Hotch is Daddy

You know what you have. ‘Young’ and ‘hot’ are two things that will get you far; you’re sure that applying little light pressure on your boss would end up with you backed into a corner, Hotch’s hands pinning you against the wall, hot breath over your mouth, neck, anywhere.

The execution would be easy. Get him alone, bat your eyelashes, bite your lip. You’re sure you can even throw in a little sigh, really get him aroused, make him flush. You relished in the idea of playing with him a little; you already know the way he doesn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes off your chest, the way his hands ball into fists, stiff at his sides, or shoved into his pockets—as if to keep himself to reaching up to touch.

Your boss could not resist you, and you knew it.

It’s time.

You stand up, tugging your skirt down a little and reapplying your lip balm. You never wear a lot of makeup, usually choosing to play it subtle; but you’ve seen Hotch after you’ve applied your tinted lip balm, the way his focus a little scattered as his eyes drift down to your lips—you know he’s a simple man. You unbutton the top of your blouse, just a ghost of cleavage revealed—that would be enough.

You can see him from the bullpen, head down over his desk. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Here goes nothing.

As you approach his office, your hands are trembling. You take one more steadying breath before knocking lightly. “Come in,” Hotch says from the other side of the door. You quickly step in, closing the door gently behind you. He’s bent over a case file, the crease between his brows deep as he concentrates on reading what is in front of him. He hasn’t looked up from his desk since you’ve closed the door, so you clear your throat to get his attention; after a moment, he looks up, the crease in his forehead slowly relaxing as he takes you in. 

You see his eyes drag up from your waist, stopping on your top button, before continuing to your face. You flutter your eyelashes, biting your lip as you turn to his blinds, deftly rolling the the tilt rod between your fingers, effectively closing his blinds as sensually as you can manage. You can feel his eyes on you, so you cock your hip to the side, giving him a little butt wiggle. 

When you turn back around, his eyes are dark. He’s no longer looking at your body, but studying your face—questioning sternly, frowning, warning. His lips part slightly as you approach his desk, frown deepening as he studies your eyes for an answer. You don’t say a word, though, instead lightly placing your fingertips on his desk, shyly looking down. 

Your fingers trace little circles on the edge of his desk, and his eyes flicker to them, watching them intently. He tilts his head a little, further questioning your intentions. The silent conversation progresses as you slide one hand a few inches towards him, and his eyes widen, before he quickly sits back in his chair, legs spread, expression dark. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and his voice sounds tight; you can’t help but notice the way his hands have moved to grip the arm rests of his desk chair, knuckles white. His thick, muscular thighs remain splayed, and you think you can see a ghost of an outline behind his zipper.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start softly, making sure to flutter your eyelashes a bit. “I know you’re my boss, but…” you bite your lip, looking him directly in the eye, daring him to prompt you to continue.

“But?” he questions, quietly this time, expression now schooled, lips slightly parted; you take in the way his breathing has sped up, and you’re pretty sure you can see his pulse throbbing in his neck.

You take a chance, making your way slowly around his desk, never breaking eye contact. His breath hitches as you reach out to stroke his hand, still grasping desperately onto the chair.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” you say seductively, giving him an innocent, wry smile as you look down. You lean down, free hand ghosting over his knee, sliding up a little, and he’s absolutely still as you move to wrap your hand around his wrist.

You can tell he’s hanging on for dear life, pupils blown, breath now shallow, and you knew this wouldn’t be difficult—but you’re so delighted at how very easy this was. 

You squeeze his wrist once, and his fingers twitch, so you take that as permission, slowly pulling both his hands slowly to your waist, pressing his hands onto your waist, and his hands hover for a moment, trembling lightly. With a swallow, he bunches the fabric of your skirt in his fists.

You let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed at the touch. Your sigh sends him over the edge, and in a moment, his hands are on your ass, squeezing, his frustration palpable as he pulls you into him. 

“What are you doing?” He groans as you start to straddle him on the chair, but his question must be hypothetical, because before you can say anything, one of his hands moves up to the back of your neck, squeezing lightly and pulling you in, smashing his mouth against yours. 

He kisses you so hard you’re sure your lips will be bruised. He grunts, sounding brutish. He kisses hungry, forcibly, tongue pushing its way into your mouth, lapping at you, and all you can think about is how lovely his tongue will be between your thighs.

You groan, rolling your hips, finding relief in the press of his hardness against all of your pressure points, and his responding grunt is downright animalistic. His huge hands return to your hips, guiding them to rock against him, and you’re pliant underneath his fingers as he grinds his cock into you. 

He pulls your mouths apart with a smack and gently pushes you out of the chair, and you’re literally panting as he stands and backs you up against the wall behind you.

You’d always suspected Hotch could be a bit dominant, and you smile smugly, tracing your teeth with your tongue, now knowing you’d been correct. 

“You’re naughty, coming in here like this,” he says sternly, and he torturously takes his time rolling up his sleeves before sliding a hand to your neck. You tilt your head up, inviting him to choke you, but instead he moves his hand into your hair, thumb brushing lightly at your cheekbone as he studies your face. 

“Yeah?” You ask, challenging, and you push your hips up off the wall towards him—but he places his other hand flat on your stomach, pushing you away from him, back up against the wall. His hips pin you tightly against the wall, and you can feel his hard cock digging into your hip bone as he selfishly grinds into you. His left hand is still tangled in your hair, and he slides it down the nape of your neck, pinching a bit of hair between his thumb and forefinger. 

He yanks at your hair, tilting your head back and moving his other hand to rest on your throat. 

At this point, his entire, long body is pressed up against you, pressed so close that can see every weave in the fabric of the collar of his shirt. 

His left hand still rests on your throat, but he still doesn’t squeeze—the gentle pressure is there to hold you in place, his hot breath fanning over your cheeks as he gently slides his nose up the side of your face to your temple. You hear him smell your hair possessively, softly whispering your name. 

“Please, Aaron,” you moan, desperately, and he grinds into you again before pulling away. 

You groan at the absence of his touch, but it’s less than a second before his right hand presses against the low of your stomach, then teasingly traces the hem of the pantyhose on your thigh, circling lower until he can sneak his hand up your skirt. When he finally reaches your panties, he finds them soaked through, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan you let out when he brushes his middle finger over your clit.

At this point, with one hand on your throat and one between your legs, he’s basically holding you up against the wall as your knees start to give, panting heavily as he continues to lightly stroke you, and you nearly lose your mind when he starts whispering in your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he says, “so nice and wet for me.” He presses a kiss to your ear and gently puts more pressure on your neck, restricting blood flow just enough to make your eyes close involuntarily in pleasure. 

His right hand deftly moves your panties to the side, and he carefully slides his long fingers along all of your wetness, teasing your entrance with his fingers while his thumb takes over with making small circles over your clit. His mouth starts to nibble on your ear, and you’re overstimulated by all of the arousal you’re experiencing in all of the different parts of your body.

He continues on teasing like that, soft palpations turning into sloppy strokes, all the while slowly grinding his hips against yours. After a moment, he decides you’re moaning and squirming enough to finally warrant him sliding first his middle finger inside you, then he adds a second, curling both fingers forward to hit your g-spot while simultaneously holding a steady rhythm on your clit. 

“Thank you for coming to see me like this,” he says in your ear, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,”  and as he’s whispering, he’s rhythmically rocking into your thigh with his cock, hot breath on your ear. 

At this point, his steady rhythm is starting to build something inside you, and you start rocking against his hand as it’s fucking you. You press your neck forward into his other hand, silently pleading for more pressure. 

“Good girl, I’d like you to come for me,” he says gently, and you rock for a few more seconds against him as he carries you into the best orgasm you’d maybe ever had. His hand squeezes around your throat just a little tighter, and your vision goes black as you fully tremble to pieces in his grasp, his thigh now between your legs to help hold you up as you come down from your silent climax, knees having gone out from underneath you. He pulls his hand away from your neck and uses it to steady you, and his other hand slowly slides out of you and into his mouth, licking you off of him. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he says softly, sweetly, once his fingers are clean, and you lean into him, still shaking. He wraps both his arms around you as you continue to come down, slowly rocking side to side as he strokes your hair. 

Once you’ve finally pulled yourself together, you let out a shaky sigh and step back, all of a sudden very shy. 

“Is that what you wanted? Did you think I didn’t know the little game you were playing when you shut those blinds?” He says, his tone is gentle and teasing.

“A girl can try,” you flirt back, making a futile attempt to readjust your skirt and smooth your hair. He of course helps, straightening your blouse, even reaching up to re-button the top button you’d bravely undone in your salacious plans. 

He bends over one last time, sensually kissing your neck just behind your ear.

“You could’ve just asked,” he whispered, giving your butt a little pat and stepping back with a smirk.

You know what you have. ‘Young’ and ‘hot’ are two things that will get you far; you’re sure that applying little light pressure on your boss would end up with you backed into a corner, Hotch’s hands pinning you against the wall, hot breath over your mouth, neck, anywhere.

The execution would be easy. Get him alone, bat your eyelashes, bite your lip. You’re sure you can even throw in a little sigh, really get him aroused, make him flush. You relished in the idea of playing with him a little; you already know the way he doesn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes off your chest, the way his hands ball into fists, stiff at his sides, or shoved into his pockets—as if to keep himself to reaching up to touch.

Your boss could not resist you, and you knew it.

It’s time.

You stand up, tugging your skirt down a little and reapplying your lip balm. You never wear a lot of makeup, usually choosing to play it subtle; but you’ve seen Hotch after you’ve applied your tinted lip balm, the way his focus a little scattered as his eyes drift down to your lips—you know he’s a simple man. You unbutton the top of your blouse, just a ghost of cleavage revealed—that would be enough.

You can see him from the bullpen, head down over his desk. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Here goes nothing.

As you approach his office, your hands are trembling. You take one more steadying breath before knocking lightly. “Come in,” Hotch says from the other side of the door. You quickly step in, closing the door gently behind you. He’s bent over a case file, the crease between his brows deep as he concentrates on reading what is in front of him. He hasn’t looked up from his desk since you’ve closed the door, so you clear your throat to get his attention; after a moment, he looks up, the crease in his forehead slowly relaxing as he takes you in. 

You see his eyes drag up from your waist, stopping on your top button, before continuing to your face. You flutter your eyelashes, biting your lip as you turn to his blinds, deftly rolling the the tilt rod between your fingers, effectively closing his blinds as sensually as you can manage. You can feel his eyes on you, so you cock your hip to the side, giving him a little butt wiggle. 

When you turn back around, his eyes are dark. He’s no longer looking at your body, but studying your face—questioning sternly, frowning, warning. His lips part slightly as you approach his desk, frown deepening as he studies your eyes for an answer. You don’t say a word, though, instead lightly placing your fingertips on his desk, shyly looking down. 

Your fingers trace little circles on the edge of his desk, and his eyes flicker to them, watching them intently. He tilts his head a little, further questioning your intentions. The silent conversation progresses as you slide one hand a few inches towards him, and his eyes widen, before he quickly sits back in his chair, legs spread, expression dark. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and his voice sounds tight; you can’t help but notice the way his hands have moved to grip the arm rests of his desk chair, knuckles white. His thick, muscular thighs remain splayed, and you think you can see a ghost of an outline behind his zipper.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start softly, making sure to flutter your eyelashes a bit. “I know you’re my boss, but…” you bite your lip, looking him directly in the eye, daring him to prompt you to continue.

“But?” he questions, quietly this time, expression now schooled, lips slightly parted; you take in the way his breathing has sped up, and you’re pretty sure you can see his pulse throbbing in his neck.

You take a chance, making your way slowly around his desk, never breaking eye contact. His breath hitches as you reach out to stroke his hand, still grasping desperately onto the chair.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” you say seductively, giving him an innocent, wry smile as you look down. You lean down, free hand ghosting over his knee, sliding up a little, and he’s absolutely still as you move to wrap your hand around his wrist.

You can tell he’s hanging on for dear life, pupils blown, breath now shallow, and you knew this wouldn’t be difficult—but you’re so delighted at how very easy this was. 

You squeeze his wrist once, and his fingers twitch, so you take that as permission, slowly pulling both his hands slowly to your waist, pressing his hands onto your waist, and his hands hover for a moment, trembling lightly. With a swallow, he bunches the fabric of your skirt in his fists.

You let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed at the touch. Your sigh sends him over the edge, and in a moment, his hands are on your ass, squeezing, his frustration palpable as he pulls you into him. 

“What are you doing?” He groans as you start to straddle him on the chair, but his question must be hypothetical, because before you can say anything, one of his hands moves up to the back of your neck, squeezing lightly and pulling you in, smashing his mouth against yours. 

He kisses you so hard you’re sure your lips will be bruised. He grunts, sounding brutish. He kisses hungry, forcibly, tongue pushing its way into your mouth, lapping at you, and all you can think about is how lovely his tongue will be between your thighs.

You groan, rolling your hips, finding relief in the press of his hardness against all of your pressure points, and his responding grunt is downright animalistic. His huge hands return to your hips, guiding them to rock against him, and you’re pliant underneath his fingers as he grinds his cock into you. 

He pulls your mouths apart with a smack and gently pushes you out of the chair, and you’re literally panting as he stands and backs you up against the wall behind you.

You’d always suspected Hotch could be a bit dominant, and you smile smugly, tracing your teeth with your tongue, now knowing you’d been correct. 

“You’re naughty, coming in here like this,” he says sternly, and he torturously takes his time rolling up his sleeves before sliding a hand to your neck. You tilt your head up, inviting him to choke you, but instead he moves his hand into your hair, thumb brushing lightly at your cheekbone as he studies your face. 

“Yeah?” You ask, challenging, and you push your hips up off the wall towards him—but he places his other hand flat on your stomach, pushing you away from him, back up against the wall. His hips pin you tightly against the wall, and you can feel his hard cock digging into your hip bone as he selfishly grinds into you. His left hand is still tangled in your hair, and he slides it down the nape of your neck, pinching a bit of hair between his thumb and forefinger. 

He yanks at your hair, tilting your head back and moving his other hand to rest on your throat. 

At this point, his entire, long body is pressed up against you, pressed so close that can see every weave in the fabric of the collar of his shirt. 

His left hand still rests on your throat, but he still doesn’t squeeze—the gentle pressure is there to hold you in place, his hot breath fanning over your cheeks as he gently slides his nose up the side of your face to your temple. You hear him smell your hair possessively, softly whispering your name. 

“Please, Aaron,” you moan, desperately, and he grinds into you again before pulling away. 

You groan at the absence of his touch, but it’s less than a second before his right hand presses against the low of your stomach, then teasingly traces the hem of the pantyhose on your thigh, circling lower until he can sneak his hand up your skirt. When he finally reaches your panties, he finds them soaked through, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan you let out when he brushes his middle finger over your clit.

At this point, with one hand on your throat and one between your legs, he’s basically holding you up against the wall as your knees start to give, panting heavily as he continues to lightly stroke you, and you nearly lose your mind when he starts whispering in your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he says, “so nice and wet for me.” He presses a kiss to your ear and gently puts more pressure on your neck, restricting blood flow just enough to make your eyes close involuntarily in pleasure. 

His right hand deftly moves your panties to the side, and he carefully slides his long fingers along all of your wetness, teasing your entrance with his fingers while his thumb takes over with making small circles over your clit. His mouth starts to nibble on your ear, and you’re overstimulated by all of the arousal you’re experiencing in all of the different parts of your body.

He continues on teasing like that, soft palpations turning into sloppy strokes, all the while slowly grinding his hips against yours. After a moment, he decides you’re moaning and squirming enough to finally warrant him sliding first his middle finger inside you, then he adds a second, curling both fingers forward to hit your g-spot while simultaneously holding a steady rhythm on your clit. 

“Thank you for coming to see me like this,” he says in your ear, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,”  and as he’s whispering, he’s rhythmically rocking into your thigh with his cock, hot breath on your ear. 

At this point, his steady rhythm is starting to build something inside you, and you start rocking against his hand as it’s fucking you. You press your neck forward into his other hand, silently pleading for more pressure. 

“Good girl, I’d like you to come for me,” he says gently, and you rock for a few more seconds against him as he carries you into the best orgasm you’d maybe ever had. His hand squeezes around your throat just a little tighter, and your vision goes black as you fully tremble to pieces in his grasp, his thigh now between your legs to help hold you up as you come down from your silent climax, knees having gone out from underneath you. He pulls his hand away from your neck and uses it to steady you, and his other hand slowly slides out of you and into his mouth, licking you off of him. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he says softly, sweetly, once his fingers are clean, and you lean into him, still shaking. He wraps both his arms around you as you continue to come down, slowly rocking side to side as he strokes your hair. 

Once you’ve finally pulled yourself together, you let out a shaky sigh and step back, all of a sudden very shy. 

“Is that what you wanted? Did you think I didn’t know the little game you were playing when you shut those blinds?” He says, his tone is gentle and teasing.

“A girl can try,” you flirt back, making a futile attempt to readjust your skirt and smooth your hair. He of course helps, straightening your blouse, even reaching up to re-button the top button you’d bravely undone in your salacious plans. 

He bends over one last time, sensually kissing your neck just behind your ear.

“You could’ve just asked,” he whispered, giving your butt a little pat and stepping back with a smirk.