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kmomof4 · 3 days ago

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PRICELESS PERFECTION!!!!

And NEEDS a ch2!!!!

Recruitment Strategy

Emma Swan is so ready for a change, especially after her boyfriend Neal, heir to the Gold Family, announces his engagement to the "right" kind of girl. But she doesn't anticipate the offer that's coming from Killian Jones, of a rival family, who's been keeping an eye on the beautiful and talented private investigator. He's trying to recruit her - as part of an ongoing feud with the Golds? Or is there more to the offer than meets the eye?

Words: 16,839 Rating: M Read on A03

Over the last six months, Emma’s had a mantra running through her head whenever she is at a public event with the Gold family:

Hands off of Neal Gold.

From the day that their working relationship turned into a fucking relationship, Neal Gold, heir apparent to the Gold Family’s various and sundry businesses - some less legal than others - had insisted that they keep their relationship, quote, under wraps.

“It’s to keep you safe,” he’d insisted, brushing his lips across her forehead after a late night at her place or squeezing her hand before releasing it as they made their way to a table at a restaurant. Neal had always spun it into some sort of protection for Emma, who works on contract for the family, but isn’t in the family. She’d thought it was romantic that he was trying to keep her out of trouble. No one had ever really given a shit before.

But tonight, as Emma’s hand clutches a flute of champagne instead of the hand of the man next to her, she tries not to let her annoyance with Neal Gold show, nor give any sign that she cares at all about the woman whose hand he is holding.

And she sure as hell doesn’t want anyone to think she’s jealous of a pretty wisp of a thing who looks like she can’t hold her liquor, much less the massive rock on her left hand.

“Wendy, this is Emma Swan.”

The pretty young woman flashes Emma a huge grin, obviously unaware of the fact that just two weeks ago her fiance was fucking Emma at least three nights a week. Wendy Darling - seriously, is that really her name? - holds out her right hand and Emma tries to force her face into a pleasant smile as she shakes hands with her.

“Nice to meet you,” Emma grumbles. She clears her throat and allows herself to look at the ring again. It really is gaudy. “And congratulations.”

Wendy beams and, removing her hand from Emma’s, places it on Neal’s elbow, her pale skin a contrast to the black fabric of his well-cut suit. Neal’s broad shoulders fill out his suit nicely, as they always do, and not that long ago Emma would have been the one to peel it off of his body after this damn stuffy event is over.

But instead, she gets a little jolt of pleasure from the way that Neal’s eyes keep cutting to her tits and her ass. Unlike Wendy, who is wearing virginal white flowing all the way down to her ankles, Emma looks like she was painted into her miniscule red dress, the fabric clinging low on her chest and high on her thighs. She’s gotten way more lustful looks than she normally gets at these business mingling events that are supposed to promote goodwill among the different families of Storybrooke.

Now that she and Neal are officially over, maybe she should find someone in this crowd to regularly scratch the itch. Mix business with pleasure again. Emma meets the eye of someone tall, fair, and handsome who even winks at her and she uncharacteristically smirks back.

A burst of laughter draws her attention to the other side of the room, where a crowd has gathered, seemingly around an individual. Emma shifts her champagne to the other hand, cocks her head, and tries to figure out what’s so interesting.

“What’s going on?” she asks, making eye contact with Neal and trying to telepathically communicate that no she’s not going to be fucking him ever again and yes she’s going to try to make this awkward for him as long as she keeps working with the Gold Family.

Neal rolls his eyes - something that makes him look twelve fucking years old - and he takes a drink of his own champagne before cocking his chin toward the crowd.

“Jones. He usually sends someone else to these things but this time he decided to show up and flirt with everyone in sight.”

“Jones?” Emma’s eyebrows rise and she has to force herself not to turn back around and stand on her tiptoe to better see the man at the center of everything. “Liam or-”

But from the way Neal had scoffed, she already knew. “Killian,” he says coolly. His eyes are hard and his mouth is a jagged slash of fury.

Emma’s voice drops. “The guy who-”

“-was responsible for my mom’s death. Yeah.” Neal’s jaw locks.

There had been all-out war between the two families ever since, and though Killian’s older brother Liam had established a shaky peace with Neal’s father, the head of the Gold Family, their relationship is still tenuous and the two families prefer not to do business together.

As Emma’s processing her surprise that Milah Gold’s ex-lover would show his face at an event organized by Neal Gold, the crowd parts like a scene from a movie, revealing a tall, dark-haired man turned away from them. Emma watches, almost in slow-motion, as he pivots, smirking at a beautiful redhead beside him, and then meets Emma’s gaze.

Emma stops breathing.

She can still smell his cologne on his neck.

She can still feel the warmth of his tongue teasing her nipples.

She can still feel the way that he had filled her to the very brim when he sank inside of her.

Emma’s fingers tighten around her champagne flute.

But instead of looking as shocked as she knows she does at seeing some stranger she fucked two weeks ago now at a mixer for organized crime families, Killian Jones’s face creases with a handsome smile.

And he winks.

-/-

The first time Killian Jones saw a report on Emma Swan, he was intrigued.

Killian made it a point to keep up with who works with other families. It was only business, after all, and in the Jones Family, they wanted the very best. If, for some reason, someone was unaware of the Jones superiority, Killian was responsible for convincing them of the error of their ways and bringing them to the right family.

When Emma’s name, history, and photograph came across his desk, Killian had made a note of both her exceptional beauty and his curiosity to know what she was capable of. As it turned out, she was capable of a hell of a lot.

She hadn’t joined the Gold Family - at least not officially - but she quickly became an invaluable resource. They used her as a honeytrap at first, then a bounty hunter, and finally a more discrete investigator. She helped them track down their enemies and the ones who’d betrayed them. They gave her tips, she got to keep the bounties. A win-win for both parties.

But Killian didn’t want the Gold Family to win. And he doubted they recognized what a spectacular asset they had in Emma Swan. Why not make her part of the Family? Why not offer her more money to get her out of the shit apartment she was renting?

Unfortunately for Killian, Emma Swan was hard to reach.

She didn’t seem to have a social life - or social media, for that matter - and Killian was loathe to approach her in her home to try to negotiate a change in allegiance. He’d have her tailed sometimes, just to see if she ended up somewhere that he could run into her on accident, but the timing was never right, and he even resolved to attend the next dreadfully dull mixer event in order to get her alone.

But good luck struck on a rainy Thursday evening. Killian got the call from Scarlet that Emma Swan had been spotted at a dive outside of Gold territory, drinking like a fish and scowling at anyone that got close enough to talk with her. Killian quickly changed into denims and a leather jacket and had his driver drop him off a block away, leaving him nearly soaked to the bone when he stepped through the creaky doors of the hole-in-the-wall.

The scent of liquor and smoke hung heavy in the air, so thick Killian could nearly hold it in his hands. Trying to disguise his wrinkling nose, Killian made his way to the bar, eyeing the three men playing darts in one corner and the wrinkly barkeep cleaning glasses. Killian settled on a stool two away from Emma Swan and lifted a finger, catching the bartender’s attention.

“Rum. Neat.”

It clattered in front of him without much pomp and Killian took a cautious sip, pleased to find out it wasn’t the cheap swill.

After a minute, Killian chanced a look to his right. Emma Swan was hunched over, elbows on the bar, and hand wrapped around a beer bottle.

“Tough day?” Killian asked lightly, not sure how else to break the ice.

She didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Fuck off.”

Killian smirked to himself and took another sip of rum. “Ah. That bad.” He angled his body towards hers, opening himself up a bit. “Professional troubles or personal troubles?”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Oh dear me,” Killian tutted. “Both? Were you mixing business with pleasure?”

“What part of fuck off don’t you-” Emma finally dropped her elbows and turned in her stool, getting so far as making eye contact with him before her mouth fell open and she stopped talking.

Killian coolly picked up his glass and swirled the liquor. He made a quick note of the flush on her cheeks and the way her pupils dilated. She was tipsy, but not drunk. And she obviously found him attractive. No surprise there, of course.

“What do you want?” she snapped, recovering quickly. Her eyes shuttered off again and a grimace appeared on her lips.

“Just a drink,” Killian lied, lifting up his tumbler for proof. “And I was curious at how such a beautiful woman could look so dour.”

She scoffed, as if he were telling an outrageous falsehood, and lifted her beer bottle to her lips, tipping it back and slamming it down in such a manner that it was clear that she’d finished it.

“I’m not in the mood for bullshit,” she told the scuffed bartop.

Sobering, Killian set down his glass. “What are you in the mood for?”

There’s a wicked grin that flashed at the corner of her mouth, paired in such a way with a light chuckle that Killian’s groin stirred in interest.

“Fucking,” she said.

-/-

“Oh fuck,” Emma swears under her breath, starting to realize what exactly she’s gotten herself into.

Two weeks ago, she’d picked up some guy at a bar, propositioned him, and gone back to a hotel to have maybe the best orgasms she’d ever experienced. At the time, she’d thought he was some random guy in the right place at the right time. Fate or some shit. The universe taking pity on her and throwing her a boning after her shitty week.

But the way Killian Jones is looking at her, all self-satisfied smirks and arrogance, eyes obviously remembering what she looked like naked, there’s no way to hide it.

Killian Jones knows who she is.

And he knew who she was that night.

“Goddamn it, he’s coming over here,” Neal grumbles, finishing his liquor with a tilt of his head. But rather than run - that’s his usual MO - Neal holds his ground, moving his grip from his fiance’s hand to her waist and leaving Emma even more isolated than she was a moment ago. Neal’s glaring at Jones but Emma, still trying to get her brain to catch up with the situation, just watches Jones approach.

Shit he looks good in a suit. She’d thought he was attractive in simple jeans and a leather coat. He was all lean muscle with an enticing patch of chest hair when naked. But here, like this, in a suit… This is what he was supposed to look like all along. Emma realizes it now. He wears both his clothes and the attention of the room with ease. The successful, confident - cocky - mob boss is who he really is. The guy she met at the bar is all an illusion.

Bit-by-bit, Emma comes to cope with this revelation. Her jaw clenches and she takes a slow breath in from her nose, trying to calm the heart that began to race at the sight of him.

He played her.

He fucking played her.

“Neal,” he says, eyes focused on Emma’s ex. There is a trace of a sneer in the smile that he gives him - there’s so much bad blood between these two that Emma can’t believe Jones would acknowledge Neal, much less come up and greet him. Her heart is still pounding.

Jones lifts his tumbler of amber-colored liquor slightly, as if toasting Neal. It’s rum. Emma can still taste it on her lips from their first kiss. She struggles not to lick her lips at the memory.

Although Jones is being outwardly respectful, Neal is still seething, and rather than return the salutation, he glares and pulls Wendy Darling closer.

“Ah.” Jones shifts his gaze to the petite blonde and his amused little smile blooms into something softer. He looks more like he did at the bar that night. “I heard that congratulations were in order.” He holds out his hand, palm up, as if expecting Wendy to place her hand in his.

She hesitates.

When she doesn’t move for several seconds, Jones smoothly bows across the hand, as if that had been his intention all along, and quietly says, “Killian Jones. At your service.”

Neal snorts in derision.

“Just keep those hands and that service to yourself, Jones. Wendy is off-limits.”

“I was merely being polite.” His face and body language are all innocence. He almost looks offended by Neal’s accusation.

“You were trying to get a headstart on stealing another woman from my family.”

Neal’s back is ramrod straight and his eyes flashing with fury. Emma’s not sure that he could hold Wendy any closer without cutting off her air supply. Actually, his fiance is turning a little pink. Emma’s waiting for Neal to throw himself in front of her or challenge Jones to a fucking duel or something and the tension is only building.

“Stealing?” Jones’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He rocks back on his heels and takes a sip of his liquor. The way his lips pucker makes Emma unable to look away from his mouth.

The way it kissed her.

Fuck the way it tasted her.

But Jones is still engaged in conversation with Neal, even as his gaze shifts back to Wendy. His feet remain planted on the ground and the way he leans forward slightly makes it seem like he is taking up even more of the space in their corner of the airy loft apartment.

“Tell me, love,” he purrs. “If a woman comes to you and begs you to take her away, is that theft?”

Wendy quietly gasps and even Emma’s breath catches in her throat. Neal had always told her that a young Killian Jones had seduced the older Milah Gold as part of a scheme to weaken the Gold Family and have leverage over them. Everything was instigated by the Jones family and their jealousy of the Golds. And yet Killian Jones is insinuating-

“She was married.”

Jones moves his eyes from Wendy back to Neal. A muscle in his jaw jumps.

“She was,” he agrees quietly. “Though quite unhappily, as I’m sure you noticed.” He looks down and back up, giving Wendy another charming smile - a contrast to the seeming flirtation of a moment ago. “Which is why I wanted to offer you best wishes for a long and happy marriage.”

He presents his hand again, and even though Neal is still holding Wendy tight against his side, the petite blonde moves her champagne flute to her left hand, lifts her chin, and hesitantly reaches out her hand and places it in his uplifted palm.

Jones’s smile turns from charming to dazzling - it literally makes Emma’s heart jump - and he bows again, this time brushing his lips across Wendy’s knuckles. And Emma feels less guilty for the way that she was so quickly seduced by Jones at the bar - Wendy’s cheeks grow pinker at the attention.

“Hands to yourself,” Neal snaps, breaking the tension of the moment. Jones gently lets Wendy’s hand fall. And - she should have seen it coming - he turns his too-blue gaze to her, with way too much knowing in his eyes.

“And who is this?” he asks Neal, as if he hadn’t recently removed his underwear with her teeth.

“She’s off limits too,” Neal grumbles.

-/-

Never had Killian Jones needed to thread a needle so fine.

He had been pursuing the beautiful, obviously upset woman next to him for the last several months, desperate to make her acquaintance and offer her a position within the Jones Family. Sadly, fucking her was absolutely out of line. He came on a mission to recruit her, not sleep with her, no matter how lovely the slope of her cheek or the curve of her breast. Killian Jones was not going to let this devolve into anything besides a fishing expedition to find out if she could be stolen away from the Gold Family.

“Was that a proposition?” he leered.

Gods he couldn’t help it.

Emma Swan snorted and pushed her empty beer bottle away from her. “No,” she said, so quickly that he was nearly insulted. “I don’t fuck men in relationships.”

“What makes you think I’m in a relationship?”

Her eyes left the bartop and zeroed in on his left hand, and when Killian tapped his fingers playfully, displaying that he didn’t have a ring on a significant finger, Emma blinked.

“I don’t fuck men who wear jewelry.”

Killian snorted.

“Do you fuck women who wear jewelry?”

To his great shock, Emma shrugged and adjusted in her seat, so that she was facing him again, though her crossed arms said that she was still cautious.

“Sometimes.”

He fought his immediate urge to ask for details on that admission - it might be a trap anyway - and just cocked his head as though considering her.

“But this wasn’t a woman, was it? Whatever’s brought you out on a night like this to a bar like this has the stench of idiotic male.”

For the very first time, Killian heard Emma Swan laugh. Although it was a harsh, forced laugh, it made his heart warm with something familiar - something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Trying to get back to business, he made eye contact with the bartender and gestured for another round for both him and Emma, quickly downing what was left of his rum.

“Tell me the truth.” Emma’s voice rose in volume, a sign that the alcohol was impacting her speech. “Are all men assholes, or just the ones who are attracted to me?”

The bartender placed their drinks in front of them at that moment, prompting Emma to turn back toward the bar and take her first swig of beer. It meant that she missed the way that fire suddenly leapt to Killian’s eyes and a fury that felt outside of himself rose up, prompting him to grip the edge of the bar instead of his fresh tumbler of rum.

“What did he do?”

Emma scoffed. “Buying me a drink doesn’t mean you get access to my life stor-”

The blood rushed to Killian’s head and he could feel it pounding. His grip tightened on the bar. “What. Did he. Do?” Each word was forced out through clenched teeth and though he could feel the absurdity of the action, a sudden desire to defend and protect this amazing, guarded woman had risen up in him.

All of his designs on recruiting this woman with a calm, compelling argument and generous benefits flew out of the window. She’d bewitched him, obviously, and though she didn’t want his help in this way, he wanted nothing more than to give it to her.

Killian Jones had connections. He could make this man pay for hurting her.

He felt her sharp eyes on the side of his face after he interrupted her. His clenched jaw and hands could not be helped, but he forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath, to appear less dangerous.

“Are you okay?”

Finally, Killian was able to will his hands to release the bar and angle his body back toward Emma Swan, who was now tense for an entirely different reason.

“Apologies,” he said in a clipped tone. “I bristle at the thought of a woman losing her heart.” His smirk resembled a grimace. “Unless it’s over me.”

She watched him for a long moment, eyes raking over his form, a crease on her forehead, as though he were a puzzle she was trying to piece together. Killian looked back at her, suddenly unsure of how to appear, and so he allowed himself to admire the beauty that hadn’t been captured in photographs. How would she feel on his lap or in his arms or across his bed?

“Do you always eyefuck strangers, or am I a special case?”

Her dry question pulled him out of his admiration and Killian’s eyes met hers once again, trying to gauge her response, and was relieved to see her more amused than offended.

“I’ve been accused of being a flirt, but you are obviously very special, love,” he replied honestly.

“Love?” Her lips twitched. “I don’t do pet names.”

“Then tell me your name.”

She shook her head and took a pull of her beer. Killian mirrored her with his rum. “I don’t do real names either.”

Killian licked his lips, tasting the residual droplets. “Then what will you be shouting later tonight when I give you the best orgasm you’ve ever had?”

He took a risk, throwing all of his cards on the table, navigating away from his previous role as curious but friendly stranger and to man who picks her up in a bar. She could have snapped at him or thrown a drink in his face or told him to fuck off again. He expected any of those things. But he hoped that she felt as he - the crackling of chemistry between them.

Emma froze in the action of returning her beer to the bar. After a heartbeat, she set it down and cracked another half smile.

“You’re really fucking cocky.”

Relief flooded Killian’s system that his risk didn’t backfire.

“For good reason.”

“Every guy thinks that.”

“I have references. Do you want me to make some phone calls?”

Another burst of laughter, and this one was much more genuine. It drew a genuine smile from Killian, whose heart was now thundering for an entirely different reason. He took another chance.

“They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.”

She scoffed. “I bet they do.”

-/-

“Off-limits?”

Jones cocks his head comically, as if Neal has just said something ridiculous - as if the idea of Emma being off limits is funny. His eyes are watching her - observing her carefully - and his smirk is back on his lips.

“I’ve never met a woman named off limits before. What an odd moniker.”

Wendy titters on Neal’s other side. Her fiance just rolls his eyes. And Emma, who is amused despite herself but doesn’t want to show it, raises an eyebrow and silently takes a drink of her champagne. She finishes it, in fact, and desperately wishes for more.

Or maybe just a fucking beer.

Jones holds out his hand as he had for Wendy and there is mischief in his eyes as he introduces himself to the woman he’d playfully spanked and called a good girl.

“Killian Jones.”

Emma hands him her empty champagne flute.

Neal bursts into laughter next to her.

Although Emma’s still pissed at Neal - she has been since he broke the news about his engagement - she feels a perverse sort of pleasure at making him laugh for the first time since their breakup. She smiles smugly, listening to Neal and making eye contact with Jones, who is frozen with her flute in his hand. Serves the bastard right, after all.

With Neal, she always knew he was an asshole. She just thought he was a transparent one.

But Killian Jones…

She’d thought maybe he was different. The way he looked at her and touched her and kissed her. The way he treated her with more gentleness and attention than she’d ever experienced in the bedroom. He’d made her feel safe somehow, even though he was a stranger.

But it was all a fucking lie.

And it turns out all men really are assholes.

She waits for Jones to scowl and curse at her, but instead his handsome face melts into a slow, amused smile that cuts through her defenses and melts her insides with a pang of hurt and longing.

“I’m happy to take that off of your hands, love,” he purrs. Jones lifts the empty flute, holding it aloft, and a waiter floats past in a moment. Without breaking eye contact, Jones sets the flute on the offered tray, grasps a fresh one, and offers it to her with a wink.

“If you’re no longer satisfied with what you have, the Jones Family is happy to offer you new opportunities.”

Emma gulps.

“I told you, Jones,” Neal says, voice thick with impatience, “She’s off-limits too. You’re not stealing her away.”

Jones watches Emma, his hand still holding the champagne that Emma never asked for, doesn’t even want. “And I told you - I do not steal. But if you’re not taking care of your people, I want them to know that there are other families who are willing to focus their attention on them, offer them praise and encouragement.”

Emma feels her core warm at the memory of the focused attention and praise of the man in front of her in bed. The way he’d seemed so attuned to what she liked, as if she were an open book to him. The way that she’d melted when he called her good girl even though she could have sworn that with other guys she’d hated that patronizing shit.

Her jaw clenches, trying to hide the arousal that he’s drawn out of her with just a look and a few words.

“We’re offering her plenty. She’s not going anywhere,” Neal protests. His arm is still around the pretty, well-bred woman beside him, but he sways closer to Emma, who can feel the heat of his body against her side. In another life, in another universe, it would be Emma with a ring on her finger, not Wendy, and Killian Jones would be having a whole different conversation with them.

But instead, Jones’s eyes flit to Wendy and land back on Emma, and she’s afraid he’s seeing something that she doesn’t want him to see.

“Neal, I don’t see a ring on this woman’s finger. I think she’s free to go wherever she pleases.”

Any warm feelings that were lingering after their encounter at the hotel or residual fantasies after that night vanish at his words. The warmth suddenly cranks up into a rage-fueled boil that makes goosebumps rise across Emma’s skin and her fists clench at her sides.

He’s not an asshole.

He’s a fucking monster.

If he knew who she was, and where she would be that night, then he had to have known that she had recently been fucking Neal. He had to have known that, just a few weeks ago, she would have been assuming that if Neal would propose to anyone, it would have been Emma.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

It wasn’t Emma.

It is never Emma.

Poor little rough rude prickly emotionally damaged orphan Emma.

The one without a family.

The one without a boyfriend.

The one who can’t even have a fucking one night stand without it being about using her to screw someone else over.

Emma’s never been very good about hiding her anger, and this moment is no different. Her hands are shaking by her sides as she steps forward, away from Neal, toward Killian Jones, and she’s sure that he can see her heart pounding in her chest, what with her low-cut dress and all.

Lips pursed, Emma gives him an irritated look, eyes sweeping from his dark hair all the way down to his shiny black shoes, and she lets her lip curl in disgust.

Leaning forward so that he could look down her dress if he wanted to - although his forget-me-not blue eyes aren’t looking anywhere but at her own eyes - Emma visibly sniffs the champagne glass he’s holding out.

“Whatever you’re offering,” she says quietly, voice full of ice and venom, “it smells like bullshit. I’m not interested.”

She turns on her heel and walks across the loft and towards the bathroom, trying to convince herself she was just imagining the hurt that flashed in his eyes.

-/-

Killian watched with fascination as Emma Swan slid off of her barstool and slowly walked toward him, something glinting in her eyes. They’re green - he hadn’t realized that until she was closer - and they kept him pinned in place until she was standing in front of him, hands on her hips.

“I think you’re full of bullshit,” she said quietly, eyes darting back-and-forth between his own.

“Why is that?”

“Because guys who look like you usually don’t have to try in bed. But if a woman wanted more than cheesy pickup lines or halfhearted missionary, you couldn’t handle it.”

Killian swallowed down the insults, as well as his initial desire to snap back at her. She had him all wrong.

“Or perhaps,” he straightened his spine, so now they were eye-to-eye, “you are the one who couldn’t handle it,” he paused, tongue playing at the corner of his mouth before he lowered his voice and added, “love.”

He nearly fell off of the barstool when she grasped the lapels of his coat and tugged him forward, to her waiting lips. Emma was between his legs, pressing her chest to his, pressing her mouth to his, a jolt of awareness starting at his lips, traveling down his spine, pausing in his chest, and then settling in his groin. For a breath, all she did was press his mouth to hers, just breathing together, the air still thick with cigarette smoke and booze.

But then Killian realized that the woman he’d become obsessed with was here now, right in front of him, kissing the hell out of him, and his lips parted and his tongue darted out to taste her.

She tasted like cheap American beer.

But the way that her breath hitched in that moment, it was like magic, and the rest of Killian’s body rose to awareness, passing his rum from his right hand to his left so he could set it on the bar and then pull her closer with both hands on the small of her back.

She let out a whimper, one only he could hear, and it invigorated him, so that his tongue swept into her mouth again and both of his hands slid down to paw at her arse. The photographs hadn’t captured that either - the perfect curvature, the softness, the way his hands had to keep moving to capture every glorious inch.

And every time that Killian thought he’d gone too far, Emma hadn’t stopped him. At his groping, she moaned into his mouth and pressed herself more fully against his front - bloody well plastered there - and he groaned, “Gods,” quietly.

Her hands, which had started out on his lapels, migrated. One moved to rest on his chest and the other slid up his neck and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. She used this hand to tug lightly, inspiring a hiss of satisfaction, and then tug sharply, so that he removed his lips from her own.

“Gods,” he repeated.

Emma’s eyes were heavy, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling from her breathing. He wanted to know what she looked like during sex. He wanted to know what she looked like after sex.

“What was that about?” His voice was rough.

“I was calling your bluff.” Her voice was rough too.

“And?”

Emma stepped back and, instead of reaching for her beer bottle, she reached for his rum. She took a heavy sip and smacked her lips in satisfaction. Killian, frozen in place, could only stare.

She raised her chin. Her green eyes flashed. “Are you seeing anyone? No bullshit.”

“No.”

Her gaze narrowed. “No wife? No fiance? No girlfriend or regular fuck-buddy?”

He started to get suspicious about what brought her to the bar this evening and her statement about men who are attracted to her being assholes. He wondered who would cheat on a woman like her.

“No.” He said the word slowly and emphatically. Simply. He let her see the sincerity.

Emma nodded to herself and lowered her chin.

“You wanna get out of here?”

-/-

In the bathroom, Emma washes her hands with cold water and splashes a little bit on the back of her neck. Her cheeks are flushed with her anger and - she’ll admit it to herself at least - her hurt. It was one thing for Neal to so publicly claim Wendy Darling as his fiance, leaving Emma hanging high and dry with no one the wiser to their little affair. But for Killian Jones to call it out - to point out the discrepancies between a well-educated Ivy League graduate with good manners and a kind smile and Emma’s own lack of any of that - it stung. A lot.

Does she want to be engaged to Neal fucking Gold? Probably not. But that doesn’t mean she likes being reminded of how he chose someone else over her.

Examining her makeup in the mirror and adjusting her tits, Emma frowns at her expression and prepares to step back into the party. Neal and Jones might know the truth about her pain, but no one else needs to. She should just focus on getting through this party without any more public humiliation. Forget about networking or finding a hookup for the night.

The bathroom is on the far end of the hallway, and Emma exchanges a polite smile with the woman waiting by the door. She slips in once Emma’s vacated and, teetering a bit on her sky-high heels, Emma tries to channel some cool, aloof persona as she makes her way back to the buzzing living room.

It all flies out the window when a man leaning against a bedroom door grabs her and shoves her into a room.

She’s completely thrown off-balance, and a pair of strong hands on her hips steady her in the dimly-lit room. But Emma doesn’t have to look up to know who’s holding her right now. The touch is electric. The scent reminds her of hungry kisses and soft touches. Once her feet are under her once more, Emma raises her head and she raises her hand and slaps Killian Jones across the face.

The sound echoes in the high ceilings of the bedroom.

“Well, hello to you too, Princess.”

His voice is sinful and cool and though his jaw clenches briefly and he lifts a hand from her hip to gingerly touch the red mark on his cheek, he doesn’t look pissed. He looks amused.

Fine. Emma can be pissed enough for both of them.

“Gentlemen?”

Blinking, Emma looks around and realizes that there are two hulking men flanking Jones, arms crossed, and she’s struck by a wave of panic.

Shit.

She just hit one of the leaders of the Jones Family. In the face. In the fucking face. People have been offed for smaller offenses. Instinctively, Emma starts to take a step backwards, to plan for an exit, but Jones grips the fabric of her dress to keep her in place, causing it to bunch at her side, exposing even more of her right thigh.

“Give me a minute with Emma Swan. Be sure we’re not interrupted.”

His calm order is immediately obeyed and they’re alone once more - alone in a room with a bed just like the last time she saw him.

She wants to hit him again.

She wants to run away.

She wants to fucking fuck him - hard and fast and pissed-off this time, like she’d wanted it that night.

Emma glares and tries to step back again and this time he releases her, letting her get some breathing space and cross her arms across her chest.

“You knew who I was,” she accuses, attempting to keep him from seeing how much this revelation hurts. “You knew the whole fucking time.”

“Aye.”

And with the single word, he transforms again. Gone is the cocky, sinful mob boss. He’s back to the man she met in the bar - the man who looked into her soul and tried to convince her that this could be more than a one-time-thing. Soft. Gentle. Sweet.

More bullshit.

“I knew you weren’t telling the whole truth about why you were at that shithole bar,” Emma snaps.

“I was there for you.”

Her heart stops.

“No you weren’t.” The fear from a moment ago has transformed back into the fury from out in the living room. Without thinking about it, she takes two steps forward, until she’s in his face again, and jabs at his chest with her index finger. She can smell his cologne again, and it makes her heart flutter. Emma’s voice is a low hiss of rage. “You were there for your own fucking twisted agenda and because of some petty bullshit with Neal and the Gold Family and-”

His hand wraps around her wrist, stopping her from poking him again. Anger flashes in his eyes and Emma thinks Yes! Good! Fight back!

Jones pulls her even closer, so that she’s nearly straddling his thigh and she can feel his hot breath on her lips.

“I am not sure why you are blaming me for the abysmal treatment that you’ve received at the hands of Neal Gold. If you listen to my proposal I’m sure that-”

Emma laughs in his handsome face. “Proposal, huh? You’ve got a fucking proposal for me?” His choice of words is another spit in her face. She struggles against his ironlike grip on her wrist. “I can’t believe you’re such a colossal jackass.”

The insult isn’t even out of her mouth before he’s walking her backwards, her feet stumbling beneath her, and shoves her back against a bedroom wall. He still has a hold of her wrist, holding it between the two of them, and if not for their connected hands, their chests would be pressed together, he’s gotten so close to her.

“Gods above, woman,” Jones growls. “If you’d stop assuming the worst in me and just bloody listen-”

“Of course I assume the worst in you. You fucked lied! From the start!”

His lips thin and his jaw could cut glass. Jones has become all sharp edges and poorly-concealed frustration.

“I did,” he admits after a few heartbeats. “And my deception was beyond the pale. I apologize for the hurt I’ve caused you.”

He doesn’t look contrite - he still looks pissed - but Emma’s not used to receiving apologies, and it throws her off once again. She searches his eyes, hoping to find an answer somewhere within them, but he’s as closed off as she feels.

Emma swallows hard and hates how her voice is shaking as badly as her hand as she whispers, “I have no interest in your fucking proposal. I don’t want to be your side piece or a pawn in your never ending war with the Golds. I want you-” she jerks her arm out of his grip, and he releases her, but she’s still backed against the wall “-to leave me the fuck alone.”

-/-

Killian discreetly texted his driver the address of the hotel after securing an Uber to make the journey. He settled both of their tabs and kept a careful eye on the trio of dart players to make sure none of them were suspicious.

As soon as they ran through the few feet of pouring rain and into the vehicle, Killian decided that the last ten minutes were long enough of a wait between kisses. He hauled her onto his lap and pulled her lips to his again, one hand on her cheek and the other anchored on her hip. There was no hesitation this time, just liquid fire and the insane chemistry sizzling between them.

There was no mistaking his desire, not with her straddling his lap, and he relished the way she ground against him rather than recoil in disgust.

“You’ve got me so hard, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear before tugging on her earlobe with his teeth. She hissed with pleasure.

“Good,” she moaned back when his mouth began to work a bruise onto her throat.

It was dark and shiny by the time that they pulled up to the hotel, and Killian gently extracted Emma from his lap so he could climb out first and offer her a hand. A quick glance revealed his dark SUV was already across the street, waiting, and he tilted his chin briefly to show his driver that he’d noticed his presence.

“Shit. I thought we were gonna go to a cheap motel.”

Emma’s hand squeezed his, involuntarily he supposed, and she gave him a suspicious look as she took in the extravagant entryway and bright lights of one of the nicest hotels in Storybrooke. Actually, he would have taken her to the nicest, but it is owned by the Gold Family and he knew they’d be seen there immediately.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, leading her through the doors and toward the front desk. She stopped moving, however, and he stopped with her, taking in the hesitant look on her face.

“Because we were at-” Her mouth closed, then opened again. “What were you doing at that bar?”

Killian circumvented the truth. “I had business nearby.” He lifted the hand he still held and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing her knuckles. Her eyes fluttered. “But I do not take women to cheap hotels, least of all a woman like you.”

Her mouth fell open again and he left her like that, asking her to wait a minute while he secured the room. And it was only when they were on the elevator that she shoved him against the back wall, hands on his chest, fire in her eyes.

“You’re rich.”

He didn’t try to deny it. “I am.”

“And you like slumming it in shithole bars? Picking up vulnerable women?”

Killian’s jaw locked.

“You’re the one who suggested we spend the night together. You’re free to leave any time.” He raised his hands to the level of his shoulders. “You are under no obligation.”

Her lips trembled, giving him the first hint of vulnerability he’s seen from her - in photographs or in person.

“I’m not interested in being some rich asshole’s chance to get his dick dirty with a poor girl.”

Killian’s fingers curled around the hands on his chest, prying them off and then walking her backward at an angle until it was now her up against the elevator wall, her hands pressed against the expensive wallpaper.

“And I am not interested in being accused of any more predatory behavior.”

They stared at one another, electricity sparking between them, neither one prepared to back down. The elevator finally interrupted them with a pleasing tone and Emma blinked, eyes cutting to the doors opening on their floor. But Killian was frozen in place, waiting to hear her response. She swallowed and met his eyes again as the doors began to close.

“Deal.”

-/-

“Are you that happy with the Golds then?”

His question, lobbed into the infinitesimal space between them, sits like a bomb ready to go off. The answer, frankly, is that she isn’t. Neal screwed her over in more ways than one and she is starting to notice how other people get treated better than she even if they haven’t demonstrated as much loyalty or been as valuable to the family’s interests.

Does she want Jones to know that?

No.

Yes.

“Why the fuck do you care about my happiness?” Emma spits out, ignoring his question. “I told you I don’t want to be a-”

“Come now, Princess.” Jones’s hand, now empty, lands on her hip, heavy and possessive, and Emma stops mid-rant, eyes going wide and entire body spiking with awareness. She’s pissed and she’s hurt and she’s horny as hell - and now he’s touching her in the way she’d been fantasizing about for two weeks.

“We both know,” he continues on, voice dark and smooth and breath smelling like rum, “that I cared immensely about your happiness the night we met.” His hand begins to massage her hip, somehow simultaneously rough and gentle - a mystery just like this man before her. He tilts his head to the side, a mockery of innocence in the blue depths. “Can you honestly tell me that you don’t want me to care for you again?”

Yes.

No.

Emma’s chin rises and she looks down her nose at him. “Fuck off,” she says cooly.

But if she was hoping that he’d obey her, it was a foolish hope. His eyes keep pleading with her to give in even as his mouth twists into a leering grin.

“You’ve said that before.” His hand slowly and intentionally slides from her hip to her ass. When she doesn’t immediately shove him away, he kneads the flesh in a way that has moisture gathering between her thighs. Her body is betraying her, confused by the memories of their night together and all the adrenaline of seeing him and being hurt by him and slapping him and-

“I think what you truly mean,” he continues, voice a purr that she has to hold her breath to hear, “is that you want me to fuck you.”

Emma clings to whatever shred of dignity might remain - even if it is as flimsy as this red dress.

“Of course you think that. You’re a fucking arrogant bastard.”

“So you’re telling me,” his hand reaches the hem of her tiny dress and lifts it up, immediately resting his palm on her exposed asscheek before jiggling it and smacking slightly - Emma bites back a gasp of surprise and he notices immediately, eyes flashing, “that if I move my touch between these delectable thighs,” his hand moves further down, “that I will not find you warm and wet and ready for my cock?”

She bites the inside of her cheeks. She clenches her thighs together. She tries to figure out why she’s not slapping him again.

“No,” she lies.

His eyebrows rise. He’s fucking mocking her again.

“Really?” She wonders if he can smell her arousal. But his hand doesn’t move. Instead, his hips do. He’s been keeping her pinned to the wall with the force of his eye contact and presence - not his body. Finally he presses his hips forward and she can’t hold back her gasp of surprise this time.

“You’ve got me so hard, sweetheart.”

She remembers him growling the same exact words into her ear in the rideshare. She remembers the way she’d ground herself against him, desperately seeking the release that she knew, instinctively, he could provide.

She remembers how well he provided it.

“Too bad,” Emma grumbles, as if her entire body isn’t once again screaming for release. She wills herself not to grind against the erection that’s pressed against her center. With the way he tugged up her dress, there’s only a tiny pair of panties keeping her from grinding up into the fine fabric of his slacks. She can feel the hard length of him, tempting her to just give in.

“Well…” His hips rock forward slowly, torturously. “If there’s truly nothing here that you want.” He gives her ass a rough squeeze and then releases it, though his cock is still pressing her against the wall. “Then I suppose you’re free to leave.”

Emma freezes. She examines his face, looking for signs that this is a trap, but through the haze of lust that’s obvious in his expression, he doesn’t look like he’d grab her or trick her.

She knows how to hold her own.

She knows how to escape him.

But, like an idiot, she grabs him by his stupid suit jacket lapels and kisses the hell out of him.

-/-

She was back in his arms the moment that the hotel room door closed behind them. This time, her legs were wrapped around his waist, and he walked them through the room, eyes opened as she kissed him passionately, until he could set her on the edge of the bed and fall to his knees before her. He clumsily removed her boots from her feet, hands stroking up her calves and thighs until he could get his grip on her arse again.

“You have the most glorious backside,” he moaned against her lips. He can feel her smile and taste the quiet chuckle.

His palm moved to the placket of her trousers. “Will you show it to me?” he asked quietly.

Her hands on his shoulders pushed him away slightly so that she could stand. But she didn’t unbutton her jeans - she started by sliding off her leather jacket, revealing a thin tank top that clung to her form. Only then, with a sly little smile, did she release the button on her fly, playfully pulled down the zipper, and then wriggled out of the denim, revealing a pair of simple black cotton knickers.

Killian bit back a moan of appreciation.

“Turn.”

She turned.

“Bend over.”

Her stance widened and she leaned across the bed, arse squarely in his face, and Killian was fairly certain that this was the hardest he’d ever been.

“There’s a good girl,” he said quietly to himself. But he didn’t miss how her back arched slightly at his words and her backside came closer to his face. He breathed in the scent of her arousal and observed the wet spot he could see soaking the black fabric. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to a patch of flesh right beneath the seam of her knickers. She wriggled slightly and her stance widened further.

Killian kneaded the soft flesh in his hands, rejoicing in the way it pleasantly jiggled when he shook her backside. He leaned forward again and, gripping the hem of her knickers with his teeth, slowly tugged them down her long legs until his face was near her feet and he was looking up at her glistening sex. He took his time kissing a line back up her legs and then dropping a playful slap on her arse.

Emma released a quiet gasp of surprise.

“This arse would look so pretty after a spanking,” he murmured. Another slap on the other side. “But I think you’re too good of a girl to let that happen.”

She chuckled, raising her top half on the bed and peering at him over her shoulder, though still allowing him to keep his hands on the meat of her thighs.

“What makes you think I’m a good girl?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Killian dropped another kiss on an arsecheek.

“Because you’re a very clever woman. And I think you are smart enough to realize that if you trust me to care for your pleasure-” another kiss, right below the swell of her backside “-instead of fighting back as is your nature-” he bit down in the place he’d just kissed and she squirmed again “-then I will give you exactly what you need.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, as thick as the smoke had been in the shitty little bar.

“And what do I need?”

Killian considered the way she’d been used by the Gold Family but not made a part. The rundown apartment building she lived in. The slope of her shoulders when hunched over a beer.

“Someone to treat you like a princess.”

Her eyes widened.

“I’m not a princess.”

One more kiss at the base of her spine.

“Let’s just you and I find out.”

-/-

His tongue is in her mouth and his hands are on her ass and his cock is rubbing against her crotch and Emma is on fire. She’s finally found an outlet for all of these fucking awful feeling and she shouldn’t do this, but she wants it, dammit, and she’s gonna get what she wants.

“Gods, love,” Jones breathes into their kiss. His hips tilt away and she whimpers, annoyed and confused, but then his fingers are between her legs, stroking the lace of her underwear and then pulling them to the side so he can touch her flesh.

“You are wet for me,” he sighs. She doesn’t hear smugness in his voice though - only desire - and the way two fingers slide inside of her, she’s not sure she would care even if he were smug. He strokes her, teasing her inner walls, and his mouth continues to taste her as if he’s starving for her. She whines when he rubs a sensitive place within, hips canting to chase the sensation, but the bastard pulls his fingers away, out of her completely, and he breaks the kiss and straightens up to look down at her.

“You’re a needy thing,” he drawls, eyes sweeping across her form. Her dress is rucked up, her tits are nearly falling out, her makeup is smudged, and her hair is probably a mess.

Emma’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach. Needy thing. She is, isn’t she? Needy. Greedy. Wanting. Always reaching for more than anyone’s ever been willing to give her. It’s like he’s doused her with cold water, reminding her that she doesn’t ever get what she wants - what she needs.

Why was she stupid enough to think that this could be different?

She opens her mouth to respond, but Jones opens his mouth too and pops in his fingers, carefully licking her cum off of the digits. He tastes them like he’d tasted her lips - like a delicacy - and his eyes close in obvious pleasure.

Emma’s mouth closes again.

His eyes open and there’s a little smirk in the corner of his mouth. He takes that same hand and gently cups her cheek, using it as an anchor as he leans forward to whisper in her ear.

“All you have to do is tell me what you need, Princess.” A shiver runs down her spine at the filthy promises she can hear in his tone. “Tell me what you need and I’ll tear the world apart to give it to you.”

Involuntarily, Emma’s eyes flutter shut and she releases a long exhale until her lungs begin to burn.

“What do you need?” he prompts, like a devil on her shoulder.

She needs more than he can ever give her - more than he’d ever be willing to sacrifice. But here, now, in this moment, she only has one answer as her entire body cries out for him.

“I need you to shut up and fuck me,” she says, half-moan and half-growl.

His own voice is laced with amusement.

“As you wish.”

Two quick tugs on her panties and they’re a ripped scrap of lace on the floor. Emma finds his belt and fly and releases him as quickly as she can, and then his hands are under her ass and her hands are on his shoulders and, right there against the wall in Neal’s spare bedroom, with minimal removal of clothes, Killian Jones is sliding his cock into Emma Swan.

She whimpers and pants as her body welcomes him inside at the same time as her inner muscles fight the stretch. He feels so good - almost too good - and no sex toy had been able to replicate this feeling of him inside of her. Thankfully, he really does shut up like she’d asked, and once every inch of him is inside of her, she’s able to take a deep breath and relax enough to acclimate.

Holding her in place against the wall, he pulls away slightly, sliding halfway out of her, then pushes back again and she curses quietly.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises.

Emma’s eyes are closed but she’s pretty sure he’s smirking again. “What did I say about talking?”

Another shallow thrust. “I cannot help it, love.” Thrust. “You’re taking me so well. So bloody perfect.” Thrust. “How can I not praise you when you’re such a good girl?”

He starts to pick up his rhythm, and she hopes that disguises the way she clenches around him at the term, but no such luck. His hand covers her mouth, muffling the little gasps that she’s letting out, and his jaw is tight as he grunts through the exertion of fucking her, “I know you like when I praise you, Princess. Just close that smart mouth of yours and let me.”

Petulantly, she bites his hand.

Jones growls and moves his grip back to her hip, keeping her up and against the wall, while her hands are bunching up the fabric of his suit at his shoulders.

“Stubborn, prickly, rude woman-”

“I told you I wanted you to shut up.”

“And I told you I would give you anything and all you ask for is a dirty shag?” He shifts somehow and now he’s hitting the perfect spot. Emma keens.

“What do you want?” There’s pleading in his tone. “What would make you happy?”

Emma breathes through five thrust before she whimpers, “Just fuck off, okay? I don’t want any more broken promises. I just want to-”

Before she can finish her sentence, Jones reaches between them and his fingertip strokes her clit and she’s coming - her muscles all tightening in delicious pleasure as the world shrinks down to all of the places he’s touching her and all of the places she’s touching him right back. It is too much and not enough and so right that she wonders how she walked away last time.

She curses quietly into his neck as she comes down from her orgasm and she waits for him to drop her to the floor, but instead his grip tightens and he takes her with her when he steps away from the wall. To her surprise, he’s still rock hard inside her, and with a firm hand on her ass and a gentle hand cupping her head, he murmurs, “I’ve got you,” as he walks the few feet to a low-profile bed and sits down with her in his lap.

They’re both still (mostly) dressed.

They’re both still fucking.

“Now-” He sounds like an exasperated father “-have you calmed down enough to have a civilized conversation, or do you need to tire yourself out more and come around my cock again?”

Indignant, Emma opens her mouth in outage, but his fingers dig into her bare ass and a low moan escapes her open mouth.

Her body keeps betraying her.

He looks pleased.

Honestly, her orgasm has cleared her head a little. Some of that uncontrollable tension has dissipated. But she chafes at his patronizing insinuations and so she fights back the only way she knows how.

She lifts herself up slightly and then lets gravity slam her back down on his cock.

His groan echoes in the bedroom. And even though she just dug her ass into her high heels, Emma grins down at him in pride.

“What kind of civilized conversation are you trying to have right now?” she asks dryly, widening her stance, lifting up. and falling down again. The zipper of his pants are scratching her thigh with every rise and fall but she barely notices. His hands clench and his eyes flutter.

When he doesn’t reply, she begins a slow rhythm, hands braced on his shoulders as she rides his hardness. She never comes more than once during sex, but she did that time with him, and if he doesn’t finish too soon, she thinks she’d probably come again - and she tries not to wonder if she should be offended or impressed that he didn’t get off while fucking her against the wall.

He looks incredibly sexy like this. He pulled down his pants enough to fuck her, but otherwise he’s completely dressed, perched on the edge of the bed beneath her like a damn snack. His clothes are tailored to perfection, accentuating his strong but lean form. He looks powerful like this too - the mob boss getting fucked in a bedroom at a party. Some woman riding him like she just can’t help herself. But when his eyes open again and he looks her right in the eye, she feels some of that power transfer to herself.

He might be a boss out there, but right here, right now, she’s in charge.

After a minute, Jones’s eyes get less glassy and he focuses in on the tits threatening to bounce right out of her tight red dress. One hand leaves her ass to pull the bodice down completely and he sucks on one nipple and palms the other breast in a way that makes her falter.

They both curse this time.

“I want to offer you a position in the Jones Family,” he murmurs against her right breast.

Emma scoffs, stomach muscles tightening and - judging by his little yelp - other muscles tightening too. She laughs just because she can, “Yeah, I bet you do.”

She has no interest in being brought in as another guy’s side piece, just to taunt Neal. No matter how good he is in bed.

“I’m prepared to offer you substantial benefits.”

She clenches - on purpose this time - around his substantial dick. She rolls his eyes at the innuendo. Still not a good enough argument.

“And,” he bites down on a nipple, tugging in a way that almost hurts but for sure feels amazing, then soothing the flesh with the flat of his tongue, “as much as it pains me to say, if you decide that you do not want to work with me, I can secure someone else to be your primary contact.”

Emma freezes mid-hump.

As her sex-addled brain tries to come to terms with what Killian Jones has just said, she lets her weight fall on him again and he curses around her nipple, seemingly unaware of her confusion. Her fingers tug in his thick black hair, pulling him off of her tits and looking him in the eye.

“What the fuck do you mean?” she asks with more than a little bite in her tone.

Jones blinks.

“Of course my preference would be to work with you, but I understand why, after my deception the last time we met, you wouldn’t trust me. However, I am willing to set aside my pride if it means that you’ll come work for the Jones Family. Your record speaks for itself-”

Emma shoves him until he’s flat on his back on the bed and she’s looming over him, hands on the comforter on either side of his head.

“What do you mean my record speaks for itself?”

A furrow appears between his brows.

“The criminals you’ve brought in. The people you’ve tracked down. Gods, love, my brother was furious when you secured Felix-”

“-But he’s one of yours.”

“Regrettably, yes. But that doesn’t mean that we do not recognize what a formidable asset you’d be if you were working for us.” His hand lands on her ass again, as if the word asset reminded him it was still there. Jones’s head tilts back and he gives her an intense look that takes away the breath she had remaining after his words had shocked her.

“My sources tell me that you’re a contractor. But I believe your talent is being wasted.” His hand squeezes possessively. “Come work for me. We’ll give you a substantial salary, an apartment, let you do the things you want to do.”

Emma’s heart has stopped beating.

“So you’re…” the words are there but she can hardly form them. “You’re offering me a job? A permanent job? A permanent place with the Jones Family?”

A home?

-/-

Emma’s eyes were cautious as she observed him over her shoulder, still bent over the bed. Slowly, her knees came together and she shifted, so that she was on her side on the bed, and rather than hold her in place, Killian climbed on the bed next to her, side-by-side, and let his hand fall heavy on her hip.

“I’m confused. What weird sex thing are you wanting me to do?”

Killian held back an amused smile. “Nothing weird.” His thumb found her hip bone and circled the protrusion. Then he slid his hand up her side, slowly and intentionally, until he could cup her chin in his palm. His voice lowered. “I want to treat you like a princess.”

Her brow furrowed. “That sounds weird.”

He leaned forward and pulled her forward until their lips were a breath away.

“Try something new. Trust.”

And then he kissed her, something softer than it had been in the bar and the vehicle and at the door of the hotel room. Something gentle and reverent and adoring. He rolled on top of her, pinning her in place with the weight of him, and groaned when he felt her legs wrap around his waist again.

“You’re so bloody soft,” he murmured against her cheek when he pulled away to breathe. Killian nuzzled into her blonde curls. “Soft and gorgeous,” her breath hitched, “and responsive,” he added with a smirk.

He moved his lips down her throat and across her collarbones. She began to grind herself against his clothed erection and Killian moved one hand from the bed to her backside to pull her even closer.

“I want a better look at you,” he gruffed. “Will you show me your pretty pussy?”

Emma released a noise between a laugh and a sound of encouragement, and from the way she removed her ankles from his back, he figured she was consenting. Killian murmured, “I knew you were a good girl,” as he pushed himself off of the bed and back down onto his knees, this time between Emma Swan’s spread thighs.

The sight of her sex, spread open for him like a feast, shapely like a blooming flower, curls just a shade darker than her hair, with the sharp scent of her desire - it all made his eyes unfocus for a moment and his head turn fuzzy.

He meant to seduce her to work for the Jones Family.

What the bloody hell was he thinking, seducing her like this?

“Are you trying to memorize it for a quiz or something?”

Killian snapped back to attention at her dry question and he blinked before meeting her eyes. Sitting up and leaning back on her elbows, she scrutinized him.

“Is this another weird sex thing? Or haven’t you seen a pussy before?”

Killian frowned.

“I’ve seen plenty.” She started to close her legs and he stopped her, palms on her knees. “But I wasn’t done admiring you, sweetheart. I would rather not be rushed.”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled. “And I’d rather get fucked. I thought that’s what I came here for.”

“No you didn’t.” Killian brushed his lips across her kneecap. She shivered. “You came here seeking an escape from wherever drove you to that bar tonight.”

“Yeah?” Her voice, which was likely supposed to be challenging, wavered a bit.

“Aye.” He ran his cheek along the inside of her thigh, watching her wide eyes as he approached her core and skimmed past it with only a teasing exhale before moving to her other knee. “Now tell me how you like being eaten out. Slow and gentle? Or fast and hungry?”

Emma’s mouth fell open as he waited for her to respond.

“Sweetheart?” She blinked. “Did you understand the-?”

“Yeah, uh,” Emma swallowed heavily. He realized then that her legs had been full of tension, because at that moment they relaxed beneath his fingers. The way she was coiled and prepared for battle faded away, but by bit, until she was soft and pliant as his lips brushed across her other knee. “If you - uh - really want to, then do it however you like - uh - Sir.”

Killian pushed aside that pleasurable warmth in his stomach at the sound of Sir from her lips and instead grasped her by the hips to pull her forward to the very edge of the bed, her spread-open cunt a feast before him.

“What I like,” Killian breathed, inching closer and closer to her core, “is pleasing you.” He grasped one of her hands and directed it toward the top of his head. “So get bossy. Get vocal. And don’t be afraid to really get into it.” He gave her one last wink before burying his face between her legs.

Emma released a high-pitched squeak that transformed into a stream of curses. After a few minutes of gentle exploration, her fingers gripped his hair and she pulled - hard - as she shifted her hips and his tongue slipped into her entrance and her entire body shuddered.

“That - fuck - shit - that feels good.”

Killian grinned into her wet flesh. “You taste divine, love,” he groaned, pulling away enough to speak and to catch his breath. His eyes flicked up, seeing hers glued to him. “And you’re such a good girl for letting me have you like this.”

Her breath caught. Her legs twitched. Killian lapped at her again and her fingers tightened.

He didn’t speak again for a long time, too distracted by the work of learning the perfect pressure and placement of his tongue, the rhythm that made her pant. But he did, eventually, as he felt her getting close. Emma started to buck up into his face, one hard enough that he grunted in surprise, and immediately she stopped moving and whimpered, “Sorry.”

“Not at all.” Killian nuzzled his wet cheek against her thigh and gave her a hungry smile. “I want you to take what you need. I told you to get into it, sweetheart.” He kissed a dimple beside her knee. “You’re doing such a good job of communicating your desires.” His lips worked back to her core and he paused, just for a breath, to raise his brows and give her a look.

“Now let go, let me take care of you, and trust that I am enjoying myself.”

As soon as his mouth connected with her sex again, she was rolling her hips, seeking more and more, and Killian breathed through his nose and followed the subtle direction of her legs and her hand in his hair until she came apart with a shout and a shudder and a fresh spray of arousal coating his tongue. Killian helped ride her though it and stopped immediately when she quietly cursed and her hips tilted away from him.

He pulled back and smiled, meeting her hooded gaze.

“You really are a good girl, Princess. And now I expect you to be just as vocal when you’re coming on my cock.”

-/-

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while now,” Jones says. His hands are both on her ass now, playing with her cheeks in a distracted sort of way - she wonders if he even realizes that he’s doing it. “I make it a point to know of our enemy’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Emma’s gaze narrows. “What does keeping an eye on you mean?”

Jones chuckles and at the motion, she remembers that he’s still inside of her and he’s still hard. Her hips shift by instinct, seeking more contact, more friction, and he groans obscenely, eyes closing once again. His eyelashes are so long that they kiss the apples of his cheeks. Male eyelashes are so unfair, honestly.

“Well,” he begins, “normally, it does not involve fucking the woman that I am to be recruiting.” He shifts under her and her hips rock again - against her will. But damn if it doesn’t feel good. “But I have trusted sources in various places, and all of them assure me that you would be a boon to the Jones Family.” His eyes open and this time her movement is very voluntary - he’s giving her that look again.

“You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.”

There it is - her name. Again. From the lips of the man that was the first person to go down on her and seem to enjoy it. Someone that made her feel seen - in a way that she can’t describe - and cherished - in a way that she can’t wrap her mind around. He’s telling her that all of this isn’t about the guy she was fucking but about who she is and what she’s capable of.

He’s telling her that she’s worth more than how she’s been treated.

Emma closes her eyes and tries to gather her swirling thoughts. She has the strangest feeling of being in the middle of a tornado.

“I’m not officially a part, but I know where some bodies are buried. They’d come after me.”

Now the tornado is in the pit of her stomach.

Two strong hands slide up from her ass and to the middle of her back, pulling her down all of the way so that her chest is resting against his chest, his clothed body warm beneath her. Her head is tucked under his chin and the rumble of his words tickles her cheek.

“They would. And we’d protect you, Princess.”

But she hears the words he doesn’t say. He’d protect her. The tornado in her stomach jumps. And then it settles - just for a moment - as she breathes in and breathes out and lets herself imagine what would happen if she said yes.

If she risked it all - reputation, pride, loyalty, her future - for this man.

It’s terrifying.

It’s exhilarating.

When Emma pushes herself back up, hands on his chest and - after an experimental bounce - still filled with hard cock - she takes stock of the situation and tries to focus on the known variables.

“What are you offering?”

There’s a gleam of respect in his eyes as he names a figure that she’d have to work five years of contract jobs to achieve.

Emma disguises her shock by beginning to fuck him again - because it feels good and because she hopes it will give her an advantage in negotiation.

“You drive a hard bargain, Swan,” he grunts after a handful of thrusts. He increases it five percent and adds in a leased vehicle. “But that is truly as high as I can go,” he groans, and there’s a tremble to his lips that tells her either he’s telling the truth or he’s trying really hard not to come.

“You said something about substantial benefits?” The benefits package feels pretty good right now, honestly. Emma gives him a wicked grin, but he just sort of nods and makes a noncommittal noise, so she quits with the innuendo.

“Is the offer contingent on the two of us fucking regularly?” She suddenly remembers what he’d said about her having a different contact person and she stops bouncing. “Shit - or does this mean we wouldn’t fuck again?”

“Gods love, I think you are trying to kill me,” he growls impatiently. So he was close. Jones’s fingers are digging into her ass again and she’s pretty sure he’s gonna leave marks, but she’s not moving until he answers her question. She glares down at him.

“I’m not interested in being some woman you fuck as part of your revenge plot.”

He sighs, giving up on his attempts to encourage her to keep riding him. “You’re not.”

“So you’d still hire me even if we never fuck again?”

“Honestly,” he finds a way to begin thrusting shallowly from below her and some of the tension leaves his face even as Emma’s core tenses again, “my brother would probably prefer it. Fucking someone working for you is poor form.”

Emma holds her tongue about her relationship - or semblance of one - with Neal.

“So we’d be done after this.”

It isn’t a question, but she knows he understands what she’s asking. His eyes meet hers with a stunning sincerity that takes away her breath.

“I will obey your wishes. But I must confess that it would take every bit of my willpower to do so.” The way he’s rocking against her and the way he’s looking at her has her beginning to move again, swept up in her body’s need to respond to this strange connection.

“Gods do I want you, lass, I wanted you before I met you.” Her hips snap faster, her fingers curl around the tie resting in the center of his chest. “And if you find it in your heart to offer me mercy, then I’ll treat you like a goddamn princess - like you bloody well deserve.”

-/-

Despite his allusion to fucking her next, Killian gave Emma Swan one more orgasm, this time teasing her depths with his fingers as he gently led her over the edge of her bliss. He was nearly drunk on the power of having this woman in bed with him. He’d kept such a close eye on her file for months now, staring at every photograph that came across his desk, grinning at her cleverness with each challenge, despite how it often led to his own detriment. He’d developed a crush on the woman, he’ll admit that now, and there is a not-so-small part of himself that wondered if he could just begin a courtship with her and keep her in the dark.

“Oh? My family? Just a brother. What does he do for a living? He’s in personnel management, nothing special.”

He also knew that he’d thrown away any opportunity of getting Emma Swan to come work for the Jones Family, seducing her and lying to her in such a way. But as he rained kisses across the tops of her thighs, he found that he was not upset about the tradeoff. This may have been the only way of having this wonderful woman, and he suspected that there’s no limit to what he would have given up.

“Such a bloody good girl,” he whispered between kisses, hand stroking her thighs and her arse and her hips. “You did a good job showing me what you like, Princess.”

“Princess?” Emma grumbled. She sat up fully, hair mussed and eyelids heavy. “I said no pet names.”

Killian ignored her.

“Take off your top. I want to see those pretty tits.”

She hesitated.

Killian’s expression turned baleful, eyes wide and innocent. “What did I do wrong with my mouth that you don’t want it on your breasts?” He tilted his head and licked his lips significantly. “You sounded so satisfied a minute ago.”

She rolled her eyes as her hands moved to the hem of her shirt, peeling it off. “You’re manipulative, did you know that?”

He ogled her lace-clad breasts, unrepentant. “I get results. Keep going.”

There was the hint of a smile on her lips as she unclasped her brassiere, holding it against her chest for a heartbeat before letting it fall to her lap.

Killian’s own mouth fell open and he openly stared, admiring the shape of her breasts, the color of her nipples, the way they were already puckered with arousal.

“Gods you’re gorgeous,” he breathed.

She turned faintly pink and squirmed on the bedspread.

He stood and smoothly slid off his leather jacket, having suddenly realized that he had had her disrobe but he was still fully dressed. Poor form. But even so, he could barely stand to take his eyes off of her in the time it took to tug his shirt over his head.

“You’re stunning, love,” he said, letting her hear the truth in his tone. He slipped off his shoes and slid them away with the side of his foot. “Will you play with those tits for me? Show me how you like to be touched?”

Emma’s gaze stayed connected with his own as she brought her hands up and began to fondle her breasts. Killian groaned at the sight as he unfastened his denims.

“What a good girl.”

He didn’t miss how she shivered once again.

“I knew you could be good for me. Let me take care of you.” Killian tilted his chin. “Middle of the bed with you, Princess.” He let his denims fall to the floor, revealing his lack of pants and his strained erection. He sighed in relief once he was no longer in the constricting fabric.

Emma hadn’t moved.

“I told you: middle,” Killain reiterated. He stepped up closer, and though Emma’s hand lifted, obviously reaching for his manhood, he grasped her wrist and held her back.

“I’m doing the touching tonight, love. I need you to listen to what I say and just enjoy yourself.” Killian twisted her wrist and bowed slightly at the waist in order to kiss the palm of her hand.

She worked so bloody hard for the Gold Family. For so little payout. “You don’t have to be in charge here,” he said softly. “I’ve got you, love.”

Slowly, Emma backed up to the middle of the bed, eyes never leaving his own, and she leaned on her elbows again.

“Good girl,” Killian said quietly. He wrapped his fist around his erection and stroked it unhurriedly. “Do you have protection?”

He was surprised that she trusted him enough to locate the condom in an outside pocket of the purse she’d discarded beside the door. Careful to not poke around additionally, Killian returned to the bed, tossed it on the mattress, and then climbed on top of her once more, lips meeting her own and hand going straight for her breasts.

Her moan against his mouth told him she liked his touch so Killian trailed his mouth down her body so he could take a pert nipple between his lips. She squirmed and sighed as his mouth explored her breasts and his hand explored everywhere else. She was so soft, so beautiful, and he luxuriated in the apparent strength in her arms and the way the muscles of her legs clamped around his thigh. She held him in place as she ground her center against his leg, slippery and fragrant, and Killian’s own erection pressed against her leg.

“Are you ready?” He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of her breasts, but she seemed to be getting impatient for more. Emma released a breathy sound of interest that was enough to make him sit back on his haunches and locate the condom.

He made quick work of sliding it on and getting himself in place, pausing at her entrance and memorizing the flush of her cheeks and the heat in her eyes.

As soon as Emma Swan discovered who he really was, she wouldn’t do this again.

He needed to make this count.

“Why do you just keep staring at me?” Her question was a cross between a frustrated growl and a childlike whine. Emma bit her lower lip and lifted her hips, trying to encourage him to penetrate her, but on her back, she wasn’t in the proper position to do so. She was at his mercy, waiting for him to move and sheath himself inside of her.

Gods did he love that.

Killian bent down, kissing her again, and despite the way she bit his lower lip and tasted him hungrily, Killian managed to slow the embrace with a palm on her cheek and soft, gentle, steady pressure, until she was growling in annoyance once more. Grinning, Killian leaned his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her sex by feel and not by sight.

“Because you are worth taking my time with, Princess,” he whispered. “I do not wish to be anywhere else but here with you.”

And at that, he began the slow slide inside of her. She was warm and tight and he entered her wet cunt so easily that it felt like a dream. Killian pulled back slightly, to observe the way she threw her head back and released a heavy, satisfied sigh. She didn’t want to be anywhere else either. He could feel rhythmic pulses of her sex as she adjusted to his size. He could see the little smile on the corners of her lips.

He had pleased her.

He had made her forget, for just a moment.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise spilling forth as his hands found her arse. The little smile became a little larger. Killian began to thrust and her legs relaxed as she grew pliant, finally getting what she’d asked for.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he sighed. “You’re taking me so bloody well.”

Her fingers grasped the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him in place, holding on tight. “Fuck.” Emma’s mouth fell open while her eyes remained closed, just a few inches away from his own face.

He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her to remember that it was him doing this to her.

“Eyes open, Princess.”

She obeyed immediately, and even though her eyes briefly slammed back closed and she whimpered, she was soon making eye contact with him, something that made even more pleasure shoot through his veins.

“You feel so perfect,” he breathed.

“Shit,” she cursed.

“Are you going to come? Are you going to come on my cock?”

Emma nodded and whimpered again.

Killian was struck by the most awful urge to tell her his name, in order to hear her cry it out as she reached her peak. He was a vain bastard like that, and such an act had always made his orgasms better. But he knew that it was a truly idiotic idea, and he managed to keep the thought to himself. Just barely.

Instead, he groaned, “Let me hear it, love. Shout it out, nice and loud. I want to know that I’m fucking you the way you deserve.”

“Shit,” she cursed again.

-/-

“Fuck,” Emma breathes, overwhelmed by the strength of his confession. Sure, he’d said it before as bedroom talk - that he’d take care of her - and she’s not totally discounting that this is bedroom talk too - but there’s something about the way he’s looking at her, the way he’s speaking about her, the way that he seems to see her better than anyone else she’s ever met.

“Are you going to come again?”

His question is breathless and his cheeks are turning a pretty shade of pink as he gets closer to his orgasm. Emma feels her own building, tantalizingly close, and she grips his red silk tie harder as she shifts her hips and finds the perfect angle.

“Are you going to come around my cock, Princess?”

Her only coherent response is another quiet, “Fuck,” which he reads correctly and his face breaks into a hazy, sex-saturated smile.

“Such a good girl for me.”

It’s right there. So close.

“I want you to keep being a good girl for me,” he moans. “Letting me fuck you and take care of you and-” Shit “-protect you and stand up for you-” No that’s too much “-and coming inside of this tight perfect cunt.”

“Oh fuck, Jones.”

The moan he releases isn’t human - and it sends a jolt straight between her thighs.

“Are you going to go back out to that party filled with my seed?”

She’s never fucked this hard. She’s never felt this desperate.

She nods.

“Say it.”

Three hard thrusts and she finds the words, which come out as a needy moan that sounds so unlike her.

“K-Killian. I want you to come inside of me.”

It’s the first time that she’s said his name, and it seems to affect him as much as his saying her name had affected her. His face screws up as he pictures what she’s picturing: her body slowly but surely leaking the evidence of this tryst, the secrets that they’ve sealed together tonight, in this room. A claim, perhaps, that she’s now allowing to be made.

“That’s my good girl,” he sighs - and those are the words that finally set her off, with him following a moment later, cock twitching and spilling himself inside of her.

-/-

Killian reached between them, to the place where he was firmly but slowly fucking her into the mattress, and his thumb pressed against her clit.

“Oh fuck!” she cried out.

“Is that it?”

Emma nodded frantically, eyes shutting again and wrapping her legs around him as she tried to meet his thrusts.

“You’re doing so well,” Killian praised. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer and he needed to take her with him. “Gods, sweetheart, you’re taking me so perfectly, like you were made for me. I think - bloody hell - I think maybe you were.”

This close to the edge, Killian couldn’t censor his words. All he could think about was her warm wet heat, the softness and strength of her body beneath him, the way she looked holding a gun at the shooting range and hauling his own bloody men into the precinct. She’s a goddess - one of the dangerous ones that you should stay away from - and now that he’d gotten too close, he’d been bewitched.

He wanted her.

Desperately.

To his great relief, Emma Swan began to shake in his arms, soft cries falling from her plush lips, and he nearly reached his own peak.

“Look at me,” he begged quietly, and when her green gaze met his own, filled with pleasure and awe, he began the freefall. His cock twitched inside of her, frantically wishing to mark her with his seed, but he spilled himself inside of the condom instead. “Shit,” he grunted. “Gods.” He kept thrusting, even as he began to soften, even as her body relaxed beneath him once again.

He released a few more quiet curses, the words half-formed, before he kissed her once again, and finally found the softness in her embrace he’d been seeking all night.

Emma Swan.

Her hard edges smoothed away. Just for him. Just for this moment. An unhurried kiss. Sweet lips. And a warm cunt that he slipped out of, reluctantly, so he could carefully remove the condom before it makes a giant mess. But he was back in the bed in a flash, fingers tangled in her curls and his mouth caressing her neck and carefully nibbling the bruise he made in the car.

“You were perfect, love. Simply perfect.”

“If you call me a good girl again, I’m leaving.”

-/-

“Emma Emma Emma,” he murmurs over and over again as she slows her thrusts and, eventually, her body grows tired and she lays on top of him once more.

“Beautiful Emma,” he whispers. “Glorious perfect brilliant wonderful Emma.” She can feel his lips in her hair.

“Does that mean I get to make you my princess?” His fingers gently comb through a section of hair and she feels the light tug of strands getting caught on his rings, but she doesn’t even flinch - she’s too boneless. “Give this a real go? Truly get to know one another?”

“Hmmm.” Emma doesn’t feel like moving from this surprisingly comfortable perch, but she knows she probably should. “What about what you said about fucking someone who’s working for you?”

There’s a slight pause - enough to make her heart stop - but his hand tucks under her chin and lifts it so she’s meeting his gorgeous blue eyes.

He looks… hopeful.

“Truly? You’ll join the family?”

Sensing that this is a conversation she should have from a more upright position, Emma attempts to extract herself from his arms and put herself somewhat to rights again. As she does, a flood of release splashes between them and Jones - Killian - goes a little pale and he slaps his chest before fumbling with the inside of his suit jacket and extracting a little foil square.

“Bollocks.” She’s already climbing off the bed and he sits up to meet her eyes, concern in his own depths. “I brought protection but I forgot to-”

“Relax,” Emma says with an indulgent smirk. “I’m on birth control.” She tucks her tits back into her dress and tugs at the hem, although it feels somewhat shorter than it was when she first walked into the room. “I’m not trying to join the Jones Family in that way.”

But she hopes that he can’t tell that the thought of getting accidentally pregnant doesn’t cause dread to rise up like it normally would. Oddly enough.

“But you will?” Emma gives him a confused look, thrown off by her own surprising musings. “Join the family? And pursue a relationship?”

Is he the perceptive lover that she met in the bar? Or the ostentatious mob boss that she encountered at the party? He’s both, maybe - and that perceptive lover wasn’t an act.

She sees that now. And even though it takes a lot for Emma to trust in people, her instincts are saying that she can. Or at least she can try.

“Yeah,” she says, finally, shyly, and her heart skips when she sees Killian’s face light up with excitement. He tucks himself back into his dress pants and holds out his hand in an obvious invitation for her to sit back down on his lap - although this time she sits sideways and wraps her arms around his neck. He kisses behind her ear and nuzzles against her shoulder.

“The Family will give you anything that you want - anything that will make you happy. I know that your skills are invaluable.”

Warmth flutters in her stomach. Not fighting his compliments - that’s scary too. Scary, but pleasant.

“And you?”

-/-

Killian laughed, pulling away to gauge her expression, and grinned that she was more sarcastic than serious. His tongue played at the side of his mouth as he considered her for a long, pregnant moment before responding, clearly and articulately, “Good. Girl.”

“That’s it. I’m-”

But he didn’t allow her to finish. Killian had Emma’s hands pinned to the mattress and his body covering his own as he kissed her once more, smiling despite her weak protestations. And when he pulled away, she was smiling as well, though with great reluctance.

“You’re kind of an asshole,” she grumbled, trying to break free, but obviously not trying very hard. She’d sprained Fredrickson’s wrist last month and given him a nosebleed.

“Aye,” he agreed.

She blinked, obviously surprised that he didn’t defend himself. He saw her start to build her walls back up, brick-by-brick. She glowered up at him, blonde hair a mess beneath her.

“And you should know that that was a weird sex thing.”

Killian raised his brow. “Which thing? Focusing all of my attention on you? Or praising you in bed?”

Emma’s frown only deepened and he could hear the petulance in her tone as she said, “Both.”

Gods above. Killian wasn’t sure if he should laugh at her ridiculous grievance, go out and bodily harm the cads who hadn’t treated her as she bloody well deserved, or pull her into his arms and make love to her again.

But it was that - the realization that he had made love to her - that drew his attention away from Emma long enough for her to finally make her move, shoving him off of her and rolling away with a compact movement that sent her to the edge of the bed. Gracefully, she neatly stood up and faced him, arms crossed, as he blinked up at her in surprise from his supine position.

“Anyway.” Her eyes weren’t meeting his anymore and Killian’s stomach sank. “Thanks for the drinks and the-”

“Mindblowing sex?”

She rolled her eyes. Her arms fell heavy by her sides and she shifted her weight, just for a moment, before she bent down for her brassiere and began to put it on.

“-and the orgasms,” she finished. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her acknowledging them but not quantifying them.

“Next time I can be selfish and rude and you can judge for yourself which you like better,” he quipped.

Emma’s eyes stayed focused on her task as she located her knickers and shimmied into her denims.

“Or we could meet in the middle?” Killian could hear the desperation creeping into his tone and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He sat up. She was pulling her top over her head. “I could focus on you and be rude? Smack that arse and call you a naughty girl?”

She paused, just for a moment, and hope started to rise-

“This was a one-time-thing, buddy.” Finally her eyes met his, and her walls were completely erected. Cold. Closed-off. “I didn’t think I’d have to explain that.”

“And I didn’t think…” She bent over and picked up her jacket and then turned her head toward him, curious, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to say but he’d already started and-

“And I didn’t think this would feel so…” He’s an idiot “...right.”

She froze and, just for an instant, the walls dropped and he could see that she felt as he felt and there was even a hint of fear in her gaze but then-

“You don’t know me, man.” Her eyes shifted, looking over his shoulder, ice-cold once again. “And if you did, you wouldn’t want me either.”

Before he could decipher her meaning and piece together a coherent response, Emma Swan was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume, the memory of her kiss, and Killian’s determination to go to the next godforsaken mixer to track her down.

He would convince her to join the Jones Family, one way or another.

-/-

Killian looks up. Smiles.

“Don’t you know, Emma? You’ve bewitched me. I came to a party put on by Neal bloody Gold,” he rolls his eyes, “just so I could see you again. I couldn’t stand the thought of us being a one-time thing.”

Emma tries to hide her blush by leaning down and kissing him again. He likes it soft and so she matches that softness - something sweet but hopeful - and they’re both smiling when she pulls back.

But only for a second.

Emma cocks her head and sighs. “Speaking of Neal-”

“-Gods must we?-”

“-I wouldn’t have been half so pissed earlier if you’d chosen your words more carefully.” Impulsively, she kisses the tip of his nose before extracting herself from his lap and his arms. “Mocking me about his engagement was a really low blow.” She walks toward the door, figuring that she dropped her purse around here somewhere. “For someone with a praise kink, that was really degrad-”

She shoots him an annoyed look over her shoulder but stops in her tracks as she realizes he’s transformed in the last few seconds. The eager, lovesick puppy that was cuddling her has been replaced by a furious mob boss nearly trembling with fury. He stands - did he get taller? - and glares at her with an anger he doesn’t even try to disguise.

“What the bloody hell does that mean?”

Every word is clipped and forced out through clenched teeth. Emma flinches and - yeah - he might be somewhat of a softie in the romance department, he’s still terrifying. He’s still got blood on his hands - she knows enough about this world to know that. And he looks like he’d like to get his hands bloody again.

Emma blinks and tries to debate if she should be honest or cover Neal’s ass, but Killian’s already a step ahead of her.

Or so he thinks.

“Is Neal Gold the bloody wanker that cheated on you? That drove you to the bar that night?”

She remembers the confusing moment when he’d seemed to get pissed when she lamented that assholes are attracted to her. It makes more sense now, seeing him this way. He’s protective.

It’s weird.

“Cheated?” Emma asks, dumbstruck by the conclusion he’d drawn. “I mean, not really because-”

“He’s been courting Wendy Darling for two years now. So that means…” His eyes turn an even darker shade of black and then his lips twist into a mocking smirk. “Shite.”

“He didn’t cheat on me,” Emma says, embarrassed, feeling the need to clarify. “Turns out I was the one that he cheated with.” She shrugs as if she’s over it. “I actually feel bad for Miss Perfect Ivy League out there.”

In one elegant movement, Killian adjusts his suit jacket and extracts a cell phone from his pocket, wielding it with the elegance of a gunslinger.

“You should feel sorry for Ms. Darling. Seeing as her fiance is not long for this world.”

------

Tagging folks who might be interested - Let me know if you want on or off this list!

@anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7

@jrob64 @soniccat @motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@beckettj @teamhook

#cs ff #recruitment strategy #belovedcreation

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kmomof4 · 3 days ago

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4.10, Fall 7.22, Leaving Storybrooke

#rumplestiltskin #dinneratgrannys

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kmomof4 · 3 days ago

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😍🥰

3.21, Snow Drifts 6.17, Awake

#captain swan #otp forever #dinneratgrannys

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kmomof4 · 3 days ago

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That’s a hoot!!!

new trope just dropped

#fic prompt

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kmomof4 · 4 days ago

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I went from laughing hysterically to melting as I read this chapter!!! Can’t wait for more!

#cs ff #game of thrones #crossover #past the veil of shadows #4getfulimaginator2022

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kmomof4 · 5 days ago

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Gorgeous GORGEOUS chapter!!!! Can’t wait for more!!!!

The Captain's Mistress

Neverland changed Captain Hook. He experiences debilitating nightmares that keep him from living his life and being the Captain he once was. Desperate for an end to the flashbacks, Killian Jones seeks help from a woman who promises him healing from past trauma if only he submits himself to her every command. AKA: A Captain Wench BDSM fic where, instead of therapy, Killian gets a Dom.

Read on A03

Chapter 11 - The Mistress's Choice

Emma had thought that it would be scary or difficult to finally confess the feelings that had bloomed over the past year with the Captain. But laughing with him after sharing intimacies, finally allowing him to make love to her as he had attempted so many times in the past - it gave her a glimpse into a possibility she had thought was beyond her grasp.

So it isn’t hard to tell him that she loves him.

It is easier and more pleasurable than sinking into a warm bath after a long day.

“Say it again, love,” he murmurs against her lips, finally ending their embrace but seeming reluctant to move any further than the space needed to kiss.

“I love you,” she says, knowing what he means.

He moans quietly and kisses her again, a soft meeting of their lips. “Truly?” he whispers.

Emma’s heart clenches and she nods and leans forward to kiss him once more. “Truly,” she agrees. She pulls back and rests her hand on his cheek, letting him see the sincerity in her eyes.

“I love you, Killian Jones.” His gaze glows with wonder. “I tried to fight it and I tried to hide from it, but I’ve cared for you for a very long time.”

The smile that he gives her has a hint of that softness that he gets whenever she praises him or calls him baby, but there’s a sparkle there that she’s never seen before, a light that reminds her of the pirate she met in the tavern, and her stomach flips in anticipation and excitement.

She fell in love with a wounded man and helped draw him back to the light. What does their love even look like when the rules have all changed and they’re far from the place that they began?

Is she even capable of letting go and letting him lead? Letting him see her weaknesses and faults?

But then he pulls her close again, kissing her lips and her jaw and her neck, moving down to her breasts and across her stomach, and then he’s between her legs, cleaning up the mess they made, and she melts all over again.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, writhing against his mouth. She didn’t think she was capable of anything else, but her Captain is so talented, so good to her. She clutches his hair, searching for an anchor as he gently teases her wet sex with unhurried patience.

“Killian,” she moans, trying out the unfamiliar name on her tongue, tasting how it feels.

He groans his pleasure into her flesh. It feels good to him too.

“Killian,” she says again, now that she knows he likes it. “That’s-” he finds the perfect rhythm and she can’t speak. “Oh.”

She floats away on one last precipice, panting and sighing against him, and the pleasure fades into perfect contentment as his mouth trails back up to her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“Was that because I told you I love you or because I used your true name?” Emma asks, groggy from their lovemaking.

“Neither,” he says playfully. He kisses her again. “Both,” he says, contradicting himself. Another kiss. “Because I wanted to,” he adds with a final kiss, and then taps the tip of her nose. “But please tell me that you shan’t truly sic your father and betrothed on me when I call you Your Highness. Because I anticipate that a failure to properly address you before others would get me run through with their swords anyway.”

Through the fog, Emma grasps a deeper meaning, and her heavy-lidded eyes snap open in realization.

“You mean to stay?” she asks, not concealing her surprise.

He, in turn, is confused. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“No,” Emma blurts out. Seeing the hurt that flashes across his face, she amends herself. “Yes, of course I do! But I didn’t expect that you would, now that-” Now that I am a royal, which you hate, and betrothed to another man, unable to truly be yours. Emma cannot finish the thought, so she pivots to another one. “Well, what about your men? Your crew? Your ship?”

The Captain - Killian, as she tries to now think of him - gives her a knowing smirk.

“Do you think I became a pirate because I wanted to live by the expectations of others? If I cannot do as I wish, be as I wish, then what good is this life that I’ve chosen for myself?” His hand finds hers and he squeezes firmly. “Your family shall throw me out eventually, but until then, I intend to stay so long as you will have me and do what I can to help you with this change.” Another squeeze. “It is the least I can do for you.”

And his implication is clear: As she once helped him, so now he will help her.

Emma doesn’t have to do this alone.

She feels guilt surge through her. The hands resting on his chest ball up defensively. “I was well-compensated for that work,” she says quietly. “This is different.”

“Aye.” His hand covers her own and his left wrist under her chin draws her eyes back up again. But he doesn’t look somber, he looks amused. As if he holds a secret. “And I am sure there are no benefits to being a princess’s pet.” Killian’s words are thick with innuendo and Emma’s stomach jumps and flips in contrary sort of ways.

She’s still not used to being called a princess. When people address her as You Highness she finds herself looking over her shoulder, wondering who they’re talking to. She spent twenty-eight years identifying herself as a woodcutter’s daughter, then an orphan, then a sister to an absent brother. A barely-tolerated companion. A bratty little whore. And finally she found her true self in the Mistress - turning the expectations of the world on their head and finding a way to command and exploit the more powerful. Through her work, she found purpose, she found meaning, she found a way to control the world around her.

But what is she doing here?

“A princess’s pet?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you intend to be?”

“I do,” he confirms. Killian firmly turns her so that her back is pressed against his front, and though she’d intended to kick him out before she fell asleep, he seems to have decided that he isn’t going anywhere. He tucks her against himself, curling around her and holding her tight.

“I’ll keep your feet warm at night.”

Emma laughs, despite herself.

“And you’ll feed me treats and call me a good boy.” His teeth nibble her ear and she laughs again, wriggling to shake him off.

“And if I’m very, very good,” Emma holds her breath for his final statement, “then you’ll let me be your attack dog and bite,” he pops the T of the word in a highly sensual way, “anyone who dares to doubt my brilliant, kind, amazing, brave princess.”

She releases a small laugh and burrows closer to him. But she doesn’t let him know how his words brought another tear to her eyes.

My princess.

Her mind and heart can hardly handle everything she’s going through.

Eventually, Emma finds sleep, the drawn curtains giving a feeling of being protected from the rest of the world and whatever disapproval they will have for how a pirate learned to find his courage again, for how a princess now needs to find her own.

But Emma’s never cared much for other peoples’ conventions and opinions.

So she falls asleep in the arms of the man who loves her - who could one day truly know her and love her still.

His princess.

-/-

At first, Emma thinks that she’s dreaming.

She’s dreaming of the Captain’s tongue between her legs, gentle and soft, loving and perfect. Adoring her just the way that she likes. Emma sighs and leans into it, rocking her hips against his tongue. She wonders why she’s back in her cottage and has left the palace behind, but in dreams such questions make little difference, and so she dismisses her concern like a puddle drying in the sun.

A finger penetrates her and she shudders.

But then something stirs behind her and Emma realizes that she’s not on her back, she’s on her side, and there is a hard cock pressing against the back of her thigh and coarse whiskers tickling her shoulder.

The Captain.

Killian.

“I thought I was dreaming,” Emma breathes, the events of the previous night returning to her mind like stitches being sewn on a skirt, a patch, a mending.

“It must have been a good dream,” he murmurs into her ear. His hand shifts and now two fingers are inside of her and in the coziness of the drawn curtains, she can hear the damp sound of the moisture that’s flowing. “You’re soaked, love.” Soft lips caress her bare shoulder and then his thumb brushes back-and-forth across her sensitive nub.

“I dreamt that your mouth was between my legs,” she sighs.

“We can make that come true.” She can feel how his mouth is curved into a smile, can sense his smug satisfaction that she’d be dreaming about him and none other.

Emma shakes her head. “No.” She reaches back and finds his cock, hard and throbbing in her hand. He told her the night before that he hasn't laid with another in the past month and she believes him. He came for her, after all. He’d led her to the precipice five - no, six - times the night before and yet had only finished once. He should be desperate for more, aching. But her good boy is focused more on her pleasure than on his own satisfaction.

“I need you inside me,” Emma whimpers, removing his fingers and arching her back as she guides his cock to her entrance. She says it because it’s true, but she also knows that he’ll respond better right now to the things that she claims to want - more than the things that she knows that he needs.

“Bloody hell, love,” he grunts when he tilts his hips and begins to slip inside of her. He finds purchase on her waist and takes her with fast, short thrusts, each of which Emma can feel all the way down to her toes.

“Yes,” Emma groans. She’s too sleepy to find words right now. She’s become feeling itself. Wet. Warm. Held. Fucked. Full.

He’s grunting and quietly cursing behind her and the way he’s taking her has her feeling used too, but in a good way. She’s the center of all of his attention and the focus of all of his praise. He’s going to take care of her, even as he seeks his own completion. Her eyes close and her body relaxes, giving in to the furious thrusting, and then he whispers in her ear, “Touch yourself, love. I want to feel your sweet cunt come around my cock,” and, without thinking about it, she hastens to obey, finding the right spot and quickly falling over the edge of bliss.

Killian releases a low growl as he spills his seed deep inside of her, something else she feels down to her toes. Something primal and strong and masculine. A few more quick jerks and he stops moving, though his hand is still on her waist and her own hand is now cupping her sex.

They’re breathing heavily, slightly out-of-sync, and Emma’s finally starting to really wake up.

His soft lips are on her neck now. He kisses her twice and nuzzles against her. But his voice is much more uncertain than his fucking had been when he asks, “Was that… was that alright?” His hand twitches, betraying his nerves.

It takes Emma another moment to realize why he’d ask that question: this is the very first time that he’s initiated intimacies. Every other time - even on his ship - had been at the behest of his Mistress. But she’d been asleep when he began teasing her and showed absolutely no hesitancy about touching and taking her.

It had been Killian that had fucked her, not the Captain.

Emma slides her sticky hand up to his hand at her waist and tangles their fingers together, squeezing firmly. “It was more than alright,” she says softly. Though she is loathe to let him slip from her, Emma shifts her hips and rotates her body so that they’re face-to-face and she can gently scratch at the whiskers on his cheeks. His face melts into one of contentment.

“As much as I appreciated that you let me lead last night, I can’t be your Mistress all the time anymore, baby.”

There is a flash of pleasure in his eyes that she used the term of endearment again and Emma puts that in her memory, deciding that it shall not go away.

“Because your betrothed will be jealous of how well you have me trained?” he quips.

Emma rolls her eyes and tugs on an ear. “Down, boy,” she teases.

He barks and she laughs at him.

“No,” Emma continues, sobering. “Because I really need someone around here to treat me like an actual human. My parents have this idea in their head about who I should have or could have been. Prince Philip thinks I should be like any other princess he’s known over the years. And the servants just treat me like a doll to dress up and feed and escort from one engagement to another.”

She doesn’t even mention her brother, August - who she supposes was never a brother in the first place - who was shown to his papa’s old woodcarving shop and has hardly come out since, even for meals. Last she’d checked on him, he was frantic about the variety of woods and tools now at his disposal. August is adjusting just fine to this new life.

Killian’s brow rises and he considers her seriously.

“You don’t want me to treat you like my Mistress?”

Emma shakes her head emphatically.

“Or like a princess?”

Emma scowls this time.

“So I should-” he begins, but the loud thump of her door being thrown open silences them both, and Emma has to immediately clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Those damn maids and their lack of personal space.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” one of them chirps. Emma can hear the curtains on the windows being thrown back, and it's only a matter of time before the curtains around the bed are opened as well. She quickly locates the nightgown she’d thrown at the foot of the bed, wriggles into it, and gives Killian a be quiet gesture before slipping out through the curtains.

“Did you sleep well, Your Highness?” one of them asks. Emma wonders how much she reeks of sex.

Emma deflects. “It was a late night after the commotion.” That makes the women perk up, who’d obviously heard about the events and are wondering what the princess might add to the tale. Emma gives an exaggerated yawn, trying to keep her stench away from the other women, and lets them see her exhaustion when she asks, “Might I have a bath drawn before breakfast? All that excitement had me quite flushed.”

A hand fanning her face helps sell the charade, and all three women scurry off to fetch buckets of hot water, allowing Killian a chance to sneak out of the room and back to his own quarters.

He kisses her hand before he leaves, thumb lingering on the bloodred stone that matches the ring on his own finger. Emma’s own thumb feels the bottom of the band once he’s left, the reassurance she carried with her from her cottage.

She’d held out hope that her Captain would come for her.

But Killian Jones had come instead.

-/-

Once Emma’s washed and changed and dressed up like royalty, she makes her way to the parlor where the breakfast is typically laid out and is surprised when she’s led, instead, to the dining hall. But of course they have additional guests, and all five of the pirates are gorging on a fine meal while Prince Philip watches with something like shock and admiration, King David with disgust, and Queen Snow with mirth.

Killian’s the first one to notice that she’s arrived and he stands from his seat with a smooth elegance, bedroom eyes undressing her again even as his body language reads genteel politeness.

Prince Philip stands up as well, as is only proper, and, after a moment of hesitation and Killian’s glares, the rest of his men half-stand, seemingly unaware of customs before royalty. But Emma, who’s just learning them herself, doesn’t give two figs, and when she loads up her plate - she’s near starved after her late night - she hesitates before she sits down.

The queen is at the head of the banquet table. The king is at her right side, seemingly more interested in being near his wife than claiming any sort of authority on the other end of the table. Philip is at the queen’s left hand, leaving the pirates to sit scattered on either side of the table.

There’s an open space between Philip and the young, red haired pirate. Or Emma could seat herself beside Killian, at the end of the table furthest from her parents and her betrothed, and clearly state her allegiance.

With everyone’s eyes on Emma, she has to make a quick decision. But instead of choosing one suitor or another, Emma fixes her eyes on the redheaded pirate and gives him a bright smile as she sits between him and Philip.

His whole face immediately fills with color.

“I remember you from the tavern a few months ago. Freddy, was it?”

He releases a sound like a squeak and Emma shoves some bread in her mouth to hide her amusement.

“Fredrickson, Your Majesty.”

There are small titters from the royals to her right and a guffaw from Killian at the end of the table, but Emma ignores them all. She swallows and gives the pirate a smile. “You can just call me Emma,” she says kindly.

“Disrespect Her Highness like that and I’ll be stringing you up by your bollocks, Fredrickson,” Killian drawls from the other end of the table. Immediately all eyes turn to him, but he’s lazily spreading jam on a piece of toast as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. Once it’s prepared, he looks up, notices the attention, and raises a single eyebrow.

“That goes for all of you.” He eyes his crew. “She’s to be addressed as Your Highness and the queen and king as Your Majesty. I will not abide incivility to our most gracious hosts.”

Only an hour ago she asked him not to treat her like a princess and he immediately disregards her request! Emma shoots him a look of confused annoyance, but when he responds with a cool smirk, she realizes that this is the man he was before they met, the man he is outside of her bed.

He’s a pirate. He plays by his own rules.

He has a way of drawing attention to himself without saying a damn word. She’d observed it that night in the tavern and she sees it now, at the breakfast table. Everyone holds their breath, waiting to see what outrageous thing he’ll say next, and even Emma finds herself under his spell.

“Speaking of hosts,” Killian says, swallowing a bite of toast, “I must thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesties. I know that our entrance last evening was unorthodox-”

“You broke into the castle. What’s more unorthodox than that?” Philip mutters into his sausage.

Killian continues as if he hasn’t been interrupted. “-and yet you provided us with lovely accommodations and a meal fit for a queen.” He winks at her mother, who appears to be biting back a smile.

King David clears his throat. He is not smiling. “I am glad that you found the rooms adequate.” He’s obviously not. “But I’m sorry to say that those rooms shall soon be needed by guests arriving for next week’s ball.” He is not sorry in the slightest.

“A ball?” Killian’s entire demeanor changes as he perks up with exaggerated joy. “I’ve never been invited to a ball before - how lovely.” His crew snickers into their food.

Emma shoves a potato wedge into her mouth to keep from laughing as she waits for her father to say that he still has never been invited to one.

“You haven’t been to a ball before?” Queen Snow asks, as if the two of them rehearsed this act before and her role is to set him up for the punchline.

“Oh no, Your Majesty,” Killian says with a ridiculous amount of cheek. “I’ve been to plenty of balls before, but I’ve never been invited to one.” He grins at her and at David. “Thank you for the invitation, Majesties. I am delighted to accept.”

Her father nearly chokes on his food and Philip is turning a bit purple, wide eyes trying to take everything in.

Emma tries to glare at Killian, but the corners of her lips stubbornly move upward, curving into a slight smirk, and he even dares to wink at her when he notices her response to his absurdity.

“What is the occasion?” Killian asks, finishing his toast and licking his fingertips in a way that makes her nipples harden beneath her gown.

“The ball is for me,” Emma interjects. She doesn’t miss the subtle way that Killian’s eyes dart to the prince beside her, as if wondering what other announcement or event might be included as part of the celebration. “Just a simple soiree to welcome me back to the castle.” Emma turns to her parents and gives them a bland smile. “So I can think of no better guests than my friends from before I learned of my parentage.”

Now her father’s the purple one.

“Lovely!” Killian exclaims. His food finished, he dabs at the corners of his mouth and sets his utensils on his plate. “My men will depart for the ship post-haste and gather as much of the crew as can be spared. And before you concern yourself, Your Majesty,” he points a finger at the plum that used to be the King, “they will be content to find accommodations in the village.”

David’s mouth opens and closes several times as he searches for the words that will not come. It closes for good when his wife lays her hand over his on the table and addresses Killian with a great deal more calm.

“I take it you mean to stay here, Captain?”

Neither Emma nor Killian misses the address. Polite. Respectful.

He tamps down his joviality and sombers. “Aye. And I confess that It would be most convenient if you would give me a storage closet or a broom cupboard to sleep in, Your Majesty, as I mean to spend my days here.”

They all know what he means. With Emma.

“My broom closets are all full at the moment, but I believe we can find some accommodations, Captain,” Snow says easily.

Killian’s head bows and he looks more serious than she’s seen him all morning. “I am in your debt, Your Majesty.”

He sips his tea, signaling an end to his teasing, and Emma turns to the man across from her, next to her father, who loaned her his dice that night in the tavern, and strikes up a new conversation. It is easier for him to talk with her than it had been for Frederickson, but Emma notices the way he addresses her properly and seems to keep one eye on her parents.

Once breakfast is over, the queen and king stand to make their way to the morning meeting of the Council. Emma hasn’t been privy to those gatherings yet, but she knows that she will be soon, and she’s surprised when her mother reaches for her hand and says, “Walk with me, dear.”

David disappears to who-knows-where and Killian seems to be rounding his men up. Philip is slowly walking toward the door of the dining hall, very obviously attempting to overhear whatever the pirates are discussing. Snow grasps Emma’s elbow and sweeps her past them all, strolling in silence until they’re alone in a corridor.

“They all seem to love you,” her mother says lightly.

Emma’s heart seizes with concern and she rushes to say, “Oh, they weren’t my- That is, I did not-”

Snow seems to understand immediately and she pats Emma’s elbow fondly. “No, my dear, I wasn’t implying that at all. I was just reminded of my own time outside of the palace many, many years ago. I met some men that the world would consider rough, but who were the dearest of friends and who helped me at a time when I was most alone.” She sighs quietly and appears lost in her memories. “Grumpy became a member of the Council, but the others went back to the forest. I miss them dearly.”

She falls silent for another minute until her mother says, in a different tone, “Hook was one of the men you saw, wasn’t he?”

It doesn’t seem worth it to deny the truth. And Emma’s relieved that her mother’s voice doesn’t hold any judgement.

“He was.”

“Will there be others coming to find you as well?”

Emma thinks of the repressed and rough and rude men that came traipsing through her cottage over the years. Most of them had no interest in publicly admitting their predilections.

“No,” Emma says firmly.

Her mother hums, a noise of interest.

“So he is special.”

Emma turns sharply, trying to gauge her mother’s expression, but she is looking ahead, betraying absolutely nothing. Emma swallows heavily.

“He is.”

“And he is special to you.” Before Emma can decide on a response to that statement, Snow stops walking and takes both of Emma’s hands in her own. “You already know how you feel about him, dear. But you don’t yet know how you feel about Philip.”

Emma winces and there’s no hiding it. Snow’s mouth twitches.

“He is a very nice young man. We’ve known him since he was born and there is absolutely nothing wrong with him. He will be a good husband, like his father before him. His mother never had any desire to rule, but Philip would respect your authority as he respects mine, and he would want to rule side-by-side with you.” Her mother’s hands squeeze hers significantly. “I just want to see you give him a chance, Emma.”

Emma finds a pocket of courage inside of herself, one propelled by bright blue eyes and a smooth voice saying Your Highness.

“And what if I do not love him? What if I can never love him?”

The corners of Snow’s lips turn down slightly and Emma knows the tenor of her answer if not the exact words.

“I think you should also ask yourself if your pirate would be truly happy with this life you now live.”

She kisses Emma’s forehead and floats away, through the door that a guard opens, and to the Council meetings that Emma is not yet ready to be a part of.

And Emma is stuck in place, not sure where her home is anymore.

-/-

Emma makes her way to the library, unsure of what else to do for the rest of her morning. She’s been subjected to various lessons on things like fine dining and dancing, but with Prince Philip visiting, she expects that the schedule has changed somewhat.

And when she finds Philip standing in the library, a book open in his hands, she expects that one of her parents told him where she likes to spend her free time.

Although Emma’s access to books was much more limited than Philip’s obviously was, they manage to discover a few that they have both read, striking up a lively discussion on the themes and main characters and his dislike of a certain bittersweet ending that had made Emma cry.

“She was never recognized for the great things she accomplished,” Emma says, a pang of sorrow striking her even now.

“And that is what I hated about it!” Philip says back emphatically, the smile on his face showing that their debate is good-natured. “I hated that they didn’t get their happy ending-”

“But they did!” Emma insists.

“But not a truly happy one.”

Emma thinks of her parents, of the love story they’ve told her. The years of thinking that their daughter was dead.

“Just because it wasn’t perfect doesn’t mean it wasn’t happy,” she says quietly.

There is a knock on the door that has Emma reaching for her heart in surprise, and she’s bewildered to realize that it is already time for luncheon. She spent the whole morning having a very engaging conversation with Philip.

With her betrothed.

Stacking several books into a pile - the books that he’d recommended after hearing about her favorites - Philip gives the tomes to the servant and asks that they be brought up to her rooms. He then holds out his elbow, the very picture of gallantry, and offers to escort her to lunch.

His arm is strong and steady. He is handsome and pleasant to be with. He is intelligent and thoughtful.

And as soon as she spots Killian seated alone in the parlor, Emma feels guilt creep through her like a sickness.

“Your Highness,” he says quietly, standing and lowering his gaze. She tries to catch his eye as Philip guides her to the table, but he’s focused on the shining cutlery, and though he stands when her parents join them, his eyes stay downcast.

Emma feels as though she’s ganging up on the pirate, what with her and Philip sitting on one side of the table and him on the other.

Once the food has been served, Philip cuts through the silence as though he’s unable to sit with it and engages her father in a continuation of their conversation in the library. Emma hasn’t heard of any of the books that they’re discussing, however, and her focus shifts to Killian and Snow, who are speaking quietly about taxation rates and criminal reform.

“I believe that there is good in all people,” her mother says quietly, emphatically. “Punishing people for their crimes may make us feel good for a while, but reforming them and helping them to rejoin society is a true balm for that which ails us.”

“Do you have a system in place to make this happen, Your Majesty?” Killian asks, with apparent interest.

“Would I be able to convince you to be a part if I did?” she retorts. No. She teases him, and Emma nearly drops a mushroom when she realizes it. Emma’s wrist does a funny little jiggle to keep the mushroom aloft on her fork and she pops it into her mouth before it is in danger again.

Killian hums and his eyes are sparkling. “I might just be beyond reformation, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Emma’s mother looks at her, catches her watching, and her smile grows. “You’re here with us in the palace right now, aren’t you? Not in danger of stealing any of our precious treasure.”

Killian’s blue gaze could pierce the most well-forged battle armor. It cuts through the heart of Emma as he directs it at her, and suddenly Emma is light-headed, not sure when all the air left the room.

Although his response is aimed at her mother, Killian’s eyes are on hers as he says, quietly but passionately, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I have seen many precious treasures in this castle that I am tempted to take for myself.” He lifts his fork to his mouth. “Consequences be damned.”

Emma feels as though she might burst into flames.

She and Killian share one heated, charged moment. And then it is broken as her mother’s fork scrapes rather gratingly against her plate and everyone in the parlor winces.

“Apologies,” she says, looking less than apologetic.

But it is enough to break the spell, and when Killian returns his gaze to her, the moment is gone.

“We have guards in place, Captain,” Snow says, eyes on her food but words directed at Killian. “You’ll find that nothing will be leaving this castle without my explicit blessing.”

-/-

Philip invites Emma to join him at the stables that afternoon, and though she expects Killian to make himself scarce again, he gets a funny look in his eyes and invites himself along. Emma notices the slight twitch in Phillip’s eye, but she can see that he, like her parents, was raised to be polite and accommodating. He shall not be voicing his displeasure.

But still there’s a certain smugness Emma can feel radiating out from Philip as he escorts her through the castle and down to the stables. It is as if this is all a competition and he thinks he’s winning, not knowing that she wears another man’s ring and slept in his arms the night before.

And yet when Emma sneaks a peek back at Killian who is trailing behind them, she doesn’t sense annoyance or a competitive air. Instead, there’s a hesitancy and a keenness to his gaze that she cannot quite place.

The servants in the stables nearly fall over themselves when they arrive. Emma’s been keeping her distance from this part of the palace grounds, and so the faces are as unfamiliar as the building’s layout. But the stablemaster is eager to show her around, point out the various beasts, their names, their temperaments, and show her where they are taken for daily rides and exercises.

“Would you like to offer Buttercup a treat, Your Highness?” the stablemaster says with a hopeful smile, offering Emma a carrot.

Although there is a fence between her and the creature, Emma still draws back slightly and shakes her head. “No, thank you,” she says.

The man looks disappointed.

Before she can offer her apologies, Killian’s shoulder is brushing against her own as he passes her, slides through the fence she’s leaning against, and holds out his hand for the carrot.

“I’d love to give the pretty girl a treat,” he says, and though the stablemaster hesitates for a moment - gods only know what the servants have been saying about the pirates who invaded the night before and were offered room and board - he hands over the vegetable and Killian is soon stroking the beast’s nose with the curve of his hook, his hand the victim of licks once the treat is gone.

“Do you ride?” Philip asks beside her, sounding surprised.

“Of course,” Killian says easily. His hand sufficiently dampened, he begins to stroke with that appendage, which the creature likes better, as it nudges his shoulder gently. “When I was in His Majesty’s service I learned all sorts of useless skills for a sailor.”

There’s a bitterness to his tone that Emma isn’t sure Philip can pick up on. But Emma hears the regret, the loss, the mourning of his brother and the full life he never got to lead.

“Your parents say you don’t ride, Your Highness,” Philips says, drawing her attention back to her betrothed. “But I’ve been riding longer than I’ve been walking.” His palm rests on the hand holding on to his elbow and though Emma can feel the soft affection in it, it makes her somewhat uncomfortable. “If you’d like, we can ride together for a bit, get you used to the creatures.”

Killian turns at once, a frown on his face, and Emma’s heart jumps again.

“Oh, I don’t think I can-”

“Of course you can.” His palm pats her hand. “We’ll have the groom put you on a horse with me. I’ll hold you close.” His hand squeezes hers significantly. His voice lowers. “And you’ll be safe with me, Emma.”

The way that the air leaves Emma’s lungs in that instant is quite different than how she felt at the luncheon table. Emma feels a curious sort of dis-ease, as though Philip is speaking to or about someone else. His use of her name doesn’t make her feel that they’re sharing a special sort of intimacy. It makes her feel as though he’s violating the rules of this engagement and crossing a line that she never wanted him to get near in the first place.

The punishment for failure to address one’s Mistress properly is a harsh spanking or, if they have the talent and Emma has the desire, time between her thighs, begging for forgiveness with a tongue in her cunt.

Emma meets Killian’s eyes and he seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

And then she meets Philip’s - sweet, innocent, eager Philip. And he has no idea what he’s done.

So can she be angry at him for it?

Emma forces a smile, as if she sees his impertinence as the first step of intimacy, and when he moves so that her hand is in his, she doesn’t shove him away.

“Alright,” she says with more bravery than she truly feels. “We can try.”

-/-

A quarter hour later, Emma is staring up at her betrothed, seated easily on a saddle, arm extended as he prepares to help her up to join him. Emma can feel Killian’s eyes on her from behind, where he’s still stroking that same horse, Buttercup. He watched every step of their preparation for a ride, and though he was asking questions of the grooms and the stablemaster, it was obvious to Emma that he wanted to keep an eye on her.

Emma lifts one foot into the stirrup and, with Philip’s hand in hers, manages to pull herself up and into the staddle. But though she begins to swing one leg to the other side, she gets twisted up and confused when Philip maneuvers her so that she’s sitting with both legs on the same side, her shoulder and arm touching his chest.

“There you are,” he says with satisfaction.

She squirms uncomfortably. “Shouldn’t I-?” She bends a knee and tries to change her positioning again but he stops her.

“No, nonsense, you’ll be more comfortable like this,” Philip insists. He picks up the reins and Emma feels like he’s crowding her. “Cozy in my arms,” he says quietly.

Every time Emma watched her parents ride from the windows of the castle, her mother was riding astride in trousers. Why is Philip insisting that she sit in such a precarious position?

“But I think I’d rather-” Emma begins. Philip drops one side of the reins and bunches up some of her gown at the knee. Another damn impertinence.

“Riding astride is nearly impossible in a skirt. My mother says that side saddle is best for a proper lady.”

Killian isn’t hiding his attention now, and when he meets her eyes he must see something in her expression, because he steps forward. But before anything else can happen, Philip picks up the reins again and urges the great beast forward, startling Emma.

“You have some beautiful lands here,” Philip says as he leads them - quite skillfully, she’ll admit - through the stable and across the yard. “It has been some time since I’ve gotten to explore them on horseback. You’ll love it, Princess, I just know you will.”

And as soon as they pass through the gate, before Emma can ask him to go slowly and allow her to acclimate to the monstrous creature, Philip flicks the reins, gives a high-pitched whistle, and the horse takes off at a gallop.

“Holy shit!” Emma exclaims before she can stop herself. Her hands had been resting uneasily in her lap, but now she grabs on to the front of the saddle with both hands, perched precariously and uncomfortably, and the world is flying past in fuzzy patches of green.

Philip is laughing behind her.

“Isn’t it freeing?”

“Stop, please!” Emma shouts in response. Her fingers are gripping as tight as they can and she feels that she’ll be thrown off any moment. “You need to stop this damn horse!”

“You’re fine.” There is a hint of amusement in Philip’s voice, damn the man, and if not for the fact that Emma is afraid of falling off the stampeding creature, she’d be throwing off Philip’s arm, which he wraps around her waist.

Or maybe she’d be punching him. He has a damn punchable face.

“I am not fine,” Emma insists. She feels dizzy and she can’t decide if she’d rather close her eyes or know when she is about to die. “Stop this fucking horse, this instant, before I-”

He laughs. He laughs! And Emma’s fist clenches in its grip of the saddle. She will punch him, though it will be at the cost of her own damn life, but before she follows through with her decision, there’s another set of hooves galloping behind them.

“Stop that fucking horse!” Killian booms, and even though Emma dares not look back or look around or look anywhere but the place where her fingers are clutched with a knuckle-white grip, she knows that his gaze is murderous. “Slow the bloody fuck down, you inbred idiot.”

“Really? Name-calling?” Philip lobs over his shoulder.

Emma cannot catch her breath. She decides not to know when she’ll die. She decides to close her eyes and let the fates take her as they will. The galloping gets closer and there’s a brush of something on her knee and an exasperated, “What is your problem, pirate?” at her ear but then Emma can feel the creature tense beneath her and, abruptly, the dizzying speed has gone away and in a moment they’re standing still once again.

But she will still not open her eyes.

“Hand her over.”

Emma’s actually surprised Killian’s hook isn’t buried in Philip’s chest already. He sounds like he is on his very last shred of patience.

“What is your problem, sir?” Philip sounds genuinely confused.

“My problem is that you will not listen when I tell you that you are to hand over my Mi-” he stops himself, pauses, and continues with a slightly more composed tone. “Hand her over, mate. You’ve lost the privilege of escorting her today.”

Philip doesn’t move and Emma can hear the sound of hooves on the ground, feeling the rustle of movement jostling her dress. And then a hand covers hers where they are gripped on the saddle.

Calloused. Warm. Familiar.

“Can I help you, love?” he asks, voice soft. His thumb strokes the ridges of her knuckles in the way that usually precludes kisses on the backs of her hands. Emma feels the comforting warmth of his affection seep through her, even in response to so simple a gesture.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak right now. She merely nods.

Emma’s grateful that Phiip is finally listening to her wishes as his arms disappear, no longer caging her in, and two strong arms get under her knees and around her shoulders to tug her off of one lap and onto another.

She begins to tremble immediately, and though she wants to collapse into his arms, he won’t let her, maneuvering her so that she’s seated astride the horse as she had wanted, but facing him, her legs hooked over his thighs and her skirts in an impossible mess around the both of them.

But she feels more secure this way, and she wraps her arms around Killian’s waist as she leans against his chest, finally feeling grounded as she listens to his heartbeat, elevated but steady.

“Is she quite alright?” Philip asks. He sounds genuinely confused.

“I’m fine,” Emma murmurs into Killian’s chest, though she knows that she is hardly convincing.

“She’s terrified,” Killian scolds. She can feel his hook pressing into the center of her back, a comforting weight, and his hand is clutching the back of her head, keeping her from moving anywhere - as though she’d have such an inclination.

“Why-?”

“She is afraid of horses, you unobservant simpleton.”

“Afraid of-”

“Aye. While you were growing up in a castle, surrounded by wealth and privilege and pampering, and riding lessons, Emma lived her first few years hiding above a woodcutter’s shop, watching the world through a window. She only saw a handful of horses as a child, had no need for them in her adulthood, and I’d bet all the treasure in my hull that her first time in a carriage was a fortnight ago.”

Emma’s breath catches in her throat. How on earth does he know all of-

Philip scoffs. “Then all the more reason for her to get on a horse today. Face her fear head-on.”

Killian’s arms tighten around her and Emma can feel his fury coming off of him in waves. She finally cracks open her eyes, wanting to push away, to look at Philip and tell him that she is just fine, but Killian’s hold is too strong.

His voice is trembling with rage. “It is obvious that you do not know the first thing about helping someone face their fears. Now get the bloody hell out of my sight before I show you my true feelings for royalty.” His hook leaves her back and she imagines he is displaying it maniacally.

“Emma-” Philip begins. Killian interrupts him, voice cold and deadly.

“Her tolerance of you is the only reason you’re still breathing, Your Highness.” He spits the title with derision.

There is a long, tense moment of silence. And then Emma hears a heavy sigh and the sound of hooves - loud and then growing quieter and quieter until everything is still.

All Emma can hear is her heart pounding in her ears.

She stays in Killian’s arms for a very long time, one eye cracked enough to see the green, lush forest in the distance and the verdant field that they’re in. After several minutes, Emma realizes that they’re breathing in sync with one another, and she’s not sure if he matched her rhythm or she was able to breathe in time with his.

Eventually, Emma grips the wide lapels of his great leather coat and leans back enough that she can look at him, thankful that his arms are still wrapped around her waist.

“How did you know?” she asks.

He’s giving her a fond look, something simple and soft, and she missed this look all day as they nearly ignored one another around others. His voice is soft. “How did I know what?”

“My fear of horses.”

“Ah.” Emma can feel his thumb tracing circles on her back through her gown. “It was obvious to anyone paying attention.” Killian tilts his head slightly and rolls his eyes, an allusion to the prince, who’s nowhere in sight. “And I found myself with a similar affliction years ago. I was quite unfamiliar with the creatures when I entered His Majesty’s service and it took a while to adjust to being in their presence.”

“Oh.”

She feels as though she should be embarrassed, but Killian’s admission of his own history puts her at ease, and so instead she takes in more of the grounds around them and, eventually, one of her hands leaves his lapel and she bracingly places it on the neck of the great creature, beside her backside.

“Do you want to walk back to the stables, or ride back like this?”

Emma’s body goes tense at the question and Killian immediately pulls her forward again so that her head is tucked under his chin and this time she notices his deep breaths that are guiding her own.

“I won’t let harm come to you, love. I’d sooner fall on my own sword than let that happen.”

Though Emma is sure that Philip is a more competent rider, she places more trust in Killian’s solemn oath, and she manages to nod against his chest.

“I know,” she says simply. Emma pulls back and looks him in the eye. “My parents both love to ride.” And so does my betrothed. “I would like to face this fear.”

Together, they decide that Killian will slowly guide the horse back to the stables with Emma remaining in this same position. She’s nervous to move any more on the creature or to get off and be afraid to get back on again. But she manages to keep her eyes open most of the way back, arms around Killian’s shoulders, cheek and chest pressed together, and she can feel his steady heartbeat reminding her that she’s safe.

She’s safe so long as she has him.

Tagging folks who might be interested - Let me know if you want on or off this list!

@anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7

@jrob64 @soniccat @motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@beckettj @teamhook

#cs ff #the captains mistress #belovedcreation

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kmomof4 · 5 days ago

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🚢🚢🚢

What made you ship Emma Swan and Hook (besides like. The everything)

CAPTAIN SWAN MY BELOVEDS

SO MANY THINGS

Obviously the first thing is the incredible chemistry between COD and JMo, they are top tier and they work off each other so well. As early as their second episode together (THE SCARF BANDAGE MY BELOVED) their chemistry is just electric.

(yes he DOES tighten that bandage with his MOUTH)

Next it's the way their backstories mirror each other - both abandoned young, both hurt by love, both responded by closing themselves off to love - and they help each other grow and heal.

And the biggest thing for me is how you can fully understand what they like about each other and why they love each other:

Emma inspires Killian to grow and change and be better, even when he doesn't expect a relationship with her to go anywhere, and she doesn't hold his past against him because she gets what it's like to have done things you regret. In a town full of heroes and villains whose morality can sometimes get pretty black and white, Emma aspires to do the right thing but isn't always perfect and acknowledges that about herself and so doesn't hold Killian to an impossible standard. She sees him when he's trying and she sees the progress he makes and doesn't keep moving the goalposts for him to be "better" but she also doesn't shy away from the darkness in his past or pretend it never happened because she gets that it's part of him.

And Killian intimately gets what it's like to be abandoned and alone and hurt by love and he never makes Emma feel ashamed of having walls or being scared. He doesn't sneak past her walls or climb over them or destroy them - he's patient and steadfast and is there for her when she is ready to deconstruct them herself. He gives her time and understanding and doesn't push her to be ready on anyone's timeline except her own, and he doesn't want her to be the perfect mom or the perfect daughter or the Savior, he just wants Emma. He actively chooses her over and over and he always puts her and her happiness first. He makes her feel like a priority when that's something she's never had., and he always comes back for her instead of leaving her alone. He doesn't get offended when she's not ready for things and he never pretends like her past isn't part of her because he wants everything to be "happy" now.

Basically they invented True Love and the gods agree and they will forever be one of my ultimate OTPs

#captain swan #otp forever #perfect explanation is perfect

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kmomof4 · 5 days ago

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Perfection. At EVERY level. Utterly

Cannot wait for more in this series!!!

Tell Me Where You Are - CS one-shot

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Agent Emma, Agent Killian, Injury

Summary: In which Killian loses his way in the darkness, and Emma stubbornly helps him find something worth seeing.

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

#cs ff #tell me where you are #myfearless love #HC series

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kmomof4 · 5 days ago

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Mm mm mmmmmmm

🔥

Heavy Love

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @qualitycoffeethings @deckerstarblanche @goodqueenkaro

#captain swan #dark captain swan #cs fanvid #laianely’s edits

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kmomof4 · 5 days ago

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🤣

It really is crazy how if you mention you write fanfiction with people outside fandom, they're always like "you should change the names and try to sell it." It misses the point (fun), but more importantly to me, I get slightly (and I know irrationally) insulted on a craft level. Excuse me, my fanfic is entwined with the canon, thank you very much. I wish sometimes less entwined. You wouldn't believe the stupid bullshit some of my fics have to include because of canon.

#writing #fanfiction #yep

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kmomof4 · 5 days ago

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One year with Once Upon a Time; ⤷ 67 | 366

#captain swan #killian jones #otp forever

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kmomof4 · 6 days ago

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FANTASTIC and LOVELY ch!!!! But THAT ENDING!!!! Cannot WAIT for more!!!

Down the Primrose Path (Chapter 7/? - "point of no return")

Chapters: 7/? — "point of no return"

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Captain Swan Regency, There Was Only One Bed. Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Duke Killian Jones, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Scarred Killian Jones, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Emma Swan

Summary:

Desperate times demand bold actions, and Emma Swan is about to pull off the ultimate gamble: faking an engagement to the elusive Duke of Hookshire to rescue her family from financial ruin. Her plan seems foolproof—until Killian Jones, London's most reclusive and mysterious nobleman, learns of his sudden engagement.

Once a celebrated figure of society, a tragedy drove Killian into self-imposed exile. Now, intrigued by the daring woman claiming to be his fiancée, he steps back into the spotlight, determined to turn the tables.

In a game where hearts are on the line, can a fabricated love affair turn real, or will the truth shatter more than just their reputations?

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

As always, a huge thanks to my wonderful beta, @xarandomdreamx, for correcting my mistakes and encouraging me with her thoughtful comments ❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

#cs ff #down the primrose path #myfearless love #regency romance

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kmomof4 · 6 days ago

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🥵🔥🥵

Love Me, Hate Me

#killian jones #captain hook #cs fanvid #laianely's edits

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kmomof4 · 6 days ago

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writers are creatures that feed on comments by the way. if you want more of your blorbo from them, give them lovely comments. they love that and will most likely give you more fics about your blorbo

#yep #this!#writing #cs ff

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kmomof4 · 7 days ago

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Sooooo precious and sweet!!!! But my heart is BROKEN!!! Can’t wait for more!!!

Birthday Kisses and Irish Wishes: Chapter Two

The fun continues is the next chapter. Here we see Emma and Killian enjoy their second first date... things get sexy and we earn this stories mature rating.

If you prefer not to read the sexy moments, I have broken this up with a double line break ~♡~ at either end.

The group enjoy more holiday fun, but as will all holidays things need to come to and end. :(

Thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for her input and for being the most wonderful beta a lady cold ask for. I really appreciate everything you do for me.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented with how much they have enjoyed the story so far. It really means a lot to me.

The story can also be found on Archive HERE

Tagging the usual crew:

@anmylica @jrob64 @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @booksteaandtoomuchtv @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @sonnica @beckettj @teamhook @zaharadesert @qualitycoffeethings @bluewildcatfanatic

And now for the story. I hope this second chapter is as enjoyable as the first.

Birthday Wishes & Irish Kisses

Chapter Two

The following day, the Jones brothers joined the ladies for what had been dubbed 'Boozy Saturday'.

Using the local knowledge of the boys, they decided to go to the Jameson Distillery first. They took two taxis between the five ladies and two men: Emma and Killian in one; while the others shared a five seater.

"I missed you last night, Killian," Emma told him, taking hold of his hand.

"Bloody hell, Swan. I never knew I was capable of missing anyone as much as I did you last night. Emma, I… Well, what I'm trying to say is, will you stay with me tonight after our date? I'm not wanting to pressure you to do anything you're not ready for, but nor do I want to have to say goodnight and have to walk away from you again." With his cards laid out, Killian waited with baited breath for her answer.

Emma's eyes darkened and she inched as close to him as her seat belt would allow. She pulled him closer and whispered into his ear, "I would love to stay over at yours after our date, but I don't plan on sleeping." Her tongue caressed the edge of his ear before she pulled away with a wink.

Killian was gobsmacked. Damn these seat belts, he thought. All he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and show her how much her words affected him. "Minx," was all he managed to growl out before the driver announced their arrival.

Thanking him, Killian got out of the car and ran around to Emma's side to open the door for her. Without missing a beat, he had her in his arms and his mouth on hers. Nipping and sucking in equal measure, he practically devoured her in plain view of everyone to see.

Mary Margaret subtlety cleared her throat to remind them where they were, making Killian and Emma jump apart.

"Sorry about that, Mrs. Nolan," Killian said, a pink tinge blushing his pale cheeks.

"Nothing to apologise for; you're making Emma happy and that makes me happy. But if you could keep the PDAs to a minimum around me, that would be great, thanks."

"Yes of course, Mrs. Nolan."

With that agreed on, they entered the building and waited for the tour to begin.

As part of their birthday gift, Ruby had booked a special package whereby Mary Margaret and Emma were able to take part in the tasting of all the different types of Whiskeys and Bourbons on offer. They were also given a bottle of Jamesons each.

Killian wrapped his arm around Emma's shoulders, not only because he felt the need to be near her, but also because she was swaying after her multiple shots of uisce beatha - water of life.

"Conas atá tú?"

"Excuse me?" Killian stopped them and turned to face her, confusion written on his face.

"It means-"

Killian burst out laughing. "Forgive me, Emma, but I've been learning Gaelic since I was a wee one. I know what it means, I'm just surprised and impressed you know."

"I Googled it last night. I really wanted to impress you."

Killian surged forward. The need to kiss her was overwhelming.

Their lips connected in a flurry of passion, tongues duelling with one another's until the need for air took over.

Killian pulled back first and rested his head on her forehead. "I adore the taste of Whiskey. But it's even better on your tongue," he told her with a smirk, his blue eyes boring into her green ones.

"Charmer," she replied, blushing. "But you've still not answered my question, Killian. Conas atá tú?"

"Tá mé go deas, Mo grá."

Emma melted into his embrace once again. Her heart fluttered with feelings that she shouldn't be having twenty four hours after meeting this man. She couldn't be in love with him. Love at first sight didn't exist, did it?

Their hug was cut short by their phones vibrating.

"I guess the others must be wondering what's happened to us," Emma mused.

Killian checked his messages. "Aye, Love. They're already at the Guinness Factory. They're going to meet us at the gates. Come on, I know a shortcut."

Emma took hold of his proffered hand and they set off walking.

"Is breá liom tú," Killian said quietly to her.

"Hmm, what was that?"

They rounded a corner and saw the huge old gates leading to the entrance to the Guinness Storehouse.

"Oh, look, we're here," he said, winking and smiling at Emma. "Let's continue the Irish lesson later tonight."

Emma nodded and they made their way to where their family and friends were waiting impatiently, but with amused looks on their faces.

“For your lateness, Little Brother, you can buy the first round,” Liam berated with amusement lacing his tone.

Killian willingly agreed, not even correcting his brother like he always does, and led the way into the factory.

Stephen looked at Liam and raised his eyebrow. “What the fuck was that?”

“Our dear brother is well on the way to being in love. Let's not question it.”

~♡~

Whilst walking around, Killian and Emma found out more about each other. In the area that showed the history of the promotion and advertising of Guinness, Emma told him that she was from a small seaside town North of Newcastle called Seahouses.

In the area where they house the equipment to make the world's favorite stout, Killian revealed that he and his brothers were originally from a town called Drogheda. However, when they left school they all moved to Dublin to attend University.

By the time they'd reached the circular Gravity Bar, situated at the top of the museum, Emma and Killian felt they'd shared a lot with each other - barring the past heartbreak, which is not a first date conversation.

“Well Love, since the others are yet to arrive, shall we get our free drink and find a table?” Killian asked, holding Emma close to him in the crowded bar area.

“Sounds good,” she replied.”In fact I spy one just coming available now so I'll grab that before someone else does.”

Emma kissed him on the cheek before moving quickly and confidently across the room.

Killian was looking in awe at how gracefully she moved through the throngs of people. Because he was distracted, he failed to notice the bar person trying to get his attention. Apologizing to them, he placed their order and handed across the two Guinness tokens which entitled them to their free drink.

Emma was enjoying the stunning views across Dublin when Killian joined her. “It's stunning isn't it?”

“It really is,” Killian replied, sincerely looking directly at her and handing the black beverage to her. He almost dropped his own when he felt a hand clipping his ear. Turning swiftly he saw Liam laughing.

“I hope this git has been treating you well?” Liam asked Emma.

“Yes, he's been the perfect gentleman,” she winked at Killian when she said this.

He moved in next to her and whispered, “I always am, Love,” before softly kissing her cheek.

Emma quickly looked around and saw that her mam was at the bar with the other ladies, so she grabbed Killian by the collar of his leather jacket and kissed him dirtily.

“Bloody hell, you two!” Stephen exclaimed. “You're in a public place!”

“Don't care, mate,” Killian retorted in between breaths before diving back in.

“Well her mum will and she's just finished at the bar so I suggest you pull yourselves together before she sees you eating her daughter's face.”

Reluctantly, but feeling suitably chastised and wanting to respect the promise he'd made Mrs. Nolan earlier that morning, Killian pulled away breathlessly. He was certain he looked just as fuckstruck as Emma did right now, but he tried his best to calm himself and helped her straighten her hair out again.

Emma wanted to throttle Stephen and thank him in equal measure. Sure her mum had wanted this for her, but there was no need to have her see it. But, from the look that Ruby was giving her, she'd seen enough. Averting her eyes quickly she started on her drink, shivering at the bitter yet smooth taste in her mouth. Her mind drifted to thoughts it really shouldn't in such company, and the way that Killian's hand was caressing her thigh was not helping matters. She glared at him and the smirk she received back told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking. They'd known each other for less than twenty four hours and yet he could read her better than any of her previous boyfriends could.

~♡~

During their drinks, the new found friends discussed what the plan would be for the remainder of their trip. Stephen politely declined joining them saying he had his part-time job to be at.

Killian only partially listened. He wanted to plan the perfect date for him and Emma to enjoy. Conscious that their time was limited, he wanted their night to be special. He knew she would be joining him at his house that night and was anxious to show what he felt for her without actually telling her.

He settled on taking Emma on an early evening boat trip along the Liffey. One that served a Champagne Dinner. Afterwards, Killian planned on getting back to his flat as quickly as possible so he could make love to his girl.

~♡~

Back at the hotel, the girls were helping Emma get ready for her date with Killian. Knowing where the conversation was likely to lead, Mary Margaret took the time to call David and catch him up on the weekend so far.

Ruby, on the other hand, was very keen to find out more. “So, has lover boy given you any indication what his plans are for you tonight?”

The room filled with loud whoops and Emma blushed profusely when her Godmother, who was almost thirty years her senior, winked at her.

“Calm down, ladies. All I was asking was if we knew where he was taking our Emma on their date so we could plan her outfit. You've all got your minds in the gutter,” she laughed. “That said, have you got yourself any protection with you? If not, I've always got plenty with me.”

Emma shook her head in disbelief. She loved Ruby like a second mum, but she was aware that she could be a lot. “Of course you have… and I'm pretty certain that Killian will have thought of that too, but there's no harm in having extra coverage so to speak.”

With the outfit sorted, Emma took a shower to freshen up, packed a change of underwear in her handbag then redid her hair and put on makeup. She was ready for her date.

~♡~

Killian paced the lobby as he waited for Emma to step out of the lift. She'd messaged him to say she was on her way, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. They'd only been apart for a few hours, but he'd missed her like crazy.

The ping of the lift made Killian jump, much to the amusement of an elderly couple who were waiting for its arrival.

The couple smiled sweetly at Killian as the doors opened to reveal Emma.

“Swan, you look stunning,” he breathed in awe.

“You don't look too bad yourself,” she replied as she took hold of his hand.

As they made their way towards the front doors, Killian thought he heard the elderly couple commenting how cute they looked together and that they reminded them of how they were when they first started courting. It made Killian smile and gave him confidence that they could make their flourishing relationship work.

“So do I get to find out what the plan for tonight is?” Emma asked.

Killian wiggled his eyebrows, saw an opportunity to pull her to one side and draw her in for a kiss. He immediately ran his tongue across the seam of her lips begging for entrance, one that she gave without hesitation.

He drew back from her lips but continued to trail kisses across her cheek and down her neck.

Emma sighed. “As much as I love what you're doing, and believe me, I'm enjoying it very much, I am still curious as to what you've planned.”

“That's music to my ears because believe me, this is just a taster of what I'll be doing to you later. But before we get to that point, we're booked onto a boat trip that will take us along the Liffey. It's a special, romantic Champagne Dinner cruise so I hope you're hungry.”

Emma pulled him in for a chaste peck. “Sounds like a great way to spend a first date.”

“First? I think you'll find this will be our third,” Killian commented with a wry smile on his face.

They walked hand in hand towards the riverside. “And how do you figure this will be our third date, Killian?”

“Well, last night we went for a walk. Then today, and now here we are. Besides, it works out well for my plans later on if this is our third,” Killian explained.

“Oh really? Do you think I wouldn't pillage and plunder on a first date?” When Emma saw him raise an eyebrow, she relinquished and admitted to him that it wasn't her usual thing, but maybe for him she would have made an exception.

The sexual tension was higher than ever during their meal. Each touch alighted a flame that crackled almost visibly. They enjoyed the food, Champagne, and sights but soon it was time to leave the boat.

“Emma, I know there's something here between us that's real. I've never felt this way about anyone before, not even Milah.” As Killian admitted this he looked to the ground not wanting to reveal just how strongly he felt too soon. He sighed deeply as if he was going to say more.

Emma looked at Killian curiously. Throughout the date they'd shared a lot about their past relationships, including the people who broke their hearts. Yet it still took her slightly by surprise that he felt as much for her so quickly. But, if she was to be truthful to herself and to Killian, she could admit she felt the same.

“Killian…”

“Emma…”

They both started talking at the same time.

“You go first, Killian. It sounds like you wanted to finish what you started.”

Killian nodded, smiled gratefully, and laced his fingers with Emma's. “Whilst I do want to spend the night with you Emma, I don't want you to feel pressured into doing something you're not ready for. If all we do is share my bed and lay in each other's arms for the night then I'll be happy with that.”

“Killian. I appreciate you saying this, but you're right. We do have something here. I can't believe I only met you last night yet I already have feelings for you as strong as I do. But I do, and it scares me shitless because the last man that I cared for hurt me. But I already know you're a better man than Neal, so I'm going to do what I want for once.”

Killian looked at her with hope in his eyes. “And what's that, Emma?”

“I'm taking a chance on us. So Killian, I will be spending the night with you, but I doubt there'll be much sleep involved. Oh, and my Aunt Ruby sent me fully prepared,” she winked at him.

Killian was speechless.

Emma pulled him in for a deep kiss which he reciprocated as soon as he came to his senses.

“Emma, darling, you'll be the death of me. But I'll die a happy man.”

Emma chuckled as she was pulled along the pavement by Killian as he started to walk with purpose to the nearest taxi rank.

~♡~

The room was electric with the nervous energy the pair felt as they sensuously stripped out of their clothes. They took in each other’s naked bodies, admiring what they saw before slowly kissing each other.

Killian laid Emma carefully on his bed. He planned to worship her body. So that's exactly what he did. Each moan and word of encouragement from her told him he was on the right track to ensuring she received the pleasure she deserved before they joined together.

Soon he found Emma's sweet spot that sent her flying. His fingers curled just so, and his tongue flat and firm against her clit.

“You're stunning when you're having an orgasm,” Killian praised.

Emma blushed and tried to hide away.

“Hey, talk to me. Tell me what's on your mind.”

“No one's ever done that.”

“What? Praise you during sex or go down on you?”

“Both “

Killian was shocked that her previous partners had not given her such treatment but didn't show it. “Well my darling, I plan to always give you toe curling pleasure.”

“Ok,” Emma whispered.

Killian kissed her again, starting off softly, but when Emma pulled him on top of her and indicated she was ready for more, he was at her mercy. The fire that burned bright since they met ignited once again, hotter than ever before.

Emma had never felt as sexy or as satisfied by anyone else in her past. And as Killian slowly moved above her, kissing her deeply, she realised she had never felt as…. Emma pulled away from the kiss. “Faster Killian. I need you to really go for it. I'm close,” she panted, deflecting.

Killian raised one of her legs over his shoulder, knelt up on his knees, gripped her hips and started to thrust harder and faster than he'd ever needed to before. “You've seen my stamina, love. I can keep this up all night, but I'd rather hold you in my arms. Touch yourself and come for me again.”

Emma locked her eyes onto his, found where they were joined, and started rubbing frantically. Emma's body started to shake as she found her release.

Killian came soon after, slowing his thrusts to allow him to lean down, brush his hands softly across Emma's cheeks and kiss her. He poured every ounce of feelings into that kiss.

Emma felt the same. But she dampened them down, not ready to admit she could be in love with him.

~♡~

The following day they rejoined their family and friends for the remainder of the visit.

As they took in the culture of the James Joyce House, which they all agreed was interesting, followed by a trip around the castle, Emma drew more and more quiet. “I can't believe I only have one more day here before we have to leave.”

“Aye, love. I feel the same, but let's focus on the time we have left. That said, I would like to spend the night with you again tonight.”

“I'd like that too,” Emma admitted as she reached on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“Oy, Little Brother!” Liam called across the courtyard. “Put your girlfriend down and catch up. We're off to the pub.”

“It's younger, you prat!” Killian replied with no real feeling of anger behind the words. It felt good to hear Emma being referred to as his girlfriend, and by the smile on her face she didn't mind it either.

The day was still bittersweet and Emma remained subdued, but Killian’s whispered words of what he wanted to do with her and to her later that night kept her mind occupied.

She stayed with Killian that night, and discovered he was a man of his word having followed through with all of promises to her.

~♡~

On their final day together the couple, as well as the rest of the group, had great fun at Dublin Zoo. They shared laughs at the funny antics the animals got up to, found it cute when the baby animals snuggled up with their parents, and took in a show at the sea lion cove. The underwater viewing area gave fantastic views for the presentation.

Killian had seen many different sides to Emma over the three days he'd known her. That day was no different. There was the softer side to the way she laughed freely with her mum and friends that went straight to Killian’s heart.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” Liam asked. There was no teasing tone to his voice.

“Have I fuck, Liam! She's leaving tomorrow and I don't know when I'll see her again. I can feel my heart breaking already, but I need to stay strong for her.”

Liam agreed that it would be hard for them to say goodbye, having done it each time with Elsa, but told him to make sure they enjoyed their remaining time together. “Oh, and for God's sake, Killian. Don't be a dick and forget to get her number.”

Killian chuckled, thanked his brother for the advice, and the Joneses joined the ladies once again.

~♡~

That night Killian made love to Emma.

Emma showed Killian with actions what he meant to her, still not ready to say it.

After they brought each other to completion, having shared the best sex they'd ever experienced, they lay in each other's arms not ready to be parted.

~♡~

The following morning, Killian drove her to the airport where she met up with the others.

To maximise their time together, Mary Margaret had packed what belongings she had left in the hotel room. She was so pleased her daughter had met someone who made her happy and filled her with passion. She knew the weeks to come would be hard, so she and Ruby had come up with a plan to make sure Emma didn't shut herself off again.

Elsa and Liam took themselves away from the group to say their own farewells, but before they did they each said goodbye to Killian and Emma respectively.

“I want to say thank you, Killian. In the last few days Emma's been happier than she's been for a long time. That's down to you. I know you'll miss her when we go, but I hope you know that you can visit us whenever you can.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nolan. I appreciate those words and the invitation.”

Mary Margaret nodded and went to join back up with Belle, Ruby, and Elsa.

“Swan, I…”

“Don't spoil it, Killian, please. I'm not usually one for tearful goodbyes,” she admitted. “But I'll make an exception today.” She kissed him firmly.

“There's not a day that'll go by that I'll not think of you, Emma.” Killian kissed her.

“Good.” Emma hugged him one last time and pressed her forehead to his.

They stood like that until the tannoy announcement sounded for the group to make their way to their gate.

“We can call or message each day,” Killian said just before she left his personal space.

Emma nodded mutely, scared that if she opened her mouth she would crack.

She was just about to step away when Killian pulled her in for one final kiss, tears silently streaming down both their faces.

“Emma, I'm sorry but we have to go.” Belle took Emma's hand in support as she stepped away from Killian.

“Goodbye,” Emma whispered.

“I love you,” Killian whispered, silent enough she failed to hear.

#cs ff #birthday wishes and irish kisses #jonesfandomfanatic

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