Unbeta-ed, don't hate me.

Chapter Thirteen

Beautifully Finished

"I know that I should not hold on, so why can't I let go… Maybe all that we were meant to be is beautifully unfinished"

He's kissing her.

He's kissing her again after so long, he's finally kissing her again. And he feels like he might just have died and gone to heaven. His tongue slides against hers and she lets out a little moan that goes straight to his groin.

"Robin," she moans once more when he pulls away to trail kisses down the column of her throat, sucking her succulent flesh. He licks her fragrant skin, her very essence pulling him up high, high, higher until he's drowning in her.

"Gods, Regina," he murmurs against her skin, watching with fascination as goose bumps rise all over her flesh. She is warm, warm to the touch, but she is quivering, trembling as though she is cold. "You are so beautiful." He pulls back just enough to watch her face.

She blushes, her cheeks now tingeing with pink as her mouth falls open slightly, and she breathes in and out slowly, and he could have sworn she has never looked more beautiful.

"I love you," he whispers, and though he knows it might not have been such a brilliant idea on his part, he lets the words fall from his lips, knowing with his heart and soul that he means it more than anything in this world.

He loves her, she loves him, and despite everything, it really is just that simple.

Only, it isn't, and he knows that, she knows it, and neither of them are letting it affect them, here, and now.

She doesn't answer him, doesn't return the words that he wants to hear, but he understands, he knows it anyway—she doesn't have to say anything anymore to let him know. So he leans down and takes her lips in his, kisses her in the way that he's always wanted to.

He has imagined this moment, when she would finally be in his arms and he could make love to her, after such a long separation, he's wanted this so much, imagined it so much that the images had burned in his retina.

But he had never imagined it to be like this…this intense and heart wrenching. He imagined a dozen ways it could go, he imagines the feelings and emotions, from happiness, to guilt, to sadness, to exhilaration, but he had never thought of this—of being overwhelmed, of the getting hit by the myriad of emotions now swirling in his brain, of having his heart so full he fears it might explode.

Regina looks him dead in the eyes, her brown pools probing through his blue ones, and he swears he could dive in them, get himself lost there forever and not want to find his way back. She is beautiful, excruciatingly and wonderfully so, and he still sometimes cannot believe that this goddess loves him with in the same way he does her.

He doesn't ever feel like he deserves her, and maybe he never will, but somehow, he has her heart.

"I am but a thief," he whispers before he leans down to kiss her once more, moving slowly down to worship every inch of skin he reveals to his hungry eyes as he slides her shirt up her head. He throws it into a heap on the floor, letting the rest of their garments follow soon after. He kisses her breast, roughly where her heart is. "I feel like I have merely stolen your heart."

She shakes her head as she threads her fingers through his hair, pulling him up slightly so their faces are level. She kisses the tip of his nose. "You cannot steal what's been given to you," she says ardently, and he smiles at her, inching down once more to worship her goddess-like beauty, her body, the home to her beautiful heart and her wonderful soul.

His heart pounds in his chest and he sighs, before cupping the back of her head and capturing her lips in a heated kiss. He slides his tongue inside her mouth, seeking hers as her hands roam around his body, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and sliding it down his shoulders and leaving his skin bare for her to feast on. He pulls away to push back the strands of her hair off her forehead, and he just stares at her, stares at her like he hadn't seen her a long time, like he won't ever again.

Maybe.

Maybe, they are the kind of people who are destined to fall in love but are never meant to be together. Maybe they are made from the tragic love stories, and their roads are meant to cross, but never to stay.

"Whatever it is," Regina says, her voice shaky, "Whatever it is that you're thinking, don't. Don't think about it."

He looks at her and sees the fear in her eyes, sees the longing, sees the love.

"We're here now," she murmurs as she pulls him down, closer to her, "And this is true."

He nods before he resumes the task of loving her, of worshipping her body, kissing down her neck, to her chest, to the pink tips of her breasts. He licks her skin, tasting her, savoring every bit of her that he could, and he slithers down, down her torso, to her pelvis, kissing the spot where her hip and thighs meet.

She squirms, hips bucking, and he chuckles softly before he kisses her inner thighs and makes his way down to her core where she is hot and dripping. He licks her clit, making her hips buck once more, and only making him even more determined, and he does it again, eliciting a long, loud moan to rip from her throat. He smiles and works her up, licking, kissing, nipping at her sex until she's begging him and god to let her cum, profanities spilling from her lips.

A strangled scream escapes her mouth when she reaches the pinnacle of her orgasm, and it makes him proud, proud that he could make her like this, and he feels his heart expand and expand in his chest until it threatens to explode and come apart in pieces.

He kisses his way up her body once more when he's assured to have licked ever single drop of her cum, and had been satisfied that he'd been able to make her reach her climax. He presses a kiss upon her lips, and feels her tongue peek out to sweep at his before sliding inside his mouth. She kisses him as she wraps her legs around his waist, aligning their sexes.

"Make love to me, Robin," she asks, her hot breath hitting his already overheated skin, sending him into an overdrive.

He nods and braces himself with both his hands before pushing into her, making both of them moan in synchrony, the pleasure ripping through them. He pulls out and pushes in again, letting them both get accustomed to this again. It has been a long while.

"I love you," he murmurs against her skin, once more, overcome by the need to say it aloud, to tell her, because he cannot let another moment pass by with her not knowing.

"I know," she tells him. "I do too, and now I want you to show me."

And so he does. He shows her exactly how much he loves her.

We are so close to the end. Let me know what you think! :)