He hated working mornings.

Really, really hated it.

No one would have expected him to be a morning person. Mr Gold was a man who enjoyed the dark, and all the things one could do when shrouded in it that the light would expose. Bright blaring sunshine one of his favourite things in the world, and morning tended to include in abundance.

Plus, morning was a time when Storybrooke's elected officials tended to enjoy bothering him. Evenings were for shady deals and desperate souls, but morning was for propriety and order.

He didn't enjoy sitting behind his desk at nine-thirty am, on his own, waiting for Emma or Regina to come marching in accusing him of things.

But morning was also when people were most likely to come in and browse, and find something they wanted but couldn't explain why. It was when those who would become desperate when the sun set and the wind turned cold arrived to first dip their toes in the water

So there he sat, in deep and heavy silence.

He almost jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated. Gold wasn't a great lover of technology, all those sparks and wires and no life in any part of it. Magic, although less predictable and more painful than electricity, at least held some autonomy, some warmth.

But he needed to be able to be contacted wherever he was, so he'd bought himself the cheapest cell phone he could find.

Emma had the number, for Miss Blanchard's case, and so did Regina. There was only one other person who had it, and he doubted she'd be texting him at nine-thirty am.

So it was with a sinking heart that Gold flipped open the cover, and found the button to open the message.

"Hey, what r u doing?"

And he had to smile, because at the end of her message Belle had included a little smiley face. He'd never admit it, because such things seemed so pointless and tacky, but it was almost cute when she did it.

Then again, most things were.

"At work, dear," he typed, "waiting for new business."

He put the phone down, tried to convince himself that that would be the end of it. She was probably in the flower shop, as bored as he, and wouldn't risk sending anything more in case her father caught her.

"Oh, shame, I got a lie-in this morning ;)"

He had the sudden, inexplicable urge to drop everything, and run across town to join her. The image of his Belle, lying in her childhood bedroom in her tiny pyjamas, dappled in morning sunlight, made his heart pound and his blood run south.

But he couldn't, because life was cruel and unfair.

They'd managed to keep the affair a secret for this long. Moe French hated him as much as anyone in town, which was no small feat, and protected his daughter better than the Secret Service. If he discovered what Belle's 'cooking class' three times a week was actually code for…

Gold had to smirk, as a parade of images from the last month flashed through his mind.

He'd decided to teach her some basic recipes, so she could give answers if questioned.

The first time, he'd thought that carrot and rutabaga soup would be sufficiently boring and stodgy enough to get them through dinner without succumbing to temptation. He had been wrong.

He'd been as reserved as he could be, fended off her attempts to kiss him against the cabinets or kiss his neck when he showed her the spice drawer. But the phone had kept ringing every five minutes, so he'd have to leave her alone, and when he'd return to the kitchen he always found Belle stood there, innocent as anything, but wearing one less piece of clothing.

Finally he'd hung up on Emma and come back to find his Belle in nothing but her ridiculously frilly apron and white high-heeled sandals. And a smile: Belle always smiled when she knew he'd won, even when she'd had to perform a striptease with rutabagas to do it.

He had honestly tried to teach her something, but the woman managed to be irresistibly sexy even when chopping vegetables.

He'd bent her forward over the counter and taken her right there, from behind, in the middle of his kitchen. The soup had burned, and they'd ordered in Chinese and eaten it half-naked on the sofa.

"How did you get out of work?"

He was encouraging her; he knew that. He could see her sexy little 'fuck-me' smirk from halfway across town.

"Said I was 2 tired 2 wrk… l8 nights of lessons."

The night before, he'd taught her how to bake cupcakes. And it was in no way a subtle scheme to guide them to the point where she was spread-eagled and naked on his kitchen table, and he was lapping frosting from her hot little pussy, and she was arching into him, gripping the sides of the table with both hands.

Of course that had been unintentional. Gods, the noises she'd made: somewhere between mewling and screaming. He could hear that sound every day for a year, and it would still be the hottest thing in the Universe.

Just the memory was making him hard.

"If you're so tired, then why don't you sleep?"

Now he was just asking for her to distract him. And Sydney Glass had just walked in, and was perusing the shelves, so now was not a good time to have a raging hard-on.

"I was... bt my dream woke me up."

He wasn't touching that one with a ten-foot barge pole. Talking to Belle when she was in this mood was like playing with fire, and now was not the best time to get scorch marks.

He successfully ignored the buzzing of his phone for a full thirty seconds before his curiosity – and libido – got the better of him.

"We were in the forest near ur house, n u were fucking me against a tree. Come over n finish what u started."

Another message arrived as he read: he was almost too scared to open it. Especially when he realised that she'd sent him a picture.

It was a photo of her, sat in the pink chair in her bedroom, completely stark naked. Her hair was blonde, as it had been for a while when they'd first started this whole affair and she was feeling daring, wanted to try new things. That had been an interesting month.

He'd never realised she'd taken pictures, and found himself wondering how he could get his hands on the whole lot. After he got his hands on the subject of, course.

Sydney came to the desk, and Gold remained seated. He couldn't very well stand, anyway, with his hard, aching cock tenting his trousers.

He'd have to punish her for that. He pushed down a filthy smirk: later.

Someone was calling him, and he had a very strong suspicion he knew who it would be.

"Hey, you gonna answer that?"


"Oh." Sydney looked at him funny, and Gold quickly put on his most casual and genial smile, "Someone you don't wanna talk to?"

"Just a... child who's got my number and is trying to get herself into trouble."

And succeeding.

"Oh, alright." Sydney made his purchase, a small looking glass, and left quickly as Gold smothered remarks about wishes and magic mirrors.

Then he answered the phone, and went in the back.

"What is the matter, dear?"

"You." He could hear the pout in Belle's voice, and wanted to bite it from her lips, "You keep ignoring me."

"I'm at work, dear, I can't just leave."

"Well I'm in my bed, and I've misplaced my underwear, and you're not here to help me find them." Her voice was indignant, but he could hear her smiling.

"Well, you know I couldn't help with that," he replied, "I disapprove of any and all clothing you possess."

"Even the Catholic schoolgirl uniform?"

His mind flashed back to the day he'd discovered that. She'd sat on his desk in the middle of the shop, legs spread wide and kicking in knee-high socks and a skirt hemmed higher than her fingertips.

He'd called her "Miss French" the whole time, and she'd giggled and then cried out as he held her down against the desk and spanked her.

He groaned, and his cock hardened still further.

She giggled, "Ah-ha! Not everything, then."

"What do you want, you little minx?"

"I want you to come over and fuck my brains out."

He nearly came right then and there, and he closed his eyes, calling on every shred of restraint he knew he had hidden somewhere in his brain. She was making an awfully good case for just taking a personal day and doing as she asked.

But the Frenchs lived above the shop, and Moe would probably lock Belle in her room forever if he caught them. Gold didn't want to repeat any past mistakes.

"I can't, love." He said, softly, and this time she was the one to moan.

He grinned, and took a seat in one of the old armchairs he was readying for sale: he couldn't be there in person, but perhaps there were other ways.

"What're you actually wearing?" he asked. His voice had taken a lower pitch, practically purring into her ear, all rolling 'r's and Scottish burr. He played up his accent when they were together, because he knew what it did to her.

Belle hadn't expected this to actually work: she'd thought she'd send him the picture, rile him up a bit, and then he'd stop texting back and she'd go watch some TV. And wait for their next 'date', when he'd punish her for working him up at work.

"Um, your white shirt that I stole last Saturday."


"And that's it…"

"Okay, then you're going to do exactly as I say from now on, got it?"

Oh, he knew she loved it when he told her what to do.

She let out a little whimper, "Or what?"

"Or I'll hang up, and turn my phone off, and you'll have to sort yourself out." His voice was a little harsher, demanding, and she loved every second of it.

"Okay…" she breathed, "what do you want me to do?"

He laughed, and it came out lower and huskier than usual. The sound vibrated through her, right to her aching centre. "First, I want you to slide a hand down under the shirt, and run your fingers over one nipple."

She swallowed, and did as she was told, moving her fingertips under the collar and down to her breast, brushing over one already-sensitised tip. She gasped, played it up a little, and smiled when she heard his quick little intake of breath.

"Good," he murmured, "Now give it a quick tug, like you know I would if I were there."

She did, and a little shock of pleasure ran through her.

"How did that feel?"

"Good…" she breathed.

"Now the other one."

She repeated the action on the other side, and shivered, her whole spine vibrating.

"What would you want me to do now?"

"Go…" she swallowed, "Go lower."

"Where to?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice, knew he was going to make her say it, "My… my pussy…"

"Yes…" he groaned the word into the phone, and she could just imagine him, in his shop, rubbing himself through his suit pants, talking dirty to her down his cell phone, "Put your hand there…"

Her fingers found her clit in a moment, and rubbed hard, the image in her mind too much to bear.

"Wh-what now?"

"Run your fingers around your clit… pretend it's my tongue down there, eating you out, lapping up every bit of you…"

She moaned, and followed his instructions, stroking herself with two fingers and sending mewling little cries down the phone, the sensation of her own touch on her clit and his deep, urgent, commanding voice in her ear sending pleasure rocketing through her.

"Now… stop." He commanded, and she did. She breathed hard, the ache between her legs hot and urgent, and waited for his next order.

"Slide one finger down, right down, and dip it just slightly into your entrance." She swallowed hard, and moved down, found her dripping entry and slipped inside. She clenched, hard, and moaned deep in the back of her throat.

"Pretend that's my cock, teasing you, making you beg me to go all the way inside and fuck you, hard and deep."

"Ah!" she held herself still, knew he'd hear if she disobeyed and would hang up, leaving her lost without his voice in her ear to spur her on.

"Do you want that, Belle? Do you want me to take you right now?" his tone was rough, demanding, and the most delicious thing she'd ever heard.

"Yes… oh, God, please yes…"

"Then slide your finger up, deep inside… yeah, that's right, now add a second one…"

She slid her middle and index fingers inside herself, felt her walls clench hard around her knuckles, and cried out into the phone, "Ahh!".

"Now fuck yourself, Belle… go on…"

She moved her thumb up, and rubbed her clit hard as she rode her own hand, hitting the spot deep inside her that he'd discovered, pretending it was him, hard and hot inside, driving her closer and closer…

"Come for me, Belle," he coaxed, and she did, clenching hard around her fingers, hips arching off the bed. She cried out, high and keening, and breathed hard as she relaxed, coming down off her high with a sleepy little smile.

"Fuck." She murmured.

"About sums it up…" he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'll… ah… I'll let you get back to business, now."

"Thank you, dear. I'll see you tonight."

"We're not supposed to meet until Wednesday…"

"I need to punish you for working me up in the middle of the day. I'll see you at nine."

Then he hung up, and Belle shivered in anticipation. It would take a lot to sneak out that night, but Gold always made it worth her while.