“Such a beautiful girl,” Ingrid sighs, fingers weaving through Emma’s hair. She massages sweet-smelling shampoo into Emma’s scalp, the firm movements of her hands sending shivers down Emma’s spine. “There’s nothing that a warm bath can’t cure.”
Emma would beg to differ, normally—her parents don’t know she’s here, Elsa still thinks she’s missing, and Regina would go nuts if she knew Emma was making herself and her magic so vulnerable to the Snow Queen’s influence. But in her current state—naked, warm, and relaxed in a mound of suds and bubbles with Ingrid’s soothing scent behind her—she can’t find the will to argue.
Ingrid’s hands slide to Emma’s shoulders, massaging the sore muscles. The tips of her fingers graze the tops of Emma’s breasts, and Emma inhales sharply, face flushing at the sudden bolt of unwelcome arousal.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Ingrid says gently, her touch maternal but still sensual. “You’re allowed to relax. You’re allowed to feel.” Her thumbs brush against Emma’s swollen nipples before retreating, sending Emma into a dizzying tailspin of affection and lust for this mysterious woman she can’t help but love.
Emma nods, easing back into the water. Ingrid doesn’t press further and Emma doesn’t ask for more, but she takes comfort in knowing that there’s one person in Storybrooke who doesn’t think she’s a freak.