Emma shifts her hips for a better angle before pushing forward again, this time with more force. Her thighs are already quivering from exertion, but a few well-placed thrusts are all that is needed to send the body beneath her into fits of pleasure.
Regina pants and cripples the sheets in her grasp, grabbing Emma from behind, but finding no purchase on her sweat slick arms. She keens forward and scrambles for something to ground her. Emma makes a great thrust inside her and Regina gasps out loud, mouth open, eyes shut tight. They both tense, their damp bodies pressed together before convulsing as one to the wave of euphoria traveling through them. They drop boneless to the bed, Emma atop Regina, fingers intertwined and gasping for breath.
The locked master bedroom contained all the memories of their night including the pleading echoes, the banquet of tender flesh and the heady aroma of sex. Despite one's fear of intrusion, many assurances had been made by the other in a series of tingling whispers and squeezes from a hand. A single kiss on an inner wrist and all doubts were dispelled.
Emma doesn't yet remove the attachment between her legs, nor does she withdraw the length still buried within Regina. She's content to grind lightly into it so as to prolong the satisfying twinges, and based on the soft whimpers into a pillow she's not the only one.
Blonde hair is a sticky, matted mess on her cheek and neck, but Emma can't find it in herself to care. She smiles into glowing skin of Regina's back which still rises and falls fitfully and wonders how her night ended up so unexpectedly awesome.
The lock clicks soundly behind Emma. Her shoulder blades bite into the hard wood and it occurs to her that there is no way out. Behind her lies a locked door, impenetrable to the entire world, and in front waits the beautiful woman of her fantasy. Regina, her nakedness covered by the knee-high silk robe, now offered something entirely singular from the last two lovers she wooed. The intent in those eyes alone fulfilled half of Emma's daydream right there.
"Are we alone?" Emma asks when she found her voice, albeit dry. Her reservations are warranted. After all, she was guilty of spying not long ago. "I mean, you're publicist isn't going to take you away from me again, is she?" She winces at the way it sounded. She's seen Wedding Crashers and has no plans to meet the criteria of a Stage Five Clinger. Openly insecure is not the ideal way of selling it, but sometimes nerves got the best of her tongue.
"I can assure you," Regina, planting her hands to the door close enough for their wrists to brush, leans in close enough for their sighs to mingle, "we will not be disturbed tonight. This is my private bedroom. No one would dare enter."
Regina has already fixed her appreciation to Emma's lips. Her chin is tilted up in anticipation and she waits as if in some Victorian suitability – perhaps consent to courtship. The only sign of impatience shows in the scraping of polished nails to the door.
Emma's swallows under the intensity. The questioning gaze is so smoldering she feels her skin smoke and crackle to flames. While the idea that she has Regina all to herself consumes her determination, it occurs to her that she may have it the other way around. Attested by the possessive hands gripped on either side of her, it is Regina who has Emma all to herself.
The temperature between her legs spikes and she feels heat emanate deep in her belly. She doesn't have the heart to ask what happened between Regina's snubbing her in the backyard and this torrid invitation. There's really no reason to turn her back on this opportunity.
"Good," she says and seals her fate by closing the space between their mouths.
And it is just as electric as before. Emma brings up her hands to steady the face against hers, grinding the feverish lips in a searing kiss.
Then Regina inhales sharply and pushes the woman back by the shoulders. "Are you intoxicated?"
"No," Emma insists quickly.
"Good." The tip of her tongue peeks out to wet her upper lip. She sees Emma follow its trail and a growl stirs from her depths. "I wouldn't want to take advantage of you."
The glint in both their eyes proves that neither will have minded that particular scenario. Regina, in fact, has similar plans if this little affair runs smoothly. In the meantime, she's content to explore the surface pleasures. However, Regina is far from prudish. Innocence and simplicity were two things never meant for the bedroom – or at least not for Regina's bedroom. She just hopes her opinions are shared.
"Are you familiar with this apparatus?"
Emma's state of balance changes like whiplash. One minute she's pressed up nicely against the door and the next Regina is hanging some piece of equipment before her eyes. The black leather harness sways in time with Emma's figure. She swallows dryly, begging for memory to supply her with the word to describe this thing. Yes, she knows what it is, but those damn nerves and the way the strap hangs from that single index finger has stalled all brain processes. Just the way those lips wrap around the word… apparatus… causes Emma's knees to wobble.
"Not… lately."
"Well, I'm sure it will come back to you," Regina says with quirk of her brow and a sly, knowing smirk.
"Definitely," Emma mumbles, staring, "yeah."
Minutes later she's still shaking like a leaf. There aren't even any clothes left hanging on her to hide the shame. A part of Emma wants to shrivel up and conceal herself behind the curtain of blonde hair – idea courtesy of Cousin Itt (and boy, did he have that guise down). Another part of her knows the anxiety is baseless. Emma knows how to please a woman without the use of her own facilities and has engaged in some rather adventurous activities in the past. It's just… the pressure to please this particular woman ranges far higher than she anticipated. And she's pretty darn sure she means that in a capacity beyond the professional.
But then there Regina is with a steadying hand on her hip and kisses to her jaw. It's enough to reassemble her brain cells and then vaporize them all over again. Thankfully, Emma is awarded with a helping hand.
"It's not too tight, is it?"
"Well," a breathy chuckle slips, "if it's not then that would defeat the whole purpose."
"I suppose. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable," Regina's fingers withdrew from the buckles as she finishes smoothly, "unnecessarily."
"I'm not uncomfortable," Emma says, and, as if by magic, she really feels the truth of it. "You don't make me uncomfortable."
A promise of trust passes between them, which seems a bit premature seeing as they are strangers to one another. They may only have met a few hours ago, but unfamiliarity is not what they feel. Emma and Regina have already laughed together and accepted the timid touch of friendship. In the space of a debate they shared common opinions and strategies while simultaneously grinding their opponents to a paste. They are secure in the equal respect each has for the other.
The admission is out there just hanging stagnant in the air while Emma waits, nibbling at her lips.
Regina is staring, the air suspended in her lungs. Before she even realizes what she's doing her body is flush against Emma's and her hands her finding purchase in loose curls. Her lips crash against the squeaking mouth and kiss the shock into submission. She pours her desire into Emma, the desire she felt the moment her eyes latched on those swinging hips.
A moan escapes from Emma and is caught by Regina. Their mouths open and meet in a hot kiss with tongue and teeth and promise. Rolling passion ignites from their pressing bodies and it is the first time Emma notices the weight of the protruding length hanging between them. Emma's mouth drops open in a startled groan as Regina presses her thigh in, brushing against the silicone. The base of the device rubs deliciously against Emma's clit as she senses her own wetness build and coat over it. Her eyes roll back as Regina continues to grind against her.
Hardened nipples brush roughly through the robe and Emma has to tear the ends of it apart to feel the full effect. And is it ever a glorious effect. Regina's breasts are heavily rounded and peaked by dusky nipples Emma can't stop her lips from casing around. Seeing them from behind a half-closed door is one thing, but savoring them by her own mouth is a whole different ballgame.
A low moan rumbles from Regina's throat. She digs the pads of her fingers into Emma's scalp to encourage her. The combination of scrapping teeth and lips so inquisitive already succeeds in sending vibrations through her. The hot mouth on her breast returns with a lapping assault that has her rising to her toes in shivering ecstasy. She then reasserts the bare length of her thigh into the attachment between them, pressing hard and wanton against it in plea for Emma to use it properly inside her.
Emma's moans are muffled against the flesh of a lavished breast, which leaves Regina keen against her further. They separate, gasping, eyes wide and penetrating thoroughly. Deciding to exert some authority, Emma backs the woman till she's bouncing flat against the bed. Before joining her, she pauses and allows herself to be thunderstruck by Regina's vulnerability. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Emma tries with all her might to dampen the onslaught of arousal the woman incites.
Her knees sink deep into the plush eggshell-hued duvet of the bed, but Emma holds off on any further advance.
"I'm Emma by the way. It's probably customary to introduce one's self before…" her gaze drops to the firmly attached apparatus, "well, this."
"Thank you," Regina smiles meaningfully and then tilts her head, "but I already know your name."
Emma's knees glide forward as she attempts to straddle the immaculate legs. "You do?"
Regina props herself up on her elbows to meet the challenge. "This is my home. You don't think I run a background check on every guest?"
Emma's eyes widen.
"Not to worry, dear. I am not that paranoid. I just asked around."
"Oh," she sighs, relieved that her sordid past hasn't come out prematurely.
Sensing the tension, Regina rises silently and reaches out to the woman, unsure what it is she wants to do. A hand ends up against Emma's chest and plants flat between the breasts which heave and quiver to touch. Raised flesh rouses in her wake as she draws her palm up inch by thoughtful inch. Her fingers end fluttering along the pronounced collar bone and glide up to encase around a cheek.
Emma is breathing hard. If she can see from out her hooded eyes she would be graced with the timid affection blooming on Regina's face.
The anticipation in Emma's expression fills her cheeks with a bashful heat. It's a foreign feeling, a prickling pressure on her chest she can't claim from memory much less slap a name to. No one has wanted her this much before and has exercised such restraint. In an otherwise hastened affair, Regina is more likely to employ the power she is reputed for as a wealthy celebrity in turning the tables. Her past is filled with passionate one night stands, but they always end the same. They don't meet her expectations, don't read her body, and many will fulfill their own needs before hers. And, sometimes, people get rough and greedy and end up with a face full of mace.
Seeing the value in Emma's patience, Regina leans forward to nuzzle shyly at the cheek before meeting her eye line. "I'm Regina," she murmurs, instantly taken with verdant green irises. That light-headed feeling returns and it's as if a spell has been cast on her.
The corner of Emma's mouth twitches up. "I know."
"Oh, do you now?"
"I asked around." She shrugs her shoulder, eyes narrowing friskily.
Their laughter is muffled by kisses and it isn't long before they resume the occasion at hand. Emma tumbles forward with newfound enthusiasm just as Regina pulls her down further. They lay flush against each other, touchable smooth limbs, rolling hips, and pebbled, sensitive nipples. The last to meet are their lips which find one another in a blind kiss.
A rhythm is difficult to grasp. Like pinning down a cloud, Emma and Regina grind uninhibited and indifferent to the duvet's once pristine state. They grasp with the tools of god's design, provoking a breathy sigh here and a choked cry there. Their lips suck and tease at the vulnerable areas, hard enough to mark, deep enough to remember. Hips roll and buck wetly in time but fail to discover that instant connection. They create a friction intense enough to bring a burnished radiance to their skin, a heat so blazing it could embrace them through the toughest winter.
Regina grabs out, hands fumbling to the flexing arms planted on either side of her. Her grip clenches every time Emma bears down on her. The intrusion is not unexpected, though initial contact is sometimes a bit awkward. Soon, her inner walls adjust for a rush of sensations, all spine-tingling and worthy of moaning openly to.
Over the rush of blood pumping in her ears, Emma picks up the sensual ringing of her name and nearly comes undone. At one time she feared disappointing this woman (or hurting her, worst of all), but as soon as a pair of legs clamp around her hips – olive-bronze stark against pale skin – and the digging of nails into her backside, Emma feels those reservations breeze away. She's pulled down deeper, harder with the instruction of pressing calves. Regina's expressive moans, too, are an acceptable means of assistance.
Emma grinds her pussy in a wanton, circular motion that sends shockwaves through Regina who is crying out into a pillow. Emma moans loudly and if she were fully conscious of the act it would have sounded foreign to her ears. Instead, the name of her lover falls effortlessly from her lips as she puts her everything into making Regina come around her thrusts. Breathless above the near seizing woman, she smiles.
They found their rhythm.
It's clear whatever world that exists outside the master bedroom has quieted. The champagne has dried up, the canapés devoured, and every last dish scraped clean. The music peters out, the partygoers have gone home, and Pam Taggert leaves the Mill mansion as immaculate as the day she came upon it.
But there is life inside the one bedroom on the second floor, vibrant life wholly unconcerned with time, money, and stark differences in social class. Sometimes it is quiet within these four walls, other times it is filled with boisterous laughter, and, more often than not, a succession of passionate expletives. The strap-on lies forgotten on the floor, its silicon length still glistening in the soft light of the bedside lamp.
"Freddy."
"As in Freddy Krueger?" Regina's eyebrows arch gradually with every word.
"Wow," Emma bursts out, chuckling against her shoulder.
"What? Did I guess correctly?"
"No," Emma nudges the woman lightly in the ribs, "I'm just amazed you know who Freddy Krueger is."
The prod is returned with a slap. Regina tsks, rolling her eyes when Emma exaggerates her discomfort. "I'm not a shut in. I occasionally join the ranks of theater-attending society."
"Really?" A hand is covered over her non-bruised right eye. "I just assumed you looked down on all us heathens from your high castle." Her wiggling eyebrows support the accusation.
"You are not a heathen, despite the wicked manner in which you used that apparatus."
And there it is again… apparatus. The choice of word alone made the desire run between Emma's legs.
"Don't forget it," Emma husks back. She then lays her open mouth and all other talents in her possession on Regina and the ticklish parts she'd come across in their time together.
Sometime later, voices raw and fingers thoroughly slick, they untangle their limbs and part from their thrumming bodies. Lying shoulder to shoulder, each is content just to observe the rise and fall of the other's chest, tease a palm with the tips of their fingers, and occasionally blink in time with their mirrored gazes.
Emma breaks the silence with a meager, "I lied."
"What?"
"My cat's name isn't Freddy. It's Oscar."
Regina watches the face scrunch in anticipation for backlash. Instead of meeting the quota of slaps she has in mind for the woman, Regina just laughs. "Oscar?" This is all too outrageous for her sane ears. Her head lolls back on the pillow as her amusement bellows throughout the room.
"I don't know," mumbles Emma, eyes rolling away. "He just looked like an Oscar."
"I'm more concerned by the fact that you felt the need to falsify your cat's name."
"Well, I was thinking of changing it. I wanted to try some potentials out loud."
"So you lied about your cat's real identity," Regina lists off the fingers of her hand, "implied that you didn't know how to operate a strap-on…"
Emma shot up into a sitting position and exclaims with an indignant pout, "Did not!"
"… Blathered on and on to those young artists about art theory and Kandinsky when you haven't taken a single university-level course," she deliberately overlooked Emma's sputtering retort to hit home a conclusion. "Is 'Emma' even your real name?"
"You know it is," Emma replies seriously, cocking her head. "And I did go to college – just not for the full four years."
"Community college?"
Emma's finger went out to wag at the beautiful smile. "I'm going to take it as a compliment that 'dropping out' wasn't your first guess. And, yes, I went to community college. I had zero opportunity to attend a hot shot liberal arts school."
"I work with plenty of artist who graduated from community colleges. Some do not even have a formal education."
The duvet bunching up from Emma's rousing is a wrinkled pool around their legs. She drops her gaze on the fidgeting hands which thread the linen through her fingers. It feels like the kind of luxury paid for in five star hotels. The next thing Emma knows, she's thinking about money, money, money, and how she never had enough of it. Not much money, or GPA, or after-school programs afforded to kids with active parents and guardians. Not enough of anything to fulfill her artistic endeavors.
What the hell does this woman see in me?
"And you just give them your time and your money and your resources for nothing?" Emma's eyes narrow and juts her chin up. "What's the catch?"
"They have to sleep with me."
Emma let out an undignified snort and fell stomach first beside her. "You're a really awful liar, you know that?"
Jostled by the childlike tumble, Regina chuckles and throws her pillow down in an arch. An 'ouch' sounds from under the down-filled cushion.
"You sleep with some of them, though," comes softly out from under the pillow. It's more of a statement then a question.
Regina is seized by a fear of loneliness. She feels her lips vibrate around the vague hum before she strokes the backs of her fingers against the inside forearm sprawled next to her. It feels soft and vulnerable under her tips. It is untouched by the harsh rays of sunlight, but spoiled rotten through the countless pecks of her lips.
"Sometimes," she replies softly.
A tousled blonde head turns and green eyes meet hers. Emma just smiles like everything is okay, but Regina feels the resentment of all those meaningless affairs. It's not judgment she sees in those eyes. It's something far more complex and suggesting of the yesterdays neither of them have a desire to return to.
She then diverts her gaze so she can take a breath.
Some desires are not so easily sated. None of those affairs stand any different from what she is doing with this woman. No difference except the one detail glaring at her from every corner.
The bedroom is dimly aglow and Regina takes it in with tremulous consideration.
"You know," she says because undue expectation begs for a change in topic, "I read somewhere that great sex is an indication of how well you argue with your partner."
Emma's brows clinch together. She props herself up with an elbow and says, "We weren't exactly arguing though. At least, that's not the way I took it. I'd say it was more like… friendly banter."
"We argued together as allies. That little debate we had outdoors earlier, remember?"
"You're splitting hairs."
"Are you saying the sex wasn't great?"
"Ah," Emma's chuckle sounds choked, "that would be a fucking 'N' 'O'"
"Wait," the other woman said flatly, sitting up against the headboard. This has certainly snagged her attention. "'No' as in it wasn't or 'no' as in it was?"
Emma deadpans, chin turned down and brows surging. "Okay, now you've confused me."
"I thought it was good," Regina intones just as Emma insists, "I thought it was great."
They share piercing stares, waiting with baited breath before it's settled together: "Great."
It's superb timing and in that moment they feel strangely in sync. A significant power seems to bind them together in this time and place, but it feels a bit too overwhelming to bring up. They don't dare ruin the moment with expectations or promises. They don't exchange phone numbers or get a schedule down for when they will see each other again. It's just an above average night for these two and neither wants to make anything more of it than necessary.
"Do you want to know what I thought when I first met you?" asks Regina with an air of mystery.
"Mm, I don't know. Is this a trap?"
"I thought, 'Hm, I wonder how she would look with a strap-on.'"
"You're kidding."
"I thought I couldn't lie?"
"No," Emma's hand slices the air matter-of-factly, "You can lie. You're just incapable of making it sound legit."
"I'm an illegitimate liar?" Regina guffaws. "Well, I think those cancel each other out, dear, if I'm not mistaken."
"You give me a headache, woman! Back to point!"
"Actually, the idea came to me before we ever spoke. I was standing in the living room and talking to some of my guests when I saw a tall, blonde wearing an atrocious green top. She had the most sensual walk I had ever seen and the image of a leather harness on that waist just would not leave me."
"Oh my god," moans Emma from beneath her hands, "please shut up."
Regina lunges till her cooing lips met the bright red ear. "Aw, am I embarrassing you?"
"I can't tell if I'm mortified or turned on. Give me a minute."
"Yes, well, can you hurry it up?" Regina purrs, marring Emma's skin with her nails. "There are things…" she crests the hand over the trembling swell of a backside, "I have yet…" it then slips around to claim the rightfully slick center between taught legs, "to try with you," she ends with a flick of her tongue along the earlobe. Regina just has to chuckle because Emma's already spread and waiting for her with strained whimpers.
Near panting, Emma finds the strength to raise her head. "And might these ideas be based on first impressions?"
"Oh," Regina moans throatily against the shell of Emma's ear, "no. What I have in store for you is far bolder and more compromising than that…" a giggle has to be stifled because she knows just how much Emma's pussy delights in the word, "apparatus."
And she has Emma convulsing in back arching orgasms for the rest of the morning. No doubt, they are interspersed by returned payment which is just as earth-shattering as Regina remembers. They sleep little, but the few hours they do manage to snag are spent dreaming not far from one another, arm clutched round a waist here, a nose nestled to the crook of a neck there.
When the world wakes and prepares for the work day, so does Emma Swan. After rubbing the crust from her eyes she changes and slips from the best room she's ever had the pleasure of sleeping (and fucking) in. Regina, having showered, changed, and been caffeinated, offers the woman a shy smile and a complimentary cup of coffee which is slurped up with half-closed eyes.
They part with no promises save the one that keeps two hearts warm.
