Silk

Silk – Chapter Two

He sat at the table, drumming his fingers. A moment later, he was up and pacing. And a minute after that, he was back in the chair, methodically and rapidly stabbing the tip of his paring knife into the wood. Bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger... This was ridiculous; he was twitchy as a cat. He watched the tip of his boot tapping on the floor and was utterly disgusted with himself. If you want her, Jack, go get her, he argued. No, timing is everything, he told himself back. You're going to go mad if you don't do something, came the scornful voice. Too bloody late, he cheerfully told it. Oh, stow it and just do something about it, came another voice, exasperated.

He sprang out of the chair again, heading for the door, then just as quickly spun on his heel. No, he would not go looking for her. "Rum. Lots of rum," he muttered. He uncorked a bottle and took a long pull, running over the evening in his mind. "That idiot. The whey-faced, lily-livered fool," he said aloud, and then grinned, "Bless you, William Turner. Here's luck to you." He grinned wider when he remembered Elizabeth's brazen advances on the boy. It was unfortunate he could only hear what they were saying and not seen it; he was curious what she'd been doing to have poor William begging her so. It couldn't have been anything too scandalous, not his pretty, prim Lizzie. Knowing Will, it was nothing more than hot kisses. That boy seriously needed a girl. But not Jack's girl. Not Lizzie. He found himself licking his lips as he tried to plan how he'd get her to his cabin. Like as not, she was a bit distraught at the moment. Either that, or furiously mad. There was a thought – she was always so glorious when she was angry. No, hot kisses were not the only thing he was going to do to her. And he had an idea she might be very responsive, in time.

He was up again and pacing. Noticed he had a very impressive bulge in his breeches. This was stark, raving mad. Being so worked up over just thinking about her. Oh, but it was thinking about what he wanted to do to her that had him so worked up. He glanced over at the silk that he dropped in a pile on his bed and inadvertently shivered. His hand wandered down to his crotch for a moment, one long, slow aching rub against it, and he shuddered again. Enough. The thrill of the chase, the pursuit, was half the fun of being with her. He was going to find her, and be merciless. And then he heard a knock on the door. Blast. Gibbs, I suppose. Or Marty.

He strode over to the door, trying to shift his sash around to the front, to hide his bulging breeches. "What is it, man..." he began, throwing open the door. And saw her standing there. Her face was pale, but her eyes were blazing with some emotion he didn't dare to guess at. Instantly, he tried to effect nonchalance. And failed miserably. "Lizzie," he began.

She heard him say her name, heard his voice crack, saw him frown. "Jack," she replied, evenly.

Damn it, he thought, and tried again, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your intrusion?"

"To talk." She steeled herself for what she was planning to do, and realized she was utterly and thoroughly aroused at the notion. If he touched her, she might burst into flame.

He raised his eyebrow, made a mock bow and opened the door for her to come in. He shut it behind her and then surreptitiously turned the key in the lock, hardly daring to breathe.

She pretended she didn't hear it.

"So," he began, sitting down at the table. He held out the bottle of rum to her, and she was quick to accept.

"So," she echoed him, taking a swig from the bottle and seating herself across from him. Oh, this is going brilliantly, she thought, what scintillating conversation.

This is mad, he thought, we're going to throw monosyllabic words at each other. Dare I bring up this evening's events? "So what brings you here? You mentioned something about talking."

He was being too even, too casual. No mention of silk or smut or anything else. She decided he'd lost interest and she couldn't go through with it, she wasn't going to debase herself. "Never mind. I'm sorry I troubled you." She shook her head and before she could think, she was up and heading back towards the door. She reached for the handle and remembered the lock. And saw that he'd pocketed the key.

Oh, no you don't, he thought, and followed on her heels. She tried to open the door, found it to be locked, and he saw her spin to confront him. He steeled himself for the battle of words that would begin, and smiled in anticipation. But once again, she surprised him.

There was no thought to it. She had suddenly reached out her hands, spun him about to reverse their positions and pushed him back against the door, her mouth descending on his. I really should stop shoving him up against things like this, she thought fleetingly, and then lost track of all thought at the feel of him.

Didn't see that coming, came the distant thought in his brain, and then his hands were up and around her, tangling in her hair, kissing her as savagely as she was him. He was blindly, madly thrusting against her, his hips coming up off of the wooden door. Yes... have you, damn it...

She could feel his hips coming forward as he sucked at her mouth, feel his fingers raking through her hair, and she was letting out sharp little cries against his lips, in time with his hip thrusts, every time he pulled back to change the angle, "Oh, oh, oh..."

He spun them around so that she was the one against the door, his hands already moving to her chest, tearing at the neck of her shirt, scrabbling to figure out where the cloth around her breasts began. He'd already lost track of everything he'd originally intended, the slow torture of her. He only had the frantic need to be inside her. So long, waiting so long...

She felt him tear her shirt, felt his hands at her breasts, heard him growl in his throat and she suddenly became afraid at how fast it was happening, the ferocious heat of it. Her hands went up, pushing his own away from her, and she began to struggle. Instantly, he released her, stepped away. His head was down, panting, not looking at her. She gasped for air, still leaning against the door. In a moment, he'd straightened, thrown her a wry smile and walked back over to the table. He sat back down, and took a drink. He held it out to her again, and she only stared.

Alright then, he thought. Back to the original plan. She was still holding on to the last vestiges of fear, so he'd go back to the plan of torturous seduction. "So, what did you want to talk about, Lizzie? Or did you just want me against the mast again, so to speak?" He watched her face turn crimson as she blushed, but to her credit, she came over to the table and sat down. He noted her eyes flicking over to the bed and the pile of silk and he grinned, "Thinking of my offer?"

"Jack," she protested, face scarlet, voice strangled.

"Go on, have a drink. You're always so much more entertaining after you've had rum."

This was unbearable. He was being a complete scoundrel, trying to humiliate her. Yet she couldn't escape, what with the door being locked. And she had the distinct feeling he wouldn't give her the key if she simply asked for it. She took the bottle, cocked her head at him, and then took a long, long drink. He looked impressed, "Thirsty?"

"You were on deck earlier," she countered.

"M'often on deck. It's my ship."

"You know what I mean." If only she could stop blushing. If only the feeling between her legs would stop. "You were watching Will and me."

"Was not. Couldn't see a bloody thing," he smirked at her, noting the way her hand shook. He took the bottle back, drank.

"Listening intently, then." She insisted.

He shrugged, "And if I did?"

"You... you are... how dare you listen?" she sputtered, face flaming anew at the thought of him hearing everything she'd done and said, at the thought of him hearing Will turn her away. And what if he was lying? What if he had seen her touching Will that way? The thought was somehow unbearably dirty, unbearably arousing.

He leaned across the table, toward her, "Pirate." He leaned back again, kicking his boots up onto the table, "Besides, as I said: my ship. You shouldn't go around seducing the men on board if you don't want to be seen and heard." The look on her face was rare. The thought came to him that if she had a weapon in hand, he'd be leaping out of the way. As it was, he slowly pocketed his paring knife.

"Seduce... I... fiance..." were the only words she could get out. Not for the first time, she was seriously considering a way to kill him.

"Ex," came the soft, soft reply.

She froze. "What did you say?"

He put on his best sympathetic face, "Ex-fiance, I'd imagine. You did not part on the best of terms. I can only imagine that you might not still be affianced."

She let the rage wash over her for a moment, let it go through her. And then she calmly reached forward for the bottle of rum. Took a drink. Sat back slowly in her chair, her own feet now up on the table. He was looking at her quizzically, obviously wondering what her next move was. Yes, she thought, ex-fiance. And I want you. But I won't beg. So, where does that leave me...? "I have to ask, Captain Sparrow, do you generally go about watching men and women at sport?" she looked at him coolly, noting how it was his turn to look uncomfortable.

"Well, you weren't being so very quiet," he began, feeling ridiculously flustered at the question. Because it had aroused him, it had made him hard and wanting to see just what they were doing. His imagination hadn't been good enough. He reached for the bottle.

She snorted, softly, "On the contrary, we were quite restrained, all things considered." The memory made her shiver.

"No," he suddenly grinned like a shark, all teeth and nastiness, "if he'd been truly restrained, you might have been able to kiss him longer, keep him longer. Try a shackle next time." She paled, rocking back in her chair a little as if he'd struck her, and he had the decency to feel guilty. That was a bit low, especially considering she's just lost the boy she'd once planned on marrying. "Elizabeth," he began, honestly intending to apologize. But her eyes changed, becoming darker, and he realized he'd only just fanned the flames. This would get ugly before it was over. He wondered if they'd come through unscathed. And found he didn't care, as long as it got her in his bed.

"Is that it?" she purred, "Did you want to see how I really kissed someone I actually gave a damn about? I think you're angry because I haven't bothered trying to kiss you since we found you." She took her feet off the table and leaned forward, her eyes sparkling, "You didn't think that kiss meant anything more than betrayal to the Kraken did you?" Ah. She'd found his sore spot, now. She saw it in his eyes, saw a brief flicker of something indefinable before they narrowed and answering fire blossomed there. Oh my, she thought, I think I might be in danger.

He smirked, "Oh, no. I knew exactly what it was. A childish diversion by a little girl, to trap the bad nasty pirate. I just let you do it, to see if you had the stones." He took a long drink, smothering a grin at the anger in her face, "I was going down with the bloody ship anyway. And I prefer to kiss women, not virgins." She leaned forward, took another long drink of rum.

Keep control, she thought, don't let him get you. "Really," she asked, "then why the kiss in the hold? Why the silk and pearls offer?" She offered the bottle back, watching his brow furrowing slightly as he thought.

"Well, it has been an awfully long time. Any woman would do. Even a slip of a girl like yourself." Chew on that, he thought, taking back the bottle and drinking. He noted her nostrils flaring in anger and grinned at her.

Her brain was working furiously. "Oh. Well, it's true I'm young. Far, far younger than you." She gave him a sweet smile. "I'd actually thought a man of your age would be past such carnal longings." Oooh, she chuckled inwardly, that must sting. She took back the bottle, took a delicate sip.

Damn. That bit about the age difference stung. But he regained his composure. "As if a sheltered little girl like you would know anything about carnal longings," he chuckled. He reached for the bottle, and found she'd drained it. He raised an eyebrow, "Sure seem to know a lot about drunkenness, though." He flashed a grin at her, and went to fetch another bottle from the sideboard.

She gritted her teeth as she watched him open another bottle, feeling her head roll a little. Need to slow down, she told herself, I absolutely refuse to be drunk around him. This will be on my terms.

He sat himself down on a corner of the table closest to her and she looked up at him suspiciously. "Do tell, dearie," he began, "what effect did you really think that kiss of yours on deck would have?"

"It distracted you!" she snapped and he laughed at her mistake.

"No, love. We already agreed that your so-called diversion was something I was on to all along. And that the effect wasn't much." She almost hissed at him and he fought back another laugh. "No. I was referring to dear William. What did you intend to accomplish, really? And just what were you doing to make him sound that way? Quite breathless." He looked at her intently. "Either Will is very naive and easily stirred... or you have been a very naughty little girl."

She was speechless, trapped. What did he expect her to say? Did he expect her to tell him the truth, that she wanted Will to take her, to have her at last? She simply stared at him, not knowing what to say. And feeling that warmth blossom in her again, that want. The concept of describing the details to him made her shiver in fear and longing.

Disarmed at last, he thought. Here we go. He slid off the table, slowly moving towards her. "Come, dearie," he purred, "Tell ol' Jack the nasty details. Tell me how poor, dumb William was possibly able to withstand you. Because you are positively fearsome when you truly turn your stubborn attention to something. Positively... dangerous..." He'd stopped before her, leaning down with a hand on either side of the arm of her chair. He saw her lick her lips nervously, saw the pulse pounding in her throat. "So tell me. What have you learned tonight, beyond realizing that Will Turner is not for you? Beyond learning that you can't best me in a battle of words?" He had leaned closer, almost to her ear, and heard her make a noise in her throat. And it made him fiercely glad to be the cause of it.

There he was again. Invading her space. Too close. Making her breathless and dizzy. Had she truly thought she would walk in here and seduce him? Oh, no. So stupid, Elizabeth, so damn st... her breath caught as he lightly breathed in her ear, "You'd made up your mind when you came to my door, didn't you? You'd already decided. You want me."

That brought her head up with an almost audible snap. Absolutely not. It was not going to be that damn easy. She shoved at him, hard. "You arrogant, conceited..." He caught her fist as it lashed out at him.

"No, you don't," he warned, deadly serious now. "No hitting, Lizzie."

"Let me go. I'm leaving."

"You're not. Not until I'm finished with you." Another warning.

"I am so, stop it..." she struggled with him, bringing up her other hand to strike. And of course, he caught that one too. "Damn you," she hissed.

"Coward," he shot back, "too cowardly to give in to what you want."

"Bastard," she whispered, feeling her limbs go slack, giving up to the heat that washed over her as he held both her hands captive, bending her backward in the chair.

"Bitch," he growled, before lowering his mouth to hers, bruising her lips with his kiss, nipping hard enough to draw blood.

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AU: Still with me? I worked extra-hard to make this second chapter before I left for the weekend. Hopefully it isn’t too bad. The best is coming. Sunday night. Maybe Monday morning. Hang tough.