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“Breathe, darling.”

His voice is all honey and gravel, his stubble sandpaper against her skin as he whispers the words in her ear. She arches into it, into him as much as she can but he’s barely touching her, the only point of contact the light brush of his chin against her cheek, his breath hot on her skin. He laughs and splays his hand against her abdomen, the unexpected touch causing her to twitch under his palm before callused fingers gently press her back down to the mattress.

He chuckles, a low, devastating sound on a warm exhale. “Relax.”

“Easy for you to say.” Her words hold none of the sharpness she intends, breathy and high, and she inhales long and deep, trying to settle herself. His scarf is soft over her eyes, an improvised blindfold that she should have known better than to accept. But she could hardly say no when he offered -- not when he had that look in his eyes, when she could see his mind working, planning, wanting as soon as he entertained the prospect. It made her shiver, made her want just as badly as he did, and now --

-- now he’s hardly touched her and she can scarcely stand it.

They haven’t done this for long, but sex between them so often resembles a wrestling match; hips and shoulders and wrists pinned down, gripping hands and shifting positions. They can be tender, too, so achingly slow and soft that her heart threatens to burst, but there’s a certain thrill that comes with the playful battle for dominance, breathless laughter giving way to heated moans.

But this is something else entirely, laid out and vulnerable and waiting , the mattress shifting as he sits up beside her and contemplates his next move. She breathes and waits when he leaves the bed entirely, struggling to keep still now that there’s not even a hint of where his next touch will come from, no shifting weight on the bed to give him away. She jumps when his fingers skim the inside of her thigh and there’s that laugh again, warm and soft and deadly.

His palm flattens against her skin, slowly sliding upward to where she wants him most but she knows he won’t give it to her, not yet -- and he doesn’t, the gentle friction diverting to her hip and sliding to her ribs. Her breath hitches at the press of his lips just below her sternum and she can feel him smile against her skin.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Swan,” he murmurs, hand and mouth sliding up while he noses at the underside of her breast, tracing along the curve with feather-light pressure.

His mouth leaves her suddenly, and she can hardly whine at the loss before it’s back at her collarbone, a hot drag of lips and tongue and teeth. She hums and presses into it, chasing the sensation as his head drifts, giving the same treatment to her shoulder before sliding up and closing his lips over the delicate skin of her throat.

He’s sure to leave a mark but she’s beyond caring, tilting her head back to give him better access and gasping when his thumb slides over her nipple, slow circles teasing out a tight peak. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before but it’s so much more like this when she can’t see, when she just has to lie back and take it and feel.

Her jaw drops open with a hard tweak of his fingers and his mouth covers hers, smothering her gasp, tongue stroking deep inside. Of all the things he does to her he seems to love kissing the most, whether it’s her mouth or her throat or his head buried between her legs. It’s that last thought that has her sighing against his lips, her hand blindly coming up to thread through his hair.

He pulls back the second she touches him, his hand leaving her breast to grab her wrist and press it firmly to the mattress. “None of that, Swan. I told you the rules.”

She huffs, trying to push aside the flash of heat that burns through her at his words, at the way he’s pinning her down. “You wouldn’t last ten seconds if I was doing this to you. I’d have to tie you down.”

His hand tightens at her wrist and his voice, when it comes, drops an octave lower than usual. “Promise?”

Fuck. Fuck. A fresh set of images floods her mind, visceral and positively sinful, and she squirms where she lies. “Yeah.” The word is dry and quiet as his hand loosens its grip, fingertips tracing up her forearm as hot puffs of breath return to her ear.

“Next time, then,” he whispers, his hand lazily brushing over her shoulder before skimming her breast and drifting lower. “But for now I want you to keep your hands away. Can you do that?”

His fingers tease farther down, stopping just below her navel and tormenting her with slow, maddening circles over her skin just a few inches above where she’s aching and hot and --

“Yes,” she whispers, gripping at the bedsheets.

“Good.” The word is muffled against her jaw and his hand disappears from her belly, a tense moment while he sucks at her throat and she waits, bracing herself for wherever his next touch will appear.

She still jerks in surprise when a single fingertip caresses her center, sliding up and down with the lightest of touches where she’s already slick and waiting for him. It’s not even close to enough but she waits, finally giving him what he wants, letting herself relax into the sheets while he continues his leisurely exploration, soft touches and fingers barely pressing inside.

Emma has to fight with every instinct in her -- the instinct to take charge, to slide her hands over his back and into his hair, to rip off the blindfold and strip him bare. She loosens her fists, pressing her palms to the sheets and breathing deep, trying to keep steady while he teases at her.

He hums in approval, dropping an encouraging kiss to her forehead. “That’s it, love. Let me take care of you.”

She melts under his touch, under his voice, letting her head fall back as her thighs drop open for him. He’s still almost infuriatingly gentle and she knows she can’t come like this, knows he’s trying to get her to beg before giving her more.

And she knows she’ll beg eventually, he’s too fucking good at making her do it, but there’s no harm in seeing how long she can last.

She lets herself float with it awhile, the easy, quiet strokes of his fingers stirring a pleasant buzz beneath her skin. It’s like a few glasses of wine, like the rocking of his ship, a faint hint of something more the edge of her awareness, a spark waiting to be lit.

His thumb finally, finally slides over her clit, a slow, wet slide that pulls a quiet moan from her lips. He doubles down, two fingers slipping inside and curling up in measured, deliberate circles. She can’t help it, can’t stop her hips from rolling into it, and he chuckles once more when her breath catches at the cool curve of his hook sliding up her ribs.

“There we are. Shall I continue like this? Or do you want something more?”

She answers by arching her back, pressing into the maddening sweep of his thumb, still not enough to get her where she wants to go but working her up all the same. “I want whatever you’ll give me.”

The mattress shifts next to her and the thin material of his shirt brushes against her as he leans down, lips brushing against hers and his breath hot on her face. “Shall I give you my mouth, then?”

God yes.”

“Are you sure?” His smirk against her lips is unmistakable, timed perfectly with a rough sweep of his thumb that leaves her chest heaving against his.

Too fucking good. “Please.”

His kisses her once more, long and deep and filthy while his fingers curl roughly inside her and his palm drags hot and slick over her nerves, delicious relief after being teased for so long. He only gives her a few moments before pulling away completely, and she collapses against the bed, her skin throbbing where he’d just been touching her.

“What are you - “


The mattress creaks as he leaves the bed once more. Emma has never been so acutely aware of her heartbeat, feeling it pulsing beneath too-tight skin, blood rushing in her ears. It’s not quite enough to drown out the sound of rustling fabric, buttons popping as he removes his shirt. She listens as his brace follows next, buckles and hook clattering carelessly to the floor.

As hard as she tried to relax earlier it’s impossible now, fisting her hands into the sheets as quiet footsteps circle the bed. He pauses and she can see him in her mind’s eye, shirtless and dark-eyed and considering as he no doubt looks her over. There’s another soft rustle and his hand is at her hip, sliding under the small of her back and lifting.

“Up, love.”

She raises her hips obligingly and can’t help but grin when he slides a pillow underneath. It’s amazing what he’s done for her, made her so comfortable being laid out and exposed like this, not a trace of modesty or embarrassment as she settles against the pillow and spreads her legs. She breathes deep, trying to calm herself as she waits, knowing he’s going to wreck her and aching for it.

(Next time, she’s going to tie him down and make him forget his own name.)

Her breath catches and she can’t stop the twitch of her thighs when his fingers brush against her once more, never able to prepare herself for the touch she can’t see coming. It’s just two fingers in an easy slide, caressing and slipping inside in long, easy strokes before pulling away.

There’s another wet noise, and - fuck, he’s licking his fingers clean, she’s certain of it, an obvious smirk in his voice when he speaks again. “I did promise you my mouth, didn’t I?”

He didn’t quite promise, only implied, but Emma’s not about to argue semantics with him. “You gonna use it for more than just talking?”

“You know I will.”

The bed dips once again under his weight, this time below her hips and between her legs, his shoulders nudging her thighs farther apart.

“Now, love,” he intones, his lips a whisper against her thigh and his hair tickling the skin there, “remember: hands to yourself.”

He knows her, knows how much she loves to bury her hands in his hair and hold him against her, and she nods, throat suddenly gone dry.

As much as Emma loves being able to look down and see him between her legs, eyes blown and hair wild, it’s almost more erotic being forced to lie there and imagine it, to paint a picture in her head as his mouth drags its way up, closer and closer to where she’s desperate and throbbing. There’s an interminable pause and she waits, his exhales hot against her already-too-warm skin, until he finally, finally licks a slow stripe up her center, his tongue dipping inside before closing his mouth over her clit.

So few of her one-night stands ever did this for her, and on the rare occasion it happened it always felt more like the guy was showing off, trying fancy tricks with his mouth and tongue that didn’t really work , more concerned with trying to prove something than making her come. But Killian -- God, Killian -- she’d never known a man who so clearly loves going down on her, who pays attention to what she likes, what makes her moan, what makes her back arch and her toes curl.

And God, is he doing it to her now, her entire being reduced to the spot where he sucks gently and presses in with slow rolls of his tongue, hot and wet and relentless. It’s even more intense than usual, not being able to watch, just lying back and feeling and drowning in the sensation. There’s no more teasing, just an unrelenting tide of pleasure and she moans at a particularly rough pull of his lips.

He smiles, fucking smiles against her, she can feel it, and her high-pitched sigh is cut off when he presses in again, kissing her like he’s kissing her mouth, a sinuous roll of lips and tongue against her skin. Her hips stutter against him as he works, pulling her up, up, up until she can’t control her voice anymore, a litany of breathy moans and sighs and swears. She’s pulled tight as a bowstring, and with one final draw of his mouth she unravels, clenching and twitching and falling while he hums against her.

She can barely breathe as she floats down from it, every beat of her heart pulsing against her skin, nowhere more so than where his mouth still rests against her, soft kisses that make her tremble around him as she settles back into herself.

“Bloody stunning,” he murmurs, one final kiss setting a spark under her skin before he pulls back.

She collapses against the bed. “That was…”

“I know.” He punctuates his words with a kiss to the top of her knee before his weight leaves the bed and he slowly pulls the pillow from beneath the small of her back, but something tells her he’s not even close to finished with her.

She waits, the room quiet save for her erratic breaths, knowing he’s watching her. After a few long moments she can sense him moving, more rustling clothing and one dull thump followed by another -- Killian removing his boots, she suspects -- and he starts talking when she can hear the muted clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

“I wish you could see yourself, Emma. So bloody gorgeous, laid out for me like this.”

“I could if you let me take off this blindfold,” she tries, and he just laughs. The sound is tight, like maybe he’s not in quite as much control as he’s letting on.

“Not just yet, love.” There’s a soft fwip as the last of his clothing hits the floor and then he’s back on the bed, climbing over her, settling between her legs and leaning down.

She sighs as the hair on his chest brushes against her nipples, and after an evening of him carefully keeping his distance and only touching her where absolutely necessary it’s delicious to have him pressed against her like this. “Let me touch you?”

“Aye,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

Her hands are on him instantly, one sliding into his hair and the other pressing warm against the small of his back as his mouth nudges hers open, his tongue lazily delving inside. She can feel him hot and hard against her, his hips moving in restless little circles as he slides back-and-forth over her clit, the easy thrum against her nerves suddenly catching fire.

It’s overwhelming to feel him like this without the benefit of sight, every sound and every touch amplified, heat coiling in her belly as he teases at her entrance. She reaches down to guide him to her and for a moment she thinks he’ll make her wait again, tease her even more, but he just sighs into her mouth and presses inside.

The stretch of him still takes her breath away. He’s always so careful with this, making sure she’s ready, making sure not to press too hard and too fast, but she’s so relaxed and aroused he could slam home without a care and she’d beg for more. He doesn’t, though, pushing in with slow, shallow thrusts, and she breaks the kiss and lets her head drop back to the pillow, savoring the feeling as he finally slides home.

She moans as his hips come flush with hers. She so full like this, him hot and heavy and huge inside her, and she clenches around him just to feel him shiver.

Fucking hell, Emma.” He sounds just as gone as she is, that tone he always gets just before he loses control completely. Her hand tightens at his back and she waits for it, waits for him to pull back only to slam into her hard and fast until they’re both panting and covered in sweat.

He surprises her again, though, shifting up while still inside her and pressing his chest fully against hers. The movement leaves them with their noses touching and the change in angle makes her wrap her legs around his, her heels resting at the back of his knees. The weight against her is pleasant and she’ll never object to having him so close, but she’s at a loss until he rolls his hips and --

Ohhhh God, Killian -- “

She’s not prepared for what it does to her, this position, but his pelvis grinds directly against her clit and while he’s not quite thrusting, every circle of his hips presses in deep, as deep as he can go and the man is a goddamn genius, and she’s never -- she can’t --

His mouth rests at her cheek and she can feel his smile but hardly registers it, not when he’s doing this to her, buried deep while rocking against the most sensitive part of her. He can’t possibly be getting much out of this position and she flushes even hotter knowing this is purely for her , clinging helplessly to his back while she slowly comes apart with every languid press of his hips.

She’s never been very vocal in bed but she moans shamelessly as he draws her closer and closer to the edge, her nerves ragged and fraying at the ends while he talks her through it, and endless stream of filthy nonsense in her ear, that’s it love, just take it, want to feel you come around me, so bloody tight, so wet for me, come for me, come, come, come.

The dam bursts and she shudders around him, gasping and full and oversensitized and it’s sublime, the rush that floods through her. She’s still pulsing around him when he leans back to his knees and reaches under the small of her back with hand and wrist, lifting her hips until it’s only her shoulders bearing her weight and there it is, the brutal pace she was expecting earlier, rough and hard and perfect as he fucks her through it.

Emma doesn’t even know how she gets the blindfold off, not when her limbs seem to have stopped functioning. All she knows is she’s desperate to watch him, and it’s worth it as her eyes adjust because the view is glorious, sweat on the broad planes of his chest and his hair falling every which way as he drives into her. She has the wherewithal to wrap her legs around the small of his back and hangs on for the ride, watching as he disappears inside her again and again and again.

She moans with him when he comes, squeezing her legs tight around him as he leans forward, just managing to keep his weight on his forearms while he trembles against her. She runs her hands through his hair as he comes down, pressing kisses to his chin and cheeks as he catches his breath. He touches his forehead to hers and she doesn’t stop running her hands over his skin, stroking down his back and over his ribs, kneading lightly at his muscles and feeling him relax against her.

“God, I love you,” she breathes, and he grins, his breath still a little shaky but his eyes finally clearing as he settles down next to her, burying his face against her shoulder.

“Is that all it takes to get you to say the words?” he asks, mirth evident in his voice even as his words are muffled against her skin.

She laughs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He hums appreciatively when  she scratches her nails over his scalp. “A blindfold and a couple of orgasms? Yeah, that sounds about right.” She grins. “ Jesus, Killian.”

“You deserve it, love.”

“Hey.” She tugs lightly on his hair, lifting his face enough to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

He props his chin on her shoulder and even though there’s a trace of a smirk on his lips, his eyes are soft. “Like I said, you deserve it.” He leans in once more, his mouth lingering over hers.

“Happy Birthday, Emma.”