Thank you so much for all of your reviews, pm's and support on tumblr for this story! Reviews are most welcome and treasured by this writer.
I do not own Once Upon a Time, in case you were curious. ;) And as always, many thanks to miscreant rose and Cls2011 for their undying support and willingness to read draft after draft of this tale.
He swallows hard, staring into eyes shining a ghostly black in the low light.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" he hums, leaning in close.
"That all depends on your approach," she returns, raising an eyebrow. "And whether or not you're up for the challenge. I suggest you choose wisely."
"Oh, I'm up for it," he grins, making her laugh at his pun. "There's no question about that."
She looks downward, a delicious energy unleashing a smile across her face.
"I'm glad to hear it," she returns. "It's not as much fun to play alone."
"I agree," he murmurs. "Especially when there's such an attractive offer for a play date on the table."
"Even if your playmate is a biter?" she dares, swallowing down her pulse, wondering if he can see the nervous energy radiating out her pores.
"I've never been put off by a good set of teeth," he hums, his nose brushing hers, his breath warm on her mouth.
She smiles at him, her heart pounding even as her body races ahead of her reason, pushing her into him with a force she has nearly forgotten.
"Neither have I," she breathes, wanting to kiss him, to devour him, to lay aside all thought and sensibility and simply feel like a woman. "Just like I've never been put off by a good set of balls."
His eyes widen at her forwardness, but he grins like Christmas has just arrived early.
"Sports fan, are you?" he muses, tickling the side of her ear with his finger. "I'm willing to wager you have excellent ball-handling skills."
"It's all in the fingers," she boasts as she flicks them in a wave, licking her lips, enjoying the way his breath hitches at her daring. "And the palms."
"So you have a firm grip?" he questions, his hands sliding into her hair.
"It's almost magical, you might say."
Her voice has dropped nearly an octave, her breath coming in snatches she tries to keep steady.
"That sounds stimulating," he manages as he takes her hand, spreading her fingers until she is open to him, planting a wet kiss on her exposed palm. "Black or white magic, my lady?"
The texture of his voice matching that of his scruff, and she is burning to feel his mouth on the vast expanse of her skin.
"Pick your poison, Marshall," she instructs, shivering at her own boldness.
"I'll take black magic," he hums, her nipples aching at his declaration. "Did I choose wisely?"
"Ah," she manages, her body beginning to hum as his mouth works its way to her wrist, making time with her pulse. "You like forbidden fruit, I take it."
He draws back to stare into her, forging a connection with her she cannot begin to understand.
"The juicier the better."
Her legs turn to liquid on the spot.
Who is this woman about to do something radically impulsive, something she may well regret the instant it's over, something her mother would never understand? Is this Mayor Mills, the lost girl still mourning young love cruelly snatched away, the single mother struggling to give her son the love and support she never received as a girl, the politician working to keep her town together while battling a tough opponent in an upcoming campaign?
Perhaps. But at the moment, she is simply Regina, a lonely woman who wants lose herself in the arms a man tempting her with the sweetest of poisons.
"Be prepared to wipe your chin," she whispers across his cheek, her entire body flushing at once.
"Gladly," he breathes just before mouths nearly slam into each other, open and desperate, hot and in need. Her skin prickles and burns, every pulse point in her body aching for his tongue, every nerve crying out for his caress. Lips continually collide, battling for dominance in a duel shooting sparks to her thighs and breasts, and she slides her hands into his jacket, peeling it off for him with fingers still trembling.
"Are you alright?"
His question takes her off-guard, and she blinks to focus, thunder rocking their room at an opportune moment.
"Yes," she fires back. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He laughs under his breath, bringing her hand to his mouth yet again.
"Hmm," he begins. "Caught in a hurricane, truck blocking the door, strange man in your room, strange man coming on to you…"
"Strange man talking too much," she tosses back, silencing him with her mouth. But he pulls back gently, taking her hands in his own yet again.
"You're shaking, you know. I don't want to do this if you're not certain."
A puff of air escapes her, pushed from her lungs involuntarily, and she closes her eyes, willing a center of calm to emerge that she does not feel.
"If I wasn't certain, I wouldn't be unbuttoning your shirt," she hums, nudging his nose with hers.
He hisses at the feel of her nails on his skin, swallowing audibly as his fingers wind in her hair.
"It's alright if you're nervous, you know," he breathes into her hair. "I am somewhat, myself."
She leans back, surprised by his comment, staring at him in a manner deeper than she had until this moment.
"So you're not a one-night stand kind of guy, I take it?"
Her question lays between them, and he shakes his head as a sound of wry amusement escapes him.
"Not exactly," he admits, and she wonders if he's blushing, wishing she could see the colors of his skin rather than just textures outlined in dim light. "This is my first one, to be honest."
Her heart hammers in her temples, and she licks lips missing his mouth.
"My second," she confesses, feeling somehow lighter voicing information so intimate to this unexpected stranger. Then something hits her, and her eyes widen as she looks back at him half-alarmed. "Are you equipped for this?"
He coughs, making her laugh as the implications of what she just said hit her soundly.
"I certainly hope so," he mutters, looking down at his lap, biting his lower lip. "If not, we'll both be terribly disappointed."
"I meant prepared," she tosses back trying to contain her amusement, watching his brows raise in understanding. "If you're not someone who normally does this sort of thing, I just wondered."
He pulls out his wallet and fumbles through it, pulling out three condoms for her perusal.
"My friend John slipped these in last weekend," he explains with a shrug. "Told me it was high time I get out there again."
You need to get out there again, Regina, Emma told her just three days ago, earning herself a withering look of annoyance and instructions to go straddle her new boyfriend and mind her own damned business.
"So you get that, too?" she questions, her breath becoming ragged again as he begins to toy with the front of her blouse.
"All too often," he breathes roughly as she slides his shirt down his arms. His skin is hot and smooth, and her palms are drawn to it as if under an enchantment. God, he feels incredible, the smattering of hair across his chest stimulating her with the power of a potent aphrodisiac. A chill crawling up her back alerts her to the fact that her blouse has come off—how odd she hadn't noticed its descent—and she is now clad only in a lace camisole he seems to like quite well.
"Is this black?" he questions, toying with a thin strap as his lips caress her shoulder.
"Yes," she manages, digging her nails into his back as teeth and tongue take up a tango along her clavicle.
"Excellent choice," he responds, the huskiness of his tone rubbing her thighs. "It matches your hair and eyes."
"Some might say it matches my heart," she whispers, wishing she could recall the words the moment they fall from her lips.
He draws back once again until they are forehead to forehead.
"Then they haven't taken the time to look deeper."
Oh God.
Her heart drops to her stomach, her eyes round in a state of panic as an intense feeling slithers under her skin, wrapping her soundly with cords of tenderness that threaten to expose too much. How is this man getting too her so quickly? Perhaps he is the one wielding a magic of which she has no knowledge.
"Did I say something wrong?"
His fingers stroke her arm, her shoulder, then his thumb caresses her face.
"Why are you doing this?"
He studies her in luminous shadows, his eyes taking on an almost fluorescent quality in their intensity.
"I don't know, actually," he confesses, his touch both unsettling and steadying. "Perhaps it's a reaction to living on the edge of destruction and death, perhaps it's simply the fact that I'm locked in a hotel room with a woman whose beauty surpasses my command of my own tongue."
She tries to swallow, her mouth suddenly parched and hot, her toes so cold they are nearly numb.
"But I think it's more than that," he continues, taking her hand in his own, making her start with the realization that he is trembling, too. "And that's what I can't explain."
Her tongue thickens in her mouth, her pulse responding to his words as her senses understand what her mind tries to dismiss.
"Try," she commands, her voice far steadier than her emotions. He smiles at the tone of natural authority she wields without thinking, covering her knuckles with his lips in a manner that goes deeper than she anticipates. Damn it. She doesn't have the time or need for any emotional entanglements, especially with a Federal Marshall she'll never see again once the storm passes and help arrives. And why the hell should she feel anything more than raw lust, pure and simple, understandable for a woman in her position and an easy urge to satiate?
He shakes his head, racking his fingers through thick hair before his cheeks fill with air he puffs out slowly.
"When I first met Marian, there was something there I'd never felt before," he begins, looking at the ceiling. "A connection that existed before we even spoke, a need to get to know her that defied all logic."
He pauses, clearing his throat, his gaze falling to their intertwined hands.
"After I lost her, a part of me died, as well," he continues, his tone fractured and exposed. God, she knows this feeling, had felt its imprint on bone and muscle after Daniel died in that crash. It had awakened her from what sleep she could manage, making her gasp for air as she struggled to break free from the clutches of strangling nightmares.
"That part of me eventually numbed, and I learned to exist again," he states, looking back at her in a manner that hits her soundly. "Of course, Roland was my lifeline. Without him, I don't know how I would have managed."
"Children are powerful medicine,"
"They have the ability to heal, I think."
He pauses, clearly taken aback by his own personal admissions as driving rain hits the windows and roof.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so personal so quickly."
Her eyes take in their half-dressed state as a wry grin breaks out across her lips.
"I thought getting personal was what this was all about."
His chuckle morphs into a languid kiss, one that tugs on her nipples and teases off-limit emotions.
"I suppose getting naked is getting personal," he laughs, nudging down the waistline of her slacks. She raises her hips to aid him, nearly losing her balance as his lips touch down just below her naval.
"Sensitive," he muses, working his mouth in a westerly direction towards her hipbone, cupping her bottom securely. She grips his hair to balance herself, her hips moving of their own accord.
"I suspect you are, as well," she hums, allowing one hand to drop to his hips, her fingers delving into his waistband, unfastening and toying with his zipper as his head falls into her breasts.
"God, Regina," he breathes raggedly, looking up at her with a depth of feeling that frightens her. "What sort of spell have you cast over me?
She silences him physically, open-mouthed and raw as she straddles his groin. She doesn't need an emotional tie, doesn't want to let him inside her psyche even as she craves him deeply elsewhere. He is dangerous and primal, an unknown force that renders her weak to charms wielded in the form of a quick wit and dimples.
But she can't get enough of him, in her mouth, under her palms, beneath her thighs, all over her mind.
His scent intensifies, and she feels a sheen of sweat on his face, her mouth skimming the sensitized flesh of his neck and chest, the taste of salt mixed with arousal nearly sending her over the edge. He responds instantly, hot palms blazing paths on her back, his tongue as hard as other parts of him, she suspects. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, crawl into his hair, her nails penciling sketches over skin that make his breath catch and his kisses deepen.
She raises up on her knees, and his hands pull her face to his own, his lips hard and demanding as they taste each other freely with the fervor of starving peasants lead into a royal feast.
"I take it you're done talking," he somehow manages as her teeth capture his lower lip, eliciting a deep moan that makes her pulse.
"I'm glad you paid attention," she hums, leaning back far enough to pull her camisole over her head, exposing her black push-up bra. He exhales heatedly, a hungry grin meeting her predatory one, and she stares back at him, knowing if she makes one more move, there will be no going back.
"What are you waiting for, Marshall?" she questions, standing and kicking off her slacks, emboldened by the awestruck expression gazing back at her slack-jawed.
"Not a damned thing," he returns, pulling her back into his arms and on to a mattress that squeaks under their weight.
Thoughts, anyone?