Chapter Thirty-Three

"You have to leave, Hotch." Emily heard herself say the words, but she was intensely aware that her grip on him hadn't eased any. Resting her elbows on the edge of the pool, her thighs remaining locked around him, Emily dropped her head back as Hotch's hands came up, grasping her waist and then moving, slowly, reverently, up and down her sides, tracing her curves with his hands as well as his eyes. The tanned, flat pane of her stomach, glistening with pool water, slashed diagonally with her scar, tensed at the contact, defining her abs.

Hotch felt his mouth go dry as his eyes travelled from her neck, elegant and sloped as she leaned back against the pool, down to her chest, the dark circles of her areolas beneath her now-white sheer bra, down the glistening sheet of her stomach, to the dark triangle, pressed against him beneath the water, white panties doing nothing to hide her from his view as the water moulded them to the shape of her lower lips. Hotch devoured her with his eyes, pupils dilating, hungry with lust.

Her dark hair, shorter than the last time he'd seen it, clung to her nec. Hotch reached up with one hand,the other remaining clamped around her hip, and brushed her hair away, leaving her neck bare to him. Wrapping a hand around her throat, he squeezed, gently, testing the waters. Emily's legs tightened around him, pressing him in closer to her, and Hotch trailed his hand down her throat, slowly. He felt her shudder against him, her eyes dropping closed, as he slowly trailed his hand down her throat, between the valley of her breasts, back down to her hips.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked, low and gentle and sincere, bending low over her, his neck tickling her throat. "Just say the word, Emily. And I'll leave. Do you want me to go?"

Yes.

He would. She knew he would. If she told him to, Hotch would turn around and leave and they would never speak of this again. And that was absolutely the route she knew they should take here. She should make him leave, get a shower, go to bed, and forget about it. Then, in a few days, she would fly back to London. Fly home, to back to England, back to Isla. She knew that was the right thing to do. That, just by him being here, they'd already crossed a line. That, with her legs wrapped around his waist, and his hard length pressed against her most intimate parts, with her current state of undress, she was already being unfaithful. But right now, Emily couldn't conjure Isla's face in her mind. All she knew was him.

"No."

And, when Hotch looked at Emily, when she levelled him with those impossibly pretty, impossibly seductive brown eyes, they didn't remind him of his girlfriend, of Beth. They drove all thoughts of her from his mind. Emily spoke with her eyes and Hotch moved so fast that the water splashed about them. His hands moved from her hips, crawling up her back, pulling her to him, pressing her back against the side of the pool once more, his lips finding hers. He had missed the taste of her, had longed for it, had come to the thought of her lips, and her tongue, a hundred times over in the time they had been apart. He had fucked Beth and seen Emily's face. It brought him shame, but, right now, Hotch knew nothing but Emily. Her skin tasted like the chlorine of the pool, but beneath that, there was the sweetness he associated with her, the sharpness of her perfume, as his lips acquainted themselves with her. The scar across her throat had all but faded, but as Emily leaned her head back,giving him complete access to her throat, he found the faint white line, and he pressed it with kisses.

"I should go," He said, as Emily's mouth found his once more, her tongue pressing insistently into his mouth, tasting the familiar coffee-mint combination of him, and she agreed, humming in the back of her throat.

"Mm-hmm."

If only either of them had meant it, if only the pull wasn't so strong between them, or if either of them had the strength to fight the intoxication of the other, there might have been fewer broken hearts in the months to come. But neither of them meant it, and Emily only ground against his crotch as Hotch held her closer, feeling the pucker of her nipples through his shirt. His blazer was floating somewhere in the pool, Emily having pushed it off of at some point. Hotch hadn't even noticed. He didn't even disengage from their kiss as he reached between their bodies, fingers slipping over the metal of his zipper in the water.

When he pushed into her, Emily felt her whole world slow down. For a moment, she stopped kissing him, felt his breath on her lips, brown eyes meeting. He moved slowly, the water hindering any rapid motions, but Emily felt every moment of it, felt every inch of him, her breath stuttering as her body worked to accommodate his size. He didn't look away once, his eyes, almost black with lust, boring into her own. There was a fire there. A light, at the very centre of the darkness. It was that look again, but he wasn't smiling anymore, and this time, Emily couldn't turn away from it. It gripped her chest like a vice, guilt and pleasure overwhelming her. As Hotch moved, pulling slowly out of her, and Emily felt every ridge and vein scrape deliciously against her walls, the pleasure overwhelmed her and her guilt was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. Everything except him.

"H-uh," His name was lost in a sigh of pleasure, high and honeyed, from the back of her throat, and Hotch's grip on her waist tightened, the hang on her back pressing her closer to him. Head resting on his shoulder, Emily closed her eyes, the gentle lapping of the water against her skin a stark contrast to Hotch's strong, slow thrusts beneath its surface.

As she rested her head on his shoulder, Hotch turned, pressing a kiss to her hair, holding onto her tightly, knowing she wasn't his to hold, and he wasn't hers. They were two people who both belonged to someone else, two people who lived at opposite ends of the world, two people who had no business being in love, and there they were, anyway. His breathing laboured and Hotch closed his eyes, intent on savouring every moment he spent with her like this, focused on the way her walls constricted around him, pulling him in deeper, like even biology wanted them to be together. When she whimpered against his shoulder, as he thrust deep inside of her, Hotch thought his knees might give way and grasped the edge of the pool, using it as leverage to speed up his hips. Her breath hitched at this new, steady pace, and he heard her moan of approval.

Emily grasped at Aaron's soaking wet shirt, clinging to the fabric, as the pressure began to mount. Aaron's arms wrapped around her, as he felt her begin to shake, uncontrollably against him, and he came with her, emptying himself inside of her with a succession of muffled grunts against her shoulder. He held her, as she came down from her high, unsure of what to expect, unsure of his own feelings.

"Let me go, please," Emily mumbled against his ear, dropping her legs back to the floor of the pool, and Hotch did, his hands falling away from her. Emily didn't look at him as she turned around, pulling herself up on the side of the pool, and stalked away towards he house. She stooped down, grabbing her discarded dress on the way, and didn't look back.

She slipped the dress back on over her head, stepping out of her wet underwear, throwing them onto the bag she had dumped beside the door. Leaning against the counter, Emily pressed her palms into her eyes, taking a moment, because she knew he would follow her. And he did. He was still soaking wet, his clothes dripping across Rossi's wooden floor, and he just stood there, a puddle forming beneath him as he looked at her. Emily couldn't turn around, couldn't look him in the eye.

"You should go," She said, quietly. "Really."

"We should talk." He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Emily tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling, sighing heavily. He couldn't see, but she was trying to blink back the tears. Tears of guilt, or tears of sadness, she didn't know. Both, probably. Shaking her head, Emily turned to him, her wet hair flicking water across her face as she did.

"What do you want me to say?" Emily felt like they had been here before. "What has changed in the past six months? It's only gotten harder. We have...people, now." She knew about Beth. She knew. JJ had kept her updated,and the first time she had heard about the brunette, she'd cried herself to sleep. But she was a hypocrite; Isla was waiting for her in London. Beautiful, loyal, loving Isla. The thought of the blonde made Emily's insides twist. "I can't look at you, Hotch. I can't-what we just did? What we just did, I thought I was better than that. And, this is completely unfair, but I thought you were better than that."

He was staring at her again, like he had that day in her apartment, his brow furrowed with emotions Emily couldn't read. He didn't interrupt, and he didn't speak. He just looked at her. Emily couldn't stand that.

"Ever since I met you, Aaron," She said his name slowly, purposefully, "You've been this figure of...goodness. You..." Emily floundered, reaching for words that failed her. "Honesty. Fidelity, bravery, integrity. I know, that's stupid. And unfair. But that's who you are to me, who you have always been to me and I loved-"

Hotch's eyebrows shot up, his eyes lightening with something that was painfully like hope, and Emily's heart clenched, but she powered on.

"I have loved those things about you, Hotch. I've admired you for them. I'm not like you. It doesn't matter what the hell you put on my headstone, nobody lives up to those qualities like you do. Especially me. I can't be the one who takes that away from you." She was crying now, slow tears making their way down her cheeks. "Do you understand that, Hotch? You're smiling. Why are you smiling?"

He was smiling, his eyes creasing at the corners, his lips quirked, lopsidedly. "You think you've corrupted me, Emily?" He was advancing on her, and Emily wanted to tell him to stop, but instead, she stepped towards him, meeting him in the middle of Rossi's kitchen, tilting her head slightly so she could meet his eyes.

"Haven't I?"

He shook his head, a tiny, slow shake. "No. The exact opposite. You ground me. You make me better. You always have."

"I live in London, Hotch. That hasn't changed. And the last time I suggested long distance, you basically laughed in my face. And then there's Beth. And Isla."

Isla. The first time Hotch had heard talk of Isla, he'd been shocked, and, he hated himself for admitting it, a little aroused, by the idea of Emily being in a relationship with a woman. But, most of all, he had just been jealous. The sort of jealousy that burned with such intensity that it was all he could think about for days.

"So, this can't happen again," He agreed, nodding, "But that doesn't mean we can't be friends. Does it? Now that we've cleared up our communications error." Emily would have smiled, if that little communications error hadn't had her in turmoil for six months. She could see by the expression on Hotch's face, had heard the relief in his voice, and knew he had been feeling the same way. "We can go back to being friends, right?"

"Friends." She repeated, testing the word on her tongue.

"Friends." Hotch nodded. "We were friends once. We can get back to it. We're both mature adults. We live in different countries. This," His eyes flitted, just a moment, down her body, where the dress clung to her still damp skin, and Emily saw his throat move as he swallowed, thickly, "Can't happen again. And won't."

That was easier said than done, and Emily would have pointed it out if she didn't so desperately want him to be a part of her life. Six months she had spent pretending not to think about him, pretending she didn't care that he hadn't text her back, trying to forget about him and them and everything in between. The ache between her legs told her that friends was a bad idea, that it would be better for them to cut all ties, once and for all, and try to move on with their lives, but the ache in her chest made her agree.

"Okay. Friends."