Chapter Four: Venus In Flesh

It was Sunday and Regina sat reading in her study. The divan formed nicely around her slim frame. She could lounge there for hours in the company of a hefty book and, when winter rolled around, a lit fireplace. In fact, that was how she spent most of her days until the baby.

Then her hours were monopolized by feeding time, diaper changes, teething tantrums, and so, so much more. Like never before, Regina was put through the wringer. Raising a child was a true test of patience, even more so without the advice of a friend or her own mother. The challenge was worthwhile and all because of a gurgling little angel. But like all 'little angels' they grew up into 'little demons,' running through the house naked, making scenes in the grocery store, and improving 'Mommy's homework' with all the colors of crayon. Yet for as tough as it was on both of them, Henry loved Regina and she him. They learned what made them angry, what caused them to cry or laugh. They learned to be a family, and soon the mayor's paperwork remained clean of fanciful drawings while the boy lived it up with play files and his own stack of loose leaf.

But Henry grew up. For Regina it was unexpected. She hadn't prepared herself, yet what parent could? Picking him up from school wasn't cool anymore. Snack time and night lights were a thing of the past. He grew out of so many traditions Regina held close to her heart: a tucking in and a kiss goodnight, crafting homemade ornaments for each other every Christmas, cooking apple pie, bundling him up three layers too much in the dead of winter, and, of course, story time. He didn't want any of it anymore.

It was normal, wasn't it? Her little boy would not be a little boy forever. He would continue to grow strong and tall, smart and ambitious. School would beckon him away from Storybrooke. Girls would lure him away from her. Henry, the once coddled little angel, would make a family of his own. Home would cease to be a small town in Maine. His heart would be claimed by another, rendering Regina irrelevant.

It was Sunday and Regina had better things to do than worry about her future. Instead, she poured her attentions between two covers. The book captured her with its scarlet and jade cover several weeks ago on her way out of the office. Erik said he found it in a pawnshop and, upon paging through the first chapter, paid for its immediate liberation.

With the knowledge that anything from that shop should be held with the strictest of suspicion and with a most covert, if not persuasive curiosity, Regina took it upon herself to confiscate it herself. From that moment on the novella took her prisoner every Sunday afternoon. Regina read through the hours so startled by the protagonist's infatuation with his paramour it bordered on revulsion. Why would man allow himself to be enslaved by woman? To be flogged and humiliated a thousand times over and still beg for more? She didn't understand it, at first, but with every read through she came closer to feeling that same empowerment and passion the man so desperately, so blindly sought after. And soon she shared in his infatuation.

But on this particular Sunday Regina was distracted. She could no more lust after her novella than she could spark a flame to a candle's wick. Putting aside the book, Regina rose from the sofa and marched across her study. From within a desk drawer a file was procured. Its contents were not excessively thick, but that did not disregard its importance.

She laid it on her desk and sat down. It lay open, inviting her interest just as it had the first time. It called to her even before she cracked open her Sunday reading material, stealing bits of her attention here and a cursory glance there. She thought it best to confront the wretched file once and for all. And so she read.

Thumb and forefinger rubbing together absently, Regina's eyes roved line by line. She thoroughly combed over the intelligence gathered. Most of it did not surprise her. She had, after all, known the woman's whereabouts through Henry. But since the two ceased their little summits at the playground, Granny's, and the sheriff's station, she had yet to hear a word of the life and times of Emma Swan. Enter the executive assistant.

Since the woman's termination, Erik had been tasked with collecting information. Emma may not be patrolling the streets or be too busy to poison her child with pop tarts anymore, but she still had a hold on Henry. Keeping tabs on Emma could hardly have been done out of the kindness of Regina's heart. Her interest did not stem from fondness, rather the intent to protect Henry. He was the only person that mattered in this. Hence the need to know where she was, who she spent her time with, and when she took herself and that pathetic excuse for a car out of Storybrooke. Not if, Regina insisted daily, when.

All of Erik's investigations had been compiled in the folder Regina held open. His recent findings had been added just a few days ago, only for them to tempt her away from her reading.

Suddenly, her fingers stopped their rubbing. Mouth open, Regina brought the file up for closer inspection. Impossible, she thought. Or was it really? This was Emma, after all.

Quickly, Regina returned the file to its drawer. She locked her study behind her and drew up the stairs. Henry hadn't left his room since breakfast. Any other day she would be concerned, but with Emma coming up so infrequently in his conversations (which were few and far between), there didn't seem to be cause for worry.

Like any pre-teen, Henry readily agreed to being left on his own in the house. He was reaching eleven and she trusted him, Regina said. And so she left him to his own Sunday reading of the graphic novel type (for once).

Based on the woman's recent career change, further investigation was called for. This kind of research begged for a more personal touch, one Regina intended to carry out herself.

Before leaving Regina swept a comb through her hair and applied a darker than usual shade of lipstick. She had no intention of changing; the teal dress hung cool on her body and was without wrinkles. At the foot of her staircase she slipped on a set of heels and departed with a predatory smile.

The club lied on the outskirts of town and, therefore, attracted what her world would call the lesser common people. Regina entered with more dignity than sufficient in these establishments. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim setting. She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose.

Off to her left was a wet bar, men slumped over it in various stages of drunkenness. All tables were moderately occupied, the popular seats lying closer to the stage. The customers, some of whom Regina could name, were somehow unconcerned with the fact that the sun had yet to set and their dinner consisted of liquor and assorted nuts. The atmosphere was stuffy and claustrophobic, but that could have been due to the low key lighting. It wasn't until her eyes hit the stage, spot lit and dazzling, when she really felt out of place.

The male customers had a careless, gruff look about them, but the women were markedly more attractive than she would expect from a roadside club in the middle of nowhere. As if drawn to the spectacle, Regina moved deeper into smoke haze. Her hip bumped between the swelling tables and brushed against god knows what. She was a bit taken aback that her presence hadn't scattered half the joint. The mayor had a recognizable face and a stern demeanor that had many running for the hills. But here and now, Regina was not the center of attention. Everyone's eyes were on the half-naked blonde strutting onstage.

Staring open-mouthed, Regina felt the heavy blow of shock. Damn Erik. In his report he had alluded to Emma working at a strip club near the border of town, but had not specified what line of work. Regina assumed bartender or waitress – both just as humiliating in her eyes. The sight of Emma, and in job specific attire, held that assumption in serious jeopardy. Regina's mouth grew dry, and for a moment she forgot why she needed to hunt down and kill Miss Swan in the first place.

A few rowdy calls snapped Regina out of it. Taking a deep breath she stalked up to the edge of the raised platform.

"Miss Swan!"

Blonde hair, extra curled for the occasion, whirled to the shout. Emma's heels stuttered, but quickly recovered into a sexy shimmy enjoyed by the crowd. You couldn't tell her surprise amid the thick layer of eye shadow, nor her grim frown from pale lips (bare of gloss for natural effect).

"Regina," she greeted nonchalantly, as if spoken in passing.

"What in god's name-?!" Regina flinched in the crisscrossing lights. "You are embarrassing yourself!"

Emma gave a pointed look before wagging her hips.

"Me!" Regina choked out, coming to her senses. "You are embarrassing me! This is no place for a sher – an ex-sheriff – to be. Now get down."

A few more catcalls inspired the blonde's dance. It wasn't long before the brunette, initially thought to be an eager customer, became the main attraction.

"Hey, look! It's our very own Mayor Mills!"

Hushed voices filled the club and several heads followed where the gruff biker pointed to.

There was only one individual who could make Regina cower, but under scrutiny of a very drunk, very aloof crowd of men, she found the edge of the stage digging sharply into her back. This was not her territory and everyone in the club knew it. The mayor couldn't touch them there anymore than they could lay a hand on the dancers.

The quiet whispering rose above the music until an overjoyed uproar rang out. Some remained in their seats, kicking back and enjoying the display of a classy teal dress in a dingy joint as theirs. Others got to their feet and pounded their table for a show.

"Mayor! While you're here why don'tcha show us what ya got!"

"Yeah!" a voice called from the back. "Join your sheriff and shake it!"

"She's not sheriff anymore, remember? That woman there is a right fine dancer she is! Whoohoo!"

Regina fumed like a firework ready to set off. She ignored the drunken requests and grabbed Emma's arm. She pulled.

"Hey! Quit it! I'm working!"

"Being an accountant or a lawyer is working! And so is sheriffing a town!"

Regina's eyes glazed down the undulating body. How Emma managed the pole in that short black skirt was a feat the mayor would be ashamed to inquire after. The attire left little to the imagination, yet it occurred to Regina that even after two lascivious encounters she had yet to behold Emma in all her glory. Between the scrap of leather and high heel pumps Regina hoped any blush of hers wouldn't match the color of that lacy bra. Her cheeks had other plans, though, as they radiated a vivid heat.

"What you are doing is offensive and foolish. Don't cheapen yourself!"

"I think you're just jealous."

"Pardon?"

"But you have no right to be, not after what you did to me. The humiliation you think this is," Emma crossed her legs and, reaching up the pole, stretched her body like a taught cord and proceeded to roll her body from bust to toes, "is nothing compared to what you did to me."

Regina opened her mouth but it fell closed before anything could be done. Any comeback thought up had died at the reminder of that humiliation. Maybe she had pushed too hard. Getting so wrapped up in those surging feelings, both lustful and loathing, Regina really did not know when to stop pushing. She had blackmailed Emma because it was necessary. Because in some warped sense of desperation it was fun. Standing in the midst of drunken bikers, inappropriate music, and a barely decent Emma Swan, maybe Regina had gone a little too far with this shame game.

Emma bent down to take Regina's chin between thumb and forefinger, extending her neck in a vulnerable position. "I thought you wanted this."

This being Emma out of the sheriff's position. This being Emma's body at one time, maybe two.

"And what would your son think?"

Her fingers dropped from the chin. Emma's eyes fluttered just as something flashed within them. Never in their time of knowing one another had the mayor called Henry her son.

"How will you explain your new source of income?" prodded Regina. She laid in with ruthless abandon, sealing the danger in her question. "If you continue to make a display of yourself, if he suffers disappointment at what you've become… I will not be merciful. I will spare him the humiliation of having a biological mother like you. Believe me, you will never see him again."

Emma's brows met at a furrow. It could have been a response to the threat or the blinding spotlight. Only they knew the real reason.

She gave a subtle nod and exited down the stage steps with little fanfare than the crowd would have liked.

An odd fixture of the hallway, Regina squinted beneath the lighting. The greenish yellow glow came with an incessant buzzing sound that nearly had her scrubbing her ears out. In the very last place she'd expect to be on earth, Regina, arms braced to her sides, stood tight-lipped and unaffected by the grungy walls. Unaffected save for the twitching nerve at her temple. The cacophony of music, whistles, and jeers still managed to boom through the hallway, further testing the mayor's patience.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Emma said from behind. "Or don't you trust me?"

The leather skirt and heels were cast off for the usual attire of jeans and t-shirt which had an equal effect on Regina. That was not say she went without the slight pang of disappointment.

"Are we still at the point where you have to ask?"

A master at diversion, Emma shot back, "Do you always look this good on Sundays?"

Regina rolled her eyes. A hand subconsciously smoothed down the front of her teal dress. "Now that you're decent can we please remove ourselves from this establishment?"

"Not so fast, ladies."

Blocking their exit was a man. Though a sturdy, rough fellow, he hardly looked like the rest of the bikers and hoodlums who frequented the club. Instead, his black hair was oiled back, his face a clean shave, and a tolerable dose of musk carried with. His jeans were clean of rips and holes, pairing up with the ironed shirt and suit jacket.

"Winston…" Emma winced slightly, knowing she would have to come up with a pretty spectacular reason why one of his best girls was ditching him.

"What and who you do outside this place is your business, but when you're here there are rules. Leave your personal shit at home, Emma." Winston the manager eyed the brunette hesitantly, fully aware that this woman was the mayor. "I don't need any jealous girlfriend of yours disturbing my customers."

"Oh my god." Emma's jaw dropped. "She is not my girlfriend."

Regina immediately jumped into the fray. "If I were her girlfriend I would have made a much grander scene." Stepping in front of Emma she narrowed her eyes at the club owner. "Tell me, do you enjoy exploiting these women for pay? Or is it just a hobby?"

"Hey, lady, I don't force anyone to do something they don't want to do. You may be stoned on the hypocrisy of political mores to understand this, but I carry my business with a kind of respect."

"And where did you receive your degree?" Regina asked airily. "Harvard School of Pimps and Tricks?"

"I don't need a degree to go toe-to-toe with an uptight bitch like you."

"Whoa!" Emma jumped into the closing space and waved her hands for a ceasefire. "I think that's enough."

"I can think of a dozen citations off the top of my head to sue you with, you –"

"Go ahead!" spat Winston. "Get your lawyer friends over here and they can see for themselves how…" he air quoted, "…'unsuitable' this establishment is. They'd be breaking out the singles before they even got through the door."

"That you would think all my lawyer friends are male is quite the assumption."

"How do you know I wasn't referring to the female lawyers? Or can't you imagine a bunch of ladies indulging in," he jerked a thumb at Emma, "this fine piece of ass. Don't have to go far out of Storybrooke to find'em. I count at least two dykes right now."

There was a gasp and Emma had to struggle with the mayor clamoring over her to take a whack at Winston.

"My friend is a highly respected civil rights attorney! She single-handedly facilitated the endorsement for gay marriage in this state you chauvinistic imbecile!"

Emma raised her brows while Winston just rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest why don't ya?" he sneered, crossing his arms. "Hey, I got an idea. How about you get into something real nice and give my customers a dance. Show'em who the real tramp of Storybrooke is."

"Hey!" barked Emma. She got in front of the livid mayor before she could do any damage and proceeded to shove her soon-to-be ex-boss into the wall. "Don't talk to her like that!"

"Emma," chuckled Winston, perfectly at ease with the fist in his shirt, "it's a joke. Come on. What's gotten into you?" He emphasized the question by looking at Regina who scoffed.

"Not in the slightest, Winston. What the hell is wrong with you?" Emma gave his shirt a good rustle before letting go. "And I don't appreciate being called a 'fine piece of ass.' Say it again and you'll find out how fine I am at kicking yours."

"Fair enough." His hand went up in peace. "You can pick up your paycheck at the end of the week. Just take her and go."

Teeth clenching, Regina stalked forward. "No one 'takes me' any –"

"Let's go, Regina."

The mayor's scowl didn't keep Emma from ushering her none too gently out the back door.

"Ex-cuse me!"

Emma let the wresting arm go with a muttered, "You are a real piece of work."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Why the hell would you go and do that? I had a good thing going there."

"A good thing going? Those jeans must keep all the blood from going to your head if you can call this," Regina waved above her head at the building they exited, "a profession. No one with a shred of dignity would take money for parading around like that."

"Some people with dignity don't exactly have a choice, you know? Some people aren't born with a silver spoon in their mouth."

"You know nothing about where I came from. I, on the other hand, have a growing file on all the holes you called home or how you continuously employed yourself under morally questionable conditions." She blew out an exhaustive breath and flung her hands up, letting her purse fly up and return to her thigh with a clout. "I don't know why I was surprised in the first place."

"Let's just get something straight here. Yes, I have danced like that in the past. Yes, I did it for money. Is it the ideal work experience? No. The thing you don't seem to understand is that I didn't have a choice. It's quick cash and I couldn't afford to care about delicate sensibilities." Emma took a step forward, nonthreatening but stern enough to prove a point. "And there is a distinction in what you call what we do. We aren't employees, but independent contractors."

"Oh," Regina looking from the piercing eyes to the raised finger and back before sassing, "well call Merriam Webster."

Emma just stared and then made to clutch her head with the claws of her nails to keep the bomb that was her brain from exploding. She shook her head with an exasperated, "Erghh!" and marched past Regina toward her car.

"Why would you work for someone like that?"

She slowed to a stop, contemplating the angle behind such a question. With Regina there was always an ulterior motive. So Emma thought about it, genuinely, not for the mayor's sake but for her own. Why would she work for someone like that? Winston had balls, that was for sure, but calling the mayor a bitch? That wasn't ballsy, that was stupid.

Turning her head so her chin met her shoulder, Emma replied, "Well, when I'm on stage it's not him I have to worry about, is it?"

"And you would trust him to save you from an inebriated, overly doting crowd of men?"

"I told you I've done this before. I can take care of myself."

"You have expectations to live up to now and a son to think of," Regina added as an afterthought. She might not have realized the implication of such a statement but Emma's astonished face had. "I don't know how you could work in such a place and not foresee it getting around to his ears. The devastation if he ever knew what you have been up to… ruining that precious hero image. You come into his life after giving him up, make him think you are some noble knight in his book – No! I am talking, Miss Swan. And then here you are throwing your dignity out the window for some minimum wage job that has you baring yourself to drunken strangers. In the end, I will be the one picking up the pieces. I am the responsible parent who will have to explain to her son why the woman who gave birth to him isn't capable of raising him to be a mature, intelligent young man."

"Is that a threat?" Emma asked, turning fully around to engage her. "You actually think that by pitting him against me and blackening my name that he will simply fall into your arms and call you 'mommy' again? Don't forget, you drove me to this. You blackmailed me with a bullshit sex tape and turned every prospective employer in this town against me."

"It is the choices we make, Miss Swan. Do not blame me for your inability to find a steady job," her plum-shaded lips curled at the red lace displayed boldly through a t-shirt, its full effect still so burned into consciousness it scalded her cheeks, "and for your lack of modesty."

"God damn it, Regina. If you would just get your head out of that office once and a while you would see the world for what it really is. You would see people who have to scrounge dirty clubs and back alley bars to make a living. People who don't have the luxury of sitting at a desk all day and getting sums of cash just for ordering people around. If you opened your eyes and looked around you'd see people who were never given the freedom of choice." Emma's eyes were welling with tears. She choked out angrily, "I didn't have anywhere to go!

"I wasn't a privileged child; you and your file already know that. I didn't have Henry's luck in getting family that loves him, that told him every god damned day that they loved him. There was no mother to make me breakfast before I got beat up by some rich kid at school. No teacher gave me a book to ease my loneliness, and I sure as hell didn't have some fairy godmother to grant my one and only wish."

Regina stood immobilized, jaw uncharacteristically dropped.

She actually didn't know. The details were never outlined in the background check ran in the early days of the stranger's arrival. Then and still now, she skimmed over the abuse and the neglect, eyes only for the juicy tidbits worth to disparage her with. She didn't know, but as a hot tear rolled down her own cheek she could certainly relate.

A dark shade of lips pressed forward and froze like ice to Emma.

"Stop it." Emma didn't push, but retreated until her back met the building's siding. "I don't need your sympathy."

"This isn't sympathy."

And it wasn't, for a downturned chin and shadowy eyes had no place speaking soothing words and turning back a stray hair. It wasn't either of their style as they came to understand it.

Emma tasted urgency. She opened her mouth to it, allowing the purity to consume her. She discovered that urgency could moan and the excitement of that discovery had her joining in without a thought. The kiss was long, heavy, and enticed her every whim. Emma allowed a lot from this one kiss: to be pinned against the building, to have fingers roam through her hair, for more to fill beneath her shirt. More importantly, she allowed everything she's ever hated about Regina to dissolve into the dry, summer heat.

But Regina, she tasted… confusion, confusion over how she had been acting since that time in the forest. Seeing Emma on stage, dancing and flaunting, did things to her – jealousy, horror, pity, admiration. Kissing Emma was reckless, the very act a humiliation. But Regina was a bundle of nerves and a rolling surge of emotions. Her blood thrummed with desire, a heat so great it could burn through her skin. It could be felt, every vessel, every artery expanding for the oncoming rush.

Seeing Emma so bare yet in control of her body turned something on in Regina. She was completely in awe of someone who could be vulnerable like that and still retain some form of power. That woman on stage was far from shy. The men lolling in her shadow were mere tools, even peasants while Emma stood over them like a force of nature. A woman like that had empowerment. A woman like that reminded Regina of someone she hadn't met in the mirror for some time.

Hands pushed past barriers, buttons unfastened, and words but ashes on their lips. A mouth descended on Emma's breast as fingers pawed at red lace. Emma dropped her head against the building and turned her head away. She opened her mouth in a groan. Grappling with over-washed, unappealing denim, Regina tugged at the button with a growl before thrusting her hand down. Fingers roved wide and long over the material, testing its wetness. They came to press hard against Emma's clit, pulling a startled cry from above. Regina's nails clawed down the back of her shirt and soon the mewling had possessed her in ways she would never admit.

Grinding down on an offered thigh, Regina pressed her fingers forward in gratitude. Emma's voice pierced the air, but drew no one near. It occurred to Regina, then, that she and the ex-sheriff were grinding against the back of a strip club. The setting for the act alone spoke of lowly peasant behavior. It also occurred to her that she had a habit of taking Emma in highly unusual places. And not just taking her, but breaking with her own sense of propriety. And why? Because it's where she wanted it to take place? Because it made her feel superior? No. Each time it had everything to do with Emma's sensibilities. The forest, where Emma wouldn't mind getting a little dirt on her knees. The mayor's office, where Emma could take advantage of her enemy in her own palace. Outside a strip club, where Emma had enticed no good suitors for money.

Emma. Emma. Emma. Three times. Three different places. Three lustful acts that ended (the most recent that would end) in disarray. And for what?

"This."

Emma opened her eyes. "What?"

Just as it left her lips Regina slipped past the last barrier and drove into wet, hot folds. Eyes fluttering shut against Emma's flushed cheek, the mayor opened herself to the multitude of sensations. There came a stutter of words, some which were curses but all nearly unrecognizable over Regina's passionate groan. Emma's fists buried themselves in the dress she complimented earlier. It was a nice thing, and teal had brought out a surprisingly tender look on Regina, but the only thing Emma wanted to do more than praise the dress was rip it off.

But then Emma was pushing her away. In a never ending chain of weak moments a bright ray of sense struggled through. It was like surfacing from an inky black ocean, hand raised over squinting eyes to block the sun, so intense and wise and all knowing. What they were doing was so sick and destructive. For god's sake they didn't even like each other. Not once had Regina looked at her with friendship or love in her eyes, nor treated her with a thimble-full of respect. This fumbling need to feel something regardless of patience or a solitary kind word… it had 'wrong' written all over it. Emma felt disoriented by clawing nails, the fingers on her lace, and the breathy sighs in her ear. She couldn't seem to tell what was up and what was down.

Hands found themselves latched to Regina's shoulders, shoving cruel and careless. It was a pitiful attempt, one that would not be heeded. For a moment Regina whimpered at the loss of contact, thinking she might actually let herself be pushed aside. But then that thrill came over her, the danger of wanting Emma and all she encompassed. The blonde struggled once, but nowhere in that did she say stop.

And so Regina scrambled for a reconnection, planting a full mouth on Emma's with such force that they hit the siding with a thump. Her fingers resumed their relentless ministrations, coaxing the profanity from pale lips. Her only focus was to keep any rational talk where it belonged – in the sealed box specially made in their minds. Regina didn't want to think or talk or push away. She didn't want to doubt herself or that unspeakable warmth weaving through her ribs, that feeling which almost sabotaged her first challenge in the forest. Doubts were dangerous things, more dangerous than desiring Emma's touch. Maybe if she fucked it all away this disease inside her would be sucked out; this constant need to have someone would be extinguished. She tried so hard. It was a game, she told herself; a game where she didn't have to invest a part of herself in the consequences. She thought it would only take one attempt. Oh, had she been sorely mistaken.

Submerged once again in blinding passion, Emma's hand firmly sought out Regina's chin and tilted it so their lips met. Their tongues ran over one another in a fever. They pressed closer still, sealing space and any fate of abrupt endings. Shoulders digging into the dirt-stained siding, Emma arched into the thrusts. Her moans surge in intensity, matching that of Regina's fingers. Still, she wanted for more, more penetration, more of this crude force, more Regina. If only she would just give it to her, so they could walk away from this and never speak of it again.

Panting and squirming beneath the mayor, Emma bucked to the last quick pumps from Regina. With a cry she would sorely fail to recall Emma collapsed over the woman in a rather impolite fashion. She felt cradled for a time. The hands warming her back and waist made her safe from Winston, from drunk, horny imbeciles, from the whole damn world that she was born into. It lasted a matter of seconds and then it left just as soon as it came.

Just like that, the one thing she had sought after weeks of endless fantasizing and failings to capture by her own hand ended in a matter of minutes. Emma couldn't describe how it left her feeling, not disappointed per say, but like a half-drunk glass of cider. There didn't seem to be a grand finale, no period at the end of the sentence. Not until Regina could share in this feeling. Till she experienced this forbidden craving at the hands of a woman she so "clearly" hated.

She hazarded a glance at Regina who consigned herself to refashioning her appearance. Emma would have told her not to, that her dress looked fine with a few wrinkles and her mussed hair just added character. In post-orgasmic daze her mouth could have spewed any number of idealistic remarks, ranging from "You look really hot" to "That lipstick wasn't made to stay within the lines."

Thinking better of it, she locked her lips shut. Regina wouldn't want her opinion any more than she wanted to be touched. It was pretty obvious from the way she stood ignorant of her presence.

"Are you going to explain what that was about?"

"Pardon?"

Emma's eyebrows crunched, making lines in her forehead. "Well, does you banging me just now mean I'm off your shit list? Or was it a reminder that, sheriff or no sheriff, I'm still your bitch?"

"Bitch?" Regina echoed, matching the confusion.

And damn if that didn't sound good rolling off the mayor's tongue. Emma sucked in a deep breath, failing to ignore how thoroughly soaked her lace was. She exhaled with, "Seriously! What the hell do you want from me?! You send so many mixed signals I can hardly keep up. And then you stand there all 'Bitch?'" She mimed a poor impression of the mayor complete with hands on hips and condescending head jerk.

Regina was an image of detachment, even in the face of that horrendous interpretation. "What makes you think I want or need anything from you?"

"Your face."

It's enough to dissolve Regina's impassivity. It happened just as Emma imagined: shoulders crumbled, fists unclenched, the subtle tilt of a head, all minute gestures speaking volumes despite years of practice. For a moment it satisfied Emma like a glass of warm milk, until she realized what that face meant.

"You do want something." The words come out slow, almost robotic.

"And what if I do?"

"I… I don't know." Emma frowned because the answer was as hopeless as the question. "What do you want from me? Really, Regina, just tell me."

Regina met the woman's pleading eyes, actually looking. They never looked so pliant and childlike. Her study roved over the foolish, yet expressive face, not ever having seen such forest green eyes dependent on one seemingly modest answer.

"What is this about?"

The gentle prodding jerked Regina out of a fog. Her eyes focused just as Emma's hands fell lifeless to her sides. Her jeans still showed signs of rough handling – an undone zipper revealing darkened lace. And among other things: the bunched crinkles in a shirt previous hustled up, bruised lips, glowing skin, and those damn pleading eyes.

"Meet me at the bed and breakfast," Regina's gaze diverted in consideration before returning, "tomorrow."

Boots scuffed the pavement. Emma suddenly felt a bit sheepish in her current state of semi-undress. "W-why?"

The mayor sniffed, wholly annoyed by the need to spell it out. "A job interview. I am offering you a chance to win back your position as sheriff."

Emma blinked. "Wouldn't you rather have this interview in your office?"

"For this particular interview, dear, we will not be dealing in resumes and frivolous questionnaires."

"Oh," came the uncertain reply.

"Come prepared, Miss Swan." A scrutiny was made of the ex-sheriff from boots to tousled curls. Her eyes did not cut but scorch through what the mayor had left of the woman's clothes. Unexpected satisfaction consumed her at the state she had left that body in. The thrill that came from being inside Emma, again, surprised her to the point of trembling thighs. The danger left her so aching and ready that she couldn't wait for a simple tomorrow. Regina's mouth parted in a faraway sigh. "I expect to be satisfied."

Flushed once again, Emma allowed it to dawn on her. Green eyes gaped. "Oh."

Note: The novel Regina mentions is Venus In Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch.