say Killian hadn’t been expecting her to just lay one on him, well, the
way he froze up like carbonite beneath her fingers could have given that
away. But the way he broke free from his momentary stupefaction with a
frustrated groan against her lips, or the way his hand slid around her
waist, pulling her against him? Well… that may have said something
else. And the way he kissed her back?
Not really part of the plan. Though to call it a plan might have been a tad generous. A whim. An impulse.
Whatever it was that had led Emma Swan to be sucking face with Killian
Jones in his living room, holding onto the lapels of his jacket for dear
life as they scooted backwards, Emma falling back onto the couch
cushions, taking him down with her.
Killian Jones was a pretty orderly guy. Emma had seen the inside of his refrigerator, and someone had
gotten a little too cozy with his label maker. This Killian didn’t kiss
like an orderly guy. This Killian kissed like a man driven to the brink
of sanity, his frustration fast giving way to lust. Oh yeah, there was plenty of that, if that bruising claim on her mouth was any indication. Men. Such hot-blooded creatures.