Rumplestiltskin had gone to great lengths to be careful with Belle. Desire was known to cloud the mind, he was not known for being gentle, and she was inexperienced in the art of lovemaking.
He was careful, gentle when he loved her. Every touch was hesitant until welcomed, and even then it was light. He didn't dare be rough with her. He could scarcely bring himself to be on top. He could hurt her. So when they made love, and they did so fairly often, Belle was always comfortably astride him, and Rumplestiltskin's hands whispered over her skin.
They both enjoyed themselves, he knew a lot about everything and never took pleasure for himself before her, and were both perfectly satisfied.
And then he bought her that damn shirt.
Belle didn't have any clothes, so naturally he'd given her his credit card and unleashed her onto the stores until she'd collected a decent sized wardrobe. Occasionally, he saw something that made him think of her, and he'd pick it up, but mostly she bought her own things.
The top didn't look particularly revealing on the hanger. Light power blue, three quarter sleeves, asymmetrical drape- she owned a few similar to it. Belle liked those tops, and Rumplestiltskin liked them on her, so he'd bought it, she'd loved it, and the next day he awoke to find her wearing it.
She turned from the stove, spatula in hand, and beamed at him.
All thought left his mind.
The top clung. And not just at her waist, but to her chest as well. It wasn't made of any fabric, Rumplestiltskin decided. She'd painted it on so that every curve, from the indent of her waist to the dip of her navel, could be seen.
The neck line was far lower than he'd originally thought, and when Belle bent to scoop the food onto a plate the swell of her breasts threatened to escape the flimsy fabric.
The flimsy, slightly see-through fabric. Belle was wearing a black bra, with lace. Rumplestiltskin knew that because he could see the lace peeking above the neckline of the shirt, the dark outline of the undergarment visible all the way around.
Belle, oblivious, stretched on her tiptoes to get the glasses out of the cabinet. The shirt hiked up above her navel, revealing creamy skin, the curve of her hips, and the low slung skirt slipping lower and lower as he watched.
Rumplestiltskin's gaze betrayed him, skimming down her legs that were, for once, without tights. They went on forever in that scrap she called a skirt that began at her hips and ended at her thighs and Belle never showed so much skin unless she was naked and sweating above him.
She was only making breakfast, in garments he'd bought her.
He was brick hard.
Desperately he counted backwards from ten, then twenty, thirty, trying to think of something, anything other than how her skin would feel as he ran his hands up her legs, parted those creamy thighs, braced her against the counter, and took her, mouth hot on those tantalizing breasts as he took her over the edge twice with his fingers before slamming into her while she screamed his name.
His breath came out as a wheezing gasp.
Barefoot and unaware of the effect she was having on him, Belle padded to him. "Are you alright? You're flushed."
"Am I?" he managed, voice rough.
If she stood any closer, he'd snap. He could smell her perfume, vanilla, and wondered if she'd taste as sweet.
But he couldn't. Belle was strong, but he might hurt her if he wasn't in his right mind.
And he was not in his right mind.
Belle reached out and touched him.
"Your tie's crooked."
In one moved, Rumplestiltskin yanked Belle against him, their bodies pressed tightly against each other, and devoured her mouth in a hot, wet kiss. He bit her bottom lip, tongue darting out to soothe the sting before she felt it.
He could feel her heart pounding, her breasts heaving against his chest, and he couldn't have stopped himself if the entire damn town exploded.
He's still not sure that it didn't.
Belle yanked hard on his hair until his mouth was at her neck, and the sound she made when he sucked on the sensitive skin nearly undid him right there. She pawed frantically at his shirt, untucking it forcefully from his pants to work her way up his back and rake her fingernails across his skin.
"Gods," she gasped when he yanked himself away long enough to free her from the shirt, that goddamn shirt, and take her breasts in his hands.
Belle arched, bracing herself on the table, head falling back on a gasp. His thumbs pressed against her nipples, circling the taunt buds underneath the fabric before her bra too was banished.
Busy removing him of his shirt, Belle was unprepared for his mouth to latch onto her breast. She cried out, all but collapsing onto the table. Sensations swamped her, heat, desire, want, as Rumplestiltskin laved her breast with his lips, teeth, and tongue. Her other breast was not neglected, instead was squeezed in one hand, clever fingers flicking and twisting her nipple.
His free hand pushed up her skirt, yanked off her underwear, and stroked her harshly. Mercilessly. There were no hesitant, fluttering touches. He plunged two fingers inside her, curling and pumping in time with her hips. His palm ground against her at just the right angle, rough and unforgiving.
He whispered dirty, filthy things against her skin, pressing against her so she could feel him: hot, hard, and aching for her.
Belle lost her mind.
The climax ripped through her, a fiery inferno that rushed through her veins. Her legs felt like jelly, twitching involuntarily as Rumplestiltskin worked her through it. She wanted to cry out, but this was beyond vocalization, beyond anything she'd ever felt before.
He bit her shoulder and took a small step back. Desire rippled across his face, mouth slack and pupils blown wide.
Breathless, she shoved him backwards onto a chair, straddling him quickly, afraid he'd pull back before she was done with him.
He took a handful of her hair and pulled her down for a kiss. Belle sucked on his bottom lip, then sat back, letting him trail open mouthed kisses down her throat.
She undid his belt and fly out of blind luck, and he tossed his head back when her fingers brushed him.
Rumplestiltskin shifted beneath her, using every ounce of willpower he possessed to sit still and not rock against her hand when she took him out.
And was reduced to a quivering, desperate, painfully needy male when she stroked her thumb along the underside, pressing right against the tip as her fingers circled him, pumping twice before she dropped to her knees.
Rumplestiltskin lost what little sanity he had left when Belle, beautiful, naked, glowing Belle puckered her lips, kissed the head, and took him in her mouth.
He shouted incoherently, the sound echoing throughout the house. His hips moved of their own violation, surging upwards. Belle bobbed her head, swirling her tongue and sucking, scraping her teeth carefully against him.
The warm wetness of her mouth was better than any fantasy, and it tore his mind to shreds. Stars exploded behind his eyes, a garbled plea escaped his mouth, and he thrust once, twice more, and lost himself.
It took them minutes to collect themselves, Belle sprawled naked on his lap, Rumplestiltskin's pants around his knees, both drawing desperate gulps of air.
"I'm sorry, love," he whispered into her hair. "I didn't mean to-" Hurt you, be so rough, jump you in the kitchen...
But he hadn't hurt her. She wasn't bruised or broken, and she'd screamed in pleasure, not pain. In fact, she was squirming in his lap, kissing his chest, raking her nails down his sides, and that was not fair.
Belle had enjoyed his desire taking control.
"You shut up, take me upstairs, and screw me senseless until sunset."
Belle was not a fragile thing. She was of her own mind, and she knew exactly what she wanted.
And who was he to deny a command such as that?
The blazing fire of lust roared back to life, embers burning white hot under his skin. He kissed her hard, hand squeezing her bare backside.
They didn't quite make it out of the kitchen, standing and slamming into the wall, hands all over each other. Rumplestiltskin cursed and kicked his pants down and off, mouth never leaving hers.
"On second thought," Belle gasped, unable to think while he was nibbling on her ear. "The couch is closer."
"So it is," he agreed, leading them into the living room and lowering her down to it. "So it is."