"Let me guess. You're the hooker who bites the hand that feels her. Oh, sorry. I meant 'feeds' her."
Morgan's stentorian voice blared the insult out, managing to sound threatening, which was admirable considering he was immobilized.
The woman dripping black lace and scorn glanced up, but it was only a momentary break in her focus on Hotch. "I'm Megan. I'm the one whose home you invaded." She gave a disdainful sniff. "Did you have fun poking through my things? Maybe I should check your pockets to see if you stole anything. I guarantee the hands that feed me are more generous than Uncle Sam's."
Morgan's aim was to redirect attention from his boss to himself. It gnawed at him that he and Prentiss were awake, if a little the worse for wear. But Hotch hadn't stirred.
If distraction was Morgan's gambit, building sympathy on the Unit Chief's behalf was Prentiss's.
"I'm Emily. This is Derek." Prentiss cleared her throat, hoping to sound calm and eminently reasonable. Not a threat. Not like she wanted to smash a fist into the smug and pretty face hovering over her unconscious boss. "You already know that's Aaron. We call him 'Hotch.'"
Morgan sensed his teammate's intention from her soft, conciliatory tone. If Prentiss was going for the 'good cop' role, he'd be the baddie. "Why isn't he waking up? What'd you do to him?" he demanded.
Megan's kittenish smile sent chills down both agents' backs. "It's not what I've done. It's what I'm going to do that matters." Eyes roving over the body at her disposal, she continued unbuttoning Hotch's crisp, white dress shirt. Slowly. One small, pearly button at a time. Lingering over the pleasure of anticipation. "And don't worry, Sugar. I gave him a little something extra while y'all were out cold. He'll come around. Sort of. And it'll make things so much more fun for both of us." Her smile grew sly. "For all of us, if you play your cards right."
Morgan shuddered against his bonds. Garcia called him 'Sugar' along with a dozen other more creative nicknames. Hearing the word on this murderess's lips made him more aware of the residual nausea from whatever Megan had used on them. Probably gas piped into the elevator. Weird kind of security measure. Must be something she got one of her sugar daddies to install. Wonder what her reasoning was. But watching her, he thought reason was one of the first things to fly out the window when she went to work on her customers.
Deft fingers were at Hotch's Windsor knot. The unsub hesitated. "No. I think I'll let you keep your tie for now, Aaron." She leaned down and brushed a soft kiss across his pale forehead.
Seeing the surprisingly affectionate gesture encouraged Prentiss. "Megan, I understand why you killed those other men. They did heartless things to their families. Anyone who could be so cruel and unfeeling to the people they're supposed to care for isn't really human. They were just monsters of a different sort walking among us. I understand. I do. But…but Hotch is a good man. Really, genuinely good." She let her voice go gentle and pleading. "Please don't hurt him. Please."
Megan echoed the soft tone, almost crooning her words as she disengaged Hotch's tie from the collar of his shirt, pushing it up so it lay against the bare skin of his neck. "You've got it backwards, Sweetie. I'm gonna please Aaron, not hurt him." She trilled out a mirthless giggle. "Unless he likes bein' hurt. But that's all part of the game, don'cha think?"
Morgan's derisive snort sounded harsh after the soft voices of the women. "You really wanna know what I think? I think you couldn't keep a man happy if your life depended on it. I think you know no one wants you once they get to know you. You think you're punishing men who hurt their families, but deep down you know that some families aren't worth the effort." It was working; Megan's head slowly turned from Hotch. Eyes like flint riveted on the agent taunting her. Morgan went in for the kill. "Couldn't keep your Daddy's love, could you? Only kind you can get boils down to dollars and cents."
Prentiss jumped in. "Maybe he's right, Megan. But if he is, it wasn't your fault. Just like it wasn't Hotch's…uh, Aaron's…fault that his wife walked out on him."
"His wife left him?" The call girl turned her regard back to the man she was being told had something in common with her.
"Yes. Left him. Broke his heart." Emily leaned forward as much as she could, encouraged by the indecision, the potential tenderness she thought she detected in Megan's posture and expression. "He would have done anything to keep them…his wife and child."
"Child…" Megan rested her hand against Hotch's lean cheek, moving her thumb back and forth in a gentle caress. "A daughter?"
Prentiss swallowed. She hoped it didn't make a difference, but… "A son. But I know he wanted more children. Would have loved a daughter. With all his heart, he would have loved her."
Morgan tried to be as invisible as possible. Emily was making headway. He didn't want to break her spell. Besides, it was hypnotically dreadful to watch this woman studying his helpless leader. Touching him.
Megan tilted her head to one side, reading her own story in the lines of sorrow etched across this handsome man's face. She pulled the unbuttoned sides of his shirt apart, revealing a pristine, white undershirt. So proper. The visible movement of ribs with each breath so fragile. Her touch as light as a butterfly, she traced the contours of his chest. Her hand moved down to press against his stomach, the muscles so taut, the flesh so spare. The words came out breathy.
"He is pretty."
Prentiss pushed for this unsub to identify with her victim. "Yes, he is. So are you. But that didn't stop people from leaving you, did it? Didn't stop them from leaving Aaron either."
The corners of Megan's mouth trembled downward in sad commiseration. She leaned down, brushing her lips against Hotch's. When she heard a slight catch in his breath, she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue flick at the inner edge of his soft bottom lip.
Her hand moved downward from where it had been appreciating his stomach. He was so thin, she had no trouble slipping under his belt, feeling the length of him.
Respiration roughening with arousal, Hotch's eyes finally cracked open to the barest slits. But even from where they sat, helpless to intercede, Morgan and Prentiss could see something was…off.
"H-Haley?"
Horrified, the agents watched the Unit Chief's arms wrap around their unsub, his hips pushing upward in response to the busy hand inside his perfectly pressed trousers.