Parlait

What did he want? She didn’t like the way he leaned there against the table, didn’t like the way his arms were crossed over his chest. That posture only made him seem more menacing, for he stood that way to of course seem relaxed, despite how it emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and chest, made him look even bigger and stronger than he was…or perhaps there was no false advertisement; he was the only man Elizabeth had ever encountered who could make others so aware of his physical power with a mere flick of his wrist. And the way he was dressed, she didn’t like that either. He didn’t wear his coat, or his vest. A faded black scarf was tied over his head, the hat that made it impossible not to notice him lay on a chair. And yet she couldn’t help but notice him. The flickering lamplight wrestled over his body like a creature hungry to touch all parts of him, and Elizabeth’s eyes betrayed her good sense not to watch such an intimate display of shadows. He was bigger than Jack, she’d always known that, taller, broader at the chest and shoulders, had thicker arms. Her eyes wandered from his boots, up the long, strong lines of his legs to the transparent muslin of his shirt. She studied him as any woman would a man, was startled to see that despite being some years Jack’s senior, the body of a warrior still remained, strapping and capable. She wondered, did his flesh feel as hardbound as it appeared on his bones? Would it arch powerfully against her palm if she were to run her fingers through the red curls of chest hair she could see through his shirt. What?!!

“Three days sail?” Elizabeth repeated, but then was sorry she’d sounded stunned and unsettled and searched for a way to ground herself and clear her head. “We’re three days sail from The Pearl, if Jack isn’t already setting course to come for me, that is, Captain!” She informed him haughtily.

Barbossa only smiled smugly and stroked his beard. “And it be very forgivin’ of Jack to come after ye in spite of how ye ran away from him, wouldn’t it now, Missie Sparrow ?”

Elizabeth got to her feet fuming. She didn’t want to be reminded of her ordeal in Tortuga, the one Barbossa had rescued her from. She loved Jack, she truly did, but there just times when they each needed their space. “I didn’t ‘run away’ from Jack! I just wanted to have to rely upon myself and only myself for a time!”

“Hmm,” Barbossa still looked smug. “And so when I came to find ye hangin’ in that cage like an overgrown songbird, I suppose that was you relyin’ entirely upon yourself, then?”

“Captain, I will not—“ she’d begun to yell, but cut herself off, realizing she’d only look like a fool. Barbossa likely new the story of her predicament; she was running out of money, gambled away what she had left, and then in an attempt to win at least something back in a card game, had gambled her own womanly body, only to lose on the very next hand and end up the possession of some sweaty, greasy tavern owner, who had locked his new prize in a large hanging cage, an actual cage!

Since his first meeting with her, Barbossa had been spellbound by the girl’s moxie and her high and mighty attitude. He’d never before met a woman more afflicted with free will, more difficult to intimidate, or more hopelessly out of any man’s control. He’d never seen himself with any woman, at least, not in a traditional family sense, but a woman like this one gave him thoughts. He admired her, at times was even in awe of her. And yet, the supreme irony was that his greatest desire in life was to destroy that which he loved so much about her; to take her and grind every ounce of spirit, courage, pride and fortitude out of her, and make the pretty little shrew love it so much that she begged him never to stop. Rescuing her from that cage had been the perfect opportunity.

Her anger was something that inflamed him like nothing else did. He’d always dreamed of intruding himself upon her and fantasized about how she would rant and rave and bite and scratch. Barbossa lived to put down such a rebellion! She was already angry, and yelling at him, but why let her think she had the upper hand? He kicked a chair out of his way with a hard slam of his boot and in one giant stride stood directly in front of her, grabbing her by her slim shoulders and shaking her. “You won’t what?” He demanded, yelling in her face, trying deliberately to frighten her and feeling his pulse quicken when her body jumped at the sudden shock and her eyes went wide.

He towered over her with a promise of strength in his large hands that he could easily crush her to bits. Elizabeth was too startled to breathe, but fought to contain herself, not let him know how much he scared her. Her first instinct was to push him away and foolishly she tried to, struggling against him and losing her breath. “Let go of me!” But oh, she was touching him, her palms flat against the thin gauzy material that separated his solid chest from her fingertips, the heat from his body burning in her blood now. No! No! What was she losing herself to?

“This be my ship, miss! I be givin’ the orders.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders, took a half step closer, bringing her body closer to his and had to steady himself. Elizabeth exhaled a frightened breath and he could taste it on his lips.

“If you touch me, Jack will—“ Jack, think of Jack, she willed herself too. She’d been married to Jack for over a year now, and though she came to him a virgin bride, he’d well taught her how a man’s body responded to a woman’s; damn if she weren’t seeing that response from Barbossa now. His eyes were dilated, a light sweat clinging to his skin, his breath and pulse rapid, and dare she admit that she’d noticed, but his thin shirt pocked by his hardened nipples.

“Jack?” Barbossa laughed heartily, sensing that as afraid and as disgusted by his behavior as she was, she was also looking at him, assessing the male specimen he was. “Jack’s no match even for you, now is he, Elizabeth?”

“He killed you once!” She reminded him, but her remark only made Barbossa’s strong hands grab hold of her trim waist and he pulled her so roughly against him she nearly screamed, turning her head away from him, not wanting him to be able to look her in the eyes when she could so prominently feel his belt buckle pressing above her navel. Did she feel anything else?

She had the most remarkable ability to say that which made him even more heated than he was, and again, he loved it about her. “There be no Jack to save ye here and now!” He growled and wrapped one arm around the small of her back, violently taking her by the chin with his other hand and wrenching her face towards his. “Y’ll look at me when I speak to ye, girl!”

She fought him; he could feel it, this little slip of a thing actually trying to pry herself away from him, to keep her head turned towards the door of his cabin. He would have laughed had he not been in such a passionate and angry throw. The moment he could see her pink lips he lunged at her and kissed her with a furious and bruising force, swallowing the scream her taut mouth tried to let escape. She tasted of panic and torment, he felt her small hands clawing at his back, her feet stamped upon his insteps, it was exquisite! He tightened his hold on her, kissed her harder, jacked her lower jaw down with his hand and pushed his tongue deep into her mouth, allowing himself to experience the brief shudder of excitement that rolled over him without trying to hide it.

Bite down! Bite down! A voice in Elizabeth’s head screamed over and over again, but her body would not obey. Fighting him was of no use, she’d never come up against a man so strong, and she was losing her own strength. What could she do? She had but a split second to think of something, and in that split second her body gave up its fight and she stood there, letting Barbossa have his way with her mouth, his red mustache and beard tickling her upper lip, chin and neck, his tongue moving nearly at the back of her throat, cutting off her air. She felt dizzy, needed a breath, for he held her against him so tightly that all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. Passing out was not an option, not with him. Some small whimpering noise escaped her as she attempted once more to break free, but he held her with the intensity of a snake coiled around its prey. He was strong, so strong, and bigger than Jack, rougher than Jack, and in a way she abhorred to admit exciting, demanded more from her than Jack. If he’d just give her a moments breath? Just a tiny gulp of air? She could think if she could only get that breath; she could concentrate on…the muscle of his broad chest was hard and strong as the iron sides of a warship…his beard, it tickled her neck…

The silly little minx probably didn’t realize she was beginning to return his kiss now. Her lips were full and moist under his, her tongue not active against his own, but she hung there at his mouth, allowing herself to be explored. Barbossa heard himself growl and then hoped the sound hadn’t awakened her from this trance she’d fallen into. But Elizabeth didn’t move to pull away, not until he relented first, pulled back momentarily, taking his lips away from hers for only an instant, seeing, hearing and feeling her draw in a quick breath, and then to his utter amazement, it was she who fused her mouth back to his, lips parted. This had been unexpected indeed, but what happened next was not.

Oxygen flooded Elizabeth’s sleepy brain and what she’d done crashed down upon her like a rogue wave. With adrenaline fueled strength, she ripped her body free of his, scowled and slapped him harder than she’d ever hit anyone before in her life, the slap itself so vicious it stung her own hand. She stood out of breath and shaking, more afraid now than she was at any other moment tonight, but it was not solely Barbossa that scared her so badly. It was herself too.

He hadn’t expected her to strike him with quite so much enthusiasm, it had impressed him, caused him to bring his hand up to his cheek and press against his skin until the stinging ceased, noting a faint taste of blood at the corner of his mouth. He smiled with great amusement, his desire overtaking him…oh this girl…she would pay! “Well, now,” if he sounded pleased, he was, but that didn’t stop him from raising his hand and returning her the favor.

His open hand struck her and knocked her backwards, her face burned, but Elizabeth knew she’d gotten off lucky. And then he captured her again, pulled her closer than was comfortable, kissing her throbbing lips and worrying them with his tongue as if to ease away the pain. She hadn’t actually believed that hitting him would put him off…why had she done it? Because she’d kissed him, that was why…because she’d felt herself begin to think, “such a man,” and swoon. Jack, think of Jack…she missed Jack…Barbossa’s tongue slipped back into her mouth…Jack…she wanted him here so badly…Barbossa, still strong against her, but not quite as forceful as before, stroking her stiffened tongue with his…Jack had never hit her…she was being pulled even more into the powerful form that held her…oh what Jack would do when she told him that Barbossa had struck her…Barbossa, pulling her knee up to his hip and grinding the unmistakable hardness of his arousal against her, her arms locking around his neck…Jack…her neck kissed and sucked hard as that red beard bristled over it…Jack!

Barbossa had never fancied himself blessed with any sixth sense, but he could read Elizabeth’s thoughts nonetheless. He nearly had her, not that she was ready to go willingly, but he didn’t want that anyway. He wanted her to fight him; he wanted her to be the insurmountable force of nature he’d come to know her as, but he had to keep her hooked on enough that she no longer sought escape. And how did any gentleman encourage the attentions of a lady who played hard to get? Why, by feigning loss of interest, of course. It was now he who tore himself away from her, spinning her out of his arms so quickly she fell to the floor and looked up at him astonished, confused and somewhat disappointed.

“Y’ll not be kissin’ me and thinkin’ a him!” He spat at her, and turned his back to her, pushing his broad shoulders out as far they would go, letting her see the powerful “V” shape of his torso. “Get out!”

“What do you mean?” What had she said? Elizabeth clamored to her feet, angrily rubbing the sore elbow that had broken her fall. Was he really letting her go? Just like that? Was she really going?