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Ship in a Bottle	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 4205 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
Chapter 12: To Love A Pirate, Part 2

He kissed her thoroughly, expertly, and she resisted at first, but could not continue to do so. Not when he was stroking her tongue with his like that, or nibbling her lips like that, or crushing her against him so hard she thought he'd never let her go, and she knew at that moment that she didn't want him to. Ever.

But things had gotten out of control, quickly, much more so than she had anticipated. When she and Mary had concocted the idea of the switch, Elizabeth told herself she was primarily interested in information... discovering how Jack felt about her, and perhaps she was curious, and wanted to see if the sensations he'd brought to life in her months ago were still there, beneath the surface, waiting for him to release them. She knew it meant giving Will to Mary for the night. And she was shocked at how rapidly she'd agreed to Mary's plan, in spite of that. And she hadn't given a single thought to Will Turner until this very moment, since she had walked into the room and seen Jack.

But he was never supposed to find out. She didn't want him to know how she couldn't keep away from him, how thoughts of him consumed her, how she chastised herself constantly for thinking of him all the time. And now that had all gone to hell, and she was trapped in Jack Sparrow's cabin with him, and she had yet to figure a way out. She did believe she had to at least try.

“Jack,” she breathed when their lips parted for air. He kissed along the side of her face to her jaw, began kissing down her neck, and she struggled to think. “I'm sorry about the trick, I didn't mean for it to happen this way.”

He stopped after a slow rub of his lips against her collarbone, and then looked up. His dark eyes shone fiercely with a mixture of emotions, and she was shaken to her very core, but met his gaze nonetheless. “I'll bet you didn't, did you? You didn't mean for me to catch you, is all.”

“No - I mean, yes - I mean, I didn't intend to seduce you, precisely.”

“Oh, no? What were you going to do after you'd promised to share my bed if I admitted that I desired you, hm? Stroll out the door? You can't honestly believe I'd let that happen.”

“Uh...” She lost her train of thought as he kissed the center of her chest, above her bosom, and willed the wheels of her mind to keep turning, mired as they were in Jack. “But that was after you began to undress me.”

“You marched in here-“ another kiss above her sternum- “and demanded that I undress you. Then you annoyed the piss out of me with all that whining about who I really wanted and why. And then you said-“ he paused, remembering- “that only whores love pirates. Isn't that right?”

She moaned, regretting having allowed those words to slip past her lips, she'd only wanted to hurt him, to inflict the pain he'd inflicted on her since they'd met again.

“So what does that make you, Mrs. Turner, hm?” He stood up and gripped her waist with both hands, hauling her tight against him, and she could feel he was hard, again.

“I'm sorry I said that, I didn't mean it,” she protested.

“Not half as sorry as you're going to be,” he murmured silkily against her lips. “You're going to beg me to take you, before we're through.”

At the deadly seriousness in those softly spoken words, she became alarmed, and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her fast.

“Let me go!”

“Fine,” he said abruptly, and she spun out of his arms, headed for the door. He waited until she had almost reached it, before he added, “Go on, and I'll go find Will and tell him you seem to have gotten lost in my cabin.”

She whirled on him, furious. “You wouldn't dare.”

“Wouldn't I? Try me,” he said, striding over to her and lifting her up by the waist, ignoring her squeaked protest, and pinned her against the wall. “There's nothing I'd like more than to... sow the seeds-“ he ground his hips against her, so his meaning was clear- “of marital discord. As it were.”

Her legs wrapped instinctively around him, and with a groan, he leaned in to kiss her again. She felt his need, as it seemed to radiate from his skin, and permeate hers. Desire coiled like a python in her insides, twisting and winding and making her writhe as she kissed him back, fervently, willing to submit to whatever it was he wanted to do to her.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, and lifted himself away from her, and she had to balance on one foot until the other came unwrapped and joined the first on the floor. She put out a hand to steady herself against the wall of the cabin. He was walking away, toward the bed, she saw, and knew she shouldn't, couldn't, follow.

“Come here,” he commanded, in the same tone that he ordered men to man their guns.

“What's the difference,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “You'll only humiliate me. And you've already used me for your own... sordid pleasure.”

He laughed, then, a nice, real laugh. “Oh, my Lizzy. Come here, and I'll show you that pleasure is not sordid.”

“I know it doesn't have to be. But somehow you manage to make everything dirty.”

“Oh? And I'm feeling rather clean, thank you, after that delightful little bath you gave me a few minutes ago.”

She blushed furiously, and he saw it, and laughed again. Then he walked back over to where she stood. “And where did you learn that, I wonder? From your blacksmith?”

“Leave him out of this.” In reality, she'd heard the maids in her father's house alluding to something of the kind, and the rest she'd sort of made up as she went along, based on the cues he gave her... and she had discovered it was wonderful, too, to taste him, to control him...

“Does he give you pleasure, Elizabeth?” He was leaning in closer to her, now, and she could feel the heat of his body through his clothes and her thin undergarment. “Does he?”

She had never been so mortified in all her life. She couldn't even meet his eyes as she mumbled, “Of course.”

“Really?” Jack sounded disinclined to believe her, but she stood her ground. He gathered her into his arms, then, and before she knew it, he had picked her up and was carrying her over to the bunk. And she didn't resist at all. Her bones felt as though they had turned to water, and as the soft mattress met her back, she relaxed into it, and he fell on top of her, lowering his mouth for another kiss.

He kissed her almost tenderly, his tongue wrapping around hers repeatedly until she thought she'd die from the pleasure of it, and she reached up to twist locks of his hair in her hands, the rough texture reminding her that he was a pirate, her pirate, and she was as helpless against her desire for him as a grain of sand against the waves of the ocean. Her fingers came up to stroke his beard, the braids sliding against the web between her fingers, and she touched the column of his throat, next, her fingertips cascading down his chest and disappearing beneath his shirt. She felt the hard ridges of the scars she'd seen when he'd shown them to her long ago, on that island they'd been left on. They fascinated her, like everything else about him... his texture, his smell, his taste.

Then he pulled away from her, and she murmured a protest as he sat up on the bed. He reached down to lift the hem of her shift up past her knees and hips, and she arched her back so he could remove it over her head, gently guiding it off of her arms before he dropped it in a heap on the floor. Knowing she was naked to his gaze in the candlelight, she set her chin firmly, and watched his face as his eyes touched every part of her.

“So beautiful. So bloody beautiful,” she thought she heard him mutter as he came down on top of her again, both of his hands finding her breasts and kneading, gently, as she cried out in response. Before long one of his hands slipped down between her legs and a tiny shiver of anticipation coursed through her. Jack's hands... she remembered... oh God, the pleasure he could give her with those hands.

When he finally touched her, she cried out again, and he seemed to tense, holding himself away from her for a moment.

“W-what's the matter?” she breathed.

He chuckled, and took a long, shaky breath. “Nothing's the matter, love, except that I want you so damned much it's going to be over before it even begins.”

“Oh,” she sighed, relieved and excited at the same time. His fingers were still on her, unmoving, and she tried to shift her hips to bring more contact with those warm, rough fingers, but he held her still with his other hand. She heard him laughing again. “Now what?”

“Something you want, love?”

“Are you daft? Isn't it plain enough to you?”

He laughed even more at her arch tone, still refusing to move his fingers an inch. “You meant to come in here, have me in whatever sense you like, because you couldn't resist me any more, never mind bloody Will and all the rest of it. But you weren't even going to let me know it. You weren't even going to give me the satisfaction of knowing that Elizabeth Turner needed me, here-“ and he flexed his fingers slightly. “I find that very ironic.”

“All right. So?”

“Pushy, aren't you? I think you're going to have to tell me, plainly, everything that you didn't want me to know. You're going to have to state clearly, for the record, that it's me you want.”

Elizabeth felt herself blushing again, and she knew she could never do it, never beg aloud for his touch. She despaired of the entire situation. And yet, when he saw her hesitation and removed his hand, she whimpered aloud in protest.

“Something wrong?”

“Put it back,” she heard herself saying. No, not saying. Pleading.

“Put what back?” The teasing note had returned to his voice.

“Your hand, your fingers.”

“Ahhh.” He obeyed, using the pad of his thumb to slip just slightly, briefly, over the sensitive nub, and her hips bucked and she made another noise of pleasure, somewhere between a groan and a soft scream. Then his fingers stilled again.

“I know you like that, don't you?”

She gave a muted cry in reply.

“And you're not lying there thinking about Will Turner, are you, now?”

“Of course not,” she nearly choked on a laugh, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face to the side.

“Good,” he said, and then slid two fingers inside of her. She did scream, then, but softly, melodiously, and he stroked her slowly, in, then out.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” She understood the game now, could play by his rules. It only required that she forget her pride...now. And forever, because he would never let her forget it. She mentally waved at her pride as she watched it fly out the window.

He stroked her a little faster, rubbing his thumb over her more rapidly, and she began to breathe shallowly as she ground her hips against his hand.

“You want me to continue touching you?”

“Yes,” she begged.

“Yes, who?”

“Yes... Captain?” she guessed, no longer able to think as he wound her desire tighter and tighter.

He laughed again, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I was hoping for 'Jack', but I suppose Captain is all right, too.”

“Jack, please. Please,” she continued to beg, astounding herself as her hips danced to the rhythm of his hand.

He seemed to take pity on her, then, and flattened his palm against her as he curled his fingers toward the front of her body, and flicked his wrist back and forth, only a little, waiting to see if that would do it...

“Oh, God. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,” she called powerlessly, thrashing against him, knowing she had never been so wild in all her life, and knowing that he had done it, Jack, her pirate nemesis, and she loved him for it, loved him with every single fiber of her body as she was swept with a maelstrom of pleasure that left her totally weak and breathless.

But he didn't stop there.

While she tried to find her way back to reality, she became aware of him moving to lean over her body, and she reached a hand down to find his head above her belly, and she pulled at his hair.

“Yes?”

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“Lay back, love. I'm going to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I'm going to remind myself how much I love the taste of you-“ at this she felt an answered twinge in her tenderly throbbing loins - “and I'm going to help you expand your definition of 'sordid pleasure'.”

Then his mouth and tongue were upon her, and she groaned aloud at the sharp sensation, her flesh still tender from his previous touch. But soon that didn't seem to matter as he tasted and teased and sucked and rubbed her with his tongue, and she found that mysterious knot of desire that she thought he'd totally unwound before was knotting up again, even tighter.

My God, she thought. Am I ever going to be able to relinquish this kind of loving? Will couldn't give it to her. She knew he couldn't. He tried, bless him. Maybe after a few more years... more practice, more love... and she glanced down and took in Jack's bandanna, the beads in his wild hair, glimpses of his neat black beard, and she admitted that Will would never be Jack, never make her feel like Jack did, no matter what. And just then Jack sucked her against his teeth while flicking her with his oh-so-skillful tongue, and everything crystallized in another haze of pleasure and she nearly sobbed with the delight and despair of it. She lay there, unmoving, contemplating the bitter twists of her still-young life.

She felt tears leak from her eyes onto the pillow, and soon Jack was over her, brushing her tears away from her eyes, saying “Don't cry, it's all right.”

He gathered her against him, and she realized that at some point he had stripped himself of his clothes, and was now naked with her, and she laid an arm over his shoulder with a sigh.

“It's done, then,” she said with a sniff, blinking away her tears. “You've won. You've made me your... mistress.”

“Hmm,” Jack said, the sound vibrating from within his chest despite the light tenor of his voice. “I wouldn't say that, precisely.”

“No?” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.

“No. For one thing-“ he rolled her onto her back and settled carefully between her legs. “-it's not 'done', as you say.”

She felt the warm pressure of his manhood at her entrance, and she drew a deep breath and sighed, unsure how much more pleasure she could tolerate before blacking out entirely.

“All right?” He asked against her lips.

“Yes.” She was resigned. But apparently this failed to satisfy him, because he didn't move, didn't enter her.

“That's a little less persuasive than a man often hopes for.”

She sighed, wiggling against him, feeling as though a gentle flame were lit between her legs, and it warmed her, as long as he kept touching her. “What else do you want? What does it matter? You have me. You win.”

“I want-“ he paused for a moment, and his right hand came up to her face. “Open your eyes,” he said, and she did. “You see this?” He held his wrist to her eyes, and the P brand fairly leapt off his skin, and she couldn't even imagine the pain of it.

“I see it.”

“Good. You must understand how utterly foolish it was to come here, believing that you would leave again having shared my bed with me none the wiser. Every inch of your body, Lizzy - your hair, your eyes, your face, your lips, everything beneath - everything you have and that you are, is branded on me just like that. Savvy? Branded on my hands, my mind, my skin, my mouth. And smart as you are, you honestly thought that I couldn't tell the difference. Me. The man who taught you the meaning of pleasure. The man who made you a woman.”

He was right. “I know. It was completely naive of me. But I won't make that mistake again.”

“See that you don't,” he said, and shifted his hips to nudge farther inside her.

“I wanted you to know,” she confessed, the truth making its way out of her pride-clouded mind at last, and she was surprised she didn't realize it before. “Deep down, I wanted you to know it was me, after all.”

“Now that's more like it,” he said, and slid deep inside her with a gentle push.

They both gasped at the extraordinary rightness of it, the perfect fit, the melding of hard and soft uniting them completely.

“I remember this,” she murmured. “I remember you filling me like this... making me whole...”

“Don't ever forget it,” he said quietly in response, reaching up to pull silky strands away from her face. “Not ever, ever, ever.” And he moved inside of her, building that magnificent need in her again until they both clung to each other, desperate for release. When she found hers and Jack found his, too, they lay completely still for a long while, afraid to move or change the perfection of what had happened.

And afterward, she would sleep for the first and only time, she gathered, wrapped in Jack Sparrow's arms. He began to snore softly, one hand possessively flung across her middle, while a single thought hammered through her brain, keeping her awake.

My God, my God, what on earth am I going to do?
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Ship in a Bottle