In the end, she must have just barely checked in on her parents, because he beats her to her room by only a few minutes. A cursory glance around the room (and yes, the bed is as grand as he imagined), and he eases himself down on the edge of her bed, throwing his jacket over the bench at the end of the bed. There's a fire roaring in the fireplace, and her bed is warm, cozy and inviting.

He contemplates easing his boots off, but he doesn't want to presume, doesn't want to assume anything.

It's at that very moment that the door creaks open, and Emma slides through, huffing as she pushes she door shut. She turns to him, still panting, and reaches for the hem of her tunic, throwing it over her head like it's nothing.

"You're still wearing clothes," she says, frowning. "I thought the whole naked thing was implied."

He can't help it, he laughs, a sharp bark that has her grinning and closing the distance between them in a few quick moves. She doesn't even hesitate, crawling onto his lap and kissing him.

He should have taken his boots off, he thinks dimly, and then she's shoving him back, flatting him into the mattress with her body. She twists one hand in his hair and slides the other between them, fiddling with the clasps on his vest. He catches her fingers with his own, twists them open, and she eagerly shoves the leather aside and runs her hand under his shirt. She moans into his mouth and releases his head, instead shoving both hands across his stomach and chest, forcing his breathing to a grinding halt. Clamoring on top of him, she shoves the vest over his shoulders, and he does his best to slip out of it with her still perched on his hips. The shirt is harder, but she manages. It catches on his hook and tears with a ripping sound, but eventually comes off.

"I'll get you a new one," she says hurriedly, and kisses him again, sliding her hands across his bare chest.

His mind still hasn't caught up to the moment she started stripping his clothing off, fingers slipping across her bare waist and it's then that he realizes she is wearing only her breeches and this band around her ribs and breasts, holding them apart and up.

"Emma," he says, trying to rise up on his elbows. "Love, Emma, wait." She growls at him, stilling her hands on his shoulders, and slowly lets him up. He shifts his hips, trying to shuffle back further onto the bed, but it brings them together deliciously, and she moans, body wavering over him

She looks magnificent, hair tumbling down her bare shoulders as she looks down at him.

"Gods," he mutters, and she chuckles, drawing her hands behind herself, fumbling for a moment and then the fabric covering her breasts loosens and falls down her shoulders, tossed down somewhere near his jacket.

He doesn't have words for what he's seeing, for her body or the way her hair brushes the tops of her breasts, nipples hard and straining as she shuffles back. A disappointed whine escapes him when she slides off of him, but it disappears when she bends over and tugs her boots off, giving him a wonderful view of her rear.

"Clothes. Gone. Now." Her voice comes from under her hair, and he can't exactly argue with her insistence. If he'd been uncomfortable before he is practically desperate now, pants far too tight. He leans forward, kicking out of his boots, and is rewarded with quite the view as she shimmies out of her trousers and underwear, peeling them off her legs. The urge to slip his hand forward, slide it between her thighs and against her core, feel her there, surges through him, and he curses. She glances over her shoulder at him and finally turns, completely nude and breathtakingly beautiful. His hands freeze on the laces of his pants, because this is not how he had ever planned on their first time going. And he certainly hadn't planned on this, on the way he feels like his body will crack apart if he doesn't get to touch her, doesn't get to feel her.

Her hands close over his, and he hisses, breaking out of his revere as the warmth of her hands hits him. She makes remarkably short work of his pants, pushing them down his hips, and that's when he decides to take control of the situation. He reaches for her hands, pulling them away at the same time that he surges up, kissing her hard and pressing into her enough to make her stumble back. Looping his left arm around her waist, he spins them, and this time pushes her into the bed, bending her back over it. She moans, and bucks her hips up, lifting her legs and throwing them over his hips.

He nearly doesn't know what to touch first, so he does his best to rake his fingers across every inch of her skin, starting with the thigh that's wrapped around him. She shivers and moans, pulling him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders until he feels like he's crushing her. She kisses him back desperately, rolling her body with her lips, rubbing against him like a cat. Abruptly, he shifts gears, kissing her neck and shoulder, wet and hot and desperate, because this isn't going to last very long if she keeps moving like that, and gods, he wants to make it last for her. Would make it last all night if only she wasn't so damn eager.

"Hook," she whines.

Part of him doesn't want to correct her, wouldn't mind hearing her gasp out his title, but she wants him, not Captain Hook, so he raises his lips just long enough to mutter, "Killian, love."

"Killian," she corrects, and digs her fingers into his back. He groans and pauses at her breasts, palming one, thumbing at the nipple before he presses his mouth over it, a long swipe of his tongue bringing her back up off the bed, legs tightening around him. "Fuck," she huffs, and then laughs, slightly hysterical.

His lips get half-way down her stomach when she twists her fingers in his hair and pulls him back up to her lips, kissing him hard, lips bruising with the passion of it.

"Later," she murmurs, and scoots herself further back in the bed, releasing him as she rolls over and crawls the rest of the way to the center.

"Gods, Emma, you're not making this easy," he mutters, but kicks his pants off and eases himself into the bed, advancing on her as she giggles.

"You could say it's rather hard, couldn't you?" Her eyes flicker down between his legs, and she may be laughing, but he's seen that raw hunger a thousand times before, and he'll see it another thousand times from her if it's the last thing he does.

"Joke all you like, love," he growls, and pins her arm with his own, hovering over her, brushing his lips over her chest, "but I do believe you're the one who just tried to seduce me." He slips a thigh between her legs, and rocks his hips into hers.

"I like that," she gasps, and curls her free hand around the back of his neck, grinding down on his leg. "I seduced you."

"You did," he mutters into her skin. "Can't keep your hands to yourself." He curls his fingers around her wrist, and she tilts her chin up.

"Are you gonna talk me to death?"

The second half of the question remains unspoken, but he smirks anyway.

"Maybe."

She makes a frustrated sound, and bucks her hips, yanking his lips up to hers again. He finds it easy to lose himself in her like this, until he loses his breath and his soul, both of which were already hers anyways.

His fingers loosen around her wrist, move down her ribs and waist. He moans into her mouth, and he lets go, flattens his hand across her stomach and slips it lower

She makes a small sound when he brushes his fingers between her legs, barely touching her hot skin.

That's when she moves, wrenching herself under him and rolling over, pushing him down under her. She grins and runs her hands down his chest and stomach, rocking her hips over him teasingly. Settling over him, she digs a hand into his hair and leans down, rubbing their bodies together as she kisses him.

It's too much and not enough all at once.

"Emma," he whines when she breaks away, and she tightens her fingers in his hair, tugs just a little harder. "I swore I would take my time with you the first time. I swore it, love."

She smirks, and shuffles back on her knees.

"I guess you shouldn't swear so much, then," she murmurs, and slips her hand between them, closing it around his cock.

He jerks, letting out a wordless cry as she starts to move, sliding her hand up and down him slowly. It feels amazing, overloading his senses until he can hardly breathe.

Of course, she chooses that moment to lift her hips and move forward, sliding herself over his cock. He brushes her entrance, so wet and hot, and she rocks her hips, dragging them together over and over again.

"Fuck," he hisses, and she stills herself over him, gently rocking down just enough to slip the tip of him inside her. He goes stiff, freezes, because bloody fucking hell. She's so wet, so tight, gripping him like a vice. She slowly rocks her hips down, taking him inside her inch by delicious slick inch, moaning wickedly as she does. If he were even remotely aware of what's happening, he would be ashamed of the sounds he's making, but all he can focus on is the feel of her body, the open-mouthed expression of pleasure that covers her face.

"Killian," she whimpers, gasping as she eases herself up slightly and then finally lowers herself all the way, pressing their hips together. "Oh, god," she says, shifting her hips deliciously. "You feel, fuck, you feel so good," she gasps out, voice thready and high. He can barely breathe, the feel of her, and does his best instead to plant his hand on her hip, belatedly realizing he hasn't taken his hook off as she shivers when the cold metal touches her skin. She reaches for the steel appendage, and at first he thinks she's going to twist it off, but she does something else entirely, dragging the curve up her waist and over her breast, shuddering and fluttering around him violently when she presses it over her nipple, hips shaking.

She does that, dragging it across her skin, shivering every so often, until the metal is warm, and then she starts to move, raising her hips and then lowering them in a soft rocking motion.

The movement makes him gasps, a sharp groan escaping him, and she grins, presses her hands harder against chest and picks up speed. Her breasts sway invitingly and so he shifts his hand up from her waist to cup one, squeezing gently at first and then a little rougher when she moans and whimpers. He uses it as an anchor, rolling his thumb across the skin every time she moves, his hook planted firmly on her hip.

Damn him, but she is a sight. Her lip between her teeth, invitingly red and swollen from his kisses, her hips bouncing on his as her breasts swan and her hair shifts, golden curls brushing her shoulders. Every inch of her body moving to bring them both pleasure, and he can't handle that, knowing this gorgeous woman, his perfect woman, everything he loves, is driving herself down on his cock like it's the greatest thing she's ever experienced, head thrown back and swaying with every move.

He shifts, bringing his feet up under himself, drawing his knees to her back, and she gasps at the new angle, movements faltering as he starts to rock himself into her. Her hands change, from bracing to clinging, and her body slowly starts to fall against his as his thrusts pick up pace.

"Christ," she moans, and though he's not familiar with the word, he assumes from her tone that it's a curse, and it only spurs him on, sliding his hand down to her hips to hold her in place as he thrusts harder and faster. Both of them dissolve into small cries, every movement burning sweet pleasure.

"Fuck, Emma, feel so good," he slurs, and she makes a small sound against his chest, her head tucked up under his neck. "So good," he mumbles, wishes he could describe every little thing that she is doing to him, but this is all he can manage. He's embarrassingly close, enough that he knows slowing down, shifting position, would do him no good.

She lifts herself off of his chest, bracing her body with one shaking arm, hips jerking with his every thrust, and lowers her hand between her legs, pressing harshly into her clit. He can feel the results almost instantly, her body fluttering and clenching around him. Her head drops, hair tickling his chest, and her arm shudders even harder over his shoulder as her breathing starts to come even harder.

He braces himself one last time, gripping her hip as hard as he can, and thrusts up, up, until their hips slam together and she slides up, knees nearly leaving the mattress with every move. She cries out, loud and desperate as he repeats the move, once, twice, and he certainly doesn't feel a rush of desire, of possessiveness to know he caused that.

All of a sudden, she comes, her body thrumming and then tightening impossibly. She stills, nails digging into his shoulder and chest as she gasps out his name. Her thighs clamp down on him tightly as her body pins him down, slowing his thrusts until he's really just rocking into her, riding out her release. Slowly, she uncurls her hands, smoothes them across his skin and smiles, shaky but heart-shatteringly genuine.

Easing herself forward onto her elbows, she leans down and kisses him, lazy passion that ignites him and sets his body to moving again. He cups the side of her face and forces the curve of her hip down to meet his thrusts with his hook. She gasps, but it's a content pleasured sound, and she nips at his lip, mouth curving up when he groans. Desperately, he blinks, tries to keep his eyes open, to watch her half-lidded and utterly sated eyes flicker across his face, watch the way her bottom lip wobbles with every thrust of his hips.

Growling, he surges forward, capturing that lip between his teeth, worrying it softly and sucking it into his mouth. She moans and he slides his hand down her cheek, her neck and then shoulder. Pausing only briefly at her breast, he continues down her waist until he reaches her hip. Her body limp against him, he clings tightly to her and rolls, managing to stay inside of her through the whole thing. She exhales so prettily, eyes fluttering up at him and he gives in, losing himself in her slick body. Her hips rock invitingly against his as his thrusts grow harder and faster, legs splaying open and shaking with every move.

"Fuck," she whispers, the vulgarity harsh and soft at the same time.

"Emma," he says in reply, and kisses her hard, lips and teeth and tongues meeting roughly as he finds that sweet spot, the perfect angle inside of her. He dimly registers the sharp bite of something into his back.

Gods, she's perfect, tight and so wet he would be slipping out if he dared to leave her hot grasp. It's all he can think of, really, glancing down between them, watching the way their hips meet almost violently.

The bed bounces gently, and it's an innocuous detail that he notices last, the covers tangled under them as her fireplace crackles happily. He feels her teeth on his neck, sharp and then soft, and comes with a shout.

It feels like he's exploding, coming apart at the seams as he digs his fingers into her skin, surely uncomfortable, but she says nothing, wriggles up against him and drags his body down against her. He says her name, over and over until he forgets the words, knows only the meaning.

Emma.

He comes back to himself slowly, warm and so incredibly happy, filled with a deep satisfaction. Someone is running their fingers through his hair, making soft shushing sounds.

Emma. His Emma.

Realization hits him hard, and he tries to ease up on his elbows, to roll off of her and ease her discomfort, but her arms tighten around him.

"Stay," she whispers in his ear, voice soft and sleepy.

He stays.