Here to Misbehave (Pt. 4 | S.R.)
Summary: Spencer and Reader go on their first date.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW 18+)
Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), exhibitionism, masturbation, fingering, spanking, penetrative sex, Prof/Student fantasy
Word Count: 8.3k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
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When I was younger, I hated going to museums. Granted, I'd only ever really had the opportunity to go during school field trips. The crackling, barely coherent ramblings of a stranger through a loudspeaker had never been my idea of fun.
In fact, I'd been to that exact museum before. But the present time was a little different. That time, I was enthralled with the objects on the other side of the glass. With wide eyes and childlike wonder revived, I was hanging on every word out of Spencer's mouth.
I knew the guy was probably a genius, but I had no idea how much of a genius he was until he was recounting the entire history of civilization like he'd been reading straight from an encyclopedia. He looked like a hilarious mix of proud and embarrassed when he finally admitted his IQ. Meanwhile, I had to admit that I not only had no fuckin' clue what my IQ was, I was certain it was significantly lower than his.
He didn't seem to mind.
In a way, I thought it was strange when he told me he wanted to bring me to a place like that. After all, I'd told him I wanted to learn more about him. I figured a museum would teach me about everything else, not him.
But seeing him in this environment told me more about him than I ever could have imagined. I learned about his avid love for the most trivial facts, the way his inflection changed when he got excited, and that despite reading probably hundreds of thousands of books, his hunger for knowledge was still very much alive and well.
Most of all, I learned that Spencer Reid was unlike any man I'd ever seen before.
It was a bad idea. Because when we finally made our way out of the final exhibit, I didn't want to leave. Not even close. If you'd told my mother I spent several hours in a museum and didn't want to leave, she'd never believe you.
"Hey, so..." I started, pausing outside the gift shop on our way out. "It's almost 5. Did you want to grab dinner before we head back? I have worked up quite the appetite listening to you for the past 4 hours."
"Has it really been that long?" he asked incredulously before glancing down at his watch wrapped over his shirt.
I tried very hard, and failed, to suppress a giggle at the habit.
"I'm honestly surprised you still have spit left in your mouth," I joked as I swayed closer to him, almost enough to touch him.
"Ha ha, very funny," he replied. A slight pout formed on his face. I almost enjoyed the swapped roles; it wasn't often that he was the one who looked so forlorn.
"Come on, I'm joking!" I laughed before slipping my arm around his and pulling him closer to me.
Spencer glanced down in surprise, staring at my chest that was now fully pressed against his arm. Although, the way he looked at me was nothing compared to the response he'd given after I showed up in a pleated skirt that better belonged on a Catholic schoolgirl.
But I mean, like I'd said, I used to go there on school trips. It was only fair.
"I love listening to you talk, Spencer. You know that."
The speed with which he looked away when I finished talking was enough to tell me that I had said the wrong thing. His goofy, playful demeanor vanished so quickly, I'd almost gotten whiplash. He didn't remove his arm, instead clearing his throat and pulling out a brochure from his pocket to look at nearby places to eat.
A bit reserved, he asked if I was interested in one of the closer casual restaurants, to which I agreed. At that point, I removed myself from his side and was only a little surprised to see the way his body immediately relaxed.
I wanted to believe he just didn't like to be touched, which I was certain was true, but he was behaving differently with me than he had before. We'd touched in public before, a lot more than that, and we'd known each other a lot less!
But of course, that was probably why. The closer we got, the farther away he felt.
The walk to the restaurant was slightly awkward, so after a moment I decided to break the silence.
"You said you grew up in Vegas, right?"
"Yeah, until I moved to go to school," he explained, looking around at the surroundings of the D.C. crowds winding down rather than turning his attention back to me.
At least I was finally learning more about him.
"Where did you go?"
"Caltech."
He was keeping his answers short, but I feel like he might still be a little embarrassed at my little jab at the museum. That was fine, I knew ways to make him talk. I clasped my hands behind me as I walked by his side, still tempted to touch him somehow, however ill advised.
"Was it hard being away from your family? That's a few hours away, isn't it?"
He laughed awkwardly, a sure sign that I'd forgotten that him and I come from different worlds.
"Well, I was barely 13, so... My mom was kind of legally obligated to follow me."
He was so cute, and he definitely wasn't aware of it.
"Right, sorry, forgot about the genius thing for a minute. Don't know how."
The smile he returned was genuine, which helped my guilt for bothering him yet again. But in my defense, it was easy to do when he was a literal genius and I was barely scraping by half the time.
As we arrived, we were seated in a booth near the back of the restaurant. I offered him the booth with a view of the door because I'd figured he would want it. He gave me a strange side glance at my assumption, like I was hiding something from him that would grant me the knowledge that it would be more comfortable for him to be able to see the door.
I didn't want to talk about how I knew that, though.
Instead, I asked, "Do you like it here? In Virginia?"
He nodded as he flipped open the menu, speaking almost scripted answers absentmindedly, "I do, but mostly because it's been so long that everyone I know is here."
I'd already been here before, so I didn't bother looking at the menu. Naturally, he'd only required a few seconds to read it. When he made eye contact again, I spoke through my thoughts.
"You said you're a profiler for the..."
"Behavioral Analysis Unit."
His tone was a mix of pride and nerves, which immediately made me nervous.
"I haven't looked it up yet because I'm scared about what I might find. What do you guys do, exactly?"
The server brought us drinks just in time to pause his answer, which he seemed to appreciate. I figured it was either a tough job to explain, or he didn't want to share that part of his life with me just yet (or, potentially, ever).
Spencer lowered his voice like he usually did when he talked about work.
"We profile the behavior of serial killers. Sometimes for research, but mostly to assist local police in catching them."
"Oh..." I started, stopping mid-sip of my drink. It was a lot to take in at once. "So... yeah, I'm glad I didn't google it."
He scrunched his mouth in that unsure way, like he wanted to explain to me how he really felt about his job. Something in the bags under his eyes told me he hasn't talked about this in a long time. At least, not like he should. But he didn't talk about it. He looked away, opting to say nothing at all.
"Doesn't it get to you?" I pushed, trying to offer him the platform to talk about the thing that no doubt consumes most of his life.
"Does what get to me?" His voice sounded so far away.
"Spencer, when I met you, you were whisked away at the crack of dawn to go talk about serial killers. On a weekend. The second time you showed up at my place after clearly not having slept, I'm guessing straight from work..."
His eyes narrowed as I spoke, like I was talking from a tightrope that I could plummet off any second. He seemed scared that I would speak something into existence he wasn't ready to face himself.
"You're surrounded by evil all the time. You're responsible for learning, recognizing, and manipulating evil. That can't be easy."
Spencer's eyes were glazed over in a way I couldn't describe. He seemed defensive, steeled, and absolutely terrified. He wouldn't look me in the eyes, opting instead to stare down at the menu in front of him.
He shrugged as he halfheartedly concluded, "I guess that's one way to look at it. We also get to see a lot of good."
"Yeah..." I nodded solemnly, recognizing the dismissive thoughts from my own experience.
He was downplaying the great likelihood of traumatic memories he carried, as if he could will away the damage. Like it would stop existing if he could convince himself it wasn't that bad.
I wondered what had happened to him on the job for him to already have forgotten that things didn't have to be the worst possible to matter. That he still deserved better. That hurt does not require permission.
I couldn't stop myself, needing to see how he reacted when I continued, "But which do you see more of?"
I never got my answer. The server once again saved him from a conversation that got away from him. The presence of a third, impartial person shifted the mood back to what it was in the museum. I wondered how much was an act, both back then and in that moment.
Deciding it best not to dwell on the thought, I tried to forget about the darkness brewing in those coffee colored eyes. Once our orders were in, he turned his attention to the cocktail menu still laying in the middle of the table with a smile.
"I'm almost surprised you didn't try to order alcohol," he half-joked.
I leaned forward on the table, bringing a hand up to my mouth and whispering, "I heard there might be an undercover fed here, so, never can be too safe."
The bubbly, childish laugh that followed renewed my faith in him. He had that kind of infectious laugh that made you forget that badness existed at all. Once our ruckus had died down, he looked at me with the softness that had drawn me to him in the first place.
"You're cute."
When the words registered in my mind, I couldn't believe I'd heard them. The way his expression changed shortly after the words left his mouth told me he hadn't meant to say them aloud. But their effect on me was not at all stifled by his momentary lapse in judgment.
I'd wondered if it was getting hotter in the building, or if it was just my nerves getting the best of me. But it wasn't bothering Spencer, who was about to down yet another cup of coffee in front of him. I cleared my throat, trying to not look like a schoolgirl whose crush had just checked 'yes' on a note asking if he liked me.
Pointing to the mug in front of him, I joked, "How do you sleep?"
"Honestly? I usually don't."
That was the goofy overly literal dork I wanted to see more of.
"I can think of one way to wear you out," I suggested, lifting my leg to press the top of my foot against his leg under the booth.
He raised his eyebrows, giving a simple glance down to acknowledge the contact. Then his eyes were back on me, staring deeply with a hunger that would not be satisfied by whatever dish they brought out to us.
"I can think of several."
Humming cheerfully, I continued to run my foot up and down his leg. My cheeks flushed with my growing desire that I'd managed to put off for several hours. I was honestly shocked that I'd spent the whole day with this man, and only then thought about sleeping with him.
"It's too bad we can't," I pouted. "My roommate is back in town. Not sure she'd appreciate all the noise."
That time as my foot drew up his leg, he shifted in his seat so that his legs moved closer to me, extending the contact for a few seconds longer.
"Not to mention, I don't think you'd like to deal with several 20-year-olds."
The way he behaved whenever I pointed out my age was endlessly entertaining. That time, though, he seemed significantly less bothered.
"One is already borderline for me," he teased back.
I gasped, clutching at my chest as I batted my eyelashes just dramatically enough to showcase my pride.
"You flatter me, Dr. Reid."
He almost choked on his coffee as he stifled a chuckle, putting it down as he shook his head.
"Only you would take that as a compliment."
Recognizing this repartee as the foreplay it had always accompanied, I leaned forward on my elbows towards him. He immediately mirrored the movement, putting our faces much closer to each other than they'd been all day.
"What can I say? I enjoy being a challenge."
"Yes, you do." He hadn't even thought about it, responding almost instantaneously, suggesting once more that he could actually read my mind.
"How are you so good at that?" I kept the question vague on purpose.
He didn't fall for it.
"I'm good at a lot of things. Which are you referring to?"
What a cocky bastard. A very handsome, ridiculously sexy, dork of a bastard.
But he wasn't the only one at the table that knew how to get someone hot and bothered.
"Your humility is my favorite part, Dr. Reid." I stuck my tongue out at the end of the sentiment, a cheeky grin that reflected on him just as quickly.
"Quoting me? That's bold."
Deciding it had been too long since I had touched him, I lifted my hand to press a single finger against his chest as I taunted, "You aren't the only person with a good memory."
He leaned back at this point, backing away from my finger and the heated exchange.
"I don't have a good memory. I have an eidetic memory."
He had been very proud of that fact earlier when I asked him why the hell he was able to list off every single word from a museum display we'd seen an hour earlier. I'd asked him if it was the same as a photographic memory, and he'd gone on a rant about the pejorative connotations of the term. I wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole again today.
Instead, I took the same hand that had touched him moments before, curling all but one finger into a fist.
"So you'll be able to remember this forever?" I cooed as I held up my middle finger.
"I'll just file that away with the most important memories, like birthdays and the works of Arthur Conan Doyle," he sighed in response, graciously admitting defeat.
I was not brave enough to tell him I had no idea who that was, but I was sure I'd learn one day. That one, I thought, was probably safe to google. While he filed away my crude gesture, I filed away yet another fun fact to surprise him with later.
"You are, by far, the most interesting person I've ever met," I implored, to which he immediately shot back, "I could say the same about you. And I regularly talk to serial killers."
Touché, Dr. Reid.
"I'm flattered," was the last word I got in edgewise before our food arrived.
The rest of our time in the restaurant went very similarly, with teasing comments that built the sexual tension that was already too big for this tiny room. Our legs never stopped touching throughout the entire meal. Maybe that was why, when it was finally time to leave, we both felt a strange mixture of excited and sad. Once we were no longer behind the booth, it was back to pretending like we weren't constantly trying not to pounce on the other.
The walk to the metro was equal parts long and tense. At one point I'd swayed closer to him than I intended, and our sides brushed up against one another. Unlike before in the museum, he hadn't moved away. I couldn't believe something so minuscule could made me so happy.
The metro was more crowded than I'd anticipated. The fact that the station is underground was usually enough to make me feel a little claustrophobic, but the number of people bustling around me felt especially overwhelming. I couldn't help but chastise myself for having worn a skirt, considering the stark number of perverted men in places like these.
Spencer's touch woke me from my reverie. His arm had wrapped around my lower back with such unassuming delicacy, I'd hardly registered it at first. He was looking down at me with concern covering his features as he asked, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, sorry, there's a lot of people here."
I had one hand holding my skirt down against my leg, the other crossed over my chest.
"Makes me nervous," I further explained.
"Can I help?"
Even though he was offering, I could tell the crowds bothered him just as much. Thankfully, his presence was enough for me.
"You already are."
There was something so calming about his presence that was hard to explain. It wasn't his ability to physically protect me, considering he didn't have his weapon with him most of the time I was with him. It wasn't his emotional availability (or lack thereof). It was more like he exuded some chemical that made me docile. It was hard to explain.
I just liked him, okay?
When our train pulled in it was relatively crowded, but we managed to grab two seats near the back of a car. I sighed in relief as I plopped down into the plastic chair, happy to finally be able to rest my legs.
With Spencer on the aisle seat and us on our way back to Franconia Springfield Station, I let myself relax. My head dropped down onto his shoulder without much thought, and my entire body slumped over with it.
"How am I supposed to stay awake for this when you're so comfy?" I mumbled, looking down at the hem of my pleated skirt as I fiddled with it.
"That certainly sounds like quite the predicament," he said in what I assume was jest.
He sat up, bumping my head off his shoulder for a moment. I interpreted it to be a subtle way of telling me not to do it, but once he had shrugged off his cardigan, he looked at me like he was confused I hadn't resumed the position.
Armed with a simper, I cuddled up even closer this time, wrapping my arms around his and resting my cheek against his shoulder. I wasn't sure why he had gotten so open to touch, but I wasn't going to complain.
He didn't say anything when he draped his cardigan over my lap, covering my knees peeking out from under my skirt. A nice gesture, I thought as my body instinctively gravitated towards him. It wasn't until I closed my eyes that the pieces started to come together.
I was on the metro, in a skirt, with Spencer Reid's hand slowly but surely inching up my thigh.
My eyes shot open, and I tensed my grip around his arm. It was the only thing I did to betray my otherwise composed and unassuming position.
His breath was hot on my ear as he leaned over to me and began to whisper, "Do you know the idea that people fall asleep after sex is less true for women than men? Many speculate it's because women are just neglected in bed, but that's not quite it."
I didn't dare respond, hardly trusting myself to breathe as his hand continued to move closer to me.
"Both sexes do release the same chemicals during orgasm. Oxytocin to stimulate smooth muscle contraction and initiate the need to bond, prolactin to relieve arousal and signal satiation, and the leftover gamma aminobutyric acid, dopamine, and serotonin..."
I couldn't understand how he'd managed to make the lecture sound sexy, but I was too lost in the sound of his voice to bother thinking about it then.
"Still, women are less likely to fall asleep. Sure, they typically exert less physical energy during sex, but what about those women like you with a penchant for going for a ride?"
A woozy, lovesick smile spread across my face at the reference to our first encounter.
"Those women might still stay awake for longer and may actually be more invigorated after reaching climax. And it's all thanks to their naturally lessened refractory period."
I nodded dumbly, gasping lightly once I felt his fingers make contact through the flimsy cotton of my underwear.
"Which might sound like a curse. But it's not. It means that those lucky women can reach multiple orgasms in succession. Some partners just aren't willing to put in that kind of effort," he continued, tracing a finger up and down my folds through the fabric.
"But I'm not one of them."
His words were strong, and I buried my face into his shoulder, trying not to alert the entire car what was happening underneath his cardigan.
"I would much rather watch you come undone. Again, and again, and again. I want to make sure that when I'm done with you, you can't keep your eyes open."
My breath was getting quicker, and I let out a small squeak against his shirt as he pressed down on the bundle of nerves at my center, drawing circles around it.
"That being said, if you need something to keep you awake, I do have a solution. But if you make a single noise, I will stop."
I had to bite down hard on my bottom lip to prevent any noise from slipping out. My legs were wavering between opening and closing as I tried to keep them apart. I could feel how damp I was getting. My hips were moving with a mind of their own, rocking toward his hand. It took all of my concentration not to give us away.
I choked on my breath as a sly finger snuck into the side of my underwear, allowing entrance to the others that followed.
"Shhh," he hushed, pressing a soft kiss on the top of my head. Underneath my skirt, though, he was much less chaste. Slipping two fingers into my heat, I could have sworn I heard him laugh from above me.
I didn't dare look at him, nervous that the moment I did, I would lose all control.
"I had no idea it would be so easy to get you to follow directions. Are you that worried you might get caught?"
He could feel my heartbeat against his arm. He must have been able to, because I was suffocating against his arm. My hands clenched around him like he was the only lifeline in an ocean of pleasure.
"Imagine what they would think if they knew what you let me do to you. What you beg me to do to you."
My legs were beginning to tremble around him as he stroked me from the inside. All I could feel was him. His hands, his breath, his words.
"Is that why you wore this skirt? A naughty little schoolgirl fantasizing about an older man touching you like this?"
He quickened the pace of thrusting into me, his words getting more insistent as the train was almost empty now, closing in on our stop.
"Is it everything you thought it would be? No. Can't be. You wish there was something else of mine in between your legs."
I couldn't explain how, but my climax snuck up on me. When it happened, it smashed into me like a wave crashing onto the shore. I gasped for breath against his arm, and he thankfully took mercy on me. Despite definitely making a noise, he continued his motions, palming at the crest of my folds to give me one last boost of stimulation.
I shook around him, my thighs tightening onto his arm as I finally found release. I could hear the announcement calling for our station, but it felt worlds away. Still, Spencer pulled his hand out from underneath our pile of clothes, wiping the evidence of our escapade against the inside of my skirt before also removing his arm from underneath my tight grip.
"Son of a bitch," I puffed, relaxing all my muscles at once as I tried to retain control over my pulse. I could barely think straight.
"You're welcome," he beamed, as if he hadn't just gone full dominant as he finger fucked me on the metro.
I didn't understand how the hell he expected me to get up and walk off like nothing happene, but somehow, I managed. I stood with wobbly legs and a flustered state of mind until he linked his arm with mine and led me off the car and into the station. I clung to the assistance, grateful that he was once again taking pity on me.
However, it felt like it wouldn't last long. Once we'd gotten to his car, he helped me in before climbing into the driver's seat. It was silent for a moment, like he wanted me to ask him a question that I wasn't willing to ask.
I didn't want the night to be over, but if he asked me if I was ready to go home, I'd have to say yes. After all, it wasn't proper form to invite myself to his apartment. Especially with how weird he got whenever I got close to him.
"Do you want me to take you home?"
The pity was gone.
I didn't think before I spoke, immediately responding as a joke, "Not unless it's yours."
The silence was back.
Oops.
I realized that I'd spoken out loud at the same time he delivered his response; I was going to stop him, but he was too quick.
"My place it is, then."
I couldn't help but smile, my cheeks burning as I asked quietly, like my volume might change his mind, "Really?"
"Sure, why not?"
I didn't have an answer. We didn't talk for a moment, enjoying the contented silence as I texted my roommate to tell her that I was going to be late home, if I came at all. I was hoping for the latter. Once that was sent off, I returned my gaze to the man paying almost full attention to the road.
"You know, I have to get you back for what you did back there."
He smirked, not breaking away from the road as he replied, "I did you a favor."
"A cruel favor," I whined, turning in my chair as I buckled my seat belt so I could get closer to him.
"No such thing," he corrected, although I think we both knew there very well could be such a thing.
"Uh-huh."
I watched him for a moment, trying to decide the best way to get back at him. I could always try the most relevant payback...
He didn't even notice my hand reaching out until it was already sliding up his thigh at a rapid pace.
"What are you doing?" he asked, as if it weren't already obvious.
"Getting you back," I snickered as I finally made it up his leg, palming the quickly forming erection under his pants.
"I'm driving!" His voice was so high pitched it was heartwarming. It was like our roles had switched, even just for a second.
"I'm not stopping you from driving!"
Obviously trying to compose himself, he grabbed my wrist and held it in the air and out of reach of him.
"Unless you want to crash this car, you'd better wait until we get back to my place."
It was a valid warning, but not one I wanted to hear.
"Spoil sport."
"At least you're alive!"
It was back to the sexual tension from before in the restaurant. I wanted to touch him, and I was guessing based on the visible tent in his pants, he wanted me. So, I got to thinking, and I figured that if I wasn't allowed to touch him, that only left one other person.
"... What are you doing?"
It was a valid question. He'd glanced over to see my hand traveling up my own skirt as I parted my legs just enough to maneuver beneath my underwear.
"Nothing," I hummed, now looking at him with half-lidded eyes as I rocked forward onto my hand.
"That's cruel." He sounded so devastated to see that I was doing what he couldn't, despite the fact he had his hand in this exact spot not that long ago.
My fingers dipped between my folds, collecting the remnants of the orgasm he had given me as I crooned, "What? You said I couldn't touch you while you're driving. I'm not touching you. You're welcome."
I opened my eyes just enough to see the way he tightened his grip on the steering wheel while trying not to look at me. Couldn't drive distracted. That was the entire reason why I was touching myself and not him.
"Unless, of course, you do consider this part of me as your property. In which case, I'm not going to stop, anyway," I snickered.
Rewarding myself with a soft moan, I tried to prolong the experience the best I could. It was hard when every couple of seconds he would look over at me. I hadn't thought that I would find his anger that attractive, but there I was, coming apart at the seams already based on nothing but a look.
He was thoroughly unamused, which only egged me on, honestly. I didn't care if I was being overdramatic as I touched myself, I wanted him to think about what he was missing. Which was why I didn't stop myself from moaning. Pants and gasps echoed throughout the car as I picked up my pace.
"I hope you're ready for the consequences of this very poorly thought out decision."
On the contrary, Spencer. I had very clearly thought it through. I was thinking it so clearly I could picture his hands where mine were, among other parts of him.
Thinking about how to dig an even deeper hole for myself, I found the perfect mechanism.
"Mmm, Professor Reid," I cried, recognizing that it would either infuriate him or bring him a great sense of pride. I was fine with either.
I closed my eyes so I could better envision the fantasy that was actually just a memory. For now. With my eyes closed, I couldn't tell much of what was going on outside of my touch, trying to ignore the man beside me as best as I could. I wanted him to suffer.
Spencer, however, had other plans. With both eyes still on the road, his hand had found its way to my legs, where it shot up to join mine. He removed my hand quickly and replaced it with his own.
There was no subtlety or warm up this time. Without any hesitation, he dipped a finger into my heat just to remove it and begin rubbing harsh circles over my clit. I couldn't stop the yell that resulted, and seconds later I came undone against him.
As soon as the spasming stopped, he removed his hand, not speaking a word or even looking at me. I'd realized at that point that he'd only finished me off because he hadn't wanted to grant me the satisfaction of doing it myself. He was asserting that yes, in some sense, he viewed this as a part of his property.
I was oddly okay with that.
"Is the silent treatment my punishment?" I asked with a pout after a few moments of nothing.
He laughed bitterly back, finally looking at me for a moment before vaguely replying, "No. Your punishment will be much more fun for me."
I had to admit the implication that the silent treatment wasn't fun for him was flattering, at least. I was glad to hear that he enjoyed talking to me as much as I enjoyed listening to him talk.
But for the moment, I was sort of exhausted. Not in the way that would make me fall asleep, but in the I-just-had-two-orgasms-let-me-recoup way. Even though we enjoyed talking, those moments were refreshing in their own way. The best kind of connections were the ones that could always be maintained, even in the quiet.
Despite it not being my punishment, Spencer remained fairly quiet the rest of the way home. I wondered if part of that was due to him brewing a plan for what would happen when we got there.
God, I hoped so.
As we pulled up to the nondescript building, I had to admit I was a bit disappointed to find Spencer didn't live in some whimsical fantasy like I'd always envisioned. The building looked like every other one. But, at the same time, I couldn't want to see the inside. If I had to bet, there would be a lot of books and a stark lack of computers.
Walking into Apt #23, I was only a little surprised by what I saw. The warm green tones of his walls were complimented by red and brown accents, and my theory was quickly proven correct.
"Whoa," I mumbled under my breath, "It's like a library."
"You must go to some pretty small libraries, then."
I rolled my eyes. Like his usual attempts at humility, Spencer failed horribly.
I spun around on my heels to face him, but at the same time as I heard the lock flip into place, I felt his hand around my arm. Spencer's movements were quick as he gripped tightly on my wrist and pulled me towards what I could only assume was his bedroom.
Weirdly, I was still trying to take in my surroundings rather than focus on fucking him. It made sense, I figured. I had already experienced two orgasms today, whereas he had none.
Oops. Guess I really was a spoiled brat.
But seriously—I was in his apartment! I wanted to snoop, dammit!
Spencer wasn't going to give me an opportunity, though. He'd even made a point of shutting the door to his room once we were inside. Something told me he would keep a close eye on me as long as he could. That was probably deserved, considering that within the first few hours of interacting with him, I had answered a call from his boss.
In my defense, it had been fucking hilarious.
He led me to stand in front of him, and out of instinct and habit, I moved forward to kiss him. I never made it to his lips, though. Spencer pushed me aside toward the bed, and I laughed as I leaned over it, making a point of flipping up the back of my skirt.
"I've been bad, Professor," I giggled, turning to glance back at him from the position I had happily assumed without being told.
He had that dark fire in his eyes that usually came before a storm.
He looked like he was ready to break me. I was ready to be broken.
"Are you going to teach me another biology lesson?"
When his hands touched me, they were as tender as ever. He caressed my hips where I had turned the skirt up, hooking his fingers around the waistband of the underwear and casually removing them.
"No, I'm afraid not."
He sounded delighted despite the words he spoke.
"This will be a very different kind of lesson."
Oh, I realized all at once.
"A lesson in discipline?" I inquired, swaying my hips underneath his hands and waiting for confirmation.
The loss of his hand on one side caused anticipation to build. I could hear the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
It was hard to tell which happened first. Instantaneously, his hand came down hard on the soft skin of my backside as he responded, "Yes."
The adrenaline that coursed through my veins in response shook any feelings of fatigue I might have sustained throughout the day. I welcomed his body heat against my back as he leaned forward against me, and used his weight to press me down into his bed.
"Unless you've changed your mind."
"No!" I shouted back much too forcefully before gripping onto the sheets in front of me. "I deserve to be punished, Professor Reid."
He withdrew from me and, within seconds, brought his hand down on me again, that time striking the other side. The snapping sound of the contact was enough to elicit a response. I clamped my legs together and gave a soft mewl. Appreciating my vocal response, the next two hits came in rapid succession. I could feel the warmth building in the skin, the breeze from the motions acted as a buffer for the delicious sting.
He roughly grabbed both cheeks in front of him, for no reason other than wanting to. I groaned at the sensation of the tender flesh being handled, which only led him to release one to smack it once more. He followed with the other, appreciating the balance required of this particular punishment. I wasn't going to stop him. I was happy to continue. But something told me that he was breaching the point of comfort in his own conscience.
He was always so worried he would break me. I couldn't say it wasn't endearing. That didn't stop him from giving each side one more forceful blow, however, which earned him a mangled cry from deep in my chest. His body was against mine again, one of his hands reaching around to tilt my head up, despite not being able to see him. I was beginning to think he just enjoyed manipulating my body at will. To see how far I would let him.
"I think you're starting to get it, (y/n)."
"Yes," I responded, not caring if it didn't make much sense in response.
Despite the fact he'd already finished me twice today, I somehow already wanted him again. Maybe it was the allure of finally being able to fuck him in his own bed, or maybe it was the desire to see him fall apart as a reminder that I'm not the only one desperate for the other's touch.
So quickly he returned to the gentle, barely there traces along my skin.
"Punishment looks good on you," he praised, and something about the way he said it filled me with pride.
"You look good on me, too, sir," I slurred as he continued to draw feathery markings on the abused skin. He chuckled, finally moving up along my back before I interrupted his thoughts and appreciation once more.
"Fuck me," I begged. I wanted him and didn't care how I got it. "Let me help you feel good."
The hands that had inflicted pain moments ago were now gently massaging my shoulders through my top. I sighed, relaxing further into his touch. So easily I had become complacent to his desire. I let him do whatever he wanted, trusting that he would never do anything to truly, honestly hurt me.
"Something tells me you're more interested in making yourself feel good," he asserted — quite correctly.
"Can't we have both?"
His silence told me he was considering my words. I knew that he didn't want to, since that would ruin the whole idea that this was a punishment in the first place. Then again, I didn't think he was fully committed to that idea anyway.
Dragging his hands once more down the plane of my back, he stopped to grip my hips and shift me backwards until I was pressed against him.
"You're lucky you look so fucking cute in that skirt," he growled.
I felt dizzy again already, drowning in the way his bed smelled like him.
"Mmm, I wore it just for you," I admitted, rubbing myself gently against his crotch now pressing into my bottom.
"Smart girl," he responded.
It felt like I was in a dream, to be there with him like that. For a long time, I'd thought I'd never see him again, let alone be laying on his bed.
I could hear him stripping behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder with a modest smile.
Time was not moving fast enough, I thought, but it was also moving too fast. Because as badly as I wanted him to ravish me, I was afraid what would happen when it was over.
I couldn't think about that in that moment, though.
Once he reached into his nightstand, I giggled with anticipation. He raised his eyebrows at me, unable to contain his own laughter.
"Oh, you're happy with yourself, huh?"
"A little bit, yeah."
When he returned to me, his hands were still gentle as they pushed my skirt back up where it had fallen. He revealed my body to himself, and I didn't have to be able to see it to know that my arousal spread down my inner thighs. I had, after all, already had two orgasms before now thanks to the man behind me.
"I'm also pretty happy with you," he whispered as he leaned over me.
With no warning, he fully entered me with one swift thrust. I whimpered at the feeling of him hitting against angered skin, mixed with the pleasure of being full once again. I clutched at the sheets and wished that they were him, wishing that I could somehow be even closer to him than I already was.
"We'll see if you still feel like smiling after I'm done with you."
It was the last thing he said before he began to ruthlessly pound into me. I struggled to scream as loudly as I wanted to, but I couldn't make any noise at all. My body seemed to have relented all control to him within seconds; I didn't put up a single battle. Although his grasp held me in place, I still attempted to cant my hips forward to allow him better access.
My chest and face were warm with friction from rubbing against the bed, and my knuckles were blanched from the force exerted to try and remain grounded. Each movement seemed so purposeful, much like the way he thrashed at my skin with his hand.
"Fuck me," were the first words I managed to string together.
With one forceful thrust, he held me down on him as all the moans I couldn't make previously came pouring out of me. I thought I might actually cry from how overstimulated the day was becoming. Seemingly reading my mind, Spencer pulled out of me entirely. I tried to reorient myself, but he stopped me. Using one hand to grab hold of my arm, he flipped me onto my back beneath him.
I hadn't even realized I was still wearing basically all of my clothes until he had to force my skirt back up again. Missing him between my legs, I began to crave him everywhere else, too. I struggled to pull my shirt over my head.
Spencer didn't stop me, just watching while he playfully rubbed his arousal at my entrance.
"Please, sir," I pleaded once I was finally able to lift my legs. I wrapped them around his hips and pulled him closer to me without letting him slip into me just yet.
"Just as impatient and needy as ever, (y/n)."
I chewed on my bottom lip, looking up at him with the puppy dog eyes that had always worked on him up to that point. It must have worked again, because he was sinking back into me before I knew it. My arms spread out across the bed, holding onto whatever I could reach as he set another brutal pace.
Our bodies melding together in a chaotic fusion of skin and fluids, I let myself get lost in the bliss of Spencer Reid laying claim to my body. I threw my head back, my eyes clamped shut as one of his hands came up to caress one of my breasts through my lacy bra.
"With undergarments like this, I have to wonder if you planned this all, young lady," he teased, no doubt referring to the matching underwear now discarded on the floor.
I opened my eyes to meet his, and for a second I was left breathless at the sight of him pumping into me. How I managed to say anything at all is a miracle.
"Never a plan, sir. But always a pleasure."
A flirtatious sparkle in his eyes, he slowed down as he pressed, "Did you wear them for someone else, then?"
The way I arched my back caused him to push even further into me, and I had to pause to moan before I continued.
"Are you jealous?"
His hips snapped forward, producing a simultaneously jolt of pain and pleasure. His voice was breathy as he tried to hold himself together while speaking, "Should I be?"
Our eye contact caused tension so powerful that I was certain it was palpable. A devilish grin and a bit of a snicker was the provocation he needed to drive into me harder once again. I didn't even try to suppress the noises he elicited from me, tightening my grip around him with my legs.
"Take me," I whispered under my breath, almost hoping that he wouldn't hear me.
I couldn't tell if he did, but his hand switched sides of my chest, and our faces grew closer together.
"I'm yours," I slurred. I truthfully hadn't thought about the words when I gifted them to him, but he clearly took note of them. That time, it was his moan that filled the air in the room, and I had never felt so excited by one of his responses. I chased after the feeling, locking eyes with him as both his hands grabbed my hips to begin the race to the finish.
"I'm yours, Spencer."
I didn't stop to wonder if I could play this off as part of the fantasy. I mean, it was part of my fantasy; the fantasy of being his, and him being mine.
He didn't object to my words then, either, and he had definitely heard me that time.
I smiled, barely noticing that he'd placed his fingers back on my heat, swiping frantically at my clit until I lost all composure underneath him. My hips rocked at no apparent rhythm, and distorted versions of his name broke through my mouth.
I hadn't even come down yet when he rammed into me with full force, bottoming out once again. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, followed by my muscles pulling everything out of him that they could.
The view of his satisfied face through my lust-filled daze was angelic. It appeared that he saw the same in me, but I couldn't be sure. Just as quickly as the moment had come, it had passed, his arms giving in to his weight as he collapsed onto my chest.
His hair tickled my collarbones, and I laughed at how incredibly out of shape he was. Especially for an FBI Agent. Even if he did go on the field often, I figured the resident dork didn't need to be totally ripped, anyway.
And, hey, he was strong enough to treat me like a ragdoll, so who was I to judge?
"Tired?" I asked, taking a shaky hand to his head, playing with the soft brown curls damp from sweat.
"You aren't?" he slurred, his words smothered against my skin.
"I am fucking exhausted."
That time, we both laughed. He was clearly pleased that, despite any perceived weakness, he was still able to thoroughly wear me out. When he moved to leave me, I dropped my legs. I was surprised I had managed to hold them until then, honestly.
He fixed his hair that had fallen in his eyes first, and I smiled at the peculiar priority. It was cute, though.
"Do you have to take me home?"
I tried not to let the disappointment bleed into my voice, but it did. He tried not to notice. He didn't answer as he cleaned himself up, and I sat up to look at him — once the world stopped spinning, anyway.
"No."
The butterflies spiraled out of control, spreading through every inch of my soul. I must have been beaming, because he looked so very nervous.
"Thanks."
His response came in the form of an unsure smile, followed by a genuine appreciation.
I briefly wondered if he realized just how transparent he was, but then decided I didn't want to think about it. I excused myself to clean up before bed, taking a long moment to rub my skin with aloe from under the cabinet, only to realize that I had basically nothing clean to wear. I rolled my eyes at the situation, wondering how many red flags it would set off for me to ask Spencer for some of his clothes.
I could just be naked. He seemed to like me that way.
I padded back into the room, expecting him to be waiting up for me. He wasn't. Spencer had passed out on the bed before he even had a chance to get under the covers. I stood at the door for a moment, trying to appreciate the value of this quiet moment while I still could.
Stripping off my clothes as quiet as possible, I was careful not to wake him. However, that also meant I couldn't climb under the covers, either.
It isn't exactly snooping if I'm looking for something innocent, right? That's what I had to tell myself, regardless. Because I was not going to freeze my ass off over a hookup's paranoia. Glancing at the dresser, I almost convinced myself it wouldn't be an invasion of privacy to open it. Luckily, I didn't have to. Directly next to it was a hamper of clean, folded laundry, with a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt on top. While disappointed that I had lost my excuse, I was grateful I had stripped myself of the choice.
He deserved better than me trying to pry into his life like that.
Slipping into his clothes, I stopped to hug myself in the soft fabric. With him asleep, I felt comfortable taking a moment to revel in the position he'd allowed me to exist in. I was in his apartment, in his clothes, and I would soon be back in his arms.
For now.
I chased the inevitable end out of my thoughts, slinking onto the bed and shimmying over to him until his hands found me in his unconscious state. I faced him, my hands pressing softly against his chest to feel his heart happily working under my touch.
His eyes fluttered open for a second, just long enough to see the wonder in my own. A smile crept along his cheeks, and he wrapped a lazy arm around my waist.
I wondered if he recognized his own clothes, or if he even realized this was real. Then again, the alternative was him assuming that it'd all been a dream... and it was a pleasant one, it seemed.
"I'm happy," he confirmed in a hushed tone.
My heart almost stopped, and I peeked up at him, inching up so I could better see his face. His breathing evened back out as I felt the way he relaxed, quickly retreating back to the comfortable embrace of sleep.
"About what?" I whispered back.
Our legs twined together, and a soft sigh left his lips. I waited with bated breath for his response, although I don't think I could have ever been prepared for what followed.
"I'm happy that you're mine."
... What?
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| Part 5 |
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