✓ | 𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗘 · ͟͟͞͞➳ spencer reid

CHAPTER 35 ━━━

# ! | CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- they start things off right

━━━ WHEN SPENCER WAKES UP
at around ten a.m, Meryl is already wide awake and reading a book, flipping pages with one hand while the other scratches his back lightly. His head is on her chest, as he's now kind of accustomed to it being. He never realized how much he loved waking up with someone until the opportunity was presented to him. But he knew they were moving quickly and he'd have to return to his own bed tonight.

"How long have you been up?" he asks, taking a fleeting glance at the book Meryl speeds through, finding it to be a particularly interesting one about male erogenous zones. She snaps it shut and places it on her nightstand. "Half an hour or so."

Spencer lays his hand on her stomach and traces the lines of her abs with one finger. "Any particular reason you chose that book?"

"You don't remember what you said last night?" Meryl laughs in surprise, muscles clenching under his Dionysian touch.

He takes a moment, contemplates, and then groans. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Meryl rolls her eyes. "No big. You have a thing for brat taming or something? You brought it up earlier, too."

Spencer shrugs. "I think I just have a thing for Meryl taming. Or maybe just you in general."

He slips two fingers into the waistband of her underwear but doesn't venture any further, just wanting to see the way her cheeks flush. "Cute," she gasps, "but I won't forget so easily that you said I probably like being spanked."

"Well, do you? I do remember you saying your face wasn't your favorite place to get slapped when we met Audrey." Spencer's smile is coy, he knows he's got her right where he wants her.

Meryl rolls on her stomach in order to put her book on the nightstand, leaving her ass uncovered by the sheets and in it's mouthwatering glory, clothed in Calvins. "I'm returning that book. Fuck you and your erogenous zo- ow," Meryl yelps as Spencer lands his hand on her rear with a resounding smack. The muscling is firm under his hand but it bounces under the impact.

Meryl shoots Spencer a look that makes his heart skip a beat and then suddenly she's straddling him and he's reaching for her hips but she catches his wrists first, holding them above his head with both hands. His pupils dilate and the women on top of him laughs.

"Knew it," she laughs to herself, hopping off the bed, Italian accent thick as she sashays off to the closest, "Fuckin' sub."

For a moment, he has a vision of Meryl, legs folded under her, wrists bound as he rams into her from behind. Most of the love he harbored was pure: he adored her laugh and her little tangents that didn't happen nearly as often as he liked. But he knew, as far as pleasure goes, sexual desire is never far from the forefront of the brain. And there was nothing wrong with that; physical attraction simply sits at the throne of carnal desires right next to that of romance and safety. Spencer realizes that his growing list of kinks and whatnot were the result of trauma and compensation, but that's how it happened for everyone.

Spencer didn't believe in guilty pleasures. There were criminal pleasures, sure, illegal and unethical wants that shouldn't be pursued. But things like eating cake or having sex with another consenting party, those were true pleasures.

Meryl's comment, however, reminds him of something. "December nineteenth, before we went to the club. You said something about fucking someone into submission," he takes a steadying breath, dreading this conversation. "Before, um, before me, was there someone else?"