"Killian."
Emma stands in front of her mirror and tests the name on her tongue.
"Killian," she says again.
She's going to see him today. Finally. He and his brother are coming to the castle to report on the status of northern sea and she's determined to get a moment alone with him while he's here. The last time she saw him he'd given her flowers and she'd kissed him at the door to her room, and she's really hoping for a repeat performance.
"How was your voyage, Killian?"
No. By the time she gets him alone, he'll have already made his report, so why would she ask that?
"I was thinking about walking down to the lake. Would you care to join me, Killian?"
Much better. That will accomplish both of her intentions at the same time: getting him alone and calling him by name.
Her plan firmly in place, she smooths out her dress and runs a brush through her hair. After one last glance at the mirror, she heads to the great hall, her footsteps flying over the floor. When she turns the last corner, she collides hard into Leroy.
"Whoa, what's the hurry, princess?"
"Sorry, Leroy, I just don't want to miss today's reports."
That makes his brow furrow, a look of clear disbelief on his face. "And since when do you care about the reports?" he asks, pressing his lips together and crossing his arms.
"Since… Well, since I… Oh, I just do, alright?!" she huffs, making her way around him.
His laughter rings out behind her, echoing against the stone walls. "I'm sure the Lieutenant's report will be riveting!"
She ignores the jibe, but slows her pace, demurely walking to stand to her father's left on the dais.
She sees him as soon as he enters. She's listening to – or trying to listen to – the report being made by the newly appointed Duke of Weselton but her focus is on the door, her heart racing with anticipation.
She knows she's shifting around, hardly able to stay in her place in front of her throne, impatient for Killian to appear. When her mother catches her eye, she sees the admonishment there, so she straightens her shoulders and does her best to give the Duke her full attention, plastering a polite smile on her face which makes the Duke's brighten.
He's a young man for a Duke, his father having died many years ago and his grandfather (who apparently had some history with Queen Elsa) passing just last month. He's polite and well-mannered and, if Emma is being fair, handsome as well, and Emma is not oblivious to the way people are watching for her reaction to him.
She wants to roll her eyes. People at court are always watching her now. It seems that when a princess reaches a certain age, the only question on everyone's minds is which man will catch her eye.
Still, she keeps the polite smile in place, nodding along with her father when she notices him out of the corner of her eye to make it look like she's actually listening.
She knows Killian enters the room before she even sees him. Her skin comes to life, a tingle running down her spine, just like it does every time he's near. It takes no small effort to stop herself from searching the room to find him but she manages to keep her attention on the Duke until he finishes his speech.
As soon as the Duke is dismissed, her eyes seek out the blue of Killian's, and she's not surprised at all when they land on him immediately. Butterflies fill her chest and she longs to cross to him, to throw her arms around him and remind herself just how soft his lips are. Unfortunately, for now, she has to settle for flashing him a quick smile. When he returns it, the butterflies move into her stomach and she'd almost swear her feet leave the ground for a moment.
K&EK&EK&E
She's absolutely breathtaking, standing to her father's left, the crown of her station perched atop her golden curls. It's a concerted effort to look away from her when it's time for him to address the King and Queen. Thankfully, he'd memorized every word of his report several times over, so he's able to give it without stuttering.
Theirs is the last of the morning and as soon as they've finished, the crowd begins to mingle. Killian immediately starts through the crowd toward the princess, but a conversation he overhears stops him dead in his tracks.
"It can't hurt to request an introduction," a portly gentleman is saying to the man next to him.
"For what purpose?" the younger man asks.
"She's the Princess of Misthaven."
The younger man is rolling his eyes. "I know who she is, but what's the point in meeting her?"
"Nicholas, stop acting like you don't know what I'm talking about. She's the most sought after woman in all the kingdoms. She's beautiful, and loved, and heir to the throne. The man who marries her will be king someday."
"And you think the grandson of a disgraced Duke is an appropriate match for a princess?"
"She's not yet promised to anyone. What could it hurt to present your suit?"
"She may not be promised yet, but if the castle gossip is to be believed, her heart has already been claimed."
The older man scoffs. "Her heart is not where the power lies. It's her hand in marriage that is of value. You still have a chance at that. If you act quickly, that is."
Killian realizes his hand is balled into a fist a moment before someone pulls on his arm, dragging him away from the two men.
"It's not worth it, brother," Liam whispers into his ear.
"But they're speaking of her as if she's a trophy to be won," he sputters in indignation.
"And they aren't the only ones who think that way. To many, that's exactly what she is," Liam replies, maneuvering him to an isolated alcove.
"Not to me."
"I know. But you can't go around knocking out everyone who thinks that way. You'll wear out your fist on the first day. Besides, you heard the man: Her heart has already been claimed."
Killian's throat clogs, his stomach plummeting. "Who do you think the lucky man is?" he asks in a small voice.
Liam's only response is to smirk and shake his head.
K&EK&EK&E
She's lost track of him. He'd been standing next to the new Duke of Weselton but when she'd made it to that spot, he'd disappeared. Scanning the crowd, she tries to find his dark head but there's no sign of him anywhere.
The next thing she knows, Ruby appears at her side, leaning into her ear to say something while motioning toward the corner with her arm but she's interrupted before she can even speak.
"Lady Lucas, would you do us the honor of an introduction?"
"Of course," Ruby automatically replies, straightening and flashing Emma a look of apology.
Emma does her best not to look annoyed at the delay. She knows there's no way out of being introduced to the Duke, so she schools her features and turns to face the men.
"Princess, allow me to introduce Reginald McIntyre, Lord of Alpine Hall and Nicholas Pryce, Duke of Weselton. Gentlemen, may I present Emma, The Swan Princess of Misthaven."
Both men make their bows.
"It's a pleasure, princess," the older man says.
"The pleasure is all mine, Lord McIntyre."
"Princess," the Duke nods.
"My Lord Duke," she replies with a nod of her own, "I do hope you're enjoying your stay with us."
"He is," Lord McIntyre responds before the Duke can speak. "He was just telling me how much he adores your gardens. We don't have such lovely sights in the North of Arendelle. I'm afraid not much grows through the ice."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Please feel free to roam the gardens at your leisure while you're here," Emma replies, turning to the Duke and noting his obvious discomfort. Emma feels immediate sympathy for the young man, his embarrassment clear at Lord McIntyre's matchmaking attempts.
"Thank you, Your High – "
"I hear you know the gardens very well," the older man interrupts, "Perhaps you could educate the Duke on which of the plants are the most resilient – "
"I'm sure the Princess has more important things to do with her time than teach me the pros and cons of foliage," the Duke cuts him off with a stern tone and hard look.
Ruby fidgets next to her but Emma manages not to, even when the two men stare each other down.
In an attempt to distract them all, she turns to Ruby. "Ruby, would you be so kind as to ensure that the Duke has a cutting of snowbells before he leaves?" she asks.
"Of course," Ruby replies.
Turning back to the Duke, she adds, "Have you ever seen them before, your grace?"
"I don't believe so, Your Highness," he replies with a polite smile, finally breaking his stare from the older man.
"They are my mother's favorite and can grow nearly anywhere."
"You honor me, princess."
An uncomfortable silence descends after that, during which Emma glances back and forth between the two men. She can see the lord's irritation with the Duke for not pushing his suit further and the way the Duke determinedly ignores him.
A quick scan of the room still doesn't reveal Killian so, since it seems her plans to get him alone have been thwarted before they'd begun, she takes pity on the Duke.
"If you have nothing else planned for the afternoon, I could take you on a tour of the gardens. Perhaps find some other flowers that would do well in your northern environment."
"That's really not necessary, Your Highness."
Lord McIntyre actually huffs in exasperation.
"I insist, your grace," Emma adds quickly.
The Duke gives her a grateful, if somewhat sardonic, smile. "It would be my pleasure, princess," he says, offering his arm.
K&EK&EK&E
When Killian emerges from the alcove, it's to see the princess being led from the room on the arm of the Duke and his heart sinks to his feet. His first instinct is to follow them, to challenge the man or, at the very least, reveal his nefarious intentions to the princess in no less than succinct, terse sentences. He doesn't, though, mostly because his legs go rigid with agony when he sees Emma smile at the man. It's like his heart has stopped beating in his chest – only he knows it hasn't because all he can hear is the blood pumping in his head when she disappears through the archway.
Ruby catches his eye from across the room and starts toward him but Killian turns on his heel before she can reach him, fleeing the crowd of people in a desperate need for fresh ocean air.
The men look surprised when he boards the Jewel but no one comments on it (he's fairly certain they can tell he's itching for a fight) and he barks out a few orders before retreating to his cabin. He flops down on his cot as soon as he enters, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing for all the world that he'd never set eyes on the enchanting Princess of Misthaven.
It's nearly dark when a hard, impatient rap sounds on his door. He springs to his feet, intent on giving whoever it is a severe scolding for interrupting him when he's not even supposed to be on duty, but when he wrenches the door open, the words die on his tongue.
The Princess is standing on his threshold, looking equal measures of furious and hurt, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"I've been looking for you all day," she blurts, completely dispensing with all propriety of a formal greeting.
The shock of her appearance sends his heart racing and leaves his body paralyzed so he doesn't even have the wherewithal to move, causing her to physically push past him to enter the room.
"It wasn't what you thought," she says, turning on her heel when she reaches the center, "I was trying to help the Duke get away from that nasty Lord McIntyre who was intent on embarrassing him as best he could, and the only way I could do that was making it look like the old man's plan was working. I spent ten minutes in the garden with him before he, very apologetically, told me I didn't need to waste my day entertaining him when there was so obviously somewhere else I wanted to be."
"I…" he takes a step toward her, his chest tight but soaring because she's here, even though her eyes are flashing with temper.
"Ruby told me you saw us leave. She tried to catch you to tell you what was happening but you disappeared. What did you think? That I didn't know what was they were after? That I'm oblivious to the way some people see me as nothing but a means to an end? A way to get to the throne?"
"I…" he tries again.
"I haven't seen you in months. I've been looking forward to this all week. I wanted to walk through the gardens with you. I wanted it to be just the two of us and now I've spent the entire day scouring the castle trying to find you!"
"I…" If she'd let him speak, he'd apologize but she's on quite the tear and doesn't even pause.
"And what have you been doing?" she asks, sounding close to hysteria. "You've been hiding on your ship! You saw me with another man and you assumed… What? That I'm that fickle? That I go around kissing every man I meet?!"
"Princess…"
"Well, you're wrong. I've only kissed one man in my entire life – "
He stops her words with his mouth, which, it seems, is the only way to get her to stop yelling at him.
Her body stiffens at first, her fisted hands landing on his chest and pushing hard enough that he breaks from her mouth. But he doesn't release her, keeping his hand steady on her back.
"I'm sorry," he breathes against her lips before she can yell at him again, thankful when she eases the pressure on his chest, "I'm an idiot. I saw you with him and I…" Bloody hell, what can he say to make this right? "I'm sorry," he repeats, pressing his lips back to hers.
Her hands flatten on his chest, breaking with his mouth to respond with a petulant, "You should be," that makes him smile.
"I am. Please forgive me. I suppose I'm not entirely rational when it comes to you, princess."
"You're forgiven," she replies, fisting her hands again, this time into his coat to pull him back to her.
Her lips are warm and soft, softer than he remembers from their last brief kiss, and he tilts his head, pressing further into them. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that sends his senses reeling, one of her hands easing up from his chest to graze her fingers over his chin.
"I've missed you," she mumbles into his lips.
"I've missed you, too."
K&EK&EK&E
She'd been frantic to find him. She had started out concerned but after hours of searching, the concern had hardened into annoyance.
Now that she's in his arms, she admits to herself that part of her anger hadn't really been with him but more about her plans for the day getting spoiled. He has precious little time ashore and the loss of even these few hours means that much time wasted. But at least she'd managed to get him alone like she'd hoped this morning. In fact, she'd barely dared to hope for another kiss and the way things have worked out might just be better than what she'd had planned.
Smiling to herself, she pulls back from his mouth and catches her lip between her teeth. There's one more thing she wanted to do today and right now seems like the perfect moment.
"Killian?" He goes completely still when she calls him by name. "Will you come back to the castle with me? I'm sure August is losing his mind by now trying to find me. I didn't tell him where I was going."
He's smiling by the time she has finished talking, a radiant smile that makes her heart skip a beat. Then he dips his head, rubbing his nose against hers in a way she finds surprisingly affectionate. "I'd like nothing more, princess."
"Emma," she whispers, "you can call me Emma."
"Emma," he breathes in low voice, his grin widening.
It's much later as they are standing on the balcony overlooking the garden, his chest lined up to her back with his arms caging her against the rail when he whispers into her ear, "Emma?"
"Yes?"
"Would you mind saying it again?"
She turns to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Killian," she whispers just before she covers his lips.
"Emma."
The sound of her name in his lilting baritone sends a thrill down her spine, all the way to her toes.
"Again."
"Emma."
She can barely hear the word, pressed into the skin of her shoulder as it is, his lips and tongue working their way methodically across all the exposed skin he can find.
She's currently pressed into the wall of his cabin, both of them having deserted the others without so much as bidding them goodnight after the emotional display on deck. Killian had simply gotten to his feet and offered her his hand, tucking her into his side as they had moved as one toward the closest hatch.
And now, here they are, finally where she'd wanted to get him all day, the feel of his lips on her skin igniting a rush of sensations stirring through her blood.
Her fingers dig into his back, raking across the cool fabric of his vest. He'd never donned his coat today and, while he looks stunning in it, she has to admit that she appreciates it right now since it makes it easier for her to feel the muscles of his back working under her fingers.
His lips travel to her neck, his hand gathering her hair to push it out of the way so that he can draw a hot line all the way up to her ear with his tongue. When he nips at the lobe, she arches, throwing her head back and rapping it against the wall.
She hears a thud and opens her eyes to see his hook buried in the wood just above her. At the same time, he languidly straightens, rubbing their bodies together in a slow slide that makes her toes curl. She swears she can feel every pore in her body zing to life, goosebumps breaking out everywhere at once, her hands falling limply to her sides as the riot of sensations course through her.
He says her name again, unbidden this time, the sound breaking through the pounding of blood in her ears and she opens her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Her knees feel like water and she becomes vaguely aware that his lips have left her skin. She also realizes that the only thing keeping her upright is his hand at her waist and the press of his body pinning her to the wall.
"Emma," he repeats, calling her out of the dark pleasure to focus her attention on him.
His eyes are a deeper blue than she's ever seen them, staring directly at her with a furrowed brow and her heart sinks.
"We should talk, love," he says, regret and fear lacing the words.
Talk? He wants to talk? Now?
"Talk?"
"Yes, there are things I should tell you, things – "
"Now?"
He cuts off at the disbelief in her voice, his eyes clouding, and she stands stock still, her breath catching in her chest at the guilt in his eyes, a self-loathing and pleading expression that makes her heart ache.
"Yes, I think, perhaps, now would be best… before we – "
"No," she tells him, moving her hand further back into his hair so that she can keep him from looking away. "I know what you think," and she does, she can see it written all over his face. This is what he'd been worrying over yesterday. It's about his past and the things he's done that he regrets. "You think I'll change my mind once you tell me. But I won't."
Whatever it is must be something dreadful, something he considers nearly unforgivable because he can't meet her eyes. But it doesn't matter, not to her. Whatever he's done, it's brought him to this place and she knows he's not that person anymore. No man who puts the lives of everyone around him before his own is anything less than a hero.
He shakes his head, trying to take a step away, "Emma, you don't understand."
"I do," she insists, stopping his retreat by tightening her grip. "I've already told you, I don't care what you had to do to survive – "
"It wasn't always about survival, love," he says with a wince, his lids falling to cover the storm of remorse raging in his eyes.
The pain in his voice makes her suck in a breath, her own voice softening to a whisper. "I still don't care."
"You might, if you knew…"
"I won't."
He looks back to her then, pressing his lips together as if trying to figure out if he believes her. His eyes darken and she knows without a doubt he doesn't believe her, so she keeps going, not giving him a chance to protest.
"Whatever it is, it can wait. It won't change the way I feel," she vows.
"Emma…" She can see the internal struggle he's going through, the fear and the doubt riddling his features. But underneath that, she can see his resolve start to waver. He wants her, she knows it, he's just afraid she won't forever.
Carefully, like she's approaching a scared animal, she moves closer, gently nudging at his neck to bring their heads together. "Today has been so perfect," she whispers, closing her eyes and leaning in, "It's been so beautiful. Let make tonight beautiful as well. We deserve this. We've waited so long."
"Emma…" he grounds out, barely a protest when she closes the last bit of distance and lifts her mouth to his.
He groans as if in pain but doesn't push her away and she steps into him, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth the way she'd done this morning. The answering whimper from him tells her she's picked the right tactic and she cups his face, diving back in for a deep kiss. He cooperates by opening his mouth to invite her tongue inside and she accepts the invitation with relish, sliding their tongues together with a low moan.
He doesn't try to break the kiss but he keeps his arms resolutely at his sides as she turns them, leading him toward the bed as she backs into the room. She misjudges the distance and hits the back of her thighs against the table, his hand moving to her hip to steady her. But as soon as she's gained her balance, he releases her again, breaking from her mouth in one last effort to resist.
She stops his objection before he can utter it. "Please, Killian," she begs, her voice near a whimper in her desperation, "Let's have the wedding night that was stolen from us."
His answer is another groan, one that sounds like it's ripping him in two, but he finally relents, drawing back enough to look at her. His eyes search her face one last time before he nods, cupping her cheek tenderly. "Our wedding night," he agrees, wrapping his arm around her waist and tucking her gently into the long line of his body.
All doubt leaves his eyes after that, the years melting away. They were never separated, she's never been a tavern maid and he's never been a pirate. They're young and full of dreams, a shining future in front of them, one where he doesn't doubt her feelings, one where they can show each other how much they love each other without reservation.
When he slowly bends to kiss her, it's soft and sweet, the absolute perfection of it making her eyes sting. Because this is what it would have been like - love and desire pouring out of him, a gentleness in his movements that she remembers vividly from all those years ago.
She loves him. She loves him more than she ever has before. And she wants to tell him. But she won't say it. Not tonight, at least. He won't believe her yet, so she holds her tongue and lets the dream descend, lets this fantasy come to life where he's Lieutenant Killian Jones and she's the Swan Princess.
The kiss spins out, lips moving leisurely together, slowly, adoringly, fingers brushing faces and necks, light caresses that say the many things she knows won't be said aloud. She luxuriates in it all the same, the gentle seduction one that fills her being with love even without the words.
He eases her away from the table, his expert navigational skills moving them through the room toward the bed without breaking the kiss. It's beyond incredible, the way his lips mold to hers, the way the rough leather of his brace glides across the small of her back to guide her where he wants her to go.
A haze overtakes her mind, barely aware that they've made it to the bed, his lips on hers coaxing and prodding with slow, deliberate strokes as if he's in as much of a trance as her. When he draws back just enough to look at her, the bright blue of his eyes is so full of awe that it makes her smile.
He smiles back and she leans in, craving his taste, pressing her lips to his chin, her thumb urging him to tilt his head to the side so she can return the attention he's been giving her. When she drags her tongue over his throat, he sighs, cupping the back of her head lightly in encouragement. He tastes salty but sweet, the short whiskers of his beard tickling at her nose. She feels his next groan against her lips, the sound sending pulses through her own body, little shocks that warm her skin.
His fingers tighten on her neck, directing her mouth back to his to plunder it without restraint and the warmth turns to fire, burning through her veins. Then his hand is moving, a slow journey down her spine, that leaves her locked to him from shoulders to hips. When he reaches her back side, he gives it a squeeze, leveraging her up so that their middles meet in a perfect connection that makes the fire gather where she feels his hard length pressing to her.
He rocks once, grinding their hips together and her eyes pop open in surprise at the way that fire ignites an explosion of pleasure, tingles and shivers so incredible that they steal her breath and she has to break from his mouth to breathe.
He stills and eases his grip on her waist, his eyes studying her shocked expression. His thumb starts drawing light circles into the base of her spine while he waits for her to catch her breath, a look of awed hope lighting his eyes.
"Darling? Have you… Have you never…?" he asks roughly, his voice soft and reverent.
He holds his breath while he waits for her answer, an earnestness in his eyes, and joy shoots through her.
It never even occurred to her that it would be a question for him. She'd thought that he'd be able to tell, notoriously skilled pirate that he is, that her experience was lacking. But apparently he doesn't know, not for sure, anyway, and her chest fills with pride that even with her lack of knowledge, she's apparently not so… obviously naïve as she'd thought.
Smiling softly, she lifts one hand to his cheek, overjoyed that she still has this gift to give him, knowing without a doubt that it's something he will appreciate, something he will cherish.
"I haven't," she whispers.
The breath he'd been holding releases in a quick puff of air and then his forehead lands on hers. He doesn't move for a moment, except to lift his hand to her cheek and squeeze his eyes shut, the emotion rolling through him causing an actual shiver that she feels under the palm she has pressed to his back.
Her heart surges with love when she sees his lips flash a quick smile, then she closes her eyes, too. It's like she can feel the intensity of her confession seeping through him mirrored in her own being, the overwhelming and total adoration he's been hiding from her finally and completely unguarded.
They breathe the same air for what feels like eternity, his thumb sweeping back and forth on her cheek over and over again, the peaceful glow of love causing something to stir in her stomach. She marvels in it, the certainty of his devotion and the feel of his calloused thumb on her face combining into a moment she knows she will hold dear her entire life.
"I'll show you everything, darling," he vows in rough voice. "I'll give you so much pleasure that you'll forget your own name. I'll make it incredible for you, I promise."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registers that he's suddenly trembling, his voice shaking, but that pales to the thrill of his promise, the overwhelming desire to feel the things he's planning to do to her making her heart thump in her chest.
Tangling her fingers in his hair, she urges his head up to look at her, her body already tingling as she meets his gaze head-on, whispering softly, "Show me."
The grin that spreads across his face is so full of joy that she finds herself smiling back, then he's kissing her again, the arm at her back lifting her to her toes while the other seeks her hand, twining their fingers together. He brings their linked hands up between them, moving his lips to kiss the backs of each of her fingers, the action so surprisingly affectionate that she shivers.
With a shy smile that makes her heart leap in her chest, he moves her hand to the buckles of his vest, her breath catching as she realizes what he's giving her permission to do. She makes quick work of it, the garment falling to the floor at their feet. She hesitates when she reaches for his shirt, looking to him to make sure he's okay with her removing it. He nods with a shaky smile and her chest tightens, a deep understanding of the trust he's handing to her making it difficult to breathe.
She wonders vaguely how long it's been since he's shown anyone his wrist as she lifts the material over his head but she doesn't ask because the sight of his chest is so breathtaking that she can't utter a word. She doesn't even look at the brace, her eyes too mesmerized by the dark hair covering the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. Tentatively, she reaches out and runs her hands down him, exploring the feel of him under her palms. The muscles are as hard as they look, but the skin covering them is soft, the hair that gathers into a thin line at his stomach drawing her gaze to where it disappears into his pants.
The next thing she knows, he swoops in and kisses her, hard and hungry, her hands getting caught between them when he pulls her close again. She feels the rapid beat of his heart beneath her hand, the desperation of his kiss showing her a glimpse of the raw passion he has in store for her. Without breaking the kiss, he next guides her hand to the laces of his pants and she moans into his mouth. She's calmer than she expected to be when she pulls at the knot, surprising her a little when she deftly unlaces the ties with steady hands.
His hand isn't so steady when he covers hers, stopping her from pulling the pants down. She looks up to find him smiling shyly and then he's pulling the laces of her corset, hand and hook working together to open it so that he can ease it off her shoulders. As it lands on top of his discarded shirt and vest, he's already untying her skirt, letting it pool at her feet.
In a move that leaves her laughing, he picks her up and kicks the material to the side, his answering chuckle sending a burst of joy through her. Once she's on her feet, she kicks off her shoes and removes her undergarment while he removes his boots, then they come back to each other, him in only pants and her in only her light chemise.
He kisses her, a quick peck to her lips and then he's smiling down at her again. "Shall I go first, love?" he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
She can only nod, breathless with anticipation. After one more quick peck, he shucks his only remaining garment off, kicking the pants away and straightening in front of her.
Her eyes take him in, moving from his toes all the way up his body. She does her best not to let them widen when they pass over his bobbing erection but she can't stop the blush from staining her cheeks. Without meeting his eyes, she finally looks to the brace, the straps and buckles that hold it in place by wrapping around his forearm and up to his elbow. Gently, she reaches for it, releasing the bindings so she can ease it off his arm.
She makes a point not to dwell on the scars at the end of his wrist. This moment is too beautiful to mar it with sad memories, so instead she delves her hands into the hair on his chest and steps forward to plant a kiss over his heart.
He groans in pleasure at the contact, his hand moving to her chin and bringing her eyes back to his, the wide blue darkening just before he swoops in for another kiss, his tongue moving strongly through her mouth, another glimpse of the passion that's to come.
His voice is rough when their lips part, his arm holding her securely against his hot skin. "You're bloody amazing, darling. I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed of this."
"Me, too," she whispers in reply, which makes him grin shyly again.
With a shaky hand he reaches for chemise, his hand bunching at the hem. At a torturously slow pace, he lifts her last piece of clothing, his breath speeding up. She finds herself completely focused on the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, the sight the last thing she sees before the shirt is lifted completely away and discarded behind him. Closing her eyes, she stands completely still in front of him, her body warming at the way his hand comes to her face and traces gently down her neck, his fingers so light that it sends a shiver through her.
"You're stunning," he whispers in awe, "Absolutely stunning."
It's only then that she realizes she's been holding her breath and she does her best to release it slowly, unclenching her tightly closed fists as well.
His lips on her forehead has her nerves dissipating, sighing out and finally opening her eyes.
"Lie down, darling," he whispers tenderly and she gladly complies, his hand guiding her hips to the bed and climbing in next to her. She starts to reach for the blanket but he stops her.
"We're not going to need that," he says softly, "I promise to keep you warm."
The way her skin flushes at just the timber of his voice has her agreeing instantly and she drops the blanket, moving her hand instead to bury it in his dark hair and pull his mouth to hers.
He groans into the kiss, the low rumble one of surprise that she's taken the initiative when she opens her mouth wide and invites his tongue inside. Relishing the knowledge that he's not as in control as he seems, she brazenly moves her hand down his chest, digging her fingers into the muscle and dragging them down until she brushes against his abdomen. His entire body jolts in response, his hand grabbing at her wrist to stop the progression and bringing it up next to her head.
"Not yet, love. I want to show you something first."
The disappointment at being denied what she wanted is immediately replaced with thrilling anticipation, mesmerized by the way his voice somehow manages to be both rough and soft at the same time.
Drawing a shaky breath, she nods her consent, a silent agreement to let him lead her where he wants her to go.
A slow smile spreads across his face, his lips turning up in a way that has her blood starting to pound, the raise of his eyebrow as his hand runs down her forearm a promise that what he has in store for her will be worth the sacrifice. His lips are back on hers the next moment, his hand traveling down until she gasps against his mouth when it reaches her breast.
"Don't be embarrassed, darling. I plan on touching every inch of you by the time I'm finished."
"I'm not embarrassed," she responds and takes pride in the strength of her voice. Because she's not embarrassed, not at all. She's eager, she wants to feel everything. She wants him to show her, to teach her everything there is to learn.
Her declaration has him grinning back, a delighted smile just before he gives a rough and passionate nip to her bottom lip even as his hand squeezes at her breast, his fingers brushing the tip.
She gasps loudly, but he swallows the sound with his mouth, then his mouth is on her nipple, sucking and teasing to the point where she sees stars through her closed eyelids, her hand moving of its own accord to bury in his hair.
He continues to mouth at her breast while his hand drifts lower until he's only inches from where heat is pooling in her stomach. She swears she can feel her pulse pounding in her center and she lifts her hips, instinctively looking for something.
He growls into her skin. "That's right, darling. Let your body take over. It knows what you want. Let it show me. I'll give it everything it asks for, I promise."
She doesn't have time to reply before he keeps his promise, moving his fingers to the throbbing pulse and all she can do is gasp and push up into him to increase the pressure.
A desperate grunt comes from him and he circles the bud, his mouth releasing her breast to line up next to her ear.
"Do you feel that, love? The way the pleasure swirls through you, the way it races through your veins?"
She nods her head frantically, her body so awash in new sensations that she doesn't trust her own voice.
"It's going to feel so good, darling," he continues, "I'm going to take you somewhere you've never been before. It's going to steal your breath and make you want to scream at the same time."
His hand continues to play with her, his mouth moving around her neck and shoulders, dipping to her breast occasionally for a quick suck that makes her body jerk every time.
"You're so responsive, Emma, so beautiful, flushed and wanting."
She can feel herself blush further at the gruff words, her hips beginning to learn the movement of his hand and rocking with him.
"That's it, love," he encourages her, "Reach for it. Feel it warm your blood, feel it move through your body, feel the hum of promise lighting your skin."
How he manages to put into words everything she's feeling is unbelievable, how his lilting accent mixed with rough passion and spoken in whispers over her skin heightens every sensation, doubling the decadent pleasure of his movements. How every whimper and grunt she makes spurs an echoing sound from him, how her mind jumps from one sensation to another, the feel of his fingers, the sight of his head buried in her chest, the sound of his voice, the taste of his lips, the spicy, salty smell of his hair.
His fingers find her entrance and dip inside, causing her body to quiver and shake, the incandescent pleasure so much that she almost misses his rough whisper.
"So tight, so wet, love."
Every nerve ending is firing, the pleasure more than she ever imagined, the enormity of it almost frightening, especially when he shifts his hand and adds a second finger, gliding in and out while his thumb continues to tease her center. It's so intense it makes her want to shy away and press closer at the same time, her body warring with conflicting needs until she hears his silky voice at her ear again.
"I'm right here, darling. There's nothing to fear. I know it's overwhelming, but don't fight it. Chase it, love. Hold onto it until it takes you so high that you can think of nothing else."
While he's speaking he presses down hard on something inside her and she gasps in surprise, clenching her eyes shut and gripping at his shoulders. A moment later, the pleasure fists into a tight ball that has her throwing her head back, sucking in air as she holds it for as long as she can, his fingers slowing to draw it out, his grunt into her neck and the feel of his hardened cock pressing into her hip fading away as everything focuses on the burst of pleasure that rockets through her.
She can't breathe, she can't think, she can't hear her own voice when she gasps his name on a stilted cry, her body not under her own control when she crashes back down into the mattress, his hand lightly stroking her through one aftershock after another while her body quivers and shakes of its own volition.
Slowly, her quaking limbs calm and the world comes back into focus. Her nails are digging into the back of his head and it takes a concerted effort to unclench her fingers from his hair. She doesn't even remember gripping it. She doesn't remember how her face got buried in his neck, either, or how her leg got wrapped around his. She only remembers her voice whispering his name over and over again, a litany she looks forward to hearing from him when he finds his own release.
Moving her hand to his neck, she urges him to look at her. The look on his face is wrecked, but when he sees her smile, it softens, grinning back at her with awe.
"That was… incredible," she whispers.
His smile widens into a mischievous grin that makes her blood speed back up. "That's just the beginning, love."