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A/n once again, thanks to all who support this story. Please enjoy the next chapter.

He couldn't get her face right. It was as though his charcoal pencil was fighting with his desires, reminding him of how she'd hurt him. Yes, why are you sketching her? She left you in the middle of the night like you were some paid gigolo

He turned his pad of white drawing paper around to lie horizontal on the drawing slope he'd bought years ago. It looked better from this angle, but it still wasn't right.

His eyes burned from lack of sleep and his head ached fiercely, but he couldn't stop thinking about the night before last, and everything she'd said and done to him. It was like some wonderful dream or fantasy.

Fantasies don't get up and leave in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Face it; you were used, so stop trying to rationalize it.

He raised the pencil again, and began to shade in her eyes at the corners. She smiled at him in the drawing and he almost smiled back at her. He added a little more definition to her shoulders and to her fingers.

Just rip it up and throw it away. You don't need her and she's made it clear she doesn't need you.

He made her hair darker and drew it longer than it was in real life so that it hung down to the tops of her breasts. One finger reach out to touch one of the nipples he'd drawn, and he remembered what it felt like in his hands, turgid and warm.

Stop it!

It was impossible to stop working on the only nude he'd ever attempted to draw. The subject matter was too tempting. He hesitated then let his finger drift down to shade in the dark at the apex of her thighs. She lay on her side in the picture, her legs bent at the knees and her head on one of her hands. The other arm curled over her hip so that her hand was tantalizingly close to his fingers.

Remember how wet she was, wet and hot at the same time.

His hand shook so hard he dropped the pencil. It rolled down the table and off the side, hitting the floor with thwack that didn't penetrate his brain.

After the first time, she'd held him tight in her arms as though he might be the one that would get up and leave. There were tears on her cheeks, but he couldn't think of a way to ask why. He just put his head on her shoulder and drank in the light, musky scent of her skin. He listened as their heartbeats slowed down and synchronized. For the first time he was in perfect harmony with someone or so, he'd thought at the time.

"Spencer."

"Hm…"

"Are you sure your knee is okay?"

He raised his head to see her eyes. She was studying him the same way she had after the debacle at Cyrus's compound three years ago.

"I'm so much better than fine, Emily."

He wanted to say he loved her, but he couldn't make the words leave his mouth. What if she didn't love him in return? It was too much to contemplate.

Instead, he decided to say, "I feel like I could fly."

Emily traced a finger down his back and he shivered. "I feel human again," she admitted. "Thank you."

He kissed her jaw, and slid his fingers through her hair. "I didn't do anything special"

She laughed and rolled him over on his back. She ranged over him, her lean body straddling him like a rider with their mount. "You're just you and that's enough for me."

He pouted a little when she left the bed and went to the bathroom. "I'll be right back," she said over a laugh.

By the time Emily returned, his eyes were closed and he drifted along in that place between waking and sleep. It was like floating along on air, so calm and peaceful, that he ignored her when she slid into bed next to him.

"Hey beautiful."

Beautiful? That jolted him out of his doze. He opened one eye to see her lying on her side, one hand propping up her chin and the other lying on her hip.

"What do you mean by that?"

She smirked at him and reached out to brush strands of his long hair out of his eyes. "I should think it's obvious. You're beautiful."

"I'm not beautiful and anyway, that's what you say to a girl. I'm not a girl."

She traced his chin, up to his left cheekbone and across his forehead down to his right ear. "No, you're not a girl, but nevertheless, you are beautiful."

He turned onto his right side and cradled his head on his hands. "I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything. Just know it's true."

She moved to lay closer to him. "Are you very tired?"

"Why?"

"Because," she kissed him, lightly on one corner of his mouth. "I need you, baby."

He nodded, and stayed on his back as she straddled him again. All thoughts of sleep, or blood and horror retreated as she slid down his body and took him into her mouth.

Oh, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before as a different heat and wet sent his mind spinning off into infinity. His hands clenched the sheets, kneading it, pulling it till the material nearly ripped. Someone was keening and moaning like a zealot in the midst of religious ecstasy. He supposed it was he.

Her hands slowly massaged up and down his thighs. They elicited shivers of pleasure along his legs and up his spine to the top of his head. His head rolled from side to side on the pillow. His legs pistoned and his toes curled. He couldn't control his body's reactions and he didn't want to control them because, for once in his life, all there was was the pleasure of Emily suckling him.

Then, it all changed because her mouth was gone. His eyes popped open and he whimpered in irritation. "Emily."

She giggled and slid back up his body. "Patience, Spencer."

"I don't want to be patient," he gasped. 'You're killing me."

"Oh I don't think so."

She reached down and stroked his hard, erect length with aching slowness. "I think you're very much alive."

"Please."

She engulfed him and his back bowed. "Oh yes…"

"Good things come to those who wait," Emily said.

"I want to cum," he gasped. "Now!"

She rode him, her long body bending back like the arch of a bow. She clenched around him like a satin covered iron fist and fell forward, gasping and shuddering. He jerked, arched and gasped out her name as wave after wave of pleasure swamped everything he was, and severed his hold on reality.

Later, as the travel clock on the night table reached midnight, Reid shut his eyes and tightened his arms around Emily. He listened to her breathing in the black dark of the room where the only other sound was the hiss of the heater. He breathed in the clean scent of her hair and his eyes were about to close when he heard something strange near his head.

Emily shifted and turned over. He kissed her head and shut his eyes again. The noise started again and he realized that it was coming from the wall. It gradually increased a thumping noise that reminded him of the neighbors he used to have at his apartment. His face got hot as he realized what was happening.

Emily started laughing as voices rose over the thumping of the headboard banging on the wall.

"Don't laugh," Reid squeaked, and then he laughed.

"If I wasn't so tired, I'd say we could take them," Emily boasted.

"We couldn't do that," Reid disagreed in horror.

"You shouldn't have said that. Now, I'm not too tired to take a challenge like that."

The sound of his cell phone jerked Reid out of the memories of his only night with Emily. He was achingly hard, and had no time to deal with it because the number on the phone was Morgan.

"Morgan," he squeaked into the phone.

"You okay kid."

"Yeah… I banged my bad knee. Um I really need to take some medicine. Are we called in?"

"No, I just wanted to talk to you. You seemed like you were upset on the plane last night."

"I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright, you'll call me if you need anything."

"I promise."

"I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah, um thanks for calling."

"Anytime kid."

Reid dropped the cell phone one the table when Morgan finally let him go. Talking to his friend hadn't helped the arousal brought on by his drawing and his daydreaming. In fact, perversely, Morgan's call and the embarrassment it engendered, had made his hard on worse. He grabbed his cane and hurried off to the bathroom.

When he returned to the living room, he went directly to the drawing he'd made and picked it up. It was a ridiculous self-indulgence, an obvious result of his ruffled state of mind. He tore it down the middle and found that the sound of the ripping paper made him wince, but he didn't stop until it was only a drift of paper on the floor.

His phone rang again startling him into slipping on the paper. He nearly fell, but this time his cane stopped most of his forward momentum. He grabbed for the phone, ready to give Morgan a piece of his mind, when he realized the number on the display was Emily.

He dropped the phone again, and hurried away to his bedroom. If he put the door between him and the sound of the phone, he wouldn't be tempted to answer. Maybe she'd just get the hint and they could go back to being friends.

He shut the door to his room and limped over to his bed. He couldn't hear his phone, but he knew he couldn't hide. He'd have to face her eventually.

I don't want to talk to her.

You were drawing naked pictures of her a few minutes ago. You want to do more than talk to her.

He clamped his hands over his ears and went to the small desk under the window at the north end of his room. He pulled out some stationary and a pen from the top drawer and tried to begin a letter to his mom. He started to tell her about the last two days, but stopped when he started to write about Emily. He couldn't tell his mother about what happened, it was humiliating and she wouldn't understand. He didn't even understand it.

He slammed down the pen and went back out to the kitchen. His cell phone lay on the table near his drawing pad like an accusation. He picked it up and stared at it. There was a message. He put it down again. He wouldn't listen to it. He'd ignore it and when Monday came around again, he'd go to the office and act as he always had with Emily. If she tried to bring up what happened, he'd make it clear it was in the past. Yeah… that was the best thing to do.