Okay, everyone, smut has arrived! Here be an *M* chapter, mateys. It's my 1st time writing racy fanfic, so be gentle in your criticism. And if you wish to skip the offending part, skim past the section after Emma goes to Gold's mansion the first time and go right to the second visit.


Emma had thought taking a full two days between the last time she'd seen Killian would've cooled her down enough for their Sunday painting schedule. But as soon as she opened her door to him in a tight navy Henley and sex tousled-looking hair, she felt a flare of heat in her abdomen start to rise. At least, she thought, he seemed to likewise be appreciating the thin shirt and ripped denim shorts she wore for painting in.

Killian cocked a brow as she stood blocking the doorway, staring at him. "See something you like, love?"

"Sorry," she grumbled, giving her head a little shake, and turning to let him in.

After that, she made a valiant attempt to keep everything businesslike—getting Killian situated, her materials set up, and started doing a light sketch of him with a soft charcoal stick onto the canvas.

"Can I see?"

"No. You'll see it when it's done."

"So strict."

"You bet."

They stayed in companionable silence for awhile as Emma laid the foundation, until Killian started to squirm. Emma went and marked his position with masking tape, and told him to stretch, trying not to let her gaze drift down to the slice of toned stomach exposed when he raised his arms above his head. He caught her anyway, of course.

"You know, Swan, that offer of nudity still stands."

"No thank you! Get back into place."

"Slave driver."

They lapsed back into quiet, until Killian said offhandedly: "So, I had a somewhat odd conversation with Will when we left your mum and dad's house the other night." He heard the soft scratching of the brush bristles pause.

"Going to tell me about what?"

"He said I was making a fool of myself for you. That I was setting myself up for disappointment if I continued to partake of your company." He waited for a minute, but she didn't say anything, nor start painting again. "What do you think?"

"Do you think I've been…been leading you on?"

"Aside from attacking me the other night in the parking lot? You've been the picture of innocence since then."

She peered around her canvas at him, scowling. "I said I was sorry! It was just a…momentary lapse in judgment."

"Is that all you want from me, Swan? A momentary lapse in judgment?"

She sighed, standing up and wiping her hands on a paint-stained towel, walking over to Killian and crouching down. "I haven't said anything yet, to anyone, but…I'm leaving Neal. Not for you," she added quickly when she saw his eyes widen, "it's for me."

His eyes narrowed. "And why the sudden change of heart, love?"

"It hasn't been sudden…a long time coming, actually…Let's just say, my eyes are open now."

"But you haven't broken the news to him yet that your 'eyes are open now', have you?"

"It's a delicate matter, Killian, I have to think about how to—"

"Don't play games with me, Emma."

"I'm not! I—I wouldn't." She leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned quickly, her lips landing on his ear.

"I like you. I like you a lot. I have all the time in the world, Swan. But one thing I won't do is be some second-rate affair for a thrill before you head off to your new life. Once you talk to Neal, well now…we'll see." He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. "Same time tomorrow?"

Even his motorcycle ride home didn't calm Killian as usual; he felt like his insides were stormy with conflict. Of course, he wanted nothing more than have Emma, kiss her, touch her, pillage and plunder…the problem was, he wanted all of her, and would never consent to share or be some dirty secret. He kicked the stair railing savagely as he went up to his apartment. Sometimes he wished he hadn't become such a decent guy.


Though she hated asking others for advice, this kind of problem was an arena Emma had never found herself in before, and she steeled herself as she walked up her parents' driveway. Sure, she'd always been closer to her dad, but when it came to matters of the heart, she felt a bit uncomfortable going to him. Not to mention if he suspected Neal of treating her badly, no amount of pleading from her or Mary Margaret would stop him from immediately jumping in his truck, sitting through rush hour all the way to Pasadena, and knocking Neal's block off as soon as he answered the door. No, for once she needed a cooler head to bounce ideas off of.

"Are you alright, honey?" Mary Margaret asked after she'd brought over two mugs of tea. "When you said you needed to talk right away, well…you know, it's perfectly normal to have butterflies so soon before your wedding—"

"It's not that, Mom. Well,I guess it kinda is…I think I should leave Neal." Seeing the stricken look on her mother's face, she continued on. "He's, well, he doesn't love me anymore, and hasn't treated me well for a long time. I feel like…like even more of a failure when I'm with him. He just—just magnifies all the problems I've had these past few years"—she didn't want to say he was the reason for them—"I mean, I know I'm a disappointment, but—"

"Emma, how…how could you even think that? Honey, you've hit a rough patch, that's true, but you'll rise up. I know it; it's the type of person you are."

Emma tried to smile through her blurry vision. "That's basically what Killian told me."

"Killian? Your friend who came to the cake tasting with us?" She gave Emma a big grin. "Well, he seems like a wise young man, thinking the way I do. How come you've never brought him around before, since you knew him from Otis?"

Emma looked down at the nervous tapping her fingers were doing on the table. "I didn't exactly…know him from school. In fact, I met him pretty recently."

"Okay…" Mary Margaret leaned forward, clearly not understanding what the issue was here.

"He, uh, he gave me a lap dance at my bachelorette party," Emma said in a rush, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her fists. Fuck, this was unbearably uncomfortable. "And I think I've got—developed feelings for him." After she didn't hear a reaction from her mother, she chanced a glance up.

"He was…is…a stripper?"

"Yeah, part-time. I was kinda mean to him at first, but he's just been—"

Mary Margaret reached across the table to grasp Emma's hands. "I don't want to sound callous, honey, but could this just be pre-wedding jitters? I mean, he seemed like a very nice boy, but you only met him—what?—a month ago? And I know Neal's let himself go somewhat, but—

"Mom. Do you really think I'm that shallow, to be considering calling this all off over someone who's simply more attractive?"

Her mother fidgeted. "No, of course not, that's not what I meant. I just—"

Emma interrupted. She was getting more and more irritable, and she didn't want to end things by blowing up at Mary Margaret. She couldn't even blame her, really, after keeping these kind of things to herself her whole life and never going to her mother before. "You know what, I've—I think I've got a handle on things now. I guess I just needed to talk them out." She rose to leave.

Of course, she wasn't fooling the woman who raised her. "Emma, I didn't mean to argue with you—"

"No, no, it's fine…I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"


Well, that was a bust. Time to stop making excuses, and just go through with it, Emma thought, and headed out to the Gold mansion. Neal was always home; he didn't have a whole hell of a lot to do, so she didn't think it was impolite to just show up. To her surprise, though, Gold Senior was the one who answered the door.

"Hello, dearie. Care to come in?" He touched her shoulder lightly, and Emma could almost feel her skin crawl. "I'm just looking for—"

"Who the hell is this, now?" A craggy voice rang out. "You steppin' out on me, Daddy?"

Emma peered around Gold and stared at the figure reclining on the living room couch, a strange woman not much older than herself, with dark curls piled on top of her head, and a tight, short leather skirt that left little to the imagination. The woman shifted, digging her stiletto heels into the cream-colored throw pillows, and then there wasn't anything left to imagine—apparently, she didn't believe in underwear. She looked Emma up and down, taking a drag off a cigarette that dangled between her fingers before she continued her rant.

"You said I was all you needed, then you bring this whore around while I'm still in the house?" the woman continued in her smoker-scratchy voice. She stubbed her cigarette out on the bottom of her heel, then dug her foot back into the cushions, fixing Emma with a malevolent stare.

"What? I'm—"

Gold cut Emma off. "Lacey, my dear, this is my son's fiancée…the one whose wedding you're going to." Emma's eyes widened; thank god this…barfly? Prostitute? Dominatrix?—ultimately wouldn't be at any wedding of hers.

Lacey swung her legs off the couch. "Oh, baby." She walked over, cupping the back of Gold's head. "I'm sorry—but, but what was I supposed to think, this random, stuck-up blonde waltzin' in here like she owns the place, and I—"

"Understandable, dearest," Gold replied, and Lacey grinned, standing up on her toes to stick her tongue in Gold's mouth, curling her calf around his.

Emma suppressed a shudder, cleared her throat, and they both turned to look at her like they'd forgotten she was there. "I hate to break this up, but I was hoping Neal—"

"Not here, dearie. Something I can do for you?"

Lacey tightened her grip on his lapels. "If her man's not here, I think she should come back another time, don't you, Daddy?"

Gold looked down at her fondly. "Always so right, Sweetest. Miss Nolan? I'll see you to the door."

Well, she thought as she headed home, it wasn't her fault Neal hadn't been there. She'd handle things, but in the meantime, there was nothing wrong with a little white lie.


Emma didn't last long into their session the next day, before she stood abruptly and went to tape off his position. "Take a break."

"It's alright, Swan, I can go for awhile longer."

"Well, I need a break." She stepped up to him until there was less than a hairsbreadth between their faces. "And…I was hoping to pick up where we left off yesterday."

Killian gave a very beleaguered sigh, turning his face to the side. "Emma, I told you, I don't want you like this. I won't be some fling to work out your pre-marriage apprehensions."

She cupped his face, trying to turn it towards her. "Killian, look at me. Please." He met her halfway, keeping his head turned in front of him, but his gaze was on her. "I ended things with Neal. Yes, I should've done it a long time ago, but well…better late than never, I guess?" She saw him about to say something, and cut him off. "And don't feel any pressure about it. I'm not going to latch onto you, or anything. We don't—you don't owe me anything. It's just…" her hands trailed from his face, down to his shoulders. "You just made me realize that I can have so much better. I won't settle again, for anything. Thank you."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Is that a dismissal, Swan? Because that sounded suspiciously like one. What am I, some bloody fairy godmother that just floated in to show you the error of your—"

"Oh, shut up!" Emma sprung, climbing Killian like a tree, arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist. "Just shut up!" She ran a hand up the back of his head through his hair, gripping tightly, and lowered her mouth to his. He was stunned only for a second, until Emma nipped his lip—then he opened his mouth to hers, tilting his head for a deeper angle. There was nothing gentle about it—the biting, tongues pushing against each other, the bruising grip of his hands on her hips, and hers in his hair, the only noise in the room their combined, fervent exhales. Emma wasn't even aware of them stumbling about until her back hit the wall.

"Swan," he panted, "Emma, I want this, I really do, but…are you drunk?"

"No," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I've just been a spectator in my own life for too long. I'm taking action—I want you. I've wanted you since the moment you touched me on that stupid stage, in front of all those horny, drunk girls, with that awful music blaring." She ran her hands down his chest almost timidly now. "Don't—don't you want—"

"Oh, bloody fucking hell, yes," Killian managed, voice husky, eyes growing dark. She gave him a feral grin then, ripping his shirt open from the few buttons that held it closed, and leaned forward to bite his collarbone. He hoisted her up, spinning them both around to lay her on the carpet, his elbow hitting the side table, and sending her palette and tubes of paint flying.

He turned around. "I'm sorry—"

"Leave it!" Emma demanded, tugging at his waistband, trying to get his pants off.

"Oh no, Swan. It's my turn." Killian grabbed the hem of the large gray men's shirt, and pushed it up until he got to her chest to discover she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Fuck, you minx," he growled, lowering his head and catching one nipple between his lips, relishing the shrill keening that came from her throat at the contact. Her hips arched into him, over and over, and he thought he might go insane if she kept that up.

"Swan," he warned, "if you don't control yourself, this may be over before we've begun."

"Godammit, Killian, get these fucking things off me, then!" Emma tugged futilely at her tight cutoffs.

He hooked a finger into one of the many rips in them, and tore them up the center, grinning when she gasped. "Like the dramatic gestures, do we, love?"

"Shut up." She launched herself at him, rolling them over until he landed on his back, with Emma sitting on top.

Splat.

They both stopped for a moment, trying to see where the sound had come from, when Emma started giggling hysterically, and Killian followed her line of sight down to his waist, where orange paint was oozing out from underneath him.

"You—you landed on—" she started giggling again.

He smirked. "As you said before, love…leave it." He slid his thumbs through each side of her lacy boy shorts, and dragged them down her legs, rolling them over again to remove them completely.

Squish. Splat.

"Oh!" Emma jerked instinctively when her bare back crushed the vermilion and ochre paint tubes beneath her. Killian laughed, swiping a fingertip through the green and dabbing the end of her nose.

"Killian Jones, stop screwing around and—and screw me!"

"If the lady insists," he said, shucking his jeans and boxers off in record time, and moving back down to her breasts, lapping at one while his hand caressed the other.

"Fuck," she moaned, as his tongue did postively sinful things to her. "Fuck, Killian." Her hands curled down into the floor, trying to grasp something, anything, to anchor her.

He looked up, a devilish gleam in his eye. "That's the idea, right, darling?"

She snorted. "You're impossible."

He rose onto his knees, completely flattening and exploding a tube of pink madder all over his left knee and Emma's thigh. "Come here." Killian wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling them both to their feet. Her hand landed right in her palette as she struggled to stand, leaving a smattering of rainbow colors across his chest when she went to support herself against him. Emma found her back against the wall again, and she tightened her legs around Killian's hips to hold herself up.

Killian intertwined their fingers, sliding them up the wall above Emma's head, and nuzzling at her neck. She gasped when she felt his cock slide against her inner thigh, teasing at the cleft of her sex, and he raised his head.

"Emma," he said, squeezing her hands. "Emma, are you sure about this?"

"For fuck's sake, Killian, are you going to make me beg for—"

He thrust forward suddenly, sheathing himself inside her all at once, and smothered the surprised cry that left her mouth with his own. Their foreheads met, while they panted against each other's lips. Killian truly thought he might pass out as her muscles contracted around him. She was tight as a vise; had that bloody dolt of a fiancé not taken advantage of the gloriousness that was Emma Swan Nolan every chance he was able?!

"Bloody…gods…fucking…lass…"

"Is Captain Snark speechless for once?" Emma gave an experimental roll of her hips, smirking when the nerve in Killian's jaw twitched. "I'm flattered, Killian, but please…move."

"Apologies, Swan." He pulled out almost completely, and drove back into her forcefully, her hands escaping his hold to clutch his shoulders, and his next thrust making her nails dig into them.

"God, yes." She captured his lips in a sloppy kiss, breaking it when he moved within her again.

His rhythm faltered when she bit down on his earlobe, and they tumbled back to the floor, Killian landing on his ass (he felt another burst of paint), and Emma's knees on either side of him. She grinned. "That was for that first night."

"Hmm?"

"You nipped my earlobe at the end of your routine, I almost fell and you caught me…I thought I was going to come right there."

"Really?" He couldn't believe the secretive little siren had been fighting feelings for him since the beginning, though it thoroughly pleased him to know.

"Yup." She balanced herself, starting to ease down onto him, her head thrown back, eyes closed.

Killian placed both hands against her back, pulling her closer until she was square against his chest. "Emma?" he asked, a strangled sound escaping him when she had fully lowered herself onto him. "Darling, please…please look at me."

She looked down, seeming surprised at the request, and cupped his face again as she continued to undulate above him. The hesitation in his eyes was plain; Emma was sure suffering so much disappointment and loss at his age would've caused natural doubt in any new bond. "You have me, Killian. I'm not going anywhere."

His sigh sounded a lot like relief, and he bent his head, resting it on her chest as they continued to mirror each other's movements.

Killian's breathing grew ragged, and he looked up at Emma with an entirely wrecked expression. "Swan…Emma…I'm close."

She gripped him tighter. "So, come."

"No," he said sternly, "not before you." He quickly flipped her onto her back, hitching her leg over his shoulder, driving into her impossibly deep.

Emma gritted her teeth; the new angle felt like sheer heaven. "Oh, God, Killian—" She raked the length of his back with her nails just as her orgasm hit, her back bowing up off the floor, his mouth swallowing the high-pitched sob that tore from her throat. Two more forcible thrusts, and Killian fell too, muffling a guttural grunt in Emma's neck. They collapsed there, legs tangled, unable to move. No sound came from them except mutual, harsh panting.

They both lay on the studio room floor for what felt like forever, boneless and exhausted, with no inclination to get up, though Emma finally nudged Killian weakly with her foot. "We should…we should get cleaned up."

He laid his head back down, pillowed against her breast, rocking himself into the warm set of thighs cradling him. "But it's so comfortable here."

She bucked her hips up. "Killian."

"That's not really strengthening your argument, you know."

"Please—"

"Oh, alright," he grumbled, getting to his feet and reaching down to pull Emma up and to the shower. He flashed a quick grin. "I'll show you clean, Swan."


His eyes creaked open when his arm found the other side of the bed empty. Bloody hell, he'd never felt more drained in his life. Killian propped himself up on his elbows. "Swan?"

Emma was standing at the window, the moonlight glimmering over the blonde tresses, delicately curving down her shoulder, the willowy contour of her torso, to the firm arc of her arse. She looked wholly ethereal.

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling at him almost shyly. "Hey."

He got up, walking over to stand behind her. "I'm sorry, lass, I didn't mean to invite myself to spend the night. It just so happens you entirely wore me out, and—" He placed his hands lightly on her waist.

"S'alright. You did the same for me."

Killian moved his hands to her hips, tilting them back towards him. "I'm not done with you yet," he said, voice gravelly, starting to push into her leisurely. She gripped the windowsill tightly, letting out a soft whimper once he was seated fully inside, head dropping back onto his shoulder.

"That's right," he murmured, biting softly at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, rubbing his scruff over the area, marking her. "Let me take care of you."

Once they both fell, one quickly after another into a sweaty, breathless heap, they dragged themselves back to Emma's bed. She settled her head on his chest.

"Are you sure you want me to stay?"

"Mmhmm. Stop talking." She scratched her nails softly through his chest hair as her eyes started to droop.

"I'll have to get up early to go to work, but I'll try not to wake you." He stroked his thumb against her upper arm. "I hate to ask, but…what did the bugger say when you called it quits?"

"Don't worry about it," she murmured, draping an arm across his stomach. "Go to sleep."


Emma rolled over once the sunlight hit her eyelids, stretching her sore muscles, blushing at memory of how they got that way. She squinted at the piece of scrap paper on her nightstand; Killian had left a note.

Thank you for a most vigorous modeling session last night, Swan. I can't wait to see you this evening. Love, Captain Snark. P.S. I'm completely open to your other kinky ideas, but please leave the paints at home; I don't think my humble abode can handle your destructive tendencies. Below that, his address was listed.

She gave the note a double-take. Love? It probably meant nothing, people signed off like that all the time. Even so, she stewed over it for awhile longer, tracing the word with a fingertip. She hadn't felt romantic love, let alone passion, in so long, it was an alien feeling to have someone looking forward to seeing her, desiring her…and her feeling the same way. She sat up with a start at that thought; it was far too soon to be thinking she loved Killian, for Christ's sake. It had just been sex—mind-numbingly amazing sex—but still….She bit her nail. Well…it wasn't just sex…. He made her laugh. And listened to her fears, and hopes. And encouraged her….

"Oh, fine!" she exclaimed to her empty room. "I'll finally end things, and tell Killian I want—want to date him, at least." She pulled some gym clothes on, and marched out to her car to go break up with Neal once and for all.


"Why, Miss Nolan. Back again so soon?"

Emma's stomach did an uneasy flip when Gold answered the door. "Yes…sorry to pop in unannounced, but I was hoping Neal would be home this time."

"Wrong again, dearie." He moved back, gestured into the living room. "But please come in. You look like you've got something worrying your mind."

What the hell was a laze-about like Neal doing away from the house two days in a row? Probably banging whatever daytime stripper he was cheating on her with this time, she decided, pleased that she felt nothing at the thought. "I…I could come back—"

"Nonsense," he said, placing a hand at her back, and swiftly ushering her inside before she knew what had happened. At least, she thought with a fleeting glance around, there weren't any belligerent possible-escorts hanging about this time.

Gold seated himself across from her, folding his hands on the dining room table. "Perhaps there's a matter I could assist you in?"

Like hell. "No, it's more of a…personal matter between us. Do you have an idea of when he'll be back? Because I—"

A thin imitation of a smile stretched his lips. "This is about the wedding, isn't it, dearie? You're thinking of calling the whole thing off."

What the fuck—could the creepy old man read her mind now? Emma steeled herself; determined not to give him the pleasure of a reaction. "I'm—uh, like I said, it's between me and—"

"Miss Nolan, please don't insult my intelligence. I haven't built a multimillion dollar hotel empire and gotten to where I am today by not learning to read people. You want to leave my son in the lurch."

"Not exactly in the lurch," she asserted, abandoning all pretense. "It's still several days before the wedding, and I just thought—"

"You thought—what? That after months of preparation and money spent, you could just walk away? Humiliate our family?"

Emma took a deep breath, trying to subdue the familiar bad temper rising inside her. "Look, Mr. Gold, not that it's any of your business, but Neal's been—been seeing other people. For a while now, I suspect. And I'm not going to stand for it anymore. He obviously doesn't love me, and I sure as hell don't love him."

The older man sat back in his chair, a smile of genuine amusement stealing over his features. "Is that right?"

Emma's mouth dropped open, stupefied. "You knew."

Gold stood up, and limped over to his liquor cabinet. "Forty-year Glenlivet, Miss Nolan? I think you'll require something strong for the rest of this conversation."

She didn't respond to his question, just kept her eyes trained on him, hands folded tightly together. "Explain yourself, Gold."

He turned around with the two glasses in hand, letting out an eerie giggle. "Oh, it's plain Gold now, is it? Very authoritative, dearie! I like it."

The old man settled back into his seat. "I make it my business to know about those close to me, Miss Nolan." He sighed, actually looking truly weary for a moment. "You can do everything for your child, my dear—give them every contraption they ever wanted, take them to the most exotic locales, send them to the best schools. It's a humbling day, dearie, when you realize all your sacrifice and efforts were for naught." He took a dainty sip of his Scotch, setting the glass gently back on the table. "My boy is, shall we say, an apathetic sort. Through no fault of my own, of course—sometimes the apple does just happen to fall far from the tree."

Emma crossed her arms, giving him a bored look. "And what the hell does this have to do with me?"

He pressed his hands together, pointing both index fingers at her. "One thing my unmotivated son did right in his entire, directionless life, Miss Nolan, was to come across you." He took another sip. "And somehow, manage to get you to stick around. Most women of your age, wits, and education wouldn't look twice at my son these days. And probably won't again."

Emma glared at him. "Are you trying to insult me, or something? Because, believe me, I've had—"

Gold slammed his glass on the table, and Emma jumped. "Listen good, dearie—I haven't cultivated the success I have, to have it wilt and die after I can't manage it anymore. Neal will run my business into the ground—I've been trying to teach him the tricks of the trade for years, but it's like banging your head against a brick wall. That's where you come in, Emma Nolan. You are going to take over Gold Hotels and Estates once I'm incapacitated. It will still be in the family, with an intelligent, respectable—"

An awed laugh escaped Emma, and she held up her hands. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gold, but I'm not staying with, and marrying, your son just for money and power. Plus, I know nothing about business—"

"You'll learn. And don't underestimate the power of a lovely figurehead at the forefront of a large company."

"Still not interested. When it comes to who I end up with, it'll be because of love…love is more important."

"Love?" he snorted. "Don't be preposterous, Miss Nolan—love is but a weakness to overcome."

She rose from her seat. "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Sit down, Miss Nolan," he said, voice hard. "We're not done here."

"I'm done," she said angrily, turning to leave, until she heard a great sigh come from Gold.

"I didn't want to have to resort to hardball, dearie, truly I didn't, but alas, that's where I find myself. How're your parents doing these days, Miss Nolan? My assignment with your father seems to be providing plenty of work for him."

She gave him a wary look. "It has, as far as I can tell."

"In fact, " he went on as though she hadn't spoken, "my contract with him has been taking up a great deal of his time over the past year, and it will for years to come." He glanced up at her, a flash of pure threat in his eye. "It would be a pity to break it. Why, one might even surmise that could ruin your family—financially, I mean. With your mother retired for years now, and that charming stepmother of hers contributing nothing—"

"You wouldn't," she said hoarsely, voice coming out in a whisper.

"—and your dear parents putting up so much of their own incomes to give you a future…tsk, tsk. I believe they still have a ways to go on their mortgage, as well."

"You've been digging into their private concerns? You fucking worm!"

"Let me be plain, dearie," Gold said, "you're going to marry my son, make the best of it, and keep my business thriving. In return, I won't pull the rug out from under your family's livelihood."

"My—my father has other clients, he'll—"

"But none as big as me, or with better connections. You may think he can pull through losing my contract, but trust me, I'll see to it that no one else within a 100 mile radius will hire him, either."

Emma inhaled sharply. "You can't—you can't do that! You're insane."

"I can't? Miss Nolan, surely an ambitious young woman like yourself can recognize fortitude in another?"

"I wouldn't do this to achieve success! I've never used—no, blackmailed—another person!"

"Don't play the wide-eyed pillar of virtue, dearie. You were in a very competitive industry straight out of college. You can't tell me that you didn't step on a few backs to get there."

"No," Emma seethed. "I didn't—it's called talent and knowing the right people. And while I'm at it, I would probably still be in that industry if your son—"

He waved a hand at her. "I find the blame game an altogether bore, Miss Nolan. Don't waste my time with it." He rose, striding to the front door, and opening it. "If you show up to the rehearsal dinner in four days' time, I'll assume you've agreed to my terms. If not…well, you know what will follow. Choose wisely, dearie," he said in conclusion, shutting the door in her face.


Emma sat outside Killian's apartment, well past the time he'd invited her. She gripped her steering wheel until her palms ached. Her stomach continued to pulse in short heaves, leftover from the wracking sobs that had shook her whole frame hours before. She wasn't going to tell her parents, that much she knew. They'd be livid, insist on calling the wedding off, and be completely on her side, but that wouldn't save them from Gold's repercussions. No, she wouldn't do that to them. But Killian…she squeezed her sore eyes shut. Even if he knew the story, he'd made it plain he wasn't going to be someone's sidepiece, and furthermore, she respected him too much now to even try to make something like that work. Even if she waited for the old man to keel over, it would be too late—Killian would be gone. Plus, she suspected Gold had the longevity of a cockroach—he'd probably live into his mid-hundreds. She took one more steadying breath before she swung open the car door and walked up the stairs. The least she could do was give Killian a clear break; he deserved to find an issue-free woman who could make him happy.

Her heart leapt into her throat as soon as Killian opened the door. "I was getting worried, love—you said you'd be here thirty minutes ago! No matter now—" he broke off, pressing her into the doorframe and kissing her senseless. She put her hands on his chest to push him away, but he only grinned at her, making her feel even worse. He looked like such an eager, happy puppy—if it were possible for puppies to be dead sexy as well.

"Quite right, darling. As much as I'd just like to carry you to the boudoir and have my wicked way with you all night long, I didn't clean and boil mussels for the past couple hours for nothing." He walked over to his small kitchen table, picking up a green bottle. "I bought white—do you prefer white or red? The bloke at the wine shop assured me white was the way to go with—" He broke off when he got back to her, thumbing at the corner of one red-rimmed eye. "You've been crying."

"Killian, we need to talk."

His gaze was leery. "I've found in the past when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation."

She looked down, digging the toe of her shoe into the carpet. "This isn't going to work out. Us. I'm going through with the wedding. That's—that's just the way things have to be." Emma peered up through her lashes when she was met with silence, seeing the same muscle in his jaw clench as when he'd spoken about his brother.

"You're still marrying that—that buffoon?"

"He's not—"

"Well, Swan, I certainly misjudged you. You really are an accomplished liar. Certainly had me believing that you wanted things to be over on that front, and were looking forward to—well, no matter now. And all for a quick shag to get your last jollies in as a free woman. Kind of went to a lot of trouble there, love."

Her hands curled into fists. "It's not like that."

"Well then, what is it like? I'm all ears."

"I can't—it's hard to explain—"

"Of course it is. Well, let me make it easier—you don't have to. In fact, you don't have to do anything as it pertains to me anymore. Go on, lass—go marry the man who treats you like dross, move away, create a perfect little life for yourself. It doesn't include me."

If Emma had had any tears left, they would be flowing by now. "Killian, please. Believe me, this isn't what—"

"Believe you? I don't think so, Swan. Look where it's gotten me thus far." He turned his back to her, hands in fists at his sides. "I think you should go."

"Killian—"

"Please go."

Killian didn't turn around until he heard the door click softly behind him, walked slowly back to the kitchen and let the wine bottle slip out of his hands to shatter on the tiles. He looked down disinterestedly; the green shards seemed a million miles away through his hazy vision. Vaguely, he hoped the neighbors would call the cops, or better yet, come up to yell at him themselves. He felt like punching someone, wanted a fight in the same way he'd gone looking for them after Liam's death. After five, ten, then fifteen minutes passed without anyone knocking or screaming outside his place, he staggered into his room, tumbling onto the bed. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, fisting his hands in his hair til it hurt, feeling stupid, so stupid for finally trusting another person after all these years. Well, he wouldn't be making the same mistake again. It appeared that his lot in life was to be alone, and at this point, he ought to just accept it.


A/N: Don't hate me…all I can say in comfort is: Remember, this isn't the end! ;)