A/N: Don't you think you should buy my book, Cock-Punched By The Changeling, on Amazon?

Regina hated how good Emma was at eating her out.

Well, okay, she loved how good Emma was at eating her out, but she hated that Emma was good at eating her out. She'd expected Emma to come to her with the sexual prowess of a brain-damaged raccoon, needing the firm hand and guidance of the Evil Queen to show her exactly how Regina liked to be pleased.

But apparently Emma just knew that, because the first time they went to bed, Emma was exactly as rough as she needed to be. Shoving Regina onto the bed, forcing her dress up her body to her belly, tearing her panties down—Regina had been wet before, dinner with Emma massaging her thigh, then one of those Charming-DNA kisses… five of them, actually… Regina giving Emma a good grope, pulling her hair and licking her neck and for once giving Emma an excuse to look as disheveled as she did. But in the bedroom, flat on her back, Regina wasn't just wet, she was boiling.

And Emma actually had some patience, fuck her. The woman who absolutely had to see the midnight screening of every Fast & Furious movie stopped and laid there on her belly, staring at Regina's sex, telling Regina how wet it was like she didn't already know, describing it to her like she was Georgia fucking O'Keeffe's art critic. Regina wasn't even sure it was legal to talk about vaginas that way. They were in Maine, after all.

And through it all, Emma never licked Regina. Just kissed her knee, seeming to reroute Regina's nerve endings so Regina actually found herself wishing her knee cap would get kissed a little harder. And she petted Regina's pussy, one finger, running over her labia, tracing it, fingernail flecking at her clit, making Regina whine in agony and try to summon up the willpower to make Emma start, even when it felt far too good to try. It was like her cunt was Emma's pet. A cute little pet Emma just wanted to play with a little.

Of course, just because Emma had heard the term foreplay—a first for her family, Regina was sure—didn't mean she actually knew how to go down on someone. Then, quite abruptly, Emma had declared that Regina's pussy was good enough to eat, and had leaned in and—her tongue. It went into Regina, never-ending, filling her up, claiming the bottom of her channel and then sweeping upward, touching all her most sensitive places. Regina nearly came. She got the feeling the only reason she hadn't was that Emma didn't want her to yet.

Because after that, Emma went back to the torture. Why couldn't she be an annoying goody-little-two-shoes like her parents? Clearly, she still harbored some resentment. If nothing else, for the fact that Regina was better-groomed than her, more fashionable, had a better vocabulary. She would kiss Regina's pussy, and that same wet finger would play at her folds, pulling at them, pushing at them, giving Emma's lips new places to land. Regina felt liquid. Like she was this warm, thick jelly that ran through her body as it tilted this way and that, the heaviness, the warmth settling in new places, fading through her with every gentle, sucking, nipping kiss Emma had in her arsenal. The bitch.

Then Emma nibbled her thigh. Maybe she was trying to keep Regina from hyperventilating. She had been gasping an awful lot.

Emma flipped Regina over next. Groped her ass, kneading it in her hands, craning her neck down to keep licking at her pussy from this new angle. It wasn't fair. Regina hadn't even known you could eat someone out while they were lying on their belly, and yet Emma was a master at that. How'd that work?

Emma turned Regina onto her side then. Kissed her ass. Kissed her groin. Lifted up her leg and set her head in between Regina's thighs, sliding her lips up one leg, her tongue up the other, alternating, always coming so close to Regina's core and never finding it.

"Oh my God!" Regina moaned, hating to be so cliché, as Emma twisted her onto her back again, pulled up her legs, hauled her down the bed and off the pillows. Licked her pussy again. Christ, not only was she good, but she knew how good she was. Regina reached down to grab her hair and Emma slapped her hand away, pushing it to the mattress, not taking her own hand away until Regina's fingers were twisted in the bedsheets. Then Emma—eyefucked her. Regina didn't know how else to put it. Emma looked at her and Regina physically felt it.

"You're liking the way I eat your pussy way too much to want to change it," Emma said smugly, manhandling Regina another few inches down the bed, so now Emma was kneeling at the foot of it, Regina's legs dangling off the end. If they weren't on Emma's shoulders.

Emma knew just where Regina's need panged hardest, the secret little spaces inside her where she touched herself in the shower. It was like she had a fucking map. Emma Swan, the emotional intelligence of a kindergartener on five kinds of Ritalin, couldn't know what Regina was feeling if there were a Wikipedia page about it, but oh yes, she knew Regina's erogenous zones. That was the important thing.

And she used all of them. Lapped through Regina's pussy, touched one, stroked Regina with her tongue again, touched another. Never letting Regina get used to it, never letting her settle into some pattern of being satisfied. More than a man, more than a dildo, more than goddamn Maleficent with a strap-on, Emma's tongue made Regina feel she'd been fucked.

Then Emma stopped. Flipped Regina over. Climbed onto her back, pressing her own body weight into Regina to hold her down, circling her arms underneath Regina's in a full nelson, holding Regina still, so still, and if Regina wanted to get off she could try squirming, grinding her pussy against the bedspread, but there was no friction, no warmth, it wasn't even as good as humping Emma's leg.

And Emma knew it. What an asshole.

"I'm gonna make you come now," Emma told Regina, hands locked behind her neck to hold her in place, but fingers in Regina's hair because, yes, she knew Regina liked that too. "Thought you might like to know."

Emma kissed Regina's cheek. Her fingers played down the back of Regina's neck. Then she hurled Regina onto her back, opened her legs, devoured her pussy. Regina didn't even know how she did it. Her tongue just—was in her—and it felt so fucking good. Changed her pussy, made it something else, something clenching and burning and melting and grinding, an engine in the crashing car of her body, firing on all cylinders as the gas tank went up.

Emma slapped her ass too. Like a goddamn frat boy.

Then Regina felt like she was in a sauna, cooking in her own sweat, a liquid warmth like a fireplace in winter, and before the sensation could turn unpleasant Emma had an ice-cold Ozarka bottle from the fridge and she poured it out onto a towel, ran it over Regina's body as she held her, just a little chilly, but Emma's own warmth keeping her comfortable. As Emma cleaned her. Let all the little pleasures of her body leave with a promise to return soon, oh so very soon. Kissed Regina's face with little pinprick reminders of the orgasm still fading between her legs.

Emma was so considerate. The witch.

"Still think I eat like a child?" Emma asked, dropping the washcloth to the floor.

Regina let her be smug. She was cute when she was smug.

Besides: Regina knew Emma didn't have a thing on her when it came to fisting.