Part Three: Colonization.
"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes." ~Marquis de Sade
Erin's eyes flicked to the blinds, silently grateful for the fact that they were drawn and shuttered—she hadn't given a single thought to being seen until just now. But it was late and almost everyone else was gone.
Her dark hunter took another step forward, the hunger in her eyes unmistakable. Erin Strauss could admit that she'd always thought of Emily as an attractive woman, but gods above, now she was absolutely mesmerizing, in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.
"Take off your blouse," her voice was deeper than Erin had ever heard before, harsher, more insistent.
The section chief steadied herself, willing her hands not to tremble with anticipation and nerves as she slowly began to unfasten the long row of buttons. Emily's eyes followed her hands, biting her lip as inch by precious inch of skin came into view. Erin tugged her shirt from the waist of her pencil skirt, pulling the shirt open to reveal another layer of taupe-grey silk. Emily smiled (she wears a full slip, of course she does, it's so proper and feminine and utterly Strauss).
Erin smiled sheepishly, uncertain of the meaning behind Emily's grin but taking it as a positive sign. She reached behind her to unzip her skirt, and suddenly the phone on her desk rang.
Her entire body tensed, as if someone had fired a shot—the harsh electronic buzz of the telephone seemed to shatter the entire room. Emily didn't look at it. She kept her eyes on Erin's face.
"Don't answer it," she whispered, as if whoever was calling could hear her.
"I-I have to," Erin's pulse was racing double-time. With one last look of apology, she moved across the room, leaving her blouse on the back of the chair. She snatched up the receiver, trying to regain control over her voice, "Strauss."
Emily could hear the warm hum of a male voice over the line, but she was much too distracted by the light freckles on Erin's back, made more noticeable by the faintest glow of a tan (she had been to the beach, baring all that lovely soft skin to the world, or maybe out working in her garden in a spaghetti-strap sundress—a rare thought, to imagine Strauss with a life outside the Bureau—either way it looked golden and delicious and Emily's mouth actually ached for a chance to taste it).
"Yes, I am aware of the situation," Erin's voice held a faint trace of frustration. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Emily felt a swell of satisfaction, knowing she was the one who mussed her hair, the one who had Strauss standing in her office with her blouse tossed across a chair, with deep red marks on her neck and shoulder, blood pumping and head humming.
But that's not all I can do. Emily bit back another wicked grin as she quietly moved closer to the older woman.
"She was in my office less than half an hour ago, making her excuses."
Oh, so the conversation was about her. Emily knew that Strauss must be talking to Hotch.
"Yes, well, I can't say that I'm exactly thrilled about your decision to let her take the rest of her leave, instead of keeping her in the field until we at least have a list of replacements ready, but I suppose that ship has sailed."
Apparently Erin wasn't happy (again). There was always a way to make up for that. Emily knelt down, placing a hand on each of Erin's ankles. She felt Erin's muscles tense, freeze, then relax again. Her hands traveled up...up...up, following the curve of her hips, taking a moment to appreciate the well-rounded derriere that was still sadly covered in tights.
Erin lightly kicked at her, not even bothering to look down as she continued her conversation with Hotch, "Well, I don't see how that's going to help. Your team is still down an agent."
Emily shook her head. Someone really needed to learn manners. Her hands continued their upward trek, following the inward curve to Erin's waist, her fingers slipping over the edge and pulling down her underwear and tights in one smooth movement.
If Erin noticed, she didn't say so. This woman was a consummate actress.
Emily lightly tapped her ankle (lift your foot so that I can take these off you).
Erin locked her knees (over my dead body).
Emily simply chuckled, taking a moment to lean against Erin's left leg, giving the now-exposed skin on behind her knee a light kiss. No response. Cruel, cruel woman.
"Do we at least have a short list?" Erin gave another huff of impatience. She couldn't very well hang up the phone, but the dark-haired devil at her feet was certainly making it hard to concentrate.
Emily's left hand gripped the edge of the desk for stability as her right slowly traveled up Erin's left leg again—slowly, deliberately, weighted, measured, perfectly paced. She felt the muscles tense beneath her fingers and grinned again. So she was getting through.
Erin bowed her head, biting her lip. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to listen to the voice on the other end of the line, "Yes, yes, that's fine…could you narrow it down to five or six and send me the list in the morning? I can't imagine we'd get very far with it tonight."
Emily's right hand stopped to massage the smooth skin of Erin's inner thigh. She could feel the heat radiating from Erin's core, but she wasn't ready to go there just yet—half the fun was in the chase. She nuzzled Erin's outer leg through the thick fabric of her charcoal pencil skirt, using her teeth and applying just enough pressure for Erin to feel it. The blonde leaned forward again, trying to move away, and Emily laughed silently, slightly raising herself on her heels just enough to nip her former boss' ass, which elicited a small yelp of surprise.
"Oh, no, nothing, I'm still here," she spoke into the phone, although this time, there was no hiding the breathiness in her voice.
Emily could feel that the conversation was winding to a close, so she rose slowly, her right hand staying firmly on Erin's upper thigh as her left traveled up her side, slipping over the older woman's breast and giving it a slight squeeze as she kissed her shoulder. Her fingers finally danced across Erin's opening, their tips instantly drenched. She didn't enter (not now, not yet, one wrong sound could give the whole thing away). Her reward was one small, delicious shiver, a flash of those stormy eyes glancing to heaven for some kind of deliverance.
"That's fine. Tomorrow, then."
There it was. The end of the conversation—just in time for Emily to pounce. Erin had barely placed the phone back in its cradle before she felt the long, thin fingers plunge in, without ceremony or warning, and she gave out a small cry of surprise, followed by the breathless moan that had been building in her chest for the past two minutes. She felt Emily's mouth on her neck, sucking at her earlobe, felt those fingers curl inside her and those knuckles press against her walls, finding that perfect bundle of nerves which sent another shot of fire coursing through her body (oh those fingers, she could write sonnets to those fingers, that hand, sonnets and songs and odes and oh gods it was a simple touch and she could already feel herself tightening, quivering in response).
"Not—not like this," she pleaded, her own voice sounding harsh and foreign to her ears (gods dammit, she has me pleading). Her skirt was bunched around her hips, her tights twisted around her ankles, her slip falling off her shoulders and one breast falling out of her bra and all she could think was, Not like this.
Emily stopped, disengaging her lovely hand (and Erin muffled a sigh of disappointment at the loss) and stepping back. She waited for Erin to step out of her heels, pull her feet out of her tights, leaving them in a puddle on the floor with her underwear, and turn around.
The sad thing about this little exchange was that Emily had been unable to see the full effect she'd had on the older woman, and when Erin turned around, red cheeks and flushed chest, simmering eyes and messy hair, Emily felt another wave of warmth pass through her.
She stepped forward, her hands lightly cupping Erin's face as the pads of her thumbs brushed over the skin, mapping out her cheekbones and temples with an odd sense of wonderment. It was as if she was seeing the older woman for the first time, and she was fascinated by what she saw.
Erin could feel the warm stickiness on the brunette's fingers, could smell the dark allure of her own arousal, could see the hunger in those dark eyes, and it only heightened the flames licking up the insides of her body. She gave a soft whine, pulling the younger woman back to her, engulfing her lips once again. She was pulling the jacket off Emily's shoulders, her mind pulsing with one thought (I want to make you ache for me the way I ache for you, I want to make your eyes wild and your breathing pound, I want to make you moan for me, for me, for me, only me).
The jacket landed somewhere near Erin's blouse, and Emily's nimble (wonderful, wonderful) fingers quickly unbuttoned and unzipped the section chief's skirt, pulling it down with a quick, forceful jerk. Erin went for Emily's top, but Emily pushed her hands back down, holding her by her wrists and guiding her to the small black leather sofa that rested in the corner of the office. The back of Erin's knees hit the edge, but she didn't sit down. Emily pulled back, her hand lovingly tracing the outline of the blonde's collarbone, her shoulders, her arms, as she pushed the thin straps of the slip down, over her hips, onto the floor.
Erin held her breath, her body's every flaw flying to the forefront of her mind, and the single lamp that was still on in her office suddenly felt much too bright and harsh. She heard Emily's quick intake of breath and finally dared to look up at the younger woman.
It was obvious from the look in Emily's dark eyes that whatever she saw, she certainly liked. She moved closer, her arms reaching behind to unfasten the clasp of Erin's bra, pulling away the last piece of armor. The blonde gave another light sigh as her last defense came down and cool air rushed against her skin, wincing slightly but keeping her eyes on Emily's face (this is all I have, this is what I have to work with, please be kind).
Emily stepped back again. Unlike Erin, this was not the first woman she'd had sex with, and she was always amazed at how each body was entirely different, its own world with its distinct curves and dips, valleys and ridges, colors and shades. What was most surprising (but then again, not really) was the light indentation above Erin's right hip—the mark of an appendectomy scar. Emily felt a soft smile slip across her lips (so she's got scars, too).
"What?" Erin's eyes became stormy grey again as she cocked her head to one side in confusion, her hands almost-subconsciously moving to shield herself.
"Oh, please don't," Emily breathed, reaching to still the hands that dared to block this lovely view. Lightly, slowly, with the same reverence she'd first touched her wrists, she trailed her fingers down Erin's neck, past the swell of her breasts, between the part in her ribcage, down to her bellybutton, stopping just an inch below. It was there that she knelt and placed a single, soft kiss. Erin felt another rush of warmth in her core, and it was all moving too slowly, too deliciously slow, it was too much and not enough and she didn't know if she wanted more because she didn't want this particular moment to end. Her hands sought Emily's dark locks, her fingers clutched at them, pushed further down, sought the soft fabric of her t-shirt, tugged gently at it—she suddenly realized that she was completely naked and Emily was still very much clothed. The imbalance of power was there again and it was almost painful now.
She felt Emily smile against her hipbone as she planted another warm kiss on her skin. The brunette reached down and pulled off her t-shirt in one easy move, smiling up into those sea colored eyes. Her bra was as black as her jeans, as black as her hair, as black as her eyes, which only served to accentuate the porcelain skin around it, making it glow like some silver-skinned Hollywood goddess from the forgotten age of red lips and white stoles, dahlias in dark curls and satin evening gloves. Erin suddenly understood why marble-skinned beauties adorned the covers of romance novels—there was something absolutely erotic about skin so smooth, so pale, so perfect.
Emily stood, drawing Erin closer, new continents of skin meeting for the first time—the dark shifting around the light, the golden melding to the silver. Erin shivered at the sensation of the warmth that pressed against her, and her eyes couldn't move away from Emily's chest, which was now a lovely shade of rose. Of course, she needed to see more, so Erin reached forward, her hands moving to unclasp Emily's bra, but the young woman gently pulled her hands back with a sly shake of her head, "Not yet."
She placed both of her hands on Erin's shoulders and pushed, forcing her back onto the sofa until she was lying down. The younger woman hovered over her, on her knees, leaning in so that just her mouth touched Erin's. The blonde's hands moved once more, trying to pull at her partner's hips, to peel away the layer of fabric that still separated them, but Emily lifted herself out of reach with a light chuckle.
"This isn't fair," Erin groaned, although a part of her enjoyed the denial, the prolonging of anticipation.
"This isn't about fair," Emily informed her, placing her knee between Erin's legs and moving forward so that it pressed against Erin's center, an action which did not fail to elicit a hiss from the lovely lady lying beneath her. She could feel the warm moisture soaking the fabric of her jeans, but she didn't care. There was a hunger, a want, a need, a new territory to discover, new lands to claim and lay waste to, this bridge was screaming to be burned, and where in all that did a silly pair of pants have any weight?
"Besides," she leaned forward again, her breath hot and heavy on Erin's neck, trying to keep her almost-childish glee in check. "You're the one who broke first."
This earned her an indignant huff from the other woman. Emily retaliated by applying more pressure with her knee, causing the section chief to slide forward with a slight moan.
"To the victor belong the spoils," the brunette whispered wickedly, her mouth landing just above Erin's left breast, her tongue slowly tracing its way down to the hardened circle of dusky flesh. Erin arched into her mouth, hissing again. She needed more—more to touch, more to feel, more pressure, more bite, more blood and more power. She grabbed Emily's head in both her hands and dragged her face back to meet her own, all teeth and tongue and frustration. Emily was laughing into her mouth now, but her body was lower, her skin was finally making contact again, the soft fabric of her bra rubbing against Erin's taunt and swollen nipples.
Erin tried to push the bra's straps off Emily's shoulders, but the brunette sat back, snapping her long, thin fingers around Erin's wrists and pinning them back, over the disheveled blonde halo splayed across the arm of the sofa. Erin attempted one last struggle, but it was useless.
"Now, now," Emily's voice was soothing, patronizing, with just a hint of something darker. "You'll get your turn soon enough. But right now, it's my turn."
She stretched over Erin's prone form, her long, lean torso and sculpted arms giving her the appearance of the feral predator that Erin most certainly saw her as. She bit her reddened bottom lip as she smiled down at her prey.
Erin opened her palms, making a gesture of surrender, and Emily's dark smile deepened.
"Good," she purred, dipping down to bite that lovely neck, which strained and panted under her mouth. She moved to Erin's right shoulder—the one she hadn't marked yet—and dragged her teeth across the flushed flesh, pushing her hot breath even more forcefully against the skin, feeling it tremble under the heat. Her fingers released the now-placid wrists of her captive, slowly trailing down the arms, down to the twin peaks rising and falling, lightly teasing and pinching Erin's nipples as her mouth stayed judiciously at the strip of skin between the two. They were raw and rough, and each tug sent a spark shooting through Erin's skin, but she didn't cry out, didn't flinch. She simply bit her lip and reminded herself that soon it would be her turn (oh, dear girl, I'm a quick learner, I'm learning a thing or two, and when it's my turn, oh when oh when it's my turn, I'll repay this favor ten times over, this I promise, this I swear, I'll take it all back and more, I'll raze this village to the ground).
Suddenly Emily's hands were moving again, slipping underneath Erin, pulling her up, driving her knee harder against that pounding mass of nerves and spark. The blonde gave a gasp, but it was quickly devoured by her partner, whose mouth crashed into hers as she claimed it for her own once more. Erin saw her opportunity and her hands were quicker this time, snaking around Emily's back, snapping apart the clasp before they could be stopped. Emily gave a growl of disapproval but it melted into a laugh—she should've known better than to think that Erin Strauss had truly surrendered.
Now it was Erin who sat back with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, arching one eyebrow as she waited for Emily's response. But the brunette could be a gracious champion, so she simply returned the smile and let the straps slide down her arms, the cups gently falling away. She tossed the offending item across the room with a playful flick of her wrist, which earned her another laugh from Erin, and for that laugh, for that brightness and relief in those beautiful grey-green eyes, Emily knew she'd do anything. Of course, she did not say such a thing—it's best to play your cards close to the chest (even if it's bare).
Erin's smile slowly faded as her eyes traveled below Emily's breasts, to the raised and reddened scar on her abdomen. Hesitantly, her fingers reached out, gently tracing the outline of the scar as she let out a soft, "Oh."
"Don't," Emily whispered softly, pulling the fingers away, and the look in her eyes formed the rest of the plea, the part she couldn't voice aloud (don't look, don't see me as a victim, don't pity me, don't let this change how you want me). Erin understood and simply nodded.
Erin pulled Emily back towards her, giving a light sigh of relief when she was met with the softness of Emily's skin. Emily reacted on sight, but Erin was a more tactile person—she needed to feel, to explore, to measure and test the depths with her fingertips, using them as her eyes. Her hands traced incohesive patterns on the broad, bare back, her lips began a pilgrimage from that lovely porcelain collarbone down to the small, attentive nipple, which she gently took in her mouth. She felt the younger woman stiffen, felt the muscles in her back tighten as Emily raised herself slightly. Her mouth never strayed from that sensitive flesh, but her hands traveled downward, slipping underneath the denim fabric and making contact with the bare skin of Emily's ass.
She goes commando, Erin thought wryly, and suddenly she wished that Emily would be staying long enough for her to test this theory, to see if she went sans panties every day (she'd never seen Emily at the office in a skirt, had she?). A wave of sadness washed over her as she realized that she would never know—after tonight, Emily Prentiss would walk out that door and into the wild, wide world, without a backward glance.
That thought was pushed rather forcefully out of her head by the dark-eyed beauty in question, who sent her slamming onto her back again. Emily's breathing was much heavier, her eyes were wild and the rosy stain had spread further across her once-marble skin, into her cheeks and across her shoulders.
"It's my turn," she growled, and for the briefest of seconds, Erin felt a glimmer of fear in the pit of her stomach. The younger woman sat back, taking Erin's left leg and placing her own shoulder under the bend in Erin's knee, taking a second to bite and suck the soft skin on the inside of her leg (and leave another mark, another flag on the map of her body). This time, Erin saw the mark, and since she was a conqueror herself, she understood the token, accepted it, burned even more with the realization that she had unwittingly been colonized by this new invader (you can take my skin, but I'll have yours as repayment).
"Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will." ~Frederick Douglass