Chapter 6

Three days. Three goddamned days of covering ground, chasing leads, tromping through the woods, and all Emma wanted was a hot shower and more than four hours of sleep on cold, hard ground in a tent. She didn't even blink as she half-assed eavesdropped on Jones' phone call with his department's admin as he paced in front of the car, gleaning from the side of the conversation she could hear that in the flurry of activity surrounding the search for Jefferson and Grace, that department protocol when it came to travel had been followed to a T.

The budget required any rank below Commander to share accommodations, with females given the option to room alone. The admin had gone down the list of Bangor badges and, determining everyone out in the field at the time was of the penis persuasion. She hadn't taken into consideration Emma was tagging along from an outside jurisdiction, and a reservation had been made for one room at the cheap motel they'd pulled into whose heyday had been somewhere in the Nixon era. And before Emma could drag her ass out of the car to rent her own room if sharing was going to be such a big fucking deal to him, the admin told Jones she'd tried to snag the last vacancy, but it was no longer available.

Jones dropped his ass in the driver's seat with one leg sprawled outside.

"My apologies, lass. We'll have to share a double. I tried to secure you a private room, but it appears someone beat me to it." He scowled in the direction of a beat up station wagon parked six rooms away. A pot-bellied man with thinning hair was pulling luggage out of the back, loudly bitching at his young wife for failing to get a room with enough bed space for everyone. She looked close to tears as she balanced a sticky-faced toddler on her hip and two other children, close enough in age to be Irish twins, played a loud game of I'm Not Touching You until one was poked in the eye and started to cry.

"Shut that brat up, bitch! You and these crotchfruit can take the floor. Or sleep in the bathtub for all I care. I've been driving all fucking day. The bed is mine." Emma saw the way the woman flinched and turned slightly to put herself between him and the baby as he angrily stormed by, purposely knocking into her shoulder.

Emma was already halfway out of the car when a strong hand snagged back of her pants and hauled her back down again. She whirled on Jones so fast her ratty ponytail smacked his face.

"Let me go." It was both a request and a warning. There was no way in hell Emma was going to stand by and let some asshole abuse his wife if she could do something about it.

"Why – so you can go punch him in the face? I saw it, too, Swan. Just let me handle this." He waited for her nod before getting out of the car.

Ten minutes later, the family was tucked into the room with double beds rented by Bangor PD. Jones had laid it on thick, spinning a tall tale about traveling with his family as a kid, his mother pregnant with a fourth child and a kind elderly couple insisting the growing family take their bigger room in order to allow the children to rotate turns in the second bed. Telling the young mother he'd been waiting for years to pay it forward and chucking the toddler she was holding under the chin, Jones winked in Emma's direction as he grabbed one of the couple's suitcases to helm them move, letting his jacket fall open and revealing the badge clipped to his belt. Once the man saw it, he was on his best behavior, shaking Killian's hand and ushering the two older children into the room.

"You know where to find my partner and I if you need anything," he said to the woman, gesturing to Emma through the windshield, who stopped finger combing the hair she'd released from the tattered ponytail and waved. "These walls are so thin, I'd imagine you could whisper and we'd hear it." She breathed a thank you, catching the double meaning of his statement and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Jones got back in the car, started the ignition and moved it to the parking spot next to the station wagon. He took out his leather notebook and jotted something down before hopping out and grabbing both his duffle and Emma's from the trunk.

She followed him to the door, rolling her eyes as he made a show of jiggling the key in the janky lock. Emma shoved his back when it clicked and the knob turned, pushing him into the room and crowding in behind him. He tossed their bags on the double bed and turned to her.

"Well, this is cozy. It's a good thing we're both adults and can handle such close quarters, right Swan? He reached out and flipped a tangled lock of her hair over her shoulder.

"Adults according to age, yes. Maturity? Jury's still out with you."

"You wound me, Sheriff. Would an immature fuckwit graciously offer the woman in his company the bed while he takes the floor? I don't think so."

Emma snorted. "If the immature fuckwit wants to spend a fourth – wait, make that a third - night on hard ground, this time on industrial carpet saturated with bodily fluids and Hepatitis or some shit, he can be my guest." The way Jones first picked up one booted foot off the floor then the other while eyeing the heavily stained floor made her laugh so hard she wiped tears from her eyes. The length and stress of the search for her missing Storybrooke residents was making Emma punchy. "We can share the bed for a night. Unless you prefer to sleep in the car again."

"Fuck literally all of that. My knee is still bruised from smacking it on the underside of the dashboard when you honked the damn horn to wake me in lieu of a proper alarm."

Their first night out had been one of trial and error. Short on equipment after rushing to follow a sighting, officers and volunteers alike had struggled for places to lay their heads. Emma ended up in the backseat of the unmarked cruiser, knees bent and feet tucked under the reclined passenger seat where Killian slept. The horn honking, she admitted to herself, had served as a distraction from the thoughts that raced through her head at dawn when she woke first. He looked almost beautiful in sleep and her fingers itched to brush back the hair falling into his eyes. Emma had nearly reached for him then leaned between the seats to smack the horn instead. Jones had jolted awake, cursing loudly. So, yeah, the knee bruise was her fault, but it sure as shit beat him waking to her caressing him like a princess whose betrothed had fallen under a sleeping curse.

Emma opened her mouth to toss a retort back. It felt good to bicker and banter after a few days of being hyper-focused on the investigation, but was interrupted by her phone blaring in her back pocket. The damn thing had all but been rendered useless by the spotty coverage off the beaten path and Emma had jacked the volume all the way up at one point, willing it to ring with good news so they could all go home. She answered it, Jones cocking an eyebrow in her direction.

"They tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. Fucking crappy signals. Arial support found Priscilla's car. It looks like Jefferson tried to off road it and got stuck in the mud. The sunroof was left open and the interior is bone dry. Your detectives think he may have abandoned it after last night's storm had already passed. Two sets of footprints lead away to the west. They're calling for all available ground units for a grid search." Emma opened the door and made a dash for the car, Jones hot on her heels. Another storm was coming in, and Jefferson couldn't move fast with a ten year old. This was as good a chance as they had of catching up.

"God DAMMIT!" Killian angrily heaved his soaked leather jacket. The loud smack it made hitting the wall before crumpling on the dirty carpet was satisfying. He slammed the door for good measure, and looked up just in time to see Emma start to face plant onto the bed. "No, Swan!" He threw himself in front of her as she fell, letting out a huff when she landed squarely on him. His shirt was already soaked, the mud transferring from her clothes to his was just the icing on one filthy, drenched and pissed off cake. He went to push her up and off until he realized she was crying.

Another storm had come unexpectedly, the woods becoming a treacherous maze of bogs; even the most experienced outdoorsmen would find the task of propelling themselves through the sucking mud exhausting. The search party had been forced to pull back, Killian unwilling to risk the safety of his unit and the volunteers. Emma had been silent on the drive back to the shitty motel, but he knew she was just as upset as he they'd called it quits. All he could do now was wrap his arms around her, whispering in her ear.

"That's it, darling. Let it all out." Her shoulders wracked as she sobbed silently, her cold nose on his neck. Killian slid his hands up under her jacket, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

"We left a child out there, Killian. I'm so fucking angry with you." The words were muffled, yet still managed to convey her exhaustion and heartache.

He swallowed hard. "I know, lass. I know. But we'd do her no good pulling resources away if anyone trying to help was hurt or lost themselves." He pressed his thumbs on either side of her spine, running them up and down. She sniffled and shifted, her nose sliding from his collar up to his ear. Killian's breath hitched and he wanted to kick himself for having a visceral reaction when she was clearly upset. He'd let Emma cry it out and exhaust herself of anger. They'd get some rest and be back at it when the storm passed.

The press of her lips below his ear told him Emma thought otherwise. Killian couldn't keep himself from responding as the gentle pressure turned into hot, open mouth kisses. He pushed her red, mud-slicked jacket off her shoulders, groaning as she wiggled against him, struggling to pull her arms out of the tight sleeves. Once her hands were free, one tangled in his hair as Emma's teeth sank into his earlobe, flicking the soft skin as he tossed the bundle of leather to the floor near his own.

Killian nosed at her, breaking Emma's bond with his ear with a yank of her hair. It left the smooth column of her neck open to do with what he pleased, and the sound she made when he nipped at her pulse point and soothed it with his tongue spurned him on. He pressed his mouth over her jawline, onto her cheek and barely brushed the corner of her mouth before Emma overwhelmed him.

The slant of her mouth and the wet slide of her tongue against his simultaneously took Killian's breath away and gave him life. It was new, yet familiar, and a thousand fantasies in the shower couldn't have prepared him for how much she felt like home. He couldn't help skimming his hands onto to her ass, squeezing and memorizing the contours before continuing down to pull her knees up to rest on either side of his hips. It brought her core directly in contact with the bulge in his jeans. Licking into her mouth, he braced his feet on the floor and rocked his hips up experimentally.

Emma broke the feverish kiss, raking her nails up into his hair and exhaling a gasping moan that hardened his cock to steel. She began to move against him, dipping down with each roll of her hips to rub against the full length of his erection. Throwing his head back, Killian moved his hands to her ass again, helping her slide against him in a way that had them both breathing heavily.

When Emma sat up abruptly, he thought she'd changed her mind. As Killian went to lift his head, a hand slid from its anchor on his belly all the way to his throat, squeezing lightly as she pressed him back down to the mattress. Jesus fuck. Strong hands tore open his shirt, buttons clattering somewhere in the darkened room, followed closely by the shirt she'd pulled up and over her head. Fingernails raked through the unruly hair on his chest as Emma began moving over him again.

Reaching an arm behind her back, Killian sat up as much as he could, anchoring her in his lap and sliding his other hand under her camisole to feel the pliant softness of her breast. The keening sound she made was all the encouragement he needed to begin thrusting up against her. Their gasping breaths turned into moans, moans turned into grunts and the banging of the bed into the wall as Emma met him thrust for thrust made the soundtrack of the room outright pornographic. The nails biting into his shoulders and the way her head dropped was all Killian needed to know she was nearing orgasm.

"Yes, that's it. Take what you need." Fingers pinched at her nipple as his other hand anchored on her ass, helping her find just the right rhythm. All it took was a few more thrusts before Emma arched her back. "Just like that, darling. Fuck, you are so beautiful. Come for me." With one last thrust she fell apart in his arms. Rocking through the last of the aftershocks, Killian tried to gather her close, but Emma was already pushing away from him. He fell back onto his elbows, watching as she stood and backed away from the bed, flushed and gasping for air.

"I'm sorry. I was upset and I…that shouldn't have happened." Emma looked down to see her hardened nipples clearly on display through her thin tank top and crossed her arms over her chest. "I just needed...This is wrong." She dropped her eyes and kept babbling. Killian stood and moved toward her, saying her name to get her attention. On the third try, he gave up and took her chin in his hand, pulling it up to look her in the eyes.

"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly. Seeing the seedy underbelly of gross masculinity in both the Navy and the police force, Killian's good form included being the type of man who only bedded willing women, and the thought he'd missed a cue and pushed her beyond her comfort zone horrified him. "Emma?"

Her head shook so slightly, he was sure he wouldn't have noticed it had he not been touching her. "I don't regret it. But you didn't even…" Emma stepped back and waved her hand toward the thick ridge straining against the confines of his jeans.

A mix of relief and genuine amusement fueled the laugh that bubbled up and out. "This isn't the first time I've been left wanting when it comes to you, love. Nothing a cold shower won't fix." He scooped his duffle off the floor beside the bed where it had fallen and systematically laid a pair of gray sleep pants, a worn shirt with "NAVY" printed across the front and a pair of black boxer briefs on the bed (after checking that none of the mud from her clothes had sullied the comforter.) When Emma busied herself opening her own bag, Killian discreetly adjusted himself in his pants.

Or not so discreetly.

He looked up to see Emma staring at him. "I could take care of that for you. It's only right since…"

"Since what?" he interrupted. "Since you got off and I didn't?" Killian didn't mean to sound angry, but it came out that way regardless as he made his way around the foot of the bed to where she was standing. "There is no quid pro quo here, Swan. I talk a big game and I'm more than willing to follow that up with action if it's welcomed. I may not have made the best first, second, ninth and probably twenty-fourth impressions with you, but I'm not like that." He dropped his voice to a low timbre. "Don't get me wrong. If you said the word, I'd throw you down on this bed and fuck you until you screamed my name. And when you were ready, I'd fuck you again. And again, and again, until you were completely sated. But even if we went four rounds and I didn't finish, I wouldn't give a damn. Because now that I know how it feels to have you fall apart in my arms, making you come is all that matters." He dipped his thumb into the dimple marking her chin and bent to kiss her chastely on the cheek before returning to his side of the bed and waving her toward the bathroom.

"Hot water awaits, milady."

To be continued…