A Most Unusual Interest
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
41
Views:
5,415
Reviews:
56
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
41
Views:
5,415
Reviews:
56
Recommended:
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.
11
A Most Unusual Interest Chapter Eleven (NC-17)
A Most Unusual Interest Chapter Eleven (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Seriously, I need to make that a macro… Readers/Reviewers: *BLUSH * Thank you!!!
I’ll try to update more than twice a week but it gets hectic around
here…
“What is
it, Jack?” she asked quietly as he paced.
“Is it…am I wrong?”
“You are a
puzzle, Myrtle,” he muttered. “A right
puzzle.” His hands went from his beard
to his locks to his beard again, fluttering in between in gesticulations as if
he were speaking before the king, flourishes and sweeps, his lips moving
silently when he was not fixing her with an odd look. “Tell me,” he said suddenly, stopping directly in front of her,
“where be your gold?”
“My…what?” She blinked, leaning back as he towered over
her. “My gold?”
“In Port
Royal,” he said in a low voice, leaning ever closer, so close he braced his
hands on either side of her to stop himself from falling, “you promised this
ol’ seadog gold if he were to help you… So where be this g”
”
Myrtle
looked somehow defeated, hollow almost.
“Ah. In my trunk at the Turner
home.”
“How can I
be so sure of that?”
“You have
my word.”
He narrowed
his eyes at her and smiled tightly.
“Your word? And what value does
that have?”
“It’s my
honor,” she snapped, pushing him away.
“Take it or no.”
He stood
aside, holding his hands up in a warding gesture as she shoved herself to her
feet and began pacing herself.
“Arright, lass. Fair ‘nough.”
“No,” she
growled, “it isn’t!” She turned sharply
and glared at Jack, her hands fisted at her sides, her breath coming in long
heaves. “All of my life, I’ve only
wanted one thing—freedom. Freedom from
my station, freedom from England, freedom from men, from corsets, from stays
and skirts and bustles and…and…” She was turning red in the face, trying not to
cry in sheer frustration. “And God help
me, freedom from my family. I have
never been what they—what anyone—wanted and I reveled in it!”
Jack felt
his eyes widen at this show of backbone.
He licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth as was his habit
when thinking particularly fast, and held out his hands pleadingly. “Revel away, dear…”
She stomped
her foot, an oddly girlish gesture considering what she had so recently
said. “Captain, do not mock me!”
“I’m not
mocking you,” he soothed, though he grinned despite his words. He crossed slowly towards her, his hands
still held palms-up before him, placating.
“I’m just wonderin’ at you…”
“There’s
nothing to wonder about,” she snarled, turning away from him and facing the
porthole through which a grimy gray light showed. “Hazel told me I was unnatural.”
“No, dove,
not unnatural. Just…unusual…” He took the chance to edge closer to her,
wondering just why she kept her fists clenched and if she planned on using
them. On him.
“And that,”
she sighed, “is what Willow said.” She
turned and gasped, finding him so close.
“Jack…”
“Mmmmm?” He twisted a loose lock of her hair between
his work worn fingers and stared at it a moment. “Did you know you’ve got three colors in your hair?”
“What?” she
breathed, laughing nervously.
“I see
brown, dark as me own, red, the color of copper, an’ some blonde, like gold…” He dropped the hair and smiled
disarmingly. “Alas, not the hair of a
pirate. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave
ye at Port Royal when all is said an’ done.”
“Hardly,”
she said haughtily, grabbing a handful of Jack’s hair and wrapping it around
her fingers. “I intend on getting my
own ship.”
“Pardon?” He felt his eyebrows shoot up at this. “You can’t sail!”
“Not yet,”
she grinned. “You’ll show me.”
“I’ll…” He shook himself, sputtering. “No I will not!”
“Please?” she
said softly, pulling his head down to her eye level. “I’m asking nice…”
“For a girl
who has no…experience,” he shuddered to use the word in light of what she had
told him, “you are expert and manipulation.”
“As are
you, Captain,” she whispered, kissing him.
Jack closed
his eyes as her lips parted beneath his, her breath a soft gasp as his tongue
touched the full flesh of her lower lip.
Her hand fell to his shoulder and her fingers curled weakly as he
grasped her waist, pushing her inexorably towards the bunk. She did not protest as he lowered her to the
thin mattress, only breaking the kiss to tilt her chin and kiss her neck,
drawing a soft moan from her as his teeth scraped sensitive flesh. It was his full intention to take time, to
make her aware of every possibility her body could offer in terms of
pleasure—both his and hers—but Myrtle would have none of it. She grabbed at his shirt, pulling it free of
his belt and shifted beneath him, raising her hips in silent plea. He hesitated. Her experiences, from her words, had been so bad in the past that
he expected her to quail or suddenly freeze, but instead, she was radiating
heat against him like a wanton thing, working the string on his trousers open
as she pulled at the buttons on her overlarge shirt with her other hand. “Slowly, love,” he laughed.
“Don’t call
me that,” she muttered, biting his lip, then his neck in animalistic
fashion.
He sighed
and rolled his eyes, running his hand up her bare thigh. “Alright, Myrtle…”
Jack paused, finding her to be without undergarments. “Daring, are we?”
“Not going
to wear men’s underthings,” she grumbled, wriggling her fingers under the
waistband of his trousers and smiling in gritisftisfaction when he gasped as she
clasped his length.
Time spent
with the finest pros in Singapore or no, Jack was still a man. Myrtle’s touch on his hard arousal made his
need more urgent than pleasing and he found himself fairly tearing the shirt
from her body as she inexpertly but determinedly stokes him, her pace erratic
but endearingly exciting. Hissing as
she pulled just a little too hard, Jack took her wrist and guided her hand to
his face, kissing her palm and fingers as she stared at him in confusion. “Let me,” he murmured, tossing his hat to
the floor. She lay on the bed, exposed
and unafraid, though slightly uncertain judging by the look in her eyes as she
watched him shed his clothing. Myrtle
winced at the clank of the heavy belt hitting the boards but schooled her
expression to unconcern as he moved to lay atop her, parting her thighs with
his knees. Jack had the sneaky feeling
his men would be looking for him soon—he had promised a quick return and
already he had been in the cabin well over an hour. “Myrtle…”
“Now or
never,” she whispered, mimicking something she had heard Willow mutter once,
when she thought she and Richard were alone.
“Now, dove,”
he murmured, pushing her hair out of her eyes, “what kind of attitude is that?”
She
frowned. She wanted this, despite her
nervousness. She’d imagined being with
a pirate since she first knew what men and women did together behind closed
doors. Myrtle thought of it as her destiny,
to be with a captain… And now, here was
Jack and she thought she might be ill if he did not do something soon, before
her better judgment broke through her haze.
She arched her back, pressing her womanhood against him and smiled as he
buried his face in her neck. She felt
his hand between them and wondered at it, wincing as she felt him guide his
member into her waiting warmth. She closed
her eyes at the discomfort—not quite pain, not like her only other time. But it felt like she was being filled and
torn as he pushed into her, his lips moving against her throat, his hands
skimming down her arms to her side, grabbing her wrists and bringing her arms
over her head. A ragged sigh escaped
her parted lips as he began to move and she felt the discomfort fade to warm
pleasure, building in her belly and spreading through her limbs. Everywhere he touched her, she imagined gold
stars erupting and spinning like dandelion tufts on a summer breeze, all
centering on one spot, building and building until she was gasping and groaning,
his name a bare litany on her lips.
Myrtle could hear his voice but not his words as his lips burned her
skin. The pressure in her center
ruptured, tearing a cry from her throat as she arched against him, her fingers
curving to clutch his back. She was so
lost in her miasma of pleasured heat and desirous need that she scarcely
noticed Jack’s own release, spilling onto her thighs and belly as he belatedly
remembered they had taken no precautions.
Jack raised
himself up on his elbows and looked down at her ponderously. “Myrte?”
“Mmmmm?”
He smiled
at her half-closed eyes, her sweat dappled face. “No regrets?”
“Should
there be?”
“Uh…”
There was a
dull thudding from below decks and the sound of raised voices. Jack sighed and rolled to his feet, Myrtle
averting her eyes out of ingrained manners.
It occurred to her that despite all the use of her body by men, she had
never properly seen one naked. She made
a mental note to do that later, soon, and pulled the thin blanket over her
nudity. “I’m going to get dressed and
go to the crow’s nest.”
Jack
frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t, lov…er…lass.”
“And I’d
rather my sisters weren’t killed but needs musts wants,” she yawned, getting to
her feet with the blanket wrapped around herself.
The voices
outside grew ever louder and Jack sighed.
“Stay here. I mean it.”
“I’m sure
you do,” she sighed as he hurried out of the cabin, shutting the door firmly
behind her. She let the wrap drop and
pulled on her shirt and began scrounging Jack’s belongings for some clean-ish
trousers. _He can’t refuse me now… We’re
bound… _
A Most Unusual Interest Chapter Eleven (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Seriously, I need to make that a macro… Readers/Reviewers: *BLUSH * Thank you!!!
I’ll try to update more than twice a week but it gets hectic around
here…
“What is
it, Jack?” she asked quietly as he paced.
“Is it…am I wrong?”
“You are a
puzzle, Myrtle,” he muttered. “A right
puzzle.” His hands went from his beard
to his locks to his beard again, fluttering in between in gesticulations as if
he were speaking before the king, flourishes and sweeps, his lips moving
silently when he was not fixing her with an odd look. “Tell me,” he said suddenly, stopping directly in front of her,
“where be your gold?”
“My…what?” She blinked, leaning back as he towered over
her. “My gold?”
“In Port
Royal,” he said in a low voice, leaning ever closer, so close he braced his
hands on either side of her to stop himself from falling, “you promised this
ol’ seadog gold if he were to help you… So where be this g”
”
Myrtle
looked somehow defeated, hollow almost.
“Ah. In my trunk at the Turner
home.”
“How can I
be so sure of that?”
“You have
my word.”
He narrowed
his eyes at her and smiled tightly.
“Your word? And what value does
that have?”
“It’s my
honor,” she snapped, pushing him away.
“Take it or no.”
He stood
aside, holding his hands up in a warding gesture as she shoved herself to her
feet and began pacing herself.
“Arright, lass. Fair ‘nough.”
“No,” she
growled, “it isn’t!” She turned sharply
and glared at Jack, her hands fisted at her sides, her breath coming in long
heaves. “All of my life, I’ve only
wanted one thing—freedom. Freedom from
my station, freedom from England, freedom from men, from corsets, from stays
and skirts and bustles and…and…” She was turning red in the face, trying not to
cry in sheer frustration. “And God help
me, freedom from my family. I have
never been what they—what anyone—wanted and I reveled in it!”
Jack felt
his eyes widen at this show of backbone.
He licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth as was his habit
when thinking particularly fast, and held out his hands pleadingly. “Revel away, dear…”
She stomped
her foot, an oddly girlish gesture considering what she had so recently
said. “Captain, do not mock me!”
“I’m not
mocking you,” he soothed, though he grinned despite his words. He crossed slowly towards her, his hands
still held palms-up before him, placating.
“I’m just wonderin’ at you…”
“There’s
nothing to wonder about,” she snarled, turning away from him and facing the
porthole through which a grimy gray light showed. “Hazel told me I was unnatural.”
“No, dove,
not unnatural. Just…unusual…” He took the chance to edge closer to her,
wondering just why she kept her fists clenched and if she planned on using
them. On him.
“And that,”
she sighed, “is what Willow said.” She
turned and gasped, finding him so close.
“Jack…”
“Mmmmm?” He twisted a loose lock of her hair between
his work worn fingers and stared at it a moment. “Did you know you’ve got three colors in your hair?”
“What?” she
breathed, laughing nervously.
“I see
brown, dark as me own, red, the color of copper, an’ some blonde, like gold…” He dropped the hair and smiled
disarmingly. “Alas, not the hair of a
pirate. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave
ye at Port Royal when all is said an’ done.”
“Hardly,”
she said haughtily, grabbing a handful of Jack’s hair and wrapping it around
her fingers. “I intend on getting my
own ship.”
“Pardon?” He felt his eyebrows shoot up at this. “You can’t sail!”
“Not yet,”
she grinned. “You’ll show me.”
“I’ll…” He shook himself, sputtering. “No I will not!”
“Please?” she
said softly, pulling his head down to her eye level. “I’m asking nice…”
“For a girl
who has no…experience,” he shuddered to use the word in light of what she had
told him, “you are expert and manipulation.”
“As are
you, Captain,” she whispered, kissing him.
Jack closed
his eyes as her lips parted beneath his, her breath a soft gasp as his tongue
touched the full flesh of her lower lip.
Her hand fell to his shoulder and her fingers curled weakly as he
grasped her waist, pushing her inexorably towards the bunk. She did not protest as he lowered her to the
thin mattress, only breaking the kiss to tilt her chin and kiss her neck,
drawing a soft moan from her as his teeth scraped sensitive flesh. It was his full intention to take time, to
make her aware of every possibility her body could offer in terms of
pleasure—both his and hers—but Myrtle would have none of it. She grabbed at his shirt, pulling it free of
his belt and shifted beneath him, raising her hips in silent plea. He hesitated. Her experiences, from her words, had been so bad in the past that
he expected her to quail or suddenly freeze, but instead, she was radiating
heat against him like a wanton thing, working the string on his trousers open
as she pulled at the buttons on her overlarge shirt with her other hand. “Slowly, love,” he laughed.
“Don’t call
me that,” she muttered, biting his lip, then his neck in animalistic
fashion.
He sighed
and rolled his eyes, running his hand up her bare thigh. “Alright, Myrtle…”
Jack paused, finding her to be without undergarments. “Daring, are we?”
“Not going
to wear men’s underthings,” she grumbled, wriggling her fingers under the
waistband of his trousers and smiling in gritisftisfaction when he gasped as she
clasped his length.
Time spent
with the finest pros in Singapore or no, Jack was still a man. Myrtle’s touch on his hard arousal made his
need more urgent than pleasing and he found himself fairly tearing the shirt
from her body as she inexpertly but determinedly stokes him, her pace erratic
but endearingly exciting. Hissing as
she pulled just a little too hard, Jack took her wrist and guided her hand to
his face, kissing her palm and fingers as she stared at him in confusion. “Let me,” he murmured, tossing his hat to
the floor. She lay on the bed, exposed
and unafraid, though slightly uncertain judging by the look in her eyes as she
watched him shed his clothing. Myrtle
winced at the clank of the heavy belt hitting the boards but schooled her
expression to unconcern as he moved to lay atop her, parting her thighs with
his knees. Jack had the sneaky feeling
his men would be looking for him soon—he had promised a quick return and
already he had been in the cabin well over an hour. “Myrtle…”
“Now or
never,” she whispered, mimicking something she had heard Willow mutter once,
when she thought she and Richard were alone.
“Now, dove,”
he murmured, pushing her hair out of her eyes, “what kind of attitude is that?”
She
frowned. She wanted this, despite her
nervousness. She’d imagined being with
a pirate since she first knew what men and women did together behind closed
doors. Myrtle thought of it as her destiny,
to be with a captain… And now, here was
Jack and she thought she might be ill if he did not do something soon, before
her better judgment broke through her haze.
She arched her back, pressing her womanhood against him and smiled as he
buried his face in her neck. She felt
his hand between them and wondered at it, wincing as she felt him guide his
member into her waiting warmth. She closed
her eyes at the discomfort—not quite pain, not like her only other time. But it felt like she was being filled and
torn as he pushed into her, his lips moving against her throat, his hands
skimming down her arms to her side, grabbing her wrists and bringing her arms
over her head. A ragged sigh escaped
her parted lips as he began to move and she felt the discomfort fade to warm
pleasure, building in her belly and spreading through her limbs. Everywhere he touched her, she imagined gold
stars erupting and spinning like dandelion tufts on a summer breeze, all
centering on one spot, building and building until she was gasping and groaning,
his name a bare litany on her lips.
Myrtle could hear his voice but not his words as his lips burned her
skin. The pressure in her center
ruptured, tearing a cry from her throat as she arched against him, her fingers
curving to clutch his back. She was so
lost in her miasma of pleasured heat and desirous need that she scarcely
noticed Jack’s own release, spilling onto her thighs and belly as he belatedly
remembered they had taken no precautions.
Jack raised
himself up on his elbows and looked down at her ponderously. “Myrte?”
“Mmmmm?”
He smiled
at her half-closed eyes, her sweat dappled face. “No regrets?”
“Should
there be?”
“Uh…”
There was a
dull thudding from below decks and the sound of raised voices. Jack sighed and rolled to his feet, Myrtle
averting her eyes out of ingrained manners.
It occurred to her that despite all the use of her body by men, she had
never properly seen one naked. She made
a mental note to do that later, soon, and pulled the thin blanket over her
nudity. “I’m going to get dressed and
go to the crow’s nest.”
Jack
frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t, lov…er…lass.”
“And I’d
rather my sisters weren’t killed but needs musts wants,” she yawned, getting to
her feet with the blanket wrapped around herself.
The voices
outside grew ever louder and Jack sighed.
“Stay here. I mean it.”
“I’m sure
you do,” she sighed as he hurried out of the cabin, shutting the door firmly
behind her. She let the wrap drop and
pulled on her shirt and began scrounging Jack’s belongings for some clean-ish
trousers. _He can’t refuse me now… We’re
bound… _