His hand brushed along her thigh beneath the table.
"Killian, not now. We're in public."
Killian just smirked at her. They were at the diner with Henry, Mary Margaret and David, enjoying curse-free time for the first time in weeks.
Henry was talking animatedly with his grandparents.
Killian's hand traveled higher. "I quite like what you're wearing, Emma," his voice dropped as he leaned in and whispered, "or not wearing."
Emma felt her cheeks begin to burn. It was laundry day.
"Killian, stop," she said in a feeble attempt to cold him.
He nipped at her earlobe before turning his attention back to the conversation that Henry was having, but he did not withdraw his hand.
Emma shivered as he traced small circles along her inner thigh, fingers creeping up to caress her gently.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan, and shot him a glare.
"Are you okay, Emma?" asked Mary Margaret, turning towards her daughter.
Emma nodded tightly. Killian was so going to pay for this.
