Exorcism

Naked, his body was like a continent in itself, smooth coastlines and sharp edges, marked landscapes next to uncharted territory, and she found herself drawn to the mystery and adventure it seemed to promise, the underlying danger only fuelling her need to explore every inch of it. It was like a secret revealed to her, a secret safely kept from young ladies until their wedding-night, never to be talked about openly and never to leave the protecting covers of a private bedroom. She knew it would’ve been proper to blush now and turn away in embarrassment, but Jack didn’t seem to be ashamed of his body and neither was she. The term wouldn’t have applied to any man she’d met so far, but there could be no denying the fact that he was outrightly beautiful.

She now discovered that she hadn’t seen all of his tattoos; apart from the bird on his right forearm and the Chinese inscription on his chest, there was a ship – probably the Pearl – on his left shoulder and, most notably, a snake that wound itself across his hip and thigh. She traced its outline with her eyes, fascinated by the artistic accuracy of the image and amazed by its liveliness, almost moving with his muscles when he stepped closer. Taking a deep breath, she reached out to touch it, nothing more than a feather brushing across his hip, but he shivered and she pressed her palm against his skin, aroused by the sheer awareness of how close she was, close to what was probably the best-kept secret of it all, the very core of what made this act the subject of the prosecution and covertness it received, and when she finally dared to look, she found he deserved nothing of it.

There was nothing strange or disgusting about that part of his, hard and alive against his stomach, and she was grateful when he sensed her curiosity and took her hand to wrap it around his shaft.

“Just … touch me …,” he hissed between clenched teeth and she did, marvelling at the softness of his flesh and the vivid pulsing beneath her grip while she stroked him, hesitantly, at first, but more firmly when she felt him thrash helplessly into her hand. She reached around his body and caressed the back of his thigh, resting her head against his stomach while she tried to settle into a rhythm, listening to his quickening breath. His hand tangled in her hair, keeping her close and when she brought her lips to his skin, suckling, like he’d done with her before, he moaned and she felt his muscles quiver underneath her hand. She realized she was in control now, feeling strangely powerful and almost unbelievably aroused by the mere thought she could make him feel like that. And then she remembered something she’d heard the men on the “Empress” talk about. It had sounded rather appalling, back then, but now it didn’t seem to be such a bad idea, not when he was already thrusting into her hand, completely at her mercy. She stilled her movements and with a wicked grin, she took her hand away and brought her mouth down upon him.

He stiffened momentarily and gasped, clearly taken by surprise at her unexpected endeavour, and she smiled inwardly, running her tongue over his length, tasting him. Strange and unfamiliar, yes, but wholly and entirely him, and she wrapped her lips around the head, feeling both of his hands in her hair now, but before she could decide on what to do next, he’d pushed her away.

“Do you have only the slightest idea what you’re doing?” he panted, struggling to regain his composure.

“Actually … no. But I figured I might try anyway.” To tell the truth, she felt rather offended by this renewed rejection. He had quite obviously enjoyed it, so why interrupt her again? He might have shown her what to do, but she found she didn’t like to be pushed away in such an unceremonious manner.

“Then let me tell you something: You’re torturing an old man.” And he smiled one of his golden smiles, even more irresistible in the candlelight and within seconds, her anger seemed to vanish into thin air.

“So you didn’t like it, then?”

“Well,” he grinned. “The thing is, I liked it a little too much.” He knelt down and took hold of her hand as if he was going to propose marriage to her before he went on. “Dearest Lizzie, feel free to do this to me for the whole night and whenever you like, but not just now. Because, if I let you continue, this will be over sooner than you can say ‘Pirate’ – oh, and if you were worrying about that: You’re doing an absolutely superb job. But I’d have expected nothing less from a woman so ready to be married.”

She laughed and slapped him playfully, which caused him to duck and before she knew what was happening, he’d pulled her boots off and tossed them over his shoulder.

“You’re still wearing too much.”

And within seconds, she was lying on the bed again, gasping and writhing beneath him while he fumbled with her breeches. With a triumphant cry, he finally shoved them over her hips, closely followed by her undergarments, and she held her breath when she felt his hands on her breasts, caressing their way down across her stomach and brushing lightly over her pubic hair before sliding down the inside of her thighs and back up again. She moaned when she felt his fingers close to her moist centre, drawing little circles over bare skin but still denying her the attention she was almost weeping for, and when they finally ghosted over her folds, she arched her back in complete abandonment, unable to contain herself any longer.

Jack smiled and bent down to kiss her, a soothing caress before he took his hands away and laid down at her side, pulling her towards him so her back was pressed against his chest. She felt like her body was on fire, shifting restlessly in a silent plea to end this agony while he brushed her hair away and planted feathery kisses all over her shoulder.

“You’re far too tense, luv,” he whispered into her ear, his hand stroking across her belly now, solid and warm and oddly comforting. “Try to relax. It will feel so much better if you do …”

“I …,” she gasped, “I can’t …”

“Yes …” And his hand slid lower, coming to rest on her private parts. “You can.”

She felt she was losing ground when his fingers parted her folds, but there was his voice, telling her to breathe, and suddenly, the aching desire faded into a pleasant arousal that seemed to grow with every new sensation.

“That’s it …,” he said almost tenderly and then, the world became awash with feelings all new and exciting, a whole universe dedicated to his lips on her throat and his fingers on her most intimate parts, circling the centre of her pleasure with teasing expertise. She wanted to savour this moment, lying perfectly still with her eyes closed, lips slightly parted and concentrating solely on the fact that it was him doing this to her, him whose arms kept her from being carried away by the waves washing over her, but she couldn’t stop her hips from moving on their own accord, drawing his hand into a dance the steps of which none of them needed to be taught.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he breathed against her neck and she felt overwhelmed by what he’d come to mean to her, not just tonight but ever since she’d known him – which might have been forever or a day, it didn’t matter anymore, not now that he was with her, finally home at the end of a long and painful journey.

She felt him reach between their bodies and though she could not see what he was doing, she knew he was touching himself and the thought almost sent her over the edge. His breathing quickened and his movements became unfocussed while she writhed beneath his touch, moaning when he bent over to kiss her and suddenly, she was on her back again with Jack kneeling above her. He pulled back from the kiss and looked at her, the question, though unspoken, clearly visible in his eyes and she nodded, wrapping her arms around him to tell him she wanted this as well, wanted it more than anything and there was nothing but affection displayed on his handsome features when he brought their bodies together until she could feel his hardness pressing against her entrance.

When he started moving, this time without the reassuring presence of both of their breeches, she tightened the grip around his shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain she knew was to come now. But the only thing she felt was his warm breath upon her lips. And then he was kissing her again, slowly, almost hesitantly, and she couldn’t help but give in to the warm sensation spreading across her insides again. She completely melted against him, her fingers no longer bruising his shoulders but tangled in his hair, trying to pull him closer, still closer, and suddenly it felt as if he could never get close enough. When his kiss grew deeper, more passionate than he’d ever kissed her before, every conscious thought faded and her hips started moving on their own accord, pressing against him until she felt a small tinge and then her dazzled mind realized that he was no longer moving against but already inside of her.

It didn’t exactly hurt, but the feeling of it was unlike anything she had experienced so far and it took her a few moments to get used to it. Jack never broke the kiss, but his movements stilled and there was his hand, stroking comfortingly through the damp strands of hair that were sticking to her sweaty temple. His lips trailed over her cheek and she sighed unconsciously when the cool metal of one of his trinkets brushed over her bared breasts.

“Are you alright?” His voice was rough and thick with lust, a hoarse whisper against her ear.

“Yes …”

This seemed to be all the invitation he needed for he pulled her into another bruising kiss and started to move inside her, settling a slow but steady rhythm she soon found herself responding to. At first, the kiss and the overwhelming feeling of having him so close seemed to be all the sensation she needed, but then she felt the pleasure building again, different and more subtle than when he’d touched her before, and she arched her back in a futile attempt to rub herself against him.

She moaned in frustration when he pulled his lips away and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm and steady against her throat. He shifted on top of her until his hips were pressing into hers and she gasped when he began moving in short, shallow thrusts, providing exactly the kind of friction she had so desperately sought while she let herself be drawn into a heady, dreamlike state, boneless and drifting, surrounded by nothing but warmth and Jack. She could have went on like this forever, eyes half-open to watch the flickering figures the candlelight painted across his back, fingers ghosting restlessly over golden skin, drawing a map over a network of scars and memorizing every single detail until she was no longer sure where his body ended and hers began.

It felt like being on a small boat floating along the coast, already skimming over the waves but never quite reaching the open sea and none of them seemed inclined to end this languid dance until Elizabeth suddenly felt her rhythm no longer matched Jack’s. His breath against her skin had grown ragged and his thrusts more urgent, almost as if he’d desperately tried to hold back but now had reached a point where there was no turning back for him. She tried to keep up with his movements, but he stilled and tore himself away from her, gasping, “Not good!”

Bewildered, she reached for him, but he managed to withdraw from her grip, looking at her with a feverish expression in his eyes.

“Turn ‘round …,” he said, his voice deeper than usual and she complied, too far gone already to even question his request. As long as he didn’t leave her like this, shaking and unable to form a clear thought – as long as he finished this, she didn’t really care about anything at all.

She felt him parting her legs and before she could even realize what was happening, he had wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her hips up. When he entered her again, she buried her face in between her crossed arms and moaned, unable to contain herself any longer. Never had she felt so completely free from shame and fear, reduced to body and emotions, and it was nothing like she’d imagined it would be, nothing like the descriptions she’d found in the “Young Gentlemen’s guidebook”. There was no word for the way his fingers found the right spot, right above where their bodies joined, no word for the feelings they caused, rubbing and caressing her tortured flesh until she couldn’t help but bite down into the back of her hand, suppressing a scream so animalistic and inhuman the mere thought of it almost scared her.

His fingers moved in time with his thrusts and she squeezed her eyes shut, giving in to the overwhelming sensations that ran through her, filled her until it became almost too much to bear. She wanted to do something, say something but she could neither move nor talk, and then the muscles in her thighs seemed to give way, but there was Jack, pressing her to his body, keeping her with him and suddenly, it was over. She thought she might have screamed, but maybe it was just what she felt like, for surely you didn’t fall without screaming, and she did fall, fell and fell, and when she reached the ground, weight- and boneless, he was there to catch her.

He carefully put her down and cradled her to his side, but she had barely time to catch her breath when he flipped her round and thrust into her again, his face buried in the crook of her neck. And there was only him, his weight on her body, his breath on her skin, hot and ragged, and the beat of his heart against her chest, inside and all around her. He was alive, warm and alive in her arms and there was no way for her to tell how much it meant to her, then and there.

Her fingers restlessly ghosted over his back, slick with sweat, and she could feel all of his scars, the old and the new, the obvious and the hidden ones. She brushed his hair away and turned her head so her cheek was pressed to his, rough, but warm and comforting at the same time, and she closed her eyes and inhaled his scent, the salt, the rum and the sweat, realizing they were a tangled mass of flesh and hair, of sweat and tears, of memories and hopes, and while their fates intertwined, the demons of the past – the fear, the hopelessness and the guilt -disappeared forever.

“Let me see your face,” she whispered, feeling the sudden urge to share this moment with him, and then, after what might have been several minutes or nothing more than a few seconds, he lifted his head and a wave of tenderness washed over her when she saw that his features were softened by an expression of utter vulnerability. His eyes were closed and rendered mysterious by the broad smears of coal on his lids, his lips were pulled back in concentration and she wondered how many people there were who had actually seen him like this.

She was fascinated by the way the expression on his face changed while his thrusting sped up, shifting from concentration to something that might have been close to actual pain, and she held on to his shoulders while he seemed to climb higher in a steady pace, taking her with him as far as it would go. When she saw his mouth fly open in a silent gasp, she knew that it was over. He pulled out and moved against her hip once, twice, and then, she could feel something warm and sticky against her stomach before he collapsed on top of her, panting heavily.

She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat in the darkness but with the certain knowledge that the colours would never be gone again, not as long as she could remember this. If life itself could be reduced to a form or an act, it was what they’d just shared, bodies and breath, pleasure and pain, sweat and kisses, and she almost felt bereft of something vitally important when he finally rolled off her body, cradling her head to his shoulder while his lips ghosted over her forehead.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was neither heavy nor menacing, rather the display of a newly found intimacy that didn’t require the use of words or grand gestures to define the nature of a feeling.