Chapter Five: The Greatest Performance of Her Life

Emma was at a loss for what to wear. She had been standing in front of her closet for more time than anyone would admit in her position. Her wardrobe was small already, so choices were slim to none. But what exactly does one wear to a… well, she didn't really know what to call this rendezvous. Considering Regina's track record it could be anything from another blackmail tape to getting stood up.

What would Regina expect to see? She could go with something simple: a t-shirt and jeans which never failed to draw a lingering eye. Emma let out an uncertain sigh. A pair of dark denim jeans collapsed on the bed, a soft white button down joining it.

Choice number two came in the fashion of the khaki shirt and pants she swore she would never wear on the job. Even after that promise and having been fired from the job Emma couldn't help the nostalgia of leaving with it. Though she'd certainly find the humor in showing up to this 'interview' clad to the nines in this little number, Regina… would not. Emma's head hung dejectedly as she slid the hanger to side. The uniform, though a tad kinky, was a disaster waiting to happen. Regina would probably accuse her of stealing public property.

What remained in her sorry excuse for a closet made Emma feel very pathetic: cutoff jeans, sweatpants, a few sweaters that screamed Mary Margaret, a collection of leather jackets, her parka, a sundress, some workout shirts…

"Wait," she muttered, hand thrusting forward to retrieve the item. "A sundress? Where the fuck did that come from?"

The white dress had wide shoulder straps and came down to the knees. It was dotted with sunflowers which seemed to magically come out at her like a pop-up book. Emma jerked her head back with a sour face. And then it hit her.

"Mary Margaret."

Shaking her head with a grumble, Emma returned the thing to the dust corner whence it came. The sly slip of hand on the part of her roommate went noticed and would be stored for reprimand at a later date.

As there was no way in hell she'd seduce Regina in a nauseating sundress, there remained only one option.


Bare feet clambered down the steps, startling Mary Margaret. She had been at the breakfast bar, grading papers and sipping orange juice. A place was already set next to her, consisting of a second glass of juice and a bowl of Frosted Cheerios sans milk. After that super awkward morning which hadn't been brought up since, she had broken normal routine and relegated her morning to a more public space.

The footsteps were more frantic than usual that morning. Mary Margaret dabbed up her chin where the orange juice spilt. As she cleaned, her eyes followed the bare feet up a pair of faded black slacks in dire need of steaming and widened at the matching blazer. The jacket hung its life on that one button Emma managed to clasp after 15 whole minutes. Beneath shown a simple white blouse which appeared to be the only thing that actually fit the woman.

"Oh my," Mary Margaret said, a little more drawn out than expected.

Suffice it to say Emma Swan wouldn't be caught dead in this ensemble. Their matching petrified looks both knew it.

Emma cleared her throat, looking anywhere but in the eyes of judgment. Her hand flopped rhythmically against her thigh.

"What's the occasion?" Mary Margaret asked in a hushed tone, like the whole thing was some super-secret operation.

"I, ah… I've got a thing." A raised brow begged for more. Emma rephrased slowly, word for word, "I have a job interview this afternoon."

"Really? That's fantastic, Emma! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

Emma chuckled. "Simmer down. I haven't gotten the job yet."

"Well, tell me all about it." The roommate hunkered more comfortably in her stool for the gab fest ahead. Her eyebrows soared up thrillingly. "What is the position?"

"It's… I'd rather not say. Just until I know for sure. I don't want to jinx it, you know?"

"I suppose. Are you really nervous? You seem a bit on edge."

"I feel like a monkey in a suit," Emma complained, gesturing to the ensemble. Her bare foot came down a bit petulantly. "I'm signing up for the circus!"

"No, you're not," came the motherly scold. "It's very appropriate for a job interview. The first impression is key to winning him or her over."

"But I already –" Her lips snapped shut before she could finish. Mary Margaret couldn't know what was going on between the mayor and herself. The fallout from letting it slip would be damaging not only to Emma, but to her friend as well. The idea of the mayor and poor innocent Emma playing out an extra sick version of Fatal Attraction might cause Mary Margaret a brain aneurism before Regina could even plan murder.

"And your appearance says everything about who you are."

Emma made a once over of herself before stating, "Right now it's saying I'm a cheap, overweight bimbo."

There was a gasp. "You are not overweight, Emma Swan!"

A mouth twisted just as Emma raised a brow.

"Oh," Mary Margaret's hands flew out, "and you're not cheap or a bimbo!"

"Well, I obviously can't tell my own size. How am I supposed to keep up the mature look when I don't know my own blazer size?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she soothed with a slow, sympathetic nod. "In the meantime, let's just focus on this interview. Now," a pen and paper appeared from nowhere, "shall we roleplay? I can ask you some questions about your strengths and weaknesses, your work experience, where you would like to see yourself in five years…"

Emma cringed behind her hand, trying to scrub away the image of her best friend impersonating Regina for this mock interview. She consequently gagged and swore off breakfast.

When Mary Margaret reached the question of what her favorite animal was Emma waved her hands in a stopping motion. "That's really great of you to want to help out, Mary Margaret, but I think I'm prepared."

"You don't need any pointers?"

"No, I think I did my homework."

Once Mary Margaret was convinced she went before her friend to pat down the creases. Biting her bottom lip, Emma stood there like a manikin getting a makeover. She didn't take well to getting touched, even if it approached in the form of a gentle hand. Being taken care of came as foreign to her as a long lost son showing up on her doorstep.

The teacher's maneuvers flitted down to where the ends of the blazer met at a straining button. She frowned when the other didn't budge to her magic touch. She shrugged and chalked it up to a poor brand. The struggling button was given a loving pat before Mary Margaret stepped back to review her work. "That will have to do for now. When you –"

"If I…"

"When you get hired I'm going to take you to the department store to see about some clothes that fit. Now, about those feet… Do you have a nice pair of shoes to match?"

Emma face screwed in a wince and admitted, "Was kinda hoping you'd lend me a pair?"

Eyes narrowed, Mary Margaret tipped her head sternly as if her friend should know better than to go through life without at least one set of slip-ons. "Just this once."

"You're my savior."


A midday sun beat down on Storybrooke and baked everything it touched. Not a soul wandered the streets, the heat having forced them indoors. Even escape artist Pongo who made his fun by giving his owner a workout had been driven to snooze beneath the air conditioner.

Only one lone townsperson hazarded the humidity and that person was Emma Swan. Instead of riding in her hot, metal car she took to the sidewalk. As she wiped away the sweat gathering like an ocean on her forehead she realized two things.

Thing number one: black was not her brightest idea yet.

Thing number two: the fact that she was going to die of heat stroke wouldn't save her from being late to the interview. Regina's glaring eyes would cook her sunny side up before the sun ever had its way with her.

Borrowed shoes slapping the pavement steps, she kept her eyes downcast from the sun and the shame. Emma pulled at the sleeve of her blazer, forcing the edge to meet her wrist. She could just imagine the consequences which quite likely included, "The least you could do, Miss Swan, was come in clothes that fit."

But why on earth would Emma Swan care about how she looked for the mayor? Did she want Regina to be impressed? If so, then when had this shifted from satisfying her own needs to those of the woman who so eloquently fucked her? No, Emma admonished herself. This was about getting her job back and nothing else. The plan was to go in there, get business done, and escape with her dignity and job intact.

Green eyes followed the cracks in the ground until they came to a tapping stiletto. Emma followed it up a vaguely similar pantsuit and shrunk beneath the gaze already melting her skin. Unconsciously, her hand came up to pull at her damp collar.

"You're late," Regina snapped and turned her heel, leaving Emma's mouth open in empty retort.

Suddenly struck by a self-conscious moment, Emma's hands fiddled with the clip holding up the sides of her hair. So much for making a first impression. Regina hadn't even supplied her usual once over. Emma could have taken the condescension in those sultry brown eyes, but not one glance? While the blazer didn't fit her exact dimensions it certainly revealed how much effort Emma put into this meeting. The pantsuit wasn't her style and Regina damn well knew that. The least she could have done was throw her a bone.

The bell chimed happily as the door shut behind. When Emma finally came up with a good excuse as to why she and the town mayor showed up at the same inn she was watching Granny hand over an antique silver key to Regina. The mayor took it with a smile and a nod.

"What in the…?"

"Coming, Miss Swan?"

"Um." She held a vague finger up and stared from the casualty in Regina's demeanor to the innkeeper's concerned face.

"You okay, hon?"

Emma swallowed. She suddenly felt very faint. And it wasn't due to the heat.

"It must be the heat," Granny settled with a nod. Closing the cash register with a snap that made Emma jump, she turned to the other woman. "Madame Mayor, your room has the basic amenities; queen bed, washroom, furnished, free low-speed internet, and fully air conditioned." Her head jerked to the paling woman. "I'd get her near a fan quick before she keels over."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lucas." Regina bowed her head graciously. "A pleasure as always."

Emma found herself following her around a corner to the staircase. She grabbed the fleeting arm before it got far.

"You want to explain what that was back there? What happened to a little confidentiality for god's sakes!" she hissed breathlessly. "If Granny knows she'll tell Ruby and everyone knows what she's like with gossip."

"The innkeeper and I have an understanding."

"Oh, now she's the innkeeper?"

"There is nothing to concern yourself with. Widow Lucas runs a legitimate business that hinges on patron discretion."

Emma blinked erratically and choked, "Are you saying Granny runs a brothel?"

"Don't get excited, dear. The town brothel is just across the street from the strip club. Or haven't you stopped by, yet?"

"Oh my hell. Is that a joke? Or mayoral speak for something?"

Brown eyes soared up. "I'm starting to remember why I fired her in the first place."

"You say you have an understanding with Granny. Do I want to know what that means? Have you…" A chill swept over Emma's flushed skin. A warning sensation made her feel lured by the blind witch in Henry's story book. Only in this reality she couldn't promise not to eat anything. "Have you done this before?"

Regina smirked and continued up the stairs.

"Curiouser," Emma mused.

Before she could trail after something caught her eye – the place on the bannister where an olive tanned hand left. There were beads of perspiration dotting the wood. With a small inhale Emma wondered if Regina was as nervous as she. Was it even possible? The mayor had shown to dish a challenge as well as she met one, and displayed immunity to any verbal or otherwise physical attack.

The mayor stood as a shining example of fortitude. The only instance of vulnerability recalled was when Regina's eyes broadened over her straddled prey in the forest.

Alternatively, the trace of perspiration could be blamed on the summer heat. Having been a patron of the bed and breakfast, Emma was familiar with the poorly circulated air. The memory of sweaty, sleepless nights struck an uneasy tremor through her bones. There would not be enough cool air in GE history to get her through this. She climbed the stairs thinking Damn, what if I pass out on her before she can critique my moves?

They convened in one of the inn's more modest rooms. The mayor's purse found a home at a chair just as Emma closed the door, sealing her fate.

"Point of no return, huh?"

Regina fluffed her hair while scrutinizing the room. In return, she offered a distracted, "Hm?"

"Never mind."

"Dear, you're not nervous, are you?" Before Emma knew it her fists were taken in by the mayor. "You're hands are clammy," she observed, leaving no room for disparity.

"I-I'm actually fine now," came from Emma's lips. Since her hands had been taken captive she actually did feel better. An unlikely dose of confidence surged through her, straightening her posture and lifting her chin. Now their eyes met. Now they were equals. For the first time that day Emma took a moment to make a study in how Regina dressed for her. No, not for her – for the interview.

Regina pulled off a pantsuit exceedingly well. Among the mayor's lavish work wear it had to be the three-piece getup that Emma admired most. The dark shade and sharp lines outlined a severity which supplied the mayor authority, masculinity, influence, and justifiable narcissism. Yet for as harsh as that guise exerted there was a softness in how it was worn. From the creaseless, lintless ensemble it was evident that Regina took care of her things. A definite amount of fondness had been applied in the upkeep.

Every second spent on a slack button, every curve and shape of Regina's features caused Emma's pulse to quicken. She looked the same, in yet… different. Emma couldn't put a finger on it, but something in the way Regina stood there inches from pulling her into bed, waiting for whatever this was to commence told her this was new for both of them. Emma had slept with a lot of people, some acquaintances, others marks from her bounty hunting days, and fewer whom shared her company through the night, but none held a candle to the kind of insatiable wanting boring into her. This woman looked quite possessed in the moment, beholding Emma and drinking in all exposed flesh like she hadn't eaten in days.

By then the very last shred of nervousness had made itself scarce. Finally relaxed, Emma exhaled. Her mouth twisted into a smirk as the slight movement of her chest drew in wild brown eyes. Hungry, indeed.

For the sake of curiosity, Emma posed an inquiry. "So how does this work?"

Brown eyes snapped up. Realizing she was being spoken to, Regina cleared her throat. "Simple. This will be an evaluation of your skills. If you pass I will reinstate your position as sheriff."

"What, have you grown tired of David?" Though it may have ripped a few stitches in her undersized blazer, Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "It wouldn't surprise me. You pick up a toy and throw it away when it fails to hold your interest."

Teeth clacked shut on invisible prey. "And what would you know of it? You have been in Storybrooke all of five months."

"I don't have to be here long to know you have a thing for sheriffs. What puzzles me is why no one else has noticed."

"But do you really count, Miss Swan?" she asked, feigning consideration. "After all, you were awarded the badge by default."

"I should be offended. Everything," Emma stressed, "from that phony sex tape to sabotaging my dancing gig to a possibly humiliating assessment of my fuck-ability is at a level of perversity that would warrant you a straightjacket."

"And yet you came, knowing exactly what is expected of you. Even now you stay." Her voice trembled slightly on the last word.

The line between Emma's brows deepened. "That's more than I can say for how you left me in the damn forest!"

"So get back. You mentioned my restraint; the notion is well within the licenses of this interview."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not going to indulge this behavior," Emma ground out through clenched teeth.

It wasn't enough to convince either of them. Regina couldn't take it with a grain of salt, not at the blush on Emma's cheeks or the husked dip in tone at the mention of this… behavior. As for Emma, she didn't trust a word that came from her own mouth due to the fact that it had grown dry at the sight of the mayor, a slight heave to her bosom and hairline darkened with perspiration (again, anxious or just a touch warm?).

"Did I fail to claim that this is a simple thing, dear? All you have to do is give in. I am letting you."

"I'm not Graham."

"No," Regina granted with an incline of her head. Her eyes then glazed hungrily over the ill-fitted pantsuit and what she knew waited just as eager beneath. "No, you most certainly are not."

"Wait," Emma muttered dumbly. She frowned, "What is that supposed to mean?"

An evil chuckle ran out through the bedroom. "Well," came the drawl, a brow arched, "Graham didn't talk me to bed."

It was said with the perfect dash of spite and anticipation. In the end, it wasn't blackmail that sparked Emma to action, nor was it an imaginary prodding from behind that pushed her over into that familiar ocean where common sense went to die. It was nothing and everything rolled into one tangled ball of What the hell? That question went unanswered just as Emma's hand slipped.

A well-fit black blazer, the lapels outlined with a daring white stripe, fell to the floor where mothballed trousers joined it. Several more items collapsed to the finished wood: a second pair of trousers, another jacket, a waistcoat, two white blouses, killer stilettoes, and homely slip-ons.

"Mm, a bed. How novel."

Emma followed the comment down to the comforter and the naked woman arching her back on it like a goddess. An emerald studded hand caressing the material she laid on, tracing the swirling gold motifs and abstract teardrops of ultramarine. She was a vision of patience and, yet, above all the creepy shit Emma had to take at the hands of this woman it was that patience that disturbed her most.

One leg, bent at the knee, crossed over the other lying flat. She was propped up on her elbows. Her skin was soft from where Emma stood, the color of cream and coffee – two vices of hers so ironically painted on fleshy desire. Regina was petite, but there were areas where strength derived; shoulders, jaw, quality thighs and a flat stomach. The place beneath the skin, where hidden from eyes and intention something more fortified than all the rest of her pined for nothing and no one living. And yet it was the very thing that sustained her existence.

Breasts heaved under nipples hardening in cool conditioned air. These curvaceous things were a feature well-developed whether they lazed on display or were concealed beneath a stitch of lace. Her smoky eyeshadow matched the lean patch below her abdomen. Nails which many often mistook for claws exploited the blood out of every shade of red. Her toes, not petite enough to escape the daily pain of heels, curled at the anticipation so personally felt and so shared with the room's other participant.

She looked more a subject to be painted in oils on canvas than a cool, calculating mayor. Emma hadn't picked up a brush in her life, but with so attractive a model in her midst she swore she felt a fresh sense of inspiration creep up on her. Yet it was not her duty to have Regina sit still long enough to beautify a canvas. And with the mayor waiting in nothing but hooded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk, Emma could hardly call herself objective.

A bed. How novel.

Emma chuckled inwardly, considering how far she had come (or not come) with Regina. If this was not about getting her job back, or about fighting over a kid, or any abundant issues they'd exchanged words and jabs over, Emma just might find herself in this same position. It was a strange notion to think Emma and Regina could be together in a room and just be themselves.

"Don't mistake," Emma said, prowling to the edge of the bed. "We might not be roughing it in the forest or doing it on your $5,000 desk," Emma planted her hands on the bed, leaning in to emphasize, "but I'm going to do things you won't be able to wash off for days."

Her lips met the bent knee to finish (or in their case, to start). The ends of blonde hair wisped over Regina's thighs, stomach, and breasts, leaving a trail of quivering flesh in its wake. Mindless of consequences or propriety, Emma's mouth took Regina's.

The reaction was unexpected. Regina's body tensed. It only lasted a sliver of a second, but in that moment she considered what she had done (was doing) and if it would cause irreparable damage. Had it always been like this? Had she always been this way? And then Regina remembered: no harm could come from what was already damaged. It couldn't be fixed. It couldn't be rehabilitated to a higher form.

But then Emma was touching her and her body relaxed. If Regina had a sentimental bone in her body she would have described it as melting wax to the heat of a flame. But there was no magic about the touch. No spark or implied courtship in the way Emma's hand ghosted around the swell of her chest. It was possessive and regardless of impartiality. Emma had every intention of taking something and never giving it back. It brought relief to Regina that this woman, this girl of disreputable poise, could act contrary to the glorious potential the town praised in her. Relief and insurmountable satisfaction.

Regina should have been disgusted by the threat. If only Emma had known all the things she had to wash away in her life. It could fill a diary, a coffin, and a heart-shaped box. Decades later and still she scrubbed between her thighs with a grimace and shook off the misfortune of having a vivid memory.

She should have spat at the blatant threat to rein in control, a thing the mayor had a monopoly over for 28 long years. But instead, she gasped.

Emma heard the mayor's breath and knew she had done something right. She flipped Regina onto her stomach and proceeded in open-mouthed kisses, gripping hands, exploring and worshiping and pleasuring. In her own way, she walked a fine line between kindness and indecency, but there was no mediocrity in her touch. A moan, scream, a startled inhale or a broken sigh – Emma took it and took it with pride. If she gave pleasure, Regina accepted graciously. If it was pain, Regina grappled for it like water in the desert.

Their fingers weaved together as Emma stretched their arms towards the pillows. She lay keening away atop the writhing body. The quilt, shifting and jiving beneath them, muffled Regina's feverish lip service. Emma buried her head in the crook of a neck to make out the groans. The mayor, always one to govern undue language, was clearly not censoring herself. Emma wondered with a wry smile if she knew what she was saying or how easily she succumbed. She wondered, smile growing wicked and wide, how prudent the mayor's lips would be if her fingers allowed themselves to meet at the gathering wetness between eagerly spread thighs.

Wondering led to action as Emma never had been a patient woman. Using her finger she dragged it down Regina's spine and swirled at the dimple where it ended. She kissed away the shiver, thereby eliciting another. She kneed aside the leg for wider access and entered the mayor as she did in her office.

Regina arched, mouth open in a groan. She clawed at the bedspread, forehead pressing in so hard she feared she'd sink through. Her eyes saw a velvet black void at how hard they shut to the thrusts. She saw behind a space exploding with hot white stars and thought she would forget the whole thing. It was so different from how Emma sprawled her out on her desk that fateful day. Then there had been desperation behind the act – the unknowing pleading of a desperate woman. But this, this force washing over her like a relentless current, was a different kind of desperation. This desperation didn't know what it wanted. It was lost, near abandoned from all thought it was impossible to predict what came next.

But there was something to be said for adaptation. Soon Emma had her thrusting back on twisting, pumping fingers. Regina felt so filled and satisfied she felt her own control slipping away. Her moans came deeper and longer, her thighs trembled and selfishly clamped around her invading desire, her expectation stretched beyond the norm associated with all ex-sheriffs of Storybrooke.

Regina was turned on her back, eyes opening from an exploding night sky to the generic cream painted ceiling. Just as it seemed like the performance had finished and as she began to count the turns of an oscillating fan, Emma's mouth resumed what fingers so eagerly set about. Regina's lungs burned at the sharp inhale. She bit down on a scream, not wanted to reveal any more than what the innkeeper discerned from this appointment. Panting with exertion and hips rocking, she felt Emma work between her legs. A tongue glossed through arousal which ran wet and aimless. The mouth she dreamed of slapping and kissing and washing out with soap at times had a delirious effect on her. It sucked and nipped and delved and flicked in a manner of toe-curling delight. And she did it again and again and again. Regina was more than happy to spur Emma on for assessment's sake if not for her own. She wanted to push her much too far for either of their comfort and see how tough this blonde from nowhere really was.

And Regina understood. There was premeditation in Emma's talents as a lover. Unhindered by the subject's gender or disposition, she knew exactly what to do and how it would be received. Her hands and mouth moved in tandem to provide the desired effect. She could pull Regina undone with 'ohs' and 'gods' and the kind of tripe talk associated with peasants. She prevailed over her rival in a most unusual confidence. If only the same could be applied to her sheriffing, Regina mused fleetingly.

"Aren't you going to drill me with questions?" Emma rose to ask. "This is, after all, an interview."

A gust of a sigh blew out from Regina. The need grew strong within her, but she refused to beg for it. Her head fell to her shoulder to muffle the groan. "Are you always this intolerable?"

Emma chuckled against a thigh. "Why of course, Madame Mayor. Isn't that how all the good employees excite their superiors? With dogged persistence?"

Regina hissed as the tongue returned its lavishing. This time her moans went unhindered, growing just as impatient as the last. Her hand went to plant itself against the headboard and gave her leverage to bound against Emma's two fingers which soon became three.

Emma was right about one thing: she did need this. In that sordid tryst which became the source for blackmail, the sheriff had made certain assumptions about her which were not limited to the fact that Regina liked "jumping" Emma in the "god damned woods" more than she would have liked to admit, or that, yes, giving is just as good as receiving. Yes, she wanted Emma to touch her. Yes, it felt good. Yes, god damn it, Emma had been right.

"Yes," husked Regina, too dazed to be certain whether it had come from her mouth or her thoughts.

The wood creaked against Regina's hand which pressed harder for leverage. She refused to touch Emma and her beautiful blonde tresses. The most she allowed for importunity came in bucking, bounding hips and a series of daring groans. And oh had Emma granted. In full.

Though at the mercy of that insipid mouth, it was the spirit of Emma's confidence that sent Regina's back arching and hands and toes curling into the bedspread. Regina came with a riotous cry that startled the innkeeper from her daily Sudoku. Emma moaned into her work, equally prosperous from finally committing the mayor to abandoned writhes and curses.

Panting exhaustively, Regina turned away on her side just as Emma came to lie beside her. The cool dismissal stumped her into a frown. Was that the kind of appreciation she deserved? Did she do something to offend? Or not to offend? In disgruntled silence Emma dared to think she had not performed to the mayor's specifications. It certainly sounded like Regina appreciated her. Which begged the question: Why the cold shoulder?

As the minutes trailed by with nothing to pierce the air but slowing breaths, Emma became immobile by that familiar thing called nerves. Naked on her back she picked at her cuticles and absentmindedly sucked arousal from the tips of her fingers. The air conditioner ticked away midst heavy silence.

"So," Emma broke finally. She didn't move a muscle, instead only allowing a subtle shift of her eyes. "Did I pass?" Her eyebrows were in a perpetual state of anticipation, so high they were mere centimeters from her hairline.

Regina remained still. If it were not for her breathing she could have passed for dead. Several minutes passed like hours before she spoke. "A follow-up interview should be in order."

"Now?" Emma asked, eyes lit up expectantly.

A sigh and then, "No." Regina slipped from the bed and marched towards her clothes. "Unlike you, dear, I have a job that needs tending after."

"That's it? No feedback at all?"

"I never took you for the type."

"Come on, Regina. This is your chance for constructive criticism."

"And what if I have none to give?" Forgoing the buttons on her waistcoat, Regina slipped on the last piece of her ensemble, perfecting the look of Thoroughly Fucked Mayor of Storybrooke. "What if it is simply…" she tipped her head, feigning consideration before looking back with a shrug, "criticism?"

"Ouch."

Regina grinned despite herself. Her eyes diverted elsewhere as she considered just who was under critique. Performance in bed was a two-way street and Regina found herself wondering about her own. To her disdain, memory served poorly. She had just finished what was probably the most important staged even of her life and she couldn't remember a thing. Had she given herself over too soon? Too much? She was too consumed by the lasting heat ignited between her legs to think straight.

She recovered with a perfect blend of disdain and professionalism. "After I have consulted my schedule I will contact you with the time and place of our next meeting. I should think your calendar is wide open."

Emma's jaw dropped a bit at the dripping intent. The smoldering gaze had her thighs trembling as Regina's had just moments ago. Lying positively naked and unfucked before the mayor was a vulnerable state she'd rather not experience again. In fact, she wished her to leave. Damn the niceties of farewell because the longer Emma stayed bare in Regina's presence the sooner she'd come by the desire in those lingering brown eyes. Left dry of praise, she would not give Regina the satisfaction.

"Sounds good." Emma shrugged casually. The tips of her fingers met her forehead and flicked out in a weak salute. "It's been a pleasure."

Regina wouldn't take the bait. Instead she threw her dagger eyes and parted from their room.