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Emma was pretty sure that if she wanted to take the time, she could write a really useful guide on what not to do when looking for a potential one night stand. Forget warnings like not being too drunk, not forgetting to pack a condom, and texting a friend to let them know where you are, these seemed like a given. There was plenty of more useful advice that could be shared.
For instance, don’t go for the guy at the bar with too much hair gel. It will end up with him getting all too handsy before you’ve even left the bar, and you’ll be lucky if he’s ever taken the time to figure out where a woman’s clit is given how long he’s spent getting his hair like that. Or don’t pick up the bartender of your local bar, unless you have no plans to return. Ever. Or avoid the guy in the corner of the coffee shop with the ponytail, he’s definitely going to recite some sort of poetry in your ear while trying to get you off and it is just going to kill it for you.
Or, much like the bartender scenario, don’t fuck your neighbor. No matter how hot or enticingly accented he may be, if your entire goal is an orgasm (or two, if you were lucky) and to never see the guy again, fucking your neighbor is counterproductive.
Emma was pretty sure this point couldn’t be high enough on said guide.
(Even if said neighbor delivered three.)
*
The stakeout could have gone better. Four hours in a car in the sweltering heat with no leads gained pissed her off. But four hours wasted was nothing on the fact that she was now also locked out of her apartment thanks to a bumbling trip to the door to meet the pizza delivery guy gone entirely wrong.
At least she had the pizza, she told herself with a snort. Too bad it was nearly midnight and she was in a tank top and sleep shorts. Probably not appropriate attire to greet the pizza guy in, but Emma was beyond caring at this point. She had no shoes, no keys, no lock pick, no phone, no beer. No fire escape on the building she could hope to scale and jimmy open her bedroom window.
Just the one neighbor she knew, down to the way his eyes rolled back when she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” she muttered, thumping the back of her head against her apartment door.
He’s probably not home – it is Friday night, she reminded herself as she stood and grabbed the box of pizza. If he is, you can just borrow his phone and call Mary Margaret and the building super. Easy. Simple. Nothing to it.
It was only upon knocking on his door that she became acutely aware of the fact she could also add no bra to her earlier list. She hoped the pizza guy had enjoyed the view.
The door opened and she was greeted by the sight of Killian clad only in pajama pants, shuffling his weight to one foot, and squinting at her as he ran his hand through his already mangled hair. “Swan?”
“Hey,” she offered lamely, distracted by his chest and the memory of that hair rough beneath her fingers.
He blinked once before a grin curled across his lips. “What brings you by on this fine evening?” He kept his eyes on hers a moment before glancing down and taking in her ensemble, the tip of his tongue playing at the corner of his mouth as his gaze traveled back up to her face.
She gave a mock frown and furrowed her brow. “I got locked out,” she said and held up the pizza box in explanation. “You don’t happen to have a lock pick set?”
He leaned against the doorway, his fingers drumming at his hip. “Afraid not.”
She tried not to stare at his hand, or the way his pants sat low at his hips. She swallowed, wishing his pants dipped just a bit further. “Hair pins? A phone I could borrow?”
“Think I could help you with the latter.” He opened the door wider and gestured her inside.
*
While she did end up calling the super, she never did get around to Mary Margaret. It was late she reasoned, and Killian’s, well, everything, was a distraction. Plus, somewhere in the middle of her second slice of pizza, he ended up hauling her into his lap and you really can’t blame her for wanting a repeat performance.
It’s only when she woke the next morning that she realized it was the first time she’d spent a full night in someone else’s bed since Walsh.
She felt intensely grateful when Killian pressed his nose to the back of her neck while his hand inched down her stomach and to her core, providing yet another well-timed distraction.
*
It shouldn’t have become a habit from there. She shouldn’t have allowed Killian to enter his contact info into her phone.
And, yet.
They didn’t really talk outside of Fridays. Either he would text or she’d show up at his door after her case work was done. She usually didn’t spend the night, but when she did she was rewarded with coffee – good coffee – and another round in the kitchen or against the couch. There was one particularly inspired morning in the shower that left her pleasantly numb and smelling of his soap for the rest of the day.
And it was nice. There was no pretense, no pressure. Sometimes it was just sex. Sometimes they’d share a meal or a drink, vent a little about their day. He didn’t try to cajole her if she wanted to head home when they were done, but always welcomed her the nights she chose to stay.
It’s only when he needed to head out of town for a couple weeks, a trip back to England to see his brother, that she realized how effectively he managed to fit into her routine. And how little it was they knew about one another.
*
“You’ve been what?”
Emma narrowed her eyes at Mary Margaret and picked a slice of lime off of the plate between them. She licked at the side of her wrist and sprinkled a little salt along the same path. “You heard me,” she answered before licking at her wrist again and downing the shot in front of her.
Mary Margaret scoffed and took her own shot. “I know what I heard,” she said once she dropped her lime into the empty shot glass. “I’m just surprised. You’re not one for repeats.”
She grinned, the tequila warming her throat and her belly. “Trust me, if you knew the things he could do with his tongue, you’d br-”
“Oh my god, Emma!”
“What?” she asked, affecting her most innocent tone and signaling for another round of shots from the bartender.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s just if one of us is going to overshare, it’s usually me.”
Emma snorted.
“Wait!” Mary Margaret turned on her bar stool and jabbed a finger towards her. “You like him!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely know him.” Emma nodded as the bartender dropped off the next round. She slid one of the glasses to Mary Margaret, whose only response was to arch an eyebrow at her as she picked up the salt shaker.
Emma rolled her eyes and licked her wrist again. “Just because I know my way around his cock, doesn’t mean I know him.”
“That can’t be true,” Mary Margaret countered, handing her the salt shaker.
“Why not?” She sprinkled on the salt and then set down the shaker, taking up the shot glass in its place. “We’re just having fun. It doesn’t have to be anything. I mean he’s out of town and I don’t even know the name of the brother he’s visiting.”
Mary Margaret handed her a lime. “So ask him.”
*
She could hear her phone vibrate somewhere to her right, but her head was pounding, making it difficult to focus. She reached out her hand in a half-hearted attempt to find it while also doing her best not actually to move. When she finally slapped her hand on it, she brought it to her nose and squinted to read the message that came in.
Liam. Why?
She groaned, remembering Mary Margaret’s insistence that Emma might want to, you know, get to know the guy she was fucking on a regular basis. She dug her other hand out from the mound of blankets and typed out a response.
Just curious.
Is that so?? was his reply, followed by a winky face and a horned smiley face.
Emma snorted and shoved her phone under her pillow. She heard it buzz again, but pulled her blanket above her head and went back to sleep.
She woke a few hours later with most of her headache gone. She had forgotten about the texts until after her shower. When she finally dug her phone out from beneath the wall of pillows she found two texts from Killian.
Are you planning to be home later?
Or do you have some cheating spouse to follow about?
I’m in for the day. Why? she replied, pocketing her phone and heading to the kitchen to make some coffee. She was dumping fresh grounds into a filter when her phone vibrated.
I’m about to get on the plane.
Want to come over later?
It’s Wednesday.
I know.
You that hard up, Jones? She tagged a smirking face to the end.
It took a few minutes for him to reply, and the message that did come through almost caused her to choke on her coffee.
Oh, darling, I am not sure you can handle just how hard I am.
She was working on a response when another message came through, this one a picture of his hand at the crotch of his jeans, his fingers resting on the very obvious ridge of his erection.
She deleted the reply she had started. You aren’t about to send me a dick pic from the plane are you?!?!? Emma leaned back against the kitchen counter, wishing she could hear the laugh she knew he’d give at her response.
If I thought the flight attendant wouldn’t throw me off the plane…
You won’t you be jet lagged?
Probably will be.
But I want to see you.
Emma smiled into her mug. Ok.
I’ll text you when I’m in a taxi.
*
He must have been barely out of the terminal and on the road when the stream of texts started – a litany of his fantasies from the past weeks and a few directives on what he wanted to find her in when she arrived at his doorstep. Emma wanted to bristle at being given instructions, but that voice was easily overridden by the jolt of want that accompanied the requests.
When she arrived at his door, she had scarcely knocked before Killian was pulling it open. He was shirtless and the button of his jeans already sat open. She arched her eyebrow and he smirked.
“You’re overdressed,” he said, biting his lower lip as he looked her up and down. He reached out, tugging on the belt of her jacket and she allowed herself to be pulled forward. She draped her arms over his shoulders, the fingers of one hand drifting to the nape of his neck.
“Well, there was the small matter of the two flights of stairs and the neighbors.”
He slipped the end of the belt through its buckle. “Pity,” he murmured, his hands moving to her hips as her coat opened. He finished pulling her into his apartment and kicked the door closed, pushing her back against it as it slammed shut. His hips pinned her back as he dragged his hands up her ribs and the sides of her breasts before settling on her shoulders. He pushed her coat off and down her arms, letting it drop to the floor, leaving her in her underwear.
“That what you wanted?” she asked, leaning in to drop a kiss to his collarbone, her hands dropping to finish opening the fly of his jeans. She snaked one beneath the waist of his briefs, wrapping him in her hand.
His eyes shuttered and he growled, leaning in to rest his forehead against her own as she began a slow drag of her hand down his length.
“It’s a start,” he said with a roll of his hips, pressing him further into her hand.
*
Emma didn’t spend the night. As much as she wanted to, and despite Killian’s groggy protests, she peeled herself from his bed and into her own. But when the weekend rolled around, she found herself lingering, letting him tell her about his trip, his brother, and his months-old niece over breakfast. It was evening by the time she made to leave, still dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants she had borrowed from him that morning.
Killian reached out at tugged at the hem of the t-shirt. “What are the chances I’ll see this shirt again?”
“You might have to come get it.” She leaned against the open doorway and smiled.
He hummed and backed her into the door jamb, a hand slipping beneath the shirt and settling at her waist. “Is that an invitation?” he asked, his nose pressing into the side of her neck.
Emma took a breath, realizing what she said. The nerves she would have expected didn’t seem present, but that could have been because of the steady swipes of Killian’s thumb at her rib. “Yeah,” she said, tilting her head back.
He smiled against her neck and then pulled back, resting his head on her forehead. “Perhaps one night this week?”
“Perhaps,” she teased, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. She reached up, tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Tuesday?”
“Aye, love. Whatever’s best for you.”
“Tuesday,” she repeated and kissed his cheek.
*
“You’re late.” Mary Margaret pulled a glass out from the cabinet and slid it across the counter as Emma unwound her scarf and hung it and her coat on the hook by the door.
Ariel laughed. “She was busy,” she said, pushing her tongue against her cheek and bringing a clenched fist towards her mouth in a gesture Emma didn’t want to look too hard at.
Instead she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I was on the phone with a new client.”
“Uh huh,” Ariel said with a smirk.
“Vodka? Gin? Bourbon?” Mary Margaret asked, her head buried in the pantry.
Emma sat down next to Ariel. “It’s going to be that kind of night, huh? Gin, please.”
“So, how is tall, dark, and nameless?” Ariel nudged her shoulder with her own. “Have you guys managed to leave the apartment yet?”
Emma groaned. “Make mine a double, M.”
It took three drinks before she started to talk. She hadn’t meant to even start, but Ariel kept wheedling, and Mary Margaret kept dropping hints of the little Emma had told her. And once she began, she found she couldn’t stop. She told them about the first night she slept with Killian. How she’d seen him around the building for months and the smile and the wink he would always give her. How that night they were both sitting in the laundry room and he was teasing her about her duckling socks and collection of yoga pants. How she kissed him to shut him up. How it somehow escalated to him bringing her off, her back to his chest, her hands pressed against the wall. How she followed him upstairs, both with laundry baskets in hand, and followed him into his bed. How it just kept happening.
“You should ask him out.”
“M!” She sat up, spilling some of her drink on her jeans.
“Don’t M me,” Mary Margret replied, waving her off. “You’re what? Fucking him two times a week?”
“Three,” she interjected despite herself.
Ariel arched an eyebrow and Mary Margaret snorted. “My point exactly. If you’re brave enough to fuck him on a regular basis, for months now I might add, you should be brave enough to ask him out.”
“Whatever!” she huffed before downing the rest of her drink.
*
She didn’t mean to select his floor when she got into the elevator, but her fingers – or the alcohol coursing through her – seemed to have other ideas. She knocked on his door and then picked up one foot, pulling at the strap of her shoe in an effort to remove it. She teetered as she tugged, nearly losing her footing as it came off in her hand. Knocking again, she swayed as she tried to work on the other heel. When he finally answered, it was obvious she’d woken him by the flattened hair at the side of his head and the way he was squinting at the bright light of the hallway.
“Emma?” he asked, reaching out to take the one shoe from her hand as he steadied her while she tugged at the second strap.
“Hi,” she said, holding up the second shoe with a smile and returning her bare foot to the ground.
“Hi,” he whispered, smiling back as he took the second shoe from her. He moved his free hand to her waist and pulled her inside and shut the door. “Did I miss a message?”
Emma shook her head and reached out, brushing her hand up his stomach and running her fingers through his chest hair. “Was out with some friends.” She hummed as her hands reached his shoulders and she reversed her course, her hands moving to linger at his belly. “We were talking about you…”
“Really?” he drawled, crowding her up against the door as he opened the buttons of her coat. “And what were you saying?” He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
Her moan morphed into a laugh when his hands slipped into her coat, his fingers finding the gap between her sweater and her jeans. “Cold,” she breathed out between laughs.
“You told them I’m cold?”
She rolled her coat off her shoulders and down her arms, letting it spill to the floor while Killian continued to push up on the hem of her sweater. “No,” she slurred and helped him pull the sweater over her head. “You’re hot.”
Killian laughed and leaned back, eyeing her as he dragged one finger underneath the strap of her bra. “Just how much have you had to drink, love?”
“Only a little bit of gin,” she said with a shake of her head. She reached out, hooking her fingers into the waist of his pajama pants.
He hummed and followed her hands, wrapping his own around her wrists and pulling hers up to his mouth. “How about we get you to bed?” he asked, placing a kiss to her knuckles before tugging her away from the door and guiding her to his room. “You can tell me all about how you find me hot, in excruciating detail, come morning.”
*
Everything hurt.
Emma groaned. Every muscle in her body ached and she was pretty sure something was drilling at her head. She wanted to shift, she was pretty sure her neck had a cramp, but even the thought of moving was upping the pace of the drilling.
A weight settled at her hip and she stiffened as she felt fingers press into the skin below her bellybutton. What the fuck did you do last night, Swan?
“You awake?” a muffled voice asked into the back of her neck and she relaxed as she recognized it for Killian’s.
She groaned again and stretched out as his fingers fell to the crease of her thigh, teasing at the skin there.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his thumb dipping beneath the fabric of her underwear. “But you should sleep more. Let me get you some water and ibuprofen.”
She hummed but didn’t move as he pulled away. When she woke next she was alone in bed, but the ache in her head and her neck had subsided. She sat and found Killian had left her one of his robes at the end of the bed and her own clothes were folded in a neat pile on the chair by the window. She sighed and looked down, finally noticing she was dressed in one of his t-shirts. She wondered again what she did last night and how she ended up here.
Hoping to cut her embarrassment to a minimum, she slipped out of bed and changed into her own clothes before heading out to the living room to find her shoes. She found Killian curled up on the couch, a book open in his lap.
“Hey,” she whispered, folding her arms across her chest as she hovered in the doorway.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, closing the book and putting it down on the coffee table. He held his hand out to her, but she stayed where she was.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” His brow furrowed as he looked her up and down. “Why are you dressed?”
She shook her head, feeling awkward. “I shouldn’t have bothered you last night. I can barely remember getting here, let alone what I…”
Killian stood up and crossed the room to her as her voice faded. He reached one hand out to touch her arm while the other cupped her face. “Emma,” he said, swiping his thumb at her cheek. She glanced at him and he stepped into her space, bringing his one hand up her arm and resting it at her shoulder. “You are welcome here any night or day you want to be here. Don’t you know that?”
She tilted her head, trying to look for the lie in his words but finding none. He smiled at her, a small, soft thing that seemed to play more at his eyes than his lips, and she couldn’t help but return it with a wobbly smile of her own.
“I’m not good at this,” she whispered.
His fingers at her cheek worked back to the strands of her hair tucked behind her ear. “What’s that, love?”
“Dating,” she said, cringing at the way her tone rose like a question.
His smiled broadened into a full, dazzling one, and he swayed a step closer. “Are we dating?”
She tensed and tried to look away, but he caught her chin and pulled her gaze back to his. “Don’t misunderstand the question, Swan.”
She took a breath, trying to steady the race of her heart before she asked her next question. “Do you want to be?”
He nodded. “Aye,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit, and Emma bit back a nervous giggle at how eager he looked. “Will you allow me to escort you out tonight?”
She threw her head back and laughed at his words as reached up to circle her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she answered when she caught her breath, looking back up at him with a smile.
“Good,” he whispered, leaning in and running his nose along hers. “So go home.” He brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” He dropped a kiss to her cheek and another to her shoulder before pulling back and waggling his eyebrows at her. “And I expect to hear all about how you told all your friends that I am hot.”
She groaned and slapped at his shoulder. She then ducked out from under his arm and walked towards his door, hoping to avoid him seeing her blush. “We’ll see, Jones,” she called as she slipped out his door. “We’ll see.”