Fragile Design

by XerxesRises

David Nolan is out to protect his family, in any way that he can. He enlists the help of Emma Swan and Killian Jones to help uncover the crime boss currently living in his sleepy town of Storybrooke, ME. Two stubborn and damaged souls now have to come together as partners to solve a murder and maybe even save each other in the process. Fake marriage; modern AU.

20. Chapter 20

Emma Swan

November

"I love you."

Is she breathing? God, she can't tell if she's breathing. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room and she feels lightheaded, her jaw growing slack as she stares into his wide blue eyes. Did he just say - but no, that can't be what came out of his mouth - right? Except she thinks maybe it was - she's actually really sure that it was and the longer she sits there, the surer she becomes.

He's in love with her. Killian Jones is in love with Emma Swan. Killian loves Emma.

She blinks, but it feels like she's doing so underwater, the action protracted and lasting far longer than normal, doing nothing to help the haze settling over her thoughts. She stares into his eyes, held in dumbfounded awe at the depth of the emotion she finds in them. There's a wrinkle between his brows, a gnarled knot of angst that she longs to smooth her thumb over except that he's in love with her and she can't move, can barely breathe.

She can feel him trembling against her, a bone chilling cold radiating up through the thin material of his shirt. Glancing down, she frowns in confusion; he's wearing a deputy's shirt and a pair of sweats she knows they keep in one of the desk drawers at the station for emergencies. She trails her fingers absentmindedly over the seam of the shirt, not sure if she should focus on his change of clothing or the fact that he's staring at her like she's holding his entire future in her hands. Her heart rams against the cage of her ribs, the beats reverberating into her fingers and toes as she gives him another slow blink.

Say something, do something before that wrinkle between his eyebrows grows more pronounced, she thinks, scrambling to find her equilibrium.

Despite the fact that she had literally admitted to herself only yesterday that she loves him, too, she finds the words like ash on her tongue. Saying those three little words out loud changes everything, makes this partnership and pretend marriage something different, makes it somehow more real and she's not ready to deal with that right now.

While words may fail her, she's certainly never been one to back down from taking action to express herself. Sliding closer over his thighs, she finds his length trapped by the thin material of his sweatpants; he hisses when she brushes against him by accident. Reaching down with a flush, he adjusts himself then tugs her closer once he's found a comfortable position. She gives him a shy smile, eyelashes fluttering before leaning in the last few inches to press her mouth to his. The kiss is soft and sweet, speaking more of affection than passion, but she gives herself over to it completely, humming softly when he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, the gesture teasing and tender.

When she pulls back to breathe, she finds tears caught in his eyes. With a questioning look, she lifts her hands to his cheeks, finding his skin frightfully cold. Sensing that there's more going on with him than a simple declaration of love, she peers into his eyes, shocked to find the specter of his demons staring back at her.

"What's happened?" she asks on a whisper. He doesn't respond, simply continues to stare at her, blue eyes roiling with too many emotions for her to name. Her anxiety grows, a knot forming in her stomach the longer he stays quiet. She shakes him a little, her fingers pressing into the sides of his face and he grimaces at the indelicate touch, temple and jaw jumping in agitation.

"Killian, just tell me what the hell is wrong!" she demands, her whisper harsher now, carried under the strains of Rosemary Clooney singing of a White Christmas. He blinks, slowly, as if he's the one underwater now.

"I just told you that I love you, Emma," he replies, eyes jumping back and forth between hers. "Just admitted that I'm in love with you...don't you have anything to say to that?" He's a bit frantic with the question and she knows how she should respond, knows how she wants to respond, but that ball of anxiety in her stomach is growing larger, pressing on her diaphragm and making it harder to breathe let alone speak.

It's her way to lash out when she feels backed into a corner and she does so now, the tender moment turning dark as she pushes back, "You can't just demand that I tell you how I feel because you've finally opened up to me. This isn't tit for tat. That's not how these things work, Killian, whatever this," she gestures between them with a flick of her wrist, "is."

It's her way of acknowledging the fact that they've never put a label on their relationship, never defined it in terms other than a business partnership. He winces and she knows she's hit a chord, hurt him. He had, only moments before, bared his heart to her and she's now jabbing at the tender organ like a scorpion defending itself, poisonous tail held at the ready.

But she's not the only one that comes out fighting.

"How would you know how a relationship works, Emma? If I remember correctly, the only one you've ever been in ended because your lover lied to take advantage of you. I can't imagine there were too many honest declarations between you, were there, love?"

She slaps him then - hard - a handprint blooming on his cheek as the blood drains from his face, making it stand out all the more in contrast. The force of her blow causes him to turn his head to the side and it takes him several deep breaths before he turns back, the ghost of her handprint an angry red on his cheek. His blue eyes snap with anger, crackling so hot she can almost feel it singe her. The longest silence of their partnership stretches between them and when she finally musters up the strength to speak, her voice is little more than a shocked whisper.

"Killian, I'm sorry. I don't know why...oh, I'm so sorry," she says. Her apology seems to calm him, although a vein in his temple continues to pulse even as he tenderly lifts his hand to her cheek.

"It's no more than I deserve," he replies, brushing her violence aside with little hesitation. Then he asks, "If you knew how easy it is to fall back into the darkness, would you still fight me with such passion? Would you still kiss me, still touch me so sweetly that I feel reborn with each caress? Would you...want me then? If you finally knew who I really am, Emma, would you want me then?"

She knows he's not asking her about the physical wants of her body, but the emotional needs of her heart and she's terrified to open her mouth and speak. Everything would change with such an admission and she's not ready for that, her heart too delicate to weather that particular storm. But she can acknowledge that while she's not ready to spill her heart just yet, she's also not willing to have him doubt that she cares for him. She knows him, knows that his emotions run deep and words, even those not spoken, can cut him to the quick. In the time he's known her, he's shown her that she's more than the sum of her bad days and she resolves to show him that as well. She wants him to know that his heart is good, that his soul is not damaged beyond repair and that patience does pay off when it comes to loving a heart so imperfectly designed as hers.

Sliding closer to him once more, she finds him still hard and heavy, his cock having risen along with his ire. Leaning into him, her mouth finds his in a languid slide, the answer to his question in the seal of her kiss. She brushes her tongue over his, humming at the wet silky heat of him. The man certainly knows how to kiss; even when emotionally devastated, he gives as good as he gets. There's featherlight touches of tongue to tongue, the breath in their lungs shared between them.

When fresh air becomes a requirement, she rips her mouth from his, resting her forehead to his and impatiently unbuttoning his shirt. It's not long before she's pushing it off him and with his torso wonderfully bare, she glides her fingertips over his collarbones, dipping them into the sinful hollow of his throat before moving down to the waistband of his sweats. She only hesitates for a moment before easing the material up and over him, releasing his straining cock. He lifts up enough for her to slide the pants off his hips. She smiles when she spots his tattoo, dancing her touch over the crown there and earning a gasp when she inadvertently tickles him. She then reaches for his hard length, wrapping her hand around him and giving him several long strokes. He's heavy in her hand, skin velvety soft and warm - so incredibly warm.

Glancing at him, she finds his eyes closed, his long eyelashes fanning out against the red flush on his cheeks. He's biting his bottom lip, moaning softly as she teases him, the very picture of sensual beauty. Her body innately reacts to him like this, nerve endings tingling and causing her squirm in his lap.

"Yes," she whispers, leaning forward to brush her lips over the pretty flush on his right cheek, "I'd still want you, Killian." She doesn't know if it's enough to quell the demons haunting him, but she says it anyways, knowing it's as close as she can come to saying that she loves him without disrupting the precarious balance of their partnership. Dipping her head to his throat, she presses a chaste kiss there then sucks his pulse into her mouth. When she scrapes her teeth over him, he jerks up in surprise and suddenly wraps his hand around her wrist to stop her movements.

Panting, he removes her hand from his cock then tugs imploringly on the hem of her shirt in an unspoken request to remove it. She smiles, lifting the borrowed flannel from her body, not bothering to take the time to unbutton it. Her hair falls free of the material, cascading down over her back and shoulders. She's not wearing a bra, a fact that has Killian dipping his head to taste, his mouth gentle as he surrounds her nipple with wet heat.

With his head bowed as he worships her, she wraps her arms around him, one hand lifting to card through his dark hair. The feeling of his skin sliding against her is heaven and she arches into him, needing more. With him pressed all along her front and the fire raging at her back, she soon feels like she's aflame, body burning brighter with every lick of heat over her flesh.

Turning her head to the windows as her lover attends to her, she watches the snow come down hard and fast, drifts of it resting against the glass. She feels safe here with Killian, hidden away as the storm rages around them. His touch is tender and when he lifts his head to kiss her once again, she pulls him close, reveling in the way his heartbeats keep her tethered to the here and now.

She'll never tire of the way he kisses, she thinks on a sigh, loving the passion and the care he puts into every slide of his mouth over hers. She could kiss him for hours, for days, and it would never grow old. She finds, though, that as wonderful as kissing Killian Jones is, it only works against her, drawing her desire up tighter and tighter inside until she could go mad with the strain. With her heart thundering in her chest, she shifts against him, sliding back and away. His arms tense, preventing her from leaving and she smiles against his lips, hands stroking over his spine to reassure him.

"Let me up?" she asks, adding, "Only for a second."

He loosens his grip and she climbs off his lap, slipping her shorts down her legs to pool at her feet. She stands bare before him, nothing but the long tendrils of her hair covering her nudity. He blinks, looking his fill in silence, blue eyed gaze roving from her breasts to the flair of her hips, lingering on her lightly furred sex before moving to rest on her feet then slowly moving back up to repeat his course in reverse. By the time he meets her eyes once again, she's already halfway gone for him, her passion ignited by the awed expression on his face and the stunned half smile curving his mouth.

When she moves to climb back into his lap, he stops her, pushing his sweats the rest of the way down his legs and kicking them to the floor. Then he reaches for her, helping her back up and over him. With her hands on his shoulders, she balances herself, his own hands sliding beneath her to help hold her steady.

Her heart is racing, her throat tight with emotion. She's never wanted anyone as much as she wants him. So much has led them here, so much that she feels it even now between them, binding them together, making the moment somehow more than all the others that have come before it. There is one last brick in her protective wall that separates them, the last chink in her armor, and with a storm raging around their home and a fire heating their flesh, she settles onto his thighs and opens herself to him in this last, most intimate way. She hopes that he understands that by doing this, she's showing him that she trusts him, that she loves him.

She loves him.

Resting in his lap, she gives him a smile, suddenly shy. She is no virgin and neither is he, but she's never made love to someone before and it's overwhelming, the emotion that pulses under her skin causing tears to form in her eyes. Feeling awkward and inept, she watches as he returns her smile with a shy one of his own that falls away until he's simply staring at her with wide, awe filled eyes, as if he doesn't quite believe she's real. He lifts his hand and cups her cheek, his thumb catching a wayward tear, a question in his gaze, asking if she's alright. She shakes her head, leaning forward to kiss him, the touch of his lips on hers closing a circuit between them and sparking beneath her skin. Lingering there, she reaches down to bring his hand to her sex, sighing when he slips easily between her folds. His touch is tender, his fingertips rough. It's not long before she's hovering on the edge of an orgasm, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face pressed to his neck. Reaching down to stop him - much as he had done with her - she tries to get her body under control.

"Emma?" he asks and she shakes her head again, laughing low and breathless.

"Not like that," she explains, lifting up on her knees and sliding forward. His hands move down to hold her backside, helping keep her balance as she aligns herself. He grips her tighter, hands so large and warm on her skin. Feeling the rounded tip of him probing between her folds has her biting her lip in anticipation of him finally filling her up.

"Emma - " he starts, uncertainty mixing with the heat in his eyes. She lifts her hand, pressing it over his mouth to stop him. Staring into his eyes, she says the one word she knows he's been waiting to hear, "Please."

He releases the breath he'd been holding, tilting his head down to watch as she wraps her hand around his base. She holds him steady, forehead falling to his chin as she finally, finally takes him inside on a slow, thick glide. He gives a gasping, shuddering moan as she comes to a stop in his lap, her body burning as she stretches to accommodate him. Her eyes fall shut, the silence between them deafening as they adjust to the newness of this. When she finally lifts her head to look into his eyes, she finds his pupils blown wide, the blue a thin ring around the black.

By taking him inside her body, she's allowed him to break through the last barrier around her heart and the very thing she's been fearing all this time happens the second their gazes catch and hold - everything shifts, everything changes - nothing will ever be the same between them again. He sees her trepidation, feels her body tense in his hold, and he reaches for her, the expression in his eyes understanding and sweet.

"Breathe," he whispers, forehead coming to rest against hers, thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down her cheeks. "Breathe for me, Emma." And just like that, the terror is beaten back with one soothing, loving request and she gulps air into her starved lungs.

Pushing it back out on a trembling breath, she whispers, "I'm okay."

"You sure? You're shaking, love."

"So are you," she whispers back, sliding her arms around his shoulders and hugging him close. She's telling the truth; the muscles in his shoulders and in his back twitch in an uncontrollable rhythm and she rubs her hands over him, touching anywhere she can to get him to relax.

"You feel..." His voice trails off, a note of awe trembling there. She smiles as she whispers back, "I know."

He feels fucking amazing and she clenches around him, pulling a shaky moan from his kiss swollen lips. She shifts restlessly, wanting to be closer to him somehow and he gets the hint, helping her move until her legs are wrapped around him, closer than she's ever been with a lover before. He trails his hands up and down her spine as he gives her time to adjust and relax. She'd known he would stretch her and while the burn of his intrusion feels good, it's overwhelming all the same. Her body had been swollen and slick, more than ready for his penetration, but he's well endowed and it's been a long time since - all thought stops as Killian lifts his hips, thrusting up to test her readiness. No one has ever, ever gone that deep before and she once again finds herself struggling for air.

Oh, fuck her, she's not going to survive this.

"Okay?" he breathes out, hands gripping her waist as she shifts into him.

"Yeah, just - " Her words are cut off when he lifts his hips again, doing so right as she presses down and she's suddenly wavering on that thin line between pleasure and pain. She digs her nails into his shoulders to anchor herself, gathering her wits to finish her breathless request, "go slow, okay?"

"Emma?" he asks, pulling away with concern, worried that he's hurt her. She smiles, reaching up to smooth the lines bunched on his forehead with her thumb.

"Go slow and steady and we'll be fine. Okay, tiger?"

"Aye, love, I can do that." And oh, but does he ever hold up that promise. He's unbelievably slow and tender, the shallow thrust of his hips rocking her gently, like a calm sea rocking a ship upon her waves. He never stops touching her, each glide of his hands over her skin causing sparks to trip from nerve ending to nerve ending, setting her aflame once more. She finds that breathing becomes an undesired chore; each thrust of his hips filling her with a pleasure so deep she'd gladly stop breathing to feel it again.

It's never been a challenge, having sex with someone. She's good at it, can move and flex and tantalize with the best of them, but this - this is something different altogether. She can tell he feels it, too, if the way he clings to her is any indication. She holds him just as tight, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she slowly rides him. They find the perfect tempo, one that prolongs the pleasure instead of rushing it. Neither of them wants to end this, the moment a blissful culmination of weeks and weeks of foreplay, the very definition of a climax.

The journey together takes them higher and higher, the pleasure building as their tempo increases. Her heartbeat begins to trip faster from the exertion and Killian finds her pulse with his mouth, soothing it with his tongue. He wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her impossibly closer, his free hand coming up to cup the back of her head as he moves to kiss her. She moans, tasting desperation on his tongue and giving herself over to it. Her legs ache, but damned if she'll stop riding him when oblivion is this close.

He gasps into her mouth, the sound closer to a sob of pain than one of ecstasy and she pulls back. Lifting her hands to cup his face, she peers into his eyes, finding them sparkling with tears, the Christmas lights reflected in them. "I love you," he tells her, desperation making him tug her closer. The words come out choked and trembling, a question hidden there as he whispers them again, "I love you."

She can feel his desperation in the tremble of his body against hers, but she can do nothing more than hold him, concentrating on moving with him, her body taking over when her heart falls short. She mercifully goes before him, her body squeezing his cock in a primal pulse of pleasure. Her vision goes white, her toes curling as her orgasm shoots up into her legs and arms - even the ends of her hair feel electrified with it.

Before she has fully fallen back to earth, Killian lifts her up and off him in a herculean show of strength. Surprised by the movement and disorientated by the orgasm dying in her veins, she looks down to watch as he wraps his hand around his cock and gives two quick strokes, intent on not spilling himself inside her. While her mind is still hazy, she has enough wherewithal to want him to come inside her, even if not in the traditional sense and so, she slides back enough on his thighs to take him into her mouth. The resounding groan he gives as she bobs over him confirms that he appreciates her decision. He tenderly cups the back of her head, encouraging her before warning her of his impending release.

The combined tang of their bodies tastes sweet and salty, flowing over her tongue as she swallows it down with barely a thought, simply wanting to give him the same kind of soul shattering pleasure he'd given her. When it's over, she falls to the mattress with a sigh, licking her lips as she waits for him to join her. She doesn't have to wait long. He curls into her, forcing her onto her back as his weight presses her into the mattress.

They lay there, hearts pounding, the enormity of what they've done settling over her like the snow that covers the ground outside. It's not until she's breathing evenly again that she becomes aware of Killian sniffling in her ear. Her arms immediately come up around him and as best she can, she rocks him to and fro, whispering nonsense to him as her fingers trace patterns over his neck and shoulders.

"Don't think I've ever brought a guy to tears before," she tells him. It makes him lift his head and stare down at her. She flashes him a grin and watches as he slowly gives her an answering one. Then he's dipping his head to kiss her, pressing his smile to hers as Judy Garland tells them to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

---

She wakes hours later, a sheet tugged up to her waist, her breasts covered with tendrils of her hair and nothing more. Her phone had run out of power hours ago and the Christmas carols have since stopped. It's so quiet here, sheltered as they are from the storm. The snow is still coming down hard and fast, piling up out on the deck, but they're protected in a cocoon of warmth.

Giving a stretch, she winces at the ache in her lower back and between her thighs. She slowly sits up, glancing to her right for Killian and stilling when she finds the bed empty. Turning her head, she finds him sitting before the fire, head cradled in his hands. The downward sloping curve of his shoulders screams defeat and she moves to the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

"Killian?" she questions, her voice lovingly caressing his name. He doesn't move, simply continues to sit there with his head in his hands.

Tugging the sheet free from the end of the bed, she stands and tucks it around herself before moving to him, dragging the length of it behind her. Kneeling before him, she rests her hands on his knees, peering up at him with her forehead scrunched with concern. He's pulled on his sweats, but his torso is bare, the light from the fire playing over his skin and highlighting the lines of his lean body.

She sighs, thinking that even in his misery he's beautiful.

Down on her knees before him, she thinks over how frantic his touch had been earlier, how his kisses burned with desperation and despite her fears over what's to come next, she won't let him deal with his demons on his own. Securing the edge of her sheet, she reaches for his hands and pulls them down to his lap. He finally lifts his head, staring at her with bloodshot eyes. She wonders how long he's been sitting here like this, clearly torturing himself while she'd slept unaware in their bed.

"Hey, handsome," she whispers. The pain that flickers through his eyes then has her tensing for a fight, ready to battle the voices that convince him he's not worthy of her affections. When he tries to remove his hands from hers, she simply weaves their fingers together and holds him fast. He watches the movement then lifts his eyes back to hers, incredulous.

"I don't deserve your touch, love," he tells her.

"I don't know what happened tonight, but I'm not going anywhere, Killian. Even if I wanted to run, I can't. The storm has us trapped." Shuffling closer, she gives him an encouraging smile and a bob of her head, reminiscent of the look he gives her when she's feeling low. Taking a deep breath, she says, "I think it's time you told me the truth about what you've been holding back. Don't you?"

He grips her hands tighter, nails digging into tender flesh, but she refuses to let him go. He's tense, the chords in his neck and shoulders standing out in relief. Panic runs rampant in his eyes, his jaw clenched so tight that his temple jumps with each grind of his teeth. She wants nothing more to reach up and slide her hand over the side of his face to calm the muscles there, but she doesn't move, praying that he'll take this final step and trust her enough to unleash the darkness in his head.

"I never intended to let you down."

"You haven't let me down," she reassures him and he smiles sadly, gaze falling to where their linked hands rest on his knees. "Killian, you haven't."

"Oh, but wait, my love," he replies wistfully and when he finally lifts his eyes back to hers, the blue has deepened to indigo, shadows flickering in them. "I've lived only for myself for many years now. I had no purpose other than satisfying my own selfish desires, but then you came into my life and demanded more of me, demanded that I be better, and not letting you down has become my new purpose. It's given me something to live for."

He swallows thickly, eyes frantic as he searches hers.

"I would do anything for you, Emma, anything, but I fear that in my attempt to be what you deserve, I have committed the very sin that will push you away."

Her stomach drops, the raspy note of angst in his voice warning her that this is going to hurt. She steels herself, unlinking their hands to pull the ottoman closer to his chair. Keeping her sheet tucked over her breasts, she sits down, putting them level with each other. Hands braced once again on his knees, she looks him in the eye, her head held high as she asks to hear his truth.

"Tell me."

He breaks their locked gazes, falling back into his chair and rubbing his hand agitatedly over his face. She waits, fighting the urge to cross her arms over herself, keeping her spine straight as she waits to hear his confession. Not wanting him to know how hard her heart is racing, she breathes deep and even. Despite how anxious she is, she doesn't give him an out, needing this to end. She can only hope that whatever he tells her won't end all of it, their fledgling romance included.

"I don't know where to start," he finally sighs, eyes on the ceiling. Even like this, raw and emotional, she's drawn in by his beauty, her eyes tracing the elegant lines of his neck and torso, his dark masculinity making heat pool between her thighs. It would be easy to give into this never- ending attraction, to lean forward and press a kiss to his throat and distract him, to put off the inevitable, but they need this final barrier of his to fall like the walls of Jericho.

"Start at the beginning," she suggests with a shrug, eyes sliding up from the line of hair that trails under the waistband of his sweats to the sharp cut of his jaw.

"The beginning," he repeats softly. He lifts his left hand absentmindedly, fingers tracing the tattoo on his right arm. She watches the movement, an inexplicable lump forming in her throat.

"I told you when we met that I broke with my family's company and my brother because I wanted a change of scenery. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah."

"There was another reason for it. One that's far more nefarious and one I've been ashamed to admit to you," he says, lifting his head to find her eyes on him. He gives her a small, sad smile that never reaches his eyes. "I'm even more ashamed to admit it after today."

Turning his arm over so his tattoo is facing up toward the ceiling, he stares at it and she can't help but do the same, feeling as if the story he's about to tell is contained within the lines of ink etched into his skin. When he starts to speak, she leans in, listening with bated breath to what he's been keeping from her all this time. At first, most of what he tells her are things she'd discovered on the internet when researching him, but the explanations behind the facts keep her riveted, helping her to understand the broken man sitting before her.

"I met Milah when I was serving in the Navy. Liam was career focused, driven to be the very best and I wanted nothing more than to be like him. I wanted to be a hero, someone that the world respected and admired, but I'd always had a bit of a dark streak holding me back. I frequently gave into my hotheadedness, causing Liam to work overtime to keep me on the straight and narrow. Once our mother passed, it was just the two of us and he was working to run the business and taking up his first commission. On top of all that, he was constantly bailing me out of trouble, trying to be the father and the mother I so desperately needed."

His gaze lingers on his arm, eyes tracing the name written there over and over again. She watches pain and regret flickering in his eyes, watches the impossible blue grow hazy with memories of a time long since past, but clearly not forgotten.

"When I met Milah, Liam had already retired, deciding to run the shipping business and leaving me to my own devices. I was bitter about his decision, thinking he was abandoning me, but I know now he simply wanted a life of his own, a family of his own. He asked me to go with him, but I was hurt and I told him I wanted to stand on my own two feet. Unfortunately, at the first sign of temptation, I failed to live up to the example Liam had set," he sighs, shaking his head in embarrassment. "Milah was beautiful and sophisticated and I couldn't fathom why she was interested in me. She turned my head with pretty platitudes, spoke to my ego and my romantic's heart. I fell quite hard for her, never realizing that she was taking advantage of my naiveté."

He smiles wistfully, the gesture at odds with his bitter words. His memories seem discordant, both sweet and sour. She can't make sense of the contradiction.

"I knew she was married, but I didn't care. She told me she was separated from her husband, didn't want to be with him any longer and I believed her. I promised to give her the world if only she would leave him for good, but she told me he was abusive and had threatened her life, that she couldn't leave or he would come after her, come after us both. After she left me, I believed that to be a lie, one she told to keep me cuckolded and under her spell, but now..." His voice fades away and he glances at Emma as of he'd forgotten she was even there. He smiles absentmindedly, looking past her to the fire as if his past is engulfed in the flames.

"Back then, any large amounts of money I needed came from the family fund. I had to go through lawyers to make large transfers from one account to the other, but I was determined to save Milah and so, I asked to move a substantial sum into my personal account. From there I intended to wire it to her, so that she could hire a lawyer and a bit of protection from her husband. Then we would finally be together, finally be our own family," he says wistfully and it isn't hard to imagine the young man he'd been, a sweeter, more naive version of the man she knows now. "Liam got wind of the request and immediately suspected all was not as it seemed. I hadn't told him about Milah, but he knew me well enough to figure out why I wanted the money. He hired a private investigator, had Milah followed and then brought me proof of what he said was her true nature."

He stands abruptly, startling Emma as he knocks her hands from his knees to move to the fireplace, resting against the mantle. He stares down into the flames, dark hair swinging over his forehead.

"He brought me black and white photos of her fucking her husband. In the bed where she told me she loved me." Emma's heart shatters for him, his pain becoming her own. She knows what it feels like to have betrayal scar your heart, to rip apart your dreams as any sense of self you'd had before crumbles at your feet. Her hand moves up to press over her mouth. She loves this man and the thought of him hurting tears her up. He continues, unaware of anything but his story, his past raging around him fiercer than the snowstorm outside.

"I went to her and begged her to tell me it was a lie, but she told me instead that she'd never loved me, that she craved the sin her husband committed in her name. I was devastated, ruined, and she - " he stops, thinking back over that time. When he does continue, his voice is filled with amazement as he speaks aloud the moment his heart was broken. "I remember there was this one moment when I thought I had gotten through to her. I was sobbing like a child before her, pleading with her to stay and she got down on her knees, tears in her eyes as she looked at me. I thought...that she was about to tell me it was all a lie, that she did love me, but then she bloody well laughed in my face, told me I could never live up to the man she'd married." He stops, breathing harshly through the pain before repeating faintly to himself, "she had tears in her eyes."

Emma watches him hunch his shoulders, can see from where she sits that he shuts his eyes, a single tear sliding down his nose to hang from the tip before falling to the carpet. She waits, fingers still pressed to her mouth, tears filling her eyes as she watches him work through his pain.

"A part of me died when she left me there. I was a ruined excuse of a man, numb to everything save for my pain. I told myself that the only way I would ever feel anything again was to seek my revenge against the woman who had betrayed me and make her hurt as horribly as I did. I left the Navy, went home to London to be with Liam. I couldn't admit it to myself then, but I was hoping that he could once again put me on the straight and narrow. Unfortunately, his self-righteous nature about Milah got the better of me and I ended up leaving. I turned away from everything good in my life to become exactly the kind of man Milah would want. I told myself that if I could become like her husband, she'd come after me and then I could turn my back on her as she had done to me. Hurt her like she had hurt me."

Emma can hear the rage, can see it in the tense lines of his forearms as he grips the mantle. Curling his fingers into fists, the sound of his wedding ring scraping against wood catches his attention and he lifts his head, staring at his hand as his breathing evens out. He turns to her then, cheeks red with emotion and all she can do is hold out a hand to him. He reaches for it and she gives him a tug, pulling him down to settle at her feet. He's able to wrap his arms around her waist, looking up into her face with wide eyes, the deranged pain in them unlike anything she's ever seen before. He's coming apart at the seams and she doesn't know how to hold him together, so she simply holds him, hands gentling over the stubble on his chin.

"I made so many bad decisions because of my broken heart. I loved her so much and I thought she loved me, too. Losing her wrecked me. That's no excuse for what I became, I know, but it helps explain why I became what I did."

"What did you become?" she breathes out, brushing aside the messy locks of his hair.

"A man consumed with hate and revenge," he tells her, frantically searching her face. She doesn't know what he's searching for, but she keeps any judgement from her thoughts, trailing her thumbs over his fevered flesh in an effort to calm him. "I understand," she says simply and it's enough for him to swallow hard and blink back his tears. He continues on then, fingers digging into her waist, holding her as if she's the buoy keeping him afloat.

"I became the type of man I had gone after when I was in the Navy - a pirate. I commanded my own fleet of ships, hired Smee to run my organization. I moved to the States to get away from Liam, hiding my identity and reveling in the sin that my anonymity afforded me. I stole, I cheated, I maimed, I broke men's will for my own selfish purposes. I smuggled drugs and guns and all manner of contraband, ordered men to their deaths." He swallows hard again, eyes falling from hers, shame rolling off him in waves.

She'd known it would be bad when he finally told her about his business. She'd accepted the fact that he was a criminal long ago, but as she has gotten to know him, that fact has grown hazy over time. She'd stopped trying to find out about that part of his life, had stopped imagining what his sins might be and now...well, now they're laid out before her, every horrible detail in sharp relief.

When he forces himself to look up into her face once more, he has his teeth clenched, his jaw cut in a defiant angle and it's not hard for her to imagine the man he'd become back then. Oh, Killian, she thinks, pressing her hands harder to his face, hoping to remove some of his anger with her touch. He continues speaking, not letting her compassion reach him, perhaps needing to punish himself by pushing her away with the terrible truth. He's forcing her to finally see him with one hundred percent clarity, the consequences be damned.

"I took women to my bed - I've lost count of how many I've used in an effort to forget her. I thought if I fucked enough of them, that if i fell into complete depravity, I would finally remove the taste of her lips from mine." He lifts his hand to his mouth, fingertips pressed there momentarily before he continues. "Did you know I wanted to kiss you from almost the moment we met? But it wasn't because I wanted to forget Milah. It was because of you, love, because of your simple, good heart. None of those women held a candle to you. Your kiss exposed the truth, exposed me for the fraud I'd become. I never thought I could love again, that I could find hope among the ruins of my heart, and then there you were, demanding me to be better, forcing me to prove myself. I think I loved you even then," he confesses dreamily.

He's said it again, told her he loves her, and she feels like she did the first time she'd heard it, like she can't breathe, like the entire world rests heavy on her chest. Shaking her head, she lifts her eyes to the ceiling, needing to break the intense stare he has her locked into. He sighs, shuffling closer on his knees, both hands coming to rest on her thighs.

"It had started to grow old, the lying and the stealing and the stench of death that I never seemed to be able to wash off my skin. I grew restless, seeking something to ease the ache of my guilt. I was living in the States then, had met David in Boston." She glances down and he grins, a soft, pathetic thing that's really not a smile at all - not really. "Did he ever tell you how we met, love?"

She shakes her head.

"I had made the acquaintance of a young woman, a prostitute with an abusive pimp and a toddler at home. I was trying to convince her to leave the pimp, to come work for me instead, and we were meeting on the docks. David busted me for solicitation," he chuckles, shaking his head in chagrin.

There's a pang in Emma's chest and her lips turn down. "Oh."

"Emma, it wasn't like that!" he quickly assures her, reaching out for a hand to grip in his own. "Ashley's pimp was watching the "transaction" from a safe distance and when David came up on the two of us, we were pretending to go at it to keep her boss from getting suspicious. Apparently, we are quite the actors because David busted us on the spot. It ended up being the perfect cover. Smee bailed her out of jail ahead of her pimp showing up and he was able to spirit her away, both her and her daughter. I thanked David for it afterwards, told him about the pimp, so he could keep watch over his other girls and keep them safe as best he could."

"So, that's why you agreed to help David with his investigation here? You wanted to be a good man?" she asks, cringing when she hears how skeptical she sounds. He chuckles, hearing it too, but taking no offense.

"I don't think it was quite that calculated. I simply wanted a change and when David brought Graham to New York to meet with me, I was instantly intrigued. It wasn't so much the thought of doing good that caught my attention as much as the mystery of their story. The method to the crimes were similar to what I would have done, the means scripted to match my deceptions almost perfectly," he states. He takes on a dreamy, faraway expression, dropping his head as he thinks over what he'd said.

"What?"

"It's just...I didn't realize it back then, but there was something there that pulled me in, grabbed my attention and I couldn't have said no, even if I'd wanted to. It appealed to my darker nature, but also to the part of me that was longing for more," he says quietly. "It's almost as if someone knew how to get my attention." She shivers and he glances up with concern. "You're cold, love."

"I'm okay. Continue. Please," she implores, thinking that the worst of his story must be over now. She knows about him working with Graham and David, knows about the work they'd done leading up to Graham's death and her arrival in Storybrooke. There can't possibly be any more horrors to tell - can there?

"Are you sure, love?" he asks, eyes locked once again with hers as he gives her a wry smile. "This is where the "fun" begins."

"I'm still here, Killian," she tells him, not quite sure the words carry the meaning he's looking for, but he nods all the same and continues.

"David has already told you about the year I spent working with he and Graham. I came to Storybrooke occasionally and always covertly. I put my men to work on the docks to infiltrate the smuggling ring in the harbor, although that proved trickier than one would think. I'll be honest that my head was only half in the game, my other business activities keeping me busy, but after Graham's death, I decided to investigate further and found that my men were only recently participating in crimes around the harbor. I've since found out that these men were conscripted to work for the very organization we've been investigating, enticed to betray me by our competition."

"How did you find that out?"

"Patience, love, I'll get there," he tells her, glancing up with a bitter smile. He leans closer, hands pressed to her thighs, palms so warm she feels like he's burning her through the sheet. "When Graham was killed, I thought it was in no small part my fault, that I had somehow missed a vital opportunity to break the case wide open by my inattention. When David asked for my help to uncover his murderer, I was compelled to say yes. And then, there was you. The moment I met you, I felt as if my entire life was about to change and that you were in no small part the catalyst for that."

"Killian - "

"Shush now. No use coming over all shy, love, it's the truth of my heart and I'll not neglect to tell it to you," he says, reaching up to brush a tendril of her mussed hair behind her ear, his feelings written in every somber line of his face. "Everything I'd been searching for I found when I met you, Emma Swan."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she gives him a soft, tremulous smile and allows him to continue.

"You knew enough about who I was to not ask too many questions and I took advantage of that. I've continued on as the head of my organization, but my heart isn't in it any longer," he says, smiling softly, "seeing as you have stolen it for your own. Smee grew quite agitated with me, hounding me to make decisions about the business while all I could think about was getting you to smile at me like you smiled at Graham - "

"Graham?" she asks, confused by his reference.

"Aye, love. Do you remember the picture in Graham's office, the one we found on his desk? You were smiling and laughing and I became obsessed with seeing you smile like that." She thinks hard, trying to remember what he's referring to and frowning when she finally does.

"I don't know when he took that. I only met him once, you know. We texted back and forth after that...I was so stubborn, not wanting to get caught up in anything and I kept refusing him, pushing him away, telling him no when he'd ask if I would come back into town for a weekend..." Her voice trails off and Killian reaches for her hands, gripping them in his. There's a thought niggling at the back of her brain, but with Killian staring at her with his heart in his eyes, she brushes it aside, focusing on what he needs to tell her next.

"I've worked so hard to become the type of man you would look at like that. I've always loved a challenge and you, my love, are one of the biggest I've ever faced. I like that about you, though. I like dismantling your walls, taking them down by brick by lovely brick. You coming to trust me and sharing the pieces of yourself that you never share with anyone else? That means so much."

"You don't have to tell me this, Killian," she says, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She's never been one to take a compliment, rare as they've been in her life. It doesn't help that he seems determined to cram them all into one night. He smiles, lifting a hand to brush over her heated cheek.

"I do need to tell you all this, Emma, because I learned a very important lesson tonight. One I refuse to ignore. When you love someone, you need to tell them. You need to be honest with what's in your heart because life is too short to let a day go by without the person you love knowing how you feel."

"It's not important to this story - "

"That's where you're wrong. It's a fundamental part of this story." He lets her go, pushing off the ground and walking around her to sit in his chair once more. Sighing, he brings his hands to his face, scrubbing over his jaw, clearly searching for the words he needs to finish the story. He leans forward, expression on his face so damn eager and open that she curses him, suddenly feeling like this is too much. She forces herself to sit still, forces herself to ignore how she's beginning to see his love as a flaw because really, how can anyone possibly love her this much?

"Do you remember the night that you and David met me for dinner at The Imp's Palace?" he asks and she nods. "I had you agree to let me meet with Eric Prince, to ask him about the jewels stolen from his ship."

"I remember."

"Well, there was a reason I did that and I need you to remember what I've told you about my feelings for you, Emma, because I'm petrified that when I tell you that reason, you won't be as understanding as you've been about everything else." She stares at him, that feeling of dread that's been simmering in the background since he started talking now rushing to the surface. Her stomach flips sluggishly with it, making her nauseous, and almost unbidden, words bubble up from deep within her, forming without her conscious consent.

"You took them. The jewels I found in August's trailer," she breathes out. She doesn't know where the thought comes from, but it makes perfect sense. Hadn't he even said to her back when the jewels first came up missing that he was the only person, besides her and David, that knew where they were hidden. And she'd pushed aside the idea because Killian wouldn't lie to her.

Killian wouldn't lie to her.

Silence, vast and unbending grows between them. She's so convinced he won't answer that when he finally does, it takes her by surprise.

"Aye."

"Why?" she asks, the question trembling in the stillness.

"I'd been talking to Prince for weeks. Like your friend August, Eric found himself caught up in Teach's web. He'd been blackmailed into smuggling items and when August stole the jewels from his ship, it put the captain in a fair amount of trouble with his employer. He came to me instead of you and David because of his involvement in the smuggling ring. He was convinced he'd go to jail if he explained what had happened, so he asked for my help instead. I vowed to give it."

"Why?" she demands and he actually has the temerity to blush as he scratches behind his ear, eyes on the ground.

"Because it's what you would've done in my shoes. He needed my help and I promised to give it. It was simple bad luck that you and David found the jewels in the trailer before I had a chance to really look for them. I stole them from the station and told Prince to set up a meeting between myself and Teach, so I could return them."

"Why?" she demands again.

"Teach had disappeared, ordered away as punishment for losing the jewels and you and David weren't making any progress in getting to him. You had the jewels, but you couldn't attach them to Teach with any tangible proof. Prince could testify against him, as could August, but both men are little better than petty criminals themselves. No one was going to believe their stories, not against a man as powerful as Teach, a man with access to unlimited resources."

"That still doesn't explain why you stole the jewels. And it doesn't explain why you lied to me, Killian!" He winces at the harshness of his name in her mouth, at the note of fury in it.

"I know, love, I know," he says, trying to soothe her and only succeeding in annoying her further. "I thought if i could meet with Teach, I could use my position to infiltrate the smuggling ring. I could go deep undercover and find out who the head of the organization actually is." He holds up a hand to stop her protest; they haven't always seen eye to eye on his belief that Teach isn't the head of the group. "I know how you feel, Emma, but the simple truth of the matter is that Teach is not skilled enough to run an organization this complicated. He doesn't have the metal for it, love, and I should know."

"Why? Because you do? Because you know what it takes?"

"Yes," he confirms simply. "I've run a business that rivals the one here in Storybrooke and have done so, singlehandedly, for the past five years." He shrugs, settling back in his chair, his arm propped up as he brings his fingers to his lips. "My plan would've worked, too, but I didn't have a full sense of the players on the board."

"And now you do?" she asks, seething at the impudent way he watches her. Her fingers curl in on themselves, nails digging into her palms. He continues to stare at her and she finds that she can't look away, mesmerized by the dark agony layered in his eyes.

"A few weeks ago, I started to feel like I was being watched. Mostly when I was on the docks, once or twice here at the cottage." He twirls his hand in the air, the gesture unfamiliar and cold. "Milah always wore a very distinctive perfume. It was the scent of lilies on a summer's eve, thick and heady." It's such a strange statement to make, one that doesn't fit in the story well and its randomness causes her anxiety to build. She begins to twist her fingers together, over and over, tension running through her veins like quicksilver, unstable and toxic.

"I started to smell lilies, the breeze carrying the scent to me. I thought I was going mad," he admits quietly, the words spoken so low she can barely hear them. He continues, eyes boring into hers. "I had Prince arrange a meeting with Teach and that was my errand on the docks tonight. We were to meet on his ship, the Queen Anne's Revenge." He swallows and continues to stare at her. Blood pulses in her ears, making it hard to hear him when he says, "Teach wasn't there, but Milah was."

"Milah?" she repeats the name dumbly and he gives her a tight nod.

"Aye. She took me below deck, to the captain's quarters. Told me I was in danger and that she was there to warn me."

"I don't...I don't understand," Emma stutters, confusion wrinkling her brow as she tries to keep up, feeling like she's lost at sea and flailing against the current that threatens to pull her asunder.

"I didn't understand at first either, but she confessed that she had always loved me, that she'd lied to keep me safe from her husband. She knew I would never give up if I thought that she was in danger, so she'd lied and told me she'd never loved me, that the criminal he was turned her on more than I ever could."

"Oh," Emma breathes out, tears filling her eyes, instantly understanding the implications of what Milah had done. Killian had been so hurt by her betrayal, had struck out at the world so it too could feel his pain. For her to tell him it was all a lie, that she had never stopped loving him...it must have devastated him to realize that the choices he'd made to be a villain had all been because of a lie. "And you...you believe her?"

"Aye. Perhaps I'm a fool to do so, but if it was a trap to lead me astray then she'd still be..." He stops speaking, swallowing thickly. "You see, as harsh as my jealousy seems to you, love, it's apparently nothing to her husband's." She shakes her head in bewilderment, trying to understand what he's not saying, the gears of her mind grinding to a halt as she focuses on the tears in Killian's eyes, those blue, blue eyes that finally break their hold on hers and fall to trace over the tattoo on his arm.

Milah.

"Killian? Where is Milah now?"

"Gone. She died in my arms." She moves, doesn't think, just moves into his lap, lifting her sheet around her hips to straddle him. There's a beat where he's limp against her and then he folds her into his embrace, his face pressing against her neck. She's unbelievably angry at him, questioning everything she's ever believed to be true when it comes to him, but she can't ignore his pain. She loses track of how long she holds him, her fingers running through his hair as she listens to him breathe raggedly against her. It's so damn quiet in this house, the snow continuing to pile up outside, the gas powered fire at her back not making noise as it flickers behind the grate.

"Tell me," she finally requests, pulling back to look into his face. His eyes are still bloodshot, the agony of his emotions pulling his mouth into a frown, bottom lip trembling. There's a catch in the intake of air into his lungs, a soft hitch that has her wanting to scream at the injustice of it all.

"We were saying goodbye, a proper goodbye and she was shot. I was holding her and she just... collapsed in my arms. There was blood...everywhere and then she...slipped away," he says, disbelieving even now. "I felt for her pulse and there was...nothing."

"I'm so sorry," she tells him again, not sure how to help him recover from this.

"She told me something else, Emma."

"What?" she asks, tenderly reaching up to smooth his hair back from his forehead, trailing her thumb over his cheek to wipe away his tears once she's done fussing with his hair.

"Her husband...he's been obsessed with me ever since our affair, his jealousy and anger making him chase after me the entire time I was building my business. When I moved to the States, he followed, expanding his own empire and stalking me across the ocean. He opened ports all along the Eastern seaboard in an effort to take over my business in retaliation for what I'd done to him."

"For stealing Milah?"

"It's hardly stealing when a woman begs you to take her," he replies, a quirk of his lips letting her know he hears the bitterness in the words as well, "but yes, it would appear he wants to get back at me for stealing his wife's affections."

"Did you...did he follow you to Storybrooke?"

"No. I followed him here, apparently, although by accident, not design. He had come to Storybrooke to smuggle through the port, but David didn't give in as easily as police have done in other towns. When the sheriff brought me in to help, Milah's husband became convinced that I had some insider knowledge and he decided to investigate further. Apparently, he hasn't been able to figure out that a man can change his ways...he thought there was something in it for me and he wanted in on the action."

"And Milah came with him?"

"Not at first. They've only recently started to come to town, after you and I moved to the cottage, in order to be closer to me. Keep me under surveillance, I suppose."

"She was following you?"

"Yes, she wanted to warn me against her husband, tell me his plans, but she kept talking herself out of it."

"Yeah, right," Emma scoffs, rolling her eyes as she snorts in disbelief.

"You don't believe her?"

"Well, it's really convenient, isn't it? I mean, she could've contacted you so many times over the years, but she only does it once you start to get close to the inner workings of her husband's empire? Come on, Killian, don't be naive." He glares at her, her choice of words smarting, but she glares right back, challenging him.

"She had no reason to lie, Emma. She risked her life to tell me what she did. Literally died to warn me against him," he says and she realizes that he's right. If Milah had been lying to him, perhaps scamming him on her husband's behalf, she'd still be alive right now.

Seeing that the argument has gone out of her, Killian sighs, blinking up at her. "She told me something else, love. Right before she was shot, she told me that I wasn't the only one in danger."

"David and Mary Margaret?" she asks and Killian shakes his head, bringing a hand up to her cheek.

"No, love, not the Nolans," he tells her, taking a deep, deep breath, his chest rising beneath her palms. "You, Emma...you're the one in danger."

---

She comes to slowly, disorientated, eyelashes stuck together. Killian sleeps beside her, his hand splayed low over her belly. Her head feels heavy, her thoughts sluggish. All she wants to do is to bury her face in her pillows and surrender herself once again to a blissful sleep, but within seconds of regaining consciousness, the past few hours all come rushing back to her and she immediately tenses for flight, sleep no longer an option.

Right. Someone's out to kill her and Killian is a criminal - and oh yeah - he's been lying to her. The man that she has come to trust more than anyone, has lied to her and despite his reasonings, it hurts. Tears burn behind her eyelids and she worries her lip into a battered pulp, teeth tearing the tender flesh as she fights back her sobs.

When she finally opens her eyes, she finds the room dark except for the Christmas lights wrapped around the bars of their four poster bed. Had it only been a few hours ago when she'd first had the idea to hang them there? The fire is turned off, her phone silent as it recharges on the nightstand. They've slept, fitfully and in shifting patterns, one of them waking as the other falls back asleep, almost like they're keeping guard over each other.

She's still nude, the flannel shirt she'd been wearing when he'd arrived home currently taking up residence on the floor and the sheet she'd worn like a dress draped over them. Killian is pressed to her back, the tops of his thighs right beneath the backs of hers.

She remembers bolting off his lap and throwing questions at him, none of which he had the answers to, the primary one being who in the hell is trying to kill her, other than Milah's husband, of course. While he doesn't know much, he does know that the one threatening her life is not Gold, but someone else that Milah had failed to name with her dying breath. In the end, she'd cursed him and Milah, tears streaking her cheeks as she'd pushed him away, telling him that he was just like Neal, a man who had lied to get what he wanted from her.

He'd stared at her as he'd calmly asked what exactly she thought he wanted from her. With a half crazed cry, she'd raged that he'd only ever wanted to fuck her, even flirting with her hours after Graham's funeral, disrespecting his memory by going after her before his body was even cold. Hadn't he told her in the parking lot of the inn that he loved a challenge, that she was one to him? And in typical, naive fashion, as soon as he'd told her that he loved her, she'd let him inside her body, just like she had with Neal. What had Killian done then, but reveal that he'd been lying to her, that he wasn't the partner he'd promised to be - exactly like Neal had done.

That was when Killian's careful control had snapped. He'd taken a step towards her, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes a brilliant blue. He'd repeated everything he'd confessed to her, emphasizing in no uncertain terms that he'd only ever lied to protect her, that he was nothing like Neal. He'd never meant to hurt her, he had repeated, he'd never meant to take advantage.

Then he'd implored her to understand that this was all new for him, too. He'd thrown it in her face earlier that the only relationship she'd ever had was based on lies, but what about him...what about Milah? What does he know about being in an open and honest relationship, he'd demanded? The last one he'd been in had devastated him and had been the reason for his descent into madness.

She'd felt raw and exposed as he'd shouted at her, his hands balled into fists at his sides, angry tears in his eyes. She hadn't known what to do or say, simply standing there with a hand over her mouth to hold back her sobs. He'd finally stopped raging and she'd gone to him then, hesitating and wary. He'd fallen to his knees before her, face pressed to her belly, arms looped around her hips. No more words were passed between them, neither knowing what else could possibly be said. She'd helped him to his feet and into bed, pulling him into her embrace where he'd fallen asleep first as the storm continued to batter the eaves, the cottage creaking and groaning around them.

Hours later, his good heart beats at her back, his hand pressed possessively over her stomach. Perhaps she's being naive again, but she believes that he'd only lied to keep her safe. She trusts him despite everything he's told her. It doesn't help relieve the sting of his lies, but honestly, can she blame him for them? Like he'd told her, the last relationship he'd been in had been built on lies and deceptions - how is he to possibly know any different now?

Oh, god, is she completely insane for believing him, for starting to forgive him already?

The tempo of his breathing had changed while she was lost in her thoughts, no longer steady and even as it flits over her ear. Hand twitching over her belly, he shifts his hips closer to her. He's still wearing those awful sweatpants, the material doing nothing to hide his arousal. Her body takes over, much to her chagrin, her turbulent thoughts forgotten as he wraps her tighter in his embrace.

His lips ghost up her spine, leaving heat in their wake. Squeezing her eyes shut, she digs her fingers into the mattress, head turning to hide her face as if to deny her response to his touch. He senses her tension, pausing with his mouth hovering over that spot, the one right below her ear that always causes her back to arch involuntarily. Tonight is no different and she silently curses when the flat of his tongue unerringly connects with it, her hips pushing back against him. He hums at the way she writhes in his hold, fingers splaying wider over her stomach. He pauses, waiting to see if she'll condemn him, but when all he hears is a trembling gasp of encouragement, he slides his hand slowly up to cup her breast.

Scraping his teeth over that same damnable spot, he thumbs at her nipple, the dual sensations heady. She shouldn't want this with him, shouldn't need this with him after what he's told her, but all she can focus on is the memory of him inside her, wanting to experience it again. Once will never be enough with this man and it's for that reason and no other that her legs fall open when he slides his hand from her breast to the apex of her thighs.

He touches her with light finesse, fingers teasing over her swollen bundle of nerves. With her face still tucked into her pillow, she pants harshly when he slides a finger down to find her wet and wanting. He groans at his discovery and the sound makes her flush, especially when coupled with the delicate way he touches her. She grows frustrated with his tenderness, feeling the tension between them pulled so tight she fears it will break and plummet her into madness. She doesn't want sweet and gentle from him, she wants angry, sweaty sex, wants his body claiming hers, forcing her to deal with the aftermath of his confessions. He seems content to go slow, though, apologizing to her with languid, gentle caresses...making love to her.

But that's not what she wants. She doesn't want to make love...she wants to fuck. It's so much easier than dealing with her confused emotions and the aching pain in her chest when she thinks of how he'd lied to her.

Wiggling back against him in frustration, she pants as he continues to almost lazily brush over her clit, dipping his fingers down occasionally to press into her heat before quickly sliding away.

"God, just - " she says angrily, reaching down to grab his wrist and shove him where she wants him, "just fuck me already."

He stops, his breathing harsh in her ear as he lifts his head to look at her. She's reminded of that time on the couch, when she'd pleaded for him to touch her with his chest pressed to her back, wanting a release, but not ready for him to see it when she fell. She'd wanted to hide from the pain that night and she's trying to do the same thing now.

This time he's not so accommodating.

"Emma, look at me," he demands, moving his hand from between her thighs to her chin, his fingers damp against her as he forces her to look at him. She shakes her head as if to deny his emotions as well as hers, tears threatening to fall. Her chin trembles with the effort of holding them back and as he watches, she lifts that very same chin in stubborn defiance, challenging him to give her what she wants and nothing more or less than that.

"Oh, Emma," he whispers, reaching up to brush at the corner of her eye, catching a tear that breaks free and tries to fall down the side of her face. "I'm sorry, lo - "

"Don't," she sternly cuts him off, giving another shake of her head. "Don't look at me like that and don't you dare apologize."

Not wanting to see the apology swirling in the blue depths of his eyes, she awkwardly reaches up to pull him down into a kiss. It's messy and furious, not their finest attempt, but it manages to notch her desire up higher despite that. Everything grows hazy, her pain replaced with a pleasure that promises to take her under and obliterate all her emotions with a simple release. She welcomes it, grows frantic for the inevitable detonation, but it seems to be having the opposite effect on Killian. As hard as she tries to yank him down into her, he resists, his mouth gentling even as she grows more desperate.

"Emma - " he tries again.

She very promptly cuts off whatever else he tries to say, not with a plea, but with a clearly spoken demand, "Fuck me, Killian."

He looks stunned by the blunt order and she takes advantage, shifting onto her back and tugging him fully over her, her thighs falling wide to make room for him. Not wasting time, she grabs the waistband of his sweats, pushing them impatiently out of the way to wrap a hand around his cock. He groans, holding himself above her, head falling forward to watch as she strokes him with a deft touch. He's fully erect in seconds and she brings his belled head to her entrance. He gives a shudder at the promise she offers and then surges forward, swallowing her cry as he enters her in one deep penetrating thrust that has her back arching up off the bed. She's slick and swollen and he slides in completely, buried to the hilt. The accommodating stretch of her inner muscles, the burn as her body reacts to his purposeful thrust, nearly does her in. Her legs tremble against him and she moans, slowly lowering down to the mattress as she breathes through it.

He holds himself above her, biceps bulging, shoulders tensed with the effort of keeping their bodies apart except for where he's nestled inside her. She can't help but touch him, hands shaking as she caresses the planes of his chest then his lower belly, the line of hair there tickling her fingertips.

He's beautiful, she thinks, lifting her eyes back up to his. She relishes the feel of him, thick and hard inside her, stretching her body beyond its limits. With his mouth hovering over hers, he pushes forward that much further, the tip of him hitting so deep that she gasps in surprise, stealing some of his air for herself. He stares down at her, his eyes shifting from green to indigo then back to blue, the Christmas lights above them playing havoc on her perception. She doesn't know what he's trying to find as he searches her eyes, stilling as she pulses around him. Then he's flexing his hips, the movement so slow it makes her want to scream from the tension. The groan he gives as he thrusts home is sinfully low, the dark tenor of it washing over her in a wave of sensation, burning sweetly like the first swallow of a well aged rum.

"God," he whispers, gaze falling to her lips where she tongues at the corner of her kiss swollen mouth. He groans again, dipping his head to kiss her as he begins a slow, sweet rhythm that's simply not enough for her. He's intent on not hurting her, well aware that he's larger than she's used to, but she doesn't want careful. She wants to set herself aflame, wants to burn with the fervor of their passion. Her hands settle on his hips, fingers digging in as she urges him to move faster, take her harder. He resists her urgency, his forehead coming to rest against hers as he stalls his movements.

"I'll not rush this, Swan," he growls and she clenches around him in protest. He pants, trying to battle through the moment before he moans in resignation, thrusting deep and coaxing a cry from her lips. "Oh, like that, do you?" he asks on a shaky exhale.

"Fuck yes," she confirms, sounding very shaky and breathless herself. Her fingers flex around his hips as he sets a rhythm of hard, deep thrusts that still manage to be maddeningly slow and thorough. His forehead is still pressed to hers and she shifts away, leaning up until she can press a kiss beneath his ear, her teeth scraping carelessly and causing him to shiver as goosebumps rise on his flesh.

She wants him harder and faster than this and she wordlessly pleads with him, widening her hips and bringing her legs up around his waist. She presses her feet into his ass in an effort to get him to quicken his pace, but he's having none of it, ignoring his baser instincts and keeping his rhythm slow and concise. Beads of sweat break out over his forehead with the effort and she nips at his throat, clawing desperately for more of his delicious cock.

"God, Emma, slow down," he grunts, stilling once again when she tries to force him deeper still. She whimpers in protest, lifting her hips demandingly, hands scrambling for purchase as she tries to jerk him closer. He growls, lifting his head to take in the challenge she presents him, body quivering, chest heaving. He gives her one heated glance, blue eyes sliding down to move over her throat to her breasts then lower still to watch himself disappear inside her. She takes advantage of his distraction to try and roll him onto his back, but he's faster, pulling back and away, both of them hissing in complaint as he slips from her.

"Killian, god dammit, what the hell are you - "

"Such the temper, Swan. Hush. I'll give you what you want," he pants, giving her a smirk as he settles on his haunches, cock red and swollen as it bobs proudly between his legs. "A gentleman never leaves a lady wanting."

"Oh, please!" she huffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms under her breasts, legs splayed almost comically wide for him. She glares up at him, jaw thrust forward in annoyance. "We both know I'm no lady and you, sure as hell, are no fucking gentleman."

"Come now, darling, I'm always a gentleman," he replies, waggling his eyebrows at her. She fights against giving him an answering grin; she doesn't want him cute and charming - she wants him hard and fast. Her resistance to his humor has him clamping his lips together in a disapproving line. Giving her a look that can only be described as affectionally annoyed, he reaches down to pry her arms from around her body, his fingers gripping her wrists as he slides them up and over her head. Wrapping her fingers around the bars of the headboard, he holds them there, body once again settling between her thighs. Her breath hitches when his cock brushes teasingly against her folds, sliding through her slick arousal.

"Killian," she whimpers, his name a plea, but not the one he's been waiting to hear from her. He simply smiles, body hard above her, his weight pressing her deliciously into the mattress.

"I know what you want, Emma, but I'm not willing to just fuck you and have it be over that quickly." Keeping one large hand wrapped around her wrists, he reaches between their bodies to grip his cock. Holding himself steady, he thrusts forward, finding her willing on the first parry and groaning in deep satisfaction at the way she takes him deep.

"Bloody hell," he murmurs, carefully watching her face as he gives her time to adjust to his girth. He brings his hand up to grasp the back of her neck, forcing her to arch as he hovers over her mouth. Her breathing is harsh, stuttering in her chest when, instead of kissing her, he merely trails his lips over hers, noses bumping sweetly, watching her reaction the entire time.

"I intend to take my time with you, darling," he murmurs when she shakes her head and refuses his chaste kisses, pressing up with her hips to coerce him into moving how she wants. "I intend to take you slow, so slow that you'll end up begging me for what you want, love. Come on, sweet, let me in."

"You are in," she growls and he grins wolfishly, flexing his hips and swallowing her displeasure with the kiss he's been holding back. It goes on and on, his tongue sliding fluidly over hers, his mouth opening wide as if he'd like to devour her. When he pulls away, they're both panting. He drops his mouth to her neck, sucking on her pulse while he slowly fucks her, the movement smooth and unrelenting. He gives a pleased moan when he finds that secret spot inside that has her body pulling taut, trembling beneath him. Her mouth widens on a wordless cry at the inexplicable pleasure, eyes falling shut as her head lolls to the side.

"That's it, isn't it, love?" he asks, his voice trembling with restraint. "That's where you need me." He flexes his hips again, finding that same spot. She arches into him, hands clutching at the rungs of the headboard as she begs, "Again."

He pulls almost all the way out, leaving her bereft and empty before surging forward, sliding into her on a rush of heated flesh. "Yes," she manages to whimper, encouraging him to continue. Keeping her face turned away, eyes closed to the intensity of his gaze, she doesn't bother fighting him as he slowly - oh, so slowly - possesses her, each flex of his hips bringing her closer and closer to oblivion.

She's sure he can feel the tension stretched tight within her, her legs trembling around him. Pulling his hand free from the back of her head, he dances it over her throat, every chord there standing out in relief. He brings his hand down to her breast, palming its weight, thumb teasing the peak. She arches into it, squeezing her eyes tighter shut to deny how much she's enjoying this.

"You like that, don't you, darling?" he asks smugly. Deciding that he sounds entirely too full of himself, she clenches around him in retaliation and he groans, pausing with his cock fully pressed inside her.

"And you like that," she manages to declare. He ignores her teasing words, gasping out, "Do that again." She obliges his request, but only because it feels amazing for her as well, his cock pressing right where she needs him. He's so deep that she can't tell where their edges separate and she gives herself over to it, to him, like she's never done for anyone else.

As she ripples around him, he begins to thrust again, deftly striking that sweet spot within. No longer willing to hide, she turns her head, slowly opening her eyes to find him watching her. A swath of hair falls over his forehead, the strands tickling her as he moves and she reaches up to tenderly brush it aside, her touch taking him off guard, his hips stuttering. He slides his hand from her breast to her belly, his intent clear, but she shakes her head as she whispers, "You don't...you don't have to."

"Can you finish without it?" he asks breathlessly and she nods, earning herself a lascivious grin from her lover.

"Yeah, just - oh, god - just keep going like that," she whispers, encouraging the deep, dragging press of him. She grips his biceps, needing to hold onto him as she breathes through the pleasure, indecipherable noises falling from her lips as he strains above her. The first pulse of her orgasm hits her then and she cries out, clamping down on him involuntarily this time and he whispers encouragingly, "Let me in, love."

Eyes flying to his, she gasps as she relinquishes control of her pleasure to him. Tears fill her eyes and she's hard pressed to hold them back, her body trembling out of control, Killian capturing every second of her release as he watches her with fevered blue eyes. He doesn't stop, continues to fuck her through it, slow and sweet and steady. Inexplicably, as her first orgasm releases its hold on her, the insistent press of his hips builds her back up into a second. Wave after wave of pleasure rolls through her until she finds herself barely holding her head above water, another release threatening to take her under.

"Please, come inside me," she begs and he groans the instant the words fall from her lips. He crushes his mouth to hers as her orgasm overwhelms her, this one taking him down, too. Lips fused, they moan their pleasure into each other's mouths, Killian's hips stuttering. He bathes her womb with his seed then collapses onto her. She doesn't mind, her arms sneaking up to wrap around his shoulders as she holds him close.

Inevitably, he softens then slips free of her, his seed dripping from her body. It's been a long while since she's experienced that particular sensation and she blushes. Laying next to her, he brings his hand up to rest over her belly and turning her head, she finds him staring at her, eyes as fathomless as the deepest ocean, hiding all manner of sins.

They don't speak. She's personally not sure what to say and it appears that neither does he. When he finally sits up, he spares a glance over her nude form, leaving the warmth of their bed for the bathroom. He returns with a damp cloth, handing it to her and glancing away as she cleans up the evidence of their time together. When she's through, she bumps against his elbow to get his attention, handing him the cloth, which he then uses to clean himself up.

"You can't leave that there," she admonishes as he tosses the soiled cloth onto the carpet. He climbs back in beside her, laying on his side to face her.

"It'll keep, Swan," he replies, brushing off her concern. She scowls, but mirrors his pose with her hands cradled under her cheek. They stare into each other's eyes, occasionally reaching out with tentative and tender fingers to brush over the colors decorating their skin from the Christmas lights. There's a particular swatch of blue just above his right eyebrow that she finds appealing, one that earns him several kisses just there as they relax in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

And, as scary as it is to admit, that's what they've shared - he's made love to her and she to him. There is no other way to describe what has occurred and as her eyelids grow heavy and slip closed, the intensity of his blue gaze follows her into her dreams, keeping her bare before him in more ways than one.

---

She wakes, eyes slowly opening as she stretches, toes curling into the thick comforter covering her. It's morning, although the sunlight filtering into the room seems weak, with none of its usual radiance. Turning her head, she finds Killian lying on his stomach, blankets resting low on his waist, a hint of rounded backside visible above them. She admires the view, the masculine lines of his back and shoulders holding particular interest as she unabashedly stares.

There are a few red scratches along his shoulder blades and spine that have her blushing as she remembers how he got them.

Soon enough, the need to empty her bladder becomes insistent and she slips from the bed, tiptoeing silently to the bathroom. She lingers, wincing at the soreness between her legs as she diligently cleans herself. Task complete, she moves to the sink, popping one of her remaining birth control pills from the blister pack and swallowing it.

Still nude, she shuffles over to the window and peers outside. Giving a slow whistle at the amount of accumulated snow, she reaches up to pull her hair into a messy bun, securing it in place with a hairband as she watches the snow continue to drift down from a leaden sky. She squints as she stares out, unable to make out anything other than the lake, everything else looking indistinct under piles of snow and ice.

There's no way they'll be able to get up the driveway unless someone plows it, she thinks, shivering at the thought of being stuck inside the cottage for days on end.

She pulls on the flannel shirt she'd picked up off the bedroom floor as well as a clean pair of boy shorts. Stepping out of the bathroom, she glances at Killian to find him still sound asleep. Grabbing a pair of thick socks from the dresser, she yanks them high up her calves.

On her way downstairs, she picks up her phone, checking her messages as she makes her way to the kitchen. She feeds Wendy, cleaning out her water bowl and setting it down beside her food dish before giving the cat a few fond scratches behind her ears. Turning the coffee pot to percolate, she sits down at the island and opens a text from David, sent about an hour ago, asking if she's awake yet.

She taps out a quick response and two seconds after hitting send, her phone vibrates with an incoming call. She answers, the sudden overwhelming need to cry hitting her when his gruff, concerned hello greets her.

"You guys okay out there?"

"Yeah," she breathes out, holding back her tears as she rests her elbows on the counter and watches the coffee drip into the pot. She can smell its bitter, rich flavor and she closes her eyes, breathing deep.

"Did..." David pauses and she can hear him swallow hard on the other end of the line, "did Killian talk to you?"

"Yeah," she confirms, voice breaking. He gives a ragged sigh, cursing softly before saying anything else.

"I'm sorry, Em. It took all my restraint not to throttle him when he told me what he'd done," he claims and there's so much love and sympathy in his voice that it makes it that much harder to hold back her tears.

"He said he was trying to protect me," she says, sounding for all the world like a wounded little girl, lost in the politics of an adult world. He sighs again, murmuring something under his breath that she doesn't quite catch, but sounds an awful lot like "asshole."

When he does finally respond, he gives a begrudging statement in Killian's favor, which surprises her. "For what it's worth, Em, I believe him about that. The guy seems to honestly care about you. He was absolutely devastated about what happened last night, but all he could think about was getting home to you and making sure you were alright. I've never seen anyone as panicked as he was."

"He told me...about Milah," she says, ignoring his statement. She swipes at the tears slipping down her cheeks, brushing her hand under her nose as she sniffles.

"Yeah," David says. He tells her about the recording Killian had turned over, the crocodile pendent and the blood soaked clothes that have been sent for testing at a facility out of state in order to keep the results top secret, a nearly impossible task in such a small town. He'd collected every trace of evidence at the crime, but without an actual body, it makes it hard to prove Killian's story. She asks questions now and then, but for the most part, she simply listens to him relay the details, Killian's betrayal sitting heavy in her gut.

"So, this Gold guy, what do we know about him?" she finally asks on a resigned sigh. He tells her what he's been able to find out since last night, telling her that he'll email the information to her on their secure email server. That's when he shares his last bit of news, a not so surprising tidbit about the state of affairs after the blizzard.

"The roads are really bad. The snowplows are out in full force, but they're pretty backed up just getting the main road plowed, let alone people's driveways. This storm was unexpected."

"The snow is piled up out here," she confirms, making her way to the windows to stare out at the lake. The snow is piled high on the dock, their woodpile lost in the drifts.

"It'll be a while before anyone can get to you. Will you be okay out there by yourselves?"

"Yeah, I think so. We have leftover food from Thanksgiving," she tells him, confirming that they have running water and power, both blessings considering there are power lines down all around town and people's water pipes have frozen.

"Alright, well, call me if you need anything and as soon as your driveway is plowed, let me know."

"Okay," she replies dejectedly, the idea of being snowed in with Killian not appealing in the slightest.

"You'll be okay?" David earnestly asks again. She knows that if she tells him no, the man will find a way to make it to her, but he has a town to look after and family of his own, so she forces a smile to her lips, knowing he'll hear it in her voice when she answers.

"I'll be okay. It's not as if Killian is an ax murderer, David. He's just a dumbass who makes incredibly poor decisions when it comes to women." David snorts, then gives it up as a lost cause and laughs outright, managing to pull a giggle from her as well.

"He is a dumbass, I'll give you that," he agrees and she can hear someone in the background ask a question. "She's okay, Mary Margaret," he says, his voice muffled as he holds the phone away from his mouth. When he returns, he tells her to keep her phone charged and to call if anything comes up.

"I will. Thanks for checking on me," she tells him, sniffling once again at how wonderful her friends are to her.

"You never have to thank me for that, Emma. Never," he firmly insists. They say their goodbyes and Emma sets the phone down, staring at the screen until it goes dark before moving over to the coffee pot. She pours herself a cup, stirring in her sugar and creamer then returning to the windows to stare out at the snow.

She can't focus on any particular thought, each strand tangled around the next, looping back around each other until her head hurts from trying to separate them. She doesn't know exactly what she's feeling right now. So much had happened last night between her and Killian, the least of which is the sex, and she feels numb, feelings and thoughts all muddled and confused.

She wonders how much longer it will be until Killian wakes, stumbling down the stairs with his bedhead and vibrant blue eyes, asking for forgiveness and waiting patiently for her to give it. She's always been one to run from her feelings, but where can she run to now? She's snowbound with an incredibly patient man, one she's completely addicted to and more than a little bit in love with. She knows he's just going to sit back and wait until she opens up to him and she's just - fucking screwed.

Sighing, she takes a bolstering sip of coffee, trying to decide what to do to occupy her time until he wakes and begins poking and prodding at her armor, seeking out vulnerabilities to exploit.

It's when she's adding creamer to her second cup of coffee that she decides she'll make breakfast and it's not long after that decision that she's cursing, fingers stuck under the faucet as she tries to cool her burnt fingers. She returns to the stove, lifting up the pan of scorched scrambled eggs right as Killian makes his way downstairs. He stands there, hair as wonderfully disheveled as she'd imagined, a dark purple mark sucked into his neck with a question in the upward curve of his lips.

She holds up the pan, showing him her pathetic attempt and shaking it at him as she calls out,"Little help?" He grins, hurrying over to take the skillet from her hands and flipping the burned eggs into the bin.

"We're snowed in," she tells him as she breaks a fresh egg into a bowl. He glances at her, shrugging as he cleans out the bottom of the pan and returns it to the stovetop, taking the bowl of freshly scrambled eggs from her once she's through adding a few more eggs, shredded cheddar cheese, onions, and peppers.

"There's no one else I'd rather be stuck here than you, love," he tells her, blue eyes sparkling. She doesn't reply, yanking a loaf of bread closer to cut into slices for the toaster. "Emma, maybe we should talk about - "

"Look," she says, cutting him off before he can continue, "yes, I'm still upset. I'm still processing what you told me, all of what you told me. I mean, you lied to me, Killian, after you've been telling me for months that I can trust you and I can't...I'm not about to get over it that quickly." Her hands still, bread held in one hand, knife in the other as she gathers the rest of her tangled thoughts into some semblance of order. "I know you love me and I...that means a lot to me..."

Her voice trails off and he prompts gently, "But?" Glancing over at him and then quickly away, she continues cutting the bread, careful to slice the portions thin enough to fit into the toaster slots.

"But I'm still sorting out all of this and I need...time, I guess." Bread sliced, she sets the knife in the sink and wipes her hands on her legs, brushing the crumbs away. Then, grabbing a mug from the cupboard, she pours him coffee and sets it next to him before stepping back to watch him cook the eggs with a flush high on his cheeks.

"I'd hoped that perhaps you'd understand my actions when I explained my reasonings," he says, glancing over at her and dropping his eyes back to the skillet before continuing. "After all, August gave you very little reason to accept his transgressions and yet, after finding out he'd stolen those jewels and had been lying to you, you hardly seemed to bat an eye."

"Are you kidding me right now?" she asks, giving an annoyed sigh when Killian doesn't respond, acting for all the world like a petulant child. "This jealousy thing is getting really old. I mean, I get it. Milah really did do a number on you, but Killian, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."

"How can you say that?" he asks, finally turning to stare at her, bits of egg falling from his spatula to splatter onto the floor. She sighs, grabbing a sheet of paper towel and stooping to wipe it up, standing up only to find herself inches from him. He smells like toothpaste and coffee and sex. He smells divine and she has to force herself to focus on what she's decided to tell him instead of how much she'd love to kiss him right now instead.

"It's simple, really. August isn't my partner. He's not the guy I depend on. He's just a friend," she smiles, turning to toss the balled up paper towel into the bin. Closing her eyes, but keeping her back to him, she sucks in a deep breath then pushes out her next words on a shaky exhale.

"Besides, I'm not in love with August Booth. I'm in love with you."