She was nervous.
Like hand wringing, heart racing, can't-bring-herself-to-knock-on-the-door nervous. Nervous to take this next step toward real.
Emma stood on Killian's doorstep, hands literally wringing and heart literally racing. She shuffled her feet, suddenly self-conscious in the floaty, blush-colored dress she'd bought specifically for the occasion and second-guessing the girlish high ponytail. She was so caught up in her own thoughts, she missed his form moving behind the stained and frosted glass of the front door, jumping when his voice came jovially from the other side.
"Are you going to ring the fucking doorbell or stand there all night?"
Poking her finger repeatedly against the button, she yelled, "There, is that better?" over the jangling of the bell.
Killian was laughing as the door swung open, face quickly turning from amused to speechless. He shook his head as he looked her over. "You look stunning, Swan."
Emma would have – and should have – said thank you, but she was too busy taking stock herself.
Dark grey trousers, artfully scuffed black shoes, and a dark blue waistcoat over a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled and pushed up to the elbow (holy fuck, those forearms.) She hadn't seen him wear jewelry before: a heavy watch on one wrist, hammered silver cuff on the other, several rings, a motherfucking earring and two thin chains that were nestled in a generously visible patch of chest hair. The downright salacious look he was giving her coupled with the pink tip of his tongue curled over his upper lip took the whole package to a new level of dark, dangerous and devilish. Jesus, he was beautiful.
Killian chastely bussed her cheek ushered her inside, a warm, wide palm on the small of her back. Neither one really counted as PDA – he could have greeted his grandmother the same way – but keeping things rated G for General Audiences (and any prying eyes) ended the minute the door closed.
He crowded her against the wall, hands on either side of her head, pinning her in place with his hips. His dark head dipped and Emma felt his nose running the length of her collarbone.
"You smell good enough to eat." Soft lips danced over her skin followed by the faint roughness of scruff, dragging up her neck until they reached the spot just under her ear. The kiss Killian dropped there was open-mouthed and hot, followed by nipping teeth, and Emma's back arched involuntarily when his tongue flicked out to soothe.
Her hands came up to fist in his hair, his lips trailing downward until his face was buried into her neck.
"We talked about this, Jones." His hum was both an acknowledgment and a dismissal of the agreement made during a dozen conversations in the last two weeks to slow things down and enjoy the moment post-shooting-and-kidnapping fuckery, starting it all anew.
Not that Emma wasn't enjoying this particular moment. And, if the bulge he was brushing back and forth over the juncture of her thighs was any indication, he was enjoying it plenty, too.
"My apologies, lass." Killian's voice was muffled. "I had intended on being a gentleman. Taking you to dinner. Taking you for drinks. Taking you back here for…" his tongue traced a familiar pattern over her skin – one she recognized from the times his face had been buried between her thighs, "…dessert."
Emma chortled and yanked on his hair. As Killian straightened, she pushed gently on his chest to move him backward. If he looked beautiful before, he looked beautifully wrecked now. Flushed and close to breathless, blue eyes glittering, his hands closed into fists. The movement pulled her attention lower. She was right about the bulge – the hard length of him was clearly visible through the thin material of his dress pants - and Emma reached out and traced the tip with a single finger.
He sucked a breath in through his teeth. Eyes closing, he tilted his chin up toward the ceiling, canting his hips just enough to increase the pressure of her touch.
"You're not very good at following the rules, Captain. "Emma squeezed him before moving her hand away. "And normally, I wouldn't reward such behavior. But –" his eyes popped open and met hers before looking down to where she was gathering the gossamer layers of her skirt, slowly pulling it up over her thighs to reveal a tiny scrap of white lace, "- I do love the idea of having dessert first."
Killian was on his knees in an instant. Any protest Emma had over the fact that he literally ripped her brand new, incredibly expensive (and apparently extraordinarily delicate) panties off turned into a gasp the second his tongue flicked over her clit. He slung one leg over his shoulder and easily slipped two fingers into her slick wetness, curling them to stroke that spot inside her.
Emma nearly knocked his motorcycle helmet off the pretty, yet wholly ornamental, foyer table scrabbling for something solid to hold onto, fingers skittering over his .45.
"If you want to touch my gun, all you have to do is ask, Swan."
Another teasing lick to her clit had Emma roughly fisting his hair, torn between pulling his head back to deliver a scathing retort and pushing him closer. She had decided on the former but any words she may have been able to choke out were cut off when his mouth fused to her.
Emma hoped it was a eulogy Killian was tracing with his tongue, because she was fairly certain this was how she was going to die: coming with a gorgeous and ridiculously talented man on his knees in front of her.
What a far fucking cry from encounters with one-night stands and friends with bennies who couldn't find a g-spot with a magic wand and a goddamned locator spell.
Once she'd all but ridden his face through her high, Emma found herself caged against the wall again, being thoroughly kissed and not minding a bit that she could taste herself. When Killian tried to pull away, she slid her arms around him, cupping the muscled firmness of his ass and dropping her forehead onto his chest, still slightly out of breath. He kissed the top of her head.
"Darling, I love a good cuddle as much as the next hopeless romantic but we do have reservations for dinner and I need to wash up."
Emma picked up her head and took his wrist, bringing the fingers that had just rocked her world up to her mouth. She looked him dead in the eye as she licked her essence off, smug satisfaction coursing through her when he went limp against her.
Well, not exactly limp.
"What, no time for me to touch your gun, Captain?"
He pushed away from her, chuckling and heading toward the kitchen sink, giving her a moment to sweep up her ruined panties off the floor.
"Not at the moment, Swan. But I promise you can touch my gun and every other clutch piece hidden around the house when we get back, should you so desire."
He came back wiping still-damp hands on his slacks, the evidence of his arousal still clear as day.
"Oh, I desire." Emma shot him an imitation of one of his own patented looks of devastating fire and flirtation, and allowed him to usher her out of the house.
He took her to an Italian restaurant, beautiful both in its simplicity and apparent familiarity with Killian. The owner-slash-maître d' had gushed over her, clapping Killian on the back.
"Yoo-hoo, Captain Jones! You finally bring me a beautiful girl to meet." He turned to Emma. "This one has been dining here for years. Always the pollo alla parmigiana and tiramisu but always alone. I have nice red wine for you on the house." The maître d' ignored Killian's protest, waving him off. "You are good man, Captain. You always tip my girl at least 50%. You think I don't notice you asking after her boy." He turned to Emma, rounding his hand out to mime a pregnant stomach. "Ashley is a student. Her boyfriend gets her in trouble and then runs out on the her and the baby. This one always asks for her section so he can slip some extra money."
The tips of Killian's ears were crimson by the time the gentleman left to get the wine but the anecdote had served as one hell of an icebreaker. They talked about people they'd met on the job, unforgettable cases and perps, and shared stories about their craziest arrests before things became personal.
Emma couldn't help but tease Killian about his penchant for pet names. He'd called her "love" four or five before the owner slid an unordered plate of antipasto between them, winking at Emma and completely ignoring her date as he asked to have it added to the bill.
"What is it with that? So many women over the years, you resorted to blanket terms in order to not call someone by the wrong name?" The guilty look on his face was priceless. "No, really, Jones. I'm honored to be among your harem," Emma deadpanned.
"I'll have you know those days are well behind me." The oath was punctuated by a flourish of his hand, candlelight glinting off the red stone of his most ostentatious ring.
"Are they really? Seems to me it wasn't that long ago when your dangle was in and around some near-random woman's mouth."
"That was…a thoughtless transgression. I apologize if it's cast a pall over…" he gestured to the space between them. "I was angry and stupid and – not that it's an excuse – drunk as hell."
Emma's hand came off the table and she held it up, stopping him from continuing.
"No, no. I'm sorry. It was a joke. We already beat that horse and there's no way in hell I'm going to Ross and Rachel that shit until the end of time."
He couldn't help but laugh at her TV reference. "So we WERE on a break?"
Emma leaned back to give the approaching maître d' room and waited as he made a show of uncorking the bottle and tipping a splash into her wineglass. She picked it up the delicate stemware, gulped the contents without even feigning a taste and gave the man a nod, waiting for him to complete the pour and walk away before flipping Killian a surreptitious finger for his cheek. She was reminded of the first time she'd done that with an odd fondness given he'd been on the wrong side of a jail cell door at the time.
"I'm not good at this."
"Are you referring to your tragically lacking wine tasting skills?"
Emma's fingers drummed on the table as she shot him a look. "I'm referring to my tragically lacking relationship skills." The minute she said it, both hands clapped over her mouth. Way to lay it all out there.
"How is it that you can drop the fuck word, loudly and in public with no qualms, but you say the word 'relationship' like it'll get you detention?" His words held no malice or accusation.
Emma picked up her wineglass by the stem, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger, fidgeting in lieu of answering.
"I think it's because you can see a future here. A happy one."
"Let me guess. With you?" It came out harsh, but he didn't appear bothered.
"Aye, me. Or someone else if that's what makes you happy."
Her nose scrunched as she tilted her head, searching his face for any sign of trickery. As usual, she found none. Just unfairly handsome features and an expression that looked both earnest and hopeful. Emma scowled into her wine.
"You're just so good at this. "Love" and "darling" and smooth moves and you always say the right thing." She was hard-pressed to remember the last time she'd even been on a proper date, much less had the ability to actually woo someone.
"So you're saying I need a pet name to even the odds." Killian popped an olive in his mouth. "Shmoopsie. Snookums. Pookie Bear. Cuddlebum."
Emma cackled, holding her napkin over her mouth to muffle the sound as it rose above the hushed din of the restaurant.
"Butter Biscuit. Puddin' Pants. Sugar Dick?"
Killian lurched in his chair as the toe of her shoe met his shin.
"I am not calling you Sugar Dick." It was hysterical, but she shot him a little bitchface on principle. "I don't do pet names. No 'baby,' 'sweetie,' or 'honey.' They sound weird and give me secondhand embarrassment."
Not to mention – and she didn't – that she'd never experienced with anyone the kind of intimacy a pet name-laden relationship begets anyway.
Dinner was delicious and Killian left filled to the brim and holding a box containing Emma's portion of their shared tiramisu, his wallet an extra $50 lighter, the bill slipped to the owner with a request it be forwarded to Ashley, the waitress and single mother. He hadn't been in for some time due to all the seriously unfuckingbelievable drama in his life and he hated the idea of her struggling. He'd have left more, but knew she wouldn't take it.
Killian sang absently along to the radio, lost in thought with his hand stretched across the cab, fingers laced with Emma's. He pulled out of it when she shifted in his peripheral vision. Unbuckling, she moved across the bench seat of the truck, plastering herself to his side. He didn't even have time to admonish her total disregard for the state's seatbelt law before teeth closed around his earlobe and a hand slipped down to cup him through his pants. Her tongue licked and laved, as she busied herself loosening his belt.
"What are you doing, Swan?" A rhetorical question, considering he didn't even get the full sentence out before she'd popped the button on his pants and lowered the zipper, mouth now working over his neck.
"Well, you already had dessert this evening. Twice." She sucked on his pulse point and Killian decided he'd take the rash of shit that would come from Will and Robin if he showed up to work with a hickey as long as she didn't stop. "And I haven't had any."
Nimble fingers reached into his boxer briefs, pulling his hardening cock through the front opening. Killian couldn't get another word out before she shifted, ass sliding back in the seat and head lowering to his lap. Warm wetness engulfed him and he slammed back against the headrest.
"Fuck, love." Jesus, she was amazing. Sucking and swirling her tongue, touch alternating between light, teasing brushes and firmly stroking with her fist whatever she couldn't fit in her mouth. The tight space between his abdomen and the steering wheel kept Emma from taking every inch of his cock down her throat but she didn't need to. He was wrecked in a matter of minutes and pulled over to the dark side of the road, unable to concentrate on driving.
She pulled off of him and scooted back across the seat more, pulling his arm to get him to move with her. Emma knelt on the floor of the truck and took advantage of the maneuvers the extra space afforded. In a flash she was swallowing him to the root. He couldn't help the involuntary thrust of his hips or how his hands came to rest on her head, fingers tangled in her hair.
Bad form.
"Sorry, darling." Killian tried to relax as much as possible. He gasped when her lips tightened around him, sliding all the way from root to tip as she pulled off and looked up.
"Do it again." If the tone wasn't enough to convince him of her intention, the lascivious look in her eyes sealed the deal.
Emma bent her head again, this time all taunting and teasing. Killian took it in stride, teasing her back and wondering how the hell he was so lucky to have this insanely sexy creature want him. When she huffed impatiently he laughed and did as she'd asked, cupping the back of her head with one hand and applying enough pressure to slide himself into that heavenly wetness. All it took was an experimental thrust or two, a few more guided bobs and an enthusiastic, humming moan on her part, and he couldn't hold back.
Fingers tightening in golden moonlit strands once more, he set a rhythm that had a litany of curses, encouragement and salacious noises falling from his mouth.
"There's a good girl. Taking every inch of me down that pretty throat." He held her in place for a second, grunting when she swallowed around him, before taking hold of her ponytail and using it to guide her up and down his cock. He almost went through the roof twice, first when her hand came up to cup his balls, rolling them around and again when he saw her slip her other hand between her legs. The totality of the moment, both tactile and visual, worked its magic in short order.
"Emma, darling…sweetheart, I'm going to come." Her fingers pulled and caressed, and Killian felt the rush of orgasm, shouting, "Yes, love, yes, yes, fuuuuuuuuuck!" and spilling into her mouth.
He thought about a good, old-fashioned sex romp in his truck. She'd almost talked him into it, too, not that there had been many words. Emma had settled back on the seat next to him and taken his hand, sliding it up her dress where she was bare. He'd forgotten about tearing her panties earlier and it took every ounce of willpower to not jump her right there and rock both their worlds at the realization she'd had nothing on under her skirt at dinner. But a cooler head prevailed over the one in his pants and he promised her a good time on a soft bed before pulling back onto the road and driving to the river.
She looked at home in his home. Every inch like she belonged there. They'd worked some shit out, gotten some things out in the open, and Emma was more receptive to the idea of a committed relationship, but he could see her holding back. He wouldn't put it into words past whispering them into the night after her breathing evened out and she slept under the weight of his arm but he was falling in love with her.
As she undressed in his bedroom for him, turning slowly after he unzipped her dress and letting it fall off her shoulders, he wanted to lay his heart at her feet. So smart and beautiful, maddening and perfect; he settled on easing her down onto the bed to worship every inch of her. This bout of sex lacked the usual athleticism and rush to consume but Killian couldn't remember feeling so connected to someone.
By the time Emma's back arched with his head buried between her legs, he was almost coming himself. He leisurely kissed her thighs, willing himself to calm down before trailing his tongue from navel to neck and beyond, sliding it against hers in a languid kiss as he sank into her. She had a second orgasm with his thumb on her clit, walls fluttering against the length of him, and he leisurely stroked in and out as she came down from her high. Emma's nose brushed against his, once, twice and he linked their hands, lacing his fingers between hers as he picked up speed.
When he came it was with his mouth on hers, desperate to stop himself from saying everything she wasn't ready to hear.
"Sweetie? Can you come here?"
Killian froze.
Emma's voice was casual – almost too much – and her words from the night before rang in his ears.
I don't do pet names.
"Baby, did you hear me?"
Fuck.
He called back to her. "Be right there, babe. I'm making your coffee and my hot chocolate."
He desperately hoped she'd take his switching of their preferred drinks as a sign he knew something was up.
Clad only in his favored boxer briefs, Killian moved through the kitchen and carefully pulled out the built in butcher block cutting board. Fitted into four inches of solid wood was a sturdy metal sheet and on it was a 9mm Glock.
After he bought the property, he'd outfitted a few hiding places for firearms on top of the gun safe he had built into his closet. It had been a testament to the Bond films Robin had brought over and made him watch in a thinly veiled attempt to make sure Killian didn't drink himself to death out of grief after Liam had died, far more than out of necessity but he wasn't about to take time to pat himself on the back when some shit was going down in his own goddamned house.
He clinked two cups together for anyone who was listening to make everything sound on the up and up and scaled the stairs two at a time, bouncing on the balls of his feet. At the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath before sweeping into the doorway, gun drawn.
Emma was standing on the far side of the bed with Gold. The pawnbroker had a death grip on her arm and the barrel of what looked to be a vintage handgun, hammer pulled back, pressed to the side of her head.
"Good morning, Captain. How nice to see you again."
"Wish I could say the same, Gold. Say, shouldn't you, oh, I don't know…be in jail?" Killian wanted to do something to reassure Emma but he couldn't take his eyes off Gold, not for a second. Not with Emma in danger.
"You'd think so but then again, I own this town. A few well-placed stacks of cash and there's no record of JG Gold ever being arrested in Bangor and several jail guards willing to testify under oath they've never heard of a prisoner by that name."
That fucking giggle again.
Killian nodded. "So why are you here? You're a free man. Why do something that will get you put right back in handcuffs? Why not disappear?" When Gold moved it was smoothly and without the help of a cane; just one more layer of ruse and distraction to keep everyone from seeing him for what he truly was – a lethal and dangerous man. Killian kept him in his sights, correcting the aim of the Glock as his target stepped away from the window, taking Emma with him.
"So optimistic, Captain Jones. Just like your brother was. He wouldn't get out of my way and paid with his life. Since you seem to be more resilient in that area, it's just a matter of making you pay with something else."
Killian saw Emma's nostrils flare. Saw her get ready for a fight – one he knew they could possibly lose if things got messy.
He gestured toward Emma. "And you think hurting her is the way to do that."
Gold took his eyes off Killian just for a second to look at his hostage but it was long enough for Killian shift his own eyes to hers and shake his head ever so slightly, twitching his trigger finger.
Lord, if she could ever read between his lines, let it be now.
"You've wasted my money. Wasted my time. That's bad business, Captain. I tried to be nice and make your death quick and painless but I'm out of niceties and I'm out of patience. Miss Swan here might have been your last hope after years of hopelessness. I'd tell you not to take it too hard after she's gone, dearie, but it's what I'm counting on." Gold pressed the barrel of the gun more firmly to her temple and moved to pull the trigger.
Emma's eyes closed as the shot rang out. She dropped. Killian scrambled up and over the bed to see where she had collapsed under the weight of Gold as he crumpled and fell, a bullet wound between his eyes. Pulling her out and up, he dragged her over the bed and swept her into his arms, holding her close as he carried her down the stairs and away from the dead body.