Author's Notes: Here we go. Part Three!

Oh, and just a WARNING.

Here lies . . . well . . . it's . . . okay, I admit it. It's porn. It's beautiful, hot, self-indulgent porn. With feelings. If it's not your thing, um, once you hit Killian and Emma going back to the Jolly, just stop. Seriously. Things get a little kinky. (Tastefully kinky, I mean, it's me, guys).

But yeah, this story is Rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: Not mine.


Part Three: The Crocodile

Chapter 30

"Come now, love, I taught you better than that."

Killian batted away her attack with a bright grin as he began to circle her, cutlass pointing at the deck, deceptively vulnerable. Emma smirked as she matched her steps to his, letting her sword rest at her side. Her long brown coat brushed lightly against her calves as she followed the steps of what was truly just another dance.

She still had the right partner.

Each subtle shift of his movement, she mirrored. His grin settled into a smirk that matched hers. Slowly, he let his blade slide along hers, sending a shiver down her spine at the kiss of steel that whispered in the air. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Again," he challenged.

With snake-like grace, Emma lunged. Killian only just dodged a vicious swipe directly at his head that had him chuckling lowly in his throat. It wasn't the happy amusement she heard all too often. It was a threatening sound, a dark sound, one meant to mock and rile, and while Emma knew that he only meant to goad her into making a mistake—a purpose that truthfully was meant to correct said inevitable mistake—she still felt a blinding swell of insult.

Two years of tutelage, and she still fell for it.

Every. Single. Time.

It was only a minute later that she charged too forcefully and lost her balance for but a second. A second which, unfortunately, offered plenty of time for Killian to slip his foot behind hers and send her flat on her back. She barely had time to gasp for air before he was teasing once again, his grin firmly back in place as he trapped her blade between his and a dagger he'd slipped into his free hand. "You know," he said idly as he slowly slid his dagger and sword down hers, "normally, I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back." Emma's brows shot up to her hairline, and a few of the crew chuckled. She'd forgotten about them. "Bit of advice," Killian continued as his face hovered far too close to hers for a swordfight, "when I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it. Best to just yield to me now . . ."

Much like Killian knew how to goad her into making a mistake, Emma had a few tricks of her own. She leaned forward, her head coming up from the deck until she was sharing his breath with him. His pupils dilated. His eyes darted to her lips.

"Why would I do that when I'm winning?" she teased before bringing her foot up and kicking him solidly in the chest.

Then the fight was on again.

It was a familiar battle for the crew of the Jolly Roger, one that occurred often enough that Killian and Emma's swordplay sessions had evolved into full-bodied events complete with ale and betting pools. Bee stood off to the side, a bag full of coin in his hand, as he continued to take last second bets. Vincent was cheering Emma on, damn the propriety of rooting against his Captain, and he was hardly alone in his sentiment.

Although, the question of whether the crew wanted to see Emma win or Killian lose was not entirely certain. Emma had yet to best Killian despite every advantage she possessed. She knew his moves, his style, his body, better than her own. She could anticipate his every breath when they fought like this, and yet somehow, with infuriating consistency, Killian managed to best her.

As if the smug bastard needed more confidence.

And as it turned out, today would be no different.

By all rights, she had him on the ropes. He was slowly being backed toward the rail, their blades clashing with stunning force. Killian wore no grin. His lips were a firm line as he parried her attacks. She left him no time to counter, and in a small part of his mind he praised her skill to the high heavens and felt no small amount of pride.

However, the truth of it was that Killian mostly felt plain frustrated at his failure to capitalize. Only a lifetime of practice kept him from making one of Emma's brash mistakes. Patience was a virtue hard won, and when it mattered most, Killian Jones had it in spades.

It was just a moment. Half a second, perhaps even less. Yet there was an opening, just the slightest overcompensation of weight, and Killian took full advantage. He spun away from Emma's attack, swearing he could feel her blade skim the scruff on his jaw. As he moved around her, he reached out with his free hand, grabbed her round the waist, and yanked her back to him.

For a heavy second, they could only heave against each other. Emma's chest rose and fell rapidly both with exertion and the tangy thrill of a sword she knew would never harm her resting lightly against her throat. Killian's racing heart beat against her back, and his quick breaths mussed her hair. "Good form, Swan," he teased. "But not good enough."

Emma, both flustered by her loss and the firm feel of him against her back, didn't know whether she wanted hit him or kiss him.

She did neither.

Instead, with the smallest of smirks, she twisted her fingers at her side, and the sword at her throat appeared in her free hand. She shoved her elbow back into his chest, winding him and causing him to stumble. By the time he recovered, hardly a second had passed, and yet when he was standing straight once more, it was to the sight of Emma with two swords pointed at his chest.

His eyes narrowed. "You cheated."

Emma smirked. "Pirate."

And Killian could do nothing but laugh. "Well done, love," he said, and Emma let her arms fall to her sides as the crew around her erupted into cheers and applause. She shot them all a baleful glare that held little heat, and they all knew it. Bee only cheered louder before he began to divvy up the pot.

Vincent happily snatched up his five gold pieces as he made his way to her. "Well done, indeed, lass," he praised. "It's about time our good Captain learnt a bit of humility."

"Oi, watch it, Turner," Killian threatened. "Or I'll have you walk the plank for such insolence."

Vincent snorted and nudged Emma's shoulder with his. "He's adorable, isn't he?"

Emma laughed. "Get back to work before he runs you through."

"Don't be daft. You'd never let that happen."

Killian's eyes narrowed. "She won't always be around to save you, Turner."

"Won't she?"

Vincent grinned before he nonetheless followed orders and went back to his post, which happened to be the helm, allowing Killian the chance to slip his arm around Emma's waist and pull her to him. "Help me with something below, love?" he suggested with an outrageous swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip.

Emma merely hummed and wordlessly turned toward the hatch leading to their quarters. She descended the stairs without any haste, letting her eyes rove over the space that was no longer as sparse as it had been when she had first laid eyes on it. The bookcases were now full. The open wardrobe was bursting yet plainly delineated between Killian's clothes and hers. His were hung neatly and evenly, dark-colored in contrast to her own messy show of creams and browns.

The desk was as neat as ever, yet beside the sextant rested one of her journals and the notebook that Elizabeth had given her. Even the bedclothes on the bed had been changed. Emma had traded out the plain, old blue for a lush red that Killian had stared at for five long seconds before she'd suddenly found herself on her back against the fluffy duvet and laughing as Killian fumbled with the buttons of her vest.

Her eyes were on that rich red when she felt Killian sidle up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist, hands low on her hips as his lips skimmed her throat. "I find it terribly attractive when you best me with your magic, Swan," he admitted. "Have I told you?"

Emma smirked. "You may have mentioned it once."

He hummed against her skin, and she felt his lips smile briefly. "We need to work on your footwork," he said. "You still put too much weight on your lead foot when you lunge." He kissed her just under her jaw. "But fear not, I'll help."

"Private lessons?"

He chuckled. "Very private," he confirmed before suddenly blowing a raspberry in the crook of her neck, making her squeal and pull away from, only to spin around and slap his shoulder.

"Killian!" she scolded through her laughter as he tugged her back to him, locking his hands at the small of her back. Her arms easily wound around his neck. "Quit it," she said. "The whole crew think we're a pair of nymphomaniacs as it is."

Killian only smirked. "Well, love, we are deliciously good together," he said with a sinful arch to his eyebrow that only made Emma smile when she once would have blushed. He leant his forehead against hers and murmured, "I'd love to remind you, if you've forgotten."

He nibbled at her lips, his happy laugh swallowed when Emma kissed him.

There were still times when neither could rightly believe their reality—when Emma questioned how he could love her as passionately as he did, and he wondered why she had decided to stop running for him, of all people. There were nights when they held each other with unspoken but not unknown insecurities, and there were days when both waited for the inevitable shoe to drop.

But insecurities were always soothed, and that damnable shoe seemed nowhere above them.

They were happy.

Blindingly, almost nauseatingly happy.

Though the past couple of years had not been without hardships. Emma would never forget the fear that had raced through her when she'd come back to the Jolly with Vincent and Bee as escorts only to find the handful of their crew that had stayed to guard the ship tied together while Killian stood stripped to the waist, hugging the mast, hands tied, while bright red lines were painted on his back.

Emma had never again used her magic with such violent intent as she had that night. With Vincent and Bee at her back, and the crew once they were free, quick work was made of the trespassers and the one traitor, a Mr. Fishburne, who had told the enemy captain when the Jolly would be most vulnerable.

She'd cut Killian lose, intending to heal him immediately, only to have him shove away from the mast with more strength than any man had a right to have with a blood-soaked, torn back. She'd watched, too stunned to move, as he strode toward the captain who still held the whip in his hand, and with violent fanfare, grabbed the older man's head and twisted.

When she had nightmares about that night, she could still hear that awful snap.

Yet that nightmare was overwhelmed with dreams of faraway places and different realms, of meeting the most curious people and tasting the most delicious foods. So much adventure and life. It was a sweet addiction.

Or maybe it was just him.

Killian kissed her softly. "Where did you go, Swan?"

She blinked. "Just thinking," she said with a smile.

"Oh?"

"You."

He grinned. "As you should. Now, about my sword—"

"You can polish it on your own," she said quickly, dancing out of his arms to take a seat at the desk. "Finding out just where we are is more important."

"We're somewhere within five leagues of Queen's Port," Killian said confidently as he perched to sit on the corner of the desk. "I told you, love. I'm very good at navigating portals . . . and I'd happily polish my sword if you promise to watch," he added, his voice dipping dangerously.

Emma's eyes shot to his and she nearly caved at the sight of his dark eyes and sexy smirk. Damn him. Damn her for finding a True Love that was—even in his most behaved moments—sex on a stick. "Hmm," she hummed. "Maybe later."

The change in Killian was comical. His smirk vanished, melting into a pitiful pout of incredulity and disappointment, and his eyes were suddenly too blue and disturbingly innocent in his confusion. Emma had to laugh. "You're not completely irresistible, you know," she teased before looking down at the map. "Now, if your calculations were right—"

Killian scoffed. "If."

"—then we should be right . . ." She traced her finger over the map. ". . . Here."

"And look, there we are."

"Don't be so smug, Captain. The ride here from Narnia was a bit bumpy."

Emma still couldn't believe she and Killian had helped the Pevensies smuggle the wardrobe to its new location in the Southern Isles.

Yes, the wardrobe.

"Sometimes it's fun to be a bit rough, Swan."

Killian trailed his fingertips over her wrist, and she smacked his hand away. "You're insatiable," she muttered through a smile as she let him pull her up from the chair to stand between his legs.

He grinned. "Only for you. What do you say we have a bit of a lie-in at Queen's Port?" he suggested. "Send the crew to the tavern for a night or two." He lifted her hand to his lips. "I miss you."

They'd hardly had any time to themselves while they'd ferried the wardrobe to its new home. The seemingly innocuous piece of furniture had brought with it a purveying feeling of magic that all the crew had felt to their bones. It had made everyone jumpy, the air on deck tense, and Killian had asked that Emma guard the wardrobe in case any of the crew fancied themselves a peek inside.

If anything, their sparring session had been a desperate attempt to relieve some tension.

Tension that Emma suddenly felt right in her core.

"I miss you, too," she said, kissing him briefly before stepping out of his arms and heading toward the stairs. "So the sooner we get to port, the better, aye?" she called over her shoulder.

Killian grinned. "Aye."


"You're positively glowing, lass," Vincent said. He sat beside her in the quieter part of the tavern, two tankards of ale in front of them, flanking a large platter of meat and cheese. Emma let an apple roll between her palms as she took her eyes off Killian's wide grin and loud exclamations as he pretended to be surprised by winning at dice. She'd already seen him sneakily switch out the dice with his own with a wry shake of her head. "Happy?"

She smiled. "Yeah, Vin," she said. "I am."

"Glad to hear it," he grinned before looking around the tavern. "Not changed much, has it? I can't rightly tell. All taverns start to look the same."

"I don't know. I always know when I'm in Tortuga."

Vincent snorted. "Everyone knows when they're in Tortuga. If ya don't, you're bloody dead inside." He nodded to himself. "Or outside," he added.

Emma rolled her eyes. "No," she said. "This place hasn't changed at all."

"Feel weird? Bein' back and all?"

"A little," she admitted as her eyes trailed over the many loud, laughing and hollering faces. It wasn't at all any different than the last time. It was lively and thrilling and fun within the small, smoky tavern. The air was sweet with meat and ale and her blood was warm from the fire at her back and the liquor in her hand. The only difference was her. She wasn't an outsider anymore. "I was so confused when I first walked in here," she said with a smirk. "I thought you were all actors. Like I'd walked into a play or something."

Vincent laughed into his ale. "Got to admit, lass, some cases you aren't all that far off. We're a theatrical lot."

"Hmm. Pirates do love their drama."

Once again, the other side of the room erupted when Killian won yet another round. Vincent and Emma rolled their eyes at the same time. "Can't believe they haven't caught on," Emma said. "How often do you come here?"

Vincent shrugged. "Depends on if anyone's chasing us. Or if we're doing the chasin'. Never good to get into habits, you know."

"Right."

"But I'd say we're here at least a few times a year. Can't avoid it, really. It's too damn convenient. But I see what you mean," he said, smirking into his ale. "Those poor sods really should know those dice are loaded by now. 'Course, there's not much they can do even if they know. Not worth arguin' over with a man like our good Captain."

Emma knew exactly what he meant. Killian had come back to the Jolly with a new ring on his hand just a few months ago. The stone setting had been filled with crusted blood. It didn't take a genius to figure out how the blood had gotten there. Emma still wondered if she should have said something, but what was the point when Killian had stumbled into their cabin, stone drunk, with faraway, lost eyes that kept straying to his new ring?

"Funny thing about darkness, Swan," he'd said. "It sneaks up on you."

Maybe it was wrong of her to so easily put aside his actions, but it was hard to judge a man that you loved, particularly when that man left a flower on your pillow the next morning and then made love to you that night with the sort of determined desperation of a man convinced you would leave if he gave you the chance. So Emma had decided to see the best in him, and there was so much more to see when she did.

"Emma?"

She blinked and looked over at Vincent. "Sorry," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "Lost in thought."

Vincent waggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, the naughty kind?"

"God, shut up."

"No."

"Yes."

"Come on, lass. No one's paying any attention to us." He leaned closer to her. "They won't hear a word about our Captain's more . . . dastardly deeds."

"My sex life isn't dastardly. It's . . . nice."

"Oh, dear. That sounds terrible."

"You know what I mean."

"I'd love to hear specifics. Just how nice is it?"

She smirked. "More than you could handle."

Vincent eyed Killian appraisingly, and if Emma wasn't mistaken, somewhat ruefully. "Perhaps you're right, lass," he nearly sighed.

She chuckled into her ale. "Handsome, isn't he?"

"I'm not entirely convinced he's human. Lucky lass, you are."

"You could always buy him a drink and see what happens."

"Are you offering me your True Love for the night, Emma?"

"If he goes for it, sure."

Vincent shook his head. "You're cruel." She laughed. "Horribly, deliciously, cruel," he added with another glance at Killian. "You should be kinder to me, lass, considering my . . . predisposition."

It had taken Vincent a year to admit to Emma that he was gay. He'd just out and said it one night in Tortuga when he'd had a few too many. The very last reaction he'd expected from Emma was for her to smirk and say, "Took you long enough." She hadn't stared at him as if he was diseased. She hadn't condemned him, hadn't tried to steer him in the "right" direction.

To his embarrassment, her first thought had been to find him a man for the night to celebrate his honesty.

"You'll find someone," Emma said confidently. "Just you wait."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll stick to living vicariously through you."

They took turns spinning tales and drinking their fill. Emma occasionally pointed to a man she thought might keep Vincent company for the night, delighting in the way she made him blush. After all, he'd taken far too much glee teasing her about Killian when she'd still been so terribly confused by her feelings. Revenge was sweet.

Vincent was a good sport, and when the night grew darker and a cute, flame-haired man across the bar kept stealing shy looks their way, Emma forcibly pushed him in the right direction with a wink and a "Go get him, tiger."

She waited until she watched them leave—entirely unnoticed by everyone in the tavern—and then decided that she'd find a man of her own.

Unfortunately, said man was surrounded by women. She scoffed under her breath, partly exasperated, partly amused. Honestly, it was too frequent an occurrence to rile her up, and it was strange to feel so secure as she watched one woman trail her hand up his neck to play with his hair. Yes, he was charming and clever and handsome—she knew that well enough—but she also knew, undoubtedly, that he was hers.

All it took was two buttons undone on her blouse, a sway of her a hips, and low voice as she strutted up to his table, leaned forward, and said, "What are you boys playing?"

And Killian Jones—dashing rapscallion, Killian Jones—gulped.

His eyes were slower to meet hers, lingering on her cleavage before flickering up to her face. He stared at her, pupils blown wide with desire and rum, and said, "Game's over, lads. I suddenly fancy some fresh air."

He didn't notice the girls' pouts as he rose, and Emma didn't either. She only smiled and headed for the door, knowing that he would follow, and laughing under her breath when she heard the unmistakable slip of his boots against the dirt floor as he hurried to catch up with her. His arm slid around her shoulders to pull her into his side once they were out the door, his fingertips dancing with promise over her exposed collarbone and the tops of her breasts.

They walked in a cloud of rum and the sea, Killian nuzzling her any chance he got, heedless of the way he occasionally stumbled because he wasn't paying enough attention to his feet. When he tripped yet again, Emma laughed as she caught him. "You're drunk," she said.

"If I was drunk, Swan, I wouldn't be able to do this."

He abruptly threw away the empty bottle of rum he'd carried in his free hand and without a second's hesitation swept her into his arms. He laughed when she shouted in surprise and snuck a quick kiss to the tops of her breasts when she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. "Killian Jones!" He wasn't sure whether she was scolding him for picking her up or tasting her breasts in public. Honestly, though, it wasn't like anyone was on the dock to see. "Put me down!"

"Nonsense, love," he said dramatically. "I've carried rum barrels heavier than you."

Emma laughed and gripped him tighter as he swung her about as if he'd toss her into the water. It was so entirely different in comparison to when he'd first brought her aboard his ship. She had been hesitant. Quietly hostile. He'd been arrogant and yet unusually kind.

How far they'd come.

Killian unknowingly followed her train of thought and wanted to commemorate this moment, though things didn't go quite as they had two years earlier. "Behold!" he announced once they reached the gangplank. "The Rolly Joger!"

He had to put Emma down because she was laughing so hard.

"Oh, babe, you are definitely drunk," she giggled as she pityingly took his head and led him across the deck.

He flushed and held up a finger. "I am not. It was a mere slip of the tongue."

"Uh huh."

He pulled her to him. "We're never speaking of it again."

"Oh, no. I'm never letting you live this down."

"Cruel woman."

"I'll show you cruel," she promised, giggling when he growled and surged forward to capture her lips. She slipped out of his grip. "You know where to find me," she said before heading toward their quarters.

Killian nearly face-planted on the deck in his hurry to follow. He caught up to her by skipping the last three steps of the ladder, jumping down and sweeping Emma up into his arms just as he fell toward the bed. The little squeak of surprise and delight she gave as they bounced on the mattress made his grin too wide for a kiss, and so he just laid there and looked at her. He tucked a curl behind her ear. "Found you," he said.

Emma smiled. "Took you long enough."

"You were three centuries in the future and in another realm at that," he argued lightly. "Cut a pirate some slack, Swan. Now," he leaned forward, "a woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention."

The kiss was sweet at first, coaxing, with Killian constantly pushing for more. Deeper strokes. Little nips. All actions that Emma thoroughly enjoyed yet loved teasing more. She artfully gave back just enough to seem content but shy. She knew he liked it. He liked slipping past her walls, her defenses.

She always felt the greatest satisfaction when she abruptly began to return the kiss with all the passion that he wanted, the sort of wild, reckless surrender that completely consumed her if she only let it. The little groan he would inevitably give lit a fire in her stomach like nothing else, and this time was absolutely no different. She swallowed his contented groan as she slipped her hands under his coat and began to shove it over his shoulders. She hardly felt the absence of his hands as he tossed it to the floor.

Next came the goddamn buttons on his vest.

God, she hated those brass fuckers.

She cursed when she fumbled with the heavy button. "Why do you insist on wearing this thing?" she growled in complaint.

Killian laughed into her neck where he'd been tortuously nipping the flesh with his teeth and then soothing with his tongue. "Impatient as ever."

He laughed again when the vest magically disappeared.

Once she'd mastered that particular trick, he'd had to enforce a rule that only one item of clothing could be magicked away during sex. He liked unwrapping her far too much to have that simple joy taken from him, and truly, what man didn't like having the woman he loved ripping his clothes off?

Emma's hands were instantly under his shirt, fingers searching out familiar scars and trailing teasingly over his ribs and tauntingly over his chest, nails scraping just how he liked. When she tugged his shirt over his head, he sat back on his haunches to look at her, hair a golden halo on the pillow, lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, "Gods above, you're stunning, Swan."

Emma responded to his romantic declaration like she did to nearly every other—an eye roll and a scoff that couldn't completely hide her smile.

She tugged on his necklace to pull him back to her. "You're an idiot."

"One of these days, you'll learn to accept the compliment."

"Shut up and kiss me, Captain."

He purred. "I do love it when you call me that."

"Again with the talking."

He chuckled darkly as he kissed her neck, light little kisses meant to tease until he reached her ear. He tugged on the lobe with his teeth. "Oh, but you like it when I talk, love," he said, voice low and soft. He undid the buttons on her shirt one by one, trailing kisses along each inch of skin that was slowly bared. "You like the sound of my voice, don't you?"

Her hands sifted through his hair as he finished unbuttoning her shirt. "So do you," she retorted breathily.

Killian chuckled lowly. "Do you think I could make you come with my voice?" he asked, an almost genuine note in his tone as he patiently pulled at the laces of her pants. "I'm tempted to try. Would you like to try, love?"

He spoke to her skin, his breath hot against her clenched stomach. Her nails dug into his scalp as his mouth steadily trailed lower as he slid her leathers off her hips. "Let's see how close we can get," he said lightly as his hands slowly skimmed along her calves. "I have a feeling you'll be begging for me before we can finish."

Emma tried to laugh but sighed instead. "Pirate."

"Aye, love," he confirmed as he began to slide his hands up her parted thighs. "And tonight," he breathed over her center, "I'm going to fuck you like one." He smiled when she shuddered beneath his hands. "You're already so wet for me, love," he noted, digging his fingers into her thighs to keep from touching her, to feel that wetness on his skin. "I do wish you could see it, but I suppose you can feel it, can't you? You're practically dripping."

Killian. Emma bit her lip to keep from saying his name so pleadingly. Her hips began to squirm, searching blindly for relief as he just kept fucking talking. "Imagine how easily my cock will slide into you, Swan. It's for the best. I don't think I can love you gently tonight." Her breath hitched. "Oh, you like that idea, don't you, love?"

He kissed her inner thigh. "Just between us, darling, I'm aching, too." He pressed his hips into the mattress for even the slightest relief as he continued to speak, "I promise you, love, I want to touch you just as much as you want me to touch you. This is torture, Emma. To see you like this, so open to me, begging for a taste . . . if we weren't playing this game, my tongue would be inside you." Emma whimpered. "You can feel it, can't you, love? I'd tease you until you were in tears before I finally wrapped my lips around your clit. Then I'd let you fuck yourself on my fingers. And you would, you know."

Damn him.

"Killian," Emma arched her hips toward him. "Stop talking."

"And do what, love?" he breathed, his nose brushing against her soft curls. So close and not nearly close enough to where she needed him. "Tell me."

"Touch me."

"As you wish."

Emma nearly came when he wrapped his lips around her clit. A strangled curse fell from her lips as her hands reached for his head to keep him against her. Already she could feel her orgasm building, that familiar tightness, that slow build of heat that Killian stoked so easily with his tongue. Damn him. Bless him.

"Killian," she pleaded. "Please."

He knew what she wanted, and the cry that escaped her when he slid two fingers into her was loud enough to be embarrassing if she'd cared. But Emma was past caring. Smee could walk in and she'd tell him to just give her one minute.

Really, she was so far gone that that was all she needed.

True to his word, Killian teased her clit while she moved against his fingers that rubbed her walls so perfectly, curving just enough to hit that sweet spot that sent her falling with choked gasp. She trembled as she tried to catch her breath, unable to even reach for Killian as he contentedly kissed his way up her body, his hands gently kneading her breasts as he waited for her to get her wits back.

He smiled once her eyes opened and her hands began to stroke his back. "There's a good lass," he teased softly. He kissed her sweetly. "Ready for more, my love?"

Emma smiled. "Some pirate you are," she said, combing her fingers through his hair. "I didn't think pirates were so . . . sweet."

Killian grumbled even as he kissed her. "I'm not sweet," he insisted.

"Hmm. You promised to fuck me like a pirate," she whispered. "And just between us . . . I don't think you can do it, Captain."

Emma knew exactly what she was doing. This was a game they'd played in one way or another since they'd met. One of them always pushing, always daring, knowing the other couldn't resist the challenge. Sex was no different.

And when Killian sheathed himself in her without warning, her cry of pleasure was nearly a sigh of victory. She squeezed him, challenging him to take her harder, until he was pounding into her with enough force to shake the bed. She clutched onto whatever part of him she could reach and held on with a blissed smile.

"Yes," she encouraged. "Yes, just like that, babe."

"Fuck, Emma. Love, you need . . . fuck . . ."

God, she loved reducing him to this. All that eloquence replaced with wrecked curses and choked endearments. He was close. She swore she could feel it like it was her own pleasure. Maybe it was. Her hand slipped between them to rub quick circles against her clit, and Killian groaned at the sight.

"Emma, please," he begged. "Love . . . I . . ."

She began to shudder around him just when he came, a slew of curses and prayers on his lips as her walls fluttered around him. Completely spent, he collapsed on top of her, sparing her none of his weight for the moment, not that Emma minded. He was solid and warm and alive against her, his breath hot and labored in the crook of her neck, and she contentedly carded her fingers through his sweaty hair and down his glistening back.

When he gathered enough motivation to move, she tugged him back to her. Killian huffed on principle, though he could easily spend the rest of the night as he was if it were possible. Unfortunately, it wasn't. "I'm squishing you, love," he said.

"It's a good squish."

He chuckled warmly. "Aye," he agreed. "Alas, you need to breathe."

When he moved, she didn't stop him, though she shivered at the chill of cold hair against her rapidly cooling skin. Killian was back soon enough, dragging her pliant body into his side. She sighed contentedly as she laid her head on his chest. Her fingers drifted mindlessly over his ribs, brushing fondly against a familiar scar that had faded slightly with the years.

God, it felt like forever ago and yesterday at the same time.

"We should have done that the first night I was on this ship," she said, and he laughed.

"You wouldn't have let me near you."

"If you'd done that, I would have."

"It wouldn't have meant anything," he admitted ruefully. "You would have been just another dalliance."

Emma sighed. "You would have been a one-time thing."

"Swan, I'm never just a one-time thing." He let his fingers trail teasingly down her spine. "You'd have been back for more."

She snorted. "Cocky pirate, aren't you?"

"You would know."

She didn't want to, but she laughed. It faded quickly enough with a heavy, happy sigh. "We did things right for once, I guess," she said. "Imagine that."

"Imagine that, indeed," he agreed. "And you know, Swan, I was right back then."

She hummed. "About what?"

He grinned down at her. "We do make quite the team."


*blushes*

*fans herself*

*gulps water*

You're welcome.

Next time in Run Baby, Run . . . "What brings you here, Miss Swan?" - The Apprentice

Yes, we actually have plot next chapter.

See you then.

-AC