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. . . EMILY PRENTISS x DOYLE!FEM!READER

⤷HEADCANONS !

Lauren arrived as a mysterious woman, with a history tainted enough to catch your eye. You immediately sensed she was different, but you didn't know if that was good or deadly.

You put her in extreme situations to test her, hoping she would weaken. She never did. Each test you overcame only increased your obsession.

The glances lasted longer than they should have. The "accidental" touches became frequent. You both knew it was dangerous, but neither of you could stop.

In rare moments of vulnerability, Lauren would spill "personal" details — always fabricated stories, but so well told that even you doubted it.

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Her question sounded genuine. You didn't answer.

The first kiss was after a fight. Anger and desire mixed, and suddenly you were consumed by each other as if the world were ending. The next day, you acted as if nothing had happened.

When other people looked at her, you reacted possessively. Lauren noticed — and used it to her advantage. "You don't control me," she teased, knowing exactly what that would do to you.

Small details didn't add up. She knew a lot about certain subjects, but was wrong about basic things. You started investigating, but part of you didn't want to find anything.

When the evidence became undeniable, you cornered her. The knife to her throat, her face a mask of fury. "Who the hell are you?!" She smiled, even as she bled. "You already know."

Before she disappeared, she left a letter. You never admitted it, but you read it hundreds of times. "Some lies hurt more than bullets. I'm sorry."

You swore to destroy her. But in your dreams, she always came back as Lauren — not as Emily.

Years later, on a mission, your paths crossed again. This time, she was with the FBI. "Lauren," you greeted, as if the name still belonged to her.

You two could have killed each other right then and there. Instead, there was just a nod. Maybe, in another life, things would have been different.

⌗ BONUS:

You still have the necklace she "left" in your apartment.

She never admitted it, but some FBI reports had redactions in the parts that mentioned you.

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SVU 3x13

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my type is mysterious badass women and soft nerdy men. i yearn so hard

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can i just say that emily prentiss and alex cabot would 100% kiss if given the chance

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Alex your lap looks like a good place to sit…. For science I need to sit on it myself just to make sure

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Emily Prentiss x non BAU girlfriend so when her girlfriend asks what “SSA Prentiss” stands for, Emily smirks and casually says “It means super sexy agent Prentiss”

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HIDDEN CLAUSES.

⚝ e. prentiss x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS ⋮ Emily Prentiss, the arrogant lead singer of the famous band The 187s, and you, a writer who detests her, are forced to stage a fake marriage to save your careers. The problem? You hate each other. Or at least, that's what you say.

Warnings: Explicit language, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), p in v, g!p emily, dom!emily, sub!reader, rough sex, pulling hair, pinching nipples, dirty talk, creampie, description of cum taste, Emily gives oral to the reader after cumming inside her, they don't use condoms. Minors dni.

The white satin dress was wrapped so tightly around your body that you could barely breathe. Or maybe it was the anger.

"You did this on purpose." your voice came out as a hiss, low enough for the wedding guests not to hear, but laced with venom that made Emily arch an insolent eyebrow.

She was slouched against the bathroom wall of the wedding reception hall, her impeccable tuxedo opening slightly at her lap, revealing the skin beneath her white shirt. Her dark eyes roamed her body with a calculated slowness, as if assessing every curve the dress emphasized.

"Did what exactly, wife?" The nickname came out as a tease, her husky voice tinged with humor.

You stepped forward, pushing her against the wall with your hands on her chest. "You left me alone with your lovely manager for twenty minutes. She asked me if I planned on getting pregnant, Emily. Getting pregnant."

Emily laughed, her laughter echoing in the empty bathroom. "Oh, is that why you're like this? Do you want me to fire you?"

"I want you to get fucked," you growled, your fingers tightening on the fabric of her tuxedo.

Her gaze darkened. "Really?"

And then, as always happened when you fought, the air between you changed. The hatred gave way to something hotter, more dangerous. Something you'd been dancing with since the first day you signed that shitty contract.

Emily moved quickly, spinning you both around until your backs were against the wall. Her body pressed against yours, every curve fitting perfectly, as if they were meant to meet like this — in fury, in fire.

"You're insufferable," you breathed, but you were already tilting your head, offering your neck.

"And you love it," she murmured, her lips trailing along your jawline.

It was true. You fought like wildcats, but it always, always, ended like this—with her hands tugging at your dress, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip, her moans muffled against your warm skin.

"The contract doesn't cover that," you reminded her, but you were already arching against her.

Emily smiled mischievously before closing her mouth over yours in a kiss that held nothing false. "Then sue me."

And you would — if you could remember your own name after she was done with you.

The kiss was a battle of tongues and teeth, and you were losing badly. As fierce as the fights that always led you to this point. Emily dominated your mouth with the same arrogance with which she commanded the stage, one hand tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you moan. You felt Emily's hands sliding down the back zipper of your dress, her fingers burning even through the thin layer of satin.

"So easy," she growled against your lips as the fabric gave way, slipping from your shoulders. "Always so ready for me."

Your body reacted before your mind could formulate a worthy response—hips pressing against Emily's firm thigh, seeking friction even through the layers of clothing. The singer laughed, low and husky, when she felt your tremble.

"Something tells me you're not going to sue anyone," Emily murmured, nibbling at your jaw as one hand dropped to grip your waist. "Not when you're so obviously desperate for it."

The heat between your legs was impossible to ignore, but you still tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. "You're... insufferable," you moaned as her fingers found the damp lace of your panties.

"Seriously," Emily tugged at your chin to force eye contact, her dark eyes blazing with pure arrogance. "You love it when I put you in your place."

And then she was touching you through the fabric, firm, precise pressure that made your legs tremble. Your breath escaped in a muffled moan as Emily rubbed her palm exactly where you needed it most.

"Look," she whispered, showing her fingers glistening with arousal as she pulled them back. "Even your body knows who's boss here."

Shame should have come before pleasure, but all you managed was an arch of your back when Emily finally slid your panties to the side and entered you with two fingers, without ceremony.

"Fuck," she growled against your neck as your core tightened around her. "So perfect, even when you hate me?"

You didn't answer — you couldn't, not when she began moving her hand with that cruel cadence you knew so well, her fingers curling inward with each thrust. Your own fingers gripped the shoulders of Emily's tuxedo, your nails likely leaving marks through the expensive fabric.

"Come," Emily commanded, increasing her pace as she felt her body begin to tense. "Come, show me who makes you come."

The orgasm hit you like a train, forcing a muffled scream against her shoulder as your body pulsed around Emily's fingers. She didn't stop, prolonging your fall until you were trembling and oversensitive, gripping her wrist in weak protest.

When she finally pulled away, Emily brought her wet fingers to her mouth with a smile that was pure teasing.

The taste of you on her lips was salty and intoxicating. Emily licked her fingers with the devotion of someone savoring a rare delicacy, her dark eyes fixed on yours as you still trembled against the wall.

"Still think you're going to sue me?" She elicited a low moan as she slid her damp hand up your thigh, spreading your legs even wider. "With that smell all over your wedding dress? With my marks on your neck?"

Your knees were still weak, but anger — or what was left of it — made you pull Emily by the collar. "You're not finished."

Her eyes darkened with recognition. "Trapped in the contract, wifey?"

"Do your part."

The slow smile that spread across Emily's face was the stuff of nightmares — if you weren't so drenched in her. Her hands found the belt of her tuxedo with irritating familiarity, her nimble fingers parting the leather like someone unwrapping a present.

"In a hurry?" She dropped her pants just enough, enough for you to see the defined line of her hips, the ribbon of abdominal muscles flexing as she touched herself. "After keeping me waiting the entire wedding?"

You swallowed hard. Emily was... too much. The kind of too much that made your mouth dry and your thighs clench involuntarily.

"It's like someone forgot the words." She moved closer, brushing the burning tip against your wet center, making you shiver. "Want help remembering?"

"Just fuck me, you bitch—"

Emily silenced you with a brutal thrust, filling you all at once. The sound that tore from your throat was half scream, half moan — all pure pleasure. She stilled, letting you feel every inch of her, the muscles in her face tensing with effort.

"Fuck," she growled, her fingers digging into your hips. "Tight like that after you come? You were made for me."

When she began to move, it was with the precision of someone who knew every inch of your body. Emily hit just the right spot with each thrust, her hips grinding into yours with a wet sound that echoed in the empty bathroom.

"That's it…" you tried to say, but she chose that exact moment to change the angle, hitting you deeper. "God, Emily…"

"Say it." She pulled your hair back, exposing your neck to her teeth. "Tell me who owns you."

Your orgasm hit like a hurricane, violent and inescapable. Emily held your hips tightly as you pulsed around her, your muscles contracting in endless waves.

She didn't stop.

"Again," she commanded, quickening her pace. "I'll make you remember it for weeks."

When Emily finally reached her limit, it was with her teeth digging into your shoulder, your name tumbling like a curse. You felt each hot spurt inside you, her body trembling against yours.

The silence that followed was broken only by your labored breathing. Emily pulled back enough to look at you, her eyes still dark with possessiveness.

The air in the bathroom was thick with the scent of sex and expensive perfume when Emily finally pulled away, her body still trembling slightly with the last spasms of pleasure. You slid a few inches onto the marble sink, your trembling thighs unable to support you.

"Look at you," Emily murmured, running her thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "All swollen and beautiful. My favorite work of art."

Her fingers descended to your pulsing sex, slowly gathering the mixture of your fluids before rubbing them across your hardened nipples. You arched with a husky moan, hypersensitive after so many orgasms.

"This will be etched into your skin," she promised, lowering her head to clean you with her tongue. "I'll make you smell like me for days."

Her touch was almost painful now, but you didn't protest — you just gripped her dark hair, keeping her exactly where you wanted her. Emily chuckled against your skin, the vibration making you shiver.

"You like it when I clean you, don't you, princess?" Her teeth gently bit into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. "Do you want me to make you presentable for the guests... or would you prefer everyone know exactly what the bride was doing?"

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When you finally emerged from the bathroom — you staggering, Emily wearing a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin — the guests had already gathered for the toast. Emily grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the center of the room, where the spotlight naturally found you.

"Sorry I'm late," she said into the microphone, her fingers playing with the pearl necklace around your neck — and discreetly rubbing the mark she'd left. "My wife was... indisposed."

The crowd laughed, thinking it was a joke. Only you felt her finger slide under the collar of your dress, pressing against the fresh mark until you choked on your champagne.

"Smile, love,” Emily whispered, her lips against your ear as the camera flashes captured the moment. “They’re loving our chemistry.”

__

The slow song started, and Emily pulled you into the dance, one hand firmly on your waist, the other moving down to squeeze your buttocks through the fabric of your dress.

“Do you still feel me inside you?” she asked, nuzzling your neck. “Can you feel it running down your thighs as you dance?”

You tried to pull away, but she gripped your waist tightly.

“No, stay here,” she commanded, her voice a low growl only you heard. “Until the last minute of this damn party, you’re mine.”

And when the song ended, she sealed the promise with a kiss that left the audience ecstatic — and you, once again, breathless.

__

In the limo on the way to the airport, Emily finally broke. Her fingers found your clit again, working fast and mercilessly.

"Come," she ordered, her teeth on your shoulder. "Come now, before we get there. I want you soft and obedient when I take you to bed again."

And you obeyed, as you always would.

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EMILY PRENTISS! ⛦

EMILY PRENTISS isn't just the lead singer — she's the connecting thread between the music and its listeners. With a voice that's both firm and ethereal, she transforms each song into an emotional experience. Her interpretation goes beyond the melody: she lives each lyric as if it were a fragment of her own story. On stage, Emily has a mesmerizing presence — quiet before she begins, but impossible to ignore when she sings. Her style blends classical influences with contemporary attitude, creating a unique, raw, and memorable vocal identity.

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HIDDEN CLAUSES.

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THE 187s. ·⁀ ༄.°⚡︎ ₊⭒˚｡⋆

⌗ LINEUP:

EMILY PRENTISS – lead vocals.

JENNIFER "JJ" JAREAU – bass and backing vocals.

SPENCER REID – keyboards and lyrics.

PENELOPE GARCIA – DJ, samples, and visual effects.

DEREK MORGAN – rhythm guitar and vocals.

AARON HOTCHNER – drums.

DAVID ROSSI – lead guitar and the band's music producer.

Formed in 2006 on the outskirts of Quantico, the band The 187s was born from the union of eccentric, intense minds, passionate about music. Each member brought a different background — Emily Prentiss had sung in underground bars in Europe, while Spencer Reid was a musical prodigy with a doctorate in music theory at age 18. Jennifer Jareau, a former athlete and punk fan, brought an emotional sensitivity and steady rhythm to the bass, while Penelope Garcia, with her vibrant and technological style, created the group's visual and sonic identity, using samples and synthesizers that became their trademark. Derek Morgan, with his charisma and strong guitar playing, completed the band's energetic foundation.

The name "The 187s" was coined as a play on the police code for homicide, symbolizing the emotional intensity of their lyrics and the explosive energy of their live performances. Despite their somber name, the band was known for balancing introspective lyrics with a message of resistance, love, and justice.

Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner, originally a manager and producer, took over the drums when the original drummer left to tour with another band. David Rossi, a veteran of the 1980s music scene, joined to revive his passion for music and eventually became Reid's musical mentor and main songwriter.

⌗ MUSICAL STYLE AND INFLUENCES:

The 187s' sound is a unique fusion of alternative rock with hints of melodic punk, heavy riffs, and emotionally dense lyrics. The band draws from the likes of The Smashing Pumpkins, Foo Fighters, Garbage, Nine Inch Nails, and Paramore, but leaves its mark with complex arrangements and lyrics that address themes of trauma, redemption, love, and loss.

⌗ DISCOGRAPHY (SELECTION):

︵ PROFILED (2006) – Explosive debut album featuring the hit "Criminal Hearts."

︵ UNSUB (2008) – Darker and more conceptual, with Reid leading the songwriting.

︵ RECONSTRUCTION (2009) – Reflective and mature, exploring themes of overcoming obstacles.

︵ ECHOES IN QUANTICO (2013) – A blend of electronic sounds and raw guitars.

︵ THE WHEELS UP SESSIONS (2015) – Live album recorded on a European tour.

⌗ LEGACY:

The 187s quickly gained a loyal fan base, nicknamed "The Profilers," known for their emotional and intellectual engagement with the band's lyrics. With intense, high-energy shows, the band became known for never repeating the same setlist twice and for transforming each performance into an almost therapeutic experience.

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i feel so normal about these looks

*screaming into a pillow*

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[insp.]

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MASTERMIND.

✷ e. prentiss x fem!agent!reader

You always knew it wouldn't be easy.

Emily Prentiss was a difficult woman to read—and even more so to reach. She carried the weight of unspoken decisions, internal scars carefully hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and composure. She kept her distance by nature, not weakness. But you saw it.

You always saw it.

From day one, when she barely spared you a glance—just a professional nod. You understood: Emily isn't easily impressed. She doesn't give in quickly. And, most importantly, she doesn't trust by accident.

Good. Neither are you.

Among all the faces of the BAU, she was the only piece that felt loose. Not displaced—but free. And freedom is what makes a piece unpredictable. It's what threatens the entire game.

So you hatched the plan.

Not because you wanted to manipulate Emily—but because you wanted her to choose you without knowing she was choosing.

It was about control. But it was also about survival.

You learned early on that to be loved, you had to make yourself indispensable.

Emily Prentiss wouldn't fall in love by accident. She needed a map. And you would be the way.

Everything was meticulously thought out. You knew her favorite color of wine, the way she always left her gun on the table—never on the right, always on the left. You knew she slept little and read a lot. That her playlist included The Cure and Chopin. That she hated being interrupted but loved being challenged.

You adapted. Like a clever shadow.

A comment at the right moments. A touch of irony at the wrong ones. You confused her. You intrigued her. You never revealed too much.

And, above all, you never forced intimacy. Because Emily respected boundaries.

So you built your own—and let her navigate it alone.

It was during a case in Denver.

You were covered in mud, after rummaging through an abandoned warehouse looking for a missing teenager. You suggested sorting the evidence right there, avoiding the bureaucracy.

She stayed. She worked alongside you. Hours in silence.

And somewhere in the early morning, with dirt-stained fingers, she said:

“You always know what to say. Or when to keep quiet. It’s weird.”

You answered without looking:

“It’s calculation.”

She frowned. “What?”

You looked up. “They say it’s empathy. But for me, it’s calculation. I observe and react accordingly.”

Emily was silent for a long time. And you thought you’d gone too far.

But then she said:

“Then keep calculating. It’s working.”

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You knew you'd won when she started trusting you with what she didn't say out loud.

Small signs.

She started texting you after hours—not about cases, but about books, movies, random thoughts. She started waiting for your opinion before making decisions in the field. And when she fell asleep on the BAU couch, exhausted, it was with her head resting on your shoulder.

You didn't move. When her head rested on your shoulder, you fought the urge to breathe deeper. You kept your body still, but inside—chaos.

Emily Prentiss. There. Leaning against you.

Not as an agent. Not as a colleague. But as a woman who, without saying anything, was saying everything.

You closed your eyes. Just for a second.

Because this was the moment you had engineered… and, ironically, it was also the moment when everything could fall apart.

There was no calculation. No studied steps. There was just her, you, and the most intimate silence you had ever shared with anyone.

After that, the lines began to blur.

Emily began touching your arm more often—gestures that might have been casual to anyone else, but not to her. She asked you to lunch more often, even if it meant just sharing an apple in the backseat of the BAU SUV.

She laughed at your jokes. And then she stared at you for longer than necessary.

You noticed every microexpression, every hesitation. You knew she was struggling with something she didn't yet fully understand. Or didn't want to understand.

Great. You wanted it that way.

Nothing stated. Nothing forced. Everything chosen.

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During a case in Richmond, you deliberately made a slip-up during the profile analysis. Something small—an inaccurate piece of information, a misplaced theory.

Emily corrected you firmly. But it was in her eyes that you saw what you wanted.

Concern. Frustration. Fear.

She cared.

That night, at the hotel, she knocked on your door. Late. Hair down, worn FBI sweatshirt.

“You never make mistakes,” she said bluntly.

You looked up from your laptop. “I make mistakes.”

“No. You test.”

You didn’t answer. Emily analyzed you like someone, for the first time, was dismantling your game. Piece by piece.

“Did you want to see if I noticed you?”

You closed the laptop.

“No. I wanted to see how far you were willing to follow me.”

She took a deep breath. She walked to the desk and leaned against the edge.

“You’re a riddle. And I’m good at riddles.”

You tilted your head. “Then solve me.”

Emily smiled. But she didn’t say anything.

She just held out her hand. You took it. And when your hand found hers, the touch was brief but firm. Like an agreement.

From then on, nothing would be said clearly. But everything would be understood.

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The night she kissed you wasn't planned.

I mean, you had simulated dozens of possible versions of what would happen when Emily finally realized—but none of them resembled what actually happened.

It was after a particularly cruel case in Chicago. A boy kidnapped and killed. The team devastated. Emily destroyed.

You found her on the hotel terrace, alone, a lit cigarette between her fingers, though she rarely smoked.

You approached, silent. You stood beside her, staring out at the city lights.

“I hate this job sometimes,” she said.

“And yet, you don’t abandon it.”

“Neither do you.”

Silence.

Then she turned her face to you. And in that moment, you knew.

Nothing in the world could stop her.

Emily approached slowly, as if she knew the moment was too precious to rush.

And then she kissed you.

No hesitation. No excuse. No test.

You kissed her back with a calculated slowness, as if savoring the end of a very long game. Very difficult. Very yours.

When you broke apart, she rested her forehead against yours.

And said:

"You beat me."

You smiled. Quietly. Shakily.

"It wasn't supposed to be a winning game."

"But it was," she replied.

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Days later, Reid shot you a look across the office. That look that said: I know something.

Garcia was already suspicious.

Hotch pretended not to notice.

But you knew—no one needed to understand. Only Emily. And she now understood you better than anyone.

Not as a pawn. But as the player who, in the end, also let herself be defeated.

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happy birthday to this hottie pattootie!!

she’s such a light in this sad, sad world 💙🩵🤍

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CONVICTION 1x01

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time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me.

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SVU 5x04

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NATIONAL SECURITY.

✷ e. prentiss x fem!mother!reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, soft!dom!emily, sub!reader, established relationship, fingering (e and r receiving), oral (e and r receiving), hair pulling, breast play (squeezing, nipple teasing), crying during sex, scissoring. Minors dni.

The house was quiet, finally. Little Theo had fallen asleep after three stories—three because Emily, with her soft voice and accent that still carried traces of her years abroad, had insisted on reading one more. You had watched her, hiding a smile as she struggled to embody the characters' voices, so different from the tough agent who confronted criminals without hesitation.

Now, in the dim light of the hallway, you watched Emily lean over Theo's crib, adjusting the blanket with a delicacy few knew. Her long fingers—used to wielding weapons and searching crime scenes—now stroked the soft fabric as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"He takes after you," Emily murmured, without turning, as if she knew you were watching. "He has your eyes."

You approached silently, feeling the warmth of her body against your back as you leaned over the crib with her. Theo was breathing deeply, his eyelashes fluttering slightly in some childish dream.

"He loved the story," you whispered in Emily's ear, feeling her shiver slightly as your warm breath touched her skin. "Especially when you did the dragon voice."

Emily turned slowly, her body now pressed against yours in the cramped space between the crib and the wall. In the darkness, her eyes seemed even deeper, more intense.

"I was thinking..." she began, her voice lower than the rustling leaves of the playground Theo loved. One of her hands found your waist, pulling you closer. "Maybe I could stay the night."

Your heart raced in your chest. It wasn't the first time, but whenever she said those words, it was accompanied by that flutter of newness. You could smell her perfume—something expensive and understated she'd worn since her days at Interpol—mingled with the more homey scent that clung to her shirt.

"You have a meeting tomorrow morning," you reminded her, even as your hands moved up her arms, feeling the tense muscles beneath her silk shirt.

Emily smiled, that slow, dangerous smile that made your stomach churn. "Penelope would cover for me if I told her I was on an important mission."

Her kiss was slow, exploratory, as if she were memorizing every curve of your lips. When they parted, you could feel the blush on your own cheeks.

"And is it?" you asked, your voice husky. "An important mission?"

Emily's hands dropped to your thighs, lifting you with surprising ease until your legs automatically wrapped around her waist. "Vital," she replied, carrying you down the dark hallway toward your bedroom as her lips found your neck. "National security."

The room was shrouded in shadows as Emily crossed the threshold, her footsteps firm even as she carried your weight. The door closed with a soft click, but the sound was muffled by the rapid thump of your heart against your ribs.

Your back met the soft mattress as Emily carefully laid you down, your bodies still entwined. Her lips wasted no time, recapturing yours in a kiss more urgent now, less restrained. You felt her fingers slide under the robe you wore, exploring the exposed skin with a mixture of possessiveness and reverence.

"Do you know how you make me feel?" Emily murmured against your mouth, her teeth grazing your lower lip before gently tugging.

You arched your back as her hands found your breasts, her thumbs tracing slow circles over your already hardened nipples. "I think I have an idea," you replied breathlessly, your own hands tangling in her hair, pulling it back slightly.

Emily let out a low sound, almost a growl, before burying her face in the crook of your neck. Her lips and teeth traced a downward path, stopping only when the barrier of your bra intervened. With a deft movement, she undid it, tossing it to some corner of the room before covering one of your breasts with her mouth.

Your name escaped your lips in a muffled moan, and Emily smiled against your skin, her tongue tracing torturously slow patterns. "You have to be quiet, love," she reminded you, her voice thick with humor and desire. "We don't want to wake the little one."

You bit your lip until you could almost taste the metallic taste of blood, trying to silence the moans Emily elicited from you with each flick of her tongue. Your fingers dug into her hair, pulling harder than you intended as she alternated between sucking and lightly biting your nipple.

Emily let out a husky moan against your skin when you tugged at her hair, the pain clearly mingling with pleasure. Her dark eyes gleamed with animal intensity as she lifted her face to look at you, her lips wet and swollen from so much exploration.

"Someone's impatient today," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. Her hands dropped to the waist of your robe, undoing the knot with the precise movements of someone accustomed to defusing pressure bombs. The fabric fell open, revealing your body completely at her mercy.

The cool air in the room made your nipples harden even more, and Emily couldn't resist—she bent down again, catching one of them between her teeth as her hands explored every curve of your torso. You arched your back, biting back a moan when her fingers found the sensitive mark just above your panties.

"Emily... please," you begged, your hips moving involuntarily.

She lifted her face with a predatory smile. "Please what? Use your words, darling." She removed your panties, finding you soaked. "God, you're so wet for me."

Her fingers began a torturously slow motion—firm circles on your clit, then sliding down only to rise again, deliberately avoiding the pressure you so desperately needed.

You gritted your teeth, feeling the heat spread throughout your body. "Don't torture me like this," you begged, your fingers digging into her shoulders.

Emily smiled, finally giving in and sliding two fingers inside you in one smooth motion. "It's so beautiful to see you come undone for me," she murmured, gradually increasing her pace as her mouth found your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin.

"So perfect for me," Emily murmured, her teeth scraping the back of your neck. "All wet and warm, squeezing me like you never want me to leave."

When her fingers found that perfect spot inside you, your body reacted instantly—muscles contracting, legs trembling. Emily felt it and took advantage, curling her fingers at just the right angle while her thumb pressed firmly against your clit.

"Come for me," she commanded, her voice husky and commanding. "I want to feel you falling on my fingers."

The wave of pleasure hit you like a tsunami—your body arched silently, muscles clenching around her fingers as the wave overwhelmed you. Emily swallowed your muffled moans in a deep kiss, prolonging your fall until you were limp and satisfied against the sheets.

Emily slowly withdrew her fingers, watching with dark eyes as you shuddered at the movement. She brought them to her mouth, cleaning them with a languor that made your stomach churn. "Delicious," she murmured, before capturing your lips in a kiss that made you taste yourself.

Your body was still trembling with the afterglow of your orgasm as Emily began to move down your torso, kissing every inch of exposed skin. Her lips traced a fiery path to your navel, where her tongue circled the indentation before continuing downward.

"Emily..." you sighed, your fingers digging into her hair.

She looked up, her eyes flashing in the dark. "Shhh," she said, placing a finger over her swollen lips. "Remember the deal."

Before you could respond, Emily dove between your legs, her tongue finding your clit with a precision that made you gasp. Her hands gripped your hips tightly, preventing any movement as she explored you with her tongue—firm circles, then gentle ones, then pressure in exactly the right spot.

You buried your face in the pillow, trying to stifle the moans that insisted on escaping. Emily responded with a growl of approval, increasing her pace as two fingers slid inside you, immediately finding the spot that made your legs tremble violently.

"Please," you begged, your voice strangled. "I can't take it..."

Emily didn't slow down. On the contrary—she curled her fingers inside you as she sucked on your clit, the perfect combination. The pressure and movement that brought you to the edge almost immediately.

As the wave of pleasure hit you, your body arched so violently that Emily had to hold you tightly against the mattress. You bit the pillow, your muscles contracting around her fingers as the wave completely overwhelmed you.

Emily didn't let you fall gently—she continued working you with her tongue and fingers, prolonging your orgasm until tears streamed down your face. Only when you began to feel too sensitive, almost painful, did she pull back, leaving one last soft kiss on your trembling inner thigh.

She crawled up your body like a cat, kissing every inch of skin she could find. When she finally reached your lips, the kiss was surprisingly sweet, almost tender, in stark contrast to the intensity of what had just happened.

"Beautiful," she murmured, wiping away your tears with her thumbs. "Absolutely beautiful."

Your fingers were still trembling when you finally found the strength to move. The sight of Emily above you—hair disheveled, lips swollen and glistening with you, eyes dark as burning coals—made your stomach churn with desire again.

You pulled her into a slow, wet kiss, your hands finally exploring the buttons of her silk shirt. "My turn," you murmured against her lips, feeling your heart race as Emily arched her back, allowing you to undress her.

The silk slid from her shoulders like water, revealing the smooth skin and defined muscles you loved to map with your tongue and teeth. Her breasts were perfect in your hands—firm, sensitive, the nipples already hard against your palms. Emily let out a husky moan when you squeezed them lightly, your mouth finding her neck next, marking the skin with your lips.

"Lie down," you ordered, surprised by the firmness of your own voice.

Emily obeyed, lying on her back with a slow, dangerous smile. "Someone's in charge now," she teased, but you saw the flush in her chest, the way her breathing quickened as you positioned yourself over her.

You slid down, kissing every inch of her torso—the valley between her breasts, her defined ribs, her soft belly button—until you reached the waistband of her pants. Your fingers toyed with the button, looking up to meet her gaze.

"Please," Emily whispered, a rare admission that made your blood boil.

You didn't make her wait. Her pants and panties disappeared in one motion, and then you were there, between her legs, drinking in the sight of her—completely exposed, wet, and trembling with desire.

"You're so beautiful like this," you murmured, before diving in.

Emily arched with a muffled moan as your tongue found her clit, your fingers burying themselves in her hair immediately. You explored her slowly, first with gentle circles, then with firm pressure, feeling her body respond instantly.

"More," she commanded, her hips moving against your mouth. "Please, more."

You didn't resist. You inserted two fingers inside her, curling them at that perfect angle you knew so well, while your tongue continued to work her clit. Emily was so wet, so hot, contracting around you as if she couldn't wait any longer.

"I want you on top of me," she gasped, her stomach muscles tensing. "Now."

You pulled back just enough to rise, aligning your bodies. Emily pulled you down in a fierce kiss, her legs wrapping around your waist, guiding you exactly where she wanted you.

The first slide was agonizingly slow—you felt every inch of her, every tremor, every muffled moan against your lips. But then Emily gripped your hips, pulling you completely close, and you moaned, losing what little control you had left.

"Like this," she whispered, her eyes closed, her lips parted. "Oh my God, like this."

You began to move, your bodies meeting in perfect rhythm. Each thrust was more intense than the last, each point of friction between you igniting a fire that seemed impossible to extinguish. Emily held you tightly, her fingers marking your skin, her moans growing louder.

"I'm close," she warned, her voice trembling. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

You didn't stop. Instead, you increased your pace, feeling your own body approaching the edge again. Every movement Emily made against you, every husky moan that escaped her lips, brought you closer to the edge.

"With me," Emily ordered, her voice a command you couldn't disobey even if you wanted to.

It was enough. Your body exploded in ecstasy at the same time as hers, muscles contracting violently as waves of pleasure dragged you toward the abyss. Emily swallowed your cries in a deep kiss, prolonging each tremor until you were both trembling and exhausted.

When you finally came down from your peak, Emily rolled onto your side, pulling you against her sweaty body. Your hearts beat in sync, your racing pulses gradually calming.

The room fell silent, only the sound of your heavy breathing filling the space. Emily pulled you closer, your bodies still warm and Sticky with sweat, but neither of you cared. His fingers traced soft patterns on your back, each touch a post-climax caress that made your heart clench.

"Mission accomplished," Emily murmured, her lips touching your forehead in a light kiss.