There is always going to be something to throw you off. Something that reminds you that you are definitely no longer in control of this town and its denizens. Not since the curse began to break down with Graham's returning memories. No, that's not exactly right. You haven't been in control since she came rattling into town in that yellow death trap she calls a car. The minute you realized -- "You're Henry's birth mother?" -- just who she was, you knew that your life would never be the same again.
But this wasn't part of the changes you ever expected would happen. You're not destined for love. And you don't want it, not with her. This is just a benefit, a perk of being the mayor and holding all the strings. In some ways, you even hold her strings, whether she'll admit it or not, and you just love to yank on them every so often.
Like right now.
She is wrapped around you, holding you against the wall of your office, close enough to the window that someone could potentially see what you're doing. Except you're on the second floor and it's far later at night than anyone should be out and about in this sleepy little town. Thankfully, they're all used to you working late some nights, including your son. But it's best not to think of him right now, not when his birth mother is trying to get her hand up under your skirt.
"Fuck, Regina," she mutters as you press your thighs together again, hindering her ability to get her prize. "You're such a bitch!"
"I'm glad you can admit that, Ms. Swan."
She whines, and the sound is more of a turn-on than you expect. Then again, you've always enjoyed when your prey is needy and willing to do anything you ask. She's close to that point, if that hand still trying to get into your panties is an indication. Could you actually push her to attempt a show of dominance? Have you got her that hooked yet?
She goes perfectly still for a moment, and you have to wonder if you've taken this too far already. You enjoy the way she still fights back, unlike the previous sheriff. There's a sense of danger and unpredictability about this one that draws you in like a moth to a flame. You realize that you want her to use her strength, try to pin you down.
But you're still in charge here, damn it!
"I am not gonna let you--"
She doesn't even finish the thought before she bursts into action. Her lips are on yours, teeth worrying at your bottom lip in an attempt at deepening what is passing for a kiss. Her hands grab yours, manhandling them up above your head, held in place despite your attempts to wriggle free. She bites down harder on your bottom lip until you both taste blood. A rush of arousal burns low in your belly and you welcome the knee she tries to wedge between your thighs.
"Damn it!" she mutters, juggling to hold both of your wrists in one hand as the other moves possessively down your side to hike up your skirt enough to press her thigh right where you want it.
"Happy now?" You do not sound as breathless with anticipation as she probably thinks you do.
She rolls her eyes at you. "Always trying to get in the last word, aren't you, Madam Mayor? Not tonight."
She kisses you again, tongue stroking over the small cut in your lip before delving in to explore your mouth. She's insistent, and you enjoy the way your tongues slide together. You groan as her thigh presses against your silk thong, rubbing the material against your clit, and try to get control of at least the kiss. She chuckles and begins to kiss her way along your jaw to trace the shell of your ear with her tongue. Your head is tilting to the side almost before you realize it, and then she presses her lips to that spot just below your ear.
"Emma," you moan as the need coils tighter in your belly, a dangerous viper ready to strike at the slightest touch.
She chuckles against your skin, tongue stroking along that sensitive spot as the muscles in her thigh tense and release, causing the most delicious friction against your clit. You moan her name again as she shifts your panties aside, finally touching you with those lightly callused fingertips of hers. Her thigh still moves rhythmically, trapping her hand against your cunt. It won't take long if she keeps this up. Her lips are latched onto that spot, and you've slid your head to the side so far, your other ear is pressed against your own shoulder.
One finger eases in to curl and angle just right to rub against your g-spot. Her aim is unerring as she rubs against it repeatedly, alternating with her thumb against your clit. The constant stimulation of erogenous zones is eroding your tightly held self-control. When she also starts teasing one of your nipples through your blouse, you actually realize that you're the only one holding your hands above your head. Her total control of your arousal right now is enough to send you over the edge, and you're grateful the building is deserted when you let out a loud, startled cry of release.
Lassitude steals across your body, and you want nothing more than to sink to the floor and catch your breath. But you can't let her see you weak and vulnerable like that. You can't let her think she's actually gained the upper hand. She cannot break your curse, cannot take away your happy ending. And so you push her away and force your legs to hold your weight until you can settle in your chair again. The scent of sex surrounds you and you almost want to call her over to render her just as euphoric as you feel. But as you glance up at her, she turns to face you with an enigmatic smile on her face, making a show of licking her fingers clean. Your cunt spasms at the blatant display.
"If that's all, Sheriff?" you ask, attempting a bored tone, but you know you've failed when her smile turns into a definite smirk.
"For now, Madam Mayor," is all she says as she turns on her heels and saunters out of the room.