Stubborn Games (Aaron Hotchner x Reader)

three: risk of the game

He's still barely inches away, hands hovering at his side as his gaze towers over you. He's relentless in his stare, something brazenly wicked forming in the depths of his iris. However exposed you felt in your bra didn't amount to how naked your entire brain felt under his sturdy profiling.

"And if this doesn't work? If someone finds out?" you ask tentatively, unsure if you want to hear his answer as the heat of his body grows warmer against you. You already know the answer to your question, but the words that slip out of your mouth are enough to remind you what exactly you're indulging yourself in, what exactly you're risking.

"If you can deceive my team into thinking you're only here to help the Bureau and not just here to save your career, then I'm confident you can keep this a secret also."

His words are bitter and coarse, delving into the air like sharp cuts.

"God, you're insufferable. I can't stand being in the same room as you, you know that?" you seethe, feeling the venom coat your words roughly. You hope your words are enough to push him to anger, to see his emotions creep out behind that stoic look of his, but he knows exactly what you're trying at.

In fact, he enjoys it, you being difficult. You being a brat.

Strike three.

A sly, malicious smile grows on him, tugging the right side of his lip upwards as the glint of his grin shines unexpectedly, however fittingly. "If you can't stand being in the same room as me then get on your knees like the whore you are."

He slides out a chair from under a table, the scraping sound against the wood floor jarring against your ear, and sits on it. He leans back, soaking in every inch of you although he remains unsatisfied. He's been living off of just visual pleasure, and you can tell he's begging to be pressed up against you. Skin against skin. Mouth against mouth. Breath against breath.

You slowly drop to your knees in front of him, temptation sweeping you off your feet. In the moment, you know what you're doing isn't rational, but there's something awfully alluring in his stare that you can't help but drown in.

You bend forward, angling yourself so his eyes quickly diverge to your bra again. With just his gaze, he's holding enough control over you like a puppet. You've surrendered yourself to him, and although he's centered himself in control, you know he's surrendered himself to you too.

It was a mutual agreement. It was the idea of secrecy, that you both were playing a dangerous game of caution and adrenaline to the points your careers were on line. Your deck of cards were loaded, but neither of you were going to fold. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high. You depended on each other, more than just physically. You depended on each other the same way competitors depended on each other for the sake of the game.

Without each other, there was no game. No play. You needed to trust each other, and you found trust in the way his shoulders loosed up against the chair the moment your fingers softly settled at his knees.

"Look how good of a listener you can be when you're needy," he points out, as you look back up through your lashes at his towering position on the chair as you kneel at his feet. Submission takes over, his dominance overpowering you just from the way he sits so proudly, so confidently.

He unbuckles his belt, wrapping the leather around his hands carefully until they're taught between his fingers. There's something strategic and deliberate in his movements, like he knows just how high the stakes are too.

You unzip his pants as his hands, letting go of the belt, skillfully wrap around the back of your head until his grip tightens to the point of pleasurable plain. He's not willing to let go of the power he has, but he also can't resist your touch. He's as needy as you, even if he can't bring himself to admit it.