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Whispers of Redemption	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2243 -:- 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.

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Bit of a warning: This is where the situation goes pear-shaped. Jack, impetuous lad that he is, does something that endangers his relationship with Hector Barbossa. But, we all do things in life that, at the moment, seemed like a smart idea�only, to discover later that we�ve screwed up. Don�t assume the worst of him or of Henriette�just enjoy it.

Year Thirty-two

Dangerous Alliances

Jack Sparrow jumped, his eyes flying open. Another blasted dream.

His breath rasped as he sought something familiar of the darkness he lay within. Long moments fled as he calmed and realized that he was on the Black Pearl and that he was in her prow---he recognized the shifting creak. There was, however, something unfamiliar laying against him. Warm, scented like salt and rum and tobacco and hyssop. Close to his own size, from the feel of what seemed to be legs that were wrapped and tucked over and between his. There was an arm or something like an arm laying over his own ribs, holding him.

Narrowing his eyes, he tentatively reached out and poked at it.

The something was breathing; its breathing changed at his brief touch.

Soft. Soft flesh under cloth. They were both under a scratchy blanket and he knew...he was meant to remember who this other person was. But, the identity escaped his waking mind at this very moment. Which wasn�t right, he knew; sharing a bed meant knowing the name of whoever was sharing with him. His head was pounding again---not enough to drink, likely enough, and probably a good reason for his inability to remember the name. Stretching his fingers, he tried again; this time, he used his whole hand and squeezed, to get a better idea of what and who was laying so snugly against his body.

Squeeze. Warm, soft. Firm, but small.

A vise came down on his wrist with the suddenness of a bullet. The voice that followed was hoarse, almost surely female, and muzzy with sleep. The words came with a puff of rummy breath that struck his bearded chin and throat, almost tickling. "Leave off, ye dog, or I'll cut yer t'roat."

Oh. Aye. That was the way of it. Jack relaxed, withdrawing his hand from the small breast he'd squeezed. He knew the voice and the hostility. Henriette. Then, he remembered where he was and why. He was sleeping in the surgery with his protégé because he was unable to share the bed with Hector Barbossa from fear of giving into his own lusts. He�d been sleeping in the surgery for more than a thirty-day, now.

Sleeping in the same bed with his protégé, Henriette.

Who was warm and soft and smelled very good.

"Sorry, lass." He whispered, tucking his fingers against his own belly as she turned loose of him. "Didn't know where I was, for the moment. I'll just go back to dreaming, then."

But, she didn't pull back from the strangely compelling position they'd found in sleep. There, her skinny legs entwined with his and her face was almost pressing to his chest even as her hands mimicked his and tucked in close to her own ribs. But, she did answer, sounding slightly bemused and half-asleep. "Nay problem, Jack."

As he lay still and silent, listening to her breath as it slowed again, going back into slumber, Jack considered the dream. He was hard in his breeches and couldn't escape from the pallet unless he wanted to wake Henriette completely---if he did, she'd surely realize the matter was more than simple startlement. He'd dreamed of Hector and he'd dreamed of being taken.

Did he want that? Did he want to be roughly used?

He wasn't sure of it, here and now, in the dark.

He thought, however, that he might've hit upon the best solution. After a month of sleeping this way and working to ignore the reaction his body had to being so close to that of a lass, he decided that he�d have an attempt at what might be sheer madness or absolute genius. It might get him killed, but, at least, he�d be out of his lusty misery. Glad for the darkness, he tipped his face to the top of the lass' head and spoke in a speculative tone. "Henriette, lass?"

"Aye?" She stretched, coming back to consciousness.

Stretching as she did, which only seemed to urge their bodies closer together under the blankets, he was forced to become very aware of his prick as it rubbed under his breeches. If it grew any more of a mind for itself, the thing would be greeting his protégé on its own.

Jack pressed at his belly with the tips of his fingers, steadying himself. "Hen, I did never think I would suggest a change in the nature of our long-standing and very profitable relationship as friends, what with you having been my fosterling and all, but I find myself wondering if you would perhaps consider...." Now, his voice failed him.

It did occur to him that perhaps she considered their relationship to be too emotionally close for such a thing or that she would think him too much older. Did she see him as really family or was it something flexible, the way he had, as a lad, seen his childhood love for his nanny's daughter, Lauretta? Was he so desperate that he would offer himself to the lass he'd taught to be a pirate? He'd known her as a small lass, aye, but the last three years had changed a great deal of her---body and mind. He saw the proof of that, every day. She was not the lass he�d sailed with on the Cathay Rose.

"I have. I've thought on it, Jack Sparrow. You're a handsome fellow, aye? Likely to be fun, too." It sounded as if his protégé was speculating herself. She reached up between them to scratch at her face in the dark. "I did think meself in love wi' you just the once."

His eyes were adjusting to allow for some idea of the shadows closest to his own sight.

It surprised him and he made a low noise in his throat at the idea---she'd once thought herself in love with him. Likely, he considered, those feelings had occurred in the last two years she'd sailed with him as cabin boy. Looking back momentarily, he remembered a few odd conversations they'd had while sharing dinner or a quiet morn's watch at the helm.

Squirming to find a new position for her hips, Henriette came in contact with his hardness and jerked backwards. She flailed a little, almost falling off the sail-cloth bedding. He reached out and caught her by the ribs and threadbare shirt, which caused the lass to give a low, terrible chuckle and he could feel how fast her heart was beating. Henriette, the homely and ferocious pirate lass, was trembling---trembling hard.

"Jack..." She whispered and he caught a shadowy glimpse of the skinny lass ducking to bury her face into the pillow she'd cadged from the hold's stock of finery. Now, her voice was muffled, uneasy. The lass was slowly disentangling herself at the legs, pulling back from the contact of their bodies. "You were dreaming of a lover, but t'wasn't me. I'm not the one for any port in a storm. Rub off here, if you must...I'll not care."

It dawned on him that her protest sounded forced; she was trembling, but her body was warming at his hand. Her skin felt damp under the shirt she wore. She did want him, but something frightened the lass---she, who didn't frighten. Tapping his fingertips on her ribs, he mused. "Hen, lass, have you never, then?"

With the combination of the darkness and with her head buried into the red, velvety pillow they shared, he couldn't see her face. But, he heard how her breath quickened and she whispered. "Aye, Jack, I've done so---I'm no innocent lamb. But, t'is a hard thing, protecting what passes for strength and ballocks among a crew of men---especially when yer the captain and always under the threat of a possible mutiny. A captain plays from a position of strength, even when that strength is naught but bluster and wind. So, I've made a promise, Jack, on this ship. I'll not devil the men and I'll play the hard one."

With gentle but callused fingers, he reached for her chin and forced her to turn on the pillow and face him in the darkness. Now, he could see just the barest hint of her features. He knew something of what made a lass so hard inside---he'd known her mother well, aye? Aye, he'd counted Anamaria as one of his truest friends, pirate or not. He'd known other lasses who worked on ships as cabin boy or cook. Or even swabbies. This lass had always possessed the heart of a lion, something tough and brave and yet devious in its core. She wanted him and so she'd offered to share her bed and her privacy, because they were friends---thinking he wouldn't come asking for anything more. She was a brave one, a true friend and a true pirate.

Then, it came creeping like a cold hand up his backbone.

She'd said something of a promise.

"Henriette, did you promise Barbossa something beyond the Articles you signed for us?" Jack felt the urgency of his hardness fading as his mind began working over the possibilities of what Hector might be planning against him---if anything at all was being plotted.

She nodded, shifting his hand on her face. Her voice cracked, a little hoarse once more. "Aye, I did. I promised him I wouldn't devil the men or lead them astray. I promised I'd play the hard one, not letting any take their pleasure with me. Even if I wished it."

He echoed her nod with one of his own, lifting his fingers away from her chin to scratch at his own, rubbing at his plaited beard. It made sense to make a pirate lass give a promise of that nature, for the sake of peace onboard. "Did Barbossa say what would be done, if you were caught?"

Henriette whispered it at him as she began to tremble once more. "He said he'd have me locked in the brig and fed nothing but bread and scummy water 'til we reach Port Royal again. But, him as I might take for pleasure, that one would Captain kill with his own hands."

It made his guts ache, the thought of that. Was Hector showing a sense of paternal concern at last? Not likely. More likely was that the battered codpiece was doing so to keep Henriette firmly under a thumb of fear. If he knew his old matelot, the promise extended to those men who might only look at the lass. Which meant that...any man caught so much as eyeing her would suffer. It was a heavy burden to lay on the shoulders of a pirate. Cruel, it was.

Not that there were any men aboard the Pearl who were worth giving a second glance to.

He knew that, himself; he'd looked.

A dark and devious thought eased its way into his mind and started to cross, but then got caught in a pocket of possibility and began to fester. Oh, aye. He could use it to his advantage, if he might convince---seduce---the lass into agreeing with him. Smiling, he reached out in the darkness once more and laid his fingers on the long, angular face of his protégé. "Hen, love, he still yet devils me and calls it friendship, hence me sleeping in your surgery and in your bed. So, he devils me and then he devils you by placing such a disproportionate and wrong-headed article upon your conscience. What say you that we, meaning you and I, might devil him? Your promise, seems to the logical rumination, excludes me from the conditions---aye? I�m the one man aboard this ship who doesn�t necessarily have to live by the promise you�ve made. Does he not deserve such, at the very least?"

Henriette sucked in a breath, harsh and dry-sounding. She shook her head at him in the dark, reaching up to put her own fingers against his chest, right at the point where his shirt lay open. "No, Jack, ain't worth deviling Captain---be reasonable! He'll kill you with his own hands. I'll no have that on me head."

"Love---" He began. With care, he cupped her strong, cleft chin. Drawing close, he pressed his mouth to hers; she was slick and firm and she gasped into him. When he drew back from the kiss, he didn't go very far. Their lips still touched with only the space to speak left between them. He smiled cockily, explaining himself fully so as she wouldn't mistake his intentions or his reasons. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

He could make, under the edge of his lips, as how Henriette was giving the distinct smirk he imagined a hungry shark might give, having scented blood in the water. Her strong, brown-skinned fingers closed in his shirt�s collar as she rubbed her small nose lightly back and forth against his; she was her sly and dangerous self once more as she answered. �Aye, Jack, and I�m Captain Henriette De la Hoya. Named after ol� Morgan hisself, aye? I�ll not fall for your charming words or charming looks. I know you too well to be the mooncalf. You�ll not play me so easily, aye? But, I�m not averse to sharing what we�ve in common to share. Let�s discuss terms for an accord of our own. What say you?�

�Aye.� Jack breathed it, letting his own fingers move, again. Now, his free hand was exploring the countryside beneath the flimsy and threadbare shirt his protégé wore. He pushed forward to give a light kiss on the lass� jaw before he whispered into her ear, his mustache tickling at the tender flesh there. �What be your terms, love?�

In his mind, he was still being tugged back to the dream of Hector---and that wasn�t where he wanted to be. Not now, not when he didn�t dare trust the scallywag. Not quite. And here was his darling Hen, who seemed to know him enough to not go falling in love�and she was wanting him. He�d be a fool to not pursue this angle, aye? He might be mad, but he was no fool.

Henriette�s slender hands were unbuttoning his shirt, easing it back from his shoulders in the dark. Her voice was only a murmur but, so soft and so sweet and so offering. �Once he�s off the Pearl, I�m your first mate. In exchange, I�ll be your port and happy for it when you�ve need of me.�

He gave her a kiss on the curving shell presented to his lips and sighed, stroking the tender flesh of her back and ribs under the shirt he�d shucked upward. �No doing, lass�as long as Gibbs is on board my ship, he�s first mate. T�is a promise made him three years ago.�

She gave a chuckle at him, lowering her mouth to bite at his collarbone, which she�d freed. �Aye, well, then�I�ll take second mate and you can make do with what port I�m willing to offer. Hands only.�

Now, that wasn�t right. Not when he was aching again, hard and throbbing in his breeches. Jack mouthed the creamy brown flesh from ear to cheekbone, disagreeing with the stingy lass he held in his arms. �Not fair terms, love�hands and mouth and you�ll get the same share as first mate.�

�As chiruigion and second mate, I�ll already have more than the first mate�s share�second mate and you�ll also be my port when I�ve the need of you, hands and mouth and nothing more�� Her breath was coming in short spurts, a rough gasping that buzzed on his flesh as she pushed up and around onto her knees, putting him off-balance and causing the blankets to slide away and to the deck.

The new position put her small breasts right before his face. Jack bit off a moan, knowing that unfair didn�t describe the dirty move she�d played him. He used his hands to draw her down to him, now ready to offer something more substantial. With his mouth pressed to the shirt-covered chest before him, he answered with a muffled, strangling voice. �No doing, darlin� Hen. All of it and between us and a ship of your own�Captain again in more than name, aye? My final offer�I think.�

She was hot to the touch, sweating through the threadbare linen. Her hands slipped through his hair, pulling free the scarf he�d worn to bed. He felt the kiss she planted on his brow, but it didn�t matter now as he opened his teeth on the flesh he could almost taste. She whispered with a choking sob of her own. �Take what you can, give nothing back. Aye�looks like we�ve an accord, uncle.�

That stopped him cold. In the dark, he pulled back just enough to look up at her shadowy face. He clenched his fingers in the shirt he held up and away from her skinny back. �Be best to my mind�� Jack murmured, his mind doing flips at the feel of what her hands were doing at the front of his breeches. �Be best, you not calling me that. Not while this part of the accord is in effect, Henny. A bit off-putting, it is.�

***

Jack Sparrow lay naked on the pallet as she re-lit the lantern where it sat on the surgery table. Henriette moved with a surety that belied her age---had ever a lass behaved so like a man? He felt his heart swelling at the sight as his protégé turned her back on him and raised her arms one at a time, sliding free of the shirt she wore. He felt an overwhelming urge to remind her that love wasn't a part of their accord---what they did here was to be business, of a sorts, and pleasure for pleasure's sake. But, not love.

Her ribs showed under the gold of her skin; the sharp curve of her shoulders shifted as she dropped her hands to untie the front of her breeches, still turned away from his sight. Her hips were so narrow as to be unwomanly, her legs thin and muscular. He watched as she pulled her necklace of beads and key off and let it drop to lay with her shirt and breeches. At last, naked, she turned and, without hesitation, came to the bed where he waited. There was a solemnity to her movements, as if what she did was part of some arcane ritual and...he supposed it was, at that.

She came down onto the sail-cloth beside him.

Henriette touched his shoulder, slowly trailing her slim fingers down over his hairless chest, tracing the lines of the black-lined tattoo that lay over his heart. She stared into his eyes with the unflinching desire that seemed to have been her birthright. Her touch felt like languorous fire that melted his skin, claiming him. Henriette's pale eyes, strange in the gleam of the lantern, slid away from his stare, traveling the full length of his body. Her small hand played lower, down over the hair on his belly and then her lips parted slightly with a knowing smile. She was fearless.

Lifting his head from the velvet pillow just enough to watch, Jack's senses reeled and he ached to move, to take her in his arms. The last person he'd taken was a wench he'd hired in Tortuga, when seeking ninety-nine souls for Davy Jones---and he'd hired her for the use of only her mouth, a transaction that had taken no time at all. That had happened an eternity ago, it seemed.

That mockingly dangerous smile lingered as Henriette's fingers cupped under the shaft of his prick, wrapping one digit at a time around it, her skin callused but agile. It dragged a hiss of surprise out of him---the pleasure was almost painful. In the lantern's light, he studied her naked body, unable to resist the chance. She most definitely had grown up in the last three years, but not so much as to become fully female in nature or curve. It seemed she was destined to have her mother's shape, all sharp and skinny and what-not. Any further study was forgotten as the lass began to stroke him. Slow, careful, and while smiling in that same sly way.

Finally, when he thought---madly---that the lass could torment him no more and might have nothing else to offer---she lowered her mouth to his prick and began to suck at him, tongue dipping, licking, moving in circles as she swallowed each inch. Each inch made his hands convulse into short, brown waves in tandem with the hungry dance of her mouth.

His breath came hard and raspy, throat growing raw from the force of his gasps. Henriette's young mouth was a fire melting him into submission, rendering him powerless to resist, even had he wanted to. As she leaned closer, he sucked in a breath of the hyssop she wore in her hair---a preventative against the louse---and gave a sighing chuckle at how she tugged at him with her lips. Her hands were wrapped on his hips, fingertips massaging and kneading into the skin. The most he could do, without giving into the desire to take away her control of the situation, was groan and clutch at the sail-cloth under him, twisting it into knots. But, Henriette responded by pushing one tiny, nubby breast at his inner thigh.

It was surprising---in the scarce light, she was a different creature altogether than the one who lived by the Articles during day. And he found he liked the quiet difference, the duality of her. He knew, even as he breathed curses at the sharp pleasure, this woman---for she was, now, in this, a peerless rogue of a woman---she would not seem the same when at duty ondeck of his ship. There, among the men, she was one of the crew and not this beguiling siren.

Her brown-skinned fingers worked along the length of his prick and then slipped upwards to cradle his furry ballocks tightly. Jack bit off a sob of desire, willing to let her do anything she liked...as long as she kept touching. He could feel her breath, but it was not as warm as her hands or her tongue. She leaned closer and the weight of her thin body pressed down on his hips and legs; her smooth, tight breasts pushed against his bare flesh.

Henriette carefully planted her knee between his sprawled legs and pushed upward with it on his ballocks very gentle, making him tingle and throb. Her homely, lightly freckled face was all angles in the lantern's golden glow; she smiled, raising her brows in askance, her tone easing. "Was this what you were looking for, then?"

He sucked a breath in, willing himself to be patient and to be still. A terrible task.

The dark Creole lass took her hands away from his body and he bit off a groan of disappointment; he burned to touch her, to be touched, but...then, Henriette slid her toughened fingers up along her own waist and cupped both breasts. He watched with a dry mouth as she squeezed them roughly, nearly twisting the brown nipples with a strangled moan in response.

Jack watched, wild-eyed, trying to keep his thoughts straight, but all he could think of was being allowed to push her down to the pallet and make the lass cry out his name as he claimed what she had agreed to give. His ballocks ached, agonizing as if he'd been kicked. Then, just when he thought he must surely do something or die, the ship's physiker slithered her body down his once more with a feline grace.

She looked up, meeting his gaze as she once more slid her mouth down the shaft of his prick until her face was nestled in the black hair of his crotch. He didn't fight the idea of it anymore. He grew harder in passion; the cool-warm tongue ran along the underside of his organ as her lips pulled and engulfed him, over and over.

He could feel the back of her throat with each wet, downward glide.

It made his mind reel, as if he'd been drinking rumbullion.

The lass was swallowing him whole as if born to do this and he wriggled his backside in the pallet, hips shifting under her hands as he reached to touch her short hair, her cheeks. She was all sinew and muscle and callus, this lass. He was torn between the desire that flooded his veins and a measure of surprise at the thought of who the lass was. But, before he could get wrapped up in the morality of the matter at hand, her tongue eagerly flicked at his hardness and he lost his mind to the ache of lust.

Abruptly, Henriette pulled her mouth away and began crawling up him; her face ghosted over his chest, her pink tongue cat-like as she tasted the skin. She kissed the Latin that was tattooed over his heart and the two dark scars on the other side of his chest. Now, she lay against his body, directly between his legs; the lass leaned over him until her lips were almost touching his and he held her at the waist, fingers roaming to examine the curve of arse and narrow hipbone. The skinny lass ran her tongue gently across his quivering mouth. She gyrated her body against his and he groaned, letting his breath out in a noisy rush. Every nerve tingled and twitched violently. Then, she gingerly licked his ear, sucking on the lobe, her breath a tickle that made his prick impossibly harder.

It came as a whisper from the face he couldn't quite see all of, in the shadows created by hair and lantern. "What's good for the gander t'is good for the goose, Jack---you'll be doing the same, aye?"

The thought drove him into mental silence. He hadn't used his mouth on a wench in a very, very long time---mostly due to the generally unclean nature of wenches and harlotry. It was unpleasant to be surprised when doing such a thing. But, this was Henriette---who was, by far, the cleanest person he personally knew, with the exception of Lizzie. He winced, internally, at the idea of what might lay between Lizzie's thighs. Here, however, laying in his arms, was the lass who'd made an accord for pleasure with him---a lass who insisted on clean hands in her private sanctuary, a physiker. Common sense prevailed and he did ask. "You've bathed, aye? Washed up decently?"

He felt he shouldn't ask---she had lived among the Arawak and taken on many of their habits. They were a clean people, believing in clean skin. With such an ethic already to hand, the lass had taken to a physiker's cleanliness with a native talent. Odd lot, the Arawak and their strange herbal-y suds. The only thing odder about them was how they used tobacco, rolling it up into their little cigarillos, and their affection for smoking the leaves of the hemp plant for its intoxicating affect.

Henriette arched a brow at him, her expression almost one of disgust as she leaned back a bit to reveal her face fully in the lantern's light. "Did I ask cleanliness of you, Jack? Bloody hell..." She rolled her eyes at him and then muttered. "I'm clean."

"Well, that's alright, then." He smiled and smoothly shifted, flipping her over.

Henriette squeaked---shocking, that---and laughed, her eyes wide open with delight. He kissed her, then; his mouth found hers again and he took her lower lip between his and nibbled at it. His fingers explored her body, petting on her skin. T'was delicious, to touch another, after so long. The lass sighed under his kiss. On her back, she lay still, holding him close as he braced himself above her, kissing her lips hungrily in a slow, tender caress. Henriette then teased his mustache with the tip of her tongue and that tickled. She licked the inside of his mouth in a light, offering manner; they were pushed together from the chest down, but he had his elbows planted on either side of her shoulders in the sail-cloth. He pulled back then and breathed hard, looking at her.

"Hen, darlin'..."

She used her fingers to pull his face down to meet hers in a kiss. "Shh, Jack, you shouldn't talk during this part." It was a whisper that ended as she took his lower lip between her teeth and sucked on it once again.

His breath faltered and then caught, coming harsh and desperate in the tiny space left between them. His long hair brushed at her cheek and throat once, as he dipped closer to nuzzle at her ear. She clutched at him, her hands moving over his back and hip. He could feel how his prick rubbed at the furry little mound between her thighs, naturally finding its way to the wettest part of her slit.

He moved, now, taking his time---it was pure torture, to force himself to reciprocate pleasure when all he wanted to do was bury himself in her and relieve his own need. He slipped his tongue over her salty-skinned throat. At her breasts, he kissed a little rougher, using his mustache and beard both to tease the firm, brown nipples. She hadn't even a handful of breast, but they were wonderfully responsive. He blew breath on them and watched, in the lantern's yellow gleam, as they tightened. Wet with slick sweat, Henriette gasped at such a torment and he grinned, opening his teeth on the treasure so freely offered. It wasn't something he'd done much of, kissing a woman's nipples---time was often money, to a tavern wench.

Fingertips light on her ribs, he dipped his open, wet mouth to her nipples; one at a time, he sucked them into his lips and tasted the tight, thick flesh there. The lass trembled at the touch of his teeth stroking the puckered tautness, gently tugging at the sensitive skin. She jumped under him on the sail-cloth, moaning in a sigh as he nudged a nipple with the unyielding firmness of his lower lip. He watched her face and he saw the moment she raised her head, opening her eyes to find him staring. He was devouring what she offered up, body and lust, enjoying the desperate need they shared.

Jack slipped his fingers down over her hips, following them at a slower pace with his mouth as he shifted, moving back along the pallet. He kissed her hollow-bellied navel, tonguing it gently and then nipping at the outside edges. He ran his tongue over the outer curve of her bony hip, brushing at it teasingly with his beard and his mustache. The beads and the reindeer bone in his dreadlocks clinked, poked, and slithered on her brownish-yellow skin as he slid both hands down and under, to cup her narrow arse. He was laying between the lass' legs now, his hairy jaw moving in little, teasing circles over the inside of her thighs.

Henriette squirmed under the attention; her breath came harder as his mouth descended to the top of her furry mound, placing a doting kiss on the rounded flesh. He was rewarded by her quivery moan; the lass dug her fingers into the piles of sail-cloth they lay on. With a wicked laugh, he pulled her legs further apart and drew them up over his naked shoulders, urging another---deeper---kiss on the hairy folds of her sex. His tongue slicked up over her, tasting the sweat and musk. He began tenderly licking her open to his touch, pushing with his lips. He pushed inward with a finger to test the hot inner sanctum and that made the ship's physiker shove at the pallet with her palms as she thrust herself up and harder into her mouth.

It was hellish, to ignore his own need---he was leaking all over the place---but, as he slid his finger into the sweltering heat of Henriette's body, he was again rewarded. She gasped and tightened, shaking and writhing at the touch. His mouth closed over the tiny button of her clit and sucked, moving over the tight flesh in a slow, pushing rotation. The lass grasped at his hair, pulling him closer with frantic hands as she sobbed in anxious, gut-wrenching entreaty.

She twitched, crying his name as she held his head with a death grip. "Jack---god---"

He forced her open with his finger and licked at the creamy froth that dripped out around his knuckle. He switched and plunged in with his tongue, attacking her clit with a fingertip, kneading until she arched up, unable to stop herself. He felt a surge of passion at the thought, the reaction---he had stripped away the lass' hard and dark anger. He imagined he could ask anything of her now and she'd comply with desperation for what he was doing.

"Ohhh---" It was a murmured whisper, sliding through her chattering teeth. "D-damn---"

He began caressing her delicately, going from the crest of her rising mound, down around the folds of her soaked, opened sex itself. Then, his tongue licked at her sultry flesh, taking a long and easy route from front to back. But, as she began to relax under his touch, he changed the attack---he raked his teeth down over her exposed, furry folds. Henriette shivered violently and pressed her hips forward once more, thrusting herself against his chin and mouth. He slipped two fingers now onto the distended button of her clit and rubbed in a circle, pushing it around in a gentle rhythm. It made her sob breathlessly, stammering incoherent words, as his tongue forced itself deeper, sucking at the slick insides of her cunny. She came fast, rearing up from under his hand and mouth with a half-choked wail. He clutched at her hip with one hand, keeping her from escaping his tongue and fingers. Henriette clenched her eyes shut and moaned, trying to twist herself away, unable to stop her voice as she whimpered and tried to fight for breath.

"Jack---"

His cheeks and beard were wet, now, from her dew. He watched her carefully from his place between her thighs as he paused and waited for her to calm. At last, after long moments, she sucked a harsh breath in and the shaking eased. When she opened her eyes and blearily looked for him, her pale green gaze unfocused, Jack ran his tongue over the curve of his upper lip and drew two fingers down over her clit in a slow manner, taking his time. Henriette's eyes widened, her expression sharpening as she studied what she could see of his face.

They stared at each other and he knew...she was fully aware of who it was that had caused the terrible, tormenting pleasure. She was aware and it brought a flush of amazement to her brown-skinned face. Which only made him feel that much more powerful. He'd stripped away the pirate lass' steel-stone exterior and revealed her to be a woman---a thing which neither of them would be forgetting.

Bending his head once more, Jack replaced his finger with his tongue and roughly sucked at the slippery clit between his teeth. He held her hips in both hands now, lifting her to his mouth. Henriette cried out, shrilly, and came hard again while still shivering her way out of the first one. She yanked at the sail-cloth, thrusting downward with her callused heels and hands as she jerked her arse higher in his gripping fingers.

At last, he let the lass down carefully, laying his face on her belly, breathing hoarsely with her. His mouth was open on her sweating skin as he licked the taste of her release from his lips. Then, he pushed up and onto his knees. He couldn't wait any longer; he was throbbingly leaking everywhere. He took her long, skinny legs in his hands, serious in the moment---they'd reached the point where he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He sincerely hoped she didn't regret the accord they'd set between them, because he didn't intend to be stopped at this point---he'd endured too much time without a lover or even the momentary pleasure of a warm body.

Jack moved slowly, watching her face as he raised her ankles to rest on his shoulders. Now, he held her bare knees as he pulled her closer; pressing his sweaty chest to the back of her legs, he entered Henriette slowly and pushed until he was buried to the hilt in the craving wetness. Henriette shifted against him and he felt the snug contraction as her body accommodated his length. He closed his eyes tight and pulled back a bit only to drive inward again, feeling maddeningly dizzy with relief.

"Bloody---" He hissed to the air as he threw his head back sharply in reaction to the tightness of it. "I won't last, Hen---"

With wild eyes and flushed cheeks and her raggedly short hair sticking up in crazed cowlicks, the lass shifted again, thrusting her hips toward him a wee bit harder. She was gripping the pilfered red velvet pillow behind her head with both hands, watching him from between her sharp elbows.

"Oh, now---" Lowering his head to kiss at one muscular leg, he protested with a breathless laugh at her eager wriggle. "Don't be doing that, love---"

"Move, dammit." She demanded in a hoarsely creaky way. Her eyes suddenly squeezed shut as her body began to squirm in a different manner, nearly spavined with some deep, internal reaction to him. Her wet and curving mouth glistened in the scant light as she gave a terrible moan, her words cracking as she tried again. "Jack, you arsebite---you've a cruel streak to you---move, damn you, and soon---please, Jack!"

It made him laugh, the inherent threat behind her pleading. And laughing gave him a measure of control over his own lust. He thrust again, clutching her knees to his chest. It caused a constriction that chafed and dragged, only adding to his pleasure---and he watched her face to keep himself from losing sight of the strong and fiery woman he'd discovered hiding beneath the hard shell of a pirate lass.

Over and over, he thrust into her---marveling at the way she tightened and relaxed, milking at him. He let go one of her legs and pushed at her exposed clit once more. He buried himself and began a new, deeper rhythm, leaning over her, corkscrewing downward into her body as he rolled her distended clit between his own callused fingers. It made Henriette cry out, open-mouthed, and arch up against his driving thrust. The lass twisted her head farther back on the pillow, sobbing hard as if caught between pleasure and some unnamed pain. A pain he wasn't going to acknowledge---not yet, not now---he could ease the discomfort after, when he wasn't dangling on the knife's edge of his own release. He moved his fingers faster over her clit, turning and sliding through the wet, making her cunny tighten like a fist around him.

"P-p-please, Jack---oh, hell---" Her mouth trembled as he let her clit go and his hands yanked her hips closer, tighter against his prick. Holding her narrow arse forcefully against his body, he wrapped one arm around his waist and ribs and scooped her up as he thrust, pushing at the back of her sex in an unrelenting plunge that took them both by surprise. Now, he was sitting up and she was straddling him, her legs still slung up and over his shoulders; it bent her body in half, but she clutched at him with her fingers, gripping his arms as he went on, fucking harder into her unresisting body.

Henriette's head rolled back, her slitted eyes showing only the whites as she cried his name again. "J-Jack---"

He responded by bending his mouth to her neck and opening his lips to the sweat that ran from the skin there. He could see nothing of the lantern's light, now; his hair fell to cover both his face and the skin he pressed his cheeks to. He kissed the flesh, running his tongue down to catch the musky pearls of wetness even as he ground her downward onto his prick, pounding even deeper inside her cunny, making her sob behind her gritted teeth. It was a sound that made him groan against her throat.

"Oh, Hen---I'm---" He didn't get to finish. It was like a wild storm, at sea.

He threw his weight up into her and she gave a strangled cry as she began to struggle, writhing on his lap---she was lost in her release, once more, and it was too much to fight through. Her body clenched tight on his prick and he bit off a curse as the dizzy heat swept through his bones, making him shake and spasm in reaction as his ballocks drew up hard.

"Ahhhg---guh--god---"

Behind his eyelids, the world sparkled and then it felt as if everything exploded.

He shook harder, weakened, when he pulled back from her throat and breathed harshly, unable to hold her up from the pallet any longer. Together, they fell to the sail-cloth, and he collapsed in her skinny arms, his face on her collarbone.

As he lay there, breathing in the silence, too weak to move, Henriette gave a low cough. It made her muscles tighten again and he whimpered at the sensation. He managed to whisper a protest. "Don't, lass---you'll kill me."

Strong arms snugged a little more at his waist and ribs. Her voice was soft, low, bemused. "Die happy?"

"What---" He rubbed his nose and mustache against her bony shoulder. "Oh, yes, love, die happy." He held her close and stayed inside her cunny as she squeezed and clenched at him, pulling at his prick with a death grip of hot tension. "Please, darlin'---you're victorious, Henriette, even in defeat. Give up, aye?"

"Why?" The lass planted a kiss on his forehead, turning her head just a bit. She sighed, obviously sated. "Spoils go to the victor. Take what you can and give nothin' back."

"We've taken each other, there's nothin� left to give back." Jack laughed quietly. He was not ready to leave the pleasures of the lass' arms, but he was more than ready to sleep again---but, first things first. He kissed her skinny shoulder and murmured his offer. "Want a drink, Hen-love?"

She chuckled against his brow, where she'd left her mouth. "Oh, aye, Jack...always."
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Whispers of Redemption