Part Five: Retaliation.
"I have been captured by what I chased." ~Marion Harper, Jr.
Emily forced herself to swallow, her mouth suddenly very dry and her tongue suddenly two sizes too large.
Erin Strauss was still laying back, her eyes fixed on Emily's face, a wicked smile curving around her bitten and bruised lips. She was back on the hunt, and though her initial hunger had been sated, her pulse now hummed with the song of the chase—she'd relinquished control, she'd given over her skin, allowing it to be bitten and pillaged and claimed by another, but now it was time to regain, to reclaim, to return the dark favor and extract more than was originally taken.
"Stand up." It was an order, deliciously couched in a purr.
Emily rose to her feet, keeping her eyes locked on Erin's face. The blonde still didn't move, still stayed stretched across the sofa, hand in her hair, looking like some languid classical painting. A smile danced at the corners of her eyes, this blonde Giaconda with the flushed skin and dark marks. She wore control and power well, Emily realized. However beautiful she might have been while she was falling apart underneath Emily, she was ten times more breathtaking now that she was back in charge.
"Take off your pants, Emily."
Stepping forward so that Erin could have a better view, she kicked off her shoes as she slowly unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down her long legs. The difference in Emily's height due to the loss of her heels made Erin smile again (she's already a tall woman, the shoes push her over six feet—she must like being able to tower over others).
Now Erin moved, sitting up, leaning forward to place her hands on Emily's pale hips and pulling the woman towards her. With the tips of her fingers, she began to trace patterns over the ridges of the hipbones, lightly trailing up to the curve of her ribcage, ghosting around the edges of those rounded pale breasts, whose nipples were already pebbled and taunt. She grabbed Emily's upper arms and pulled her forward, bringing her mouth to that tender flesh, lightly nipping the underside of Emily's breast before tracing her tongue around the curve and up to the nipple. She heard the breath leave the brunette's lungs, felt the shift as Emily's knees wavered, and this only tightened her grip on the pale skin, feeling the muscles taunt beneath her fingers. Taking a moment to nuzzle the valley between, she then turned her attention to the other breast, this time using her teeth—an action that brought a hiss from Emily.
The blonde released Emily's forearms, snaking her arms around her waist and trailing her fingers down the line of Emily's spine, pushing deeper into the muscle tissue, leaving invisible fingerprints underneath the skin (you left your mark, I'll leave mine).
Her hands were moving again, mapping and charting the newly-discovered lands of Emily Prentiss' body, memorizing the taunt lines and soft ridges, learning the history of the scars (the one on her breast, the one on her abdomen, oh that was left by Doyle, that was the scar that first took her from here, the scar that now compels her to leave again) and the language of the skin (a sigh when my tongue is here, a light flinch when pressure is applied there, this she likes, this she doesn't, this she likes very, very much).
Emily was still standing, but her legs were braced against the sofa, her hands planted on the back of the furniture for support as she leaned forward. Her muscles began to burn faintly at the stress of the awkward situation, but she didn't dare move. Erin's right hand came up, grabbing a fistful of hair at the base of her neck and pulling her down further, bringing her neck to Erin's teeth. The force of the movement strained the muscles in the back of her thighs, and Emily gave a slight whimper at the combination of pain in her neck and her legs, off-set by the wonderful trill of Erin's mouth against her pulse point.
Erin's hands were moving again, down to Emily's ass, nails biting into flesh as she pulled her forward, into her lap. Emily placed her knees on either side of Erin's hips, sinking onto her thighs. Erin gave a slight shiver when she felt Emily's wetness on her skin—yes, there were definitely things that were different about being with a woman, but it was an intoxicating difference, one that surprised Erin with how much she thrilled to it. Emily sat there, flushed skin and expectant eyes, simply waiting for her next move—it was Erin's turn now, and she would play by the rules. She really was good at following orders, Erin though amusedly (funny, that Emily Prentiss should choose now to be compliant and obedient, after six years of bullheaded belligerence).
With just enough weight to tease, Erin pressed her nails into the skin above Emily's knees, dragging them up to her hips, leaving fields of goosebumps in her wake. She pulled them back down, circling back to Emily's ass, pulling her further in, pulling her closer. Emily dipped lower, her nose almost touching Erin's, sharing her breath. The older woman took her compliant hands and placed them on her breasts, silently ordering Emily to return her caresses, which she dutifully obeyed.
Emily wanted to do so much more, to press against Erin's strong thigh, to roll into her and leave more marks on that delicious skin, but she'd had her turn and Erin was still learning, still searching—she was pretty sure that Erin had never been with another woman before, and she wanted to let the blonde fully experience it on her own terms.
Erin's fingers were now above her ass, pushing deep into the skin, massaging the area at the base of her spine, that bundle of nerves that snaked its way down to her loins. Emily felt herself contract in response, felt another rush of warmth and wetness as she bit her lip and smiled. Erin was a fast learner.
"Something amusing, Agent Prentiss?" Erin's voice was low, teasing. Her face was still close to Emily's, nose tip brushing against nose tip as she spoke.
Emily's grin widened, "I thought we were past last names and titles, ma'am."
"Not yet." There was a playfulness in the tone, but a hint of something darker danced at the edges. Emily shivered at the promise as Erin kissed her jaw, moving back up to her mouth and capturing it.
She pulled back, her light eyes (turning the color of a tempest again) focused intently on Emily's face as her right hand came back around, tentatively slipping over Emily's mound, dipping into those trembling folds.
Emily watched the expressions play across Erin's face like shadows on a wall as she slowly explored Emily's ridges and valleys (surprised at how familiar, how foreign they seemed), as she timidly pushed her fingers inside (just two, testing the slick walls, so cautious not to hurt her), as she searched for that spot on the anterior wall, her smile of satisfaction when she found it and Emily's muscles clenched around her fingers in response. She mimicked Emily's technique, dipping her thumb into the slick opening and pressing it against her clit. Emily let out another short moan, pressing her forehead against Erin's.
Erin's hand stopped moving, but her thumb remained firmly planted against the bundle of nerves to the point that it was almost painful. Her left hand, still at the base of Emily's spine, resumed its massaging motion, pushing harder into her flesh. Emily gasped and then held her breath, waiting for Erin to move again, to do something, anything.
She added a third finger, twisting them and pushing harder against Emily's g-spot, slightly rubbing her thumb back and forth across the swollen bud, but her fingers stilled again. There was pressure, but no friction, and Emily let out the breath that she'd been holding in a strangled groan of frustration. The left hand was still moving, the fingers still pressing her spine, but Emily still needed more.
"What's the matter, Agent Prentiss?" Erin purred, moving her mouth to the base of her neck, warming the skin with her breath before applying her tongue, swirling it on Emily's skin in the same circular pattern that Emily wished she'd apply elsewhere. Emily gave another whimper, and she felt Erin grin against her shoulder. Emily could feel every vein in her body pulsing, could feel the heat centered around Erin's fingers as it spread across her body like wildfire, building with each wave, with each deep stroke of Erin's hand into the flesh at her back.
Erin's cruel (so cruel, so electric and wonderful and cruel) fingers pressed harder, and she sat back, taking a moment to view her work so far. Emily's chest was quivering as she held her breath and silently prayed for some release, her lips pressed into a thin line, the blush seeping from her cheeks, down her long neck, across her chest in a lovely bloom. Her arms were back by her sides, fists clenched, knuckles white.
"Rather disappointing, isn't it?" She gave a smug smile. She slowly began to move her thumb again, but the fingers inside of Emily stayed maliciously still, "There could be so much more, and yet…."
Emily had tried not to move, to let Erin have control, but this was too much—she rolled forward, pushing against those cruel fingers, pulling back, rolling forward again with a little gasp of frustration.
Erin gave a low hum, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the dark-haired goddess falling to pieces on top of her. Emily Prentiss was practically writhing, begging, panting for her, her silver skin taking on a new sheen as her temperature rose with her frustration. She was getting her pound of flesh in a much more creative way than she'd first planned, but a good hunter learns to adapt to changes—especially when those changes are so much more rewarding. Emily was pushing down harder, trying to draw her further in, giving another whimper as Erin pulled away, taking her fingers further out of her tight canal.
Emily's hands were fluttering now, pulling at Erin's hair, dragging her closer, crying and clawing and panting and needing, needing, needing. Erin was utterly fascinated by this change in persona—ever since Emily had refused to snitch on Hotchner, she'd been cold, distant, rude (almost aggressively so) towards Erin, and so she'd become a flat character in the eyes of the section chief, all blank stares and uncooperative responses. But the creature in her lap was three-dimensional, warm and wet and quivering, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations, something more powerful and more vivid than the Emily Prentiss that Erin had known.
And this new being was becoming very impatient.
She gave a growl of frustration, pressing as much of her body against Erin's as possible, her voice harsh and ragged in Erin's ear, "Stop. Teasing."
"You made me wait, remember?" Erin replied silkily, although she did push her fingers further in, feeling her own rush of heat and moisture as she felt Emily tighten around her again.
"I wasn't this cruel," Emily retorted.
"No, you weren't," Erin seemed proud of this (it's a win, an admission of victory, a capitulation). With a grin, she began to move her hand, moving in rhythm with Emily's hips. She couldn't help but throw Emily's words back at her, "Of course, I don't want you to think that I was ungrateful."
"Ironic bitch," the brunette panted. This earned her another breathless laugh from her former boss. She gave a laugh, too, grateful for the glorious friction, for the steady movements inside of her that only intensified the shiver building in the caverns of her pelvis, rumbling through her hips and thighs like the first tremor before an earthquake.
Erin's left hand never stopped her deep probing into the small of Emily's back, and her right hand now kept time with it as Emily's hips fell into sync as well. The brunette leaned forward, trying to stay in contact with as much of Erin's skin as possible. Erin's mouth moved to her right shoulder, nipping and tasting as much flesh as she could as Emily rose and fell. Emily's hands were at Erin's breasts, squeezing, grinding, pushing out her frustration and need on that soft, reddened flesh. The blonde's teeth came down harder on the pale skin, eliciting a hiss.
Emily suddenly became very quiet, her hands stopped, her movement slowed as she began to ride out the first wave of her orgasm—all of her concentration went into the shift of her hips, milking each push, each roll, each stroke of Erin's fingers, each press of her thumb against the deliciously pounding bundle of nerves. Erin followed her lead, slowing her hands, pushing deeper, slower, keeping her mouth anchored to Emily's collarbone, letting her take what she needed at her own pace.
She felt the quivering, felt the sudden clench, the rush of wetness as Emily's head snapped up, arching her back as her mouth opened in a silent O. She drove harder, pushed her fingers as far apart as she could against the tightened walls, pressing into Emily's clit as hard as she could—this was the final act, the moment of her fangs on the tender pulsing jugular, the tiger's claws in the rabbit's flesh, the hunter's mercy in ending the prey's pain.
Emily never made a sound, her chest fluttering with an unvoiced cry, her hands pressing into Erin's upper arms (another mark, another token I'll leave under your skin) as her orgasm came to a crashing finale. She gave one last small gasp, pulling up before slowly sinking down again, leaning forward, forehead resting against the back of the sofa, mouth open and dragging deep, heavy breaths against Erin's shoulder.
Erin slowly withdrew her fingers, resting her right hand on Emily's thigh as she quietly traced the line of her spine with her left. For some reason, she felt as if Emily was drifting from her, drifting somewhere sad and cold, so she pressed the woman closer to her. She gave a soft hum, the vibration in her chest crossing into Emily's, grounding her, bringing her back.
Erin had gotten her pound of flesh, had been true to her nature, had fulfilled whatever instinct that pushed her this far, and that was justice, in her mind. But being just was not the same as being cruel—in fact, it was the opposite. Justice was supposed to be the fulfillment of what one needed, what one deserved. Emily needed something softer from her now, something gentle to guide her back on her way, a kind smile before the final separation. Erin could give her that.
Emily's head nestled in the crook of Erin's neck, her fingers tracing patterns on the freckled skin of her shoulder and breast. She didn't speak, so Erin didn't either. She simply waited, the soothing motions of her hands slowly bringing Emily Prentiss back down to this little corner of Earth as she slowly regained her skin (You took mine and I took yours but I can't keep it).
"Oh, what have you done? My body changes in your presence, like some electric charge unbound in static on the pavement. I've been wasted by tasmanian devils that tore right through me. I've been dead like a dried up desert of thorns that dig into me. When your body is next to mine, like it has been before,
our pheromones fight it out and no one is keeping score." ~Nico Vega, Lightning