souredvodka - Tumblr blog

souredvodka · 1 month ago

Text

⤷ TITLE: The Study

⤷ PAIRING: mob boss ! aaron hotchner & assistant ! female reader

⤷ SUMMARY: Caught sneaking into his private study, you’re pinned against a bookshelf, a cold pistol pressed to your chest while his other hand finds its way beneath your panties.

⤷ WARNINGS: Read at your own discretion.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST

You’ve worked for Aaron Hotchner long enough to know better. Long enough to have memorized the rules, the routines, the things you don’t ask about. Officially, you’re his assistant — the one who manages schedules, sends messages, arranges meetings that’ll never appear on paper.

But you’ve become something else too. The one he calls when his knuckles are split open from a fight, when there’s a bullet graze on his shoulder or a knife wound along his ribs. The one who keeps their mouth shut while cleaning the blood from his skin, pretending like your thighs don’t clench at the sight of him streaked in red, breathing heavy, looking like death itself in an Armani suit.

You should be ashamed of how wet it makes you. The way your heart races when he walks in, bloodied and seething, the scent of smoke and iron thick around him. You’ve imagined his hands on your throat, his cock splitting you open, more times than you’d ever admit.

Especially when he sits in that leather chair, his shirt open, and lets you clean him up — those rough hands on your skin by accident, those sharp dark eyes flicking over your body like he knows what you’re thinking.

And maybe he does.

Which is why you’re in his study now, stomach fluttering, knowing damn well this is the one room you were never supposed to touch. The air smells like old wood, whiskey, and danger, and you’re half-hardwired to turn back when the door slams shut behind you.

“You got a death wish, sweetheart?”

That voice. Low and sharp enough to flay you open. You spin around, heart in your throat, and there he is — Aaron Hotchner in all his lethal glory. His sleeves are rolled up, his knuckles bruised, a smear of dried blood on his jaw. And in his hand, a matte-black Sig Sauer P226, the one you’ve seen him use more than once to put a man in the ground.

Your mouth goes dry.

“I— I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” He steps forward, the heavy tread of his boots making the floor vibrate under your feet. “Wasn’t snooping? Wasn’t about to stick your nose where it didn’t belong?” His gaze drops, sweeping over your body like he’s stripping you bare. “Or maybe you wanted to get caught.”

The muzzle of the Sig presses against your thigh, cold and unyielding, and your breath stutters out of you. He drags it up slow, letting the metal nudge beneath the hem of your tiny cut-off shorts. The ones you shouldn’t have worn to work, but did anyway because you wanted him to look. He always fucking looked.

“You know what I could do to you with this?” Hotch murmurs, voice dark silk, gun circling over your pussy now, barely grazing through the thin denim. “Could make you cum just from the feel of it stretching you open. Make you sob while you fuck yourself on it.”

A needy, broken whimper tears from your throat before you can stop it, your legs threatening to give out. You’re soaked, can feel it — your panties clinging to your pussy, damp and humiliatingly obvious.

His smirk is slow, cruel. “Take ‘em off.”

You fumble with the button, breath hitching as you push your shorts down over your hips. He watches, sharp eyes narrowing as the fabric drops to the floor, taking your soaked panties with them. The cool air makes you shiver, thighs sticky, your pussy glistening wet, folds puffy and flushed from nothing but his voice and the press of that gun.

“Fuck, look at you,” Hotch growls. The Sig lowers, replaced by his hand — big, rough, calloused fingers parting you without hesitation. You gasp, feeling how wet you are, slick coating his skin instantly.

“Dripping. Just from a little threat, huh? Knew you were a filthy thing, but this? This is new.”

Two fingers slide into you, knuckle-deep, without warning. Thick, unrelenting, filling you so good you nearly sob. He crooks them, finding that spot inside you that makes your hips jerk against his palm, makes your vision blur.

“Oh yeah, there it is,” he mutters darkly, fucking you with his fingers, wrist flexing, palm grinding against your swollen clit. “This pussy was made for me. Bet you’ve been getting yourself off thinking about it. About me pinning you down, filling this greedy cunt while you beg for more.”

You can’t even deny it. The squelch of his fingers inside you is obscene, your slick making a mess down your thighs, hips canting shamelessly toward his hand.

“Gonna cum already, baby? That easy for me?”

You nod, desperate, lips trembling.

He shoves the muzzle of the Sig against your chest, right between your tits, the cold steel pressing into your racing heart.

“Then do it,” he orders, voice a growl. “Cum for me with my gun against your heart like the depraved little whore you are.”

The words tip you over the edge. You cum hard, pussy clenching around his fingers, hips jerking as the pleasure shudders through you. It’s messy, wet, your arousal dripping down his hand, onto the floor. The gun stays against your chest, firm and unforgiving, keeping you pinned in place while you moan his name.

Hotch watches you ride it out, a satisfied snarl curling his lip.

When your legs finally stop shaking, he pulls his fingers from your spent cunt, holding them up in front of your face.

“Clean ‘em.”

You don’t hesitate. Lean forward and take them into your mouth, tongue swirling over them, sucking eagerly, tasting yourself while he watches, hard-on straining against the front of his tailored slacks.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his other hand burying in your hair as you finish. “Now get on your fucking knees.”

You drop instantly, the rug rough against your skin. Without even thinking, you press your cheek against the bulge in his pants, rubbing your face against it like a cat in heat. His cock is thick, heavy, and hard as a rock beneath the fine fabric, and you moan at the thought of finally feeling it stretch you open.

“Goddamn pathetic,” Hotch sneers, but there’s a dangerous, dark satisfaction in his voice. “Can’t believe I waited this long to put you in your place.”

And when he unzips his pants, when you catch sight of just how big he really is — you realize you might never want to leave it.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s got the Sig pressed to the side of your head again, the cold muzzle resting right at your temple as you stay knelt between his legs like the obedient little thing he’s already made you into tonight. His other hand works his fly down, the metal teeth of his zipper dragging slow, deliberate, like he knows you’re watching every move with your lips parted and your cunt still throbbing from the orgasm he just pulled out of you.

Then he frees his cock from his slacks, and fuck — you thought about it before, sure, imagined it when you were alone in your bed, fingers buried in your soaked cunt with his name on your tongue. But nothing, not a single filthy fantasy, compares to the sight of it in front of you. Thick and heavy, flushed dark at the head, a prominent vein running along the underside. His cock curves upward slightly, like it was made to hit deep, to wreck a throat, to press against the back of it until tears spill down your face.

You can’t help but reach for it, wrapping your hand around the base, marveling at how hot and weighty it feels in your palm. Your thumb brushes over the head, gathering a bead of precum and smearing it down the shaft. The growl that rumbles out of Hotch’s chest makes your pussy pulse, your thighs slick and trembling where you kneel.

“Open that fucking mouth, sweetheart,” he orders, the gun still firm against your head. “Let’s see how good you really are.”

You do it eagerly, tongue out, lips parted, offering yourself up like a fucking whore. He doesn’t hesitate — slides the tip past your lips, lets you taste the salt and heat of him, before pushing deeper. His cock stretches your mouth wide, makes your jaw ache in seconds, but you don’t care. You want this. Want him to ruin you. To fuck your throat so raw you’ll taste him for days.

You start working him with your mouth and hand, spit slicking him up as you drool around his length. Your tongue curls under the head, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the crown, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, making you gag on the sudden thrust. The sound you make is desperate, filthy, but you love it — love the way your eyes water, the way your spit dribbles down your chin.

When you pull back, you make it even nastier — spit thick and shiny stretching from your lips to his cock. You stroke him fast, wet and messy, before dipping your head lower to take his balls into your mouth. They're heavy, tight against his skin, and you roll them on your tongue while stroking his shaft, moaning like a fucking pornstar because it’s so goddamn good. He hisses through his teeth, hand tightening in your hair.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he rasps, watching you work like you were born for this. “Knew you were a filthy little slut underneath all that paperwork. Should’ve had you on your knees months ago.”

Your nipples are straining against the fabric of your top now, so hard they ache, your whole body flushed and trembling. One hand works his cock, the other slipping between your thighs to rub at your swollen clit. You’re so wet it’s obscene, slick coating your fingers instantly as you circle your clit, chasing another orgasm while your mouth and hand never stop moving on him.

The Sig presses a little harder against your temple when you gag again, your throat working around his cock.

“Touch yourself while you do it,” he growls. “Wanna watch you cum with your mouth full.”

And you do, fingers working faster on your clit, grinding down against your palm while you deepthroat him, drool and spit running down your neck, making a filthy mess of yourself. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat over and over, making your eyes blur with tears, and you fucking love it.

Eventually, he sets the gun aside with a soft click on the desk — not because he’s going soft, but because now he needs both hands to wreck you properly. One buries in your hair, the other wrapping around your throat as he starts to fuck your face in earnest. Hard, brutal thrusts, his hips slamming against your lips, cock forcing its way deep, the stretch and burn of it addictive.

The sounds are obscene — wet, sloppy, gagging, moaning, the lewd squelch of your fingers working your cunt in time with his thrusts. Your nipples ache under your top, rubbing against the fabric with every frantic, needy movement.

“I want you to choke on it,” Hotch snarls, his grip bruising, forcing your head still so he can drive into your throat without mercy. “Fucking drool on my cock while you cum, you depraved little whore.”

And you do — god, you do. The second his cock punches the back of your throat, you fall apart. Fingers circling your clit, your pussy spasms around nothing, another hot rush of slick coating your hand as you cum hard, the world going hazy around the edges. You sob around his cock, choking and gasping, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Hotch groans, deep and rough, and his thrusts grow erratic. Then you feel it — the hot, thick pulse of his cum shooting down your throat, filling your mouth as he snarls out a brutal, “Fucking take it.”

You swallow around him, licking every drop, eager and wrecked, still touching yourself as you do, too addicted to stop.

When he finally pulls out, cock slick and twitching, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him, a filthy, satisfied smirk on his face.

“Now that’s a good fucking girl.”

And you know you’ll beg for it again.

You're barely catching your breath before Hotch’s hand is in your hair again, yanking you up off your knees and crushing his mouth to yours. It’s not a kiss — it’s a filthy, possessive, bruising claim. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling, spit smeared between your lips. He sucks your tongue into his mouth like he wants to devour it, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper, chasing the sting as his hand fists in your hair, tilting your head for him to ravage your throat.

The gun’s somewhere forgotten on the desk now, but it doesn’t matter — Aaron Hotchner is the real weapon. Dangerous and lethal and so fucking hot your knees almost give out when his mouth moves down your neck. He bites hard, leaving sharp, angry marks in his wake, lips dragging down to your collarbone while his hands rip your shirt up and over your head. Your nipples are already stiff, aching from how hard they’ve been straining against the fabric, and his palm comes down in a vicious slap against one of them.

“Fucking look at these tits,” he grits out, slapping them again, watching them bounce with each hit. He pinches one nipple, then the other, cruel little twists that make your pussy clench. You moan, already wrecked and begging for more, arching into the pain like the desperate slut you’ve turned into for him.

While he works you over, Hotch kicks out of his slacks, shoves his boxers down, his cock still flushed, heavy, glistening with spit and precum. You’re fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, tugging it open, your eyes catching on the smear of blood near his ribs. The cut’s shallow, but the sight of it — the scent of iron and leather and his skin — makes your cunt throb.

Without thinking, you duck your head and lick the blood clean, tongue dragging over the wound. He lets out a feral growl, grabbing your chin and dragging your mouth back to his.

“You’re so fucking depraved,” he snarls into your mouth, and you moan into his lips, needy and wrecked. “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t walk tomorrow.”

And then he does.

He shoves you over the desk, your hips slamming into the edge, tits pressed to the cool wood, your ass in the air. The cool air on your soaked cunt makes you squirm.

“Look at this pussy,” Hotch snarls behind you, parting your lips with two fingers. “Wet as fuck. You get off choking on my cock, sweetheart?”

You whimper, nodding, and then he’s there — thick, hot, the head of his cock dragging through your slick folds before slamming inside you in one brutal thrust. You scream, hands scrabbling at the desk, your body jolting forward from the force.

He pounds into you mercilessly, hips slapping against your ass, your tits swaying and bouncing with every thrust. The stretch is obscene, your pussy gripping him tight, the sting mixing with pleasure so sharp it makes your vision blur.

Hotch grips your hip with one hand, the other coming down in a brutal slap against your ass, the crack of it loud in the room. You gasp, your cunt clenching around him.

“Fuck — you like that,” he snarls. “Say it.”

“I— I love it,” you sob, tears burning your eyes. “I fucking love it.”

He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, the desk creaking under the force. Another slap lands on your other ass cheek, the sting making you cry out, your pussy milking his cock.

The first time you cum, it’s sharp and sudden, crashing over you like a wave. Your walls flutter around him, wet and tight, a desperate sob wrenching from your throat.

“Good fucking girl,” Hotch growls, rutting into you. “But we’re not done.”

The second builds fast — your clit grinding against the desk edge with every thrust, the rough stretch of him dragging over every sensitive spot inside you. Your tits bounce, nipples tingling with every pass, and when his palm cracks across your ass again, you cum hard, gushing around him with a loud, needy scream.

“I said slow down,” you sob, but he just laughs — dark and cruel.

“Not a fucking chance,” he snarls. “Take it. Take it like the filthy little whore you are.”

He doesn’t let up. His cock pounds into your overstimulated cunt, the ache edged with pleasure so intense it makes you dizzy. His hand grips the back of your neck, pinning you to the desk as he fucks you harder, your body jolting with every brutal thrust.

The third orgasm rips through you like a goddamn explosion — sharp, shattering, your pussy spasming around him, your juices soaking his cock and thighs, the wet slap of your bodies obscene.

Hotch snarls a filthy string of curses, hips jerking, and then he’s spilling inside you, hot and thick, filling your pussy with his cum. You feel every pulse of it, every drop as he fucks it deeper with lazy, punishing thrusts.

He leans down, his chest against your back, teeth nipping your ear.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “You were made for this.”

And you know it — your wrecked cunt dripping, your body marked and aching, your pussy still fluttering around him even as he pulls out, cum spilling down your thighs.

And you’d let him do it again.

246 notes · View notes