initiala:

@couldnthandleit called for some CS smut based on Jen’s outfit and I can’t be the only one who was like “is that… dress… kind of see through?” right?? just a little baby bit, i’m out of practice

He glances up, alerted to her presence by the exaggerated way she clears her throat. All rational thought flies out of his head; his mouth falls open; he drinks her in like a man dying of thirst, this ethereal goddess he’s so blessed to call his wife. Her golden hair falls in loose waves down her back and over the pale shift hanging loosely over her lithe form. It does little to conceal the scraps of fabric she calls underthings, something she’s very aware of if her sly little smile is anything to go on.

She’s crossing the study in slow, sure steps, then she plucks the book from his hands with a murmured remark about climbing aboard. He barely has time to say “Yes” before her mouth covers his, swallowing the word as she straddles his legs and braces herself on his shoulders.

He loves her in the mornings, when she’s sleepy and soft, curling into him and pressing her cold toes against his shins, convincing him (with very little effort) to stay in bed just a while longer. He loves her at lunchtime, when she steals him away to the one blind spot in the sheriff’s office to kiss him breathless, to untuck his shirt and unzip his trousers, to beg him to take her hard and fast against the wall before anyone can see. He loves her in the middle of the night, when they wake each other up after nightmares, when they hold one another and whisper words of comfort until the blanket of sleep claims them once more.

But this, he loves this almost most of all, when she’s seductive and demanding – when her lips are hard against his, when she’s biting and sucking at every inch of skin she can reach – when she dresses in her most scandalous outfits – he could rip this shift as if it were made of tissue paper if he wanted – when Emma Swan just wants and takes and he’s oh so very willing to give her all he has and more.

When they join, a hurried thing that has them both whimpering with need, he does tear the shift a bit, the seam snapping when he tugs too hard. The sound of fabric tearing does something to her, urges her to ride him faster and kiss him harder. She never gives him a chance to reciprocate, her kisses fast and wet on his lips, cheeks, neck, wherever she can reach. He is caught in the cyclone of Emma, Emma, Emma, whisked away to overwhelming pleasure as she convulses around him and he spills himself deep into her womb.