The silk blouse falls to the floor, a puddle of steel blue around Regina's navy pumps. She feels her cheeks burn with something like shame, but it can't compare to the heat that's building between her thighs.
"Skirt," Emma commands, and Regina feels her hands moving to the zipper before she can think about it. The gun moves again, this time twisting against the soft flesh beneath Regina's chin. The navy material falls on top of the shirt, and Regina finds herself wishing she'd worn something more substantial, something that wouldn't leave her already trembling in her lingerie and stockings in her own kitchen. Emma, however, is raking her eyes up and down, clearly enjoying the view.
"The counter," Emma snaps, clearly embarrassed at having been caught staring so noticeably. "Palms flat, and bend."
"Go to hell," Regina snipes again, but her heart isn't in it. She can already feel her knees tensing in anticipation, her own body reacting to the promise of what Emma might have in store for her. Regina's not entirely sure she won't be left mortified and wanting here on her kitchen counter, but it's a risk she's all too willing to take.
"Move," Emma says, and although she takes the gun back to allow it, tucking the weapon momentarily in the waistband of her skin-tight jeans. When Regina resists a moment longer, out of sheer, dumb principle, she soon finds Emma's hand tugging at her hair.
"That hurts," Regina hisses, but she bends under the force of Emma's grip, and when Regina places her palms on the counter to brace herself, she swears silently that it's just instinct.
"Good," Emma grunts, and when she moves fully behind Regina she isn't slow in kicking her feet further apart. "Maybe you'll learn a damn lesson."
"I doubt you have anything to teach me," Regina bites back, unable to stop herself just like so many times before.
"Really?" Emma asks, her knuckles suddenly trailing up Regina's inner thigh. As she crosses to the opposite leg, it's not skin but cool metal that Regina feels touching her. She gasps, forgetting herself for a moment.
"You're not-" Regina starts to question, but the thought dissolves in another sharp gasp as the metal trails north again, this time pressing against the silk of her underwear with all too clear intent. "Fuck," she mutters into the crook of her arm practically able to hear the smirk that must now be present on Emma's stupid, gorgeous face.
Emma's fingers replace the gun a moment later, once she's satisfied that Regina isn't trying to wriggle out of position.
"Soaked through already?" Emma sighs, and it sounds almost dreamlike. "I should have guessed."
"Don't flatter yourself," Regina says through gritted teeth, but then the pads of Emma's fingertips press a little harder on top of Regina's clit, and she decides to stop fighting that particular battle quite so hard. She's burning, all over, with the need for something more than teasing.
"You know you deserve to be punished, right?" Emma asks, and the tenderness in her voice is as shocking as it is uncomfortable. The second's hesitation that says Emma is a good person, that betrays her unfairly gained knowledge of everything that Regina is and what she's already lived through.
"Yes," Regina snarls, squeezing her eyes closed against the stinging of tears that she will not shed.
The crack of Emma's palm against her ass is the response, and Regina jumps at the contact, almost stumbling in the heels that Emma hasn't told her she can take off yet. Another smack lands before Regina can catch her breath, on the other cheek this time, and this time she can't bite back the little cry of pain.
"I thought you'd hold out longer," Emma mocks. "Or at least have a higher tolerance." She rains the blows one after the other, her fingers tensed and flicking upwards as each slap lands, making it sting as much as possible; clearly, she's done this before.
"I can take it," Regina taunts, shifting her hips, letting them roll suggestively into the next touch of Emma's palm. "If you can hold out."
The next smack is particularly vicious, right on the overly sensitive skin at the very top of Regina's thigh. That one she pulls away from instinctively, hissing through her teeth at the flourish of pain.
Emma chuckles at that, clearly too cocky in what she thinks is a victory. Regina feels the defiance take hold then, and she braces herself with a white-knuckled grip. Momentum on her side, she turns quickly to deflect Emma's next move, grabbing blindly at her wrists.
"Earn it," Regina challenges, pulling those wrists further apart to steal a kiss from Emma's waiting lips. There's no affection in it, not in the firm pressure or the invading swirl of her tongue. Emma attempts to kiss back, but Regina's already in retreat, relinquishing Emma's mouth only after nipping sharply at her bottom lip.
"You're the one who resisted arrest," Emma reminds her, just a little breathless, but not fighting her way out of Regina's grip just yet. "And the one who still wants me to fuck her. I don't have to earn anything, not when you're so willing to bend over and let me take whatever I want."
Regina feels the protest forming, but her comfortable grip on Emma is lost in a sudden tangle of limbs, and with a shift in gravity Regina finds herself landing hard against the counter, face down again. In a matter of seconds, Emma has restrained her, and Regina kicks out uselessly, unable to shake her off.
"I really am qualified for the Sheriff's job," Emma teases. "Keep pushing me and you'll find out all the other ways I can have you taken down, pinned and completely at my mercy."
"Bitch," Regina spits, already wishing she could press her thighs together to alleviate some of the building pressure. Emma's leg firmly between makes it impossible, though. Her careless insult makes Emma wrench Regina's arm just a little harder, making her shoulder sing out in a fresh jolt of pain.
"Clearly you can't be trusted," Emma sighs, sounding for all the world like a disappointed parent; it's enough to make Regina's heart sink but she shakes it off. She hears the cuffs before she sees them, although only one is fastened this time. She's about to question Emma's restraint techniques when Regina finds herself being bodily lifted up onto the counter, the cool marble a shock to her mostly-exposed skin.
Emma wastes no time in flipping Regina onto her back, before the other cuff is attached to the sturdy metal handle of the counter's top drawer. With her arm extended out to the side, it's not enough to hold Regina, but it does give her pause. (She's trying desperately not to think of crucifictions, of the lion in the books she once read to Henry that told the same story, just a little cuter.) As she prepares a mocking remark, her shoe is pulled off and a stocking is unceremoniously yanked down her leg.
A moment later, both of Regina's wrists are firmly tethered past the edge of the worktop to the drawers that were intended as nothing more than a design feature, and she strains futilely in an attempt to free herself.
"Better," Emma pronounces, finally shedding her leather jacket. She takes her gun from her waistband again, and lays it down by Regina's hip. The badge follows, its shiny gold surface mocking Regina as it catches the afternoon light and reflects against the ceiling. "Shame my nightstick is still in the car," Emma mutters, and if she's trying to make Regina shiver, it works. "Still, I can always go out and get it."
"But that," Emma says as she walks around the counter, out of Regina' sightline. "Isn't what you're hoping I'll fuck you with, is it?"
There's a rustle of fabric as Emma's top apparently comes off, and Regina hears the zipper on the jeans come down next, before a less than dignified wrestle with the tight denim begins. She's almost rolling her eyes when Emma finishes with her task, kicking her boots against the counter hard enough to make Regina jump again.
Still Emma doesn't come back into view, though, and Regina bites her lip in frustration. There's movement as Emma makes her way around the room on bare feet, and drawers open and close while Regina lies there, not so patiently waiting.
Just as Regina is ready to break the silence, Emma mutters "that'll do" and comes back to her place by Regina's legs. In her hands now Emma holds a chef's knife and a more pedestrian pair of kitchen scissors. She places them wordlessly next to the gun and badge, before unhooking her bra and shimmying out of plain black cotton panties.
"What-" Regina is asking, but Emma raises a finger in warning, before climbing up on the counter with surprising grace. On her hands and knees she leans over Regina, and it's still more menacing than intimate.
"Not so much with the questions, Regina," Emma warns. "You haven't earned them, either."
Regina doesn't get time to speak again before Emma has a firm grip on her chin, forcing Regina to look directly at her. Emma runs her thumb over Regina's lips a few times, apparently lost in thought, before pressing the finger into Regina's mouth.
"Suck," she commands. Regina bares her teeth for a moment, grazing Emma's skin, but she stops herself from biting down. When Regina's tongue touches the tip of the thumb, she surrenders and closes her lips around it, sucking slowly for a long minute before adding swirls of her tongue. Emma watches curiously, before smiling darkly at the power she holds. It's a seductive moment that Regina remembers all too well.
When she pulls her hand away, Regina fixes her mouth into a slight pout. She has no idea how much of the day has already ebbed away, as she lies trapped in her own kitchen.
"You know," Emma whispers, bending low once more to speak the words right against Regina's ear. "I can do anything I want to you now." Regina doesn't point out that she could magic herself free, if she so wished, partly because she has no intention of doing it, and partly because she isn't sure she has enough in the tank after her earlier disappearing act. Magic works differently here, and it certainly runs out a hell of a lot faster.
Then Emma's nails are grazing a line down Regina's throat, sharp enough to no doubt be leaving some angry red lines. It's only after Emma traces the line of Regina's collarbone that the fingers return to her throat, and this time there's no teasing touch, but rather the firm grip of fingers intent on pressing down hard.
"Don't you dare," Regina manages to threaten before running out of breath.
"Yeah?" Emma asks, watching Regina's face intently. She can feel her eyes starting to water, and the flush on her skin. "Because a little while ago you were downright daring me to hurt you. To kill you, in fact."
She releases her grip for a few seconds, and Regina greedily gulps down some air before Emma tightens her grip again.
"Seems to me," Emma continues. "That somebody needs to make up her fucking mind."
Regina shakes her head a little, feeling her chest get tighter as Emma refuses to release her grip and they stay like that for what feels like an impossibly long time, until darkness starts to creep in at the edges of Regina's vision, and the watering eyes turn into falling tears of something like relief.
That's when Emma lets go, kissing where her fingers have just been, tracing what will soon be impressive bruises with her tongue. She detours to the hollow at the base of Regina's throat and proceeds to lavish more attention with teeth and tongue, and it feels so base, so territorial, that Regina wants to scream. Instead, she feels herself grow even wetter between her thighs, and hates herself for it between desperate, gasping breaths.
"Now," Emma says. "I know what you want, Regina. In fact, I know exactly what you need. But you're going to do what I want first. And if you don't do it well, I'll leave you here, tied up and desperate like the slut you so clearly are."
"I'm nobody's slut," Regina growls, but Emma laughs it off. There's a pinch at Regina's hipbone and then fingers, those same bruising fingers are stroking between her legs, this time under her panties.
"The fact that you're dripping wet seems to disagree," Emma points out. "Slut," she adds, with particularly cruel emphasis. "You'll notice," Emma says as she withdraws her fingers, prompting a pathetic whimper that Regina can't hide. "That I tied you up in a certain way, right? You see, I didn't want your arms getting in my way," she continues, grabbing Regina's hair hard enough to make her wince. "When I do this."
It takes a moment or two of awkward shuffling and Emma folding her calves under Regina's arms but then Regina's whole world is reduced to Emma's wet flesh just inches from her face, and she can't think of anything but how badly she wants to touch it.
"Well?" Emma asks, wrenching her grip on Regina's hair until she cries out. "What are you waiting for?"
Regina takes a deep breath and shifts slightly to get herself in position. She's more nervous than she can remember being in a long time as she extends her tongue and takes that first, tentative taste.
Emma sighs contentedly above her, and Regina decides to hell with anything like nerves. She expresses some of her current frustration in firm lashes of her tongue, almost mimicking the slaps Emma delivered earlier, albeit with far more pleasant results.
"Oh, you're good," Emma sighs. "I'll give you that, Regina."
Regina nips lightly with her teeth for that, because the resistance is absolutely worth it, at least until Emma yanks at her hair again. That's warning enough for Regina, who focuses her attentions back on pleasing Emma.
"Good girl," Emma mocks, which should make Regina stop the rhythmic circling of Emma's clit with the tip of her tongue, but they're both too far gone for that. Instead, Regina starts to suck, because if Emma's getting off on control then Regina is absolutely going to make her lose it.
The tension in Emma's thighs suggests that she's trying desperately to hold out, but Regina is relentless and gets her there, gasping in surprise and slapping her hand uselessly against the table.
"Bitch," Emma hisses, but it doesn't sound like her heart is in it. "You're probably feeling pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren't you?" she adds, catching her breath and unfolding herself, slithering over Regina's body until she's back on her feet.
"Maybe," Regina admits, licking her lips a few times, tasting as much of Emma as she can. She'd shrug if her arms weren't too tightly bound to allow it.
"Time these came off," Emma says quite calmly, yanking Regina's soaked panties down her thighs with no ceremony at all. "And as for your bra..."
It takes a moment, but Regina follows Emma's gaze to where her dangerous toys are assembled.
"You could have just taken it off," Regina grumbles, trying not to shift at the mention of something sharp against her skin.
"Where's the fun in that?" Emma asks, and then all of a sudden she's leaning over Regina again, sharp knife glinting in the sunlight.
"Do you think you could cut out a heart?" Regina asks, in the hope that in disguises how shallow her breathing has gotten. "Do you think you would have the courage?"
"I know you didn't," Emma fires back as her eyes darken. "I knew that long before I knew who you were. We tell that story here, too."
"Delegating," Regina lies, unhappy at how Emma is still the one person who never cowers, who never accepts what Regina says without some kind of fight. Even when Henry lay in the hospital, when Regina felt the confession pulled from her against every scrap of her resistance, Emma still looked ready to deny it, to say that the sky was green simply because Regina called it blue.
"Well I," Emma continues, as though Regina hadn't answered at all. "Prefer the hands-on approach. If I want something done, I do it myself, iyour Majesty/i."
The scorn in the words is almost enough to distract Regina from the cool steel slipping under her bra strap. She expects Emma to linger, but the strap is pulled taut and sliced through in one determined motion. Suddenly the obsessive attention to detail in keeping house feels foolish, including the weekly sharpening of every kitchen knife Regina's come to rely on, even these past few weeks with no one to provide for but herself.
"Better," Emma breathes, and she stretches just a little to reach the other strap. For a moment it seems she's going to cut the rest off too, but she lays the knife in the slope between Regina's breasts and reaches behind her for the clasp instead.
Completely exposed now, Regina somehow feels better, more at ease. Her life has been lived in costumes, intentional and otherwise, but when she's naked she knows for sure who she is. Unfortunately it seems that Emma Swan knows too, judging by the glint in her eye as she picks up the knife once more, climbing back onto the counter to loom over Regina.
"I could," Emma says quietly, meeting Regina's gaze with steady eyes. To finish her point, she drags the knife until the tip is prodding the skin over Regina's heart. "I've never told anybody this, but..." The knife turns slowly, like a roasting spit over a fire, but still the skin doesn't break.
"Nah," Emma changes her mind. "You don't get confessions. You don't get secrets."
"Oh dear," Regina mocks, her eyes never moving from the blade. "Is the princess worried she's not as good as she should be?"
"Go to hell," Emma snaps, but her hand holds steady on the knife. A moment later it falls with a clatter against the marble counter.
Regina closes her eyes, takes the breath, and sure enough a moment later the gun is pressed under her chin. Here they are again. She waits for another insult, another threat, but nothing comes. Just the harsh sounds of their breathing, slightly out of sync, overlapping and somehow dissonant. Regina wonders what it will sound like if she stops, and she holds her breath to find out.
But the air bursts forth from her lungs as the gun starts to move. Emma is straddling Regina's thigh now, already rocking gently, so very wet against Regina's skin.
"I'm going to fuck you now," Emma says, and there's a strange, sing-song quality to her voice.
"Do it," Regina whispers, her eyes still closed.
The fingers press inside first, a warming up of sorts. Regina bites her lip just in time and no sound escapes, but Emma must see the contorted pleasure on her face. It would be enough, it would, because Regina is already close and when Emma touched her the other night after such a long spell without real, human contact, it awakened something in Regina.
But Emma makes her greedy, and Regina rolls her hips upwards in a silent request for more.
"You know it's loaded, right?" Emma asks, but she presses the muzzle against Regina's wet flesh anyway. Regina sighs in response.
"Fuck. Me," she grits out eventually, when neither gun nor Emma moves. Her shamefaced demand is met instantly, and she gasps at how good the metal feels as it slides slowly deeper. There's something reassuring in how solid it is, how it's already warming to the temperature of her body. And yes, how if she's wrong to trust Emma, even for a second, this could be the end of her.
Regina's always been more comfortable around death than sex, so it seems somehow inevitable that the two would someday clash. Emma groans softly, and when Regina opens her eyes she finds Emma staring, rapt, at what her hand is doing between Regina's thighs.
"Everything you hoped for?" Regina can't resist asking. Emma doesn't look up, doesn't answer, simply moves the barrel of the gun a little faster, and just a little deeper on the next thrust.
The friction is good, just how Regina likes it without seeming like too much. She's angry, really, that Emma should know her body this well already, but as with everyone 'good' perhaps it's more dumb luck and blessings from an unfair universe, rather than anything approaching skill.
Until Emma's thumb presses hard against Regina's clit, and she has to bite back a cry as her hips arch upwards.
"Careful," Emma warns, and there's mockery in the word.
That's when Regina loses her grip on the details, surrendering instead to the sensation of being steadily, deliciously fucked. Emma keeps her rhythm light but not predictable, pulling new sensations and mewling cries from Regina time and again, grinding her own body against Regina's tensed thigh for a second release.
Somewhere in the noise, in the constant motion and the sweat that's dripping from Regina's back, from her forehead, Emma speaks again. It draws Regina's focus like a laser, the only thing she can think about besides the hard pressure inside her, sliding against her g-spot over and over again.
"I could pull the trigger," she says, and Regina doesn't want to think about why, but the flexing of Emma's upper arm like she's about to follow through on that threat is what sends Regina hurtling over the edge. She arches her back so far that her shoulders scream in silent protest, but it's worth it, oh so very worth it, as the pleasure crashes through her in wave after wave, Emma not relenting for a second on the pace with either hand.
When the sensation finally stops, and her body begins to calm, Regina finds that her throat is raw from what may well have been screaming. She feels hazy, as though under some kind of enchantment, and every flicker of movement in her limbs seems to be at a command other than her own. Usually that would panic her beyond belief, but she's too exhausted to care.
"There you go," Emma says, as one binding and then the other releases, meaning Regina can wrap her tingling arms around herself. Long moments later, she pulls herself to sitting and then stands on shaky legs. She doesn't look at the wet mark left on the counter, doesn't meet Emma's eye for even a second.
No, all Regina does before stumbling out of the room is grab her purse and extract a twenty dollar bill with trembling fingers.
"For the groceries," she explains, and flees just as fast as she can, naked and in search of the sanctuary that only another room with a locking door can provide.
She forgets to lock the door, in the end, and that isn't even her last mistake.
Slipping her robe on against the chill of the tiled room, Regina raids her en suite cabinets and shelves for one of the pill bottles she knows is hidden away there. Even without Henry in the house she's been careful to keep the orange plastic carefully out of sight, tucked into corners and hidden behind other things.
It's why she's too distracted to notice Emma in the doorway, not until it's too late and Regina is triumphantly clutching a pill bottle in her hand.
"It's polite to share," Emma says, sashaying into the room, mostly redressed and pressing Regina bodily against the counter. "Or did you want to lecture me about dependency again? 'Cause that would be really interesting."
"I have back pain," Regina offers weakly, but she can't even convince herself as their eyes meet in the mirror.
"Gimme," Emma says, holding out her hand in expectation.
Regina sighs, pops the cap, and shakes two pills into each of their hands in turn.