sarix

Needing to focus on something else before your expression gives you away, you gaze toward the window. Students hurry past with backpacks slung over one shoulder, someone struggles to convince a stubborn dog to keep walking, and a cyclist rings their bell at a group blocking the pavement. Ordinary life carries on around you, completely unaware that beneath this little café table, your fingers are intertwined with Emily’s and your heart is beating hard enough that you are convinced she must be able to feel it through your hand.

The world outside has not changed. But sitting here with Emily, you cannot shake the feeling that something inside you has.

“You’ve relaxed.” Emily’s voice is barely above a murmur.

You glance at her, unsure about yourself. “Have I?”

“At least a little,” she teases. “You were barely sitting still when Claire was here.”

You turn your hand until your fingers intertwine with hers. Your heart beats several times faster, afraid that you have gone too far or crossed a boundary you were not supposed to cross. But when her fingers close more firmly around yours, a smile finds its way onto your face before you can stop it. “I think that’s your fault.”

“I’ll gladly take the blame.” She looks down at your intertwined hands, her smile growing wider. “If it means you’re finally letting yourself relax around me, I can live with that.”

“You seem surprisingly okay with that.”

“I am.” Her answer comes without hesitation, and there is no teasing in it this time. “I like having you here. I like that you’re nervous and still choose to stay. So if holding your hand helps, I’m not going to complain.”

You look away again, mostly because you are certain that if you keep looking at her, she will notice exactly what those words do to you. She probably already has.

The sound of footsteps approaches, and you realize your little moment together is coming to an end. You expect Emily to pull her hand away, to create distance between you again before Claire can reach the table. Emily’s thumb stills, her fingers tightening around your hand one last time. She nods, and you nod too.

She doesn’t pull away right away, and neither do you. For another heartbeat, you remain like that, neither of you willing to be the first to break the contact. Then, slowly, her fingers loosen around yours, reluctant enough that you notice, careful enough that she still gives you every chance to let go first.

The warmth lingers against your skin long after her hand settles back around her coffee cup. You curl your fingers into your palm, as though you could hold on to the warmth a little longer, even after she is no longer touching you.

“I survived and my jacket is almost clean,” Claire announces triumphantly as she returns to the table, dropping back into her chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Although I’m convinced that hand dryer was specifically designed to make me look ridiculous. What did I miss?”

Your heart skips, and your leg starts bouncing again before you can stop it. Did she mean the conversation, or had she noticed what happened between you and Emily while she was gone?

Emily, on the other hand, calmly takes another sip of her coffee. “Nothing dramatic. The man over there ordered a strawberry cake, the woman over there…” She gestures with a small nod toward the left. “Has been waiting for a waiter for over ten minutes. She’s about to leave.”

Claire follows Emily’s gaze toward the other table, turning around to look. “Seriously?” she asks, lowering her voice as if she was afraid the woman in question might hear her. “Ten minutes?”

Emily nods. “At least.”

“That is impressive patience.”

You glance between them, grateful for the return to an ordinary conversation. Emily talks about the people around you, her voice relaxed as she comments on strangers waiting for their coffee, while you cannot stop thinking about the warmth of her hand around yours.

A few minutes ago, her fingers were intertwined with yours. Now she sits beside you as though nothing about the afternoon has changed, and maybe that is what makes the memory of her touch settle even deeper beneath your skin. She does not need to keep holding your hand or remind you what happened. She is right there beside you, calm and familiar, and you can feel the difference in everything anyway.

Claire looks back at the table in question before shaking her head. “I would have left after five minutes.”

“You say that,” Emily replies, “but you also once waited forty minutes for a restaurant table because you were convinced the reviews were too good to ignore.”

“That was different.” Claire points at her. “And coming from you? You read every single review before you go anywhere.”

“How was it different?” Emily asks, shrugging. “You trusted the reviews from a TikTok video. I read the actual ones.”

“It was a really good restaurant, and that many videos cannot all be wrong!”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Both of them turn toward you, and you freeze beneath their attention, suddenly aware that you have been listening for longer than you realized.

“What?” you ask.

Claire smiles. “Nothing. I just like that you’re finally laughing at Emily’s stories instead of looking like you’re preparing for an exam every time she speaks.”

“I do not do that,” you protest, but the moment the words leave your mouth, your face heats up. You can feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks, betraying you before you can even try to defend yourself.

Emily’s eyebrow arches slightly, and you point your coffee spoon at her. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replies quickly, biting down on her lower lip.

You barely manage to tear your eyes away from her lips, and your voice comes out slightly rougher than before. “You didn’t have to.”

A small smile appears on Emily’s face. “I have to admit, I was thinking it.”

Claire laughs, shaking her head. “You two are really weird.”

The words should make you panic. They should make you overthink every interaction, every glance, every little thing Emily has done since she arrived. But somehow, they do not. Emily only smiles into her coffee, and there is no discomfort in the silence that follows.

Claire reaches for her phone when it lights up, checking the screen before putting it back down.

“Josh?”

She nods. “He wants to know if I really think his movie recommendation was terrible and what movies he should pick for our weekend trip.”

“That bad? I hope he picks better movies for your trip. We don’t want you dying of boredom.”

Claire has been nervous about her first trip with Josh for days now. A movie will probably be the least of her worries.

“Worse,” Claire admits. “I really hope the movies are better, because last time…”

Claire begins explaining the entire plot, her hands moving as she talks, completely invested in proving her point. Emily listens patiently, occasionally asking questions that only encourage Claire to continue. And you realize something. This is the side of Emily you rarely get to see.

Not the profiler everyone respects. Not the woman who walks into difficult situations and knows what to do. Not the person who carries the weight of other people’s worst moments. Just Emily. Sitting in a café, listening to Claire complain about a movie, smiling at a ridiculous story, and quietly brushing her knee against yours beneath the table whenever your thoughts start to drift too far away again.

Claire checks the time on her phone and sighs. “We should probably go. Otherwise we are going to miss the bus.”

You look toward the street and realize she is right. The sun has begun to sink behind the buildings, its fading light catching on the windows and windshields of the cars filling the street. There are more people outside now, more traffic, the city slipping into the rhythm of the late afternoon while you had barely noticed the hours passing. The afternoon had gone by much faster than you expected.

After putting on your coat, the three of you leave the café together. Claire walks a few steps ahead, already looking at the bus schedule on her phone and mumbling something about how public transportation somehow always manages to be unreliable exactly when she needs it.

At the entrance, Claire turns back toward Emily. “I’m really glad we got to see you. It was good catching up.”

“Me too. And I’m sorry I never know how long I’m going to be around.”

Claire shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. You know I understand.”

Emily reaches out and pulls her into another hug, shorter than the one they shared when you arrived, but no less genuine. “Text me when you get back,” Emily tells her.

Claire rolls her eyes, but there is no annoyance behind it. “You’re the one who disappears for days and you’re telling me to text you?”

A small laugh escapes Emily. “Yes, after all, I’m your godmother. I’m allowed to do that.”

“You’re right. You are.”

Claire adjusts her bag on her shoulder and starts walking toward the street. You follow her automatically, but after a few steps, you notice Emily is still beside you.

“I’m glad you came today,” Emily admits, her voice softer now that Claire is a few steps ahead of you. “Even if we saw each other yesterday.”

You look at her, caught off guard by the ease in her voice. There is no hesitation, no awkwardness, no sense that either of you needs to carefully step around yesterday. She talks about seeing you again like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m glad I came too… although I have to admit…” You hesitate, suddenly aware of how difficult it is to put this into words. “I wasn’t sure what today would feel like.”

Emily’s gaze stays on you, a small crease forming between her brows. “After yesterday?”

You nod, then look away because you cannot quite manage to hold her gaze. “Yesterday was…” You stop, searching for a word that does not make your thoughts sound as exposed as they feel. “Different,” you finish.

A faint smile touches Emily’s mouth. “That’s not much of an explanation, Y/N. Try to explain it to me.”

There is no teasing in her expression. She is giving you time, but she is not letting you retreat behind a vague answer either.

“Yesterday it was just us,” you murmur eventually, your eyes fixed somewhere ahead as you make sure Claire is far enough away not to hear you. “There was no Claire. No one else around. You just showed up, and then you stayed, and…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know. It felt like yesterday belonged to us.”

Emily’s expression softens, and she looks at you with a warmth that makes your stomach twist. Part of you wishes you could pull the words back, while another part is relieved you finally let them leave your mouth.

“Yes,” she says eventually, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat. “You’re right. It did. It was our time. Just the two of us.”

Your heart gives a painful little thud at her words. “And today?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Emily glances toward the café behind you, then back at you. “Today was different. You were right about that. Claire was there, we were surrounded by people. We talked about cake and coffee and Penelope leaving snacks on my desk.” The corner of her mouth lifts. “It was a very normal afternoon.”

You lower your gaze, embarrassed by how much you needed her to say more.

“But I was still glad to see you.” She says it like an afterthought, then gives your shoulder a gentle bump with hers.

The words settle somewhere deep inside you, warm and terrifying at once. “I wasn’t sure if you would be,” you admit.

“Why?”

You give a small, helpless shrug. “Because yesterday was… a lot. And I didn’t know what today would be like. I didn’t know if you’d want to go back to pretending it was just a moment that happened and nothing more.”

Her eyes remain on you. “Did you think I wanted that?”

You shake your head almost immediately. “No.”

“Then what were you afraid of?” she asks gently, a crease forming between her brows.

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “That maybe yesterday meant more to me than it did to you.”

For the first time, Emily looks genuinely caught off guard. Not because she does not know what to say, but because the thought itself seems to hurt her.

“Y/N… I wouldn’t have come back today if I wanted yesterday to mean nothing. I could have stayed in my hotel. I could have told Claire I was too busy. I had plenty of reasons to do exactly that.” A faint smile touches her lips. “I came here because I wanted to see you again.”

You look down, your nerves tightening all over again. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Claire remains absorbed in her phone, completely unaware of the conversation happening only a few feet away, while your heart beats hard enough to climb into your throat.

“How is that a problem?”

“Because now I have even more to think about.”

A quiet laugh escapes her, warm rather than teasing. “You do realize you’re allowed to think about it, right? You don’t have to decide what it means today.”

“Neither of us does,” she adds.

When your gaze finds hers again, you search her expression for hesitation, for some sign that you have misunderstood everything she has been trying to tell you. But there is none. “Okay.”

Emily nods once, a small smile on her lips. “Okay.”

She looks as though she might add something, but her attention shifts toward the street ahead. Before you can ask what she was going to say, Claire’s voice reaches you from a few steps ahead. “Y/N?”

You both look over. Claire slips her phone into her pocket and waits, clearly wondering why you are still standing there. “You coming?”

The moment breaks, but not completely. Emily looks back at you, a small smile lingering on her face. “Go,” she urges softly. “I’ll see you.”

You want to say more. You want to stay, to lose yourself in her arms again, to lean closer and press a kiss to her cheek. But you force yourself to take a deep breath and choose the sensible thing, even when every part of you wants to do anything but. Especially when those little dimples appear in her cheeks.

“See you,” you reply, letting out a reluctant breath.

Then you hurry the few steps toward Claire, while Emily watches you leave.

Emily’s eyes roam over you, slow and hungry, a fire smoldering in every glance. She takes in every detail: the lipstick on your mouth, the line of your throat, the gentle rise of your collarbone, the top button of your coat. Your breath hitches. Shallow and uneven.

“You actually did it.” It’s not a question, but a quiet, reverent truth that leaves her lips.

Your fingers twitch, just slightly, but enough for her to notice. “I did what you asked,” you say, voice steady as you step toward her. You’re not touching. Not yet. But the air between you crackles. She’s the flame, and you’re already burning. “Do you want to see what’s underneath?” you ask, the words velvet-smooth on your tongue, surprised at your own boldness.

A flicker passes her lips, the hint of a smile. But her eyes are still caught in a silent war between control and desire, between what she should do and what she wants. You think she might step back. You prepare for it. But then her shoulders drop, just barely, and you know her decision has already been made.

“Show me,” she breathes, her voice a whisper laced with command, low, final and leaving no room for doubt.

A tremor runs through you, not out of fear but anticipation. Your fingers find the belt of your coat, resting there deliberately, not to tease but to show her you’re ready. For this. For her. Her pupils dilate the second you pull, your shoulders tilting back as the fabric slips off, pooling around your feet.

You stand before her, wearing nothing but your heels and lipstick.

Emily’s eyes flutter closed, like she needs a second to steady herself. And then she steps toward you, there is no hesitation, no restraint. Her hands cup your face, warm and certain, grounding you. She searches your eyes, sees the hunger flickering in them, and pulls you in.

Her mouth finds yours, hungry and claiming. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. She kisses you like she’s been starving, like she finally has the permission to taste.

First, there’s the lipstick, smeared between you, tasting of sin and recklessness. Then there’s the weight of the night you didn’t have. And now, there’s only what comes next.

You cling to her, fingers digging into the muscles of her arms. You’re safe here, in her heat, her firmness, the way she moves with such quiet authority. She lifts you without effort, carries you until you’re backed against the wardrobe. The wood is cold against your spine, and the contrast to your fevered skin pulls a gasp from your lips.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” she whispers into your ear, her voice rough with restraint. Her hands tighten around your waist. Her mouth finds that spot behind your ear, that tender place that makes your blood coil.

You try to answer, but your mind is a blur. Your body already too far gone. “Tell me,” you manage, breathless.

Emily laughs, low, dark, and devastating. If you were wearing underwear, it would be ruined by now. “You drive me out of my goddamn mind,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing your spine, slow and reverent. There’s no rush in her touch, only something aching, sacred, like she’s finally allowing herself what she’s denied for far too long.

You feel her chest rise and fall, her teeth grazing your neck, her presence overwhelming. She’s everywhere and somehow, never close enough.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she admits, pressing her body tighter against yours, and your breath stutters.

“So have I,” you confess, and in the next second, she spins you around, lays you back on the bed, and looks down at you like a predator who’s finally caught what it’s been hunting.

You take the moment to really look at her, tousled hair, your lipstick smudged across her mouth. Her hardened nippels beneath her dark blue top, the way her curves make your whole body ache. You want to worship her with your hands. With your mouth. With everything you have.

Emily licks her lips, eyes devouring you, then she pulls the top over her head. Her shorts drop next, leaving her in nothing but a black lace slip.

“Come here,” you whisper, cheeks flushed, pulse thudding in your throat.

She takes your hand without a word, her soft fingers curling around yours, a quiet promise, grounding and electric at once. Her knee slides between your thighs, easing you open, and when she presses against the place where you’re already aching, you can’t help the sound that escapes you.

She leans down to you, and the kiss turns into a wild mess of tongues and teeth, until she bites your lower lip, gently tugs it, and buries her hand in your hair. She pulls your head back, seizing the moment to slide her tongue into your mouth, while her free hand trails down your body. You arch your back until your breasts touch hers, savoring the feeling of her hard nipples teasing yours. Her fingers wander down your stomach, cirle your hip, then slide a little lower, digging into your thigh. You whimper in frustration, which draws a low, throaty laugh from Emily.

“So impatient,” she murmurs, pulling her lips from your neck, trailing her tongue down, until she finds one of your nipples. Her lips wrap firmly around it, she sucks gently, bites softly until you can no longer hold back a moan.

“So desperate to be touched,” she adds, as her fingers graze your folds. Emily lets go of your nipple and kisses her way down your body, sitting down on her knees and withdraws from your touch. Before you can protest, her hands grip your ankles with a gentleness that makes you pause. She skillfully slips off your high heels, drops them carelessly to the floor and kisses your calf, your knee, the inside of your thigh.

You're trembling with anticipation, you can't hide it. The tension coils inside you, almost unbearable, and a flicker of shame runs through you at how deeply you need her, want her. Emily senses it, your hesitation, the vulnerability that slips through at this moment.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” she asks sweetly, before placing a kiss right where your thigh meets your hip. As you try to turn your head, her left hand shoots up, fingers firm around your chin, guiding your gaze back to her. She doesn’t let you look away and you blush at the sight of Emily between your thighs. “Look at me when I bring you to orgasm, understand?”, she commands and you swallow hard, “Eye contact, darling.”

At the sound of that pet name, something inside you shifts – a flutter, a surrender. You nod, obedient and undone, and just like that, the last trace of your shyness vanishes. Emily grins at you satisfied, eyes never leaving yours, as her tongue licks your clit slowly. Your breath falters and a desperate sound escapes your lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough and Emily knows that. Knows exactly what she’s doing. You see it in her eyes, the glint of mischief, gleaming with wicked delight. You try to arch into her, to create friction, to find some kind of release. Anything.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she chides, and her hand leaves your chin only to press your hips firmly into the mattress. You stare at the veins that are clearly visible on the back of her hand, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Hold still,” Emily's voice dips, a shade darker now, "And remember, eyes on me. Keep them open, darling."

Before you can say anything in response, Emily lowers her head again, teasing your entrance with her tongue and collects the moisture she has created with her previous words and actions. You should be embarrassed by how wet you are, but right now, you don't care.

“Baby, you taste so good,” Emily growls, her voice vibrating through your body. Her tongue runs up with relish, caressing your clitoris and then descends again. She observes exactly how you react to her every movement, memorizes it, tests it out. She enjoys the way you squirm beneath her, wanting more, frowning desperately. “Tell me what you want,” she says between teasing and licking, “Use your words.” Emily knows how hard it is for you to articulate your desires. She knows your shyness, loves everything about it. But especially, when you outgrow yourself.

“Emily...”, her name tumbles from your lips, your breathing irregular.

“Yes?” Emily increases the pressure of her tongue, circling your clit until she suddenly sucks on it. You cry, wanting more, wanting to feel her inside you.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you finally say, having had enough of her games.

“Well, finally,” she hums against you, putting your body on alert. A finger presses between your folds until you whimper and Emily finally drives into you. You moan with pleasure, feeling her fill you up, testing how much you can take. She curls her finger slightly upwards until she hits your sweet spot and your gasping becomes a little louder. Satisfied, she increases the pace and devotes her tongue to your swollen nub again. Your pulse pounds in your ears, eyes half-lidded, the intense sensations are almost too much. Emily's silver hair tickles your thighs and you reach down confidently, pressing her head a little harder against you. Satisfied, Emily grins, increasing the pressure as desired and uses a second finger to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and your body shakes.

Her lips brush over you as she whispers, “That's better.”

Her hand grips your hips a little tighter, probably leaving a bruise, but at the moment, you don't care at all. Her fingers slide out of you, teasing your entrance and then slide back inside. She repeats this movement over and over again while her tongue keeps working your clit with sharp precision. She is thorough, savoring every sound, every desperate buck of your hips, your sharp intake of breath as she dives into you again.

“You're so hot when you let yourself go,” she moans, burying herself between your legs again and licking you as if she would never get enough of it. You can't find your words anymore, all that escapes your lips is a strangled whimper. Your fingers tangle in her hair, desperate and shaking, tugging hard enough to draw a moan from Emily. One laced with pain, but still with pleasure.

You feel your stomach tighten and heat coils up deep inside you. Your body tenses as if you're about to fall to pieces at any moment. You're about to come and Emily looks at you with lustful eyes. She can feel her fingers being pulled deeper inside of you. “You gonna come for me, darling?”, she teases you and gently bites you while her fingers work faster, more tirelessly, "Come on. Let me feel it."

You moan as her pace picks up, slamming into you. With one last suck on your clitoris, she sends you over the edge. Your orgasm jolts through you with full force, like raging waves crashing against solid stone. It takes your breath away as your body tenses, pleasure racing through your nerves as you cry out her name and clench your legs together, the pleasure almost unbearable. Overpowering.

Your legs tremble and Emily still doesn't let go of you, she moans and licks you until you flinch out of reach from overstimulation. She groans softly at the sight, carefully slips her two fingers out of you, places one last kiss on your swollen clit and holds her wet fingers in front of her mouth. She grins boldly at you and her chin glistens as she watches you gasp for air: "Look at you, falling apart so beautifully.“

She licks her fingers clean, slowly and sensually, not breaking eye contact and enjoying the way you squirm at this sight. Moaning, you pull her up, kiss her fiercely and taste yourself on her lips.

“You're going to be my downfall, Prentiss,” you growl, and Emily arches a brow.

“Or you’ll be mine?” she shoots back, pressing her body against yours. You hitch your leg up and feel just how wet she is.

“I'm going to show you,” you murmur, kissing her with hungry fervor and guide her onto her back, “Thoroughly.”

Emily's eyes darken another shade, and then your lips close around her nipple, pulling a throaty moan from her.