A/N: Please notice that the rating has gone up for this chapter. There's about 1,500 words worth of smut in here. Like, smut smut. You've been warned.

Her first week back at classes had flown by. Emma still couldn't believe it was her senior year. It felt like just yesterday that she'd been taking campus tours and filling out applications. Somehow she'd decided on Boston University. For one, she'd gotten accepted. But what it really came down to was that it was the proper distance from home - not too close, but also not too far. Plus they had a good criminal justice program.

She'd just met up with Kate after getting out of her morning criminal law class, and the girl was acting like she'd had one too many cups of coffee. Her hands were busily fidgeting with the hem of her shirt and twirling on loose strawberry blonde curls that had escaped the rough ponytail thrown atop her head.

Emma had her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, and she was pressing the heel of her palm into the juncture where strap met bag, thumb looped around the rough material.

"So you'll come, right?" The girl bounced around in front of her, teeth biting her lower lip anxiously and eyebrows raised in hopeful expectancy. Kate had been on her case for the past week - trying to convince her to come to a birthday party for one of her Delta Gamma Something sisters, despite the fact that Emma wasn't a member herself.

"Fine," she drawled out, "I'll go."

"Excellent!" she beamed back, clasping her hands underneath her chin briefly before turning around to head to class. "It's pirate themed," she called over her shoulder, "so make sure to dress accordingly!"

She was about to shout back some sarcasm-laden quip about the ridiculous theme, but Kate had already been absorbed by a crowd of students filing into the over-sized lecture hall. Emma glanced down at her watch to check how long she had before her own class started. Thirty-three minutes. Just enough time to grab a latte from her favorite coffee shop near campus.

Emma wrapped her fingers around the strap to her book bag, shrugging her shoulder so as to reposition it more comfortably, and started toward the small café.

A gentle, late-summer breeze played with her hair as she made her way across the campus commons, the number of students thinning out gradually as it neared the hour.

Just as she'd hoped, the coffee shop was mostly empty - only three people in line ahead of her. Emma stared at the menu on the back wall disinterestedly. She knew what she was going to get - it was always the same.

The person at the head of the line had finished ordering, and everyone took a step forward. Her gaze raked around the room, taking in the people sitting at the comfortable couches and lounge chairs - some with their laptops typing away furiously, others reading newspapers; and then she came to him. His ice blue eyes met hers, and a small smirk played at the corners of his mouth. Had he been staring at her this whole time?

Her eyes flitted around nervously, and she tucked a curl behind her ear as she felt the blood rush to her face. All of the sudden her worn down brown leather boots seemed fascinating.

It was finally her turn to with the barista, and she fumbled clumsily with her backpack, still overly apprehensive of the man whom she'd locked eyes with moments before. Was he still watching her? God, why do you always have to be such a klutz, Emma?

"French vanilla latte, please - to go." Her fingers finally wrapped around the object she'd been searching for, and she wrenched her wrist from side to side to free it from the front pouch of her backpack. She pulled out a ten from the wallet and handed it to the cashier, waiting awkwardly for change so she could move over to the end of the bar to get her drink.

She dragged her forearm onto the counter and rapped her fingers impatiently on the lacquered wood, fighting the almost overpowering urge to turn around and see if he was still there.

She mumbled a thank you to the barista as he snapped a plastic lid on the cup and handed her the warm beverage. He nodded in acknowledgement and swept a damp rag over the countertop, cleaning a mess that was never really there in the first place.

She took a sip of the scalding liquid, knowing full well that it would burn her tongue but not caring enough to wait the five minutes it would take for it to cool down to drinkable temperature. Just as she turned around her eyes subconsciously floated over to where she knew he'd still be sitting. His face was half-buried in a big white mug, but she was certain there was still a smirk on it.

Rather than ducking his piercing gaze this time, she held it - taking in his dark features and filing them away for later when she needed to remind herself that men like him actually existed. His black brown hair looked like it had been pushed back by his fingers, and rough stubble lined his jaw. His thick eyebrows made his hooded gaze look all the more mysterious, and she was starting to wonder whether or not she'd met him before. Strangers didn't stare at each other like this.

Her footsteps had finally taken her to the door, so she pushed it open and started her walk over to the building where her class would be held, taking pensive sips of the latte every dozen steps or so.

xxxxxxxx

She'd managed to throw together somewhat of a piratey outfit - black leather boots, opaque black leggings, a loose fitting oversized white blouse cinched at the hips with a light brown belt found at Goodwill that was large enough to wrap around her tiny figure twice.

Okay, so she looked nothing like a pirate. She'd find an eyepatch or something later. Kate would probably have an extra on her.

She fiddled with her hair some more while she waited for the girl to pick her up, curling sections that had started to lose their shape in the time it had taken her to get ready. Just as she was sweeping the mascara wand gently over her lashes one last time the doorbell started incessantly dinging. Kate.

She pushed splayed out fingers up the sides of her head and gave herself another once-over in the mirror before going to answer the door, half sneering in dissatisfaction at her pathetic attempt at a costume.

She flung the door open, and her jaw dropped. Kate looked like she had just stepped off the set of Pirate's of the Caribbean. Shiny leather boots encased her legs from toe to mid thigh, and where they stopped, form-fitting leather pants took over. Her upper half was laced up in a blood red corset so tightly that her breasts were almost level with her ears. And, to top everything off, a tri-fold hat sat atop her head, strawberry blonde curls cascading out and falling softly on her shoulders..

A disheartened sigh escaped Emma's lips. "Well I feel under dressed."

"Don't be silly! You look great," she encouraged. "Eyepatch?" she offered, holding up a black dollar store replica of the accessory - complete with a white skull and crossbones across the front.

Emma graciously closed her fingers around the object and stretched the cheap elastic over her head, flipping the patch upward so it was pressing against the left side of her forehead.

"You ready to head out? Tonight's gonna be so much fun!" She twisted around excitedly, movements restricted by the ribbed garment on top and unforgiving leather on the bottom.

Emma nodded once before retreating back into the apartment to grab her pocketbook, doing her best to slap a believable smile on her face in the small amount of time her back was turned to Kate. "Alright," she piped up, swinging the door to the apartment closed and jamming her key in the lock. "Let's do this."

xxxxxxxx

Emma had been hanging around the punch bowl for upwards of half an hour, smiling emptily at everyone with whom she'd made eye contact. She was beginning to feel a slight buzz from the alcohol concoction and had become enthralled with using her thumb to scratch the polish off each nail on her left hand, occasionally using her right to raise the red solo cup to her lips to knock back another mouthful of the dark liquid.

Just as she was picking a red flake from her ring finger, a low voice captured her attention. "Hello again." Her alcohol-laden vision was slow to respond, but she eventually managed to focus in on the person making noise at her. As soon as their eyes met she froze, jaw clenching as she saw just who it was that was standing across from her. Of course he had a british accent. "You friends with the birthday girl?" he questioned casually, using the ladle to spoon some of the liquid into one of the disposable plastic cups.

"Not exactly," she replied a heartbeat later, toes tapping anxiously under the table between them. The first thing she noticed were his eyes. They were dark - too dark. Was that eyeliner? It made the sharp blue color of his irises seem even brighter, and a knot formed low in her abdomen as she thought about staring into those eyes with his weight crushing down on top of her... She blinked twice to clear her head. "How about you? Friends with the birthday girl?"

"Not exactly," he offered back evenly, the same smirk from earlier driving the corners of his mouth up ever so slightly. Emma narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head to the side in an attempt to convey just how unamused she was.

A thin black linen shirt clung loosely to his toned form, the deep neckline exposing the beginnings of dark chest hair. The hem was roughly tucked into a pair of lace-up leather trousers - black - and secured in place with what looked to be a sword belt. He placed a hand on the pommel of the fake rapier as he tipped his head back and allowed the punch to flow into his mouth - never breaking eye contact with Emma.

She flicked her earlobe mockingly with her index finger. "An earring? Really?" She bit down on her bottom lip in a failed attempt to stifle a giggle.

"Pirate, lass," he joked. "We like shiny things." She laughed at that, bringing her cup to her lips to try and hide the smile that stretched across her face at his bidding.

She cleared her throat and refocused the conversation. "So... if you don't know the birthday girl, then why are you here?"

"Could ask you the same thing," he returned smartly. Another sip.

"That's not-"

"Killian!" So that was the devil's name. A tall character in a white shirt and brown trousers threw his arm over Killian's shoulder and shoved a plastic cup to his face, downing whatever liquid remained in it.

Killian's lips quirked to one side as he brought his arm up to gesture at the man hanging off him. "This is my mate, Will."

"Heyyy, Will," she stretched out, eyes flicking back and forth between him and Killian.

He met Emma's gaze, giving her an inebriated smile and an "Evenin', lass." Oh, man. Another boy with an accent. Then, to Killian, "You 'bout ready?"

"Ready for what?" she questioned back nervously.

Will squeezed Killian's shoulders, shaking him lightly from side to side. "Stick around," he suggested, winking at Emma. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she looked to Killian for an explanation. There was a glint in his eyes, and a smile something wicked was creeping up to to meet them.

xxxxxxxx

About and million and one ideas about what Killian and his buddy could have been planning had run through her mind, but this was never even considered to be one of them. Both of the men were presently relieving themselves of any and all clothing much to the delight of the birthday girl.

As Killian's imitation sword belt clattered to the ground his hands tugged at the tucked-in hem of his dark shirt, inching it up so that it was eventually free of the trousers. In one swift motion it was over his head and floating silently down to the floor.

He hooked one thumb into the laces doing up the front of his pants and pulled forward until the bow released. He rolled his hips smoothly to the low beat of the music, backing up several paces into the pocket of space the guests had managed to create. Will did the same until they were both standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the enthusiastically clapping (now) twenty-one year old.

They both gripped the material clinging to their legs, just above the knee, and yanked upward quickly. The sound of snaps releasing rapidly could be heard, and delighted, high-pitched squeals filled the room.

Emma felt her face flush when her eyes registered that they were wearing nothing but thongs anymore. Killian turned around to face the rest of the room, finding her eyes amidst everyone else's and holding her gaze.

That's what pushed her over the edge.

She backed up, clumsily knocking into people, and began making her way to the front of the house.

She found Kate on her way out, pulling the girl away from a dark-haired beauty she was busy chatting up in order to let her know she was leaving. "This has been great, but I'm out." She shoved her fingers into the front pocket of her jeans, awkwardly shrugging her shoulders up toward her ears.

"Oh- Okay," Kate managed, a puzzled look on her face. "You need a ride or something?"

Emma shook her head. "Nah, I'll just walk. It's only a couple blocks back to my place."

Kate side-eyed her for a brief second, looking entirely unconvinced that this was a good plan. Then, "If I don't get a text from you in a half hour, I'm calling the cops."

xxxxxxxx

Emma slept in late the next morning, waking around ten and taking a hot shower to wash the previous night off her. After checking the weather report and seeing that it wasn't forecasted to be warmer than seventy-two degrees, she decided on jeans. She threw her damp hair into a rough bun and tucked her laptop safely into her backpack, tossing in her headphones and charger for good measure. She mumbled out a goodbye to her roommate while holding a bagel between her teeth, both hands preoccupied with securing her book bag over her shoulders.

It was still in the upper sixties as she walked to the coffee shop, and she pulled the sleeves of her red leather jacket farther down her wrists. Her hair had nearly finished drying by the time she wrenched open the familiar café door, so she pulled the hair elastic out and ruffled her fingers through the loose waves.

She hopped in the long line that snaked around the wall of the store, and settled into her usual routine of blankly staring at the menu while taking stock of the people sitting and standing nearby.

"I was hoping I'd run into you here." She felt his breath rustle the curtain of hair protecting her ear, causing the entire left half of her body to jerk unexpectedly.

"What on-" She leaned to the side, turning her neck so she could look at him. He was wearing a relaxed button up shirt, jeans, and a black leather jacket. The simplicity suited him.

"You ran off last night before I got a chance to ask you out," he lamented, sapphire blue eyes gazing wantonly into hers.

"Were you planning to do that before or after you gave half the party a lap dance?" The elderly woman ahead of them in line turned around and judgmentally flicked her eyes up and down his figure. Emma frowned to keep from giggling.

"C'mon. Just one date." He pinched his eyebrows and tucked his chin into his chest.

She scoffed in dismissal. "You don't even know my name."

"So then tell me." He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and brought his face down so that it was inches away from hers. A musky scent reached her nose, and it reminded her of the sea. A tingle ran up her spine and the sudden desire to kiss him jumped to the forefront of her mind. She fluttered her eyelashes and backed a step away from him, barely registering that it was her turn to order.

The barista working the front counter was someone she saw regularly, and she greeted him by name - Matt. "Hey, Emma," he replied cheerfully, and she winced when she realized that Killian now knew her name. "The usual?"

She looked Matt straight in the eye - anything to avoid acknowledging Killian - and gave a curt nod. "Yeah - to go, please." She certainly wouldn't be getting any work done here.

"And a coffee - black," he added, reaching a hand around to his back pocket to pull his wallet out.

"Ooh, black coffee. Real risk-taker there," she sarcastically quipped.

"Says the girl who has a 'usual' order," he leveled back while using his fingers to air quote the word, a snarky grin plastered all over his too-handsome face.

He paid, and they moved to the end of the bar. She threw her elbow up on the shiny wood of the counter and waited for her drink, quirking her lips to the side as she stared back at him.

He leaned in so he was close to her again and lowered his voice so that other people couldn't hear, as if he was telling her a secret. "It's just dinner, Emma."

She eyed him suspiciously, closing her fingers around the cup that had just been slid her way. "You promise to keep all your clothes on?"

He held up his fingers in what she assumed to be an attempt at the Boy Scout hand gesture. "Unless you take them off me." That earned him a soft punch in the arm, but she felt the blood rush to her face.

They started toward the entrance to the shop, Emma resisting the urge to gravitate closer to him as they walked. He pushed open the door and allowed her to walk through first. "So where can I pick you up?"

She rapped her fingers on her cup nervously, using her other hand to click the lid open and closed. "Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight," he laughed out. "Why, did you have other plans?" His features took on a look of youthful hurt, and any feelings she might have had about skirting the meeting fluttered away.

"I- no. Tonight's fine." She straightened her shoulders and stopped fussing with the coffee cup, giving Killian a half smile.

"Brilliant," he grinned. "So where can I pick you up?" He stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his coat, the balled up fist forcing the leather forward.

"I'll just meet you back here?" She asked it like a question, unsure of whether or not he'd accept her response. Her face scrunched up slightly in apprehension when he didn't immediately assent to her suggestion.

"As you wish," he replied gently after another moment. "Eight o'clock?"

"Eight o'clock," she confirmed, pivoting around slowly on her heel to begin the trek back to her apartment. Any ideas she'd had about getting work done at the café had long since vanished. If she had stayed, he would have, too.

xxxxxxxx

Emma had tried on every dress in her closet, each one seeming to look worse on her than the previous. She hated the way she looked in dresses - all girly and completely unlike herself. Somewhere in the middle of round two she decided to give up, and hoped that - wherever Killian was taking her - jeans would be appropriate.

She elected to curl her hair again. At least she'd look put together from the neck up. She went with simple make up, as well - winged liner and a few coats of mascara. As she was tidying up her nail polish from the previous night, she glanced over at the clock on the back wall. Shit. She needed to leave, like, five minutes ago.

She waved her hand furiously in the air and hopped over to where her boots were sprawled out on the ground, sliding to a stop since her socks didn't offer much resistance against the smooth wood floor. Like hell I'm gonna mess up these nails. She bent her fingers back and tried to work her boots onto her feet using only her palms.

After a couple more minutes of wrestling with her footwear, Emma was set to leave - only missing her jacket. She delicately pinched it off the hook by the door, careful to not let it smudge her still-drying nail lacquer, and threw it over her forearm. The lock clicked shut behind her and she was on her way to meet Killian, pulse quickening with each step and butterflies threatening to jump out her throat.

xxxxxxxx

He was leaning against the building when she walked up. A crisp white shirt had replaced the plaid one from earlier (and he looked like he had showered), but other than that it didn't look like he'd changed. Her eyebrows knitted together and her lips began mouthing "sorry" when she was still twenty feet away.

"No worries, love." His voice had a raspy quality to it, but at the same time it was smooth and inviting. "You're worth the wait." He winked as he uttered the last syllable, and she bit her lip at the compliment. Killian pushed himself off the storefront and fell into step next to her. He led them down a stretch of sidewalk that was lined by parking meters and cars, scuffing the soles of his boots every couple steps on the rough concrete.

"So where are you taking me?" she questioned, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, knuckles grazing the cold polyester lining.

"Some place special. I hope you'll like it." He came to a stop in front of what looked to be a ten year old motorcycle.

One eyebrow shot up. "You can't be serious," she breathed out, each word burdened with skepticism. He reached toward the rear of the bike and produced a spare helmet, jutting his chin forward and offering it to her with an outstretched arm.

"Trust, darling."

xxxxxxxx

"Why are we at a marina? I thought we were going to dinner." Killian cut the engine and engaged the kickstand. Emma unbuckled the latch under her chin and slid the helmet off gingerly, tousling her freshly released curls with the opposite hand.

"We are," he replied, mirroring Emma's actions with his own headgear and dismounting the bike.

"I don't see a restaurant anywhere." She swung her leg over the seat, straightening her knees to standing and following Killian down one of the docks.

"Who said anything about a restaurant?" he questioned over his shoulder, halting next to a medium sized sailboat and smirking proudly.

"Killian, this is a boat," she said in monotone voice, shifting her eyes to the vessel then back to him.

"You're quite the perceptive lass, aren't you?" He quirked his head to the side and fleetingly knitted his brows together, his tone playful.

She was beginning to get annoyed. "C'mon. What are we doing here?"

"Dinner," he said back matter-of-factly.

She threw her hands up in irritation. "Can you just give me one straight answer?"

He bounded across the gangplank and set his footing on the deck, turning back to offer her his hand. "Emma, I'd like to welcome you aboard my ship. I've got dinner ready down below." She took several bewildered steps forward and brushed her fingers across his open palm, gripping down lightly when she placed her first foot on the makeshift bridge. "I hope you like Italian."

Both feet finally found the deck, and her balance faltered almost imperceptibly. His free hand was immediately at her waist, steadying her and radiating warmth through her clothing. He dipped his chin as if to question whether she'd be alright if he let her go, and then moved toward the entrance to the hull.

He climbed down the steep steps in one fluid movement, and then offered raised arms to her, tapping his fingertips to his palms to let her know he was ready. She sat down on the deck and inched closer to the opening, allowing her feet to dangle over the edge and touch the second step down.

"No funny stuff," she warned.

"I would never." He winked. She rolled her eyes, but placed her hands in his and allowed him to lead her below deck, the faint sound of slow-paced music reaching her ears. His right hand fell to her lower back and pushed forward gently, coaxing her forward as he trailed behind just far enough that their bodies - much to her dismay, she found - weren't touching.

He leaned in so his mouth was next to her ear."White or red?"

"What?" Confused, she looked around the room trying to find anything that was one of those two colors.

"Wine." He'd guided her over to the table and was indicating for her to sit. She obliged, feeling completely out of sorts in the unfamiliar setting, and crossed one leg over the other.

"Oh, um. Red. I guess." She didn't really know anything about wine.

"Good choice." The tiny bit of praise caused her face to light up, and when she noticed she did her best to suppress the goofy smile. Lock it up, Emma. He uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass of the rich liquid, swirling both drinks around several times before striding over. "Milady," he flirted as he handed her the long-stemmed glass.

"Such a gentleman," she teased, accepting the beverage and taking a sip.

He glided back over to where the oven was, adjusting a few of the dials and unlatching the cabinet to the right. When he pulled his hand back out his fingers were wrapped around two silver candlesticks with plain white candles sticking out of them. With his other hand he picked up a lighter from somewhere on the counter and walked back over to where she was sitting, setting down the decorations in the center of the table and clicking the trigger on the lighter so a flame appeared.

"It's going to take just a few minutes for the food to heat back up," he said as he took a seat across from her, piercing blue eyes meeting her own.

She lightly set the glass down on the table, crossing her hands in her lap as she appraised the man in front of her. "All I know about you is that you're a stripper and you own a boat."

"And I cook," he added, taking another sip of the wine and resting both forearms on the edge of the table.

She mirrored his actions, leaning forward until their faces were a foot apart. "That remains to be seen."

"Oi." He raised his arms in mock hurt, rocking backward until his shoulder blades connected with the back of the booth.

She ran her index finger along the rim of the glass, her eyes tracing the motion as she tried to think of what to say next. "Why did you wanna have dinner with me anyway? You don't know anything about me."

A small smirk played at the corners of his mouth, but his stare told her that whatever answer he was about to give was going to be genuine. "I've never been so instantly attracted to a person in my entire life." She felt her cheeks go hot. He dipped his head to meet her now downturned eyes. "That's got to count for something." He held her gaze for a second longer before standing up and moving back to the stove.

A wall of heat hit his face as he opened the door to the oven, and he withdrew a covered baking dish. After removing the lid he spooned the mixture into a couple of shallow bowls and used a nearby dishrag to clean off the rim where some of the sauce had spilled.

He set the dishes down on the table at their respective spots and returned to the kitchen to grab two sets of silverware. "How is it that you're single?" He grinned as he slowly shut the drawer with his hip. Panic rose in her chest when he didn't immediately answer, and an unsettling thought crept in. "Oh God - you are single, aren't you?" She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in her hands when his grin widened at her question.

"Yes, I'm single," he chuckled. Then, more seriously, "I haven't been on a date in over two years, actually." He returned to the table and took his seat, sliding the eating utensils across the smooth wood to Emma. "And what about you? I'm not currently having dinner with someone's girlfriend, am I?"

A bark of laughter escaped her throat before she could contain it, and she smoothed a couple of wrinkles out of the fabric of her jeans. "No, no I- I um- I don't date." She picked a stray piece of fuzz off the denim and continued staring stubbornly at her lap. "I mean normally." Her head tilted up to meet his gaze, desperately hoping that she hadn't managed to offend him. "I normally don't go out with people."

He brought his hand to the chest and pressed it gently against the area just above his heart. "In that case, I'm honored."

She could feel her cheeks turning pink again, so she shifted in her seat and changed the subject. "What am I about to eat?" She unfurled the napkin and placed it delicately across her legs, staring at the pasta covered in a red-orange sauce - a sprig of parsley adorning the center of the dish.

"My interpretation of pasta alla vodka," he replied, taking a sip of wine before doing the same with his own napkin.

"So why haven't you been out with someone in so long?" He pursed his lips together and subtly shook his head from side to side. "Oh come on," she prodded. "Your reason can't be worse than mine."

"Alright, let's hear it then," he coaxed after swallowing a mouthful of pasta.

She pointed her fork at herself and shot her eyebrows up as she gulped down the food in her mouth. "Oh, I didn't mean-"

He cupped his fingers underneath the glass and lifted it to his lips, allowing it to hover there momentarily. "No, please. I wanna know."

Using her left hand, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear - a nervous tell that she just couldn't seem to break - and fidgeted with the stem of the wine glass as she spoke. "Okay, um..." With her hand that was still holding the fork she began picking at the pasta, trying to separate a small section from the larger mass of noodles. "The short version is that I was dating a guy I thought I would marry, and he left me." She dropped her gaze and focused wholeheartedly on the strand of linguini she was presently twirling around her fork. "He left me without even saying goodbye."

"And the long version?" He'd set the glass down and his brows were furrowed together in what looked to be concern.

"Oh, I haven't had nearly enough wine for that yet," she laughed out nervously, fingers scooting the base of the glass closer to the edge of the table before she picked it up. "Your turn," she said before filling her mouth with the red liquid.

He pinched one eye shut and cocked his head to the side. "I don't think that's a good idea."

She began gesturing emphatically with her eating utensil. "Well that doesn't seem fair. I mean, I told you-"

"My fiancee died in a car wreck," he annunciated slowly, pressing his lips together firmly after the last syllable.

"I- I'm so sorry. I didn't kno-"

"You've nothing to be sorry about. If it's all the same to you, though, I'd rather not dwell on the past." She nodded in understanding and returned to twirling pieces of pasta around her fork.

They both continued to eat in silence for several uncomfortable minutes. "This is really good," Emma finally piped up, using the barbed end of her fork to point at her now almost empty bowl.

"Thank you. Did you get enough?" She nodded appreciatively. "In that case," he placed his napkin on the table and stood up, offering her his hand, "may I have this dance?"

"You're serious." One of her eyebrows raised up and she tucked her chin toward her chest.

He bowed forward slightly, meeting her gaze with a playful glint in his eyes. "Completely."

She let out a sigh as she dropped her hand onto his. "Next time I'm asking for more pasta."

He took a couple steps backward, and Emma reluctantly followed. "So there's going to be a next time, is there?" He pulled her close to him and moved his right hand to her mid-back, his left extending to the side to await hers. The same musky scent that had clung to him earlier was reaching her now. She could already feel a hot mass beginning to form in the pit of her stomach, and his touch sent a heated shiver down her spine.

"Shut up." She placed her palm on his and inched her other hand up his bicep, unsure of where exactly she was supposed to rest it. Her eyes found his, and the look he was giving her was enough to make her blush. An accomplished smirk ticked at the corners of his mouth.

He began gently swaying from side to side, barely moving his feet, and Emma soon matched the rhythm of his motions. She felt his hand press into hers and instinctively took a step backward with her right foot, his left following just after. A smile spread across her face at the joy of getting it right, and she tucked her body closer to his so that their chests were touching.

Slowly, they built up a pattern of footwork - Emma only faltering a couple times - and he started to lead her around the cramped hull of the ship. With each step her arousal was growing, and she was finding it harder and harder to come up with reasons why she shouldn't just kiss him.

She pulled her hand from his, moving both of them so they rested atop his shoulders, and took a small step back so there was a pocket of air between them. His hands dropped to her hips, his skin touching her own where her shirt had ridden up, and she felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over her. Focus, Emma.

A soft smile was on his face when she spoke. "It's getting late." She hadn't a clue how much time had passed since she met him at the coffee shop that evening, but it seemed like a good enough excuse to leave.

His brows knitted together. "Is it?" She could feel his thumb moving up and down on the soft skin just above her jeans, and it made her eyes want to roll back in her head. She couldn't remember anyone having this effect on her before. He nudged her back half a step, then another. Soon she found herself pressed flush against a wall, his hips pressing into hers and stoking the building fire low within her abdomen.

The sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears was drowning out any coherent thoughts she might've had. "I should- I should go." She knew even before she said it that she didn't mean it.

He brought his hand up and lightly brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Should you?" It was little more than a whisper, and he was beginning to close the gap between their lips.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, but no sound came out. The tips of her fingers were squeezing down into the muscled flesh of his shoulders in anticipation, and her wanton gaze flicked from his eyes to his parted mouth and back; then his lips were pressing into hers.

It was soft at first - gentle. But then the hunger they had both been feeling took over, and she fisted her hands in his mussed up hair, crushing him to her more fully. One hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck while the other glided down the side of her thigh, stopping once his arm was fully extended. He squeezed and lifted, and her leg hitched up over his hip.

He rolled his hips against her, and Emma felt a moan catch in her throat. She pressed back into him, and was proud of herself when she felt his hands grip into her and a growl vibrate against her lips.

He used the wall as leverage and hoisted her up so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. Her mouth disengaged from his, and she sucked in a breath of air as he slammed her back into the smooth wood once more, lips trailing lazy kisses down her neck. She rolled her head to the side to better expose the soft flesh and bit into her bottom lip to stifle a whimper.

He pulled back just enough so that their eyes met and moved a hand to the base of her neck. His pupils were dilated, a thin blue rim remaining around them, and ragged breaths were coming out of his mouth.

With a low growl he pressed her lips back to his and dragged both of their forms toward the bedroom, tipping them onto the soft mattress once his knees found the edge of the bed.

The weight of him on top of her knocked the breath from her lungs, and her ankles uncrossed from behind his hips. She felt one arm push beneath her lower back, and he hauled her farther up the bed. She pressed a hand to his cheek and wrapped the other arm more firmly behind his neck.

She could feel her heart beating at a pace that would indicate she had just run a marathon, and she needily tugged at the buttons of his shirt.

"Easy, lass," he breathed against her lips, and a disappointed squeak escaped her. He kissed her once more, and then pushed himself to his knees, wrapping his fingers around one of her calves and lifting it off the bed. She felt the soft leather slide off her foot, and he moved to do the same with the other boot, licking his bottom lip as she watched.

He placed both palms back on the mattress on either side of her hips and brought his head down to her navel, using one hand to slide her shirt up to reveal the soft skin underneath. His lips grazed against the smooth flesh, and she pushed her fingers through his hair.

Emma could feel the blood pulsating through her veins, and her breathing quickened as he nipped at the area just above her center. She closed her eyes and knotted her fingers in his hair. A heartbeat later she felt a gentle tugging at her waist, and in another second the button of her jeans was undone.

She propped herself up on her elbows and locked eyes with him as he slid the two layers of fabric down her legs, sitting up fully once the second ankle was freed. She gripped the crisp material of his shirt and pulled his mouth back to hers, working at the glassy buttons as their tongues tangled again.

Emma slid a hand underneath the soft cotton, pushing it over his shoulders and down his arms as she sucked at his bottom lip. He pressed his palm to the small of her back and leaned forward, each of her vertebrae meeting the mattress one by one.

Killian's fingers skated from her tail bone over the curve of her hip and down the juncture where her legs met her pelvis, stopping once they were pressing into the wet folds at the apex of her thighs. She gasped against him and bucked her hips. His touch was hot and cold all at once, and she reached down toward his pants with renewed effort.

"Patience, love," he purred. "Don't want this to be over too quickly." He dipped his head and kissed his way down her body, stopping once his shoulders were situated between her legs. He wrapped both arms under her thighs and dug his fingers into the pliant flesh on top, giving her a wink before his lips descended on her core.

She flung her head back, and her hips jerked against his tongue. Incoherent moans fell from her lips as his own skillfully licked and sucked on the sensitive bundle of nerves. She could feel her inner walls tightening, and his hands pressed down more firmly into her legs, serving to keep her still as he redoubled his efforts to drive her over the edge.

The pressure that had been building in her center suddenly released like a snapped rubber band, and she dug her fingers into his hair as she loosed a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. Something verging on a scream flew from her lips, and she bucked and squirmed to get away from his still teasing tongue. He only let up once her shuddering body went limp and a satisfied whimper escaped her.

Emma couldn't think; she could barely hear anything over the thumping beat of her own heart. She laid on the bed with closed eyes and a placated smile, barely responding to his touch as he kissed his way up her neck and nipped at her bottom lip.

His hands continued to roam her body as consciousness slowly returned to her mind. She pulled his head back up to hers and kissed him fervently, her hands working to free his hard member from the confines of his jeans. His were methodically undoing the buttons on her shirt, and he pushed the fabric aside once enough of them had been released for his teeth to graze over the curve of her breast, one hand massaging the flesh in tandem.

She finally managed to unfasten the clasp of his jeans, and she shoved a hand down the front, palming his length and curling her lips up in a smile as she saw the effect it had on him.

"Emma..." She kissed him again, the daze from her recent orgasm completely worn off. She continued stroking him as he finished stripping the light weight shirt off her. Her back arched at his mouth closed around the peak of her breast, the scruff on his jaw rough against the smooth skin.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew herself toward him, but was halted by a warm palm pressing into her hip. "Wait, love." His chest heaved over top of her, and she saw that the arm he was using to support his weight was shaking. He reached off to the side and returned holding a shiny gold square.

Half a second later, he was using his teeth to tear the package open, pulling the condom out from within. He sat back on his heels and rolled the protective sheath down his hardened member, positioning himself back over her once he was done.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek again, and Emma stared into his brilliantly blue eyes - his gaze soft and a warm smirk stretching across his face.

Her lips parted and she sucked in a quick breath as she felt him steadily bury himself within her. His own eyes closed and his forehead fell to her neck. Emma ground her hips into him when he didn't continue with his movements, and she felt a rumble emanate from his chest. He started up a rhythm with his thrusts, and she soon felt the familiar sensation of her walls tightening around him.

She squeezed her thighs around his waist and in one seamless movement flipped them over so that she was now on top. The confusion on his face only lasted for half a breath before he obediently slid his hands down to rest on her hips as she started to slowly roll them back and forth, each time pressing into him a little more fully.

The new angle created a delicious friction on the spongy tissue just inside her opening, and she could feel her orgasm nearing again. Her hips began to convulse as she felt the waves of pleasure crash over her. "Kil-lian," she forced out, body jerking against him as her inner walls gripped and released him in rapid succession.

He sat up and pressed one hand into her spine, the other cupping the back of her neck and dragging her into a passionate kiss as his hips worked to keep up the rhythm Emma's body had abandoned. He pulled away and buried his face in the crook of her neck, a labored groan wrenching itself free from his throat as his body stilled underneath hers.

"Gods, woman." He planted a kiss on her forehead as their breathing began to return to normal.

She smiled against him as he kissed her once more. "You weren't so bad yourself."

xxxxxxxx

She stirred awake, feeling the weight of his arm pressing protectively across her abdomen. She'd never been with someone like Killian before - someone whom she'd connected with so strongly in such a short amount of time.

Anxiety began to build in the back of her mind. He's just going to hurt you, Emma. He'll break your heart just like Neal did. She tried to shake the feeling, but there was no driving the thought from her mind now.

She slid out from under his arm, careful to not disturb him any more than she had to. Emma picked up her scattered clothing, and tip-toed into the next room, shrugging into her underwear and jeans and re-clasping her bra. She threaded both arms through her shirt and did up the buttons, finally moving to pull on her socks and boots.

The temperature had dropped from earlier, and she hugged her arms to herself in a meager attempt to keep warm. The water was calm as she stepped off the sailboat, and she stared back longingly at the place where she had just been sleeping moments ago.

This is for the best. She looked through the contact book on her phone until she found the number she was looking for.

The taxi arrived about fifteen minutes later, and she reluctantly stepped into the yellow car that would take her home.

xxxxxxxx

Emma couldn't get back to sleep that night, so instead she plucked away at an essay that was due in two weeks. She kept writing a sentence only to delete it, so nothing she did was very productive.

When the clock finally showed that it was nine she decided to run to the café to grab her favorite latte. She stuffed her computer in her book bag and trudged out the door, hair still a complete mess from the previous night.

As she walked down the stretch of sidewalk leading to the coffee shop, she counted her steps and looked through the big glass window that took up half of the storefront of the familiar building.

Her feet froze in place as though they'd gotten stuck in molasses as her eyes registered who was sitting in one of the chairs. He was facing away from her sipping something out of an oversized cup, and she guessed that he hadn't seen her yet.

Emma tucked her head and whirled around so that she was pointed in the exact direction from whence she came. She started her walk back to her apartment, keeping her head down except to occasionally glance at the stores she was passing.

Starbucks

She had never really liked the chain, but she desperately wanted some coffee. And she definitely wasn't going to her normal place. She pushed the glass door open and stepped into line behind a girl wearing a red beret, her eyes taking in the different options on the menu hanging above the counter.

Hmm... Cinnamon Mocha Latte... That sounds good.