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Midnight Ride	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2747 -:- 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
- 1-Blazing Saddles
- 2-Pursuit
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 5
- 6
- 7
6. Countdown

Elizabeth awoke enfolded in Jack's arms from behind, and realized she'd stirred because he was talking, his breath hot in her ear. The man never shut up, even while asleep, it seemed. “'M dreaming,” she thought he was mumbling.

She blinked open her eyes to see the room nearly bright with sunlight. It was early morning. She turned her face against Jack's feeling his beard abrade her cheek, and she felt a nervous twinge in her chest. She was in bed with a man not her husband. She was in bed with Jack. Naked.

“Can't be real,” he was murmuring again. His arm became more snug about her middle, squeezing her tight.

Her throat began to work after a moment, and she whispered, “Why not?”

“Mm... 'cause you're a virgin... and I'm dead,” he replied, sleep weighing down his words. Another sigh, and Jack was still again.

She lacked the energy to puzzle out his last statement, and so she shifted to try to extract herself from his embrace. She could hear sounds from outside the cabin that reminded her of where she was: calls of gulls, the shouts of men on deck as they cleaned and made repairs. She could even hear the noise of the activity by the dock, carts rolling by and people talking. Fishermen.

She ought to go look for the Pegasus.

At the thought, a blush crept into her cheeks, and shame, full and uncompromising, settled in her stomach. Will.

She had only lifted one tanned arm from around her when the arm quickly snaked around her middle again. She turned her eyes upon Jack's face to see his eyes flick open. In the morning light they held subtle flecks of amber, reminding her of candlelight. Or gold. Flame and greed, under brows black and thick as the tropical night. “Where do you think you're going?” Jack whispered, his tone almost a threat.

Hell, she thought. “I should dress,” she told him, struggling to sit up.

He lifted a single dark brow in frank disbelief, following it with a gaze that raked over her nude form as she pulled away from him. “I beg to differ.”

“Jack...” But he had already pinched her sides between his hands, and was turning her onto her back, bending to blaze a trail from her navel to her ribcage with his tongue. She wanted to giggle at the silliness of it, but lost the urge to laugh when he nibbled at her breast, and forgot to breathe when he lowered his mouth to hers for a deep, demanding kiss. She could feel him hard against her thigh... suddenly the bed seemed too hot. Burning. “Jack,” she said, turning her lips away with a smile. “You really do belong in with the lustful.”

From up close, she only saw smudged kohl meet dark lash and part again. “So might you.”

“Perhaps.”

“There's worse, as you said.” He casually traced an ever-narrowing spiral on one breast with a forefinger, until he reached her nipple. “You know who's in the ninth circle. Betrayers.” A brief glance he cast on her face held mischief.

“You can't mean me,” she said, trying to keep her breathing even.

“'Course I do,” he replied. “Mouths of Satan hold the traitors.” He captured a nipple between his lips, scalding it with his tongue.

“Oh, really,” she said on a half-gasp, as he released that side and switched to the other. He had nerve to accuse her of betraying him... under the circumstances. “However flawed... your thinking, I'm curious... are you Caesar or Christ in that scenario?”

He withdrew his lips and regarded her a moment while she caught her breath. “I suppose that would depend...” He moved gracefully on his hands to bring his lips against hers.”...on whether that kiss of yours stabbed me in the back, or hung me out to dry.”

He kissed her, gently, earnestly, a revisiting of that long-ago kiss, but with him as the aggressor this time, until she eased him away with her thumbs at his cheeks. “All told, I do think you ended up more wet than dry, after that?” she said.

“So did you, I'll wager,” he said with a sly smile, and extended a hand between her thighs to confirm the enduring truth. The rough pads of his fingers pressed into her sensitive flesh, and her hips nearly lifted off the bed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

“I did apologize about that, Jack... years ago... and you admitted that you rather... forced my hand,” she gasped, reaching down to close her fingers around his wrist before he could undo her any further.

He looked down at her, almost tenderly. “No use trying to shackle me now, darling... you're still guilty.” He curled one finger inside of her, stroking in and out, deliberately.

“You require penance?” she breathed, helplessly moving to meet his hand.

A gold grin appeared in the sunlight. “I do have a penance needs some attention.”

It was a long while later and a good deal brighter when voices out on deck began to sound animated, and shouts reached her ears even through the thick haze of replete passion that surrounded them. She lifted her head from where it rested on Jack's bare thigh.

A knock sounded on the door. “Cap'n!”

“Aye?”

“Cap'n, best get out here! She's come!” It was Marty.

Elizabeth barely had time to register Jack's saucy look at her, and hear his second “Aye?” before she had leapt from the bed. She hastily picked up her trousers and began to pull them on, before she remembered the gaping hole. And her undergarments, which were somewhere by the tub...

“The Pegasus?” Jack called to the crewman, still laying calmly in the center of the bed, a sultan's ease in his limbs.

Elizabeth's finger shook as she pulled on her undergarments, pulled up the trousers again, hastily concocting an excuse for the tear. An accident while riding, a fall on the dock, a catch on a nail, a....

“No, Captain - the horse!”

Jack's puzzled expression met Elizabeth's fearful one, and his quickly melted into bitter annoyance. “Awfully eager, aren't we? 'Spose you'll be needing this,” he remarked, finding her shirt in the bedclothes and tossing it in her direction.

Except he overthrew it, and it sailed over her shoulder and landed with a wet splap in the previous night's bathwater.

She flew, horrified, to the edge of the tub. “Jack! My shirt!” She whirled to face him again. “What am I to do?”

“Whoops,” he said, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk. “'Spose you'll have to wait here till it dries, or at least till I fetch you a different one... which shall take most of the morning, I fear.”

Every nerve in her palm itched to slap the smile from his face, but she restrained herself and marched resolutely to the wooden hooks on the side wall, where Jack's shirt hung. She snatched it down and threw it around her, doing up the buttons with alacrity.

“What do you think you're doing?” he said, finally sitting up and throwing back the sheet.

“What I should have done last evening,” she shot back. “Leaving.”

“You heard him, it's not the Pegasus after all,” Jack said, strolling toward her, wholly unconcerned about his nakedness. “Just something about a horse.”

“That's not the point,” she said, finishing the buttons. “I can't stay here.”

“Oh, this again,” Jack said with a roll of his eyes, turning away to find his breeches. “You know, Lizzy, you'd be much better off admitting that you've a penchant for my company.”

“I do not,” she argued, storming past him in search of her boots.

“All this nay-saying; I take back what I said earlier, you'd fit better with the heretics than the traitors.”

“Ha!” She sat on the bed to tug on one boot, then another. “Fitting. You would think you're God.”

Jack had pulled on his boots, and strode toward her. “You're awfully high and mighty yourself, having thoroughly enjoyed this night's tupping by a pirate.” She did leap up to slap him, then, but he caught her hand and warred with her, silently, as she struggled to free it. “Now, now, Lizzy, you ought to know better.”

“I do know better,” she spat from between clenched teeth, finally wresting her hand free.

His eyes flashed. “No better than any other so-called vestal who's found a new calling in my bed.”

She did slap him, then, but she launched her arm before spreading her fingers, and ending up striking him in the eye so that his head snapped sideways, and she saw him lift his palm to his eye with a grunt.

Still shocked and furious, she breathed in and out, quickly, while she waited to see what he would do. She mentally calculated the path to the door. Past him, three strides and out. He lifted his head, removing his hand to reveal a red, tearing eye and an even more murderous expression.

“I am better... or at least, better than you,” she said with an air of finality, darting past him and dashing out before he could say a word.

She knew he would be behind her, knew it as she flew out of the cabin and onto the deck. She heard the door open and close behind her, but she was already across the ship, heading for where a crowd of crewmen stood excitedly talking and pointing toward the dock.

He caught up with her only to have all eyes turned upon the two of them; him shirtless and sporting one puffy eye, her wearing a much-too-big man's shirt and looking nervous. “What the devil's going on?” Jack demanded, trying to shift attention away from them.

“Captain, it's that horse you were telling us about,” Gibbs said, inclining his head toward the dock. “The crazy beast's making a ruckus at the dock.”

Elizabeth fought her way to the rail, vaguely aware of Jack beside her. It was the Paso Fino. What had they named her? Estrella. It was certainly her - the stance, the gait, the color and smudge of white above her eye. Several fisherman were trying to herd her off the wharf, but she whinnied and pranced and evaded them, trying to head farther down the dock. No reins bound her and she could not be caught.

“Why - she's found us!” Elizabeth said, bewildered, as she watched the horse trot back and forth around the blockading dock workers.

“Aye,” said Gibbs. “She must have gotten quite fond of ol' Jack... she's about ready to climb the gangway!”

Elizabeth exchanged an uneasy look with Jack, who quickly assumed a more stoic mask and turned his eyes back to the dock. “Well, then we'll have to teach her a lesson, then, won't we?” he said quietly, and then clapped a passing Pintel on the shoulder. “Fetch me a bucket of water.”

He turned back to Elizabeth, and rested an elbow on the rail, his eyes suddenly sparking with something dangerous. “She might not know it, being such a free spirit and all,” he said, the timbre of his voice smooth and deceptive, “but she wants to go with me, have me take her as my own. What she doesn't understand is that the ship's no place for her. She'd be trapped in the hold, always in danger, having to be suspended in a harness during rough seas so she don't break her legs. It's no kind of life, no matter how she might feel about it now.”

“Who are you to determine how she feels,” Elizabeth snapped, entirely sure he wasn't just talking about the horse. “Who says she wants to go with you?”

Just then, Estrella neighed from down on the dock. Jack peered over again, and smiled. “Oh, I can tell. How she sounds. How she moves. How she looks.” He fixed an emotionless gaze upon Elizabeth. “A man knows.”

“A man knows very little, if you ask me,” she retorted, watching as Pintel brought the large pail of water across the deck. She stared at it, then looked back at Jack. “Jack... what are you going to do?”

His eyes were dark and hooded as he regarded her, taking the bucket from Pintel. He said nothing, but turned and headed for the gangplank. A bit of fear began to creep into her chest.

All the crewmen followed him. Elizabeth trailed after them, calling “Jack! What are you doing?” to no avail; he ignored everyone and charged down to the dock.

“Out of my way, beef-heads,” he muttered as he elbowed aside the hapless fishermen and sailors who had gathered to watch. When he stood in front of Estrella on the dock, the horse suddenly paused mid-rear, settling and stamping her front hoof on the boards. She lowered her head, and took a tentative step toward Jack. “So you're looking for me, eh?” he said, standing well away.

Everyone noticed the horse's change in demeanor, and murmured to one another. Jack lifted his chin, confronting the horse face to face, with only a few feet of distance between them.

“I'm going to give you one last chance to get lost, girl, and then I'll not be responsible for my actions,” he said, loud and clear, in a sharp tone. Estrella peered at him curiously, flapping her ears back and forth. “Go on,” he said. “Go on! Go! Go away! You're not coming!”

Estrella only shifted her hooves about, stamped again, and whinnied softly.

“You've been warned,” Jack said, lifting the bucket in his hand.

“Jack, no!” Elizabeth said, horrified, elbowing her way through the assembled crew. “No. That's cruel!”

“Last chance!” Jack was saying, adopting a tone of command. “Be gone! Shoo! You're not wanted! Count of three!”

“Jack!” Elizabeth cried, fighting her way out from between the others. She was able to reach out and catch his arm. “Jack, don't do this. Please. Please, don't!”

Jack shook her fingers off his arm, ignoring her completely. “One!”

Estrella took a step backward with her hind legs, but just as quickly stepped forward again. Elizabeth drew up beside Jack, and tried to pry the bucket from his fingers, to no avail.

“Two!”

“Jack, don't.” Elizabeth left off tugging at the bucket, and instead wrapped her hands around Jack's bare arm. Estrella flapped her ears and tail, but otherwise remained stationary.

“Three,” Jack said, and in a single motion, wrested his arm free of Elizabeth's grip and heaved the bucket into the air, tossing the entire contents in an arc that fell upon Estrella's face.

The horse, shocked, reared up with a terrified whinny, both front hooves pawing the air, before she landed again. Just as soon landed she backed almost to the edge, and then turned her head sharply and took off up the dock at a near-gallop. Men leapt out of her way as she charged, headlong, back to land, away from the ship, the sea, and Jack.

Applause and cheers went up around them, but Elizabeth sat still where she had fallen when Jack freed himself. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes as she followed Estrella's majestic, fast-disappearing form up the dock and away. She had never felt so alone, as those around her congratulated Jack and laughed. They didn't understand what the horse was, what she meant. Only Jack did, and he'd purposefully destroyed it.

He wanted to hurt her. Wanted her to think he was completely callous, so she'd never be tempted to return to him or his bed. Well... he had succeeded. She got slowly to her feet, and found Jack talking and laughing with Gibbs, just in front of the gangplank.

“Very nicely done, Captain Sparrow,” she said sharply, watching as the conversations ground to a halt and everyone took in her disheveled state and tearstained face. “You've successfully scared off a single stupid, starry-eyed horse through unexpectedly cruel means. What shall be your next feat of amazement, I wonder?”

Jack exchanged a knowing glance with Gibbs, one that seemed to say, Women. “It's for her own good, love,” came his condescending response. “She can't have come along.”

She took a few slow, deliberate steps in his direction. “How do you know what's good for her? Perhaps she didn't want to come along. Perhaps she only wanted... one last ride,” she said, lowering her voice as she approached him. The others watched, but she doubted they understood their private war.

Jack regarded her with lifted brows, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down over her as though to size her up. Then he returned his eyes to her face. “Better that she remember the bucket of water,” he replied, ominously, before turning and pushing his way through the crew and up the gangplank. “Do keep an eye out for the Pegasus,” he called back to her, “perhaps today's your lucky day? Or mine, since it means I'll get me shirt back.”

The crew laughed, and she seethed. Hurt and disbelief had given way to anger, now, and she stood, rooted to the spot, myriad ways of wreaking revenge on him flashing across her mind. She breathed in, then out, each breath seeming to swell her larger and larger till she was sure she would burst. He was sorely in need of a lesson... and then it came to her exactly how she might go about teaching it to him.

The men had already turned away from her to continue their conversations, some climbing back aboard, some standing around, talking, when she began to march toward the gangplank. She barreled through the others, using an arm to knock people aside who were not savvy enough to move, and strode resolutely up the gangway onto the ship. When she reached the deck, she shaded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she looked for Jack. He was nowhere on deck.

Hiding, was he? Even better. She swung around and spied his cabin door open about an inch. There.

She crossed the deck and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her and closing the latch.

Jack turned from where he stood in the middle of the room, holding an empty bottle of rum in his fist. She supposed he'd just emptied it, although it couldn't have been full after the previous night. He frowned at her. “Thought I told you to stay on deck.” Then he took in her incensed expression, and smiled a bitter smile. “Come now, let's part friends, shall we?”

“We're not parting yet,” she said in a quiet, steely voice. She placed one foot in front of the other until she drew up close to him. “Do sit down, Jack.”

He eyed her warily. “I'd rather stand.”

“Would you?” she said, reaching out a hand to unlace his breeches. “Well, let's find out if you can.”

“What are you doing?”

She had already plunged her hand inside, and squeezed him roughly, when he grabbed her forearm to pull her away.

“No. No more. That's done with,” Jack said, taking a small step backward.

“Why? Because the great Jack Sparrow wills it so?” She reached for him again, stroking up and down, noting his body's instant response.

“I'm sure... hm... wouldn't Will... er... will, it so?” he replied, backing away from her probing hand. “Elizabeth, enough.”

“Let's get something straight, Captain Sparrow,” she said as she continued to manipulate him. “You don't decide everything in this world.”

He turned eyes on her that were sparking with both anger, and desire, she guessed, as he was mostly hard already. But he reached down to yank her hand away, holding it fast. “You're playing with fire.”

“Stuff it,” she told him. She lifted her arms and shoved him with her palms on his shoulders. He stepped backwards. “I decide what's good for me.” She shoved him again, and he stumbled, dropping the empty bottle with a thud. “I decide what I do, and with whom.” The third time, he was ready for her push but tripped on the bottle, and fell sprawling on his bottom on the floor. She landed atop him, straddling his lap, and bent close, taking in his bewildered expression.

“I think I'll have my one last ride,” she whispered, reaching down to free him from his breeches. His hands closed around her arms to stop her, but too late, and she pulled her undergarments aside without even thinking how that slice in her breeches came to be. She sank upon him and relished the shock on his face at how quickly she'd managed to do it, how easily he slipped inside her moist heat. “Oh, and Jack - “ she leaned forward, raising herself on her hands, lowering herself again. “-I'm not a bloody horse.”

She began to ride him in earnest, closing her eyes to the shocked expression on Jack's face, noting only when his hips began to rise to meet hers. She slowed her pace, immediately. She didn't want to please him. She didn't care about pleasing him.

“Elizabeth... stop,” it sounded like he was groaning.

“Did you ever stop, when I asked you to?” she whispered back. “Did you?”

“I couldn't help it,” he rasped, leaning up to meet her. His hands found their way into her hair, tangled in the strands. He parted his lips to kiss her, but she turned her face away, reluctantly.

“No,” she said, “none of that. All of that nonsense about love and fateful kisses and poetry. This is all we have. Only this.” And she increased her rhythm again.

“So you'd like to believe,” he said against her cheek, his hands falling to her fabric-clad hips to guide her motions.

“I never would have stayed with you,” she said, inhaling sharply as he managed to thrust particularly deep. “Never, ever.”

He gave a small chuckle, his hips coming off the floor to plunge deeper. “I swear... I never would have... let you.”

“Promises, promises,” she said against his beard, nipping with her teeth. “I've learned what those are worth, from you.”

“Their weight in gold,” he said with a golden grin. “Which is nothing. Unlike your weight, which is decidedly... more.” In retaliation she sat down upon him hard, robbing him of breath but taking in him to the hilt. He groaned. “Are you planning on keeping this up... until it hurts?”

“Till it hurts me, or you?” she said, pinning his shoulders beneath her elbows.

“If you weren't wearing clothes, I'd strike that bottom of yours,” he retorted, his breathing becoming labored as she drew her knees closer to his sides, tensing her thighs.

“Would be better if it hurt you... or both of us,” she whispered, grinding down hard upon him. “We might be less tempted to... do this again.”

“At this rate, we'll be doing 'this' till time immemorial,” Jack lamented, his hands settling upon her hips. “You've made your point.”

“Have I?” She had planned to overpower him, to demonstrate his weakness for her and then leave him high and dry, as it were, let him throb and pulse and she simply get up and walk out, back to her normal life. It would serve him right, it would... but as her anger ebbed, desperation and frustration took its place, and she found herself wanting more.

She had gotten what she'd intended: passionless copulation. Clothes and strong wills and place in society separated them now and would perhaps forever, and she needed that barrier, to preserve herself from being utterly lost... and he was hot inside as he filled her, but it went no farther than that. She closed her eyes and straightened her arms as she lifted and lowered herself upon him repeatedly. She wanted to use him as she thought he'd used her, to prove she didn't love him, not even a little, she couldn't, she couldn't...

“Elizabeth.”

She ignored him, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Elizabeth, love?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Stop calling me that.”

“Fine... bitch,” he replied, amusement pulling up the corners of his eyes as he looked at her. “Don't you think we ought to change this around a bit?”

“No,” she insisted. “You're staying where you are.”

“If that's what you want,” he said in a melodious, patronizing tone, pulling his arms up to fold them behind his head. “I've got all day, but I'm not the impatient one.”

“Just shut up,” she told him, leaning forward for better leverage.

“I'm only trying to help. Seems you could use some.”

“Don't need any help from you.”

“Help yourself, then... I don't mind. I'll just watch,” he said, raking his eyes up and down her form. “Though those breeches of yours might make it difficult to reach.”

Difficult to...herself? Like some hussy? Her cheeks flamed, and she glared at him. “What do you think I am?”

“Rather frustrated, at the moment.”

How did he know... he always knew. After a moment, she began to bounce upon him with renewed determination, only to feel him shaking... he was laughing. The beast was laughing at her.

She hit his chest with her fists. “How dare you laugh! You old lecher!”

“'M sorry,” he said between chuckles, reaching up to cup her jaw. “But the point of ravishing someone is to satisfy yourself. Wisdom from your elder - in case you didn't know.”

“Well, I can't help it if I find you... unsatisfying,” she retorted, twisting her head away from his stroking palm. But this only made him laugh harder, and she ceased moving altogether, and glared at him murderously.

His chortling gradually ceased, and he met her glare with a lively warmth in his dark eyes. “Let me, will you?” was all he said.

“Why? So you can humiliate me again?”

“You're doing a good job of that all by yourself, just now.”

“Too bad for you there's no one here to see it.”

“Would you like there to be? I imagine Will'd find this an interesting spectacle.”

“Don't even mention him.”

“I'm sure he'd think someone ought to.”

She exhaled an exasperated huff, dropping her nose to his breastbone, not quite giving in, just between two equally unpleasant alternatives: cede to Jack, or uncouple from him and say goodbye.

Not yet, part of her silently pleaded. Oh God, not yet.

Her hair trailed across his chest as she turned her head to lay her cheek against his heart. She listened to it beat, felt his chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Don't go to sleep now, darling.”

“Don't - “

“Call you whatever I bloody well please,” he snapped petulantly, taking her head between his hands and pulling up. “Like it or not, you're mine for the time being, do you hear?”

“Here's where I may mention Will.”

“Hang Will,” he said, and kissed her. Hard. Fiercely, deeply. His tongue swept every corner of her mouth, and she was helpless to stop him. His lips slanted over hers, the tiny triangle of bristles beneath his lower lip scraped against hers, his hands slid up and under her shirt - his shirt - and stroked up and down her spine, pressing her against him. A moan escaped her before she could stop herself. She jerked back, eyes wide.

“No more games,” Jack said in a menacing whisper. He lifted her up and off him and turned to the side, guiding her onto the floor beside him. Before she could resist he was inserting his fingers in the waistband of her pants, smoothing them down and off of her together with her meager undergarments. “Ought to burn these,” he said of the clothes as he tossed them aside. He then shoved his hand so roughly between her thighs that she gasped, but he only tickled her with four fingers across her curls, and looked down at her.

“Thought you said 'no more games,'” she chided him, struggling for breath.

“So I did. I meant, from you.” He stroked her with the pad of one finger, lightly, so lightly between her folders, a bead of remaining on his fingertip as he withdrew it. She watched as he lifted it to his lips...

“Jack, please,” she sighed, watching him lick his fingers... he was taunting her. As usual.

“What was that, darling? I can't have heard that properly.”

“You know damn well what I said.”

He rolled away from her and made a great show of unfastening his breeches, sliding them down and away, and folding his hands behind his head. “Pity. I didn't get nearly enough of that.”

“Enough of?” she almost panted, rolling over to slide her palm across his stomach.

“You,” he said, looking at her devilishly. “But... I don't fancy bashing my knees on the floor - I'm old, remember?”

“Then let's get on the bed,” she murmured, trying to keep the plea out of her voice.

“How pedantic,” he sighed.

“Jack!”

“I'm thinking.”

“Think faster,” she almost growled, her hand descending to massage him - still firm, and she had no intention of wasting it... he groaned, then, and began to sit up.

“All right,” he whispered, and knocked her hand away, scooping her up as he stood. For all his jests about her weight, he carried her easily to the bed and deposited her in the center. Now he would fall on top of her, he would make love to her, he would...
He was just standing there.

“Jack?”

“I want to remember this,” he was saying, his eyes moving over her. “Elizabeth Swann - “

“Turner.”

“ - whatever, naked and begging for me on my bed.”

“Remember what you like, but stop toying with me,” she demanded, propping herself on her elbows. “And I'm not begging - in fact, I'm about ten seconds from walking out that door.”

“Manure,” he said with a wrinkled nose. “Go on and count.”

“One.”

He dove for her on the bed, covering her body with his and capturing her lips again, plunging his tongue inside. Two, she counted on a groan. His hands ground unapologetically over her breasts, and she sucked in a much-needed breath. Three. She needed more.

Her lips were freed and his mouth and beard were etching lines down her middle, marking her as his own. Whether he would keep her or not. Four. Tickling her curls. Teasing her. She despaired. He would leave her in this agony forever... the point of no return. She abandoned all hope. Five. His lips surrounding her like strong city walls... laving her with his tongue. Five? No, six. Broad laps, now. Sweet, hot pressure. Five. Six. God, which was it? Oh...

He was pulling her against his teeth, his lips, his tongue, he was far too practiced at this... his beard scratched her lower, heavenly... seven, he was turning his head back and forth, she would kill him if he stopped, right then and there, either kill him or die, herself... eight, faster, faster, more, more. She was dying. She forgot to count for she knew not how long, then remembered, nine, the downward spiral was complete, she was his. Completely his. Will was forgotten, God, vows, self, all lost. Nine, she counted again in her last moment of consuming hell. He opened his mouth and drew her inside. Hard.

She sobbed aloud as she fell and the world reversed itself, tumbling her into something she was certain was very like paradise.

She was still there, floating in ether, as she became aware of Jack atop her, Jack between her legs. Jack within her. She draped her arms over his shoulders and moved with him, kissed him and took him inside her mouth, too.

There was too much noise. Shouting. Pounding. Her eyes fluttered open, and Jack was still, his face contorted in near-pain.

“It's the Pegasus,” someone was calling outside the door. “She's made port!”
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Midnight Ride