Please note this story has been changed to a mature rating for sexual content. 18+ only. This chapter can be skipped if you are uncomfortable with that. Also, the story starts getting a little dark after this as well, so viewer discretion is advised.

bold

adjective

(of a person, action, or idea) showing an ability to take risks; confident and courageous.


The door clicked behind them and Max felt her back press against the wall, pushed by the weight of Spencer's body, and the force of his mouth. But even with her heels, their height difference made things difficult.

He was very tall, after all.

Still, he leaned into her, with his hands on either side of her face.

The desire and need that he was pushing in to her might have made her think he would push her into the wall itself if she didn't know better, and maybe Max wasn't cut out for slow burns because she never had been a very patient person, especially when she was a little tipsy.

She recognized they both were, and that was probably the reason she was able to cease some of her over thinking.

She their shared state might be helping Spencer too.

Why had she delayed the inevitable for so long and kept her impulses so close to the cuff.

They were dangerous, that's why. But she'd worry about that later.

She pushed him off of her and made for his belt, Spencer's jaw slackened a bit and he balanced his hands on the wall behind her. When she'd undone it, he pushed himself against her again, but she twisted, turning to face the wall and lift her hands to the zipper of her dress.

He put a hand on top of hers and she felt the rapid beating of his heart against her chest, along his hot breath beside her face.

"Did you wear this for me?" He asked, almost panting. His voice sounded lower, less sugary sweet than it always was.

She looked over her shoulder at him and responded, "technically."

"Keep it on," he said firmly, and she lowered her hands.

She felt his long fingers bunching up the fabric at her thigh.

The alcohol made him… bold, she thought.

Max let out a harsh breath and let her head fall back to his shoulder, his mouth dragged around the crook of her neck.

She let his fingers make contact with the skin of her thigh, then up up to her bare hip.

He let out a chuckle at what he found there, or didn't, rather.

"So you planned this," he said, referring to her lack of underwear.

"I left options open," she said, and she trembled as she felt his fingers crawl to her front and slide down.

When they met their mark at the apex of her core she let out a hiss. As he stroked her, she could feel him maneuvering himself the rest of the way out of his pants.

Max raised her hands to the wall to balance herself.

Then one of his fingers entered her.

Cheeky banter left, she had no words, only soft hums in response to his movements.

She arched her back, and she could feel his erection pressing into the small of her back.

She let out an annoyed whimper, she needed more.

Max looked over her shoulder at him again darkly, as if her eyes could will him to take things further.

His tongue danced around his teeth in anticipation and she felt him separate her legs with his knee.

Their eyes locked to each other when his body connected with hers, just a little at first, before he pulled himself out and entered her again.

The sensation made her gasp, and her face lulled forward back to face the wall, and she wondered if her nails would leave marks in the paint.

After a few huffs and groans he had worked up a pace within her. Each push insighted a whine from the woman.

He continued to work his fingers around her sensitive nub as he fucked her, and Max made sure to be responsive to his good work. She deserved this. She couldn't always punish herself, after all. And the irony wasn't lost on her, being fucked from behind by a federal agent.

It was fitting actually.

She rested her cheek on the wall and her gaping mouth resulted in her lips being pulled by the wall with each jerk.

The rest was hard and fast, and when she heard him make a low noise, and she knew he was close because his movements began to get sloppy.

She could feel the drag of his lips behind her ear as he breathed out in a ragged voice "Max…"

He groaned, "where do you want it?"

She felt light, her head swam and she couldn't speak.

"God, don't stop," she forced out, finally.

"Fuck," he said, and hearing him curse like that make her loose control. The tight coil under her navel exploded, and she made a sobbing sound as she felt Spencer's own release fill her.

His movements slowed as he milked himself inside her, pushing the hair that had fallen over her face back so his mouth could brush against her cheek.

"God you're pretty," he said, blowing bourbon breath in her face, and she thought it smelled wonderful coming from him.

Spencer pulled out of her and rested his hands on the wall above her, his chest heaving as he tried to gain control of his breath.

Max turned to face him, and noted how the muscles of his jaw jumped as he forced his breath to regulate through his nose. They stared at each other for some time, and she watching as his eyes dart around her as if he were memorizing each of her features.

He took another sharp pull of breath through his nose, and said, without breaking eye contact, "Do you want me to leave?"

She ran her lip through her teeth, his eyes followed the motion, she then shook her head just barely before saying, "not yet."

Max hadn't noticed before just how dark his eyes had gotten, and how they darkened even more at her words.

Suddenly, Max pushed herself off the door and kicked off her shoes as she walked, and she knew he followed by the sound of the footsteps coming after her.

Her whole body felt like it was on fire as she led him to her bedroom.

When she made it just passed the door frame she turned around to face him again.

He towered over her even more without her heels, and Spencer's typical jovial demeanor was long gone. His his eyes looked practically black.

She wondered if she looked similarly feral.

Max poked her lips out in thought and began concerning herself with his shirt, unbuttoning it.

"I have to say Dr. Reid, I never imaged you so… unreserved," Max said, and her eyes raised back to him from her work on his buttons.

Something else had taken over her. Maybe it was lust, desire, affection.

Or maybe it was something darker.

She could see it in him too.

"Are you calling me up tight," he asked, and she relished in the way his tongue flicked across his lips.

"Maybe," she said, releasing another button.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he said.

Another button.

"Then tell me something," Max said as she looked up him, "How many times have you imagined this?"

Two more buttons.

She meant it as a rhetorical question, a means to throw him off, take back the upper hand after he had her completely undid moments before, but instead he answered.

"137 times," He said, unblinking... Like he was answering the simplest math equation on earth.

Her movements stopped for a moment, and her lips parted or just a beat, and then she blinked the expression away, continuing her ticking away at his shirt buttons.

"How'd it happen in your head, the first time?" She asked, recovering from her shock.

Again he answered factually, the memory pulled as if he had memorized it for a test—

"I took you against my book shelves."

She tilted her head and then said, "Kinda like just now, but a wall?"

8 buttons down.

He nodded his head, and pulled his bottom lip through his teeth.

"Kind of" he said.

"And how did it compare to the real thing?"

In a swift movement he had leaned forward and put his lips to her ear. He whispered his response, not because of a need to not be heard, but for effect.

"You're louder than I imagined, but I'm guessing the champagne has you less subdued."

She moved her head to face his cheek, "are you calling me uptight?"

"Maybe, he says, straightening himself up again and attempting to conceal a smug smile.

She let out an amused scoff and undid the remaining two buttons, resting her hands on his hips.

"And the other 136 times? What else did you imagine?"

"Everything," he says in a low whisper that almost sounded like a growl.

"Hmm," she said, lowing her hands. He must have tucked himself back into his pants as he followed her here, but they remained unfastened.

She maintained his gaze as she pulled his pants down, taking his boxers with them. In the same motion she began to lower herself down to her knees. Max could tell Spencer was biting at the side of his cheek, and her own mouth parted in anticipation.

"Max," his voice almost sounded self conscious, as if needed to remind her, or himself that he was usually quite modest. However his tone didn't match the stance he then took, as he reached his arms to the top of the door frame and braced himself.

She narrowed her brows at him and said with a smirk, 'it's a little late to be polite."

She palmed him once, the touch of her hand caused him to breathe out a shuddered, "Fu—-" but he didn't take his eyes off of her, even when they threatened to close as she moved her hand down his length.

Max dipped her head and took the the tip of him in her mouth, and his fell open with a groan as her tongue began to swirl.

She took him in deeper, sucking and pulling with her mouth until he dropped one of his hands from the door frame and gripped at her hair tightly.

After a few more moments, she suddenly released him, and her mouth made a loud popping noise as she leaned back on her heels.

Max gave him a wink and he let out an amused scoff as he let the hand that was in her hair fall to her bottom lip to wipe off the spittle.

She lifted herself up, and the motion caused his fingers to fall lower, grazing her throat.

Her pulse quickened at the touch, and breath involuntarily escaped from her mouth.

Spencer's eye twitched only slightly, and she saw something click behind his eyes as the corners of his mouth lifted. By the time she was completely back on her feet, he was pushing her back against the nearest wall, and in the same motion curling his fingers around her throat, pressing his fingers into her gently... testing.

"You like that," He stated.

It wasn't a question, and he kicked off his shoes and pants that had been left at his ankles.

"I thought you said you weren't going to profile me," Max said, closing her eyes and he squeezed just a little bit harder.

"Old habits," he said, and he put his forehead against hers.

His breath was so ragged. It blew in her face in gusts. He still smelled of bourbon, and she breathed it in like oxygen.

"Take it off," he said, "the dress," his thumb slid around her neck and he stopped it at her pulse point, licking his lips.

She arched herself a bit and reached for the zipper in the back.

His eyes bore into hers and they both herd it travel down.

Zzzip.

She knew he felt the gulp she made against his fingers.

He used his free hand to roll the straps of her dress off of her shoulders, and without any other support it slipped down, and both of their eyes followed as it piled around their feet, leaving her completely bare before him.

He winced playfully, as his eyes moved back up from the emerald pool, up her body, and back to her eyes.

When he slid his hand from her throat, another noise escaped her. He pressed one hand to her hip and the other to her exposed breast as he lowered his his mouth to the places his fingers had been.

She could feel her pulse beating on his tongue.

"You should hurry," Max said tauntingly, and when he didn't respond she continued, "I can feel my buzz wearing off, I'm likely to become uptight again."

"Hmm," he hummed against her.

He then picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him.

Then together, they fell into her bed.


✈️

"Fortune favors the bold." -Virgil