Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Many thanks and cookies and possibly a new car for mingsmommy for all her help. And to losingntrnslatn for even offering. These women are amazing.
Dinner is Chinese takeout from the restaurant two blocks over. The wine is their favorite red, a bottle Dave picked up on his way over. The dishes are done. The music is sultry sax and throbbing alto. The only light comes from the candles on the breakfast bar, the ones Emily lit earlier. The view of DC is nothing short of breathtaking. And his arms are warm and strong around her waist, his body pressed along her back.
"Long day, huh?" Dave rests his chin on her shoulder, his breath ghosting along her cheek.
Emily snorts out a laugh. "You are the king of understatement, Agent Rossi."
"It's part of my charm." His fingers slip underneath the hem of her shirt to trace lightly over her abdomen.
"Mmmmmmmm." She leans back against him. "This is good."
They sway gently to the music, bodies moving back and forth as he hums in her ear. Contentment washes over Emily and she realizes it's been a very, very long time since she's felt anything even resembling this. No pressure, no questions, no demands. Just good food and good wine and the best company she's ever had. Turning her head, she brushes a kiss over his cheek, nuzzling against him and smiling.
"What was that for?" Dave whispers against her ear.
She shrugs and watches him watching her, their reflections hazy in the windows. "Just really glad you're here."
He hums a little more, just a tad off key but oh so endearing. "Nowhere else I'd rather be." Emily feels the words as they vibrate through him.
The hand that was tracing patterns on her skin is now splayed across her abdomen, warm and strong and possessive. Over the past few months, Emily has come to understand that these are the moments she lives for, these times when it's just the two of them, without the pressure or pretense of the job. Letting her eyes slide closed, she drifts, trusting him to guide her, to keep her safe. And she wonders exactly when she began to feel this way about David Rossi. The fact that the idea of it doesn't freak her out scares her just a little bit. But he feels too good, they feel too good, to worry about a little niggle of fear.
They stay there as the minutes pass, rocking gently from side to side. Occasionally, he presses a kiss to the side of her throat, along her jaw line, to her cheek or temple. Each one seems to linger just a little longer. Seduction a la Rossi. He always seems to know just what she needs, just the right way to touch her to satisfy not only her body but her mind. If she weren't just a little bit jealous of the women who came before her, Emily thinks she might manage to be grateful.
She sighs and slides a little deeper into him. When he brushes her hair to the side and kisses the nape of her neck she lets a little moan of pleasure escape. His eyes meet hers in the glass and he smiles. Emily feels that smile in the center of her chest. Warm and soft, the feeling wraps around her like a blanket. Then his eyebrow slides up in a silent question. And she knows, just like she knows her own name, that he would be content to crawl into bed beside her and sleep, but she wants him, wants him with a fierceness that is more than physical. So she lifts her hands to the buttons on her blouse and begins to slip them free one by one.
Dave's watching her in the windows; he's watching her hands as they work the buttons. His breath puffs hot against her skin and he tightens his arms, pulling her closer. She can feel him now, hardening against her, but still he doesn't rush her. When the last button is free, he helps her shrug out of the shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the sofa. She tries to turn, but he wraps his arms around her again, holding her in place.
"Let me touch you." The low rumble of his voice, the slow slide of his hands over her ribs, the heat of his palms as he cups her breasts, have her moaning in appreciation. "Just like this."
His thumbs brush over her the lace of her bra and her nipples tighten. And still they sway their bodies completely in sync. He's humming again, his lips against her skin, the vibrations sending tendrils of desire swirling along her nerve endings.
"I'm just…sitting here waiting…for you to come on home…and…turn me on." Dave whispers the words against her ear, just off the beat and oh so sexy because of that.
Reaching back, Emily lets her hands find his hips and tugs him closer. He's fully hard now, his erection pressing against her, and her body thrums with need. She wants to feel him, to hold him in her hands and taste him and take him between her legs until they are as close as two people can be. As if he can sense her need, he does a slow grind against her. No doubt, she thinks, the man has very talented hips.
This time, when she tries to turn around he doesn't stop her. Her hands on the buttons of his shirt, she lets her lips brush over his as she speaks. "I think you're already turned on."
Then she kisses him. Her tongue is in his mouth and he tastes like garlic and merlot. And he's groaning against her lips, even as he lets her take the lead. One hand slips beneath the waist of her jeans, while the other fumbles at the clasp of her bra, and he's kissing her back, his beard scratching gently at her cheeks and chin. When her teeth sink into his bottom lip, he growls low in his throat.
"You might be right." His mouth slides away from hers, along the line of her jaw to the sensitive spot just underneath her ear. "I'm pretty sure you're right."
Her bra gives way and his hand is touching her, cupping her, testing the weight of her, even as she slips the fabric down her arms and drops it at their feet. Walking forward, he pushes her back until she bumps up against the wall of glass that looks out over the nation's capital. Letting her head fall back, Emily tangles her hands in his hair and tugs his mouth back to hers.
Long, slow kisses filled with heat and promise. Her back is against the cool glass, and the solid heat of Dave is along her front. His hands are on her skin, stroking her nipples, gliding along her ribs and the curve of her waist, feathering over her stomach.
The button on her jeans pops open and he slides the zipper down, his knuckles brushing over her stomach. Then he turns his hand, sliding it between her body and the lace of her underwear. His fingers are slipping over her slick flesh, touching and teasing, making her thrust against him. The ache is there, between her thighs, a need so deep she's sure only Rossi can satisfy. When he withdraws his hand, Emily hears her own whimper and she can feel his smile against her mouth. If he weren't doing such amazing things to her body, she might consider giving him hell about his arrogance. But, if she's honest, he has every right to be proud of his prowess in bed. And out.
Until him, until Dave, sex was about little more than scratching an itch, about finding someone to feel close to for a moment. Trying to find a man she could tolerate and who could deal with her job was like trying to find the Holy Grail. Until Dave. Until Dave, she didn't want to wake up with somebody still in her bed. She never understood how good it could be to awaken next to the warm weight of another person day after day. Now she gets it. And it is good. That little niggle returns again and this time it's telling her he's the one.
He's pushing her pants down, kneeling to work them over her feet. Running his hands up her legs, he stops to drag a finger just under the elastic of her black lace panties. "I think these are my favorites," he grins up at her and her heart melts at the delight in his eyes.
Tilting her head, Emily runs a hand through his hair. "Isn't that what you said about the red ones and the green ones and those see-thru yellow ones?"
Pressing an open mouthed kiss just below her navel, he stands. "Maybe it's not the panties. Maybe it's what's in them."
Low throaty laughter escapes her. "I think I know how we could test your theory."
"Really?" His tongue slides over her shoulder. "Care to share?"
Hooking her thumbs in the sides of the garment in question, Emily slips them over the curve of her hips and down her thighs. When they settle around her feet, she kicks them to the side. With a finger on his cheek, she turns his head in the same direction. "How do you feel about them now?"
For a moment, he studies the scrap of black lace. "While the idea of your panties on the floor is…intriguing because it means you aren't wearing them, they no longer hold the same appeal."
She wraps her arms around his neck and presses soft, quick kisses along his jaw. "I knew it, Rossi. You're fickle."
"Only when it comes to your underwear." He pulls back and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear; his eyes are steady on hers. "I don't even notice other women, Prentiss. Not since you."
With a quiet moan, she rises up on her tiptoes and kisses him. Then her fingers are fumbling with his belt and the buttons on his jeans. The ache between her thighs is now echoed by an ache in the vicinity of her heart. Is this what it's like to love someone? The thought scrambles through her mind, slipping quickly in and out before she has time to be afraid.
She's touching him, and he's hard and velvety in her hands. Cupping his balls, she gives them a gentle squeeze then let's the crinkly skin, the warm heft of them settle in her hand. She sets up a slow steady stroke along his shaft and his head falls back, his eyes slam shut.
"Dear God, Emily," he lets out on a hiss of air. "Take it easy. I'm…it's so good." His hands are on hers, gently lifting them from his body. He gives her a wink, a smile tipping up one side of his mouth. "I don't want to do this alone."
Pressing a string of wet, open mouthed kisses across his chest, she mumbles, "And I don't want you to."
"Let's go upstairs." His hands are in her hair, trying to guide her mouth back to his. "You're killing me, Em. Please."
Her tongue runs up the length of his throat and she nips at his chin. "Here." With that, she brings one leg up and wraps it around his hip. "Right here."
The smile that slides over his face makes him look like a naughty little boy about to stick his hand in the cookie jar. "Well, I guess we've already given people enough of a show. Why stop now?"
"That's what I was thinking."
His smile grows a little wider. "And who am I to argue with logic like that?"
His hands are gripping the backs of her thighs and he's lifting her up. Her legs are around his waist and she's holding on tight. And she feels the blunt head of his erection as he maneuvers himself into position. With a sigh she lets her body relax and takes him in.
Full. She's filled with him. Surrounded by him. And it's better than anything she's ever known. The long, slow slide out followed by the even slower push of his hips, and she's biting her lips to keep from begging for more. He has one hand on her ass, and one hand on the glass beside her head and he's looking into her eyes, watching her face as he loves her.
Tightening. The need is tightening in her belly. She aches with it. Dave bends his head and captures a nipple between his teeth, tugging just a little harder than gentle and she's so close she can almost taste it.
"Dave," she rolls her hips. "Je-sus."
His lips are on her throat, her chest, her cheek. His tongue is in her mouth and he's swallowing her moans and she teetering on the edge. He tears his mouth from hers and he has both hands on her hips now, pulling her down to meet every thrust. His eyes are on her, and what she sees in them will definitely scare her tomorrow. But right now, all she wants is to lose control.
"Come on, Emily." He's whispering, pleading and rocking his pubic bone against her in a way that has her groaning his name. "With me. Please, Em."
He bends forward again and sucks her nipple into his mouth. Oh Jesus, she wants it. The heat and the release. Her hips are rolling against his and she's whimpering and it's right there…right there… Then she's falling, her back arching like a bow, her entire body quivering. And as her body finds release, a warm wave of pure emotion starts in the middle of her chest, flowing outward, the force of it clogging her throat and bringing tears to her eyes.
His name is on her lips and he's following her over. Throwing his head back, he buries his cock as far inside her as possible and he's saying something in Italian that sounds vaguely like amore mio. She can feel him throbbing, can feel each of her muscles as the contractions pulse through them, can feel the heat of him spilling into her, and it's beautiful and amazing and so, so right.
When her eyes flutter open, her lashes are wet with tears and Dave's face is all she can see. This is what it feels like to be in love, she thinks. And, suddenly, she's no longer afraid.