Acting on impulse, you show up at your boss, Aaron Hotchner's, doorstep in the middle of the night. The resulting night of passion kickstarts a timeline of events you never could've imagined. Crazy how one night could cause so much pain and pleasure.
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You adjust the collar of your sweater, pulling it further up your neck to hide the fading bruises from the past few days with Hotch. The team had finally gotten a break from an intense recent caseload, and you and Hotch took that as the best opportunity to spend the whole weekend in bed. God, your body is paying the price. Every single joint and muscle aches from physical exertion. Your wrists are embarrassingly calloused and your neck and chest are littered with bruises.
You reach for your phone, the text chimes coming in rapid succession. You glance at the text messages hiding a small smile and cursing the flush that rushes across your face.
Hotch: I can't focus today. Just thinking about taking you over my lap.
Hotch: I want to take you on my desk like the little slut you are.
Your eyes dart around the bullpen hoping that none of your coworkers realize the absolute filth that you're reading on your phone. Spencer keeps his eyes trained on the crossword puzzle in his hands. Prentiss bites her thumbnail slightly as she writes out a report.
You: You'd love the lacy thong I'm wearing right now
You smirk to yourself slightly and hear Reid curse under his breath. "I was going to break my personal record with this crossword." He shakes his head.
You let out a small laugh and look back as your phone chimes again.
Hotch: Don't be a fucking tease
You: You know if I sit just right I'm sure Morgan would get a full view under my skirt
You glance up at Hotch's office. You watch him reach for his phone before immediately turning his attention out the window at you and the team. His eyes pierce yours and despite the fact that he's in his office, you can see his jaw clench tightly. Your phone chimes again.
Hotch: Don't you dare, brat.
You can hear him saying this to you and it sends shivers down your spine. You struggle to hide your blush and turn in your chair so your back is to Hotch's office, making him unable to see you. You look around the bullpen again and this time notice that Morgan has his eyes trained on you, his brows furrowed.
"What?" You snort at him and put your cell down, attempting to turn your focus back to your work.
"We've only been here an hour," He looks at his watch, "and you've sent and received six texts." Morgan swivels back and forth in his chair.
"And?" You open your laptop, pretending to check your email. Your mind, however, is still stuck on those text messages from Hotch. Your heart is racing, face flushed, arousal growing between your thighs.
"You hate texting, Y/L/N," Morgan points at you with a pencil in his hand.
"I don't hate texting," You roll your eyes, pushing your hair out of your face.
