She gets the approval. Of course she does. He thinks Easter's in love with her, too, not that Hotch can blame him. She has that effect on people. But the point is, she gets it, so her six hours becomes a couple of days.

And they spend most of it in bed.

Without clothes.

She is something he's never seen, and he doesn't think that it's just how much he utterly adores her. Even her scars are beautiful as he maps her body time and time again. He cannot get enough of her, not that he's surprised.

He wakes in the early hours of the afternoon (they've had a busy morning) to her skin pressed against hers and he pulls her tighter. She groans and curls into him. It's adorable and irresistible and he can't keep himself from pressing his mouth to the soft skin of her shoulders. Her muscles liquify and she tilts her head to give him more access to her neck. It's a thrill to find out that she cannot resist him either.

She hasn't shared his sentiment, hasn't told him that she loves him too, but he doesn't much care. In fact, it doesn't matter because she's here. She's with him, beneath him, around him and he cannot really care. He has the satin of her skin beneath his palms and he can feel the way she trembles against him as his hand trails down his back.

He does not care.

The hand that slides down her back grips an ass cheek, spreading her open while his other hand pulls her leg across his stomach. Her breath catches then, long before his fingers have trailed to her glorious centre. And she's already wet, like the anticipation is killing her or like she's been dreaming of it. His fingers play against her, dipping in and out, circling her clit until her hips are moving against him.

"God, you're insatiable," she moans into his neck.

"I am?" he growls, slipping a finger into her clutching heat. She flutters around him immediately, like she's just shattered around him. Her body clutches at him as he withdraws too and he groans into her ear as he adds another finger. "You're already soaking."

She moans, sliding across his body even has his fingers thrust into her. It pushes her higher and higher and she rocks down on his fingers. When she whimpers, gets that little wrinkle in her brow he adds a third and gets a whining keen for his efforts. It makes him chuckle and he's pretty sure that if she had the brain power, she'd be glaring. But she doesn't, she's so focused on the climax he can see building in her face.

It's surreal to watch, he thinks, watching this woman shatter above him. Her head goes back and her body shakes for a moment before she sags and he almost has to catch her as she collapses against her.

"God," she breathes, her fists clenching against his shoulders as she manages to get control of her body. She lifts up and catches his chuckle with her mouth, settling in for a long, luxurious kiss. "You're putting your best argument forward."

He hums, stroking his hands over her body. He can't help himself, even as she jolts and shudders from overstimulation. She lets his mouth slide down her neck, lets him dig his teeth into the soft skin of her throat. She's marked everywhere now from their days together and he feels the desperation rise up within him every time he sees them. He feels it now as he pulls away and sees the red mark against her throat. He groans hands on her hips so he can slide her hips over him, pushing up at the same time.

She gasps as he brushes against her just right. "Inside," she says. "Now, Aaron."

He shivers at his given name, so very different coming from her mouth in that desperate tone. It's been like this for days, the way they can't wait, the way they can't make each other wait. He slides within her with a groan and she echoes it with a sound that almost sends him careening over the edge. He can't get over the feel of her, how tight she is as she shifts on top of him.

"Emily," he all but begs, pushing against her hips. She lifts and falls with him, makes such a desperate noise when he thrusts back against her on the downstroke that he rewards her with short, sharp thrusts just to hear the noise. The thing is, it's also the perfect angle for her and soon that sound turns into little gasps. He slows down then, longer slower thrusts and she whines at him for it, her eyes fluttering open to glare down at him.

"God, you're cruel." But her head tilts back and he gets the most glorious view of her. He lets go of her hips, traces every mark he's left until he's cupped a breast in his hand. He rolls her nipple between his fingers, kneads her breast and slides his fingers along it's sensitive underside. Her breath speeds up again, has his own breath speeding up with her and this time he doesn't stop her from sailing over the edge.

As she comes down, he rolls her over, slides his hands beneath her shoulders for leverage as he thrusts into her. She still clutches around him, still flutters, and it's enough to have him following her with a groan.

Her fingers are stroking along his back when he comes back to himself and he presses a gentle kiss to the skin beneath her ear as he withdraws. "I love you."

He says it every time, when they've calmed and settled and he doesn't hold it against her when she doesn't say it back. Instead, he's been merely cuddling her closer, hoping that his mere touch will help convince her that he's telling the truth. Not that he necessarily thinks she doesn't trust him, but he's not sure she believes him, that she thinks it's real.

This time though, she clings to him, wraps herself around him and buries her face in his neck the same way she had in his office just days ago. He shushes her out of reflex, crooning in her ear even though she's not crying. But this obvious overwhelming feeling she's experiencing now doesn't make sense to him.

"You really do," she whispers after a moment, and he actually has to get her to repeat herself.

"Of course I do," he murmurs back. "How could I not?"

Her breath shakes and she keeps hanging on, her nails digging into his skin. He has no intention of letting her go, no intention of releasing her. He'll keep her as long as she'll let him.

"I don't know what to do," she admits, finally relaxing her arms so he can actually get his eyes on her face. She looks so broken, so torn but there's another emotion there, something lurking, something beautiful. He strokes her hair back with one hand, letting his fingers slide gently along the edge of her ear.

"God, Aaron. I love you. I do. I have for a long time and there were just… There's always been so much in the way. And now there's thousands of miles between us and two really big jobs and Jack…"

"It doesn't matter," he tells her impulsively. He doesn't want it to, even though it definitely does.

"I wish it didn't," she tells him. "Neither of us can give up what we love."

"So lets do this."

Her head drops back. "We can't."

"No," he says. "This."

She gasps as he slides along her, just to make her feel it. The whimper is unexpected, even surprising and he grunts, doing it again because he can. She swears and arches and he watches her as she rubs herself against him. Eventually, because Jesus, the woman's enthralling, he slides his hand between them and works her over her third peak of this particular round.

"That," he breathes when her eyes flutter open, aware he sounds just utterly wrecked. And this time, it has nothing to do with a spectacular orgasm. "Just… This."

"That's not fair," she says, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Aaron that's so not fair to either of us."

"I don't care," he tells her, capturing her mouth. "I don't care, Emily. I just want you."

He knows the second he has her, sees the shift in her face, feels the way her body turns to liquid beneath him.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Her face breaks into a smile, this wonderful shining thing that makes his heart hurt in all sorts of good ways.

She nods. "Okay."