"Is merlot okay?"
"Sure," he replies huskily. She glances over at him as she pours two glasses of wine, both on the large side.
It's hard to read his body language. His arms are crosses, a little nonchalantly, as he leans against the door frame from the hallway into the kitchen. His left foot is tucked casually behind his right one, and he's staring at her, his expression almost blank.
Pouring the wine, without allowing her hands to shake, is a little difficult. The adrenaline rush from kissing him in the parking lot waned a little in the ten minutes it took to get back to her place. They'd not talked. Killian had turned on the radio and she'd been glad for something other than tension to fill the air.
Once inside, she'd peeled off her coat and tossed it on the small table beside the door, heading straight for the kitchen. She'd learned at times like these, wine could be the only answer.
Times like these? Who was she kidding. It'd been a good year since she'd been in her home alone with a guy - he'd been a set up from a friend at work. He was a little dull, talked a lot about his car, but he was single with no ties - something rare when you're dipping into your early thirties. Three dates later and they'd gone back to her place for some bad drunken sex where he'd poked and prodded her body with little regard to how she was feeling. Thankfully, he'd passed out not too long into the experience, just as she was sobering up enough to realise this had been a bad idea. She'd avoided his calls after that. The experience had provided enough fuel to re-fire her belief that a satisfying relationship was just not on the cards for her anymore.
"Need a hand?"
Somehow he's stood opposite by her now- separated only by the countertop. One hand is fanned out over the marble. For a second she stares at the small, dark hairs that peek from the cuff of his shirt. She's always had a thing for dark haired guys-
"Yeah-" she begins, sliding over a glass to him as she puts the bottle aside, but then she pauses, "Killian-"
"If you've changed your mind about me being here, I can go-" he interrupts.
A quick breath later and she shakes her head, "No. Stay."
And before she can lose her renewed sense of confidence, she moves, her glass of wine forgotten, and trails around the countertop until she is by his side.
She watches him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing slowly beneath the close-cropped scruff that layers his throat. He lets out a breath that seems a little shaky. Maybe he's nervous. He doesn't seem the type, but just the idea he may be gives her the little boost needed to step closer. Wrapping her fingers over his, where they grasp the wine glass, she slowly lifts it. Bringing it to her mouth, she tips back her head a little to take a sip. He has to lean a little closer and loosen his grip a little. She licks her lips when she's , without warning, he's tugging the glass away and wrapping his other arm around her waist.
There's a second - maybe less than - where she's looking up at him through her lashes. Her heart skips a beat as she waits for him to move.
And then he kisses her.
/
He's been in a bit of a daze ever since he slipped back into his own seat. The drive back to her place was a blur: the blood and hormones thumping through his veins just about allowing enough focus to steer the car and place it into park when they arrived.
It's like he's on autopilot once they get inside. There's something about her that he just can't work out. They barely know each other, but he's so bewitched that his usual smooth tongue is firmly tied as she takes a long, slow sip of his wine.
Normally, this would be the point where he'd lay on the charm. She'd invited him back to her place, clearly she wanted him there - wanted more than a few kisses [hot kisses] in his car. But the tension between them is stretching out, like the tightening of a bow string, and all he can think to do is to take her and kiss her. Waiting just a moment to look into her eyes - to see that she really wants this - before he presses his lips to hers.
It takes only a split second before she's returning the kiss. There's a fire behind her this time, only hinted at during their earlier encounters. She's more confident, grabbing the lapel of his shirt with an urgency that takes his breath away. She rolls back against the countertop, pulling his body over hers, sliding one arm around his back and up his neck, against the skin of his scalp. It tingles where her fingers touch. A shiver pinches the top of his spine.
God she smells good. Like soap and expensive perfume.
Her hand at his collar slips down and presses against his stomach, her fingers spread wide. Her mouth follows, alternating kisses and little flicks of the tongue against his neck as he stretches back his head. Unexpectedly, she gently bites where shoulder meets neck and he can't hold back breathy sigh that slips out- one filled with pleasure and anticipation.
Now her face is buried in the v of skin exposed by his shirt. Her fingers deftly flick open a few more buttons so she can trail her damp lips over the light layer of hair. He swears his chest is going to burst - his heart is hammering so hard, he can't hear much more than its dull thud.
Vying for some control over the sensations, he tightens his hands on her waist until she gasps and pulls back. Allowing himself a brief second to admire her flushed cheeks, before he begins his own advance on the skin exposed by her blouse, pushing his hands further up towards her chest while she wraps one leg around his calf and presses their bodies closer.
His erection is getting painful. He's hard and throbbing and the only relief is the pressure of her hip as it slowly starts to rock against his. He can't wait. Not stopping for permission, her pulls apart the remaining pearl buttons, exposing a sheer, dusky pink bra. He eagerly palms one breast. It's full and firm and sends a tugging, tightening sensation to his groin.
Beneath him she's almost panting - letting out quick little breaths as she leans back over the countertop - displaying herself for him; inviting more.
/
He's all over her (not that she's complaining). Lips, hands, tongue-
The commanding way he navigates her body is powerfully attractive. She senses herself slipping further into a blissful state where she can forget, just for a moment, who she really is.
And it's glorious.
She's not Emma Swan right now, single mom with an extensive collection of business wear. She's just Emma - attractive, desired, maybe even sexy.
Caution is thrown to the wind; she relishes in his touch as his thumb runs over her nipples in turn and they tighten instantly. She lets her hips roll against his. It's painfully clear how much he is enjoying his. The hardness in his pants feels deliciously sinful pressed against her. It takes only a few seconds before she reaches down and begins to run her fingers over him through the material. She twists her hip to give herself access, but still allowing her to rut against his hip and provide barely enough friction to fire the burning need brewing in her stomach.
She can't remember the last time she felt this way.
The liberating thrill provided by an illicit encounter with a man she was so attracted to had been but a distant memory (though now thankfully refreshed). Without shame or indecision, she digs her fingers into the muscles that hide beneath his shirt, pressing in each digit, seemingly to ascertain whether he was real - this was real.
But he is - and this was happening. Her heart leaps victoriously when she feels his lips move down her neck and his tongue snakes a path across her décolleté, taking a moment to run along her collar bones before a cautious hand joins his lips to urge the sheer lingerie lower over her breast until he exposes a nipple. She shivers when she feels his breath gliding over the bare skin. Boldly, she thrusts her chest further forward into his embrace, letting him know what she wants from him and he quickly provides.
/
Everything is a little fuzzy and indistinct. The warmth generated by both bodies is searing hot. Though the kitchen is large and airy, tonight it feels suffocating.
Seeking some respite, he begins to steer their bodies towards the living room. His mouth is occupied in teasing her exposed breast into an erect peak. He stops a moment, nursing it with his tongue so he can check her expression for agreement. Her mouth is open and her eyes lidded and soft. She looks up at him, an expectant air on her face.
She wants more. He says a little false prayer to some god he doesn't believe in, when she drops her leg from where it grasps his and entangles her arms around his neck. Lips fuse, and they stumble through the darkened doorway into the hall, before finally they emerge where intended; the room lit with the sultry glow of a lamp left dimly burning.
Knowing the room intimately, when he its mere acquaintance, she guides them to the soft, plush couch where just a week or so ago they had mulled over the costs of soda and dips. Now everything other than her and the moment is far from his mind, a distant afterthought, as he crashes down against her, enjoying the gentle moan she gives as he settles atop her body. Immediately he returns his attentions to the skin he exposed. She assists him, slipping undone the last button of her blouse with shaking fingers as he concentrates on lavishing the as yet untouched breast with the same attentions its partner received.
/
Selfishly relishing in his touch, her hands rest almost limply on his shoulders as her foot toys against his calf. Absentmindedly she toes off her heels, shifting her lips beneath him until she is comfortable enough - cocooned between the least weight of his body and the soft couch beneath. Her skirt is too tight to grasp him any better. She wriggles a little, tugging up the heavy material just as his teeth scrape over the thin flesh of her nipple, jolting a sharp moment of pleasure right through her whole body, making her tense beneath him as he nuzzles against her chest. His soft hair brushes against the underside of her breast as he moves lower. It tickles a little when it touches her flushed, over-sensitive skin.
Right now, she's painfully aware that neither of them has spoken yet. Maybe if they did then this would stop? Maybe he doesn't talk… during times like these. Maybe she's just thinking about this too much. Thoughts tumble through her mind like errant raindrops in a unexpected wind.
The maybes die when his kisses reach her stomach and his hand starts to slide up her thigh. His movements are slower again - hesitant almost, just like earlier in the kitchen. He looks up, her eyes meeting his just as his lips pull away from the rounded skin of her stomach. They are a deep, berry pink from all the kisses. She is almost hypnotized by the way they fasten to her skin, peeling away so slowly, so erotically, that she holds her breath in anticipation.
It takes a second to understand he's asking if she wants more. God yes, she wants to scream out loud! But speaking seems impossible right now, so instead she fixes him with a lustful stare, the best she can muster, letting him know that she is on exactly the same page.
Rising up the stockinged skin of her leg, his hand induces an involuntary flinch when it reaches the inner section of thigh, where her legs meet and she feels hot and damp. It's been so long since another hand had touched her intimately, and certainly since she had wanted that touch so much. She feels his hands spread out over her hips as he bunches the skirt further up her waist. For a second, she feels too exposed. She curses her mismatched black panties and worries that maybe this is a mistake… But then he is massaging her gently through the twinned fabrics, one digit seeking out the most sensitive spot as his other hand begins to peel down the flesh toned nylons she is wearing.
The sensation of his short, neat nails dragging over her thighs only heightens the expectancy brewing within her. He seems to be taking his time, but maybe that's just because right now every second feels like an hour, as she lays, clothes array, nestled on her chocolate brown couch, a little scared but much more eager, reflecting on how the evening is progressing.
Caressing each leg as he removes the tights, he began pressing small kisses as he works his way back up her body. The touch of his tongue is cool and soft when it darts out from between his lips as he lays his trail. He seems well adept at these kinds of seductions. She shouldn't be surprised - he is handsome and charming, or course he would have-
The thought evaporates when a kiss is pressed against her panties, just where the dampness from her wanting is exposed. It's followed by a firm tongue against her throbbing clit, making her clench her fingers and spread her legs. He moves his attentions in small circles, dampening further the black cotton. One hand is pressing her hips into the couch, the other slipping under the outline of the material, running back and forth along the lace trim, teasingly slipping over her hidden skin beneath while making her writhe in barely contained pleasure.
She's gone to the world as he stops a moment to pull the now sodden underwear down. Not as reverently as earlier. Instead they are quickly dispensed of and he is back nestled in the embrace of her hips, lying partly on his stomach and half on the floor; the couch not long enough to accommodate them both.
A hand cups her ass and drags her a little closer to him. She starts at the contact, warm fingers feeling strange against the cool skin. His hands are large, she thinks briefly, and strong.
/
Every breath, every moan, every gasp is almost too much to bear. She's responding to him so keenly he's all at once fascinated and completely turned on.
The first taste of her is heavenly, her musky sweetness filling his mouth and nostrils, making him harden impossibly. Beneath his fingers, her soft warm skin buzzes. There's a gentle rocking of her hips that accompanies each action - he pauses only for a second when his tongue returns to her swollen clit. He circles it, listening for her changing breaths, smiling to himself when one hand finds its way to fist in his hair. Next, he moves to small flicks of his tongue, alternating with gentle suction, his hand meandering down her thigh and back up between her legs, one finger probing her dampness before easily slipping inside.
She's so tight; he bites back a groan. He runs his finger along the ridged muscles, warm and hot and so inviting he imagines how it would feel to be truly inside her. He presses himself against couch, trying to relieve the growing tension with a little friction of his own.
As he loses himself in his thoughts and his actions, he begins to rub against her inner walls, paying attention to her responses until he is sure he has found the spot. Slowly at first, he presses his finger against it. When she rocks her hips harder, he turns the pressure into a slow, continuous movement, only broken to add a second, more filling finger.
The coordination between mouth and hand is something he mastered long ago, but for some reason today he finds it difficult to restrain his own responses. Rutting into the sofa harder with each movement, his fingers become slicker as her soft moans become more urgent.
/
She finds herself biting back her responses when his lips finally settle between her legs. It's been a while and the slightly foreign sensation is at once startling but undeniably welcome. In only seconds she's tilting her hips in time with his movements, gently urging him on as she bites on her lips and fights the compulsion to look down at him: because that's when it would become really real.
Her son's home room teacher is going down on her on her couch.
Lazily, he swirls his tongue between her folds, savoring her, the hand that had pulled her towards him, now drawing soft circles on her hip she begins to breathe heavily, unable to hold back her appreciation. Each wispy breath cools her: a fitting antidote to the burning she feels.
The sudden presence of a finger pressing at her entrance makes everything so much more intense. She flexes against the mild intrusion. He's gentle and tender, and at the same time firm and demanding. He finds her g-spot quickly - he must notice the way she finches when he presses there. Her toes automatically ball together and the air seems to thicken around them. Slowly she lets her self look.
The dim lamplight is giving the room a close and intimate feel; beams of yellow light dance on the strands of his hair. His arms are grasped around her thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh. She watches his head rock in time with his ministrations, his deliciously messed up tresses making her feel all the more sexy.
"Oh God," slips out when he adds another finger. A second later he looks up, his mouth still buried within her, his eyes heavily lidded. She feels her stomach drop, like the air has been taken from her lungs and she's falling…
He looks so into it, her state of arousal doubles in intensity. As their eyes stay drawn together, he circles her clit more firmly, rocking his fingers deeper into her, building that impossible rise, deep within her gut.
Inside she is twisting and turning. She's not sure what's doing it - his mouth, his hand, the way he is looking at her. But this sensation is deeper than a usual climax feels. She can't pinpoint how exactly. Yet the more he stares, the hotter her cheeks become; the harder he works her body and demands she give in - the more she knows she's gone.
/
There's something about her eyes. Light green, with flecks of golden brown, they seem different in every light. From his current angle, they look almost black - the dim light washing out the colour and replacing it with monotoned darkness, rimmed with long lashes. Her lips remain parted as he watches her. Every action of hers is becoming more rigid, more sharp, more desperate. Her feet press into the couch beside his chest, almost holding him in place. The rocking of her hips continues, her breathing is getting heavier, but their eyes never leave each other.
He knows she is close. She's flexing against his hand, her muscles gearing up. It's surprisingly intense. His limbs are becoming numb where they rest on the floor, but it's not like he cares. He wants this - so much. The lack of sensation just focuses him more.
Killian Jones could never have been called a selfish lover. He likes his partners to enjoy themselves, but it's admittedly mainly as a boost to his own ego. Yet today he wants it for her. For this woman, who seems to have no idea how sexy and lovely she is. He wants her to come - hard.
He needs her to.
/
Emma wants to know what's going on behind those hazy blue eyes. They are fixed and intent - become indistinct to her as time crawls on and she feels her will to stay focused waning and her desire to just give in starting to win. It's gotten to the point that she's not even sure what he is doing. All his movements have become one. Then the wave is rising, cresting-
She pants out her last few breaths, drawing back her legs as the rippling muscles threaten to tear her apart - rising from deep within her gut, spreading out until her fingertips tingle and her toes feel numb. It comes in waves, gently waning like a lapping tide, making her eyes slip closed and a buzzing rise in her ears.
Until everything is silent.
/
Her taste is tart on his lips. He brushes them against the back of his hand as she presses her hips into the soft cushions, riding out the remains of her orgasm. Seeing her disintegrate in front of him is one of the most erotic experiences he has had. It's intimate and arousing. Slowly, he slips his fingers from her grip, taking his time to move up her body until they are face to face.
Gently, her eyelids flutter open. Shyly, Emma looks at him and then blushes. It's awkward for a second, until he drops a kiss on her lips. She lets out a slow breath, punctuated by a quiet, "Hi."
"Hi," he whispers back, unable to hold back the smile that licks at the corners of his lips.
He's strangely content to just lie there, wrapped up together, her body warm and comforting, his mind replaying the scenes of her unraveling before his eyes. Yes, his body wants more - he's hard and ready - but it's overridden by the moment. Startled he realises he likes this. He likes they way she feels, the way she smells: the little dreamy smile on her lips while she's slipping back into consciousness as he nuzzles into her neck. It's enough. More than enough. He's sated in an unexpected way. So when her fingers slips down his body he freezes-
"You don't have t-"
"I want to," she whispers in his ear, his gut clenching.
Gently gripping her face, he pulls her back so their darkened eyes meet again. Quietly, he searches her face, feeling a strange combination of anticipation and fear. This is unfamiliar territory.
"I like you," he finally admits.
"I like you too," she replies, moving to kiss him again.
"No but-" he pauses and thinks. But what? "I think we should go on a date?" He's said it before he has even processed the idea fully. A date. Dinner. Dancing maybe. Then he remembers-
The bet.
The arrangement with Robin hangs heavy around his neck. An internal conflict of right and wrong starts to wage war inside him. What is he doing? Why is he doing this-
"Are you asking me out?" she smiles: radiant, beautiful, devastating.
Her hands are on his hips. Slowly, he dampens his lips with his tongue. "Yes."
"Okay," she whispers, reaching up to snatch a kiss as her fingers find his belt.
Part of him says this is wrong- he wants her to touch him, so badly, but simultaneously there's a seeping guilt that this has all began under false pretences -
Then his belt is snatched away and all arguments die.
/
Her climax has left a soft, damp glow on her skin that permeates deep inside - and the only thing she wants now is to return the favour. She wants to see his eyes roll back into his head. To have his name on her lips. Have him begging for more.
It's an awkward shuffle as they switch places and his pants are unzipped and tugged roughly below his ass. Soon he's resting up on his elbows, watching her.
She pushes up his shirt, letting her palms slide over his stomach. The hair hinted at by his collar covers it. She's never been one much for that, but on him it's ridiculously sexy. Settling between his legs, she circles him with on hand. He's thick and hot and she nuzzles her lips over his tip - enjoying the velvety softness and warmth. Waiting, toying with him, seems a little cruel. So she wraps her lips around him, eagerly taking his length into her mouth - just a little at first so she can run her tongue along his tip. He tastes salty and judders at the contact, flexing in her grip.
Stuttered groans fill the air. Her hand presses against his stomach, grazing her nails over his skin, just enough for him to tense against her. She pulls him deeper into her mouth, her hand still rocking against the exposed hardness.
It's a dance of his moans and gasps, accompanied by swirls of her tongue and gradual increases of pressure. She lets him guide her, a hand slipping into her hair, working in tandem to find the perfect rhythm.
/
God, her mouth feels divine. She's a little cautious at first. Her touches are light and slow. But it doesn't take much until he's putty in her hands, unable to restrain his vocalisations as he's drawn deeper into the delicious soft heat of her mouth. Her tongue is talented - lapping against him, pressing and flicking the skin - keeping him guessing as to her next move.
His hand moves her into a rhythm that he copies with a slight roll of his hips. It's just enough to build him closer and closer - yet still allowing him to relish the sensations. He's lifting out of his body. The heaviness of his limbs subsides. Tension inside him grows quickly. He doesn't want to give in to it just yet, but it seems hopeless.
She presses him deeper into her mouth until he can feel the walls of her throat encroaching.
It's too much to bear-
He can't stop it.
"Emma I-"
She moves harder, quicker, before pulling back and working out his orgasm with her hand. The world explodes behind his eyes into bright sparks. He mutters indecipherable words as the tension inside him dissolves into pure pleasure.
He comes around a few moments later. She's smiling again, shyly. He runs a hand through his hair, blinking a few times; what's just happened slowly sinking in.
"Thank you," he whispers, at a loss for what else to say. She laughs at that - almost girlishly. He feels the little tension remaining between them waning.
"Thank you," she replies as she stands and straightens her skirt. "I just-" she gestures to her hand and he almost blushes. Both are sticky and damp from his release. She slips out of the room for a second and he uses the time to compose himself - sitting up and trying to act normal - as normal as he can with his pants around his ass and a half soft erection on display.
"Here," she says when she returns. A damp towel is placed in his hands. It's a little awkward as he cleans up - he can see she is trying not to look. It only takes a minute and he is tucking in his shirt and locating his belt where she has tossed it on the floor.
He gives her a glance as he stands - belt in one hand, towel in another. A smile is exchanged once more: in part lustful, in part sweet. It takes a minute fold up the towel and rethread his belt. Emma's shirt is rebuttoned, but untucked, both sport mussed up hair and bright eyes.
In bare feet he's a good five inches taller than her. He walks around the couch - she's standing with her arm resting on the back, she's drawing the toes of one foot across the carpet, seemingly at a loss for what to say. He tries to help. "That was… unexpected," he admits.
"Yeah," she whispered lightly. "I don't, you know, do this-"
He nods. Maybe he should lie and say him neither?
"But I don't regret it," she adds, taking away the need for him to respond.
"Neither do I."
His hands move to her shoulders but then a clock chimes.
"It's late…"
"Maybe I should be going," he sighs. She nods but doesn't move.
Deep breaths and meaningful stares stretch out the moment. He doesn't really want to leave, not now-
"I'll show you out," she finally replies.
They silently walk to the door, she turns the lock but her hand pauses on the handle.
"So…"
The goodnight kiss is designed to catch her off guard and he feels a rush of satisfaction when it succeeds. A second his hands cup her face, she stills a moment before eagerly kissing him back, just long enough to leave them both a little breathless.
They rest a moment, cheek to cheek, her fingers toying with the hair that nips at his collar where it trails down the back of his neck. She feels good in his arms. He doesn't want to let go.
Reluctantly, he loosens his grip.
"Goodnight," he presses another delicate kiss on her mouth, "I'll call you tomorrow - okay?"
"Sure."
Then he's outside and the door is closing. A lingering look passes. His stomach tingles. A sense of loss pervades around him as he walks to his car. It's strange and unexpected. His mind struggles to process his thoughts and feelings.
This is different, this is new-
He needs to talk to Robin.
/
She floats to bed on a natural high. She can still feel him - his lips, his hands-
Denying her attraction is futile. But it's more than that-
She likes him.
It doesn't take long to drift to a sated sleep.
She dreams about him.
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