. She blindly turned her head toward him, and was surprised when he acquiesced to her silent request. For the first time, his lips crashed into hers. He wasted no time with niceties, plunging his tongue between her lips and teeth, effectively stealing her breath away. He pulled away almost as quickly, though.

"Look at me," he commanded breathlessly.

His pace was erratic now, deliciously so, hitting every nook and cranny within her soaked womanhood. Her velvet walls constricted around him as her eyes fluttered open, a familiar heat spreading through her stomach. She was so close to release she could almost taste it, desire flooding her from head to toe.

Their eyes met and Emily saw nothing but lust and determination in them. Her breath hitched as he continued to stare into her eyes, and she unraveled. Her dark eyes didn't leave his as her walls clenched around him, his thick arousal now pounding into her with a force that should have been near impossible. She exploded around him, her back begging to arch off the bed but she refused to look away from him.

He watched her pupils dilate, her mouth opening just when her tight heat swallowed his painful erection as her juices flowed around him. He thrust only once or twice more before her sopping, unyielding sleeve milked him to release, a strangled cry leaving him as he spilled deeply within her. Small spasms took them over in the aftermath of the most powerful orgasms either had ever had, their eyes still locked and unwavering.

Emily watched as something in Hotch's face changed. She saw regret and uncertainty take over his features, and a dread settled in her stomach. His face deadpanned and he quickly rolled off her, taking whatever hope at something more with him. She was so mad, so hurt, that she didn't even lay there long enough to catch her breath before she was out of the bed, collecting her clothing. She dressed with her back to him, not caring if things were put on correctly.

She wasn't even mad at him, she was mad at herself. Angry tears formed in her eyes as she viciously pulled on her shirt, her jaw clenching in an effort to control herself. Emily took a deep breath through her nose, attempting to leave with some composure. She brushed at her shirt for a moment before squaring her shoulders and taking a step toward the door. She didn't even make it to the point where she turned her head for one last look before the routine was broken.

"Stay."

Hotch's voice was quiet and it broke on the word, but she heard it as if it was shouted from the rooftops. She stopped mid-stride but didn't turn, wondering if perhaps she was hearing things.

"Stay," Hotch repeated, louder and more confident this time. "Please. Just one night, Emily. Stay."

Emily spun around, shock written all over her face. Hotch sat up and met her eyes.

"Why?" she asked, her voice just over a whisper.

"Because I can't do this anymore," he said simply.

"Then it would be better for me to leave, then," she said.

Hotch's face fell. "I understand."

But she didn't want to leave. She couldn't. She sighed and stripped her clothing again, to a very stunned, very naked man. He quickly rearranged the blankets, pulling them down until she climbed into his bed and situated herself on her back.

"May I?" he asked, extending his arm.

She nodded. Hotch laid down, sliding his arm beneath her shoulders and pulling at her until she turned on her side. With extreme trepidation, Emily formed herself against his side, her head resting on his muscular chest, her arm across his flat stomach.

"May I ask you something?" she asked after a lengthy silence.

He hummed his approval.

"Why can't you do this anymore?" she asked. "Please be honest with me, don't give me some bullshit abo–"

He interrupted her. "I want more," Hotch said bluntly.

Emily didn't speak for a few moments, trying to process what he was telling her. He took her silence as something bad.

"I don't think you'd want that, so this needs to stop," he said, sounding more like her boss than her lover. "Thank you for staying, though."

Emily finally found her voice. "I don't want more?" she asked, an edge to her voice. "Hotch, you can't even open your eyes and look at me!"

He spluttered. "I didn't want to see the pitying look you gave me that first night again," he explained. "I tried to picture you smiling, looking at me like you wanted me, not like you were doing me a favor."

Tears stung Emily's eyes. "I thought you closed them because you didn't want to see me. I thought you were picturing…"

She stopped, not wanting to actually voice what she thought.

"No," he murmured, knowing exactly what she would have said. He put his fingertips beneath her chin, tilting her head up until she looked at him. "No, Emily, it's you. It's been you since that first night."

Emily only had a moment to give him a watery smile before his lips found hers.

"Be with me," he whispered against her lips.

She could only nod, emotion constricting her throat. Hotch smiled and kissed her again, deeper this time. Emily pressed close against him, kissing him back as passionately as she could. And as his tongue met hers in the most tender of ways, she knew that their Tuesday routine was ruined. But she honestly couldn't find an ounce of unhappiness about it.

A/N – Please take just two seconds out to review! Thank you!