Okay, I don't own anything to do with the perfection that is CM or any of its affiliations. I do, however, have the pleasure of owning my OC, Charlotte. Hope you enjoy the story - and have a great day!

Charlotte POV

His hands were everywhere, or at least they felt that way anyway. Softly clasping the skin of my wrists, his fingers trailing up the lengths of my arms and his touch softer than the kiss of a feather along my jaw and neck. My hair, my wrists, my forearms, my hips, and all I could do was try and not become swept away in the sensations.

It was all too much.

I couldn't breathe; it was perfectly imperfect, and it was giving me a sudden head rush. I wanted to reciprocate - to show him how badly I wanted this, but I just couldn't. My hands threaded through his silky hair, and a sigh exploded from my mouth, muffled by his own warmer, needier lips. His fingers weaved through my own, his thumb circling the fleshy part of my palm and he held me in place, and practically sucked the life out of me through my mouth.

"You're… I cant.. Why.. Warm," he was growling lowly in his chest, all of his words jumbling together in a mass of incomprehensible noises, and I felt him move from my mouth, to suck and nip at my neck.

He hummed, languidly, as if he were out of his mind, then commented, coolly, "You taste good."

He tugged me closer to his chest, so back was arching off of the door frame, and I scrambled to just hold myself closer to his body. His smooth fingers tightened on the supple curve of my hips, dangerously, and I thought, for a moment, that this would go a lot further than it was now.

I couldn't let that happen - I was at work. No matter the setting, I was supposed to be professional. Breathlessly, I murmured, "I need.. I need to go."

He grinned against my lips, his own doing wonderful things to my body, and whispered, "Go then. Tell me to let go, and I will."

We were silent for a moment, just looking at one another, everything else fading away, and the sound of my pulse being the only thing that I could hear. Pushing onto my tiptoes, I whispered against his lips, passionately, "I don't want to."

He smirked, and dipped down, capturing my lips with his own, then stated, ever so confidently, "I didn't think so."

It took us a few more minutes of getting to know one another before I eventually tore myself from his firm body, and said, "Seriously, we've got to go."

His fingers played with the nape of my neck, making heat echo through my body, and sighed, languorously, "Why don't we just stay here?"

There was a promise of something else in his voice. His eyes darkened with lust and I closed my own, before sucking my lip between my teeth, and took a moment to collect my bearings.

"Because," I trailed his lips with my index finger, and blinked up at him, my eyes filled with mirth and contentment, "I need to talk to Ryan and Jacob."

He scoffed. "You're on first name basis with your handlers?"

My brows puckered, fractionally, and I asked, tilting my head to the side, slightly, "Isn't that normal?"

He grinned, half-heartedly, and sighed, rubbing his hand at the nape of his neck, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he spoke, "You should go. They have most likely arrived by now, and they will come looking for you."

With a swift dip of my head, I pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, not quite able to help myself, and turned on my heel, but not before seeing the flush of his cheeks at my actions. Walking down the flight of stairs, I felt a lead weight press down on my chest, and it only became heavier with each step I took.

What would I say to them? How could I show them how much they hurt me?

Would they even care?

-0-

As soon as I pushed open the door, I heard a commanding voice echo through the lounge area state, "Agent Lewis!"

Glancing upwards, I saw Jacob - no, Agent Cade - and Ryan - no, Agent Ledger - standing with Hotch near the entrance, their boots covered with snow and their cheeks flushed from the change in temperature.

Waving, diminutively, I made a bee-line for the lounge chair, and sat down besides Morgan, who was running through the case files, once more. Making sure as to not glance over at my handlers, I asked the broad man besides me, quietly, "You find anything new, Derek?"

His eyes fell on me, and his mouth quirked upwards in a humorous smile. He asked, "You and Pretty Boy make up?"

Nodding, keeping my eyes on the papers below us, I felt him bump our shoulders together and said, "Your hair's a little messy.. You sure nothing else happened?"

Levelling him with a glare, I answered, a little too quickly, "No. Nothing. We talked. It's good."

"Sure. 'Talked'. Whatever," he teased, brightly, then he pulled a photograph from below all of the files.

He frowned, then, and declared, "You see this? This is from Neeve Franks house, the third victim. The blood splatter. It's.. Different, don't you think? Same with the other mother. It's.. Messier."

He wasn't lying. With the other three, it was a clean kill. Precise. Very meticulous. There was next to no blood splatter, and even if there were, it was in a very angular way, as it soaked their carpets in a descending fashion, meaning he slashed down their throat as he attacked them. He was taller than them - even though that wasn't anything groundbreaking as the tallest victim was only five-foot-six-inches.

The wounds were never deep enough to kill, but seriously maim. It was almost like.. Hesitation, but I couldn't understand why. But with Neeve Franks and Rachel Smith, the trend of the lacerations were vertical, their blood spraying upward, against the wall, instead of the floor.

"Interesting."

Morgan nudged my shoulder, softly, and asked, curiously, "You got a brief yet?"

Nodding, slightly, I chewed on my lower lip, and replied, cautiously, "Maybe.. I think I've got an idea about this guy."

He laughed, minutely, and scoffed, "Guy?"

Rolling my eyes, I said, pushing him in his shoulder, teasingly,"Yeah. Guy. Easy."

He smirked and quizzed, "Why'd you assume he's a guy?"

With a scoff, I said, flicking the picture in his hands, "Its clear that he is. The angle of the slash means that he's at least six foot three, and that's an uncommon height for a lady. And, well, I guess that's not certifiable, but the fact that the UnSub heaves them up with robe by hand, to hang them after they start bleeding out, means that he had a substantial amount of upper body strength."

He pursed his lips, and said, "Nice. I thought the hanging would catch you out, honestly."

"Why?"

He huffed, softly, and said, absentmindedly, his eyes focused on something behind my head, "There's no obvious overkill, except with the two mothers, which is common with male killers, nor is there any outward display of a masculine impression. The hanging usually implies an excess of premeditation, and the thoughts behind a murder are usually for ladies."

Shrugging, smarmily, I joked, "Well I guess I'm a little better than you gave me credit for."

He grinned, wolfishly, and said, "Yeah.. I guess you are."

I opened my mouth to comeback with something witty and sarcastic, however I heard Hotch call, "Briefing in twenty. Lewis. With me."

Derek bumped our shoulders together, once more, and said, offhandedly, "Go get him, baby girl."

With a smirk, I stood, smoothing out my jeans, evenly, I answered, "Oh I will, sugar."

No good at these 'briefing' things. I'm a first year psychology student in college - give me a lil' pass, sweet thangs. I hope ya'll had a great week - it was Halloween, so I hope you all got your candy-grabbin' hands on somethin' sweet!

*Very sorry, I've been watching a lot of season one-through-three of True Blood and I just.. Can't.. Stop..*

Either way, I'm back now. I took the week off bc I had a minor holiday from school!