She was drowning, her body panting for more of Robin as intensely as her lungs ached for air. Every sense she had was tuned into him-the way he held her, how his arm felt beneath her legs, the manner in which she fit into his chest as if it had been designed with her in mind, the way he kissed her like she was the sexiest woman alive.
"God, Regina," he managed as he somehow stumbled into his bedroom without dropping her. She was vaguely aware of the door hitting the wall behind them with a loud thump, but even that awareness faded into nothingness as she kissed his neck, the taste of salt and anticipation only increasing the buzz that still lingered from the wine she'd drunk. He set her down gently, his lips leaving hers only long enough for her feet to find the carpet. Then his tongue was in her mouth again, his palms open and warm as they skimmed the curve of her hips before coming to rest just below her waist. His mouth moved across her jaw, finding a spot beneath her ear that did things to her, things she liked far too much, things no one had done to her since Daniel walked away.
She moaned as her head fell back, offering up her neck to him as a hand slid under her sweater and made its way up her back. She pressed her chest into his as her fingers snaked into his hair, demanding his mouth on her own, kissing him heatedly, open-mouthed and raw.
"T-shirt," she breathed as his fingers skimmed along her bra strap, discovering a ticklish spot that made her jump. He leaned back, his eyes fogged, his frown of confusion making her want him all the more. "You promised me a t-shirt, remember?"
"Right," he murmured, shaking his head to jog his memory. "I did." He stepped back, unwilling to take his eyes off of her for more than a few seconds, half-terrified she might change her mind and run out the front door. She was a vision standing there, hair mussed, lips swollen, form-fitting sweater twisted around her waist. He opened one drawer, cursing the moment he realized he'd opened the wrong one, her throaty chuckle at his error somehow only increasing his need to be inside her. He shut it clumsily, pulling out the one above it, taking out a gray V-neck and extending it in her direction with a sigh of relief.
"Is this alright?"
She bit her lower lip as she took a step in his direction, extending her arm to feel the fabric.
"It's soft," she noted, rubbing the shirt between her fingers. "Feels nice." She tugged it out of his grip, propelling him forward in her direction.
"Not as nice as you," he uttered, far too gone to think of anything cleverer to say as he pulled her body flush with his. His hands cupped her face just before he kissed her senseless, the t-shirt slipping through her fingers to the floor, all but forgotten. God, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and before she knew it, her leg wrapped itself around his calf, prompting him to moan inside her mouth as her body sought friction in all the right places.
His palms moved around her backside, cupping her ass, stroking gently before giving her cheeks a slight squeeze. She moaned at the contact, pressing her groin directly into his, able to feel his erection pressing urgently against the seam of his Levis.
"Do you really need the t-shirt?"
His arms wrapped around her, one hand working its way back under her sweater while the other remained splayed across her rear end.. Then his mouth found her neck again, making it impossible for her to reason, much less answer whatever it was he had asked her. What was it? Her mind was too far gone for recollection, sensation taking over as heat pooled between her thighs and her nipples stood to attention. Need pulsed into an ache, one becoming more insistent by the second, and he squeezed her ass again, eliciting a sound from her that seemed to only spur him on.
This was good, so very, very good, the way he kissed her, the way his arousal nestled hard and hot between her legs. Then his hand moved from her back to her front, his palm finding her breast and cupping it through her bra, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. Reality and desire zinged through her simultaneously as he tugged on one nipple, insecurity battling the primal urge to let him take her hard and fast against the wall. Then one finger found it, the jagged, irregular skin that marked her sternum and somehow her soul along with it, and she stiffened instantly, fear taking over before she could call it back.
The t-shirt. He'd asked her if she really wanted the t-shirt.
She pressed her palms into his chest, pushing him back just a hair, the mere scent of him nearly making her swoon into him. His breath was hot and heavy against her cheek, it's intensity betraying a need obviously as urgent as her own. Her mind began to catch up with the rest of her, bringing her back to the reality of what he'd asked just as he rephrased his own question.
His eyes were so dark, hooded with naked want.
Her anxiety was palpable, had become so since the second he'd touched the physical reminder of her surgery. She shivered in his arms, making him wonder if it was desire or nerves now taking the lead in this after hours tango of theirs. He leaned in, taking her chin in his fingers and tilting it up in his direction, needing to see her expression, hoping to read what it was she was having trouble saying out loud.
The insecurity in her eyes socked him in the gut.
"Is it the scar?"
Her glance intensified at his question, her gaze beckoning him on some odd round of hide and seek. God, she was stunning, mystifying, completely lethal to his mental health, and he forced himself to breathe, to try to keep himself in check, especially the parts of him that were crying out for this woman who'd managed to turn his life upside down within forty-eight hours.
"I told you that doesn't matter to me," he breathed, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. Her skin was still hot, betraying the same wanton eagerness burning low in his belly. She wanted him, just as he wanted her, but she still hesitated, the force of her insecurities threatening to unravel him on the spot. "And I meant it. A scar doesn't change the fact that I want you."
Her gaze dropped to the carpet as she nodded, her self-assurance puddling at her feet like a worn girdle.
"I believe you," she said, her tone as steady as jello on a stick. "It's just that I haven't...I mean, the only man who's seen my naked chest since the operation is my surgeon."
He leaned back far enough to look at her fully, his eyes caressing her with a tenderness she felt down to her toes. This was dangerous-he was dangerous, this dimpled, slightly graying aphrodisiac on legs. How could he do this to her so quickly, sneaking in past her defenses with the stealth of a thief, making her want to trust him enough to throw open the private safe of her life and let him help himself to what he found? This shouldn't be happening like this-it was too fast, too ridiculous, they barely knew each other, she never had sex this early in a relationship-did this even qualify as a relationship?
"Would you like another shirt?" he questioned. His words drifted into her senses slowly, cutting through the warring mists of need and nerves. "A crew neck, perhaps? Would that make you feel better?"
Mortification skittered over her skin, making her fidget like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. He knew, could obviously see how uneasy the thought of being completely naked in front of him made her. Shit, she'd let him see that, and there was no going back now, no running away, no matter how much she might want to.
"I…" she tried, her words disintegrating before they had even formed. God-she was stronger than this. She'd never been uneasy about the appearance of her body until after the transplant, and the constraints she now felt held her in an unwelcome vice. Yes-a part of her body used to belong to someone else, and yes, her scar would always be a reminder of that. But was she going to allow her misgivings to keep her from embracing the first viable invitation back into womanhood she'd had in years?
"Remember, as much as I want you, we don't have to go any further tonight," he whispered, his words running through her insides like molten silver. "You can simply put on the shirt and go to sleep, if you'd rather."
As much as I want you. The words sent zings of electricity through every nerve she had, shooting currents of pulsing need straight to her core. She summoned up all the resolve she possessed, swallowing down as much fear as she could muster.
"No," she returned, pushing aside her misgivings as best as she could. "That's not what I want."
"There's nothing that says you have to be completely naked to have sex," he mused, feeling his jeans tighten even more at the hooded expression she tossed him. Her eyes were a portal into a realm he wanted to dive into and consume, and he watched in fascination as his words finally took root. "I've no doubt you'd be sexy as hell in any of my shirts. You can take your pick."
His offer reached out and stroked her, drawing her into his body until their noses and foreheads touched. He felt her tremble as his hands rubbed her arms, exhaling with her as her eyes focused in on him.
"I want you to be comfortable with me," he said. "With all of this. With us."
It was the last word that did it, that somehow managed to push the right button to strengthen her resolve and bolster her confidence. So he felt it, too, that this was more than a simple, desperate grab for sex, that it was something they couldn't define but wanted badly. And it was something she was going to take with relish.
Before she could stop herself, she stepped back and grabbed the hem of her sweater.
It slid over her head and off of her body, and she tossed it aside before she could think better of what she was doing. Her fingers ran over her hair, trying to quell the static her sweater had left behind, but she froze in place as her eyes once again connected with Robin's, the state of her hair no longer a concern.
He wanted her. The raw hunger in his expression left her with little doubt.
She shivered as his gaze moved to her practically bare chest, to her black, lacy bra, to the scar that often felt like an unwanted brand. She swallowed, half expecting him to change his mind, half expecting herself to do the same.
But he took one step towards her, then another, until she could smell the heady combination of wine, arousal and man. Her breath caught in her throat as his finger made contact with her chest, and he traced the scar slowly, purposefully from end to end before he leaned into her and kissed her just over her heart.
"Stunning," he muttered, the words reverberating into skin and bone. "In every way."
His mouth curved upwards before he could stop himself, and he raised himself back up so he could look her in the eye, wondering how in God's name she couldn't see just how desirable she was. He heard her breath hitch, noticed the slight tremor of her chin, felt her skin prickle beneath his fingers as gooseflesh sprang up all over her torso.
"May I?"
His fingers moved around her to the fastenings of her bra, awaiting her permission to remove it, praying silently she'd let him but knowing he wouldn't push her if she refused. She shivered all over-everywhere at once, so intensely that her legs shook and she had to hold on to him for fear of her knees buckling out from under her.
She felt frozen in time, wanting to move forward but terrified to do so for reasons that made less and less sense to her as each second ticked by. He continued to stand resolutely, his fingers unmoving against her spine as he awaited her answer, his eyes dark and hooded, needy from wanting her. Because he did want her. She sensed it, smelled it, felt it pressing against her belly, saw it looking back at her in a wordless plea.
And she wanted him. Badly. Very badly.
To hell with her stupid misgivings and fear of the unknown. He'd already seen her scar, and her breasts were crying out for his attention, for his fingers, for his mouth. Why deny them what they both so desperately wanted? They were adults, adults who'd endured losses and barren love lives, adults who'd just had an incredible second date, adults who had more in common than she could currently process as she stood in front of him in just her bra and her slacks. Her nipples hardened as she drew a deep breath and nodded, her insides clenching in anticipation as he fiddled with one clasp and then another until the bra hung loose about her shoulders. He was breathing heavier now, beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead as she let the straps slide down her arms until the entire contraption hit the floor.
She was topless. Bumps skittered over her skin as she absorbed this fact. She couldn't remember ever feeling this exposed, and he seemed to sense it, for he closed his mouth before biting that damned lower lip of his, allowing those one hundred watt dimples to grab on to her and refuse to let go.
"God, you're beautiful."
His eyes were fixed on her breasts, and they stood to attention, aching for his touch, reaching out to him as she swallowed down her nerves. He approached her slowly, as if she were a skittish doe, his steps unhurried, his expression warm. Then his thumb made contact with her right nipple-a whisper, a question, an unspoken invitation that sucked her in on contact. She exhaled raggedly as she raised her hand to cover his, pressing him gently over her breast as his eyes refastened on hers.
His breathing was an uneven as her own, and a thrill ran through her as her knees trembled and her nipples grew hard.
"You have nothing to feel self-conscious about, Regina. Nothing at all."
She was still stiff in his arms, still uncertain of his thoughts, Robin noted, so he stepped back and removed his hand from her breast, smiling to ease her resulting frown at the loss of contact.
"What are you…"
He cut off her question by reaching for the hem of his own shirt and tugging it over his head, stripping himself to the waist so they could meet on even ground. She stared at him open-mouthed, his move obviously surprising her, but he silently waited until she discovered what he'd wanted her to see, her sharp intake of breath alerting him to the fact that she had.
"Go ahead," he urged. "Touch it."
She couldn't take her eyes from the large patch of scarred flesh that covered the right side of his body. It began just below his armpit and continued down his abdomen, and she extended her hand slowly, her fingers finally brushing hot, puckered skin, skin that had obviously been badly burned at some point in his past. He hissed at her contact, smiling as she shot him a look of concern.
"You didn't hurt me," he said, watching her eyes round in comprehension. "Your touch just does things to me. Good things. Very good things."
She bit her lower lip, allowing her palm to flatten against his scar, and he mimicked her earlier action by placing his hand over top of her own. He held it gently to his body as she took in his injury, her swallow audible as she studied flesh forever marked by pavement and fire.
"Motorcycle?"
Her voice was throaty, and he nodded at her question, feeling his erection press against his Levis as her hand moved slowly downward. Of course she would figure out the nature of his injury-she was a doctor, after all. But the concern in her eyes got to him on a deep level, a private level no one had been able to reach since Marian.
"Yes," he replied, trying to keep his burning arousal in check as she continued to examine his torso and failing miserably.
"This was a bad accident," she observed, straining to sound somewhat clinical in light of what she was seeing. "How far does this burn extend?"
"Down my leg," he answered, removing his hand from hers, allowing her free access to his body. "It stops just above my knee."
She blew out a lungful of air before licking her lips and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then she knelt slowly in front of him, her touches feather light on his skin, and he drew in a breath as her fingers moved to his waistband, edging lower to where the scar disappeared under worn denim.
"You're lucky to be alive," she noted. "Not to mention still having full use of your legs."
"I have full use of other body parts, too," he mused, grinning at the look of reprimand she shot his way. "Though I should think that's rather obvious."
"How long were you hospitalized?" she questioned, moving in closer to his torso, her proximity making his throat thick and his larynx practically unusable.
"A few days," he answered, noting the look of shock on her face. "They said I was lucky."
"No kidding," she said, her eyes full of something that made his heart and body melt like wax. "My God, Robin. You could have died."
His chest constricted, and his emotions must have registered on his face, for she bit her lip in self-reprimand. He reached down and cupped her cheek, tilting her chin upwards so he could see her fully. Her eyes engulfed him again, beckoning him to a place that felt all too similar to home and forever, a place he'd believed had been lost to him the moment his wife had stopped breathing.
"I didn't feel so lucky after Marian died."
She leaned her forehead into his abdomen, and his palm moved to the back of her head, allowing his fingers to work their way into her hair as they lost themselves in the silky texture.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, her lips ghosting across his stomach as she spoke. "I'm so sorry." He kneaded her scalp, his craving for this woman who pressed her face into his hand intensifying by the second.
"But I was wrong. Only the luckiest of men would find himself half-naked in a bedroom with you." He paused as she raised her face to gaze up at him, a look he couldn't define filling those darker than dark eyes of hers, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "With you on your knees in front of him driving him absolutely mad."
Her lips slid upwards in a half-grin that made his mouth water.
"Hoping to get lucky in another way altogether?"
Her warm breath on his stomach unleashed a soft groan from deep inside him, and she dared a kiss just right of his navel, moving her lips along the edge of his scar just as he'd done with hers. This was far more than a prelude to sex now, he knew that, had known it from the moment she'd sauntered into his restaurant, challenged his recipes and bloodied his nose. This was intimacy, a baring of souls as well as bodies, the merging of separate sorrows into a union of unlikely hope.
"The way you're kissing me, I may not survive such luck."
She opened her mouth over skin that had been burned and dared an outright lick.
"Then it's a good thing I'm a doctor."
His chuckle morphed into a curse as her lips and tongue continued to soothe marked flesh, and she drew back, granting him a view of her breasts that nearly did him in on the spot. Her fingers moved to his fly, and she shot him a look he couldn't misread. He nodded at her unspoken question, watching as trembling fingers unbuttoned his jeans, her unhurried pace making him call upon every ounce of self-restraint he possessed. She paused once his jeans hung loose around his waist, licking her lips as his very obvious erection pressed out through the gap.
"You are in bad shape, aren't you?" she quipped, almost able to disguise her own nerves but knowing she hadn't quite. He grabbed her hand as she moved to touch him, drawing her fingers away from where he throbbed for her, holding her hand to his navel as he tried to speak.
"You'd better stand," he stated, clearing his throat yet again. "Your mouth being so close to me like that, I'm afraid that if you touch me, I'll explode."
She grinned up at him, a self-satisfied sparkle in her eye notching his desire up yet another notch. God, he was going to combust if he didn't get his hands on her again, and she knew it-she fucking well knew it. He practically pulled her to her feet, groaning as she managed to slide one side of his jeans down his upper thigh on her way up.
"Let me," he managed, tugging the jeans off unceremoniously and kicking them into the corner. She laughed then, a husky, gorgeous sound that squeezed his heart as well as stiffened his cock.
"If you're laughing at Mr. Happy here, please lie and tell me it was something else."
The flicker of insecurity in his own eyes removed any last reservations she had, and she stepped into his arms and stood there, chest to chest, eye to eye, her fingers weaving themselves into his hair as she nudged his nose with her own.
"Mr. Happy is no laughing matter," she breathed, feeling him shudder as her words caressed his cheek. "But there is something I have to know before we go any further."
His fingers paused around the waistband of her slacks, and he stared back at her, swallowing audibly. He was rock hard against her thigh, watching her intently as he purposefully held himself in check as best as he could.
"What is it?"
His tone had dropped an octave or more, his words coming out as more of a growl than a sentence. She traced his beard with her index finger, taking her time along his jawline until she reached his lips. He drew her finger into his mouth again, sucking, nipping, toying with her as he clasped her hand within his and began to make love to each finger in turn. Some primal noise escaped her, and she pressed herself into his chest, allowing her nipples to rub against the soft smattering of blonde hair that decorated his physique. The sensation was highly erotic, and she lost herself again as his tongue and mouth fucked her fingers, her core now on fire as it sought the glorious friction only he could give her.
"Regina…"
He'd stopped sucking on her and was panting hard and unevenly into her shoulder. She knew he was hovering on the point of no return, and the plea in his expression squeezed her heart just as his left hand moved to palm her ass.
"Ask me. Please. Whatever it is. I...I need…"
He was sweating as his forehead touched down to her own, his breath hot and ragged, his palm kneading her rear in an irregular pattern that made her burn. She cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose, trying to center her own mind as well as his.
"Tell me you got rid of the motorcycle."
He gazed back at her in confusion for a moment, watching her intently until her hand again found scarred flesh.
"Tell me," she urged, allowing her fingers to dip into the waist of his boxer briefs. "I need to know if you're still putting yourself at risk like…"
"It didn't survive the crash." The words rushed out of him, and he felt her relax in his arms. She'd been concerned about him-truly concerned, and he kissed her briefly, unable to slacken the desperate thirst for her making him feel more sexually dehydrated by the moment. "And I decided not to purchase another one. Roland had just been born, and I had too much to live for."
He watched as she processed his words, her expression unwavering, her eyes lasering in on him as she seemed to be making some sort of decision. He hoped he'd said the right thing, knowing he wouldn't lie to her about something like this, and he wondered for a millisecond if sex had been stricken from the night's menu
That's when her mouth crashed into his.
He couldn't breathe for a few seconds, but he didn't care. Who needed air when a woman like Regina was breathing life back into his body? Tongues went crazy, hands went everywhere, and they somehow tumbled on to his bed, lying side by side until he moved on top of her and wiggled his eyebrows just so.
"I'm taking these off," he stated, sliding his thumbs in her waistband and giving her pants a hard tug. He pulled them off her legs and tossed them unceremoniously to the floor before moving back up her body and touching black lace and silk, the only thing now covering where she was already wet with need. She nodded and bit her lip in anticipation, shaking as he drew the fabric down her legs, placing kisses along her inner and outer thighs on his way down and back up her body.
"Robin, I…" She wanted him there, between her legs, against her core, licking her, urging her ever upward, but she couldn't ask, not yet, not for something so intimate and personal. It was only their second date, for God's sake, but she wanted him to go down on her and make her come until she couldn't see straight.
"What is it?" He raised his head as he nudged her panties to the floor, his palms rubbing her upper legs in a soothing motion that only made her need more acute. "Is there something you want me to do?"
She was nodding before she could think, but she couldn't bring herself to ask him, not this early in their relationship, not their first time. Her cheeks burned as his strokes moved further up her legs, his thumbs now curving inward and dangerously close to where she wanted him, and she moaned as one toyed with her curls, relaxing her legs so they opened slightly of their own accord.
He took immediate advantage of the situation, dropping his lips to her inner thighs, teasing her, coaxing her, baiting her until she arched upwards and fisted the quilt, begging for his mouth without saying a word. He nudged her legs further apart, feeling no resistance to this action, and he tested the waters further as he nudged his nose between her legs ever so gently, daring a kiss to her swollen clit that nearly made her bounce off the mattress.
"Is this what you want, Regina? Do you want me to kiss you again?"
Her eyes had rolled back in her head, and she made herself breathe in and out, her head nodding as she tried to find her voice again.
"Yes," she managed, licking her lips, her hips now pulsing upwards on their own. "Please."
He grinned before kissing her just below her navel, taking his time with her as his mouth moved lower inch by inch. He used his thumbs to spread her open, inhaling the scent of her sex before his lips made contact yet again.
She hissed, pressed her chest up towards the ceiling, needing stimulation to her nipples, half-afraid to touch them herself in front of him but needing to all the same.
"More," she uttered, wondering if he would consider her greedy until she felt his chuckle against her swollen heat.
"You want more than a simple kiss, don't you?"
He was teasing her, the cocky bastard, and any shyness she'd felt melted away at that moment. One hand moved into his hair, raising his face towards hers as her other hand cupped her own breast. He ogled her hungrily as she squeezed her own nipple, and she did it again, emboldened by the raw desire burning in his eyes.
"You are trying to kill me, aren't you?" he muttered, his voice catching in his throat. "First my nose, then kneeling in front of me, and now…"
Darts of pleasure zinged from her nipples to her clit, and she rocked her hips towards his face, her insides winding themselves up even tighter as he let out a guttural moan.
"You like watching me do this?"
She pinched herself and rolled her nipple between her finger and thumb, feeling sexier by the moment as he stroked her outer thighs and licked his lips suggestively.
"My new favorite program," he muttered, cutting off any retort she could have conjured by kissing her sex open-mouthed. "I'll never miss an episode again."
She tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a whimper as his lips and teeth nipped and teased her inner thighs, tightening the already taught coil between her legs.
"You're good at this," she panted, practically jumping out of her own skin when he licked his lips slowly.
"Well, I do own a restaurant," he murmured, his nose toying with her pubic hair, her inner thighs, everywhere but where she was throbbing and ridiculously wet. "So I do know a few things about eating out."
She chuckled then, her laughter abruptly halted as his mouth finally descended on her core. He nibbled her with his lips around her opening, across her hood, on her clit, ending with a delicious hard lick that made her toes curl.
"And sipping," he continued, his tongue working a circle over her opening. "I'm also quite good at sipping."
His tongue slid inside her then, and she yelped as his own heat met her own. A deep burn took root in her stomach as he fucked her over and over with his tongue, the sensations becoming more shocking and acute the second his thumb found her clit again and began to rub.
"I think…" she tried, pausing to catch her breath when his free hand reached up and clasped on to her left nipple.
"Hmm?" he mumbled, the vibration of his voice tickling her labia.
"I think this...this is more...than sipping."
He chuckled again as the first tinglings or orgasm began to lap at her insides.
"You're right," he breathed, pausing mid-lick. "This is feasting."
His pace moved from hungry to famished, and he devoured her as he would a nectarine, making her writhe, making her curse, ,making her bite her lower lip as he refused to let up even when the first spasms hit her. A noise she didn't recognize keened up and out of her body, and he clasped her hips to keep her in place as he prolonged her orgasm and drank in her juices. She couldn't stand it anymore-the pleasure was too much, too strong, and she shoved his face back and away from her, trying to catch her breath again as his mouth made its way up her stomach.
"You taste amazing," he murmured just over her scar. "Best meal I've had in years."
She clutched his face and drew him to her, tasting herself on his lips and tongue, pressing into his palm that now gently cupped her left breast, feeling sexier than she had in forever. She was hot all over, sated yet still needy, still wanting, craving all he had to offer, wanting to feast on him. Her hand moved down his torso and encircled his penis, and she reveled in the feel of steel sheathed in velvet, something she wanted inside her now.
"My turn," she hummed, giving him a squeeze that prompted him to kiss her with a passion she'd never quite experienced.
"Later," he said as his mouth moved from her mouth to just below her ear. "I really need to be inside you. Please."
His please cracked open a place inside of her she'd forgotten existed, and a sweetness spread over her insides like warm honey. She guided him towards her to where she was ready and eager, and he moaned at the contact, his teeth scraping her earlobe.
"Okay," she returned, her mouth grazing the side of his cheek. "Yes. Good."
He stalled her momentarily, raising up and blinking as if trying to bring the world back into focus.
"Should I..," he began, breaking off as her fingers found his tip, her thumb rubbing his pre-cum across his head, making it nearly impossible to think. "Condom?"
"Are you clean?"
He nodded as her teeth scraped the underside of his jaw, cursing as her tongue found where he was most sensitive and worked him over good.
"So am I." She laid her head back onto the mattress and gazed back at him with eyes he could drink in the rest of his life. "I'm infertile. You've had a vasectomy…"
He didn't need hear anymore. His hips moved into position, his gaze never leaving hers, and he let her guide him to her opening, allowing her to situate him where she needed him to be before easing inside her and nearly losing it on the spot.
"God," he muttered, pausing once he'd filled her completely. "I'm already too close."
She smiled up at him as she pressed her hips up to his groin, encouraging him to move even as he struggled to rein himself in. She felt amazing, silken and wet, and she drew his face down to hers, kissing his forehead with a tenderness he'd never expected this soon in a relationship.
"It's okay," she breathed, rubbing her nose against his before dotting a kiss to the tip of it. "I didn't last long, either."
Her hands moved around to cup his ass, encouraging him to move, prompting him to slide in and out of her as he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming on the first pass.
"But I want...you...to…"
She began to rock her hips, instigating a rhythm he was helpless to fight, and he allowed her to set the tempo, one he knew would bring him to climax with just a few more strokes.
"I did," she assured him, her words throaty and hot against his ear. "And it was amazing."
He sped up then, his need taking over his mind as he hurdled over the edge with a near shout, his own body seizing as release hit him hard, his seed spilling inside of her, claiming her as his own without a word. He lay panting on top of her a few seconds longer, kissing her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, caressing softer than soft skin, taking in a woman he knew was changing the course of life as he knew it.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, watching as she shook her head and rolled their bodies until they were side to side, still joined, still connected. Her leg hooked itself over his thigh, indicating that she didn't want him to pull out just yet, and he tugged her closer, wondering how it was possible to feel so much in so little time.
"For what? Eating me out so hard I just had the best climax of my life?"
His brows quirked at that, and he stroked her cheek, looking for any tell-tale signs of exaggeration.
"I'm not lying," she assured him, her fingers sliding over his scalp. "And trust me-I don't feel cheated. Not in the slightest."
He kissed her, slow and appreciatively, the lingering haze of post-coital euphoria settling on their bodies like a soft blanket.
"Good," he muttered. "But I intend to give you another orgasm later. I want to feel you come apart while I'm inside you."
Her eyes darkened at his words, the side of her lip raising in a half-smile.
"I may let you," she breathed, her palm pressing into his chest just over his heart as he kissed her temple. "In fact, I'm sure I will."
They lay there unmoving in a silence brought on by wonder, speaking through touches, sighs, and hitched breaths, communicating on a level so intimate it felt almost sacred. He finally drew himself out of her, missing the connection immediately as he rose to grab a hand towel, and he wiped himself clean before gently pressing the cloth between her legs, staring down at her as she allowed him to touch her like this.
"Thank you." Her brow creased at his words, and she pressed herself up on her elbows. "For trusting me, for allowing me to see…"
Her index finger traced the scar that had nearly kept her from allowing all of this to happen, and she swallowed hard, completely immersed by the gentle nature of this man who was making her heart finally come to life.
"Thank you," she uttered, swallowing again. "For seeing past it."
She watched emotion play over his face, melting as his eyes creased and he moved back in to lie beside her. He scooped her hand up into his, kissing each knuckle before hitching his eyes onto hers.
"Nothing to see past," he whispered. "It's just a part of you, and that makes it beautiful."
Pressure built steadily behind her eyelids, and she blinked as a tear broke free, emotion clogging her throat as he rolled to his side and cupped her shoulder. She suddenly wanted to tell him everything, how hard it had been for her to accept the fact that she lived because another person died, how she'd been wearing guilt as an all-consuming shroud since she walked out of the hospital and into a new life, how she constantly wondered why her life was spared when another's was taken away. But then he drew her in closer and ran his fingers through her hair, and she couldn't speak, didn't want to break this moment as the heart that beat steadily in her chest finally began to feel like it truly belonged there.
"Why don't we rest now," he suggested, wiping the dampness from her cheek. "It's well past my bedtime, and I'd bet it's past yours, too."
She spied the clock over his shoulder which alerted her to the fact that it was nearly one a.m.
"I had no idea it was that late," she managed, sniffing softly as she wiped her eyes, allowing his body heat to soothe nerves and muscle.
"We've kind of been occupied."
His half-grin made her laugh, and he leaned in and kissed her cheek before moving his mouth lower to her lips, his pressure no more than that of a sparrow's wings. She was drowning in him, in this man who'd waltzed into her life and reworked everything before she'd had the chance to think twice about it, but she didn't care. She wanted to submerge herself in him-in this-in allowing her heart to be more than just a substitute ticker for the one that hadn't been strong enough to keep her alive. She'd forgotten what it was like to feel it expand and hum to new stirrings, to allow it to pump emotion and uncertainty alongside blood and what she believed to be safe.
"I guess you could say that," she agreed, allowing him to pull the quilt over them and ease her into his chest. "Otherwise occupied."
"I'll occupy you again in the morning if you'll allow me," he breathed, her nod prompting him to kiss her fully before exhaustion weaved its way around entangled limbs, binding them together in an invisible manner neither could see but both felt keenly. Her lids gradually grew heavy as his breathing steadied beneath her cheek, and she listened as his heart beat steadily against her ear, a reassuring thump-thump that somehow pulsed in time with her own, lulling her to sleep as if it were a lullaby composed just for her.
He certainly made good on his promise.
Regina awakened to something hard pressing against her belly, and she smiled as she tried to focus her vision, wrapping her hands around him and squeezing until he groaned.
"What time is it?" she muttered as his mouth encircled her nipple. She arched into him, vaguely wondering if she should do something about her morning breath when his fingers slid down and began to stroke her lightly.
"We slept in," he hummed, dragging his lips from one breast to the other, working the second nipple into a tizzy as his free hand took over for the one his mouth had abandoned. "It's after eight."
She managed some sort of acknowledgement, the time suddenly irrelevant as his finger found her clit and began to rub in small circles. She cried out as sensations became acute in record time, as the dizzying loop of nerve endings running between her breasts and her sex shot into warp-speed without warning.
He realized this and backed off, staring down at her as her nails pressed into his shoulders, as her face scrunched in need.
"God, you're gorgeous," he said, notching up her frustration at the lack of friction just where she needed it. Then he was pressing against her, and she opened her legs further, her face relaxing as she guided him inside her with a sigh that bordered on desperation.
He could almost come from simply watching and hearing her alone.
"You feel amazing," she murmured into the crook of his neck, her last word devoured as his mouth covered hers. The kiss was sloppy, a tangled maze of tongues and lips still fettered by the clumsiness of sleep yet eager for morning's consummation.
"You're beyond words," he managed, his lips sliding down her neck, open and wet, making her feel far sexier than she should first thing in the morning as her hips began to rock in time with his. "I'm still half-terrified I'm going to wake up, and you'll be gone."
He tilted his angle slightly, his cock finding and rubbing her in just the right spot. She moaned, her arms drawing something pornographic down his back on their way to his ass where she cupped him hard and encouraged him to continue.
"Right here?" he asked, as she nodded and bit her lower lip as flutterings began to intensify, and her body chased after more. He sped up, pumping harder as his mouth sucked her neck and his fingers toyed with her nipple, and her eyes squeezed shut as she climbed higher and higher, straining towards what lay just over the approaching horizon, one she hurdled over with a shout of his name.
"Christ," he muttered as she came apart around him, and he held her closer, feeling complete as she unraveled, wanting more of her even as his own body drew closer to release. He was riding her hard now, and it only seemed to prolong her orgasm, one that was now waning just as he exploded inside her. He grunted and pressed in several more times before stilling over her body and kissing her, welcoming the taste of morning on lips he knew he wanted to kiss for the rest of his life.
"Good morning to you, too," she murmured, her tone husky and satisfied as she traced a nail up and down his spine. He chuckled and practically collapsed on top of her, kissing her chest, her scar, her heart, still dazed at how it was possible to feel so much after so short a time.
"You're still here."
His hands squeezed her shoulders as his fingers moved into her hair, combing back off of her face, making her wonder just what it looked like this time of the morning just after another round of sex.
"Did you want me to leave?"
Tone arms encircled her torso as his mouth claimed hers, and he kissed her thoroughly, deeply, leaving her in no doubt of where he wanted her to be.
"No," he whispered as his nose brushed hers. "I'm fairly certain I never want you to leave."
They touched and kissed wordlessly, reacquainting themselves with bodies bared the night before, reveling in the soft, hazy satisfaction of morning sex.
"Was that your stomach?"
She laughed as he rolled off of her and onto his pillow, chuckling with her as his arm draped over his forehead.
"I'm afraid so," he answered. "I seem to have worked up an appetite for some reason. You?"
She nodded as blue eyes gazed back at her, and he touched her nose before pressing himself into a sitting position.
"How about if I make us some breakfast?" he asked as he walked towards her side of the bed. "Pancakes? Omelets?"
"After what happened with dinner last night, maybe we should stick to cereal," she said, unable to keep from laughing as he bit his lower lip.
"Contrary to what you witnessed last night, I do have some skills in the kitchen," he contested, moving towards his dresser and retrieving a pair of checkered boxers and a gray tank top. "What strikes your fancy this morning?"
She stretched into his mattress, feeling luxurious, safe, and decadently delicious and wanton.
"Pancakes," she stated after considering her options. "If you have bacon to go with them."
"I have bacon," he assured her, returning to the bed and leaning in for a kiss.
"Trust me," she said, her tone thickening as she reached for him and rubbed her fingers along the side of his penis. "I know."
He stepped back, waving a finger at her in a mock reprimand.
"Let me cook before we start cooking again," he grinned, making his way to the bedroom door. "And help yourself to t-shirts and socks if you want them. They're in the top drawers."
She watched him saunter off towards the kitchen and allowed herself another stretch, feeling aches in muscles that had been unused for longer than she cared to admit. A smile worked its way across her face, and she giggled like a schoolgirl as she finally made herself sit up. She saw herself in his mirror's reflection, naked except for the sheet she held on to for reasons unknown. Her fingers released it, and it fell to the bed, allowing her to stare at her chest and the scar that cut through it with new eyes.
It looked different somehow here in his bedroom, and she stood and walked closer to the dresser, touching puckered skin, feeling hope where shame had once burned and dominated.
Nothing to see past.
His words warmed her even as cool air surrounded naked skin, and she reached out for the top right drawer, finding a pair of socks that looked far too large for her and exceedingly comfortable. She set them on the dresser as she opened the top middle drawer, preparing to close it when she realized she'd opened the wrong one. Personal documents, a set of keys, lotion and chapstick were in this drawer, and she began to slide it closed once again when her eyes fell on something that made the heart in her chest stop cold.
It couldn't be. God, it couldn't be.
But it was-a letter-written in handwriting she knew as well as her own, and she picked it up with trembling fingers, hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the words were unmistakable, the handwriting Henry's, the reality of what she was reading making the world spin haphazardly around her.
Dear Family,
I am writing to thank you for the gift you gave me and my mom. Two years ago, you gave her a heart, and it saved her life. Her heart was barely working, and she was on oxygen and hooked up to machines. She would be dead now, and I would be an orphan if you didn't do what you did. I know somebody you loved had to die for her to get their heart, but it saved my mom's life. And she's all I have.
She is healthy now, and I still have a mom thanks to you. So I'm sorry you lost somebody you loved. But you saved my life because you saved my mom. And that heart is still alive and beating strong. One day, maybe I can thank you in person. But for now, I hope you get this letter. I hope it makes you feel better.
Oh, God. Marian. She had Marian's heart.
Tears blurred her vision, her mind racing off in twenty different directions at once, and she stumbled around the bedroom, putting on panties, fumbling with her bra, numbly sliding on her pants and her sweater as she practically ran out of his bedroom and towards the front door, the letter hidden covertly into her pants pocket. She had to get out of his house before she suffocated.
"Regina."
His voice cut through her self-imposed haze, but she couldn't look at him, she'd break if she did. Her resolve was holding on by a thread as it was, and his eyes, his smile, his concern, he would destroy any strength she had left if she looked at him.
He would leave her with nothing.
"I've got to go." Her words were clipped, cold, but she couldn't help it as she clumsily put on her shoes and reached for her coat. "I've got to go, Robin."
He reached out and held her shoulders, smelling of coffee and breakfast, willing her to look at him even as she felt herself pulling away.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, angling his head in an attempt to see her face. "Are you alright? Is Henry-"
"I'm fine," she insisted, knowing he didn't believe her. "And you didn't do anything wrong, it's just…" She paused, wiping her cheek, giving away the tears that were streaming down her face even as she fought tooth and nail to hold herself together. "A patient."
The lie tasted foul, but it was all she could think of, and he nodded, accepting her explanation, pulling her into his chest for a long hug, one she wanted with every fibre of her being but couldn't return.
"I hope everything is okay," he muttered, kissing her on top of the head, cracking yet another piece of her soul wide open. She nodded, her tongue too thick for speech, and she let him kiss her forehead, still refusing to meet his eyes as she pulled away and practically bolted out the door, leaving him standing immobile clad in his boxers, spatula in one hand, his heart beating for her in the other.
The cold air was a physical blow, but she fought through it as she jogged to her car, not daring to look back as she threw open the door and slid inside. She fastened her seat belt, pushed the key into the ignition, turned it, and drove as fast as she safely could back to her house, thankful that Henry had stayed over at David and Mary Margaret's. There was no way in hell she'd let him see her like this.
She lived because Robin's wife had died. Roland's mother. Frankie's sister. She'd stolen the life of another woman, the woman who was supposed to be with Robin, the woman he'd chosen to marry, the woman who'd given him a child and years of happiness.
God-she was a poor substitute for a woman like that.
He'd hate her if he ever found out, and she couldn't have that, not now, not after what they'd shared last night. It sickened her to even think of him despising her, and she nearly gagged then and there on her living room floor, almost wishing she could just throw up and move on. But there would be no moving on from this, from him, not for her, anyway, not after letting him inside her in more ways than one.
He'd kissed her scar-the scar that marked where Marian's heart still beat. Not her heart-Marian's. It would always be Marian's.
It wasn't until she'd staggered up the steps and fell onto her cold mattress that she allowed herself to weep, to curl up into a ball and clutch a pillow to her stomach as new hope gushed out of her, as dreams of happiness collided with the reality she'd never wanted to accept but couldn't avoid any longer. She was a cheat-an impostor-a flimsy understudy who'd stolen the heart from a good woman and had tried to take on a starring roll with a man who was way out of her league.
Robin was meant to be with Marian. And she was meant to be alone.