Second half of their night together. Thanks for all the amazing feedback. Love writing for you guys.
"You must have some squeaky gears in there because I think I can actually hear you thinking," Regina said with the throaty laugh that made the hairs on Emma's arms stand up. "I am supposed to have blown your mind so thoroughly that you are just a gooey limp noodle in my arms."
Emma shifted in her grasp, prying her head off Regina's shoulder and propping up on her own elbow to look at the brunette, who was looking all too satisfied with herself.
"First of all, eww," Emma said in a raspy voice, scrunching up her nose. "I can't think of any image less sexy than a limp noodle. So thanks for that. And you absolutely did short-circuit my brain. But at some point in the last few minutes someone must have pounded on the fuse box. I seem to be able to form coherent thoughts once again."
"Mmm, well I guess that's good. I don't want to render such a promising young chef brain dead after our first time together. People would start thinking I'm some kind of evil sorceress," Regina said with a crooked grin. But then her faced turned more serious. "But what are you thinking about?"
"I guess I'm just lying here trying to fill in so many of the gaps—all the things I want to know about you. Like what do you love to do? How did you learn to write like that? What made you choose Granada? What are you and Henry laughing about in that picture in the den? Did you have any help raising him?"
"I can see how you're looking at me right now, Miss Mills, but you should feel honored that you piqued my interest so completely. However, I can be persuaded to wait to find out the answers to some of those questions," Emma said with a warm smile. But then she narrowed her eyes. "But there's one pressing issue, one that I need the answer to immediately. In the interest of a healthy relationship built on trust…"
Emma began to shift down Regina's body, kissing her way down her neck and chest, swiping at a nipple, and dipping her tongue into her belly button.
"Emma?"
"Mmm?" the blonde said, pulling off Regina's black lack thong and sliding it down her legs.
"You didn't tell me what the question was," the brunette said, propping up on her elbows to watch Emma's descent.
Emma had already insinuated her body between Regina's legs and was mid-lick to a creamy thigh. Then, with green eyes aimed up at brown, she whispered into her, "I think you know," and then set about dipping a tongue between her lips, circling her clit and breathing her in.
Regina's eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a rumbling, raspy moan. She forked a hand into Emma's hair, in part to pull it back out of her eyes but also to ground herself into the blonde. Emma gripped her thighs more fully and pulled them back so Regina was spread wide open for her, then licked fully up and down her exposed sex.
Feasting on this woman was beyond sexy. She looked up at her body, which was tight and toned but also soft and feminine. Her scent, the tang of her sex mixed with lavender and vanilla was delicious. And the sounds, these breathy moans and raspy whimpers, went right to her core. All of it made Emma lightheaded. So she focused more intently on her task, pleasuring her with tenacious dedication, letting out sporadic moans into her flesh, which left Regina to absorb the vibrations, pushing her closer to a careening climax.
Regina was shuddering, and Emma could see she was close. She sucked her clit fully into her mouth and released one of her thighs so she could slip two fingers—then three—inside her, thrusting with purpose in and out of her.
"Emma! Oh god. Uh!" Emma continued to finger her until Regina relaxed, her head falling back onto the pillows, her arms boneless at her sides. The blonde released her and moved back up, this time laying fully on top of her and nuzzling her neck. Emma looks down at Regina, and she was so freaking beautiful, her cheeks flushed, hair mussed, and breath fast. She was trembling slightly, and her lips were full and kissed bruised, and Emma could feel herself sinking into her.
"Emma. I can't believe… how much I want you. I've never—"
"I know. Neither have I," she told her.
"No. I'm not sure you know. You make me want to do everything at once. I…I…"
"What? What do you want?"
"I want to fuck you. And I want you fuck me. I want to ravage you. Make love to you. Sleep with you."
Her words were etched with want as she breathed Emma in and licked over her lips, and that made Emma's blood burn. Her own mouth was suddenly filled with sand. She realized with the suddenness of a car crash that she wanted all of that too, and it left her whiplashed.
Emma dove in and fit their mouths together, and when their lips touch, Regina tasting herself for the first time, the electricity sparked dangerously. But Emma didn't want it to stop. Regina wound around her, tangling fingers in the hairs at the nape of her neck.
And then it was frenzied, and lips and tongues and fingers were everywhere, indistinguishable, creating currents of sensations that left them moaning and panting and whimpering. Then Emma lifted them into an upright position so they were straddling each other, Emma planting a thigh between Regina's legs, pumping into her body, lightly at first. Then they were riding each other with abandon, limbs woven together and a sheen of sweat forming on Emma's brow.
It was intoxicating. As her orgasm approached, there was nothing else but Regina. And then Emma's body couldn't contain the sensations anymore, and she reached her threshold with an aching, guttural cry, Regina just moments behind her.
They fell back to the bed satiated, muscles gloriously aching, sweat glistening, and remnants of pleasure dampening their skin. Emma turned slightly, burrowing her face in the messy, rich locks of dark hair. Regina just laid there immobilized, fingertips the only body part with permission to move as they scratched at Emma's bicep.
Then a hearty laugh escaped Emma, shot out of a cannon into the air.
"What?" Regina breathed.
"Who's the limp noodle now?" Emma said, surfacing from the drape of hair and meeting her eyes.
Regina suddenly found the energy to move, limbs scurrying over Emma until she was straddling her hips, fingers tickling mercilessly at her ribs.
"Swan! You are so dead!"
For the first time since Saviors opened, the kitchen was in the weeds, and Emma knew she was to blame. She didn't make it in until almost 2 pm, and even though August had gotten a jump start on the food prep, there wasn't enough time to make enough espresso crusted lamb medallions for big night, and it was killing the now. Emma prided herself in her meticulous planning and prep work, but she was working at half speed.
She had strolled into the restaurant in a daze, tied on her apron, taken half-hearted inventory, and began chopping petite root vegetables at a glacial pace. She was moving so slowly that August told her to switch with him, using the hefty commercial immersion blender to prepare the parsnip puree. She was 16 pounds of parsnips and four sticks of butter in, cheek speckled with parsnip splatter, and all she could think about was waking up in Regina's bed locked in her arms just seven hours earlier.
It had been hours before they had fallen asleep, gaining confidence over the course of the night as they grew more comfortable with each other and discovered each other's bodies. Regina joked that between them they had more orgasms in one night than either of them had experienced in their entire lives, and it wasn't that far from the truth. But the chemistry and mutual attraction (and the mind-blowing sex) was only part of the night's magic.
Around 1 am, their bodies utterly spent, they had settled into each other—Regina's body wrapped protectively around Emma's—and talked softly, long into the night. Regina asked Emma about being raised in the foster system, and Emma shared more with her than she'd told almost anyone.
It broke Regina's heart, thinking of Emma growing up thinking she was unworthy of love. As Emma told one particularly heart-wrenching story of being the only child not selected by potential adoptive parents during a "Showcase Sunday," Regina subconsciously tightened her grip around the blonde, picturing a tiny 8-year-old Emma, fingers nervously twisting her pigtails and wide green eyes filled with tears.
Regina shared some of her own demons, telling a few horror stories of Cora Mills and how she'd convinced Regina after Daniel's death that love was a weakness, a mantra that had stayed with her long after she'd made peace with his passing. Emma cringed as she listened, knowing all too well the emptiness that comes with believing that love is a fairytale, something that's out of reach.
As Regina talked about Cora, Emma combed her fingers gently through her hair, hoping to counteract the pain of the memories with the tiniest bit of affection.
But Regina also told about a horse named Rocinante and explained how riding became her escape, a secret passion that one a few people knew about. She described the freeing feeling she felt when she was riding him at top speed—it was the only time in her life she could ever recall letting her guard down so completely.
Emma had let a hand drape across her breast and sweep carelessly across her tummy. Is your guard down now? she wondered, too afraid to ask the words out loud. Although they came from such opposite backgrounds, Emma marveled that they had both spent a significant portion of their lives feeling alone and unloved. But in Regina's bed in the middle of the night, being together like this was cathartic.
Emma's eyes grew heavy around 2:30, and Regina ghosted a tiny row of kisses along her shoulder and nuzzled her face into the nape of her neck.
"Good night, Emma."
"No," Emma whispered. "I can't fall asleep."
"Why not? Sleep," Regina said.
"What if this has all been a dream?"
Suddenly Emma felt sharp teeth on the fleshy part of her shoulder, and she yelped, as Regina gave her a tiny (but painful) bite.
"Ow! What the fuck, Regina?" Emma said, turning her head to scowl at the grinning brunette.
"I wanted you to be sure it wasn't a dream," she said, kissing and soothing the reddened mark. She cuddled Emma back into her arms and resumed their big-spoon/little-spoon configuration.
"You convinced me, geez," Emma grumbled, closing her eyes and relaxing her body once again.
"Sleep sweet girl," Regina whispered against her, and those were the last words she heard before she slipped into unconsciousness.
And even as the kitchen ran out of the lamb special and she could feel August's frustrated eyes burning a hole into the back of her head, she didn't regret how late they slept in or that they'd had sex again when they woke up. She wouldn't take away the Eggs Benedict she'd made for Regina or the long, lazy kisses they'd shared in the doorway as Emma tried to say goodbye. She couldn't ever remember feeling happier or more alive, and not even an unsatisfied customer or an angry sous chef was going to take her out of her blissful moment.
She glanced over at August. He had salvaged the night by pulling together a braised ground lamb in a white-wine broth over Provençal artichokes barigoule. But that meant he also had license to glower at her for the rest of the night, although in the fog of her Regina afterglow, she hardly noticed.
But as she hustled from table to table in Saviors' dining room, offering apologies to the customers for the slow service in the form of complimentary rosemary biscuits and her favorite dessert—Dates à la mode—she was able to avoid the brain-on-fire mode she felt sure was inevitable.
The craze quelled, and by 10:30 the restaurant was almost empty. Emma thanked the staff for bearing with her and sent the majority of them home (especially August), leaving her with just a dishwasher and busser, who she paid extra to help get the place back to order. And once they left, the glasses shelved, menus wiped down, salt and peppers filled, and the night's returns recorded, it was finally quiet.
And that's when the tsunami of questions finally came. What was this with Regina? What would happen next? How would David react? Was it too soon to ask her to be her girlfriend? Had it meant as much to Regina as it had to her?
As midnight approached, she opened a bottle of wine, poured herself a glass, grabbed her leather jacket, and walked outside, letting the sound of the lapping water soothe her unsettled mind. The further she got from her night with Regina, the more the doubt began to creep in, and she wondered if she had just unwittingly opened herself up to a huge rejection.
She slid her white chef beanie off her head, tossing it with intent down at the table. She hated feeling so weak and so unsure of herself. That's why she loved being in the kitchen—her sanctuary, and the one place where she never had to question her worthiness. She knew she could cook, and her instincts rarely let her down. But matters of the heart? Fuck. She was that 8-year-old with pigtails again, and it killed her.
Her phone buzzed in her apron, pulling from the spiral of self-doubt. She reached in and grabbed it, the screen lit with a series of texts.
Regina: You finished yet?
Regina: I'm cold.
Regina: Come be my blanket.
And, just like that, she felt better.
Emma: What about Henry?
Regina: He leaves for school before I even get up most mornings.
Emma: Is this a booty call?
Regina: I guess you'll have to come over and find out.
Emma: Will I seem easy if I say yes?
Regina: Not to me.
Emma: See you in a few.
Emma pocketed her phone and smiled. I'm such a goner.