Powerless

Chapter 8

There could be no more secret kisses, disappearing from the group under the guise of "going inside to get another drink". No more biting your lip while his hand sneaks up your thigh, protected by the bubbling of the hot tub. No more curled toes and muffled whimpers, begging on the verge of tears for him to just fuck you already. No more devilish grin creeping across his face as his fingers make you cum for the third time that evening, wrapping you in his arms and falling asleep after. No more sneaking back to his bed at 8 am on the off chance that someone barges in, a knowing grin on his face when you walk into the main house, requesting extra coffee. 

"What are you thinking?" he interrupts your thoughts, eyes focused on yours. You shrug and look down, shivers running down your spine as he places two fingers under your chin and gently forces you to look at him. "Come on, I'm a profiler. Don't lie to me." 

"It's really nothing," you lie. He picks up on your deception, the squinting of his eyes making that clear, but chooses not to push you further. You had already opened up to him days ago about the murders, so he doesn't want to pressure you. Yet another reason you want to say the words. 

"You know," he smiles, changing the subject. His hand cups your cheek and you bite your lip, waiting for him to lean in. When his lips meet yours in a soft kiss, his hand instinctively settles on your lower back, pulling you in closer. He moves to your neck, murmuring against the skin. "It's only 6 am, we have time" 

"Time for what, Spence?" you ask innocently, knowing the wide eyed act gets him every time. His hand grips your jaw, rolling toward you until you're flat underneath him. "Are you finally gonna fuck me?" 

"Not right now," he says gruffly, settling between your legs and moving his hand down to your throat. He squeezes ever so slightly, your eyelids fluttering in response as a sigh leaves your lips, your clothed core bucking up against him. "I know you want to feel my cock in you, sweet girl. And you will, because I can't wait much longer, either." 

"T-tonight?" you ask, already melting. He kneels next to you, hand still on your throat as he leans down to hover his lips over yours, letting a string of spit slowly drop into your open mouth. "Spencer, please. I need it tonight, I need to feel you inside of me. It's all I think about." 

"Okay," he nods, and your eyes widen in surprise, excitement rushing to your core. That excitement is cut short when he flops back over, head hitting the pillow and leaving his grown-out hair settling like a mop. "In that case, we should rest now. Because we won't be sleeping tonight." 

You open your mouth to protest, but the sound of the doorknob jangling causes Spencer to jump out of bed, head poking out of your doorway. 

"I'll go get it," he whispers, adjusting his sweatpants. "Just pretend to sleep. It's probably Morgan, he mentioned something about getting me to work out with him." 

"Tell him to fuck off," you giggle as he heads into the hallway. "I need you at peak performance tonight." 

Closing your eyes, you hear Spencer open the door, surprised to see Hotch and Emily at the other side. 

"Why'd you lock it?" she asks curiously, footsteps entering the cottage. What the hell, you think. It's early. 

"Can never be too careful with a murderer after us," Spencer shrugs. His eyes dart to Hotch, who's curiously eyeing the open door to Reid's bedroom, with his bed perfectly made. 

"You made your bed already?" the man asks, clearly already knowing the truth but still curious as to what bullshit answer Spencer would give. You listen intently, trying to stifle a laugh at the stammering of the genius. Hotch interrupts before he can answer. "You know what, we'll follow up on that later. We need to talk to Y/N."