A/N: This is all sex. NSFW.
Regina lay back down on top of Emma, unable to bear the intensity of their eye contact. She pressed her face into Emma's neck, brushing her lips against the warm, smooth skin. Strong arms encircled her once more, bringing her body even closer, despite the fact that she must be squashing Emma. But the blonde didn't care. She loved the feeling of her wife's body on top of her, always had. Tonight, however, there was the added awareness that neither woman knew when they'd be sharing a bed together again. Or, in theory, if.
If the therapy didn't work out, if something came up which made either one of them or both women realise that permanent reconciliation wasn't possible, that was the end. The couple knew they'd become complacent in the last two days, been too eager to accept the resurgence of their physical relationship despite the lingering knowledge that it might all fall apart. Again.
But it didn't feel as if that was an option in moments like this, Emma thought to herself, fingers drifting up and down Regina's spine. That's why it felt so good. That and the mind-blowing orgasms. Beyond the great sex, Emma knew that the rush of hormones and emotions which flooded her body when she and Regina were intimate not only produced heady feelings of pleasure but also blocked out those other worries and problems.
With Regina's naked body covering her own, Emma didn't have to think about the fact that they were in therapy, that her gambling addiction had torn her family apart, that Regina worried about whether Emma trusted her and whether she could trust Emma, that both women feared Emma might gamble again. When all they could feel was each other; lips, tongue, fingers, breath, gasp, crest; there was no space to feel anything else. Doubt, fear, regret, guilt.
"I think I owe you an orgasm," Emma murmured as the pressure of Regina's body finally began to make her body protest slightly.
"I think you do," Regina agreed, rolling off the blonde and stretching her arms above her head.
Emma looked appreciatively at the lithe body pulled taught beside her. She reached over and placed her palm on Regina's stomach, feeling the muscles tense. She grinned. Regina was a little ticklish. But she wasn't looking to make her wife laugh in that moment. True, their sex had often included laughter and jokes. It was just another way to communicate, after all, and there was something slightly ridiculous about sex, if you stopped to think about it. There had been plenty of times when the mood changed and giggles erupted between them. And then they'd fade, as that happiness was replaced with perhaps a purer form of physical pleasure.
Laughing was the last thing on Regina's mind in that moment when she watched Emma's face, as the blonde in turn seemed to be drinking her in. Those green eyes slid slowly up her body, from where her fingers splayed across her olive stomach, up to the edge of her ribcage, which rose and fell as she breathed, up further to her breasts, which had always been larger than Emma's, even during and after the younger woman's pregnancy, and then that gaze met her own.
She smiled softly, silently asking Emma to come closer. She did. Their lips connected, a chaste kiss in stark contrast to the intensity of Emma's earlier orgasm. Regina was setting the tone now, telling Emma what she wanted. Slow, sensual, connection. Not that Emma hadn't felt connected to Regina as she sat astride her head. She had. There had been a deep connection. And Regina loved fiery passion too. But in that moment, at that time, given where her mind was and her attitude towards their relationship, she wanted something a little different.
Perhaps the way in which Emma had rocked herself against Regina, the earnest, eager, almost desperate act of chasing her orgasm to its zenith symbolised how Emma felt about their relationship. She was undeniably earnest in the way in which she wanted to make up for her wrongdoing. She was eager for the therapy to work, and for their lives to go back to normal. And yet there was also a sense of desperation, and Regina knew Emma couldn't bear to think about what her life might become if their relationship wasn't to work out.
Regina struggled to imagine her life without Emma in it too, in all fairness. It hadn't been an easy decision to ask the blonde to leave and she had been devastated in the wake of their breakdown of their marriage. And now they were on a new path, the fear of ending up back there weighed heavily on Regina's mind just as much as it weighed on Emma's. Yet it manifested itself in a different way. Regina was desperate for them to work out but she was determined to make their future work through slow, steady and deliberate work to rebuild and solidify their relationship.
And that was exactly how she wanted to make love to Emma that night. Or, more specifically, that was how she wanted Emma to make love to her.
"What do you want?" Emma asked quietly, willing to do anything Regina wished. She already had an inkling of what her wife wanted. She knew how Regina loved the slow, gradual movements which eventually led to an explosion of pleasure.
In nothing more than a whisper, Regina replied; "worship me."
The phrase, harking back to the early days of their relationship when Emma had, in a haze of post orgasmic bliss, referred to Regina as her queen, sent a shiver down the blonde's spine in the dusk of the bedroom that night. Instantly, she leaned down to kiss her wife, a deep, passionate promise that Emma would do exactly as she was asked.
It wasn't long before Emma's mouth began to wander, travelling along Regina's jawbone, tongue teasing over the skin until it lapped briefly at her earlobe. And then Emma was moving onwards, laying a trail of kisses along the taut tendons of the brunette's neck as Regina craned her head to one side, granting Emma more access and permitting her to pause and suckle lightly above the woman's pulse point.
Emma hesitated, laying her tongue flat against the skin, feeling the thud of the woman's heartbeat directly into her own mouth. She knew it was juvenile but she yearned to leave a dark mark right here, a visible sign that Regina's heart belonged to her. At least, Emma hoped it did. The older woman certainly held Emma's heart tightly in her own hands. But she resisted the urge to suck blood to the surface, not only because she knew Regina disliked having to cover up hickies for work but also because Emma wasn't sure she had the right, just yet, to mark her wife.
So she moved on, mouth journeying down to Regina's collarbone. Here she paused, her tongue tracing a thin line which marked where the woman had been thrown from her horse as a teenager, the bone beneath shattered and rebuilt by surgeons. Regina's hand rested lightly on the back of Emma's head at this point but not in an attempt to guide her. Part of the agreement when Emma set out to worship her queen was that she'd take as long as she saw fit. And somehow, the blonde always managed to set the perfect pace.
Next she moved her lips down to the valley between Regina's breasts. Bringing her hands up, she cupped each generous globe, thumbs massaging the underside of each before she shifted her mouth to the right, guiding the nipple to her mouth and covering the puckered areola with warm wetness. Above her, Regina let out a sigh of contentment. It was followed by a gasp as teeth scraped across the sensitive nub.
After she'd given equal attention to the left breast, Emma continued her journey downwards, scooting her body to kneel between Regina's spread legs. The softness of Regina's stomach always surprised Emma. The skin there was so smooth and tender that she burrowed her face downwards, lips pressing harder, tongue licking every now and then, tasting the faintest remainder of the woman's moisturiser, applied that morning.
Now to the jut of Regina's hipbones, pointing surprisingly sharply up through her skin. This was the moment when Emma's self-control came into play. While she adored worshiping her wife, there was a part of her which wanted to stop its journey at the final destination at the first time past. But she forced herself to continue, moving her lips towards the edge of neatly trimmed pubic hair for a moment before backing away, the scent of her wife too tempting for Emma to deal with.
Instead, she moved her mouth to the inside of Regina's thigh, a few inches lower from where Emma was ultimately heading. And then she moved further away, kisses peppering all over the woman's thighs, snaking backwards and forth from one to the other. When they had met, Regina had been a regular runner. While she no longer ran, her legs were still in great shape, thanks to the woman's regular spinning classes.
At her left knee, Emma paused again. She pulled a little further back this time, taking in the white scar, about the size of a dime but not quite circular, which marred the skin. It had happened a few years earlier, when Henry was six. They'd been on holiday in Barbados and the women had been walking along the beach one evening, Henry safely in the hotel being watched over by one of the onsite nannies they'd hired for a couple of hours. It had been a blissful, romantic stroll until Regina had stumbled forwards and sliced her knee open on a sharp shell sticking out of the white sand. The rest of the night had been spent getting the woman stitched back together in the local hospital.
Emma kissed the healed wound and moved on. Her lips trailed down toned calves now, fingers trailing whichever one wasn't being peppered with kisses at. At the woman's ankles, Emma hesitated one final time. She gently turned the woman's left foot outwards, exposing the inner arch to her gaze. And lips. The tiny inked lines were dim in the low light. Well, that and the tattoo artist had failed to mention that it wasn't the best location because the ink would fade over time. But she could still make it out, the little flower. Her thumb brushed over it once before she pressed her lips to the image. As she did so, the matching tattoo on her own foot seemed to tingle.
They'd laughed about how silly they'd been to get the same tattoo even the day after they had gone to the tattoo parlour. It would be a nightmare if they broke up, Regina had declared. After all, we've only known each other six weeks, Emma had added. But it had been one of those head over heels kind of meetings and somehow they'd found themselves in a tattooist's chair, holding one another's hand as the childish symbol was etched into their skin. It had been foolish, yes, but maybe their younger selves knew something their older selves were sceptical of. Maybe their younger selves believed in true love.
A final kiss to that tiny flower tattoo and Emma made her way back up, rushing now as she felt Regina's legs move as she kissed them, widening invitingly as her lips travelled northwards. The worshipping was just about to start.
Regina's hands found their way back to Emma's scalp as soon as that hot mouth enveloped her throbbing core. The brunette didn't know what it was about the diligent way in which Emma kissed her quite literally from head to toe but there was something about the action which always got her incredibly turned on. And that night was no exception.
Her tongue moved almost lazily in its slowness, through the wetness which had gathered there. The licks were languid, determined to explore every fold, every inch, every patch of skin between Regina's thighs. She licked again. Slower. Again, a little faster. Again, slow. Her tongue carved a path, sliding with ease over the hot, puffy skin. She settled in, laying down on her stomach, as she repeated the movement.
This was what Regina wanted. It was what she needed. Although she knew Emma could bring her to orgasm in less than a minute, something in her liked to wait. She liked to feel that heat coil as Emma's tongue teased over her clit for a moment before retreating. The anticipation built, the suspense, the knowledge of what was to come.
And she trusted Emma. She knew the blonde would never leave her wanting. The woman would stay between her legs, building her up then carrying her over until the woman was truly spent and utterly satiated.
Which was exactly what happened. Eventually, Emma's mouth switched its focus, lips wrapping around the sensitive nerve bundle and sucking softly. The fingers in Emma's hair tightened, approving the change. But still it was slow. The suction was tender, the laving of her tongue was delicate and teasing. At least, at first. It increased, slowly but surely, ramping up the pressure, the pleasure, driving Regina closer to the inevitable.
"Emma," she gasped as the blonde's tongue sped up, now flicking relentlessly over Regina's hard clit, on a mission to show this woman just how effectively she could undo this queen.
And Regina allowed herself to be undone. Her back arched off the bed, body taut with the thrum of pleasure. Her fingers reached for the sheets, gripping them hard in her fingers as her pelvis pressed upwards, into the hot, wet, relentless mouth of Emma. All of that pleasure, which had been so diligently gathered and caressed into a hot fiery finish washed over Regina again and again, prolonging her orgasm for over a minute.
And then her body collapsed, the muscles giving up, unable to handle any more. Emma stilled her mouth, not wanting to overstimulate. She waited where she was, wanting to catch Regina's eye before she moved. When glassy brown orbs did indeed look down her spent body, Emma placed a final kiss to the wet core and crawled her way back up the woman.
"You'll always be my queen, Regina," Emma whispered, placing the softest kiss on the night upon Regina's lips as a tear slid down her cheek, disappearing into the pillow beneath her head.
A/N: I speak as someone who has a tattoo along the inner arch of my foot which has faded, despite my tattoo artist redoing bits of it three times (part of it is a quote). And as someone who has ten tattoos, I can also attest to this being the most painful part of my body I've ever asked someone to drag a needle across!