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Pheromones and Wet Dreams

Reid rubbed the side of his face with the knuckles of his right hand. It was seven o'clock on Saturday morning. He'd just finished his first cup of coffee. Three days and nights, without sleep, had finally caught up to him and he'd slept for ten hours. His left ear ached from sleeping for so long in one position.

He sighed… Emily hadn't called since leaving to go help her mother with her charity ball. He didn't mind that Emily spent time with Elizabeth, but it made him nervous that Emily seemed to have ideas for him that she refused to share because he'd done something wrong. Why was it so wrong for him to look at other women? Morgan did it all the time and no one called him a moron. It wasn't like he sought out other women to ogle. He loved Emily with all his heart. He didn't want her to be mad at him.

His stomach growled indignantly so he decided to go get breakfast and think about his predicament later.

The problem was that having breakfast didn't help him decide what to do. It just delayed the inevitable, he decided by the time he'd made a simple breakfast, ate and cleaned it up. Perhaps a good hot shower would clear the cobwebs out of his mind.

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Emily opened the door to Reid's apartment with the key he'd given her two months ago. "Spencer," she called out.

He didn't answer so she walked back to the bedroom, passing the bathroom. The door was cracked open enough for her to hear the shower running. She smirked and continued on to the bedroom. He hadn't made his king sized bed yet. The clothes he'd worn the day before lay strewn around the room, his light pink dress shirt over the wooden chair in corner.

She shook her head in amusement of his sloppy bedroom habits. He never hung up clothes and he never made the bed.

She picked up his clothes, except for the shirt, and dumped them in the hamper just inside the door. The only thing he really seemed to keep on top of was the laundry. She shifted the brown and gold patterned quilt on the bed, yanking the sheets straight. When her simple clean up was finished, she turned her attention to the pink shirt on the chair. If she stripped down and put on that shirt, it was sure to get a reaction from Reid that she could use to her advantage. She smirked at the plan and began to take off her clothes.

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Reid shut off his shower and reached through the shower curtain for a towel. He dried off and rubbed his head vigorously so that his hair stood up in clumps. He stepped out of the shower and looked at his face in the mirror. He should go call Emily and see how her charity work went with her mother. Maybe he could get her to come over for awhile so he could talk to her. He nodded, wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door to his bathroom.

He whistled as he walked into his bedroom. The melody of his favorite classical piano piece died on his lips when he saw Emily sitting on his unmade bed wearing only his pink shirt.

"Emily…" He squeaked.

"Took you long enough," she teased running her fingers along the collar of his shirt. "I didn't think you'd ever come out of there." She pouted. "I was just about to come get you."

She scooted back on the bed, his shirt riding up her thighs. His eyes latched onto the creamy skin of her thighs and his breathing stopped for an endless second. She had the most beautiful legs in the world and they were all his to stare at for as long as he wanted.

"Spencer…" Her voice teased his attention back to her face.

"W-what?"

"You see something you like sweetheart." Her voice cooed, raising the hair on his neck.

His hands began to tremble. She never called him that outside the bedroom which was just fine with him. It was a secret they shared that he loved. He took a step toward her, but she raised a finger and shook it at him like he was a naughty little boy.

"Oh no… You stay right where you are." Her dark eyes blinked sleepily at him, belying the seriousness of her threat.

"But Emily-"

He noticed she'd only buttoned one of the buttons on his shirt. His legs started to shake in time with his heart beat. He didn't know if he could stay on his feet. He didn't know if he could stay still. His brain screamed at him to go to her and take her in his arms.

"Stay put Spencer," she said throatily. "I'll tell you when you can move."

He swallowed hard as one of her hands slid down from her throat to the opening that teased him with cleavage at the top and a hint of dark curly hair at the bottom.

He didn't have to look down to know that a tent was forming under the dark red bath towel he wore around his waist. Could she see it too? A part of him hoped that she could so she'd end this torture.

"Please Emily!"

"No moving and no touching." She scolded when his hand tried to stroke his erection through the towel.

She couldn't be serious! He had to touch himself… He had to have the release what was straining to happen.

"I need you…" He squeaked.

If he couldn't give himself relief, then he needed to be inside her, feeling the sweet friction they created when they were together.

She let three fingers wander beneath his shirt and stroke one of her breasts. His eyes stayed glued to the movement as his breathing climbed. He could see the outline of the nipple rising up hard under the material of his shirt. God, he had to feel the texture of her skin beneath his hands, see her eyes go even darker when she found sweet relief.

"I love the smell of your shirt." She said in a breathy little voice that made his erection jerk.

"D-did you know t-that humans produce pheromones when sexually aroused?" He asked trying not to think about how his hands wanted to go to his hardened length.

"Yes…" She agreed and moaned while her free hand reached between her legs.

He heaved in a breath and tried to remember his name as her fingers stroked, then circled the small, sensitive nubbin of flesh. His erection hurt, tingles began in his belly, shooting to the tip of his manhood as she groaned out his name.

"Spencer…"

His hands stayed fisted at his sides through sheer iron will. "Emily," He responded, heaving out her name like an expletive in the heat of passion.

You are in the heat of passion!

"Emily," he gasped again as her moans grew louder.

Her fingers sped up, one hand playing with her breast, and the other at her sweet spot.

"Did you know… that ninety five percent of people in the throes of passion… cry out to God… even if they don't believe in God? I wonder why."

"Oh God!" Emily cried out. "I don't care Spencer, I'm so close baby."

Her hips thrust up off the bed in time with his hips thrusting forward. He came, ejaculating all over the inside of the towel he wore. "Emily, oh my God!" He cried unable to stay on his feet.

He dropped to his knees panting for breath, unable to speak. All he could hear was Emily's heavy breathing. He stayed where he was until Emily approached on unsteady feet. He stood up to embrace her hard, as his heart slowed from its thumping pace.

"That's the first time… I've had an orgasm… without touching myself," he gasped, "outside of the occasional wet dream that is." He admitted.

She kissed him, wrapping her hands in his hair and tugging on it. "You're a naughty boy Dr. Reid."

"All men have nocturnal emissions, although the frequency does drop off as they become adults." He informed her.

She pulled back and just looked at him with wonder and amazement on her face. "I can't believe we just had a wonderful moment and you can still quote statistics."

He smirked at her. "I thought you were going to teach me a lesson, and reduce my IQ to the level of a child." He taunted her.

"I am doing my best." She pouted running a finger over his jaw.

"I say you can't do it." He challenged her.

"Never challenge the daughter of an Ambassador or a profiler." She said haughtily. "You'll be sorry if you do."

Reid tugged her back over to his bed. "I'm always up for a challenge Emily Prentiss. Do your worst."