There have been very few times since she's known him that he's been completely speechless. It looks like this is going to be one of those rare times.
Sitting on the edge of his bed at Granny's, he's tugging off his boots when she emerges from the tiny bathroom. He doesn't glance up, obviously distracted by thoughts of the possible fallout from her plans for the evening. "Swan, are you sure your boy will be alright with you not coming home tonight?"
She leans against the bathroom door frame, her robe dangling from one fingertip. "He'll be fine. He and David are going to battle for supremacy of the wizarding world, apparently."
"All the same, love-"
He looks up at her - finally, she thinks – and whatever he's about to say dies on his tongue. His lips part as his gaze frantically sweeps over her, taking in the dark rose lingerie that barely covers a single thing, pushing up and tucking in, teasing the eye in a whole lot of interesting places. He stares at her, his eyes burning into every single one of those places with a hunger that makes her wish she'd brought the black and white sets with her as well.
Finally, he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his tanned throat like he's dying of thirst. "Well." His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them. "This is different."
"You don't like them?" Blinking her eyes (okay, so she's fluttering her damned lashes) at him, she goes to shrug back into her robe, doing her best to hide her triumphant smile. "I just thought-"
She's never seen him move so quickly. "Ah, ah, ah, Swan. Not so fast." He takes the robe from her hand and tosses it aside. "Who said anything about not liking them?" He stands in front of her without touching her, his gaze travelling from the ridiculously generous swell of her breasts to the transparent triangle between her thighs. When he finally gets to the hold-up stockings (they're dark red as well, and she'll never wear them in public, but the look on his face is more than worth the expense) he puts up his hand and hook in mock surrender. "Words fail me, love."
"If I'd known it was this easy to shut you up," she says as she smooths her fingertips over the scalloped edging of the push up bra, "I would have showed you earlier."
He slides the tip of his hook between the artfully constructed cups, the metal cool against her skin, his gaze locking with hers. "If you'd worn such a costume before now, Swan, we might never have vanquished the bloody witch." His right hand follows the path her own fingers had just taken, skimming across the swell of her breasts. "You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in any realm, love."
She gently tugs the hook from between her breasts, then slips past him to walk towards the bed. She feels the burn of his gaze with every step, and she knows without looking that he's staring at her ass. "Oh, I've worn them before," she says over her shoulder before sinking down on the edge of his bed. She crosses her legs, delighting in the way his eyes linger on the six inches of bare thigh above her stockings. "You've just never seen them." At her words, his gaze snaps up to meet hers.
"What do you mean?"
Putting her hands flat on the bed behind her, she leans back, giving him a bird's eye view of her supplemented cleavage. "I mean that I've worn these under my clothes a few times." He's walking slowly towards her now, his vest already open, his good hand rapidly dealing with his shirt buttons, such as they are. "The bra provides excellent support," she adds, flashing him a mischievous smile, and his jaw clenches.
"Yes, I can see that." His vest gets tossed on top of her discarded robe, and his shirt is hanging open by the time he puts one knee on the bed, his thigh pressing against hers. "You mean to tell me that you've been running around this town wearing such deliciously translucent undergarments all this time?"
When she opens her mouth to answer, the words get clogged in her throat, because he's dipped his head and started kissing her shoulder, his teeth scraping over her bra strap, his mouth hot on her skin. Sucking in a lungful of air, she tries again. "Sometimes." She lets her head drop back, because he's kissing the crook of her neck now and she's not about to stop him. "But the only person who saw them was me, I'm afraid."
"What a sinful waste of a glorious sight." His hand travels up and down her spine, toying with the clasp of her bra, but he makes no move to undo it, even though she knows from personal experience how dextrous those fingers can be.
"Well, to be fair, at the time you and I weren't-" She breaks off, feeling her face grow warm at putting a label on their past relationship, despite their current entangled situation, but of course he's more than happy to finish her thought.
"At the time, you and I weren't fucking." His voice is thick and rough with desire, sinking into her skin like hot butter, the cool steel of his hook gliding up the length of her inner thigh to rub against the growing ache between her legs. "But we are now, aren't we, Swan?"
Oh, God.
He kneels at the side of the bed, settling himself between her legs, his tongue pressed flat and hot against her through the thin fabric, mouthing her in a relentless rhythm that has her clawing at the sheets. When he finally tugs aside the damp silk with his thumb, all he has to do is taste her one more time, his tongue gliding over her, and she's falling, her release rolling through her in hot, thick waves.
Afterwards, he still doesn't let her take them off, gently biting her nipple through the lace of her bra as if to validate his point. "You were good enough to wear them for me, darling," he tells her as he hurriedly strips off his shirt and trousers, "it's only polite that I enjoy them as thoroughly as possible."
Now that he's naked, she can see exactly how much he's enjoying them, and she's not about to argue. "Such a gentleman."
"Not tonight, love."
He kisses the smile from her lips, his long fingers tugging aside the wet silk of her underwear once more, and he's soon shuddering against her as she arches beneath him, both of them lost in the sensation of him sliding into her in one slow, deep thrust of heat and hunger. "Oh, Swan. Oh,Emma."
She kisses him again and again, touching him wherever she can, scraping her nails over his nipples, loving the shudder that goes through him. His hand glides up and down her thigh, obviously enjoying the feel of her stockings against his palm, and every thrust seems to go deeper and harder and the relentless pressure is building inside her again, everything growing tight and thick, curling up like a fist in torturous anticipation.
Slipping one hand between them, she touches herself, her knuckles rubbing against the thick heat of him with each thrust of his hips. He mutters several imaginative curse words, then tugs down one of her bra cups, his mouth closing tightly over her nipple, his teeth nipping, and she is gone, twisting beneath him as she goes under for the second time. He fucks her through her release, his movements becoming jerky, almost clumsy, and then he follows her over the edge, his body pulsing inside hers, saying her name over and over again - Emma, Emma – in a litany of gratitude that almost brings her to tears.
They're still lying tangled together in a boneless heap when he presses a kiss to her breast, his stubble scraping lightly against the fabric of her bra. "I'm afraid your lovely costume is ruined, love."
He sounds genuinely apologetic and, in the half-darkness, Emma smiles at him. Contrary to popular belief (ie the town gossips) it's never been just about the sex with this man. Their feelings have always run a lot deeper than that, especially since she stopped pretending she wouldn't go to the ends of the earth for him. Of course, there's a lot to be said for enjoying each other, as he so delicately put it. "Don't sweat it. I have two other sets." Bowing her head, she bites lazily at his nipple, and hears his audible swallow. "In different colours."
"Always thinking ahead." Humming beneath his breath, he skims his hand slowly over the askew cup of her bra, then down to the ruined silk between her thighs, cupping her still tingling flesh. "That's my girl."
"Woman," she corrects him sleepily, and she feels a ripple of amusement quiver through his body, pressed so close against hers.
"Aye, love." She closes her eyes as he kisses her temple, his words soft against her skin, the pleasant heat and scent of him soothing her towards drowsiness. "That you are."
Two nights later, she wears the black one for him.
They ruin that one, too.
After that, she decides to keep the white for a special occasion, because expensive lingerie doesn't grow on trees. Mind you, the exchange rate for centuries-old gold coins is pretty damned healthy, and she certainly seems to have a lot of those lying around these days.
Maybe once more, she thinks. They do have a lot of time to make up for, after all.