Summary: Hook may never get this chance again; the pirate in him seizes the moment. After all, what is a pirate but an opportunist?
Rating: Most definitely M.
Author's Note: Someone wanted tacos after the date and I gave them super smutty angst instead!
To claim her, to conquer her; the words beat against the back of his skull, thrum through the sinews of his throat as Emma worries his bottom lip with her teeth, finally pulls at the last bit of his resolve as she drags his body closer to her own, pressing her hips to his. The sheer heat of her, the flush of her skin as he touches her, the rasp of her nails along his jaw; desire, blinding and white with heat, pools in his stomach. His cock is throbbing, the slow ache a pleasurable pain as Killian grabs her hips with his hands – his grip so firm he's sure he's leaving marks – and grinds her up against the door, mouth insistent and hot on the skin of her neck. All of that lovely hair, swooped away from her throat – he winds a hand around it and tugs, exposing her pulse point, licking one long stripe up to her chin before covering her mouth with his own once more.
"Killian," she breathes, her voice shaky and uneven; he stops and considers her. He wants, Gods, how he wants her, so badly and for so long, and by the state of her – green eyes nearly black with unbridled lust, cheeks stained red – she wants him, too. But he must ask, because it's Emma, and bloody hell, he loves her, so he searches her face and asks, "Do you wish for me to stop?"
She blinks several times, as though the question had never entered her mind until he'd asked. Killian watches her consider it; he quells the urge to rub his cock against the juncture of her thighs, beats back the image of her beneath him, those lovely hands of hers clawing her way down his back.
Something settles in her face and he knows it well: eager anticipation, like someone impatiently awaiting an opponent they know they will defeat.
If Emma Swan is to ruin him, let it be this night, before the man he once was slides back into his brain like an old friend, set to destroy the woman he's always felt was more deserving of another. Killian runs the palms of his hands along the warmth of her back and pulls her closer, erasing the space between them, setting the world right in bringing them nearer together.
"Emma," he murmurs, so reverently he figures it for a prayer. Let me keep you, he thinks. Let me stay.
She does not hear him, this he knows, but he cannot help the swell of his heart when she says, "Inside, please, Killian. Let's go inside."
And he complies with her wish, unlocking the door easily, stunned at how simple the task is when one has two hands with which to perform it; he switches on the light to get his bearings – he's still unused to Granny's and the narrow bed he's taken to ignoring. Small beds have strangely always made him feel lonelier, the constriction of the frame a reminder of the fact that no one else would come to fill it.
He hears the rustle of fabric and turns, sees the slip of Emma's dress drop to the floor as she steps toward him, the sway of her hips and the firm swell of her breasts suddenly so close to him he can scarcely breathe.
"You're overdressed, Captain," she says, softly, tenderly and his heart breaks at the sound of it. He cups her face in both of his hands, running his thumbs along her cheeks as he kisses her forehead.
"You're so perfect, Emma," he says, and he's said these words before – he hates that he's tainted them by having uttered them as lies, for he's never meant those words until now, staring down at Emma Swan, the soft glow of lamplight flickering across her pale skin.
She blushes, perhaps unaccustomed to the compliment, and he slides his palms across the soft plane of her stomach, drops his fingers to cup the warmth of her sex. "Would you like me to prove it?"
"Yes," she breathes, her head falling back, her eyes fluttering shut as he strokes his fingers along her folds.
"Gods, lass, the things I would do to you…." He ruts against her hipbone, his cock aching against the seam of his jeans. Killian wants to throw her down on the bed and fuck her into the mattress, render her incoherent and numb, until the only thing she can manage to scream is his name. Emma is so wet; he inserts a finger into her cunt and then another, curling them against the spongy wall of flesh inside of her – she's so tight and warm and it's taking all of his self-control not to do what he wanted to do earlier: to mark her as his own.
But his resolve shatters when he hears Emma's whimpery moan, as she scores his scalp with her fingertips, dragging his head to hers and bruising his mouth, biting and sucking on his lips.
"More, Killian, please give me more," she begs, and he's all too willing to comply. His clothes seem a nuisance as he works them off, Emma's greedy eyes roving over every inch of his exposed skin. Her gaze is fixed and hungry and when she settles on his cock, sees him thick and ready for her, Killian nearly comes right then for the sheer amount of lust in her expression.
He knows it then, as he always knows with her. She does not want slow tonight. She wants him to take her roughly, thoroughly, until she's forgotten there used to be a place in which the other begins and ends, until he's fused their bodies together in one ecstatic union of light.
The pirate in him sees the plunder; the man in him sees the woman he loves, the woman he may one day have to turn away. Am I cursed? He wonders, as he presses her down onto the mattress, nudging her thighs apart with one knee, both of his hands grasping her hips, slipping underneath her to knead the swell of her arse. Am I damned, to see this woman in this way, to ruin her and for her to ruin me? He wraps her legs around his waist, feels the heels of her shoes against his spine; he settles against her, the tip of his cock at her entrance, rubbing along her folds. His eyes roll shut as he slides into her, the slick heat of her enough to engulf him, the throb of her muscles clenching along every inch of his cock.
Killian slides back out, slowly, and then slams his hips against her; Emma groans low in her throat and presses her hips closer to him. Her undoing is his goal; he wants her so thoroughly spent after this she can scarcely stand.
His grip on her hips is sure to leave marks; he can feel the play of her muscles underneath his fingers. He scoops her up and settles her in his lap, grinding her down onto his cock, biting and sucking on her tits, worrying her nipples between his teeth and soothing them with his tongue. Sweat glistens between her breasts and he licks it away, smoothing his tongue up to her collarbone, biting down hard on the delicate skin there.
Emma keens and pushes him onto his back, setting her own punishing rhythm, rolling her hips just so until all he can think and breathe and feel is Emma's cunt along the ridge of his cock. Her nails dig into his chest, her breath is sharp, and her eyes so blown with lust they're like two pinpoints of black.
His own release is fast approaching; Killian can feel Emma's walls fluttering around him. Flipping them over, he thrusts into her hurriedly, unrhythmically, using the palm of his hand to rub her clit, to hold her in place, while he feels her walls tighten and clench around him, hears her wail his name into the crook of his neck, feels her teeth bite down on his throat, the scrape of her nails sharp along his back.
Collapsing, Killian moves to roll them over, enveloped in the honeyed perfume of Emma's hair.
"You've ruined me, lass," he manages to say, curling his fingers in the damp hair curling on her neck. He kisses her temple and she sighs. Some broken piece of him fumbles for its home within his chest; he runs his hands along the length of Emma's spine and memorizes the feel of her against him.
"Good," she says sleepily, and the thing within him cracks, for how could the pirate ever deserve a woman such as this?