Emma Swan sat alone at the kitchen table, an enormous slice of rich, decadent chocolate cake in front of her. The clock on the wall ticked softly, but she paid no attention. All her attention was on the luscious dessert before her, her fork poised like a weapon as she carved into the first bite.
The fork sank into the moist layers with ease, each one soaked in velvety ganache and topped with a thick swirl of dark chocolate frosting. Emma’s mouth watered in anticipation as she brought the bite to her lips. The taste exploded on her tongue—sweet, rich, and overwhelmingly indulgent. She groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as she savored the flavor.
“God, this is so good,” she murmured to no one in particular, her voice husky with pleasure.
Another bite followed, and then another, and soon Emma’s enthusiasm outpaced her coordination. Chocolate smeared the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose as she attempted to wipe it away with the back of her hand. That only made things worse. Somehow, in her unrestrained excitement, she managed to smear chocolate on her cheek, chin, and even a streak across her forehead.
“Okay, maybe slow down,” she told herself, laughing softly, though she didn’t stop. She swiped a finger across the plate to catch a stray dollop of frosting and popped it into her mouth, moaning softly at the silky sweetness.
She was so lost in her indulgence that she didn’t hear the soft click of heels against the hardwood floor until it was too late.
“Well, well, well. What exactly is going on here?”
Emma froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, and slowly turned her head toward the doorway. Regina Mills stood there, arms crossed, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised as she took in the scene before her.
Regina was the picture of elegance, as always—her tailored blazer hugged her curves perfectly, and her hair was styled in immaculate waves. In contrast, Emma felt like an utter disaster, her face covered in chocolate and her hands sticky with frosting.
“Regina!” Emma yelped, hastily setting the fork down and wiping her hands on her jeans. “I, uh… I was just… you know…”
“Making a mess?” Regina supplied dryly, stepping into the room. Her heels clicked with every step, and Emma couldn’t help but watch the sway of her hips as she moved closer.
“I wasn’t—okay, maybe I was,” Emma admitted, her cheeks turning pink. She fumbled for a napkin, but the pile of them was just out of reach.
Regina came to a stop beside the table, her sharp gaze sweeping over the scene. Her lips curled into a smirk as she took in the chaos—the half-eaten cake, the smudges of chocolate everywhere, and Emma’s guilty expression.
“Honestly, Miss Swan,” Regina said, shaking her head. “It’s like dealing with a child.”
“Hey!” Emma protested, though her voice lacked conviction. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Regina leaned closer, the faint scent of her perfume—a mix of jasmine and something darker—wafting over her.
“Hold still,” Regina instructed, her voice low but firm.
Emma’s breath hitched as Regina reached out, her fingers cool against Emma’s warm skin. She tilted Emma’s chin upward, her thumb brushing across the corner of Emma’s mouth to wipe away a smudge of chocolate.
Emma’s heart pounded in her chest, her skin tingling where Regina touched her. She could feel her cheeks growing hotter by the second, and the sensation only intensified when Regina’s thumb lingered for a moment longer than necessary.
“There,” Regina murmured, her voice softer now. She held up her thumb, now streaked with chocolate, and to Emma’s utter shock, brought it to her lips.
Time seemed to slow as Regina’s tongue flicked out to taste the chocolate. Her eyes remained locked on Emma’s, and the deliberate, almost teasing motion made Emma’s breath catch.
“Delicious,” Regina said, her voice velvety and smooth. She tilted her head slightly, her smirk deepening as she noticed the way Emma’s pupils had dilated, her lips parted ever so slightly.
Emma tried to speak, but no words came out. She felt like her entire body was on fire, a strange, electric tension coursing through her veins.
Regina wasn’t done. She reached for Emma’s hand next, grasping it gently but firmly. Emma could only watch, wide-eyed and utterly frozen, as Regina lifted Emma’s fingers—still sticky with frosting—to her mouth.
Regina’s lips parted, and her tongue traced the length of Emma’s index finger in one slow, deliberate motion. Emma’s breath hitched audibly, her entire body tensing at the sensation.
“Regina, what are you—” she began, but her voice faltered when Regina moved to the next finger.
The warmth of Regina’s tongue, the softness of her lips, and the way her eyes seemed to glint with amusement and something darker—it was all too much. Emma’s face turned crimson, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain Regina could hear it.
By the time Regina released her hand, Emma was trembling.
“There,” Regina said, her tone light but her smirk anything but. She stepped back, brushing a nonexistent wrinkle from her blazer. “Much better. Try to eat like an adult next time, dear.”
With that, she turned and began walking toward the door, her heels clicking once again.
Emma sat there in stunned silence, her mind racing and her body still buzzing from the unexpected intimacy.
At the doorway, Regina paused and glanced over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “And do try not to make an even bigger mess, Miss Swan.”
She disappeared down the hall, leaving Emma to stare after her, utterly flustered and more than a little aroused.
“What the hell just happened?” Emma muttered, running a hand through her hair—only to smear more chocolate onto her forehead.
Her embarrassment quickly turned to frustration. She stood abruptly, intending to clean up the mess, but in her haste, her knee banged against the edge of the table.
“Son of a—!” she yelped, the sudden movement causing the plate of cake to tip over.
The remaining slice of chocolate tumbled straight into her lap, smearing her jeans with frosting.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emma growled, glaring at the mess.
Her hand shot out to grab a napkin, but she only succeeded in knocking over her glass of milk, the white liquid pooling around the edge of the table and dripping onto the floor.
It was official—this was the most humiliating moment of her life. And yet, even as she cleaned up the mess, her mind kept drifting back to the feel of Regina’s touch, the warmth of her tongue, and the way she had smirked as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I am so screwed.”
Emma spent the next several minutes frantically wiping up the spilled milk and scooping the chocolate cake remnants into the trash. Her jeans were stained, her hands were sticky again, and the kitchen now smelled like a strange mix of sugar and regret. She sighed, finally collapsing back into her chair.
Her heart was still racing, and no amount of scrubbing the table could distract her from the memory of what had just happened. Every detail replayed in her mind—the way Regina’s fingers had brushed her skin, the heat of her breath so close, the deliberate way her tongue had slid across Emma’s fingers.
Emma groaned and buried her face in her hands again. “Why does she do this to me?” she muttered under her breath.
But she knew the answer. Regina Mills was always like this—confident, poised, and maddeningly smug. She had a way of getting under Emma’s skin, of making her feel off-balance and out of control. It was infuriating. And, as Emma was reluctantly starting to realize, it was also incredibly attractive.
She shook her head, trying to banish the thought, but it was no use. The more she tried not to think about Regina, the more vivid the memory became. The way her dark eyes had glimmered with amusement, the faint curve of her lips, the warmth of her tongue against Emma’s skin—it all came rushing back, and Emma felt a wave of heat rise in her chest.
"Get it together, Swan," she whispered to herself, gripping the edge of the table.
But her body wasn’t listening. Her palms were clammy, her cheeks were still flushed, and there was a strange, tingling sensation low in her stomach that she couldn’t quite ignore. She shifted in her chair, trying to dispel the feeling, but it only made things worse.
Before she could spiral any further, a sharp knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. She sat up straight, her heart skipping a beat. For a moment, she wondered if it was Regina again. Had she come back to tease her some more? Or maybe—Emma shook her head. No, she was being ridiculous.
She got up and crossed the room, opening the door to find Henry standing there, looking slightly puzzled.
“Mom?” he asked, glancing past her into the kitchen. “What happened in there? It smells like chocolate and… milk?”
Emma forced a laugh, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, you know. Just a little dessert mishap. No big deal.”
Henry squinted at her, his eyes narrowing. “Why is there chocolate on your forehead?”
Emma’s hand shot up to her face, and sure enough, her fingers came away smudged with chocolate. “Uh… creative eating?” she offered weakly.
Henry rolled his eyes. “Right. Sure. Well, I was just coming to see if you wanted to come over to Mom’s. She’s making dinner, and she said you’re welcome to join.”
Emma hesitated. The idea of sitting across the dinner table from Regina so soon after what had just happened made her stomach twist into knots. She could already imagine the smug look on Regina’s face, the way she’d probably smirk and drop little comments to keep Emma squirming.
“I don’t know, kid,” she said, scratching the back of her neck. “I’ve got a lot to clean up here.”
“Come on,” Henry urged. “It’s just dinner. And Mom’s been in a really good mood today, so she probably won’t even yell at you or anything.”
Emma snorted. “Gee, thanks for the reassurance.”
But Henry was giving her the puppy-dog eyes now, and Emma sighed in defeat. “Fine. Let me just clean up a little, and I’ll meet you there.”
Henry grinned. “Great! See you in a bit.” He turned and jogged off, leaving Emma standing in the doorway.
She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. Dinner with Regina. Right after that.
“This is going to be a disaster,” she muttered, pushing off the door and heading to the bathroom to clean up.
---
By the time Emma arrived at Regina’s house, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the soft glow of the porch light illuminated the familiar door. She took a deep breath before knocking, trying to steel herself for whatever was about to come.
Regina opened the door almost immediately, her perfectly arched eyebrow raising in amusement. “Well, well. You actually decided to show up.”
“Henry convinced me,” Emma said quickly, stepping inside. “Said you were in a good mood.”
Regina smirked, closing the door behind her. “Did he? How thoughtful of him.”
Emma tried not to look at her too long, but it was impossible not to notice how effortlessly elegant Regina looked in her fitted blouse and pencil skirt. Her hair was pinned back, exposing the graceful curve of her neck, and Emma felt that same annoying flutter in her chest that she always did around her.
Regina seemed to notice, because her smirk deepened. “Do try not to spill anything on yourself this time, Miss Swan.”
Emma flushed, but before she could respond, Henry came bounding into the room. “Dinner’s ready!” he announced, grabbing Emma’s hand and pulling her toward the dining room.
As she followed, Emma couldn’t help but glance back at Regina, who was watching her with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
This was going to be a long night.
Emma’s heart was already racing by the time she sat down at the Mills’ dining table. The elegant spread before her only added to her nerves. Regina had clearly gone all out—there was roasted chicken, perfectly seasoned vegetables, a bottle of wine breathing on the side, and even a basket of fresh bread. The sight made Emma’s stomach grumble, but her appetite was tempered by the anxiety bubbling under her skin.
Regina entered the room with her usual grace, carrying two wine glasses. She placed one in front of Emma with a deliberate care that felt more like a performance. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Emma flinched as though the contact had burned her.
“Relax, Miss Swan,” Regina said, her voice like silk. “It’s just a glass of wine.”
“Right. Totally,” Emma replied, her voice cracking slightly. She cleared her throat, determined to regain her composure, but it was impossible under Regina’s sharp, knowing gaze.
Henry, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, began piling food onto his plate with the enthusiasm of a growing teenager. “You guys should try this chicken,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Mom’s been perfecting the recipe all week.”
Regina shot him a look. “Henry, manners.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing quickly.
Emma took the opportunity to load her own plate, hoping that keeping her mouth full would prevent her from saying something stupid. Unfortunately, her hands weren’t cooperating. She fumbled with the serving spoon, nearly dropping it onto the tablecloth.
“Careful,” Regina said, her tone laced with amusement. “We wouldn’t want another mess, would we?”
Emma glared at her, her cheeks heating again. “I can manage, thanks.”
Regina arched an eyebrow but said nothing, instead taking a slow sip of her wine. Her lips left a faint red imprint on the glass, and Emma found herself staring for a moment too long.
She quickly looked away, focusing on her plate. But the warmth spreading through her body wasn’t going anywhere. She shifted in her seat, trying to shake off the feeling, but it only seemed to grow stronger.
“Is something wrong, Miss Swan?” Regina’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Emma’s head snapped up. “What? No! Why?”
“You’re fidgeting,” Regina observed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “And you’re blushing. Should I be concerned?”
Henry looked up from his plate, confused. “Blushing? Why would Emma be blushing?”
Emma groaned internally. “I’m not blushing. It’s just… warm in here.” She tugged at the collar of her shirt for emphasis.
Regina’s smirk widened. “Oh, is it? How curious.”
Emma glared at her, but the heat in her face only deepened. She reached for her glass of wine, desperate for a distraction, but her hand was trembling slightly as she lifted it to her lips.
Regina noticed, of course. She noticed everything.
For the rest of the meal, Emma did her best to avoid Regina’s gaze, focusing instead on Henry’s chatter about school and his latest video game obsession. But every so often, she could feel Regina’s eyes on her, the weight of her attention sending shivers down her spine.
By the time dinner was over, Emma felt like she’d run a marathon. She helped Henry clear the dishes, grateful for an excuse to escape the table, but her reprieve was short-lived.
“I’ll take care of the rest,” Regina said, appearing beside her in the kitchen. “Why don’t you and Henry relax for a bit?”
Emma hesitated, holding a stack of plates. “I don’t mind helping.”
“I insist,” Regina said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She plucked the plates from Emma’s hands, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the contact lingered for just a moment longer than necessary.
Emma swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. “Uh… okay. Thanks.”
She turned and fled back to the living room, where Henry was already sprawled on the couch with a controller in his hand.
---
Half an hour later, Emma was still perched on the edge of the couch, pretending to pay attention to whatever game Henry was playing. But her mind was elsewhere, replaying every look, touch, and word from the evening.
When Regina finally entered the room, her sleeves rolled up and a satisfied expression on her face, Emma’s stomach did a little flip.
“All clean,” Regina announced, wiping her hands on a towel. She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. Henry, time to get ready for bed.”
Henry groaned but didn’t argue, setting down his controller and heading upstairs.
Emma stood awkwardly, unsure whether to follow him or make her exit. “I should probably get going too,” she said, avoiding Regina’s gaze.
Regina stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay a bit longer.”
Emma hesitated, her heart pounding. There was something in Regina’s voice—a softness, a hint of something unspoken—that made her pause.
Regina tilted her head, her eyes searching Emma’s face. “You seem… distracted,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, but the words wouldn’t come.
Regina took another step closer, and suddenly the space between them felt unbearably small. Emma could feel the heat radiating off her, could smell the faint scent of her perfume.
“You’re blushing again,” Regina murmured, her lips curving into a smirk.
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Regina reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear. The touch was gentle, almost tender, and it sent a jolt of electricity through Emma’s body.
“Goodnight, Miss Swan,” Regina said, her voice low and velvety. She lingered for a moment longer, her fingers brushing against Emma’s cheek, before stepping back and turning toward the stairs.
Emma stood frozen in place, her heart racing and her mind a whirlwind of confusion and desire.
As Regina disappeared from view, a single thought echoed in Emma’s head:
“I am so, so screwed.”
Emma tossed and turned in her bed, the darkness of her room doing nothing to calm the storm inside her. The sheets were twisted around her legs, and her pillow was a tangled mess under her head. She stared at the ceiling, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains and painting patterns across her walls. But no matter how much she tried, sleep refused to come.
It wasn’t just insomnia. It was her.
Regina Mills, with her perfectly arched brows, her maddening smirk, her sharp wit, and the way she seemed to take up all the air in the room whenever she was near. Regina, who had spent dinner teasing Emma without even breaking a sweat. Regina, who had leaned in just a little too close as she’d tucked that strand of hair behind Emma’s ear, her touch lingering, her scent intoxicating.
Emma groaned and rolled onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut. But that only made things worse. Now, all she could see was Regina’s face—the way her lips had curved into that infuriatingly smug smile, the way her dark eyes seemed to see straight through her, as if Regina knew exactly what Emma was thinking, exactly what Emma wanted but couldn’t admit to herself.
Her heart pounded as she replayed the moment in the living room. The warmth of Regina’s hand against her skin, the softness of her voice as she’d said goodnight. It had been maddeningly subtle, but there was something there, wasn’t there? Something more than just the usual banter and bickering?
Emma sat up abruptly, running a hand through her hair. “Get a grip, Swan,” she muttered to herself. But even as she said it, she knew it was no use.
She glanced at the clock. 2:47 a.m.
Her pulse quickened as an idea began to form in the back of her mind. It was reckless, impulsive, and probably a terrible idea, but it was better than lying here all night, slowly driving herself insane.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Emma swung her legs out of bed and stood up. She grabbed her leather jacket from the chair in the corner, slipping it on over her tank top and pajama pants. She didn’t bother changing—there wasn’t time for that.
Her boots were by the door, and she shoved them on, laces be damned. Within minutes, she was out the door and into the cool night air.
---
Regina’s house was quiet when Emma arrived. The lights were off, and the only sound was the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Emma hesitated at the gate, her heart pounding in her chest.
What was she even doing here? What was she going to say? Hey, Regina, I couldn’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about you. Mind if I come in?
She groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. This was ridiculous. She should just turn around and go home. But her feet refused to move.
Taking a deep breath, Emma pushed open the gate and made her way up the path to the front door. She hesitated again, her hand hovering over the doorbell. For a moment, she considered leaving. But then she thought about Regina’s smirk, the way her fingers had brushed against Emma’s cheek, and the way her heart had raced in response.
Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed the doorbell.
The sound echoed through the quiet night, and Emma held her breath, waiting. For a moment, there was nothing. Then she heard footsteps.
The door opened, and there was Regina, wearing a silk robe that clung to her figure in a way that made Emma’s throat go dry. Her hair was slightly tousled, as though she’d been sleeping, but her expression was sharp and alert.
“Emma,” Regina said, her voice low and slightly husky. “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She stared at Regina, her brain short-circuiting as she took in the sight of her.
Regina arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I…” Emma trailed off, then shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Regina crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So you decided to come here? In the middle of the night?”
“I—yeah,” Emma admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I needed to… talk to you.”
Regina’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable. “Talk? About what, exactly?”
Emma hesitated, her pulse racing. This was it. There was no turning back now.
“About this,” she said, stepping forward.
Before she could lose her nerve, Emma reached out, cupping Regina’s face in her hands. She hesitated for just a fraction of a second, searching Regina’s eyes for any sign of protest. But Regina didn’t pull away.
Taking that as permission, Emma leaned in and pressed her lips to Regina’s.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if Emma was testing the waters. But when Regina responded—her lips parting slightly, her hands coming up to rest on Emma’s shoulders—it was like a dam breaking.
Emma deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in Regina’s hair. She felt Regina’s arms slide around her neck, pulling her closer, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.
For a moment, nothing else existed. It was just the two of them, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving in perfect harmony.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless.
Regina was the first to speak, her voice low and tinged with amusement. “Well. That’s certainly one way to start a conversation.”
Emma laughed softly, her forehead resting against Regina’s. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Regina’s lips curved into a smirk. “Clearly.”
Emma pulled back slightly, looking into Regina’s eyes. “I mean it, Regina. You drive me crazy, and I don’t know what this is between us, but… I can’t ignore it anymore.”
Regina studied her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to Emma’s surprise, she leaned in and kissed her again—this time slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.
When they parted, Regina’s smirk was back. “Neither can I.”
Emma grinned, her heart soaring. “So… does this mean you’ll let me in?”
Regina chuckled softly, stepping aside. “I suppose I have no choice. Come in, Miss Swan.”
Emma stepped inside, the door closing behind her, and for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe again.
The soft click of the door shutting behind Emma seemed to echo in the quiet house. Her boots felt heavier than usual on the hardwood floor as she stepped inside, her heart hammering like a drum. She didn’t know what was going to happen next, but the intensity in Regina’s dark eyes told her she was about to find out.
Regina didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she walked toward the living room with a grace that only she could pull off, her silk robe swaying with each step. She didn’t look back, but there was a deliberate slowness to her movements, as though she wanted Emma to follow—and Emma did, like a moth to a flame.
The tension in the air was almost suffocating. When they reached the living room, Regina turned to face her, arms crossed loosely, her smirk firmly in place. “Well, Miss Swan, you’ve interrupted my sleep, kissed me on my doorstep, and now you’re standing in my living room at an ungodly hour. Care to explain what you plan to do next?”
Emma swallowed hard, her pulse racing. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Regina’s smirk softened into something warmer, something almost inviting. “Honesty. A refreshing change.” She took a step closer, her bare feet silent on the rug, until there was barely a foot of space between them. “Why are you really here, Emma?”
“I told you,” Emma said, her voice steadier now. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About earlier. About how you—” She broke off, her cheeks flushing as she remembered the way Regina’s fingers had brushed her skin, the way she had leaned in so close, the way her tongue had slid against Emma’s fingers during dinner.
Regina raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Emma’s discomfort. “Go on,” she prompted, her tone teasing.
Emma groaned, running a hand through her hair. “You know what you did, Regina. You always know exactly what you’re doing. And it’s driving me insane.”
Regina chuckled softly, a low, velvety sound that sent a shiver down Emma’s spine. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Emma said, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You push me, you tease me, you—”
Regina cut her off by reaching out and placing a finger against Emma’s lips. “Shh,” she said, her voice a quiet command. “You talk too much.”
Emma froze, her breath hitching as Regina’s finger trailed down, brushing lightly along her jawline before falling away.
“You’re right,” Regina said, her voice softer now. “I do know what I’m doing. But do you?”
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Emma’s throat felt dry, but she forced herself to nod. “I think so.”
Regina’s lips curved into a small smile. “Then show me.”
Emma didn’t need to be told twice. She closed the distance between them, her hands finding Regina’s waist and pulling her close. Their lips met in a kiss that was deeper, hungrier than the first, and Emma poured everything she couldn’t put into words into that kiss.
Regina responded in kind, her arms winding around Emma’s neck as she pressed their bodies together. The silk of her robe was cool against Emma’s hands, a stark contrast to the warmth of Regina’s skin beneath.
They stumbled backward, Regina guiding Emma until her back hit the edge of the couch. With a gentle push, she urged Emma to sit, and Emma obeyed, her eyes locked on Regina’s as the older woman stood over her, looking impossibly regal even now.
Regina leaned down, her hands resting on Emma’s shoulders as she straddled her lap. Emma’s breath caught as Regina’s robe fell open slightly, revealing a hint of bare skin beneath.
“Still think you know what you’re doing?” Regina asked, her voice a seductive purr.
Emma smirked, her confidence returning as she rested her hands on Regina’s hips. “I’m figuring it out.”
Regina laughed softly, her fingers threading through Emma’s hair as she leaned in to kiss her again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, and Emma felt like she was drowning in the sensation of it.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed as they stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, their kisses growing deeper and more urgent. Emma’s hands roamed, exploring the curve of Regina’s waist, the dip of her back, the softness of her thighs. Every touch elicited a soft sigh or a quiet gasp from Regina, and each sound sent a thrill through Emma’s body.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together.
“Regina,” Emma said, her voice husky with emotion. “I… I don’t know what this is, but I don’t want it to stop.”
Regina smiled, her fingers brushing against Emma’s cheek. “Neither do I,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Emma’s heart soared at the words, and she leaned in to kiss Regina again, her hands tightening around her waist. Whatever this was, it was real, and for the first time in a long time, Emma felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.