(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. And to those who read, review, follow, fav this story.)


Robin is at the steakhouse fifteen minutes early, which is on time in Robin Locksley's book. He's never been late for work or a date a single time in his life; in fact, he's always been early, which is a point of pride for Robin. And Regina walks in at seven on the dot, something that endears him to her immensely, although the moment he registers that he, Robin Locksley, is charmed, his mind goes blank.

Just blank.

There is nothing but her.

She walks in on heels that make her legs a mile long, her long hair down in a tumult of soft waves. The maître d' helps her take off her checkered wool coat, and then Robin.

Is.

Speechless.

His heart hammers up in his throat as the blood pools deep in his groin. She's wearing a bright red dress—so fucking short that he'd be able to finger her easily if they were in a booth, which they tragically aren't. The red sets off the warm undertones of her bronze skin, highlights the deep brown of her eyes. The lines of it hug the delectable curves of her tits, which are just small enough that she can get away without wearing a bra.

His cock thickens as she begins walking toward him, and he can verify that she is definitely not wearing a bra. Oh God, what if she's not wearing panties either?

Robin bites back a groan and pushes back his chair to greet her as she comes to their table, tugging the collar of his shirt in one smooth move as he unfolds himself to help disguise the effect her presence has on him.

As he steps forward to greet her, he notices the color high in her cheeks and the way her teeth dig into the soft coral of her bottom lip.

She looks nervous.

That gives Robin pause. He doesn't mind a woman meeting him cold or shy or overly eager, he doesn't even mind a case of the first date jitters—since first dates are pretty much all he goes on, he sees a lot of those.

But nervous—truly nervous—that bothers him a little. Does he make her feel unsafe? Is it his size? His job?

In a split second, he changes gears. He can be patient when it comes to Regina and he finds that the idea of wooing his nervous little librarian on date after date doesn't sound tiresome at all...it sounds delightful, actually. A challenge. A test to see if he's worthy enough to remove all traces of trepidation from her face and fill her expression with eagerness and surrender instead.

And get more time with this fierce, sweet bookworm all to himself.

He leans in to kiss her cheek, careful to angle their bodies so that he doesn't press against her with six feet, two hundred pounds of hungry cop. Instead, he anchors her with a firm hand at her elbow, pleased to feel the goose bumps that spread underneath his touch. And then he brushes his lips against her cheek, making sure she can feel them, making sure she gets just the tiniest brush of his scruff as he accidentally-on-purpose slides his jaw against hers as he pulls away.

She shivers.

He looks down into her eyes as he straightens back up, and he's suddenly aware that he's supporting a lot of weight in his hand, as if her knees are weak from his kiss.

Well done, Officer Locksley!

Her eyes are wide, the pupils so blown and her irises so dark that her eyes are just huge liquid wells of want, and he feels a familiar tug in his groin knowing that he put that look there.

"I forget how big you are," she murmurs, her head tilted up to look into his face.

Robin gives her his biggest grin and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can say it, shaking her head. "I know, I know. I walked right into that one."

But the ghost of a smile flits across her lips as he helps her into her seat and pushs in her chair.

When he sits across from her and they start looking at their menus, Robin notices the smile has vanished and the nervous look is back, along with a determined set to her shoulders. The combination of uneasiness and backbone intrigues and worries him at the same time.

"I don't know what Belle told you," Robin says, "but I don't bite."

She looks up from the menu, her teeth back to digging into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.

"Well," he amends, staring at her mouth, "sometimes I do bite. But only when I really, really want to."

The color high in her cheeks intensifies, and she angles her menu to hide her face from him. "You're one cocky cop, I'll give you that much."

He reaches over and plucks the menu out of her hands so he can see her face. The blush still darkens her cheeks and—oh fuck me—her nipples have drawn into tight little furls underneath her dress. There's a sharp pull of heat deep in his groin, his cock stirring to life as he thinks about what the ripe tips of her breasts would feel like on his tongue, how much they'd harden if he sucked them. Nibbled on them.

Regina clearly has something else on her mind though. "I was looking at that!"

Robin taps both menus on the table until they are lined up evenly and then put them on the edge of the table. "You're not a vegetarian, right?"

She looks confused. "Right."

"Are you from the New York area originally? Raised eating New York food?"

"Yes."

"Then you're set. This is a steakhouse, Regina. Order a steak."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're trying to boss me around."

"You were trying to hide from me."

She sputters. "I don't hide. I'm not a hider. I'm very confident and outspoken, and I'm never shy—"

Her cheeks keep reddening as she talks, her fingers twisting in the tablecloth, and he leans back in his chair and studies her.

"—and just...you flustered me, is all, and I wanted some space to think without you being so...so...you know." She gestures helplessly at him.

Uh. What does that mean?

"I'm so...what?" Robin asks cautiously. He's back to being worried that she feels unsafe around him.

"Well, I can't say it," she whispers furiously.

Robin keeps his posture casual and his voice calm, speaking in his easiest, most non-threatening voice. "Regina, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or unsafe with me. I understand that it's not enough for you to know my sister or know that I'm a police officer, so I'm going to give you a promise and I hope that my words are enough. This is just dinner. If you don't like me or it, or anything, you can walk out that door and I promise I won't follow you or try to contact you again. If you do like it—and me, which I hope you will—then it can still be just dinner, and we can try it again another time. But I won't pressure you, or try to wheedle you into something you don't want to do. I want you to have a safe and fun evening, however that looks for you."

She stares at him, chewing on her lip. "And what do you want to have, Robin?"

What does he want to have? He wants to have this librarian with her legs around his waist while he drives deep into her; he wants to bury his face in her neck as he fills a condom; he wants to taste her cunt and leave stubble-burn on the insides of her thighs.

But he doesn't know if telling her that will make her less skittish. In fact, probably not. Especially because she's now staring hard at him, as if this is some kind of test.

"I can't promise commitment," Robin finally says, a little reluctantly. He never has to have this talk with the badge bunnies, and he's a little out of practice. "If that's why you're asking me. But I can promise that I'll be a perfect gentleman until you ask me not to be."

"And then what will you be?" she asks in a low voice.

Robin leans forward, letting his eyes burn and his voice edge into a growl. "Greedy."

Her breath catches. There's a moment when the noise around them seems to fade away, when the gentle lights of the restaurant covers them in a soft glow, and she seems to bloom open. Her eyelashes flutter and her body curves toward him.

"I think I'd like to see you greedy," she says, her tongue running along her bottom lip.

He feels her words everywhere: his bones, his skin, his throbbing erection.

"Your wish is my command, kitten." Robin leans forward over the table, his eyes hot on her sweet face. "Are you wearing a bra tonight?"

She licks her lips again, her breathing now quick and shallow. "No," she admits in a whisper. "The dress has a low back, and I…" She trails off, looking at him with something between helplessness and defiance. It makes his cock harder than it already is.

"Panties?"

Robin can see the pulse hammering in her neck now. She gives him a quick jerk of her head from side to side.

No panties.

He's fully hard now, imagining her soft cunt exposed to the air so close to him, imagining it growing wet and needy as they sit here.

"Would you like to show me?" Robin dares.

There's a sharp intake of breath from her, her lips wet and parted, her large eyes blinking fast. "Show...you…?" she repeats slowly, as if she isn't sure she heard him correctly.

"Yes, Regina. Would you like to show me what your cunt looks like?"

The flush is now creeping up her neck, and she takes a small drink of water, as if to buy herself time. But when her eyes meet his again, he can tell her hesitation isn't because she doesn't want to show him.

It's because she does.

"If I...wanted to...how would I show you?" she asks, the faintest quiver in her lower lip.

God, he still can't fucking breathe. She's so much right now, so quivery and so big-eyed and so flushed. Her nipples are still so hard—what must be achingly hard—through her dress, and she keeps smoothing this one curl over and over again around her finger. All he wants to do is dive under this table and press his face between her legs, tongue her until she can't remember the difference between a filet mignon and a New York Strip, between rare and well-done.

"Well," Robin starts, once he can remember how to speak again, "you'd spread your legs under the table. I'd pretend to drop something. And then I'd duck under the tablecloth and see if you're telling me the truth about wearing panties."

Something about the word truth seems to trigger a surge of rebellion in her.

"I'm telling the truth," she says, with an indignant toss of that thick, silky hair. "See for yourself."

And then she spreads her legs under the table.

"So, my little librarian is brave," Robin murmurs. And then he hooks his ankle around her chair underneath the table and easily yank her closer to him. "And bold."

She gasps as the chair moves underneath her, and he doesn't give her a chance to catch her breath before he knocks both menus off the table. And then he bends down to retrieve them, his body half under the table, his hand making an imitation of searching for the lost menus. All while he ducks under the tablecloth and sees for himself how she's prepared herself for their date.

It's dark under the table, too dark for what he wants, and so he moves off his chair to one knee at the side of the table. The restaurant is dim and their table is conveniently screened by enough plants and low walls that he's not worried about being seen. As he grabs for the menus with one hand, his other finds her ankle.

She startles, glancing down at me with fearful delight. "Robin?"

"I couldn't see under there," Robin says, his hand sweeping up the firm curve of her calf to the bend of her knee. "I needed to feel."

Her thigh trembles under his hand...and then she spreads her legs even wider. "Good girl," he whispers. "Let me feel you."

She holds her legs open for him as his whole hand slides under the hem of her dress, and then his fingertips brush against something impossibly silky and soft and—oh fuck me—groomed completely bare.

The bare skin has made her extra sensitive, he thinks, because even the light ghosting of his fingers over her mound sends shivers through her. "So, you weren't lying," he murmurs. "You came here with a naked vagina."

Her voice is tight and breathless when she answers. "I told you I was telling the truth."

"Did you do it for me, Regina?" His fingers brush lower, and there between her lips is the plump button of her clit.

She sucks in air as he gives it a firm circle with his thumb. "I don't know," she confesses. Her voice is embarrassed, but her hips are currently rocking against his hand trying to get more pressure against her clit as he rubs her.

Robin could do this literally all night, but he knows they'll start to draw attention if he doesn't stand up soon. He allows himself one more caress, this time dipping a finger even lower into her folds. "Fuck, Regina," he curses, his self-control evaporating the moment he finds how wet she is. "You're so fucking wet."

"Mmm," she says. There's a flush creeping up her neck now, goose bumps everywhere, non-stop shivers. She looks like she has a fever, and the sight of her so physically undone just by this simple touch has him ready to push down his jeans and mount her right here at the table.

Robin doesn't do that, but he does peer up into her face and ask, "Can I put my fingers inside you? I want to feel. Just for a minute. Please."

Her eyes are half hooded as she nods and licks her lips. "Yes. You can."

Robin does. He slides one finger inside of her, easily finding a spot that makes her arch her back, and then he slowly adds a second finger, watching her face carefully as he does it. Her eyes are completely closed now and her chest is rising and falling so fast that the fabric is pulling against her tits. God, he just wants to shove this table out of the way, yank her ass to the edge of the seat and fuck her while he's kneeling between her legs.

With a small groan, he slides his fingers out of her tight, wet box and goes back to his seat, relieved that nobody seems to have noticed his little exploratory session, and also disappointed that the explorations are over.

Regina's eyes are open again when he gets there, but just barely. "Holy shit," she mumbles to herself. "Holy shit."

Robin grins at her and then starts licking his fingers, like a contented cat. She tastes good, sweet and primal, so good that he knows he needs to taste her again. Soon. All of her.

Her eyes widen as she watches him lick her taste off his fingers. "I can't believe we just did that. I can't believe I let you."

Robin's grin gets bigger. "And we haven't even ordered our food yet."

She shakes her head. "We haven't even kissed yet," she says, with some wonder in her voice.

"Yet?" Robin teases. "So, does that mean we will kiss?"

That draws a smile to her face, along with a fresh flush. "I didn't mean it like that," she protests. "I meant—" She goes to cross her legs and then she gives him another one of those soft inhales.

"Are you pressing your thighs together right now?" He asks in a husky voice.

"I—yes."

"Can you squeeze your clit like that? Can you feel how wet you are?"

"Yes," she whispers. "How are you doing this to me?"

Robin holds up both his hands. "I'm not doing anything right now, if you haven't noticed. You're doing it to yourself."

She looks down at her lap, taking a deliberately deep breath.

"I think...I think I'm doing this wrong," she says worriedly.

He doesn't like that, because from his vantage, everything is going utterly and completely right. "Doing what wrong?"

She gestures between the two of them, still looking down at her lap. "This."

He's confused. "The date?"

She closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them, pinning their dark depths onto me. "Kind of," she says slowly. "But I meant for this to go differently. More...um...businesslike. More transactional."

Now he's really confused. Transactional? Like they would just eat food, have sex and then leave like strangers? He's had plenty of transactional hookups in his time—he means, he's basically taken out stock in Durex at this point—but he didn't think that was what Regina wanted from their date. He assumed she'd want fun—easy and intimate, yes, but fun all the same.

Thankfully the waiter shows up then, and he can gather his thoughts. After they order—steak and beer for Robin, steak and wine for Regina—he gives her his full attention.

"I don't mind being a transaction, Regina, as long as we're both having fun at the same time. But I'm curious...does this have anything to do with you swearing off men?"

Regina sighs. "So, Belle told you that, huh?"

"She did. And I know it's not my business, but if there's a story there, I want to make sure I don't do anything to repeat parts of that story. I don't want to scare you or hurt you or trigger you."

To Robin's surprise, that seems to utterly disarm her, even though all he did was pledge not to be a dick. "That's really thoughtful of you," she says softly. Then after a minute, she adds, "There's not a story like the way you're thinking. I just have had my heart broken enough to know that I can't count on a man to be trustworthy and faithful. So, I stopped trying."

That pulls on something in his chest, something that he didn't even know was there until just now. It makes him want to protect her, makes him want to find any man who broke her heart and drive him fist into his nose.

He shakes off the feeling. It's not his to have in the first place, and in the second place, it should be no concern of his that she's stopped trying to have relationships. He doesn't do relationships either.

But still. There's something so forlorn about the way she looks right now, and he wants to help. Somehow.

His mind flashes to Sergeant Gutierrez and her wife. "You don't trust easily anymore."

"No, I don't." Regina admitted.

"I can't say as I blame you, these days it is difficult to trust the right person." Robin said.

"And you think you are the right person?" Regina asked.

"Maybe. One way to find out." Robin said with a wink.

"I told you, I have sworn off dating." Regina reminded him.

"Well, that's going to lead to some awfully…long…frustrated….nights….alone." Robin said.

"I am not frustrated! I'll have you know that just last night-" Regina stopped. She couldn't believe what she had almost admitted to him.

Robin picked up on exactly what she had been about to say. "So, the BOB did it for you?" Robin asked.

"BOB?" Regina asked.

"Battery Operated Boyfriend." Robin said.

Regina giggles, a real little laugh with a real little smile and real little twinkles in her dark brown eyes. The waiter comes by with their drinks and a basket of rolls, which he immediately starts destroying. It's while he's buttering a roll that Regina switches gears from giggles to Serious Business.

"Robin, I wanted to talk to you tonight, and I know we got a little off topic earlier…"

Robin takes a bite of roll, raising his eyebrows. "Is 'off topic' what we're calling it when I stroke your folds in public?"

She ignores him, forging ahead with what she wants to say, that nervous but determined look back. It makes him nervous enough himself that he stops eating his roll.

"I'm done with relationships," she says, meeting his gaze with an expression that brooks no argument. Not that he would argue, even though every time she says she doesn't want a relationship, it twists somewhere in his chest.

He shakes off the twisting feeling. "You're preaching to the choir, sweetheart."

"I know," she says with a nod. "That's why we're here tonight. See, wouldn't you agree that just because you don't imagine yourself being married, that it doesn't mean you don't have plans for your life? We're still allowed to want things, right?"

He's starting to feel like he has no idea where this is going. "Yes?" Robin agrees tentatively.

She nods again. "I don't need a man or a relationship, but I still need a future. I still want a future. And I know exactly what it is I want for that future."

He takes a swig of his beer and settles back into his chair. "Okay, I'll bite. What is it that you want for your future, Regina?"

"I want a baby," she answers calmly. "And I want you to be the one to give a baby to me."