Emma Swan was not the snuggling type. Neither was she the sharing a bed type. Instead preferring to satisfy her urges as quickly as possible and leave before her conquest had time to protest. It was just easier that way: easier to keep that barrier up between her and the world.

Intimacy was overrated.

At least that was what she told herself.

But here she was sharing a bed with this man - Killian - who made her head hurt with questions and confusion and whom she found herself unable to work out, no matter how hard she tried.

He had paid for a weekend and a weekend he would get, so when he pulled her towards the bed in the wee hours of the night, she had not protested. Instead she had let her head sink into the plush feather pillows and allowed his hand to linger on her hip as her breathing stilled and she lapsed into unconsciousness.

By now it must be morning already. His back was to hers. She wasn't sure of the time but the sky was still dark, the winter sun having not yet risen. No matter how late she fell asleep she was always awake before the dawn. It was like some kind of instinct inside her - a defense mechanism if you will. Emma felt safe in the darkness of night. But in daylight she was exposed, raw and vulnerable. She didn't like it.

She let herself look at him. His chest softly rose and fell in the rhythm of peaceful sleep: his back was broad and strong looking. She could make out those lean muscles that her hands had so enjoyed exploring the night before and the faint red lines and crescents where her nails had dug in and pulled along his tawny skin.

The memory of how he felt under her hands washed over her. Velvety soft. Firm. Athletic.

She felt a tingling feeling in her stomach and a smile rise on her mouth as the sensation washed over her. Her fingers twitched - wanting to reach out and touch him again; feel him once more.

Upwards she looked: his back melted into the nape of his neck - his artfully tousled hair a vivid contrast against the stark white pillow. It was thick and inviting - she had an urge to dig her fingers into it, tug on it, pull his face towards hers and-

No, she told herself. Business. There were rules to follow and follow them she will.

"Morning," came a croaky voice as he began to shift position, slowly rolling over to face her.

"How did you know I was awake?" she asked, propping up her head on her hand. As he turned the sheet around his waist slipped dangerously low. The twin bones of his hips jutting out, framing that dark track of hair that trailed down between them, disappearing under the thin sheet.

"Your breathing changed."

"Seriously?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Seriously," he insisted. She resisted the urge to smile at the matter of fact way he answered her, which was at once infuriating and undeniably sexy.

"It's still so early," she muttered, rolling onto her back and turning her head to look out of the large windows to her right.

"That it is," he drawled. She felt the bed shift. He was inching closer to her. She back to face him. He was so close. His body warm and inviting, radiating waves of heat.

Emma usually ran cold. She always struggled to stay warm - wrapping herself in layers and scarves and mittens from November until at least April. He seemed the opposite - almost at a permanent feverish temperature. It made her want to keep close to him, mould her body to his and sap the energy from him.

"How on Earth will we pass the time?" he mused, reaching over to nuzzle into her neck.

His damp lips shot a spark of fire down her spine, clutching cooly around its base and leaving a tingle lingering around her hips. Killian's lips then moved across her collar bone; slowly, doting almost. Little light kisses.

She let out a small laugh.

"I have no idea," she finally replied, letting her body relax into the bed and his strangely soothing touch.

"Hmm," he murmured, lightly biting the top of her breast. She gasped in surprise - meeting his eyes as he looked up. Those blue eyes again. Damn, they got to her. They were so ridiculously beautiful. Azure waters wrapped in a sapphire colored band, framed with long dark lashes.

She was staring. She should stop that.

A wicked smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He was looking at her like a starved man did to a long awaited feast. Her stomach throbbed in response: rippling and tormenting her.

When his hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her onto her side and backwards against him, she moaned softly. Her back hit his firm, hair covered chest. He rose his legs to cocoon her. She could feel his hardness digging into her back. Good morning indeed.

He swept her hair over her shoulder, his mouth began its fresh onslaught - licking and nipping, while one his hand rose from her waist and began to cup and tease her breasts.

Every touch doing wicked things to her.

She tilted her hips back, pressing against him. He replied in kind - his body surging up to meet hers. She pushed back as far as she could, wanting to feel him everywhere. His heat was thawing her chill, making her ache for him more and more.

The loss when he rolled away was brief but devastating all the same. Her body protested- come back! She heard him fumble for something. He didn't speak. The gentle rustle of plastic being torn was her warning.

Seconds later he was back - ravishing her with his hands and mouth: she lay almost limply in his arms, now awkwardly pushing back into him: her coordination failing as she let instinct take control.

Then she felt his cock between her buttocks. He slid it down between them. So slowly.

She could hear his breathing deepen, pouring over her skin in slow bursts. For a moment she started - would he really-

But then he was there, teasing at her entrance, his hand slipping around her waist again and tugging her tighter, taunting her with quick little thrusts that made her murmur in protest.

Until finally he relented. Slowly this time, not like before; much more gently - as if he wanted to savour it. Taking her from behind he felt even bigger than she remembered, achingly so; she squeezed him softly and he moaned into her ear. She kept her knees together, letting her muscles hug him tight as he entered, only stalling when their hips met.

"Fuck," she muttered. He groaned in reply.

Silence. The only sound the blood rushing through her veins in a throbbing beat.

The buzzing heat of his body behind her.

The gentle scrape of his fingers tightly gripping her waist.

All attempts to retain some sort of self control were lost. Her mind was turning to mush; liquifying into pure sensation and emotion. The feel of him inside her, filling her, aching her, pushed away all coherent thought. All that she wanted was him in that moment. He was all she could think of, all that consumed her.

When he began to rock into her, she thought she wouldn't be able to take it for very long. It was too goddamn much. So perfectly he tilted his hips, ran his fingers over her waist, curled his body around then he started to mutter into her ear. The words tripped off his tongue in that sexy, guttural way he seemed to find effortless.

"Christ you turn me on Emma." As if to prove his point, he thrust harder up into her - to the point where she felt almost torn in two.

Yes, protestation was useless.

"God. Fuck."

His chest began to heave more heavily.

"Are you some kind of siren? Beckoning men to their demise?" She sobbed quietly in reply.

"How do you make me feel like this?"

She didn't know. How did he do this to her…

His hand slid up her body to the base of her neck, pressing her chest back against him for a second before slipping back to cup her breasts.

"I wish I could stay buried in you all day Emma. Like this. Slick with your wetness. You pressed against me."

She tilted her hips back into him and he grunted heavily; his free hand moving up her back, fingers tracing circles over its bare skin before slipping over her shoulder and holding tight and pushing her body harder down onto his cock.

His words descended into incoherent moans and sighs, interspersed with his lips meeting her neck, or her shoulder. His fingers tightening on her breast.

She let him take her away. Hold her tight. Take her as he wished. Let herself just enjoy the abandon of giving him control.

His pace quickened. His body became damp with sweat and she slid against him. She met his thrusts with eager abandon.

This. This was the feeling. This was-

The release took her by surprise, cascading around her like a falling house of cards and pulling her under as he continued to move. She clutched the pillow. Tried to muffle her cry.

Felt him stiffen behind her until he shook. Empty yet replete at once.

A pause.

Seconds became minutes. She felt him soften and slip from her but they stayed pressed together, breathing in tandem.

Then he kissed her, through her tangled hair, behind her ear before slipping away out of the bed. The coolness reclaiming her as he took his heat with him.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered breakfast."

Emma had wrapped herself in one of the room's luxurious robes and was sitting on the chaise lounge that she had became so intimately familiar with, watching the sun rise over the city in peach and amber hues.

"Only if you don't mind eating alone."

She looked across the room at him. He had a towel tucked around his hips and his hair was wet, water dripping down onto his shoulders. The dampness highlighted his lean physique. She felt a throb of desire rise again.

How did he make her like this? So… insatiable.

"I thought you wanted the weekend?"

He moved towards her, smiling; gradually becoming illuminated by the warm light from outside."Oh, I'll get what I paid for."

His words hit her sharply. What he paid for. Yes. Of course.

"But," he continued, "Work beckons."

"I see."

"But feel free to use the suite, order whatever you want."

"You not worried I'm going to run away?" she teased, half seriously.

He ran a finger down her cheek, calling her mischievousness out with his cool eyed stare.

"I'm not the kind of man to gamble with such things. You'll be here. Plus, I have plans for us tonight. Make sure you're ready by seven."

"What - you're taking me out? Like a date? You do realize, I'm a sure thing."

His eyes danced a little, as if he was amused by her words.

"Seven," he repeated, "And dress up."

"In what?" she laughed, gesturing to the terry robe she wore.

"Go shopping. I'll reimburse you."

"Really?"

"Yes," he insisted, a light tone to his voice, "I like the women on my arm to look good.

He winked at her before turning away and letting the towel drop to the floor, giving her a perfect view of his fantastically muscular and toned ass. Her eyes widened. Her legs instinctively pushed together as she watched him open the wardrobe at the other side of the room and start to get dressed. The heat between her legs started to rise again.

What the hell was she doing?

"Opera?"

"You object?" he asked, as he steered her from their town car into the theater.

"No…" she hesitated, "It's just not what I thought… I mean…" She turned back to him and gave him a weak smile. In response his eyes flickered across her face, not giving anything away.

A concierge greeted them, shaking Killian's hand as though they were intimate acquaintances. Quickly he swept them up a winding, velvet carpeted staircase to a narrow corridor lined with doors, before pushing one open.

"Your favourite box Mr. Jones."

Killian shook his hand. Emma noticed a bill folded neatly in his palm and the nod of understanding that passed between the two men. Curiosity burned inside her. The more she saw the more she wanted to know.

When the door slipped closed, she looked over at him. Slim, dark suit with a skinny black tie, glossy black shoes at his feet. The outfit emphasised his height and build and of course he looked insanely attractive once again.

"So, Mr. Jones is it?"

That smirk. Again.

"Aye. I suppose it is time we moved beyond first names."

She held out her hand, "Swan, Emma Swan."

"Jones, Killian Jones."

He leant forward and kissed her hand - his lips slightly damp and slowly peeling away from her skin as he straightened up. Prickly heat rose up her arm.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Jones," she replied breezily.

He raised his brow and nodded. "Let me help you with your coat."

"Oh no, I can-"

But she was too slow, or he was too quick… From behind her, he reached around and unpicking the three large buttons of her thick, black coat, gently easing it over her shoulders and down her arms. A chill assaulted the bare skin that was now exposed, heightened by his knuckles that raked over her skin.

The dress she had chosen to wear was perhaps not the most astute choice for midwinter.

Whisper thin red silk that settled just on the knee, rising into a halter style that tied around her neck whilst dipping down between her breasts. Her back was totally bare and exposed to him.

She felt his hands glide over her skin, palms flat, picking out the small vertebrae of her spin; she shivered, rolling back her head slightly, her hair skimming over his hands as they moved.

"Turn around," he ordered quietly. She obeyed, his serious tone an antithesis to his earlier playful mood. She looked up.

The stubble on his face was artfully composed, lining the sharpness of his jaw that sat lightly clenched. She felt a hot flush bloom as his eyes dropped - devouring her hungrily.

Her nipples hardened under his gaze, well aware that they were clearly visible through the thin material. He wasn't touching her but still she felt raw and exposed.

He didn't speak. Merely smiling tightly lipped but widely.

"You approve?" she asked, urgently wanting to break this standoff - wrestle away this power he had over her.

He slid his finger into the neckline of the dress, running it lower until his warm finger met her cool breast. She flinched and sucked in a breath.

He traced his finger back up her exposed breastbone, slipping back around her neck and into her lightly curled hair, fanning it out between his fingers.

"You'll do I suppose," he teased.

She wanted to hit him - slap him around the face until he gave her a real compliment. She knew she looked damn good. She knew this dress made her breasts and ass look pert and this was the perfect shade of red against her creamy colored skin. And maybe she had been expecting a compliment or two…

"Come, let's sit."

The box was big enough for four, with large plush chairs set back into its recess. The only lighting was from two dim wall lights; most of the space in shadow. They had an excellent view of the stage and the people milling below in the stalls.

"So what is this we are seeing then?" she asked as she sat.

"Tristan and Isolde."

She looked at him blankly. His eyes slipped closed and he leaned a little closer, an amused expression on his face.

"It's a story of forbidden love between a knight and a princess."

"You're into that kind of thing?" she asked. "It seems a little… out of character. For you, I mean."

"And what would you know of my character?" His voice held a sharp edge that made her pull back.

"Not enough," she answered honestly. Not nearly enough.

The house lights began to darken and their tete a tete came to an end. She sank into the soft chair, feeling the hair on her arms prickle as the first beats of the score throbbed across the room.

"Are you following?"

He hadn't spoken to her since the curtain had risen.

He must have noticed the way she chewed her lip and furrowed her brow. Honestly, no, she was pretty lost. Theater in any form had never been an interest of hers. She could appreciate the fancy costumes and great voices, but the heart of the story was a mystery to her.

She shrugged and gave him a half smile. "Kinda," she lied.

He tilted his head so his mouth was again at her ear, warm breath on her neck, his arm was resting on her chair. "Tristan is a knight of England," he gestured to a tall, blonde actor on stage, "And Isolde is an Irish princess." She looked at the red haired girl currently singing in a flowing jade green gown. "Now, Isolde is promised to King Mark - Tristan's lord but, well, Tristan and Isolde fall in love." Killian's voice was low. He paused as the two characters embraced on stage, staring into each others eyes. "Isolde must marry King Mark - for honor, but she can't stay away from the knight's forbidden fruit and every evening they meet and consummate their love…"

Emma caught his eye. He wasn't looking at the stage anymore but focused on her face.

She breathed in sharply.

"But forbidden must be kept secret, and so poor Tristan and Isolde are cursed to hide their relationship."

"Does King Mark find out?" she asked, suddenly engrossed by the story of star crossed lovers.

"When do these stories ever end well?"

She could feel her heart beating louder in her chest. Still looking at him. Eyes trained on his lips.

He pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

"You look beautiful, Emma."

The compliment flooded the air around her, sucking out the oxygen and drawing down her shoulders. She blushed.

His hand cupped her jaw, keeping her focused on him. Until he reached forward.

"No…" she murmured in weak protest.

Soft lips cushioned against her own - almost chastely. Gently teasing hers apart, his tongue slowly dipping between them, meeting her own and sliding over it so splendidly.

She pressed herself closer. He tasted like mint and man and desire… She arched upwards chasing his kiss-

"No…" she said again, pulling back, chest heaving, eyes blazing. "I told you…"

His own eyes dimmed a little. He gave her a small nod. "Of course. I apologize." His stiff apology at odds with the fire and heat his kiss had promised.

"It's fine…" she muttered, shaking her head a little, trying to calm her breathing and forget the feel of his lips on hers and his tongue slipping into her mouth.

She needed to change the mood. Desperately.

Her hand crept over her seat and reached into his lap. She headed straight for the hardness she knew was beginning to form, clutching it in her hands and squeezing gently.

"Emma," he growled into her ear.

Ignoring him, she unflicked the button that held his pants closed and pulled down the zip, diving straight in and pulling out his semi hard erection. When her hands started to work, he began to nip at her ear. She kept looking forward, the face of seeming respectability to anyone who cared to glance their way.

She stroked his cock until it was hard and throbbing in her hand. His mouth stayed fixed upon her neck, shivers whispering down her spine with every breath he took.

Quicker she moved and he grunted softly in appreciation.

His hand met her thigh and crawled up it, pushing the soft silk aside until it met the apex of her legs. Lazily he began to rub circles over her, dampening her thong with each stroke until he pushed her underwear aside and his fingers started to work on her wetness.

She bit her lip. Trying to keep her composure, at least somewhat. She gripped him tighter.

Then his finger was inside her her and his thumb was rubbing her clit. She glanced down at the stage: the people below who had no idea what was happening in Box 3A. A swell rose in her. So erotic. Touching each other in the darkness; urging one another on.

She shifted in her seat, pushing her hips forward and forcing him deeper - rocking into him. Her own grasp becoming sloppy. He ran his tongue over her neck. Curved his fingers inside. Pressed his thumb that bit harder and she was gone.

Her mouth dropping open, head falling back - silencing her cry in the pit of her stomach, meeting his gaze as the surge of pleasure washed over her.

His hands slowly released her. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he slowly ran them over his tongue, smiling at her in that wicked way of his.

"Mmmm."

She was on her knees quicker than she could think. Conscious to keep herself low and retain their privacy. Hungrily she took him in her mouth, drawing him in deep, tightening her fingers in a ring around the base of his cock that rose and fell in time with his brief thrusts and the bobbing of her head.

He tensed up. The muscles of his thighs tightening below her hand. His fingers digging into her hair.

The power she had over him right then was intoxicating and addictive and she didn't want it to end. She ran her teeth over his length and he shuddered, pressing up into her.

She could tell he was close so she pushed and pressed and worked him harder than she had ever tried or wanted to before - his release almost catching her by surprise as it cascaded down her throat. She swallowed deeply, pausing to catch his eye before she leaned in and cleaned him off with the tongue then she tucked him back inside his underwear with a gentle pat.

Killian's eyes were blown wide, his brow furrowed. He looked thoroughly fucked and Emma was thoroughly pleased with herself as she quietly slipped back into her seat.

The rest of the performance passed without incident. When the lights rose, he helped her into her coat. He didn't speak but his lingering, smoldering glances down her body spoke volumes. She was turning to leave when she spotted something on the floor. She bent down. A wallet.

She picked it up it dropped open. A picture of a beautiful brunette was fixed inside - smiling, happy. She stared at it for moment.

"Emma?" he asked, turning back. He saw the wallet in her hand and frowned. Wordless she gave it back to him. He fingered it lightly.

"You must have dropped it."

His mouth set in a straight line, a few seconds passed.

"Is that - is that your…"

She didn't want to finish that sentence. And it was none of her business. He was a client. This was a business arrangement. Whatever his personal life was was of no concern of hers. But still…

"It is someone from long ago."

She wasn't satisfied with his answer, her eyes imploring for more even though her lips remained closed.

Darkness swept over his features. A wave of sadness. His lips pinched. His eyes dropped to the floor.

And she understood.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry…"

He shook his head, "It's fine."

But as they left the theatre Emma knew he certainly was not fine. In fact, it appeared that Killian Jones was perhaps almost as messed up as she was.

She desperately wanted to ask him more - who she was, what had happened. But instead she stayed silent and stared out of the window as sit car drove away.

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