Amia 💕

“I’ve always found roses very subtle.” Rossi mused, shrugging his shoulders as he watched you from across the table.

Everyone had just settled into their seats and Hotch seemed occupied by a message on his phone so you felt you had time to explain.

“Naturally, roses are subtly scented, yes.” You agreed, then tugged at your hair and scowled. “But the artificial rose fragrance in this shampoo and conditioner is the exact opposite!”

“If you hate rose so much, why are you wearing it?” Spencer asked, his brows drawn, mouth pinched, and nose snarled in that way of his that said he thought you’d made a very dumb decision.

“I wasn't home.” You grumbled, avoiding eye contact—with Morgan especially—and hoping they’d drop the subject.

“Oooo somebody was with Jeff last night…” Morgan crooned, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to put warmth into them in that annoying way of his. “How’d it go?? Pretty good I’m guessing since you never made it home…”

You groaned, dropped you head to the table, pounding it thrice, before sitting back up and slumping in your chair.

“Would I be awful if I just never spoke to him again?” You asked the room at large.

“No.” Hotch muttered without ever glancing up from his phone, drawing side eyes from everyone else, but you appreciated the validation. It was unlike him to pitch in on matters of the heart, but his single syllable answer was very much in character.

“Wait, I thought you’ve been seeing this guy for a month now?” Prentiss queried, “Don’t you like him?”

“I did.” You confirmed, short and succinct.

“But???” Garcia prompted, not at all happy with that answer on its own.

“But, Jed,” you emphasized his name to tease Morgan, “is a lot. He’s loud, and he’s boisterous, and he talks so much that he doesn’t ever listen…”

“Oh…” the response was collectively female, while the men—sans Hotch—seemed a little confused.

“He means well, he does, and I do appreciate the effort he puts in, but after a month he hasn’t learned a thing about me at all.” You sighed, dropping your shoulders even farther and looking up at the ceiling. “Last night, he planned this huge date, all by himself and I was excited because what guy does that? Ya know? They don’t usually take that initiative. So we go out, and the restaurant he chose is nice… but its Thai , and I don’t particularly enjoy Thai cuisine. I’m sure it’s lovely to some, but I just don’t have the pallet for it. Which I told him, on our first date, when he suggested that same restaurant.”

“He just ignored that?” Rossi asked, immediately joining the girls in their disgust because good food was important to Rossi.

“Yep.” You sighed, then told them what else he’d done. “Then he ordered this bottle of Sauvignon Blanc…”

“And you don’t like white wines…” Emily grimaced, a fellow red girlie herself.

“I don’t.” You agreed. “But I choked it down with a smile and said thank you because it was $300.”

“Honey you've gotta speak up about these things…” JJ murmured, patting your shoulder.

“I have Jayj.” You whined, dropping your head to the table again. “I'm telling you, he doesn’t listen. He hears that I’m speaking but he doesn’t absorb the information. For example, I’ve told him at least seven times that my favorite color is purple. Last night he showed up with a set of jewelry. Pink cubic zirconia. They were pretty and it’s not about the price, I couldn’t care less about the money! But he said, ‘I saw these and I thought of you, I know how much you love pink,’ and I realized he’d thought of me, but not about me. I could care less for pink, it’s not even in my top twenty.”

“So how did you wind up smelling like roses?” Derek asked, a little more serious now, like he was sad for you.

“Oh God…” You chuckled, blushing a little. “We went back to his apartment… and he had the bedroom all decorated. Which was sweet, but again there was white wine, and on the bed he’d left a bouquet of pink long stemmed roses. At first I was just glad they weren’t red roses because that would’ve sent me over the edge, there’s not an ounce of effort in long stemmed roses in general… but red roses? They’re not personal! They are generic, I hate being given roses because that's not about me, that's about a man's ego. I prefer wildflower bouquets they’re colorful and they make me smile! I love ranunculus, larkspur, sweet pea, chamomile, daisies, baby’s breath, and even fucking wild roses because they are bright and have character! They don’t look like long stem roses at all! Which I’d told him, just last week.”

“Oh dude, come on!” Derek exclaimed, shaking his head. “He can’t even remember something you told him a week ago?”

“See…” You threw your hands out to the side, glad he was understanding now. “I felt bad though, because he’d spent a lot of money… and then…” you paused, your face flushing as you bit your bottom lip, “I stayed… and I needed a shower before bed and I didn’t have anything to clean up with… not even to get my make up off. So Jed offered to run down to the corner store… Every single thing he came back with was rose scented and you know what the smell of artificial rose does to me. I told him too, when I told him that I didn’t like roses, but I guess he didn’t remember that either. I smiled, said thank you, and then I cried in the shower.”

“Aw sugar…” Garcia cooed, reaching across the table to take your hand.

“I’m confused.” Spencer mumbled, drawing everyone’s—except Hotch’s—attention. “You’re upset with Jed because the date didn’t go well and he didn’t get anything right?”

“No— Well, sorta— but it’s more than that it’s—”

“She’s upset because she’s been dating this man for a month, telling him little things about herself everyday, remembering things about him, and yet she discovered that he doesn’t know a single basic thing about her.” Hotch explained to Reid without looking up, shocking everyone into silence. You hadn’t thought he was listening. “It’s not about the flowers themselves, it’s about how little thought he put into buying them. He didn’t care what kind of flowers she liked, it was just about the show of giving them to her. It’s not about the fact that she didn’t like the jewelry—she did—it’s about him saying her favorite color is pink when she’s repeatedly told him it’s purple. Anyone would be upset if they told someone that a certain smell made them anxious or sick to their stomach, and then that person expected them to bathe in that very scent. She’s not upset because of the date, it’s because on the date he made her feel invisible and unvalued.”

Suddenly, you were seeing Aaron Hotchner through very different eyes.

“Exactly…” You whispered, feeling completely perplexed, and yet… seen.

You broke up with Jed that night, he handled it well, but he didn’t understand why. Even though you tried your best to explain. It frustrated you so much that you took a break from dating entirely.

Three months later, on your birthday, you walked into the bullpen to find a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your desk with a card that said, “Happy Birthday,” there was no signature from the sender.

Your smile could have been seen from the ISS in orbit, it was so bright and so big. Picking up the vase of ranunculus, larkspur, sweet pea, chamomile, daisies, baby’s breath, and wild roses; you turned to the rest of the team and demanded their attention.

“Okay you guys, who remembered?!” You nearly squealed, bouncing on your toes with pure joy, but no one claimed the credit. “Oh, come on guys! Fess up, this is the sweetest thing and I need to hug somebody!”

“I’ll always give you a hug, but it wasn’t me!” Garcia came toward you with her arms outstretched, and you accepted the hug but scanned the others over her shoulder.

“Em, Jayj?” You asked, and they both shook their heads. “Boys?”

Rossi, Reid and Morgan shook theirs at well… and that only left…

Hotch.

“It wasn’t us…” Derek shrugged, glancing over his shoulder toward Hotch’s office like he also knew exactly who was responsible. “We were planning on dinner and drinks after work though, on us. You in?”

“Of course, thank you.” You smiled, “Where are we going?”

“Well, Hotch said you like that Mexican place across from the supermarket on Main and Second. Apparently, you mentioned something about the salsa being better there than anywhere else in town, and that the margaritas were excellent.” Prentiss said nonchalantly, but there was a sparkle in her eye that told you it was anything but a casual statement.

You had said something about the Mexican restaurant, to Garcia, four weeks ago. What you’d said was that the margaritas were kick ass and the salsa was fire, but you couldn’t imagine Hotch repeating that casually… excellent, however, that was all him. He’d been in the room when you said, but you could’ve sworn he was on the phone someone.

“It’s my favorite.” You murmured, once again finding yourself baffled.

You stared at those flowers all day, unable to fight your smile, even if the person responsible had yet to admit to it and was the most mysterious person you thought you’d ever met. They were beautiful, bright, colorful, and the smell of them kept your work space pleasant all day. You couldn’t believe he’d remembered the exact arrangement of flowers you’d mentioned, it'd been three months, and on top of that you hadn’t realized that he knew your birthday.

You wondered what else he noticed in his silence, the things he heard, the things he saw, and you wondered… why?

That night at the restaurant, when everyone was more than a few margaritas in, you saw Hotch leave the table and head toward the counter to pay the bill. You knew the others would split it with him the next day, but tonight they were much too drunk to comprehend the math required, even though Reid was basically a human calculator and sober. Being a few margaritas in yourself, you felt like you had the courage to seek the answers you desired, so you followed him. You were stand a few feet behind him when he finished paying and turned around.

“Are you alright?” He asked, taking in your quizzical gaze and tilting his head to mirror yours.

“Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” You said, bluntly letting him know that you knew, just to see his reaction.

“How did you know?” He asked, a soft smile pulled at his lips as surprise lit his eyes.

“One of the others would’ve taken credit for it if they’d done it. You’re the only one who wouldn’t, because you’re secretly humble, and you hate attention. You’re also the only one who hasn’t verbally told me happy birthday today, because you did it anonymously before anyone else.” You explained, reading him like a book in some aspects, but there were other things that you still didn’t understand. “Why did you choose wildflowers?”

He was quiet for a moment, studying you, determining whether or not he was going to be honest. Then he smiled again, a little wider this time, and there was a softness to it that you’d never seen before.

“Because you hate roses.” He murmured, taking a small step toward you so that his words would be private. “You love ranunculus, larkspur, sweet pea, chamomile, daisies, baby’s breath, and even wild roses, but never long stemmed ones.”

“Why do you remember that?” You whispered, tearing up just a little at the gentleness in his voice, the light in his eyes… you knew… you just wouldn’t believe it until he said it.

“For the same reason I remember that your favorite color is purple, that you don’t enjoy Thai food, that you only drink cheap red wine because the expensive brands ‘taste like dirt,’ artificial rose fragrance makes you anxious, you don’t like it when the end of your ponytail brushes the back of your neck because it gives you the chills, and you hate the way Garcia clicks her nails on the keyboard because it sets your teeth on edge.” He confessed quietly, hesitantly reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I remember because I pay attention to you.”

“Why?” You breathed, because you weren’t sure you were capable of much else.

“Because you’re worth paying attention to.” He whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek, light as a feather.

“I think I might kiss you…” You whispered back, leaning toward him without a second thought.

“I think I’m going to let you.” He mumbled, cupping the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

When your lips met, it didn’t feel like fireworks, it didn’t feel like the perfect happy ending, it didn’t even feel magical or mysterious. Instead it felt real, it felt like a quiet beginning, it felt like butterflies and wildflowers, but most of all…

Aaron knew he was attractive in his own right… but he still wondered everyday how he’d managed to catch your attention at all, or how he was keeping it.

Jill Gideon referred to the two of you as the “Designated Unit Eye Candy.” She’d even pulled you both aside to remind you that Jason was hopeless at the political aspect of his job, and while Dave could shmooze it up with the congresswomen, he would be far more concerned with wooing them into his bed than he would be about preventing budget cuts. Jill herself was… not well liked on the hill. She said what she meant, often didn’t have a filter, and she also had a bit of a chip on her shoulder. A chip she was well aware of.

She did most of the work, but Jason and Dave often got most of the credit. It’d make Aaron angry too if he was in her shoes.

So the two of you had left her office with a list of all the politicians who needed their asses kissed at tonight’s gala.

It was ironic really…

He had been born into this life of gala’s and charity fundraisers, internships in the Attorney General’s office, among other things that he had long since abandoned. His father’s connections had given him a shot at being the Attorney General someday, but he’d never wanted anything to do with that. He’d barely made it to prosecutor and then realized his calling was to stop the atrocities before they ever made it onto a prosecutors desk because by then it felt too late. So yes, he’d walked away from this life that he’d been born into because it didn’t suit him…

But it suited you.

You may have been born in a lower middle class home with no connections at all, but you made them for yourself just as easily as smiling. It was amusing watching you work rooms like this. Never once had he seen you slip up, you knew exactly how to play each of them. It was partially because you were a phenomenal profiler, but he knew that you did your homework, he could quiz you right now and you’d know all the gossip, the scandals, the inappropriate secret relationships. You knew which Congressmen to treat with the utmost respect and decorum, and which ones to wink and show a little leg to. He loathed that part, but he understood that sometimes that was what it took to have them eating out of the palm of your pretty little hand.

You were with one of the sleazier senators right now, being led around the dance floor with much too little distance between the old fucker’s chest, and your breasts; which were in fact pressed up against him. It wasn’t your fault, he knew that the man was holding you too tightly, but he also knew that if he came to your rescue before you asked for his assistance that you would castrate him in his sleep.

He loved that about you.

You could fend for yourself, you were a tough woman, and you didn’t take shit from anyone if you didn’t want to. So on the occasion that you did need his help, or more likely wanted it, he was quick to take the opportunity to impress you.

God did he love it when you looked at him with gratitude and adoration, the later was rare… but it did happen once in a blue moon.

Truthfully though…

Aaron just loved you.

He was beyond being in over his head… he was head over heels.

You, however, were a tough nut to crack. Thus far, he’d made it into your bed, but not your heart.

He was desperate to change that.

In fact, you were the one, and he was sure of it. So he just kept trying… no matter how many times he made a fool out of himself to do it. Some days you seemed to be just as into him as he was you, but if you let yourself get too close… then he could always count on you being distant for the next few weeks. Which meant he both lived for and dreaded those moments where all your walls came crashing down.

So as he chatted with Gideon and a group of House Representatives—making sure that Jason didn’t step on any toes—he watched you on the dance floor, and waited for the moment your eyes would seek him out.

“So, what has the BAU accomplished this year?” A snobbier woman asked Gideon, Aaron recognized her as one of the committee members Jill had insisted they impress, and he could tell by the set of Jason’s jaw that his answer was going to be more sarcastic than he could reasonably cover for.

So he cut in.

“Well, we’ve been so productive this year, I don’t think we’d have the time to tell it all, and if we did we’d probably sound conceited…” He gave the group a conspiratorial grin, and a teasing wink to the woman who’d asked the question. She melted, her cheeks heating up at his attention, but he couldn’t have cared less. “I could give you the highlights–” he’d begun to offer, but just then your eyes found his across the ballroom and he knew you were done, the way you mouthed, help me, was a pretty clear sign, “in just a moment if you’d like, but you’ll have to excuse me for the time being, my partner is practically begging for a rescue from Senator Jones.” He joked, and it landed, because the Senator’s behavior toward younger women was the worst kept secret on the hill.

He was a disgrace, and everyone knew it, but no one ever did a thing about it because technically he’d never done anything illegal.

Publicly anyway…

Aaron nodded in your direction, just to show Gideon he wasn’t kidding, and the entire group followed his nod with their eyes.

“Pretty little thing, someone should’ve warned her about Jones…” One of the men in the group tutted.

He had warned you—knowing that you were already well aware—but you were a force of nature that could not be stopped. You kept him on his toes, and he was sure you’d have him turning gray in no time.

Gideon nodded for him to go mount his rescue, and he did it with the smallest of smirks on his face, which made Aaron grimace a bit. You’d be mad if you’d seen it.

Aaron would’ve told the whole world he was in love with you, if you’d let him, but that wasn’t something you were comfortable with. In fact, you’d never even told Aaron that you loved him too…

He never knew where he stood with you. You refused to label the relationship, and that was fine, he didn’t need a label. He just wanted to know where your head was at.

Some days it seemed like he was your whole world, and others… others it was like you couldn’t have cared less.

So as he crossed the ballroom and walked onto the dance floor, he carefully went over exactly what he was going to say to get you out of that situation without embarrassing you; or pissing off the senator and ruining all your hard work.

“Excuse me, Senator Jones,” he said, as he tapped on the older man’s shoulder, “I’m afraid I’ll have to steal my partner away from you for a moment. We’re being summoned to speak to the Attorney General about a recent high profile case. I’m sorry.”

Jones didn’t release you immediately—which irritated Aaron on principle—instead, he lean back just enough that as he looked down to meet your eyes he could see down the front of your dress.

Aaron clenched his fists, but bit his tongue.

“Oh, if the AG is summoning you, you’re either in trouble, or you’ve done a bang up job of something. So which is it sweetheart? Have you been a good girl, or a bad girl?” The fucker asked, giving you a lecherous, leering grin.

Aaron could’ve cold cocked the guy right then and there, but your smile never faltered when the Senator could see it.

“A lady never reveals her secrets…” You winked at the old piece of shit, making Aaron’s stomach turn as you peeled yourself away from him and took Aaron’s outstretched arm. “Have a good night, Sir.”

As soon as you were out of ear shot you slumped against him and sighed, clutching his arm a little tighter as if borrowing a little strength.

“Are you alright?” Aaron murmured, leading you through the crowd toward the wall.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, offering a soft smile that just barely reached your eyes, “the comments just kept getting cruder, and his hand started in the center of my back, but it was nearly on my ass by the time you interrupted.”

“I saw.” He ground out, his jaw clenched so tight he felt a cramp swiftly approaching, then noticed the slightly worried furrow of your brow and tried to relax. “Someone should really make a complaint about him.”

“You know it won’t do any good, he’s got too many friends in higher places than we can reach.” You shook your head, “Best to focus on the creeps we can stop until someone with a heftier fishing pole comes looking for him, hmm?” You squeezed his arm, smiling softly at him—genuinely this time—and his stomach did a fucking back flip. “Did the AG really ask to see us, or were you bluffing?”

“Bluffing…” He grinned, feigning confidence he wasn’t truly feeling. He never let himself get too cocky with you… because you were quick to bust his balls if you felt he was getting too egotistical. “Don’t worry though, she was a friend of my father’s and she’ll be offended if I don’t say hello, so we can just pop by for the sake of appearances.”

“Lead the way, trust fund baby.” You teased, earning yourself an eye roll.

“You know I don’t actually have a trust fund, right?” He muttered, biting back a smile, because if you knew he thought it was funny you’d be relentless.

“Mm hmm, because Mommy wasn’t happy when you decided to join the FBI and waste the two hundred thousand dollar law degree she paid for.” You said patronizingly, and he couldn’t even argue because you were right. “Bet you’ll still get that inheritance though, trust fund or not.”

You were right about that too.

Mother had only wanted him to get a taste of what it would be like to live on an Agent’s salary, instead of a well respected and successful attorney’s. She’d thought he would come running back to the safety net of his law degree—that he still used every day, just not the way she intended—but she had been wrong.

He still loved this job—and his new lifestyle—six years later.

“Is that any way to talk to the man who just rescued you from the handsiest senator on The Hill?” He smirked down at you, laughing as he caught a gentle elbow to the ribs.

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten. However could I possibly make it up to you? My knight in shining armor, my modern prince charming, my dashing defender, my–”

“I think you’ve made your point.” He chuckled, stopping you before the blush on his cheeks became bright enough to stop traffic.

He loved it when you called him “my” anything. There was nothing he wanted more than to be yours… so he would take what he could get.

“Hmm, I think I could make it a little clearer out on the terrace…” You murmured, leaning into him a bit and getting up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “Where it’s dark, and secluded, and if we hid in the far corner along the wall no one would see us… or hear us if you were quiet.”

A vision of you leaning back against the wall of the hotel—with your head thrown back and his feet just barely showing from under the fabric of your full skirt—popped into his head at the suggestion alone. He knew it wasn’t what you had in mind, but it was what he’d been daydreaming about since the moment he’d picked you up earlier.

Aggravatingly, he felt himself getting hard just thinking about it, and that was the last thing he needed to happen…

“Behave.” He murmured back to you, shaking his head as he fought off a grin, “You know we can’t do that here, the best three profiler’s in the nation are in this room and they happen to be our bosses. There’s no way we’d get away with it.”

“I bet we could. Agent Rossi is three sheets to the wind, Agent Gideon is talking to the committee members, and I haven’t seen Dr. Gideon since we got here. They won’t notice if we slip out for a minute… they have four other Agents to keep track of too.” You tugged on his arm giving him a pout, and he always had such a hard time saying no to you…

This time, however, it was out of the question. He couldn’t compromise you like that. Sure you were the same rank, and you’d both just made SSA, but he was a man… You were a woman—and though this may have been the mid 90s—unfortunately, progress hadn’t come that far yet. So—depending on who caught you and how—if you were caught he’d survive the fallout, but you wouldn’t.

“Jill is watching us right now, actually. She’s beaten you to your hiding spot—out on the terrace—and is monitoring our progress from a distance; because she hates politics and politicians.” He enlightened you, flicking his eyes in Jill’s direction to show you without having to point. “Rossi hasn’t had a drink in two hours because he drove the Opel tonight, and Gideon is… Well, he needs a babysitter to keep his temper in check. So we have to talk to the AG and then get back to him before he pisses off the wrong Congressman.”

The problem wasn’t really with your bosses, they already knew that you were sleeping together. They just feigned ignorance for your sake—though certainly not for Aaron’s. They teased him all the time. He’d never once publicly confirmed—or denied, so perhaps therein lied the problem—his love for you, and still they were relentless. They all knew it was something that you either weren’t ready—or didn’t ever intend—to talk about. So they left you alone, and focused the brunt of their teasing on him.

You were like that, you liked to keep work and life separate and he understood it. He also understood that your emotional baggage was heavy, and he had yet to even make the metaphorical zipper budge… let alone begin to unpack it.

He would wait as long as it took though… for you he’d wait forever…

As for the matter at hand, however, the bosses may not have cared that you were sleeping together, but he was certain they would have something to say about any shenanigans in a public space. Especially at a Congressional Gala, with the unit’s budget hanging in the balance. That was the problem…

“We could make it quick.” You gave it one last shot, and he knew you were—mostly—teasing, but his dick wasn’t getting the memo…

So he desperately needed you to stop, cease, and desist.

“No,” he said firmly, then, letting a bit of heat slip into his tone to soften the impact, he murmured, “but be a good girl, and I’ll let you do whatever you want when I take you home.”

He threw in the good girl just to piss you off enough to leave it be. Knowing that after your encounter with Jones, you’d be appalled by it.

"Ew, don’t— good girl?? Are you kidding?” You groaned, slapping his chest and giving him the most disgusted look you could muster.

“You didn’t seem to mind it last night…” He smirked, earning a gasp that parted your perfect lips and the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen as it spread across your cheeks.

“That was before the serial groper asked me if I was a good girl or a bad girl,” You grumbled, but he could tell he’d reminded you of just how much you liked it when he called you those things by the way your eyes had dropped to his lips, “but I could be compelled to like it again…”

“I thought you might.” He teased, chuckling softly as he took a look around the room.

Once he spotted her, he led you over to the table that the AG was seated at. Along with the Speaker of the House, the President pro tempore, several other members of the Cabinet, and the Vice President.

“Oh shit, Aaron, she looks busy and— oh God, that’s the Vice President.” You murmured, tugging at his sleeve to make him to stop.

Glancing down, he quickly realized you were nervous—and that was reasonable, there were some very powerful people at that table—but he knew what he was doing, the AG would remember him. He was certain of that for more than one reason.

“Hey,” he let his tone float into that soft low timbre that seemed to soothe you best, and murmured, “it’s okay. Of all the people at that table to be intimidated by, Reno is the worst, and I used to call her Aunt Janet. We’re fine, I promise.”

“God, you make me sick sometimes with your cockiness and… connections.” You muttered, but you had relaxed a bit, so he was satisfied that you would be fine.

“It’s called confidence, and you’re one to talk.” He teased, giving you an easy smile. “You’ve got the biggest head in the unit.”

“Jerk.” You snipped, but you were smiling, and he took that as a win.

He didn’t get too close—because he could see the Secret Service eyeing the both of you from their posts along the wall—instead he cleared his throat loud enough to get at least the attention of the AG.

“Madam Attorney General.” Aaron addressed her, in the most respectful tone he possessed.

“Yes?” She responded, turning in her seat to look for him, and when her eyes landed on him they shot wide, her hand flying up to her chest as though clutching her pearls. “My God.”

“Hello, ma’am.” Aaron gave her an impish grin, and ducked his head slightly in deference.

“Oh my God.” She whispered again, still seeming stunned at his appearance. “Aaron Hotchner, you look just like your father. I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

“I see him every morning in the mirror.” He joked, stepping forward—and, regrettably, away from you—as she stood to shake his hand.

“How’s your mother, and am I correct that you have a little brother?” She asked, clasping his hand a little longer than necessary, but he didn’t mind she meant well. “I never met him, but I remember hearing about him… bit of a trouble maker wasn’t he?”

“Mother is well, I spoke to her earlier and she’s mostly concerned about Sean finishing school. If that answers your other question? He’s his own person.” Aaron shook his head, cupping her hand with his free one as she chuckled softly at his response.

“And who is this young lady, your wife?” Reno asked, smiling over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, no ma’am!” You blurted before he had a chance to respond, and though you were only telling the truth, his heart cracked at the swift urgency of your answer. “I’m his partner.”

“Partner?” Janet asked, raising her brows, seemingly impressed, “You have a firm now? That’s quick work, Aaron, your mother must be proud.”

Hardly… He fought the urge to role his eyes as he thought about his mother’s true opinions on the matter. Though it was a welcome distraction from the way you’d just unintentionally eviscerated him.

“Actually, I’m not practicing anymore, I’m in The Bureau now.” He explained, then introduced you—rank and all—as you shook her hand. “She’s been my partner for three years now in the BAU, but we went through the academy together before that. We’re practically attached at the hip, mostly because I’d be fumbling around like an idiot without her.”

It had only taken him two and a half years to gather the courage to make a move on you… Not that dear old Aunt Janet needed to know that part…

“The BAU?” Mrs. Reno smiled, nodding as though she approved, “We’ve heard nothing but good reviews about your unit, in fact, I think we would benefit greatly from more units just like yours. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with the budgetary committee.” She winked at him then, stepping back and sinking into her seat. “Well, you kids go have fun, enjoy the party, maybe have a dance or two. It was good to see you Aaron, tell your mother hello for me, and it was a pleasure to meet you Agent.”

“It’s an honor, ma’am.” You smiled softly, “Most agents don’t get the chance to meet the AG unless they’re in hot water.”

“That’s very true…” Janet chuckled, “Well, don’t be a stranger Aaron.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmured, still feeling the sting of your quick denial as he led you away.

He understood.

Really, he did.

You were partners, members of the same unit, and you loved working together. There was no one he’d rather have with him in the field than you, he trusted you with his life and he knew you felt the same way. Going public with your private relationship—however you were classifying it—was a threat to your professional one.

It still hurt though. Every time you laughed off the teasing, responded to playful accusations with sarcasm—or got angry when he didn’t—he died a little more inside.

He couldn’t get it out of his head, not even as you smiled fondly while telling Gideon and Rossi that he’d, “single handedly saved the budget by charming Janet Reno,” ten minutes later.

It was all he could think about.

How embarrassing, that a single knee-jerk reaction from you could completely ruin his night… You didn’t deserve that. It was not your fault that his feelings were hurt, not in the slightest. He knew you had never meant to hurt him with things like that, he was pretty sure you weren’t even aware that you had.

So he tried…

He tried to smile at you, to laugh at your jokes, to return your banter, and be as affectionate as he normally was. Unfortunately, he was struggling more tonight than usual, and he wondered if perhaps the strain of loving a woman—with all his heart—who didn’t openly love him back was finally catching up to him.

It didn’t matter though, because you deserved his love… every bit of it.

So he would endure.

Aaron had been quiet since your brief conversation with the AG. You didn’t know what was bothering him exactly, but you knew it had to be something you’d done. He’d been his usual—charmingly confident—self with everyone else at the gala, but with you he’d gone distant and quiet.

He didn’t seem to be angry—a sight you’d seen many times, though never because of you—no, not quite.

It was more like he was frustrated, maybe a little bit confused, and a hint resigned, but not angry. You didn’t know exactly what you could’ve done to trigger all of those emotions, but you knew that if you didn’t ask he’d stay silent about it forever. Aaron was always careful not to upset you, he never came to you accusingly, he never pushed you farther than you were willing to go.

And you…

Well, you never aired your grievances with him unless they were professional ones. The profile was always up for debate, and if you thought he was wrong—about even the slightest of details—you were quick to let him know. Hell, if he was so much as getting on your nerves at work, you’d bitch at him about whatever it was that was pissing you off. Just as all long term partners did.

You saw it all the time from Rossi and Gideon— the two of them never stopped bitching at each other.

Aaron always took it in stride, laughing and teasing you about being so “particular.”

Even so, you had to admit, you were a little scared to ask him what you’d done wrong tonight. Emotional confrontation… it wasn’t your thing. Past experiences had truly hindered your ability to effectively communicate your thoughts and feelings with a partner; and you didn’t mean the professional kind. It was a short coming you were painfully aware of, but terrified to look too hard at.

Needless to say, this drive home had been an awkward one.

Your attempts at idle conversation had gone poorly—not that he had ignored or been short with you, Aaron never treated you that way—his answers had only been quieter and more subdued than they normally would’ve been. He wasn’t giving you enough engagement to carry on the conversation.

So, you’d let silence fill the space, and neither of you bothered to touch the radio.

It wasn’t until he was ushering you gently into your apartment that your conscience won it’s internal struggle with your instincts.

“Have I done something wrong?” You murmured, though in the silence of your empty home, you might as well have shouted.

“No.” He mumbled, taking your coat—as he always did—and hanging it in the hall closet where it belonged, then draping his over your entryway table.

“You know you can’t get away with lying to me, you might as well tell me.” You sighed, walking down the hall toward your bedroom, already slipping off your elbow length, black, satin gloves. Then your heels, stooping to pick them up as you went.

“I’m not lying to you.” He muttered, shedding the tux jacket and undoing his tie to leave them with his coat. “You haven’t done anything wrong…”

You heard the tone… the way he said wrong, like it was an arbitrary term.

“Okay, if I haven’t done anything wrong objectively, what have I done wrong subjectively that upset you?” You shrugged, glancing back at him over your shoulder to see him stiffen a bit, and you knew that you’d hit the nail on the head with your interpretation of his statement. “I know there’s something.”

“It was nothing, Honey, let’s just–”

“It wasn’t nothing, Aaron, you’re upset. You’ve been distant ever since we spoke to the AG.” Turning to him in the doorway of your bedroom—because you didn’t want to shout through walls—you insisted, “I don’t know what I did, but I know it was me and I’d like to… I don’t know… make it right? Or at least apologize and understand why you seem so off kilter.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the one with the problem.”

That couldn’t have been further from the truth, and you both knew it, but you weren’t going to bring up your baggage tonight; not if you could help it.

“So, there is a problem…” You were beginning to grow frustrated, and his silent stubbornness had you throwing your hands up in the air as you gave up on this method of interrogation, retreating into your room to regroup. “Aaron, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to help me.” He called after you, but he didn’t follow. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself over, it’s my own issue.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you marched through your room and into your bathroom to get undressed, leaving the doors open in case he came to his senses and decided to follow you.

As determined as he was not to talk about it, you were three times as motivated to figure it out. Your… feelings… for Aaron may have been scattered, muddled, and shrouded in uncertainty, but his for you had always been crystal clear.

You knew how he felt.

He’d never made you guess, and you hated that you couldn’t return the favor. You hated yourself even more—not that you’d ever be emotionally stable enough to tell him any of that—so the only thing you could offer him in return was to try your best not to hurt him more than the inevitable.

So you went over every minuscule detail of every interaction you had from the moment he rescued you from Jones to the moment you noticed his demeanor toward you had shifted.

“Is it because I danced with Senator Jones, even though you warned me not too and then you had to come save me?” You called loudly, so that he could hear you from wherever he was in the apartment.

“No.” He called back, though much quieter.

You took off your necklace and hung it in your jewelry box with care, then started on the buttons that lined the back of your dress to cover the zipper. How you’d gotten into it on your own was a mystery to all of womankind, one that would probably never be solved. Thankfully, getting out was a lot easier than getting in, it would just take you a while. Normally you’d ask Aaron for help—which he was always eager to provide—but right now that didn’t feel fair and seemed manipulative.

“Was it that I winked at him?” You guessed again, already knowing that couldn’t have been it… Aaron wasn’t that possessive, and never treated you like this over things like that.

He’d never treated you like this at all, come to think of it.

“No, sweetheart, of course not.” He responded, and now his voice was coming from your bedroom, you thought he must’ve been standing in the bedroom door.

That was the extent of your time with the senator, so you moved on from the interactions with him and to the conversation afterword.

“It wasn’t the trust fund joke, was it?” You asked hesitantly, he’d never been ashamed of that before, and it had certainly never offended him.

“No, baby, please just—”

“Did I pressure you too much about messing around on the terrace?”

“No, but—”

“I called you a jerk when you said I had a big head, but I didn’t mean it…”

“No, love, that isn’t—”

“Then what is it Aaron? Because I’m running out of options, and I—” and then it hit you. “Oh my God.”

“Sweetheart, can we please just—”

“It was when I corrected Reno about our relationship.” You said with certainty, “I was too quick with it, and that hurt your feelings.”

The bedroom was silent.

There was no soft denial, no patient pet name, just defeated silence.

“I’m—”

“Don’t apologize.” His tone was almost too sharp, as if your apology would put him at the end of his rope.

“Well then what do you want from me?” You asked, “How can I fix this? I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings, Aaron, but she isn’t like Gideon squared and Rossi. She’s not just our boss, or their boss, she’s like… our boss’, boss’, boss’, boss’, boss. That’s boss to the fifth! She could ruin our careers with a single sentence, what was I supposed to say?”

“I don't expect you to fix anything, you did nothing wrong.” He ground out, his patience slowly—but clearly—declining the more you pushed him.

You were also getting angry.

Not at him, but at your dress. The buttons were pissing you the fuck off.

“If I did nothing wrong,” you asked through gritted teeth, as the buttons became increasingly harder to reach, “then why are you being so distant?”

Though, you supposed that wasn’t an entirely fair question, because the first thing you did when you got uncomfortable was push him away.

“Because, I’m afraid that I might…” he sighed , and there was a long pause before he continued. “I just don’t want to take my issues out on you.”

You knew that was a cop out, he wasn’t the one with issues… you were.

“You're afraid that you might what?” You challenged—as you finally got the last button undone and lowered your zipper—even though the potential answer scared you.

That was another thing.

You were too stubborn for your own good, and it often got you into situations that left you feeling too vulnerable.

Your dress slipped to the floor, leaving you in your underwear—a black lace bustier and matching thong—as you stepped out of it and carried it—and your shoes—into the closet a few feet to your right.

“That I might push you away again!” He exclaimed, as you hung the gown on the rack so it wouldn’t wrinkle before you took it to the cleaners.

His answer stunned you, and for a moment you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Like that.” He grumbled, his tone dismayed enough to get you moving again.

The usual pang of guilt began to squeeze your heart, in a vise so tight that you wondered how a heart attack would compare. Unfortunately, not even that pain could get you to talk about your feelings… it wasn’t that you didn’t want to.

You couldn’t.

Honestly, this was for the best. The only thing Aaron could gain from a real relationship with you was heartbreak. You weren’t capable of sustaining anything real long term, and the second you tried to build something substantial… it would all come crashing down around you.

You were protecting him… from yourself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied, stationing yourself in front of the mirror.

“That.” He said, and you could hear the underlying despair in his voice.“That is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. It’s fine when you push me, but if I ask you too many questions, if I get too emotional, then you pull away from me.”

“That isn’t true.”

It was.

“Yes, sweetheart, it is.” He shot back, then you heard his footsteps crossing your bedroom floor, but they were slow and cautious, like he was approaching a manic schizophrenic with an AK-47. “You don’t like to talk about your feelings, and that’s fine. I can live with it, but I can’t live with you shutting me out.”

“I don’t ‘shut you out,’ I’m just…”

Scared? Terrified? Absolutely horrified of what might become of this wonderful, sweet, amazing man once you’d finished wrecking him. Like you did everything you touched.

“You do.” He insisted, in the exact tone he used to talk down hysterical victims, and you could tell how much he was struggling to stay calm. “You are never willing to talk about anything that feels too real, and I am always left reeling after these conversations! I would just like to know—for once—exactly where I-”

His sentence ended abruptly in a strangled gasp.

You would’ve turned around to check on him, if you hadn’t caught sight of his face in the mirror. His jaw had gone slack, and his eyes—wide as quarters—were trained on your ass.

“Exactly where you… what?” You murmured, biting back a smirk… and it was entirely unfair of you—you knew it was—but he was right, you didn’t want to talk about your own feelings.

So, you leaned over the sink and toward the mirror, pretending to look at your face a little closer, and making your ass pop just a little more.

“Hmm?” He hummed, and suddenly there wasn’t a single—PG rated—thought behind his eyes.

You bent even further at the waist, stretching on your tiptoes to lengthen your legs, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“Aaron, are you alright?” You asked, and your voice took a teasing tone.

“I know what you’re doing…” He mumbled, but didn’t even attempt to pull his eyes up to yours in the mirror.

“Is it working?”

“It always does…” His sigh almost made you feel guilty…

Until he approached you slowly, cautiously, and let his hands settle on your waist as he pressed his hips to your ass; letting you feel exactly how well it had worked. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your neck and warmth ran down your spine.

“Let’s put a pin in this conversation…” He suggested, dropping more kisses to your neck as he worked his way around it and up to your ear. “We can come back to it later.”

You hummed your agreement, and tipped your head to the side to make the job a little easier for him. However, you knew damn well that you wouldn’t give him another chance at this conversation for a long time.

His hands slid up from your waist, over your stomach, to cup your breasts—making you moan as he squeezed them—his grip firm but gentle.

“You look so beautiful tonight…” he whispered, so softly it was almost a sigh, “that dress was driving me insane, and now look at you…” He brought a hand up to your chin and made you look into the mirror. “You’re killing me, baby…”

Your eyes met his in the reflection, and you couldn’t handle the raw emotion you saw in them. Emotion that suggested there was a double meaning to his last four words… So you watched as his hands disappeared behind you instead.

One by one, he undid the clasps of your bustier, leaving kisses over the marks each one left. When he’d finished, he slipped the straps off your shoulders and watched in the mirror as your breast were slowly revealed.

“Fuck…” He murmured, kissing your shoulder tenderly. “You’re so perfect, sweetheart.”

Your heart and pussy clenched at the same time, and your brain… well… she fled the building.

It was at moments like this, when he was so gentle and loving, that you were most vulnerable to your emotions. He always took care of you, never thinking of himself first, and that was something that never ceased to stun you.

No one had ever treated you as well as Aaron did.

Even when you pissed him off, he was calm and respectful. He never yelled at you, not really, and if he felt his voice start to rise or his tone turn harsh he simply took a deep breath.

Not once had he walked away from you, not once had he made you feel small or insignificant.

Which only made your guilt grow.

You weren’t trying to string him along, you cared for him more than you’d let yourself care for anyone in years.

Which terrified you.

The more you cared, the more it would hurt in the end. For both of you.

Gripping your hips, Aaron turned you to face him, then lifted you up so you were sitting on the edge of the sink and brought his lips to yours.

You immediately tried to deepen the kiss—nipping at his bottom lip and licking the sting away—but he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.

“Slow down…” he murmured against your lips, “there’s no rush…”

But there was.

Because the slower he went, the more emotional the moment felt.

You could handle rough sex, it was a walk in the park for your heart, but emotional sex might as well have been a bomb.

“I want you.” You argued—your hands going to the buttons of his white dress shirt—and it wasn’t a lie.

You always wanted him, so much that you feared you might be addicted to him, you couldn’t stay away from him. That was why this whole mess had happened in the first place.

“I know,” he smiled, and didn’t stop your hands, but continued the kiss at a leisurely pace, then said in a reverent tone, “and you can have every piece of me, but I feel like worshiping you tonight…”

Tears began welling up in your eyes—a startling reaction, one that you didn’t have the strength to analyze—so you blinked them away, and lost yourself in his kiss.

He let you finish with the buttons of his shirt before he picked you up, wrapped your legs around his waist, and carried you to the bedroom.

Crossing the room to your bed, he gently lowered you to the mattress, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stood and hooked his thumbs into the waist band of your thong. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watched him slowly peel it down your legs, his eyes devouring every inch of your skin as it was revealed.

He gazed at you with longing more than lust—both were present, along with a third L word that you refused to acknowledge as long as you could avoid it—as if he desired you completely.

Body and soul.

Stripping off his shirt and undoing his pants seemed to be the next items on his agenda, and—grateful for the distraction—you memorized the sculpted plain of his chest until his belt began to jingle. Then your eyes were locked on the bulge barely hidden by his pants, and when they slipped to the floor you took a deep breath, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You held that deep breath, waiting for him to strip out of his boxer briefs as well—they were Calvin Klein’s and looked so hot on him—but he didn’t.

Instead, he put a knee up to join you on the bed, leaving you in suspense.

So you groaned and let yourself flop back down onto the bed, your arms splaying out to the side dramatically. A deep, toe curling, amused chuckle rumbled out of his chest at your theatrics as he crawled over the top of you—bracing himself with one hand next to your head—and pressed a kiss to the exposed column of your throat, turning your groan into a soft moan.

It urged him on, and he slowly trailed sweet, gentle, lingering kisses down your neck to your chest, then over the curve of your breasts. He drew one nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue as he sucked on it so lightly it almost tickled. Gently stimulating the other with his fingers, until—between the two sensations—he had you whimpering and rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache that was growing just above them.

He noticed—of course—and slowly trailed his hand down your stomach, letting it get all the way down to the apex of your thighs before he followed it with his lips. His fingers found your clit with practiced ease and you let your legs fall open for him as he caressed it in perfect little circles.

His mouth stalled briefly at your belly button to teasingly trace it with his tongue, pulling a mixture of a giggle and a moan from your lips before he continued on. As he got closer and closer to his target, he slipped gracefully off the bed and to his knees on the floor.

Gripping your hips firmly, he dragged you to the edge of the mattress, then skimmed his hands down to your knees, and draped them over his shoulders.

“You have no idea how many times I thought about doing this tonight…” He murmured, lightly kissing the sensitive insides of your thighs.

“How many times?” You whispered, picking your head up to look into his eyes.

Which was a mistake… because they were full of that emotion again. The one you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you felt too.

“Every time I looked at you.” He confessed, soaking in the sight of you as though you were a work of art, in a way that no other man had ever looked at you. “You’re irresistible, honey.”

“Aaron…” You croaked, unable to control the torrent of emotions that were tearing you apart on the inside, “I—”

And you wanted to say it, as hope lit his eyes.

In that moment—not for the first time—you were desperate to say the words that he so often offered you with ease, but…

They caught in your throat, wrapping around your vocal cords and strangling them until your tongue felt so thick you couldn’t even breathe.

“I need you.” It leapt off your lips—barely more than a gasp—easing the panic in your chest; allowing air to reach your lungs again… but your heart felt only self loathing as you watched the light in his eyes die.

Just as it had a hundred times before.

His lips pressed the gentlest of kisses to the skin just above your cunt, and then he buried his face in it, licking you from bottom to top in one broad sweep of his tongue… Dipping it inside you, like he was teasing at what was to come.

Aaron’s skill with his mouth wasn’t limited to pretty words and dry wit, he was also well versed in using it to bring you to the heights of pleasure and bliss. A blessing and a curse, because he could coax almost anything out of you with the right amount of pressure.

On a night like tonight it was more curse than blessing.

You wanted to beg for mercy already as he sealed his lips around your clit, sucking with stunningly precise flicks of his tongue that left you breathless.

“Fuck, Aaron!” You keened, unable to keep your hands from flying off the bed to thread your fingers through his hair, and you couldn’t decide whether you intended to pull him away or push him closer.

You tightened your grip and he groaned, sending vibrations rumbling through your clit that had you gasping.

Then you felt a thick finger teasing at your entrance with soft strokes, until you were clenching in anticipation. His other hand soothed away the tension with a firm squeeze of your thigh. The message was clear: relax.

You did your best, drawing in a deep breath and willing your muscles to melt against the mattress. It must’ve worked well enough, because he hummed his approval as he slid his finger inside to the second knuckle, curling it up against your g-spot.

Bucking against his hand and face—involuntarily—earned you a quiet snicker, that you couldn’t even be annoyed at because it felt so good.

You were putty in his hands… as always.

That familiar, deep, tension began to rise—slowly but powerfully—until there was a knot in your stomach that seemed to be attached directly to your clit… and it was mere seconds away from unraveling.

Aaron felt the spasms starting even before you did—too focused on the rising pleasure to notice the pulsing it triggered—and his eyes flicked up to your face, locking gazes with you. There was such satisfaction in his hazel depths. He was thrilled by the fact that he had such an effect on you, and the pleasure he seemed to derive from yours only drove you higher.

“Aaron!” Your strangled gasp filled the air, the wave of your orgasm hitting you like a tsunami crashing against a shore and wrecking you just as thoroughly.

He murmured your name soothingly as he talked you through it—praising you quietly—and when it was over, he pressed one more feather soft kiss to your clit. You rewarded him with a quiet whimper.

Then he got to his feet, joined you on the bed, scooped you into his arms, and gently repositioned you in the center of the mattress. He nudged your knees apart with care and settled between your legs, hovering over you to leave a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, both cheeks, your chin, and finally your lips.

It was a lingering kiss, and it may have been the sweetest one you’d ever had.

“You’re so beautiful…” He murmured against your lips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you could feel his weight on top of you as he kissed you.

So that your guilt wouldn’t be the only thing crushing you…

You’d never understand what it was that he saw in you. Sure, you were beautiful, you weren’t denying that. He said it consistently enough that he must have believed it anyway. However, beauty wasn’t a believable cause for such devotion…

It couldn’t be the reason he felt the way he did for you, but for the life of you, you couldn’t find any other reason.

You tortured yourself over it—nearly everyday—until self hatred was the only emotion you capable of truly expressing.

It was exhausting— unending and eternal in it’s brutality.

So—even though it only made the guilt worse in the long run—you allowed yourself the brief respite that only he brought to your mind; as he worshiped your body until the only thing you felt was oblivion.

“Aaron, please…” You whimpered into his mouth, once again fighting with everything you had left to keep from crying. “Need you…”

“I know…” He murmured, kissing a line up your jaw to your ear, “I know, baby, I’ve got you.”

Untangling himself from your legs, he got to his knees and you watched—completely enthralled—as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear and slowly revealed himself to you.

It never got old…

You never grew tired of it.

Aaron was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, with his dark hair and dark eyes. His lean, toned, sculpted physique had you drooling every time you had the pleasure of gazing at it, and that was all before he took his cock out. He was a perfect specimen.

That wasn’t what had drawn you in though.

At nearly thirty he still had this boyish whimsy about him, a joy for life that you just couldn’t get enough of. Every moment with him felt like a fairytale, and he was the perfect prince charming. He was a luxury your heart couldn’t afford, a blessing you didn’t deserve.

Unfortunately, that knowledge hadn’t been enough to stop your feelings from forming.

The motion of his hand, gripping and stroking the shaft of his cock, was enough to pull you out of that familiar downward spiral… for now.

“God, Aaron, why are you so pretty?” You sighed, on a dreamy exhale, trying to stay in the moment for him.

“I’m pretty?” He smirked, leaning over you again and bracing one hand next to your head.

“Mm hmm, so pretty.” You nodded, picking your head up to meet him halfway as he went in for another kiss. “I think staring at you is my favorite pastime…” you murmured against his lips, “you make my eyes very happy.”

“Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed…” he chuckled into the kiss, as he lined himself up with your entrance, the heat of it making you gasp softly, “I always notice the way you look at me…”

Something in his tone threw up a yellow flag for you, signaling danger, but you asked him anyway, “How do I look at you?”

“I think you know…” He whispered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes—searching them intently—before he nodded once like he was confirming something for himself, “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”

Emotionally? No. You didn’t think you ever would be. Physically though, you felt like you might die if he made you wait another second.

“Please…” You pleaded, nodding your head earnestly— in near desperation.

If he was inside you physically, then you could forget about the turmoil he was causing in you emotionally…

That was your theory anyway, though it had proven nearly useless so far.

He pushed forward just the smallest bit, and you moaned at the pressure, clenching around the head tight enough for him to moan as well.

“Relax for me sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your cheeks and then your lips, “let me in…”

You knew he hadn’t meant for his words to have two meanings, but you read into them anyway. Wishing desperately that you could do just that… let him in. Your heart screamed for it, there was nothing you would have rather done… and yet, your brain—your worst critic—told you that was impossible. You’d only hurt him, and get hurt in return if you did. He didn’t deserve that, he deserved so much better…

So much better than you.

His eyes caught yours, and you knew he’d see everything going on inside your head if you didn’t let it go. So you took a deep breath and relaxed, letting the tension leave your body as you surrender to the sensation of him.

His thrust was long and slow, filling you up one inch at a time. A soft whimper fell off your lips, and he caught it with his own.

“You always feel so perfect, pretty girl…” He sighed, dropping his forehead to rest on your shoulder, pressing tender kisses to your collarbone, and waiting for you to adjust to the fullness. “So fucking perfect…”

The adoration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes again, tears that you had no intention of letting him see. So you wrapped your arms and legs around him again, pulling him closer as you threaded your fingers into his hair. Then, compelled by that raw emotion—that you could not seem to give voice to—you kissed his temple and hoped he felt what you wanted to convey.

Taking it as encouragement to move, he set a slow pace, and immediately you knew this time was different. This wasn’t just sex, he wasn’t just fucking you, and though he’d said the words so many times before… he’d never done this.

He had never made love to you…

There would be no coming back from this, you were already too far gone long before tonight began, but until this point—this moment—you’d been able to pretend. That wouldn’t be possible now as your mind finally agreed with what your heart had been screaming for months…

You loved him.

You should’ve stopped him, should’ve warned him away a long time ago… If you had only been less selfish, you would’ve told him a year ago that you couldn’t give him what he was looking for, you couldn’t return his emotions to him, couldn’t reciprocate his feelings in the way he deserved.

You were too damaged.

Now it was too late, because now—no matter how you both felt—you would hurt him, and—in the process—yourself.

Aaron was whispering nonsensical praise into your ear, each word sweeter than the last. The sensation of his slow, gentle thrusts had physical pleasure rising like a tide right alongside the intensity of your emotions. Simultaneously you felt joy and anguish, hope and despair, love—for him—and hatred—for yourself—all of it overwhelming you to the brink of implosion and yet… release.

It was imminent. And then…

“I love you.” He sighed.

And the levy broke.

Your body shook, from both the intensity of an orgasm, and the force of your sobs.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

His voice echoed in the back of your mind, ringing like a church bell, the tone of which you couldn’t identify.

Beginning or end.

Life or death.

Celebration or mourning.

Salvation or damnation.

The intensity of your free fall pushed him over the edge too. He pulled out of you so swiftly that it would’ve taken your breath away, if you’d had any left to take. You felt it on your belly—the warmth of his release—before he rolled to the side and collapsed to catch his own breath.

His ears must’ve been ringing, because it wasn’t until he looked at your face—with the intent to praise or kiss you—that he noticed you were crying. He had mistaken your sobs for whimpers and moan, you knew, because he looked absolutely stricken by the sight of your tears.

“Honey, what’s the matter?” He gasped in a panic, reaching for your face and attempting to wipe away the tears that fell too quickly to be contained. “Did I hurt you? Are you in pain? Why didn’t you stop me?”

But you couldn’t speak, couldn’t draw in the breath necessary, nor could you stop the sobs. You could only shake your head, answering as many of his questions as possible in that motion.

“No?” He murmured softly, his brows furrowing as he tried to decipher it. “No, I didn’t hurt you, or, no, you’re not in pain?”

You nodded. That was all you could give him.

“Yes… to both?”

You nodded again.

“Then why are you so upset?” He asked gently, and there was fear in his eyes.

“Because— I just— I can’t.” It was all you could manage through your sobs. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what, baby?” He murmured, scooping you up into his arms and holding you in his lap, not giving a damn about the mess. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” You gasped, those two words telling him everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Okay…” He cooed, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “Okay, that’s okay, I’m here anyway. We’ll talk when you can.”

He didn’t ask you any more questions, he didn’t offer solutions, didn’t try to fix you. No, Aaron only held you, offering his quiet, peaceful, strong presence. He held you until you were too tired to continue crying… and as your eyes grew heavy, you had a single thought.

Loving him would kill you… and it would traumatize him in the process.