Chapter 23

His back slams up against the wall, knocking the breath out of him and sending a painful shudder through his shoulders, but it doesn't make him stop kissing her. Her fingers grapple in his hair, pulling at his neck as she balances on her tiptoes to reach him better. He holds her close, tight against his chest, nearly lifting her clear off the ground, but then she would lose all the traction she has and she wouldn't be able to shove him against the wall anymore, which she apparently enjoys doing.

She throws him back again with one hand and her shoulder and her chest, and yanks down on his hair with the other, and a searing pain rips through his neck.

"Ow. Shit, Goldie."

"Sorry," she gasps, then seals her lips over his again, and suddenly he doesn't care if she beats him to death as long as he can still taste the softness of her lower lip.

Rapunzel likes it rough. Who knew?

And now all the clasps are undone on his vest and her leg wraps around his hip and he's squeezing her ass with such a hunger, such a need to grip her flesh that she moans into his mouth, sending vibrations running straight down to his stomach.

And now he's lifting her, pulling her close, and she's climbing him like a tree, hooking her leg over his arm for support and raising herself up until she's the taller one and he has to look up to find her lips. He eventually gives up and buries his face against her neck, leaving a hot trail down to her collar bone, leaving a bite mark against her breast that has her squeezing him tight between her legs.

From somewhere in the background, from the world outside of Rapunzel's hands and chest and legs and gasping breath, he hears the servants coming their way, and somehow through the tangle of limbs and the fumbling of his hands in the dark, he maneuvers them into the nearest room, where she kicks the door closed and scrambles for the lock, grinning against his ear as the crowd bustles past. Then she starts nibbling, and the delicate feel of her teeth and her tongue makes him groan and grip at the back of her dress.

"Shh," she whispers, and her breath against his damp ear has him biting down on his lip and hissing.

She squirms to get closer, completely unconcerned that they might topple over at any moment, and he finds himself compressed snuggly between her and the door as her tongue presses hungrily to his neck.

He's never really let someone have their way with him before. Maybe a few times when he was super drunk, but he doesn't remember much of those, so they don't count. He's always been the one to do the pleasing and the torturing, to set the pace and stay in command. But for the first time – no, it's not the first time she's done this to him, it's just the first time she's done this while she pulls at his vest and tosses it to the floor. For the first time he's letting her wildly sweep him up with her.

It's – his brain sticks for a moment before he can admit it – exciting. For once he doesn't know what to expect and it's new and it's different, so much so that it's almost a completely different experience. This time he cares and his emotions carry him forward like a wave, and he's lost all that suave control as he falls into her, wanting to wrap himself up in her scent, wanting to be part of her, wanting her to hold him tighter.

And it's freeing. Her fingernails scrape through the stubble on his cheek and it's like a spark runs up through his jaw, and he no longer cares about anything, not his reputation or his pride, all he cares about is the feel of her skin and the ache in his muscles and how he can possibly please her enough so she makes that noise again.

He recognizes that there's possibly something to say about trust in this situation, but the thought is wiped away completely with the new question of how is she able to bend her leg like that. Good God!

She writhes against him, a firm rock of her hips against his and a roll of her diaphragm to drag herself across his chest. He squeezes her tighter, guiding her to rub against him and relieve some small amount of stress, but he utterly fails as she winds him tighter, and within moments he's grabbing at her skirts, pulling the layers and layers of netting up around her hips so she can be closer, so he can feel the softness of her skin in his hand, so she can have more freedom of movement.

She starts to gasp, her forehead pressed to his, her arms locked and trembling around his neck, and it takes him a moment to realize that she really is having trouble breathing. He almost drops her in his hurry to undo all the hundred buttons down the back of her dress to get to her corset, but she gasps out a giggle and shifts their weight again before kissing him in an exceptionally distracting way.

He pulls her corset apart with a ripping series of pops and she lets out a shocked little yelp and clenches around him.

"You alright?" The words come out strangled and he swallows down the knot in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face against her shoulder in his attempt not to pounce on her until she's less startled.

She takes a deep gulp of air and nods. "Yes… yes, I can breathe again."

"Then I'm doing something wrong."

"You're not kissing me."

"Sorry."

She guides his face up to kiss him, and it is so perfectly sweet, so simple and effortless and undemanding and so wildly at odds with the way he's massaging her ass in time with the movements of her hips, and the feel of the bare skin of her back as he traces the delicate curves of her spine and her shoulder blades, and the way he slips his hand around through the loosened fabric of her dress to tease her breast.

She breaks away long enough to moan his name, then she claims his lips again more fervently. There's a sheen of sweat on her skin that makes him want to taste her, to bite her, and she grows warmer in his arms, her pulse growing wild beneath his fingers. Roaming hands grab at his shoulders and her side and his arms and her thigh and his ass until he just has to grab her. She gasps and bites his lip and the jolt echoes through his brain and quickens the pace of his fingers, because she needs him and she wants him and the desperation with which she soaks up every sensation he gives her makes him burn.

Her back arches and her arms tense and she breathes out a single, completed "Oh."

Then holding her becomes like trying to hold water in cupped hands and he sinks onto the nearest piece of furniture – a desk covered in papers. He sinks back onto it, pulling her along with him, not caring about wrinkling someone's work or knocking over little knickknacks. He closes his eyes and tries to calm down.

After a moment she giggles and runs a finger along his cheek. That definitely doesn't help him to calm down. He looks down at her and her ridiculously sexy bedroom eyes and promptly turns his attention to the ceiling.

"So am I forgiven?"

She sighs and rests her head against his chest, pulling back into herself a bit. "I suppose so."

"That's not really a yes."

"It's not," she agrees. "I don't know. Can I still be mad at how frustrating you are, even if I'm not really mad at you?"

"I… yes?"

"Hmm…" She props up her chin and looks down at him with her eyebrows drawn together, leaving a crease across her forehead. He instinctively reaches up to soothe it away. "Have I beaten your issues out of you yet?"

"…uh…"

She sighs and drops her head back against his chest in disappointment.

"You know, Goldie, if this is your new method to beat things out of me, you're more than welcome to try again."

"I'm serious, Eugene."

He stops trailing his fingers over the shell of her ear and reaches out to cup her face. "I know, Rapunzel."

She slowly moves up to kiss him - a soft, "I guess we'll have to agree to disagree" kiss.

Eugene's never had one of those before. He's not sure if he likes it.

She leans back and considers him a moment, then straightens up and smiles. "Now, help me get my corset back on. And then help me find my shoe."