st_oriedqueen | [For Dyson] Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

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[For Dyson] Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing

Her daughter running the stables meant Regina knew the horses from head to hock and beyond. She knew their temperaments, their quirks, their hearts... and it also meant that there was no one but Snow or the cowboy to bother her if she happened to slip out to the stables in the middle of the night.

Tonight, the moon had come up full and huge, and her memories likewise. Stolen kisses with Daniel, secret assignations with Mal or Tinkerbell, the clock in the tower stuck at 8:15 with the moon behind it, Neverland nights trying to find Henry, moonlit walks with Robin, and incongruously also moonlit rides with Graham and the wolf pack trying to find Snow. In an effort to banish them, she'd gone to the stall of her favorite, a pinto half-Arabian mare named Compass Rose who went by the barn name of Grace, with a grooming basket and carrots. The peaceful night, punctuated by the munching of hay, the whisk of Grace's tail or the soft whuffle when her muzzle looted Regina's pockets for treats, called to something in Regina, a deep, nameless yearning that ached and ached and ached.

At length, grooming the mare couldn't staunch the flow of grief, and Regina gave in to that yearning. She slipped a hackamore over Grace's head, transmuted her clothes to riding breeches and a loose-fitting top, and led the mare out of the barn. It had been half a century since the last time, but Regina leaped up to her bare back as nimbly as a rodeo acrobat, murmured praise to Grace and together they escaped into the night.

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The moment collided with others in her mind - in an alley outside a tavern, in a farmhouse with a bottle of whiskey, in a forest when her heart had been given, lost, forgiven...

A kiss in the dark.

It didn't have to mean anything.

"That depends on whether we're talking about now or next week." She missed the dry, flat tone she'd aimed for, words falling out husky and somehow suggestive.

He angled his head, shifting closer ever so slightly as though he was about to kiss her, but he didn't his words coming his lips a whisper away from her own.

"You look like yourself," and he'd told her a week because she hadn't been, and maybe he hadn't been either, that night at the carnival.

His breath fanned her lips and sent a shiver down her spine, pushing buttons she didn't know she had. And in response, her hand skimmed down his chest, then her fingers hooked in the waistband of his jeans. Her knuckles rocked against the hard muscle of his abdomen, asking, seeking, inviting.

"No masks," she agreed, and lifted her head to brush her mouth against his. "Do you want to go for a ride, wolf?" Yes, she wanted to hear that he wanted her, but it wasn't a girlish plea. It was a full-throated womanly offer from a queen. She looked like herself because she was herself--he'd invited her to be.

The muscles of his abdomen flexed against her knuckles and he nipped at her lower lip a low growl in his chest. He'd more than invited it, he'd almost demanded it and the way his eyes flashed it was clear he appreciated the gift.

"If you're offering I'm game, highness."

And then he kissed her.

His mouth covered hers and in answer, she opened the button on his jeans with one hand. The other immediately curled behind his head and into his hair. If some part of her wept for nominal infidelity to Robin, it wasn't a part in evidence in her kiss.

She wasn't offering. She was taking and encouraging him to do the same. He'd called forth her power and now she wanted his in return.

He dragged one hand up her arm to the throat of her blouse, picking one button then a second before sliding his hand inside, over the curve of her breast.

"You're wearing too many clothes."

"Do you want the pleasure of removing them?" she murmured, teasing throatily while she lowered his zipper. "Or would you simply like them off?"

Regina didn't care either way, but she did like the feel of his hands on her skin. More of that, and quickly.

"Off," he growled and another button on her shirt popped, but this one with more force, just this side of enough to tear. He'd been waiting for more than a week after all.

Regina leaned in and bit at his mouth, pushed his hand away, and then smirked. With a single flourish of gesture magic, her clothes and boots dropped into a pile at her feet. She stepped forward out of them and slid her hands inside his jeans to cup his ass and draw him back to her. "Off."

That was impressive, and he was a little disappointed that she was up against him too fast for him to really get a good look. That faded though, as she moved against him and her bare skin touched his.

He pushed his jeans over his hips and wrapped his arms around her to lift her against him as he kicked them away.

"Here?" On the grass, in the moonlight. She did seem to frown on his nudity in potentially public viewing areas, but there was always the barn.

"Now," Regina countered, voice hoarse and husky with the sudden, fierce onset of physical need. You her thoughts whispered-growled, refusing her mental refuge in the idea any attractive and sufficiently sexual male would do.

Lifted up and against him, the heated length of his cock pressed into her lower belly and her body ached with wanting it. She lowered her head to mouth along his jaw to his ear. "Where doesn't matter, wolf, as long as it's not a bed and candlelight."

"I look like the romantic type?" he asked in a husky murmur, bending to nuzzle her breasts, then her abdomen as he sank to his knees on the cool damp grass and pulled her with him.

"You look like the rough and ready type." But she had to admit she'd seen enough kindness from him that she'd not be surprised to discover he had a romantic side. She carded her fingers through his hair, encouraging his mouth to taste what and where it would, and tipped her head back to see the moon and breathe the cool night air.

Ready was certainly accurate.

His mouth found her pulse, then her breasts, nipping and suckling as his hands molded and explored her skin till long fingers found the heat between her thighs and stroked her.

Long months without Robin made every caress an agony of pleasure. Her skin quite literally hurt from lack of touch, lack of this. Even before his fingers found her slick and needy, her breathing had gone raspy--a single stroke pulled a raw cry from in down in her chest.

With some artful writhing, she managed to get a hand around him to savor the feel of silken skin over masculine steel.

He growled against her skin when she touched him fingers exploring her flesh, pleased and aroused to find her more than ready. He shifted back to kneeling, lifted her thigh over his and pulled her close, mouth finding hers in a demanding kiss.

"Now."

"God yes."

A memory flashed behind her eyes--Robin, in her vault, and it should've hurt, but this felt too real and raw, too electrifying to leave room for grief and guilt. She shifted with him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other up and into his hair.

Nothing soft or yielding in it (not this time, because she knew already there would be others), she took his mouth and his cock at once with a low, shuddering growl of satisfaction.

His own growl mingled with hers, his hands sliding over the bare skin of her back to her hips, tongue tangling with hers. They had been leading to this for weeks now, verbal foreplay. He'd wanted her, and there was a hit of triumph in the way his hands moulded her against him hip to mouth before urging her to move.

For a heartbeat, two, while he moulded their bodies together, the world screeched to a halt just as it had when they'd danced. Awareness of her exhaustion and loneliness and how good it felt to be held pressed in--and then her hips rolled and the stillness shattered back into streaks of fire and magic.

Her fingers closed in his hair, tugged his head to the side so her lips and teeth had access to his neck. Yes, she had seen the bite on his shoulder the other afternoon, and if her teeth weren't as sharp as Yasmeen's, she nevertheless had no qualms about sinking them into his skin.

His fingers flexed against her skin when her teeth nipped at his skin and he surged into her, meeting the roll of her hips with his own, seeking more heat. Deeper. More of her, but trying to let her lead against every instinct that screamed at him to take control.

Regina reveled in it, the power of his body beneath her, in her, for the moment at her command. If she pushed him to his back, he would fight his instincts and let her ride him into the ground. She sought his mouth again, kissed so deep and hard, her jaw popped and it still wasn't enough. "More," she whispered hotly. "Fuck me."

That was really all the invitation he needed, shifting so she was on her back in the grass, hands smoothing over her arms to press her hands above her head. His mouth came down on hers hard, and hot, as demanding of her response as the movement of his hips.

Stronger he might be, but she was no meek prey animal to lie quiet under his sexual aggression. She drew her feet up and planted them firmly in the grass, canting her hips to take him deeper, and fought to free her hands so she could touch, grip, claw at him (but not frantically as though she disliked being held down).

He released her, dropping his mouth to her throat and his hands to her hips in an almost punishing grip that might leave marks later. He raked his teeth over her pulse, and increased the pace of his movements incrementally. Harder, deeper.

"Yes. This," she encouraged and hooked her hands up over his shoulders to pull him down or her up even harder. Her breath rasped, each thrust met with a short, sharp cry--until that switch flipped, her cunt tightened, and cries became the mindless mews and gasps of woman desperately close to the edge and wanting to stay there a little longer.

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