Slow burn.
The phrase has never made more sense, Emma thinks, closing her eyes at the feel of a whiskered chin scratching teasingly against the nape of her neck. She'll be scraped pink all over by the time they're done if he has anything to say about it, and yet she can't bring herself to object, not when her skin is literally tingling with anticipation of his next touch.
They're both tired and today had been draining in more ways than one, and she had entertained thoughts of curling up on her preferred side of his bed at Granny's and sleeping like the dead until morning. And then he'd touched her, his gentle touch at odds with the dark hunger in his eyes, and she'd been a goner, just as she always is.
This is the sixth time they've slept together (she can hear his protest in her head now - slumber had nothing to do with those particular occasions, Swan, I assure you - being his usual stickler for details) and even though now she knows how things are between them, the way he makes her feel never fails to take her by surprise.
Tonight is no exception.
The flickering candlelight makes crazy dancing shadows on the walls as they undress (she refuses to think of Neverland), and the first feel of his body against hers (all lean muscle and warm skin, the wiry hair on his chest teasing her breasts) sends a shudder of anticipation through her.
It starts off slow, and it stays slow. Slow and deep and pretty freaking hot, and she's got to say, she's officially now a fan of taking it slow every now and then.
His dark head is bowed to her breasts, his mouth and tongue as warm as the long fingers curled between her legs, and she fists her hands in his hair tightly, arching into his touch, unintelligible sounds humming in her throat. She needs more, needs him inside her, but he's stubborn and focused and his hand is relentless and his nipping kisses are just sharp enough, and suddenly the pleasure rolls through her like a wave, release beginning to pulse hotly in her breasts, belly and groin. Shuddering beneath him, she digs her fingernails into his scalp, urging him upwards, and his mouth finally covers hers in a deep, fierce kiss, muffing the sound of her climax as she rides out the fire storm he's awoken in her.
He doesn't stop kissing her, his mouth trailing a heated path down her belly, then over her hip, his hand tracing the curve of her breasts, as though he can't bear to stop touching her. His erection is silken and heavy against her thigh, and she doesn't speak (she's not sure she can speak after that, to be honest) as she sits up and pushes him onto his back. He knows the drill by now, shamelessly smirking as she deals with the condom (I'd gladly assist you, love, but a missing hand does make it tricky), and she gets almost as much satisfaction out of taking him inside her with one thick slide of heat and flesh as she does seeing a look of utter ecstasy replacing that damned smirk.
Almost, but not quite, because while this might only be their sixth time together, she already knows he's ruined her for anyone else. Jesus, he's barely moved his hips and she's already breathless, her belly and breasts tightening, the relentless ache between her legs rising from the ashes at the feel of him buried inside her.
And it's not just the way her body responds to his. Every time he looks at her, his heart is written all over his face. He loves her, body and soul, for better or for worse, and if she lets herself think about it for too long, it scares the living daylights out of her.
(That's why she holds onto him so tightly. Having him love her doesn't scare her nearly as much as the thought of losing him.)
He shakes in her arms when he comes (but not before he's pushed her over the edge a second time – ladies first, Swan, he tells her as she writhes and gasps above him, her fingernails scoring his shoulders) his mouth hot on her throat as he gasps her name and tells her that she's beautiful.
Afterwards, he tugs the covers up over their cooling bodies, and she hooks one leg over his, her breasts mashed against his side as she exhales loudly, feeling as though she could sleep for a week. "I know that sound," he murmurs, his hand sliding down her spine beneath the covers to explore the curve of her bare ass.
"Is that right?"
"Hmmm." His voice is tinged with drowsy pride. "That's the sound of a woman who has been thoroughly and expertly ravished."
She'd argue with him, but the results kind of speak for themselves. Scratching her fingernails lazily down his stomach, she presses a kiss to his chest. "One of the perks of dating a pirate, I suppose."
"Just one of the many reasons you finally chose to accept me as a suitor, no doubt."
He's so obviously fishing for compliments that she can't help herself. "Maybe I just felt sorry for you. You'd made it pretty obvious that you'd chosen me,so-" An oddly wistful smile touches his mouth at her words, and she lifts herself up on her elbow. "What's that smile about?"
He looks at her calmly, the picture of innocence. "Nothing."
Lifting her hand from his stomach, she pokes a gentle finger against his ribcage. "Don't tell me nothing. I'm the queen of nothing, remember?"
The hand on her bottom flexes, making her toes curl despite her exhaustion. "I was just recalling something the dearly departed Cora once said to me."
"And you're smiling?" The mention of Cora makes her feel a little off-kilter. They rarely talk about Regina's mother, and they definitely don't talk about her while they're in bed. "What did she do, tell you a good knock knock joke?"
A frown tugs at his dark eyebrows. "I have no idea what that is."
"I'll tell you later." It's just another item for the ever-expanding list of things she needs to explain, but it's definitely not a priority. "You were saying about Cora?"
He settles himself deeper into his pillow with a satisfied wriggle of his shoulders, and she recognises the storyteller in him preparing his opening lines. "It was at the bottom of the beanstalk after the giant had finally released me and I'd laboriously made my way back down to earth."
Emma bites her lip, because that would be another subject they don't usually discuss while they're in bed. "Cora was waiting for you?"
"Alas, yes, and none too pleased to discover I'd been bested by the Swan girl."
There's that sleepy pride again (especially when he says the last three words), and she shifts upwards on the bed until she's half-lying on him, her nose only inches from his. "I seem to remember you being none too pleased as well, so that would have made two of you."
He ignores the teasing jibe (something tells her she'll pay for it later, though). "She told me that I'd chosen you, and so had to accept the consequences of that decision."
Emma frowns. Cora was definitely the kind of woman to talk in cryptic circles, but that makes no sense. "But you didn't choose anything, it was my decision to climb the beanstalk."
He gives her a smile that borders on bashful, which also makes no sense. "Cora always was rather adept at reading people, even an accomplished liar such as myself."
She stares at him. "What are you saying? That you-" Frowning, she breaks off, searching for the words that won't make it sound as though she's a teenaged girl demanding to know when her new boyfriend first noticed her. As usual, though, she needn't have bothered because, as usual, he's anticipated her words.
"Fancied you from the start?" His gaze is steady and very blue and makes her pulse pick up speed, despite her current state of exhaustion. "Aye, that I did."
She's lying naked with him in a rented bed, having just had two of the best orgasms she's had in years, and she's blushing. "Oh." She thinks of him tending to her wounded hand, the way her stomach had flipped over when his hot breath had caressed her palm. She remembers the way her heart had started pounding when he'd pulled her into his arms at the tripwire, his body hard and warm against hers, and knows he wasn't the only one.
Not that she's going to admit it.
Not yet, anyway.
"There's no need for heartfelt confessions, Swan." He takes her silence in his stride, just as he does everything else she throws at him, already hearing what she's not saying. "Although we both know you could have simply pushed me out of the way of that bloody tripwire instead of pouncing on me."
She'd be speechless, but she's too tired. "You are seriously the most conceited, oh fuck it." It's easier to lean up and kiss him than it is to argue with him, and from the way he kisses her back, he seems to agree. He kisses her until they're both breathless and clumsy, and sleep finally proves too tempting to resist. She waves a hand and the candlelight dies, plunging the room into the darkness. Curling into his side, she smiles as he drapes his arm over her, his hand coming to rest on her hip as naturally though they've shared a bed for years rather than six measly nights.
She closes her eyes as the faint scent of beeswax wafts through the air around them. Tomorrow will probably be yet another emotionally draining day, but this is her life now, and she doesn't have to do it alone, not anymore.
She's made her choice, too.