Hello, all! I knew you wanted more, so I hurried myself and typed you more. This is also my longest chapter yet!

Yay!

~Sins~

I was surprised by his question, so I gave him my most honest answer. The look on his face asked the question on the tip of his tongue, but I refused to reply to the question he hadn't asked me.

He gave me a half smile and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. "You must be hungry, though. I'll bring you something to eat, okay?"

As I watched him leave, I had to wonder about him. He gave his all to that kiss, only to kiss my forehead like I was a child and offer to bring me food. What on earth is he thinking?

…?...

When I got to the top of the stairs, I closed the door behind me and slid down it, putting my head in my hands and taking a shaky breath.

I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat. I wanted; I craved. But I wasn't going to force him. I wasn't desperate enough to do that. Yet.

I could restrain my baser urges. I had for years. But I wasn't sure how much longer I would succeed with the object of my fantasies at my mercy. Temptation was already gnawing at my resolve, and patience had never been my strong suit.

I stood up again. That is the pose of a defeated man, I scolded myself. You aren't defeated: you're tempted. Crossing his kitchen, I went first to the fridge. Judging the time to be about 10:00 am, I grabbed eggs, milk, cheese, and bacon. Brunch was my best bet, and I prayed he like his scrambled eggs cheesy.

When I was done, I arranged the food artfully on a plate and set it on the counter. I picked up my pair of handcuffs and his and tucked them in my pocket, along with a pair of scissors. Then I grabbed the plate started downstairs again. I knew Gideon liked to cook. Something inside of me somewhere hoped he liked my cooking.

Hotch, I scolded myself, you won't get an honest answer, anyway. You kidnapped the man, for Heaven's sake! And now you're worried about how he likes his eggs?

I sighed and walked into the main basement room.

…?...

I watched my captor walk into the room with a plate of delicious-smelling food and two pairs of handcuffs hanging out of the pocket of his sinfully tight blue jeans. My mouth watered, and it wasn't all the smell of the food.

Wait. What? Am I getting turned on by the man that's holding me captive? My eyes fell on the handcuffs again. And what does he intend to do with those?

Hotch grabbed a tv tray he'd propped up by the door and brought it with him, setting it down a bit out of my reach and setting the plate of food on it. Then he kneeled in front of me and handcuffed me to the arms of the chair, first my right, then my left. Pulling a pair of scissors out of his pocket, he severed the duct tape and I found that my arms had a greater range of motion than before.

He chuckled. "Must I now always be nefarious in my intents?" He smiled at my widened eyes and kissed my forehead again before setting the plate in my lap, along with a plastic fork. "Dig in."

Then he left me to the food he prepared for me.

I discovered if I bent my head, I could eat and not pull too hard against the cuffs. The eggs he'd made were light, fluffy and cheesy, just the way I liked them, and he'd also made bacon to go with it.

I'd complement the cook, I thought, but he's holding me captive and he's no where to be seen.

That was about the time I heard the pipes start groaning at the water use.

Is he… showering? I wondered. An image of him naked under the spray of hot water invaded my mind, making me blush as other parts of my anatomy took notice of my overactive imagination.

My imagination took incentive I did not give it and furthered this almost fantasy.

Hotch stood under the pounding spray of the hot water and groaned when it hit that spot of his back that always tensed first. He washed his hair, half-humming a song and then sat down in the tub.

A mental image just wouldn't leave him: his captive, bound half-naked in a chair, taking deep breaths to steady himself after their shared kiss. Granted, he hadn't seen it happen, it was just a fantasy, but the image wedged itself in his mind.

Unable to remove the image, he gave in to his need to push himself over the edge, just so he wasn't on it the next time he went down there. He worked himself quickly, efficiently, and came with a soft moan, sweetly whispering his captive's name.

I shoved it out of my mind. Holy–! I almost heard him whisper my name! Some days, my imagination was too good.

Honestly. Did I really just fantasize about the man holding me captive getting off to a fantasy of me?

What is this doing to me?

Yay for Gideon's overactive imagination! lol. I love writing those!

Please please please read and review!