Wrapped Up In Gold
The scent of cheap rose-water covering dust, dirt and desperation. Soft gasps and moans in a trembling alto voice. Soft, pliant skin that warmed under her fingers. The salty tang of sweat and the sweetness of sex. Luxurious dark waves of hair falling over a dark eyes and bright red lips.
Emma feasted on her: lips, tongue, teeth. She gave as good as she got, nails raked hot red trails down her back and husky laughter sounded when she hissed in pain. They were on the floor, hard stone was rough against their skin as they rolled and twisted and struggled for pleasure, pain and to decide who controlled whom.
The floor was covered in straw, thankfully clean, but there was something else. They were tangled in thin gold thread. It was wrapped around, between and across them. It tied their tangled legs intimately together and wrapped between around a pair of gorgeous breasts that had been torn free of their red satin and corseted prison. It was wrapped around Emma's finger, her wrists, up her bare arms.. It was strung through her own light hair. It was wrapped around a slender neck already decorated with Emma's teeth marks. The gold thread bound them as much as lust.
She tore once primly pinned and styled hair down and reveled in the feel of it in her fingers. She relished the feel of slender, shapely, pale, legs wrapped around her waist. She let her magic flow through her hands and thumbs into already erect and sensitive nipples. The brunette beneath her arched so sharply that Emma almost lost her position on top-almost.
"Again." Pleasure roughened words spilled out of her lover's lips.
Emma smirked, "All magic comes with a price. Are you sure you can handle it, Dearie?"
"Yes. Yes. Gods yes!"
She let her magic flow and could feel the gush of womanly wetness against her stomach. She moved one hand, slowly, oh so slowly, down a flat stomach to a neath thatch of curls and brushed a single finger against the hard nub that she found there, begging for attention. The reaction was immediate. A pert ass jerked and pressed up against her, her body begging just as loudly as her mouth, but not nearly as lewdly.
"Just fuck me, please!"
It was the sort of language that good girls, like the nobility she thirsted to join, didn't say. It showed her coarse upbringing and her base desires. Emma didn't mind either, really. Passion, true and unedited, made her want the woman more. This woman who challenged Kings and promised the impossible. The woman who sounded like something breaking. The woman whose fingernails clawed at her chest as she rocketed into a screaming orgasm.
"Rumpelstiltskin!" Cora screamed as she came.
Emma jerked upright, her heart hammering in her chest and between her legs.
Hot and cold warred inside of her blood and bones as she came to a quick and horrified realization that she'd just had a sex dream about The Queen of Freaking Hearts-Regina's psychopath mother-Cora Mills.
No. Emma scraped trembling fingers through her sweat soaked blonde hair. A memory. She had just experienced Gold's memory of banging Cora.
"Oh fucking gross." She spat on the ground beside her but swore she could still taste Cora. "Oh my God-just no." As disgusted as she was, though, when her hand strayed between her legs she could feel that not only had she soaked her panties but also the jeans that she'd fallen asleep wearing.
She needed a cold shower but wherever she was, and she had no clue, there wasn't anything of the sort.
"I will never ever be able to have enough therapy to get rid of those visions."
Perhaps, a slick and chilly voice in her head whispered, but you have to admit that Regina does take a good deal after her mother in the looks department.
"Shut up!" She clenched her head between her palms and tried very hard not to wonder exactly how much daughter would take after mother.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
No matter how much she screamed, though, the thought burned hot in her brain.