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The Mirror Fogs Tonight

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The cuffs close tight around her wrists, and she gapes up at Emma. "What are you—"

"Shut up," Emma says, and kisses her hard, more clashing, scraping teeth than sliding lips and tongues.

No one turns the tables on Regina. Ever. And she gives as good as she gets, biting and fighting and grinding her slick, bare cunt on Emma's thigh. She never submits. She never begs. Instead, she wraps her legs around Emma's, ruts shamelessly up against her, leaving sweat-soaked skin even wetter, determined to make Emma lose it first.

There's not much she can do like this, bound against her own bedpost, but that doesn't mean she won't try. This is her house, her bedroom, her domain. Emma's only here because Regina wanted her here.

But Emma's strong, and just as determined to prove Regina wrong, to beat Regina at her own game. To change the game entirely.

Teeth scrape down Regina's neck, then lower, and Emma bites her nipple, hard enough to make Regina moan and arch against Emma's firm belly. Emma sucks and bites and teases, and it's so fucking good, pain and deep, dark need blurring and burning, and all Regina wants is more, and she's going to go insane if she doesn't get it. But her harsh, "Down," sounds more like a plea than a command, and her, "now" sounds even weaker.

Emma chuckles, and shakes her head. "I call the shots this time," she says, and smiles sweetly, innocent and feral and otherworldly all at once behind her long, golden hair. "Why should you have the power all the time, Your Majesty?"

Regina tries to growl, but it comes out as a frustrated whine instead, broken by her desperate panting and the scrape of metal on wood as she fights against the cuffs. God, she wants this, wants Emma's face buried between her thighs, wants Emma's tongue plunging deep inside, wants. "Miss Swan..."

"Emma." She twists Regina's abused nipple, and Regina cries out and thrusts against her, unable to stop herself. "You're going to call me Emma. And you're going to be nice and say 'please fuck me—'"


"—or I'm going to leave you like this."

Regina shakes her head. She doesn't say please—especially to the likes of Emma fucking Swan. She takes what she wants. She growls, and clenches her legs even tighter, trying to hold Emma down, trying to keep her there. "Like hell."

Emma shrugs a shoulder, and slips easily from her grasp. "Your loss," she says, and begins gathering her clothes, swaying her hips as she walks, making sure Regina sees her ass and her breasts as she puts on her tiny white panties and her matching lace bra. "You can have me," Emma says, as her slim legs disappear into her tight jeans, and Regina bites her swollen, stinging lip. "If you really want me." Emma's arms are hidden next, then her stomach, tucked away inside a shirt that shows no hint of the curves of her body. Emma buttons it slowly, eyes locked on Regina's, her lipstick-smudged mouth quirked in a smug smirk, and Regina strains futilely against the cuffs again. That's her lipstick all over Emma's face, blood red and dirty, and the sharp twist of lust inside burns even hotter, so much it hurts.

Emma leaves the top buttons open, giving Regina a deliberate glimpse of her cleavage as she reaches for her boots. "I guess you just don't want me that much."

Regina never begs, but she can't take this torture anymore. "Emma," she rasps, and the name feels strange on her tongue. Emma looks up at her, eyes wide, waiting. Regina takes a deep, shuddering breath, and reluctantly whispers, "I need...Emma." She swallows. "Please fuck me. Please."

Emma drops her boots and smiles, this time genuine. "Okay."

With a sigh of relief, Regina slumps back down on the bed, and she waits.