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True Love’s Near-Miss

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Regina didn’t know where Emma had acquired a strap-on in Storybrooke, but it was big. So big that it should hurt except that the queen was dripping for it. It was so, so good being gloriously full of Emma’s cock. The blonde had one hand between the mayor’s shoulder blades, pressing her face down onto the counter as her hips gave strong, steady strokes. Regina was already delirious with pleasure when the sheriff’s free hand wrapped around her hip to circle her clit and god- she was going to come so fast-

“Mom?” came Henry’s voice from the other room, and abruptly the queen became aware of herself bent half over and gripping her kitchen island with fingertips gone white. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yes,” her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, dear.”

“Oh okay, well Emma is here to get me,” he said.

Regina could not face the blonde right now. In fact, though it hurt her to have Henry leave without hugging her goodbye, she couldn’t bear to face her son either. Not with her panties entirely ruined by a wildly inappropriate fantasy of Emma bending her over and fucking her hard in her kitchen. “Okay, dear, it was lovely to see you,” she called. “Let’s do this again soon.”

“Okay mom, have a good night!” Henry called, and she was, for the first time ever, grateful to hear the door close behind him.

**

Fuck, having her mouth full of Regina was incredibly better than Emma could ever have imagined. The queen was the single most responsive woman she’d ever had sex with. Slow strokes of the blonde’s tongue made her moan low in her chest and quick flicks produced little breathy cries; circles had her hips rocking like crazy and sucking at her clit made her grab Emma’s head with both hands and fuck her face.

Each way to give Regina pleasure was better than the last and the sheriff never wanted to stop eating this perfect fucking pussy. Nothing could be better than this, and Emma was probably going to come just from how good it felt to tongue her. But then the queen moaned, “I need your fingers,” and fuck, it could get better as the blonde slid two of them into the older woman’s liquid heat.

Jesus, Regina was so tight, her inner muscles grabbing at Emma’s fingers hungrily, and the blonde was almost delirious at being inside this goddess, thrusting steadily in time with her tonguing.

“More,” the queen shuddered, and on her next outward stroke the blonde traded two fingers for three, pressing them all back in slowly. This was everything good. This was the only thing that mattered: making Regina tremble and whimper, the queen’s nails on her scalp urging her on, the overwhelming joy Emma felt stroking her clit and curling firmly at her g-spot.

And then fuck, Regina was a squirter. Emma quickly moved her mouth lower to swallow the second and third spurts of her cum, too precious to waste. Looking up and meeting the queen’s eyes, the blonde felt a wild surge of- love?

Abruptly Emma was awake, acutely conscious of throbbing between her thighs after the single most intense sex dream she’d ever had. She felt guilty for how thoroughly raunchy her brain had been with Regina and disoriented by how strong the feelings had been in her dream, but mostly she desperately needed to come, so she slid her hand down into her pajama bottoms, trying not to notice that it compared unfavorably to being knuckle-deep in dream-Regina.  

**

This was so inappropriate, Regina thought as she fell back against stacks of papers, scattering several of them. And to be honest, that made it even better, the dirty semi-publicness of it, that anyone could walk in to the mayor’s office and find her splayed out, bare from the waist down with the sheriff licking her pussy like she was starving.

If it had been anyone else stroking around, barely touching the place she needed them most with just the sides of their tongue, she would have written them off as just bad at oral sex or too stupid to find a clitoris. There had certainly been plenty of those who’d knelt before her as queen. But she knew, knew that Emma was working her up slowly, teasing her, making her wait in the service of an ultimately explosive orgasm.

Regina was startled to hear a “Please” fall from her lips. Queens did not beg. Nor mayors. Regina did not beg, but god, Emma felt so good and she just needed more. And it was entirely worth it, because the first direct contact of the sheriff’s tongue on her clit was electric, burning through her entire body, and she sobbed with joy.

The queen rocked her hips up against the blonde’s mouth for long moments, losing herself in waves of pleasure crashing through her. Needing even more, she hooked one leg over Emma’s shoulder, pulling her even closer, and oh god- this was searingly good and she hovered on the brink, wanting to come but also wanting this to last forever. Then she toppled over the edge, biting her own wrist to keep her scream in.

And that pain brought her back to herself. Regina sat back in her chair for long moments, her heart pounding, both orgasm-muddled and horrified. Not only had she been fantasizing about Emma, at work, but she had just come from that fantasy. Without touching herself.

**

Emma had loved Regina’s mouth from moment she curled her lip up in a snarl after the blonde had mutilated her apple tree. She loved it when she smirked, and when she was sarcastic, and in those rare moments when she gave a genuine smile. The blonde felt strongly that the little scar enhanced rather than detracted from its complete and total perfection. And fuck- she loved it even more between her legs.

Regina did not give oral sex so much as she took it, laying claim to Emma’s cunt as the tribute due her as queen. Her tongue was relentless, simply demanding the sheriff’s pleasure, and the blonde’s body gave it up willingly, all whimpers and moans and violent twitches of muscle and it was the single most amazing experience of her life.

Then the queen was fucking her, three fingers with no preamble stretching her thoroughly, and all she wanted was to belong to this woman forever.

And when Regina commanded, “Come for me, Emma,” she did, slumping forward onto the steering wheel of her police cruiser, narrowly missing knocking her forehead into the horn. Thank god she’d pulled over.