Emma accepts an invitation and confronts temptation. Rated M. All rights/characters belong to OUAT - I own nothing!
Of course Killian Jones would have perfect, intricate, stupidly beautiful penmanship.
Emma didn't know how many times she'd run her eyes over the letters on the parchment card that was flat on the kitchen table, but one thing was certain - she knew exactly what the scrawled mixture of letters and numbers meant. She'd known from the instant she found it on the front seat of her car, wrapped carefully around the stem of a single red rose. It was so many things all at once - a request, an instruction, a secretive invitation. The text was simple and direct, but full of a subtle intent that gave her the chills once more as she read it again.
Tonight. Eight O'Clock. Consider yourself invited in, love. I'll be waiting.
He'd signed the card with a flourish of his first and last initials - as if she wouldn't know it was him. He knew she didn't have any current cases and while his schedule had been packed with surgeries and stitches, she'd missed him. She missed everything about him actually - the way his dark hair fell across those startling blue eyes, the sporadic flashes of those brilliant white teeth, and the dangerous manner in which his lips ravished hers. Yeah, it hadn't taken long for her to give up on the charade of keeping him at arm's length. After the night he'd shown up on her doorstep with that apologetic gaze and that dark yet dazing desire, she didn't stand a chance.
There was just no way she could stay away from Killian Jones.
She couldn't explain why she was so easily drawn to him or why he seemed to feel that same magnetism, but fighting it was next to impossible. So she stopped trying - even though the clash of their schedules didn't leave much space to accommodate the need they seemed to equally possess. She smiled to herself briefly, remembering his thickly accented words when they'd met for a late night drink a few days previously.
"Killian, you're going to be late…."
"Mmm-hmm," he hummed, his lips hot on her neck. "Fortunately I doubt they'll start without me."
"But isn't that….god….why they schedule surgeries in advance-" she gasped, her fingernails digging gently into his scalp. "-so you're available when needed?"
"Aye," he smiled against her skin. "But a few more minutes won't hurt…."
"Killian," she moaned, trying not to rut against his hand as it toyed with the button on her jeans. "You and I both know….how….busy….ahh, your day is going to be today."
"Which is all the more reason to enjoy the quiet moments and right now-" he paused, slipping his hand beneath the denim. "We have a quiet moment."
"Until your beeper goes off again," she breathed, chills down her spine as his teeth skimmed her jaw. "Better go save a life, doctor."
"Fine," he growled with that gorgeous grin. "Though I'm fairly sure it's you that will be the death of me, darling."
"I highly doubt that," she blushed, her smirk matching his. "You've got that whole immortality thing going for you."
"Aye," he laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Fortunately for me."
Between stakeouts and scrub-in times as well as the scattered hours of sleep that had somehow been caught, they'd found a few of those quiet moments within the madness. It had been ten days since the first time though - nearly a week and a half since their less than quiet scene in her kitchen and the lack of consistent time spent in his alluring presence had her wanting. He seemed to have a bit of skill in keeping her that way, but tonight - well, tonight was going to be different.
Tonight, he was inviting her over.
Emma felt her stomach flip flop at the idea as she spied her jacket hanging on the hook near the door. The time on her phone read 7:18 and though he'd written eight on his little note, she knew it might take a little extra time to make the drive. She watched scattered drops of rain pitter patter against the window as the wind outside picked up, taking hold of the trees so they swayed with the weather. The storm had started out as nothing more than a prediction, a weak promise made by whatever meteorologist was on duty during the five o'clock news. Yet over the next couple of hours, it had built to this - dark rolling clouds, howling wind that varied in sound, and the threat of a downpour. Talk about ironic, she thought silently.
The dull noise of distant thunder met her ears as she watched darkness fall rather quickly around the rest of her house. 7:26 - it was time to go.
The rain was steady as Emma drove, maneuvering her car along the wet and newly repaved streets of downtown Storybrooke. The buildings and streetlights faded behind her as she approached the town line, making a hard right up the gravel frontage road that would lead her to his doorstep. Well, so the directions said.
Truthfully, she rarely journeyed the short distance beyond the forested city limits. Her job kept her plenty busy and her reasons for leaving town were minimal. She knew that the old house he called home was just inside the town boundaries, shielded by towering trees and set in total isolation. She hadn't known it even existed until she'd done a little asking around about him, but he'd been the one to confirm it completely during a brief visit a few days earlier.
"You should be at home," she said softly, opening an eye to find him watching her. "Don't you need to be back at work in like four hours? You might tempt me to retract my invitation"
"Aye, but watching you sleep is a temptation I don't want to resist," he replied, tangling his feet with hers. "I suppose I'll sacrifice a little deprivation to indulge myself. You also need a better place than under the welcome mat to hide your spare key, love."
"Funny, Jones," she mumbled while rolling into his embrace. "Like you need sleep."
"True - though I wouldn't mind participating in such an activity if it was next to you, lass. Although a softer mattress wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."
"At least I have one…."
"You're assuming I don't?"
"I didn't say that," she replied, opening her eyes to find his. "But do you? I thought you'd prefer a crypt or something."
"Mmmm, now look who's funny," he laughed, running a hand through her hair. "I have a bed - a rather large one actually. I'll show you sometime."
"Is this you inviting me to your castle, Count Dracula?"
"Perhaps," he grinned, kissing her forehead. "Though I'd hardly call it a castle."
"Mmmm-hmmm," Emma smiled. "We'll see about that."
She followed the dim road, slowing the car to a halt when she finally caught sight of it. A soft gasp left her lips as the windshield wipers swiped rain off the glass. Not a castle huh, Emma thought with a smirk. That was an understatement.
The windows were lit with the hint of firelight, the illumination just enough for her to make out the tudor style build of the old Victorian manor. Some mild searching through town records the day earlier - out of pure curiosity of course - had revealed that it was once used as a boarding house for the small number of visitors Storybrooke actually managed to have each year. The individual wings of the structure were clearly spacious and perhaps inviting as they seemed to stretch across several acres, definitely further than her eyes could distinguish in the darkness of nightfall. The bricks were well worn and crisscrossed with sporadic dark wood, the vintage victims of several dissolved decades. She could make out the dull glow of multiple chandeliers through several larger windows and a well constructed archway that concealed the front doors - because yes, a place like this definitely had two of them side by side. The tall rooftops looked slightly intimidating as the now pouring rain rolled off the staggered shingled surfaces. The whole place was met by a circular, wide driveway that seemed to provide a quick way in as well as out - not that she needed an escape route.
No, she'd come here willingly - excited even. The car moved cautiously toward the lights and all but certain safety at the edge of the dark concrete pathway. She wasn't scared. She was intrigued. He'd always been quick to promise he wouldn't hurt her and for some reason, that fact made her impending arrival feel almost natural - even if being there at all was completely supernatural.
The muted glow from the house brightened a bit as Emma moved up the driveway, debating where it might be best to park. She noticed his car - the black '66 Ford classic convertible he'd restored a few years earlier - stationed and covered under the arching overhang near the front entrance. Her mind jogged the memory of the first time she seen it. Well, it was more like the first time she'd accosted him in it. She bit her lip, remembering him in his light blue scrubs with that messy head of hair. Honestly, when he looked like that, could she really be blamed for her actions?
"Mustang, huh? I must say I expected something-" Emma smiled, massaging his scalp with anxious fingers. "-a little more mysterious. Or old."
"Your jokes about my age are as top notch as always, love," he retorted, distraction evident in his stare. "The car may be old, but I like to think of it as vintage. A true classic, darling."
"Mmmm," she mused as his lips caressed hers. "Is it fast?"
"Enough to make your heart race, love," he almost whispered, his teeth grazing her ear. "Although I'd rather keep to the limits when it comes to speed, especially if I intend to break the law in….other ways."
"Ah, those other ways being 'public indecency' apparently," she teased, her breath staggering as he pulled on her shirt to expose her shoulder. "But I've gotta say it's been awhile since I've made out in a car, doctor."
"Well, it's been far too long since I've done this-" he replied, kissing her throat and then her lips once more. "-and this."
"Oh, please - you kissed me….mmmm, yesterday," Emma mumbled, her palm flat on his leg as he devoured the exposed skin above her collarbone. "Not that I'm complaining."
"On the contrary, Swan….though kissing you is something I'd prefer to do more frequently than every twenty four hours, I was talking-" he breathed, his fingers flexing at the zipper of her jeans. "-about this, love."
"Hmmm, t-true….but we can't….do that here," Emma said weakly, gesturing to the parking garage surrounding them. "What if someone sees us?"
"Or perhaps no one will," he countered, waggling his eyebrows. "It would be a shame if we didn't see which of us was correct. Come here-"
"Killian," she nearly giggled as he pulled her onto his lap, anchoring her hands on the headrest of the driver's seat. "You aren't playing fair."
"I never said I intended to," he smirked as he nipped gently at her lower lip. "Which you seem to be oddly okay with…."
"Shut up and kiss me," she replied, spreading her thighs so she could move against him. "Please, Killian."
"Manners, huh," he taunted as his hips rutted upward slightly. "Nice touch, Swan. I think I'd prefer that word in a different tone though."
"What do you….god, mean by that, Jones? You want me….to beg you?"
"If you're offering-" he said between kisses, biting his lip as she writhed in his lap. "-then yes. I always want that."
"Then you're going to have to try-" she bit back as her hand trailed down his chest. "-a little harder."
"Well that I can do," he groaned, his core pushing up into hers. "Harder is a request I'm always happy to oblige."
Emma felt her face flush at the recollection. The fire that had burned between them that night had been scorching hot, her body flush against his as her arms clasped around his neck. She tried to remember the exact manner in which his hips thrusted upward and found herself once again wanting to feel the way he'd kept her in place with a firm grip on her lower back. She'd all but rode him into the oblivion they both seemed to want - the one that beckoned every time he touched her. She wanted to fall into that abyss and drown in the pure passion that existed between them. She could only wonder if he'd ever let her. She could only hope it was the reason she was here.
She pulled her car up to the curb, opting to shut off her ignition a short distance away from the house. She figured that it wouldn't hurt to walk a little. She was quickly thankful that she'd thrown on her black wool coat, even though the cable knit sweater she'd chosen to wear would assist in keeping her warm. Emma reached over her shoulder and behind the seat in search of an umbrella. The task was short lived as she remembered she'd left it at home, tossing in on the porch after retrieving her mail earlier that day. The rain was steady, the wind whipping water in several directions as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky behind her. Letting out a heavy sigh, she zipped up the front of her jacket. It wasn't like she'd melt - she just had to make a run for it.
Taking a deep breath, she swung open her car door and closed it quickly behind her. Her feet were wet as she fumbled with her keys, finally locking the vehicle as a sweeping whoosh caught her attention. She peered toward the house as water saturated her hair, but before she could even question the noise, he was there.
"Swan."
His gaze was a mix of emotions - concerned and happy being the most overpowering of the bunch. She froze in place, feeling the rain run down her skin as it collected in his shaggy dark hair. It was still longer than when she'd first met him, the length a little taken with the breeze as it curled slightly behind his ear. His clothes were drenched now, but he'd definitely continued that pattern of being dressed in a devilishly handsome fashion - navy blue button down rolled up to the elbows, faded yet perfectly fitted jeans, and that silver chain that was partially shielded by the buttons left undone. Emma silently thanked the whistling wind for helping to drown out the sound of her pounding pulse.
"Fancy m-meeting you here," she teased, a shiver on her shoulders. "You didn't have to c-come out in the r-r-rain."
"I'm glad I did though. You're soaked," he commented with a soft smile, his eyes fiercely protective and oh so blue. "Let's get you inside."
She barely felt her feet move, but in an instant they were on his front steps and out of the torrential storm. He smiled softly at her, rubbing her arms in an effort to conjure warm as she shook her head at his display of impossible speed. Well, that was one perk of having a supernatural boyfriend. Whoa, wait….what?
That's not what he was - or was he?
Emma shuddered a bit at the silent question as the rain pitter pattered behind them. Killian arched an eyebrow as his hand gripped the heavy handle to the door and pushed it open. The hinges creaked just slightly as the heavy dark wood barrier moved forward. The small foyer area was well lit and warmly welcoming, the feel of home coaxing her inside.
"Emma," he said cleverly, a humorous glint in those deep blue eyes. "Would you like to come in?"
"I thought you'd never ask," she returned with a grin. "But it does look as if it might be a little cozier than standing in the stormy weather."
"Hmmm," he groaned, his eyes challenging. "I'll give you cozy…."
She hurried inside, her feet landing on a lavish red rug as the door shut behind them. The distant crackle of a fireplace lured her further inside and he pulled her coat from her shoulders as she took in the beautiful surroundings. She caught sight of the walls as she entered, noting that the selection of art hung on them seemed to cover several centuries. The frames were embossed and intricate, made with with fine metals and displayed in a most decorative fashion. Each picture seemed to hold a story and perhaps a secret, the oil paint and charcoal smudges making her wonder why he'd chosen each individual piece. It awakened the historian in her and Emma couldn't help the questions her brain quickly conjured. Biting her tongue, she stowed the inquiry for later. That wasn't the reason she was here.
No, he was the reason - the drenched, dark, desirable doctor behind her. Undead and all.
"I should-" he started, gesturing to his wet attire. "-grab a dry shirt. Let me just run upstairs quickly. Do you need anything other than my permission to explore while you wait?"
"I think I'm fine," she mused, loving the fact that he knew she'd get up to something while he was away. "In fact, I don't think I even require your permission. But hurry back?"
He smirked at that, fire building in his dark gaze as the remaining rain rolled off his face. God, he looked good - and it was all but obvious that he knew it. The thought of how cool and wet his lips would be in that instant had barely crossed her distracted mind when the space between them lapsed and his hands found her waist. A firm pull was all it took for him to tempt her into an intoxicating kiss, one where his mouth warred with hers for control. Emma's back hit the front door with a little more force than she was expecting and his touch quickly soothed the expanse of skin between her shoulders. He kept her pinned between his frame and the door for what definitely wasn't long enough, kissing her with that same promising passion he always offered. The moment was broken only by the muted chine of an old fashioned clock echoing off the walls of a distant room.
"Count on it, love," he committed softly. "I shan't be long."
He was gone before she could reply, the soft whooshing sound following him as she smiled. It was a tiny case of stereotype reigning true and for some reason, the realization was oddly fulfilling. Killian Jones and his supernatural speed would never cease to entertain her.
She was almost glad that he'd suspected she'd snoop while he took to ridding himself of wet clothes - it would save her from having to explain her wandering later. There was no way she wasn't going to investigate the humbly described manor belonging to the man who continued to captivate her.
The ceilings were vaulted in his house, stretching higher as she stepped into the large living room. It was brightened by a large, bronze chandelier and the sound of a scratchy record player. It was playing at a faint volume, but enough for Emma to distinguish the tune as 'I Put A Spell On You'. She hummed it slightly as she traversed the wood floor with curiosity that could certainly be the downfall of a cat or two. Her eyes darted between the corners of the space, unsure of where to start.
The walls were a solid red accented with dark wood paneling in a few places, a tone that tied the entire room together in a Victorian sort of style. There were scattered pieces of decor - an array of antique chairs and end tables with clawed feet, various lanterns and candles, and matching gold plated mirrors on each side of a separate arching doorway. Emma stopped right in her tracks at the sight found through that second entryway.
There was a fireplace - a huge, open, crackling fireplace complete with detailed crown moulding and a granite mantle hanging above it. Her eyes continued to move, trailing upward to find what had to be a very crucial part of his history. It was a shield, some sort of ancient and worn down with two swords the crossed through the middle of it. Each blade had a detailed handle, crafted in the same silver and red stones that she'd observed on the ring he wore. There had to be a connection between them - well, possibly.
"I wondered if I might find you here," his voice said from several paces behind her. "If you're cold, this is a good place to warm up."
Emma turned to find him leaning casually near the wall on the opposite side of the room. His hair was tousled, still slightly wet from the storm outside and he ran an absent hand through it. His shirt was pressed and black as the night, the sleeves rolled up as he finished the last two buttons - because clearly he couldn't have finished that before he came back to find her.
"I'm fine," she assured him, hoping her smile confirmed it. "It's a beautiful fireplace though."
"It is," he agreed, rubbing his hands together as he walked toward her. "If you wouldn't mind leaving it for a moment though, I do have something I'd like to show you."
"Is this the part where you show me the dungeon?"
"Again with the myths, love - though that one seems a bit kinky I must say."
"Not what I meant," she narrowed her eyes, slapping him in the chest. "I'm just wondering if I should be concerned about this personal tour."
"Emma-"
"Hey, I'm kidding," she said quickly, her hand on his arm. "You know that I'm-"
"Not afraid?"
"No," she promised. "I'm not."
"Okay," he finally said, a soft smirk curving at the corner of his mouth. "Then come. This way, love."
"So if it's not a castle," she teased, following him up the hallway that stretched to another corridor of the house. "What would you prefer I call it?"
"Well, technically it's a manor - a boarding house more than anything though," he explained, his bare feet padding quietly on the floorboards. "Built in early 1900's by my father's father - he was a carpenter by trade."
"Did you grow up here?"
"For a time," he answered. "Not much that I remember though. My father took off when I was still quite young and my older brother and I were sent off to live with a distant aunt once my mother got sick."
"That sounds like a challenging childhood."
"Aye," he nodded, his smile weaker this time. "But personal history aside, it's fortunate I ended up back here. After the war, I spent some time traveling - Paris, London, even a few weeks in Italy. Mostly trying to keep out of suspicion's way while I sorted through this new life….or not life I'd been handed. I came back here after reading through an old journal of my brother's to find the place boarded up. I spent a few days in town, inquiring here and there only to find out nobody knew much about the house and even less about its history. I decided to stay a while, did a little restoration, and here we are."
"Well, it's….breathtaking, Killian," Emma complimented. "Stunning even. You've done a beautiful job breathing life back into it."
"It would seem," he grinned, pausing at the end of the hallway next to a closed door. "Come this way, lass."
Emma nodded, her mind drenched in curiosity at what he might be concealing when he shoved the door open to a large sort of alcove structured room. He tilted his head sideways to prompt her to enter and it didn't take long for his hand to guide her feet in the right direction.
"Killian, what are-"
"I said I wanted to show you something," he reminded her, placing his palm against her back. "I just thought you might like this part of the house."
Emma's head was in a daze as she barely registered his comment, her feet moving freely as she wandered ahead of him into the vast, open space. The room itself was sunken, the center of it clad with leather couches and antique armchairs as well as a narrow bar top that appeared to house a variety of libations. She smiled internally upon noticing the half empty glass of what was surely rum on the mantle - perhaps he'd been using a drink to summon some courage before she arrived. The furniture was simple save for the occasional pillow or lavish throw, much of the accents fashioned in a deep red that made Emma's whole body tingle. The entire area was littered with lamps of various sizes and structure, each of them illuminated in a way that gave reference to what many would call 'mood lighting'. It was intimate and beautiful, a warm space within the world of this man she was wanting to know more about. Maybe this room held the answer to some of her questions.
Well, it gave her the resolution to at least one suspected fact. Killian Jones was a reader.
The walls were lined with dark mahogany, part of it stretching overhead into arched beams and the rest of it structured into even shelves. The horizontal wood surfaces were filled what had to be the richest collection of literature she'd ever seen. The books made home in every single corner of the room, leaving no extra space unclaimed as they wove together a place Emma wouldn't mind getting lost in - the library of the Jones manor. Unbelievable, she thought as her feet finally adhered to the floor.
"So I was right then, love?"
His fingertips at her waist brought her back to reality, her head turning slowly as she found his victorious grin. His touch was cold, making her skin sizzle as he studied her. She finally gave him the smile he was clearly hoping for and relaxation landed on his shoulders.
"Killian, this is….are all of these books yours?"
"Aye - well, mine combined with those belonging to a few ancestors," he clarified, lowering his hand to clasp hers. "It's the product of decades of collecting I suppose."
"Hmmm, quite the inheritance then?"
"Something like that," he nodded with a laugh, tugging her in the direction of the largest bookcase. "Mostly classics here - Dickens, Hemingway, Fitzgerald….Stoker."
"As in Bram?"
He blushed with that trademark smirk, sighing in exasperation as he reached for a yellow cover on the top shelf. He pulled it down and gently blew the dust off the red embossed title before extending it to her. The gesture made her heart flutter and she couldn't help raising an eyebrow.
"Well, look at that," she taunted, her fingers tracing the words. "Your autobiography."
"Nice try, love, but while I'm as old as the book, I'm not the inspiration," he retorted, flipping open to the front page and pointing to the date. "This is, however, a first edition - though I'm not actually sure who it belonged to originally. If only the text could talk, right?"
"Well, if it could," Emma started, her fingertips grazing the antique paper. "What would it say?"
His eyes fused to hers as the space between them seemed to cease. Emma wasn't sure how it was possible - neither of them had moved. Yet somehow, the air grew thick and scarce in a way that made her head hazy. He didn't actually have to use any of those little tricks of the trade with her - Killian could control her every reaction with that tantalizing stare.
"I'd assume the book would tell the truth," he decided, not breaking the trance he appeared to be stuck in. "Perhaps give us its best line as temptation."
"The little quip about the dead traveling fast?"
"No, love," he grinned, his accent rough with the trace of a laugh. "I prefer a different one."
He flipped a few pages, his sight narrow on the words as Emma watched him. His hands navigated the novel with precise expertise - almost like a diligent captain would steer his finest ship. It was a fitting comparison seeing as how his eyes were that stormy sea blue and his presence constantly left her trying to find her land legs.
"Find what you're looking for?"
"Aye - here," he confirmed, his gaze heavy and serious. "Just where it always is."
"Hmmm," she said softly. "Are you going to read it to me?"
She expected his vision to lower back to the text. She expected the sound of his voice to repeat the words that had been conjured by the famous author all those years ago. She expected it to be poetic and thoughtful, that familiar feeling settling in her stomach as she waited. She was wrong - so completely and wonderfully wrong.
He stepped forward, his body coaxing her backward as he moved. It didn't take long for her shoulder blades to bump the bookcase, pinning her carefully against it as his arm lifted and placed the book back on the top shelf. His eyes followed the work of returning the text to its place and trailed back downward to meet her slightly perplexed stare after a moment. Killian's hands braced on each side of her, caging her in his hold with intent as he set a relaxed grip on the shelves. They were close - close enough that Emma could feel the heat of his breath on her neck as he placed gentle kiss there. They were walking a fine line between control and not - and she couldn't help her growing desire to find out what 'not' would be like.
"There are darknesses in life-" he started, his tone dangerously low and ragged. "-and there are lights…."
His lips traced the length of her neck, moving as a torturously teasing pace from her jaw to her collarbone. His tongue laved gently against her flesh when he moved back up and he pulled his teeth carefully along the curve of her ear before nipping gently. His hands remained in place, keeping him steady as he all but worshipped her.
"You are one of the lights-" he continued, his words honest and hypnotic. "-the light of all lights."
Emma barely processed the line he'd borrowed from the book, the meaning behind it all a mess in her mind as he moved his mouth back to hers. They tangled quickly in a needy kiss as Killian's hands flew to her hips and his thumbs pressed gently to keep her balanced. His hands were all over instantly as she moaned against his lips, his anxious fingers tugging on the fabric of her shirt as he kissed her hard.
"Emma - god…."
His plea was desperate, her name rolling off his tongue in a breathy tone as his hands cradled her face. They moved in perfect rhythm as he tangled his talented fingers in her damp hair, twisting them in a manner that made Emma's toes tingle. She gasped against his lips as he pushed the fabric off her shoulder, stretching the collar of her sweater enough to display the skin there. His teeth caressed the exposed area and the sound the Emma bit back was anything but human. Her hands drifted toward the front of his shirt, tracing the cloth he'd just recently buttoned. He trembled a bit at the shift in her position and the brief reaction prompted Emma's confidence. Maybe she could regain a little stability by taking away some of his.
"Swan….what are you-"
Emma fisted her hands in the collar of his shirt, spinning them so they swapped positions faster than she meant to. His back slammed into the bookcase before he could complete his question and she grinned when a few well worn copies of old classics fell from the shelf. His eyes were confused but completely predatory as she resumed kissing him. He tried to move forward in an attempt to take back his advantage, but she shoved him back into the furniture so it shook with defeat. He gasped, a soft growl leaving his lips as her hands split the fabric at the middle of his shirt. Emma's breath hitched when she yanked hard, her hands moving in opposite directions as he grunted and the sound of scattered buttons echoed off the walls.
He was losing it quickly, barely clinging to his control when he tugged her sweater over her head and tossed it to ground. Her hands were hard at work on his jeans at the same time he began to pull at hers. They moved together, their actions synchronized until simultaneous denim hit the floor. It was only then, as his index finger trailed back up her arm to her chin, that she paused to look at him.
"Killian-"
"I know, love," he breathed, his lips back on hers as his hands slid to the back of her thighs. "I know."
He lifted her, squeezing the underside of her legs gently as she wrapped them around his waist. Reaching back, Emma gripped the smooth surface of the shelf for support and he held her tight with his hands at her lower back. He seemed to keep her stationed so effortlessly, allowing the dark cotton of his boxer briefs to brush against her black lace in a rigid movement. One of her hands fell to his shoulder, grasping for support as she bit her lip with a hushed whimper.
"You better watch those rogue teeth, love," he breathed, his forehead falling to her shoulder as he thrusted up hard. "You….god, you don't know….what you're doing, Swan."
"I'm more curious about why we're doing this-" she teased, grinding down hard on him through the friction of the fabric. "-with so many clothes on."
"Emma…."
She knew that tone - that warning, wanting, wishing timbre of the man who was about to give in to god knows what. She met that anxious voice a few times before in instances similar to this one. They'd never made it to this point though - this burning edge where all he needed was a final push. She wanted to know what came next. She wanted them both to be too far gone to turn back.
Wrapping her arms around his neck while he vibrated against her provided the support he was struggling to provide. It wasn't that he didn't possess the strength - no, he'd proven more than once that he could gather her in his hold with ease. It was the fact that he was completely wrecked. It was the way he was losing himself in her. It was his surrender.
"Killian, please," she begged, toying with waistband as he braced her against the shelf. "Just….take these off."
Her hand brushed against him as he slowed for a moment, her fingers stroking him through the fabric. Emma let out a soft moan at the feel of him in her loose grip. They'd had a few heated moments over the past ten days where his size had been suggested through the bulge in his pants, but taking him in her hand was still startling. God, she wanted to feel him in more ways than just that.
She whimpered softly as he rutted a little harder, his gasp needy and pleading as he set a new rhythm. His own fingers slipped behind the black lace between them and he hummed at the feel of her. Emma dug her fingers gently into his shoulder as he let out a breathy curse. Hypnotized by his caress, she barely noticed when their remaining clothing fell at their feet.
"Bloody hell, Emma," he growled, thrusting his fingers upward. "You are….so…."
Emma sunk her teeth into her lower lip as his free hand pressed hard on her spine. She shivered as his length slid through her entrance, gathering wetness as he moved back and forth. The teasing sensation was pure torment, building at an excruciating pace and her eyes fell close as she rolled her hips into his. Emma knew he felt it too - the irresistible urge to take that final step. She wanted it. She wanted more.
The sharp snap of teeth at her ear caught her attention and her pulse increased tenfold as his hot breath grazed her ear. His gasp stuttered and he pulled back a bit, his fingers indenting deep on her legs as he froze in place.
"Emma…."
She blinked lazily, allowing the world to come into focus once again. He looked like he was on the verge of destruction - dark hair damp with sweat and the remnants of the rainstorm, eyes wild with blue fury, and lips bruised red. But now, there was a contrast to them - the pearly white, sharp pair of fangs that had clicked into place in the moment of passion.
Fascination filled Emma's stare as she braced her hands at the back of his scalp. She watched the way he tried to hide them as he pressed his lips together, but her hand reached forward to touch his bottom lip. Her thumb slid across it, attempting to coax him into parting his mouth again. He wasn't able to resist after a moment and he kissed the pad of her thumb carefully before widening his mouth to reveal the transformed teeth.
Emma didn't know why it had taken this moment for it all to come full circle, but as her index finger pressed gently on the point of one of the fangs and she watched his irises darken considerably, it was suddenly clear. She wanted him - all of him. She wanted him to bite her.
"Killian…."
"Emma," he breathed, lowering her to the ground. "No."
"Why?"
He didn't say anything, merely shaking his head as he gripped the shelf. He was fighting a losing battle, his bones locked and his face strained as he finally took a step back. She couldn't pinpoint his expression, but he looked some sort of angry….though not at her - at himself.
"Killian, what are you doing?"
"Emma, stop-"
"No," she said firmly, stepping toward him. "Talk to me."
"Emma, I can't. I won't-"
"Tell me why."
"Because I'm not going to hurt you!"
"Killian, you won't," she tried, her hand on his cheek. "I know you won't."
"Emma, it's reckless," he stammered as he turned away from her touch. "I can't control myself around you as it is and that….I don't know what will happen if I….just no. It's not safe."
"Killian-"
"No, Emma….I could kill you….and I won't risk that. You don't want that."
"You don't get to tell me what I want, Killian."
The retort seemed to shock him. He stilled as he worried his lower lip, his fangs now retracted. He looked at her with hesitation, his eyes wide at her raised voice. His bare feet were firm on the floor and his silence was her opening. She had to tell him - she had to say everything she'd been thinking since she the moment she found out what he was.
"Killian, I know it's dangerous. I know you're scared and I know you don't trust yourself," she acknowledged, reaching for his hands. "But I trust you. You make me feel...alive. I'm not afraid of you or anything about you - especially this."
"But you don't have to-"
"I want you, Killian," she said firmly. "I want all of you - and this is part of it."
"Emma," he sighed, staring studiously at their intertwined hands. "What are you saying?"
"I want to be yours," she almost whispered, resting her free palm on his chest. "Is that what you want?"
The world stood still for a moment, giving Emma's mind time to reel as she watched him. His face was stoic as his ragged breath tried to find composure. His mouth opened and closed without words several times and he gasped more than once. She watched him fight his instincts and then trade them for some different ones as his eyes filled with that blazing intent. His feet moved slowly as he shook his head, not in refute but rather in pure disbelief. It was the look of a vampire who wasn't giving up, but one of the man who was giving in. He lifted her in his arms, pulling her legs around his naked waist again as the one word she'd been dying to hear finally fell from his lips.
"Yes."