Parlait

Jack’s kisses always tasted faintly of rum; it was a pleasant and heady sensation on her tongue whenever their lips met that always made Elizabeth want to deepen the osculation. But Barbossa’s kiss was not masked behind any such veil. What she tasted in his kiss was simply him, something raw and masterful that had roamed reckless and wild for so long that hell itself had spat him back out. That was the claim, was it not? And yet here he was cradling her body to his and nuzzling her lips and tongue with his own in a manner of an unexpected tenderness. Elizabeth’s mouth betrayed the desire for this contact to continue and tightened into a smile.

“You seldom kiss like that, do you?” She asked against his lips, her voice hushed, not wanting to disturb the serenity that hung within the cabin, born out of the guttural noises of a great and chaotic passion just moments ago.

Barbossa sighed gruffly, not at all sure he was comfortable with her making that implication, and did what men do when too intimate an association suddenly enveloped them; he rolled off of her and sat on the edge of his bunk, putting distance between them. He sat rigidly, tucking himself away and buttoning his fly, ignoring how his cock missed being nestled against her warm body. “Missy, it be seldom that I trifle with such at all.”

Was he reminding her or himself she wondered? Elizabeth’s smile grew bigger, knowing Barbossa couldn’t see it, he was obviously not about to discuss kisses with her, and she wouldn’t force the issue. Still, it was ironic; she’d yelled, she’d shouted, she’d begged, she’d beaten him, she’d clawed him…and what was it that worked best to drive him off? A simple acknowledgement of how tender he could be. No man maintained captaincy of pirate vessels by being ‘tender,’ Elizabeth reminded herself, particularly for as long as Barbossa’s career as a captain had been. She considered herself lucky to have been witness, and recipient, of such a kiss from such a man. He-man, she thought as she lay there looking at his strong back and shoulders, they prefer to rape. She bid her smile to fade and began to sit up, her body filled with the pleasant pain of having been used too hard for too long. “You’ve certainly left your mark, Captain,” she said to him, closing her legs together and letting him see how she trembled slightly at the soreness as she moved beside him. “All is not lost.”

“Nor will it be.” He took some pride, and also a sudden strange solace, in the fact that he’d rubbed her a bit raw; that was physical, physical was safe, pay no attention to that smattering of guilt her saying so did suddenly cause to arise. What the bloody hell was happening? Physical; her nipples were still hard, her breasts jiggling as she moved. Barbossa couldn’t help but make his stare obvious, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind. His cock flinched behind his closed fly, perhaps put away too soon? Again he praised Calypso, she’d no doubt resurrected the resilience and strength he’d had as a young man in order that he’d be able to serve the quest to rescue Jack better, but there had been so many unexpected other benefits. With Elizabeth, he was glad to have them.

“I don’t doubt you.” Although, she did, had sufficient evidence to, but thinking about why would only give her a headache. She pushed any romantic notions from her mind. She was a married woman. They weren’t worth it. He had too many clothes on, why was she the only naked one? She’d felt that big, strong body at work against hers, but she wanted to see it now. She wondered, was it permissible to reach up and undo the ties that kept his shirt the rest of the way closed? What about his breeches? There was a roll of pleasant sensation between her legs at the thought of seeing what he’d used on her. He was looking at her with a glint in his eyes that matched the one in hers, but Elizabeth knew well now that this Captain gave the orders. Was it safe to touch him? Would he allow it? Perhaps she could soften him to it? “I’m sorry that I hit you.” Her smile was faint, but it was there, he’d seen it, she knew it.

Barbossa smiled. “You are not!” He certainly didn’t want her to be; if he hadn’t wanted to be slapped, he never would have come at her in the manner he had. He was capable of seduction and persuasion, but neither of those things would have belayed a prize like Elizabeth. She turned more towards him, her breasts jiggled again, he’d been in such haste to take her the first time that he’d forgone touching her and looking at her. Those small, hard, pink nipples, he could practically feel them in his mouth. Why not push her to her back and take what he wanted again? This time he knew it would be freely given. But Elizabeth looked like she was thinking of something. There was a deepening luster in her eyes as she starred at his body. What could she be thinking? “What is it ye be wantin’, girl?”

There was a hint of a growl in his voice, but it was mischievous. Elizabeth smiled, glad that he was of a mind to play, for she doubted she could watch the rise and fall of that broad chest any longer without seeing it and touching it. She reached forward to pull open one of the five knotted ties that went down his chest, only to have her hand quickly batted away, but not batted away roughly. Fine then, control was all his. She looked at him with a huff and Barbossa chuckled. Realizing she had a pouting expression on her face, Elizabeth sought to redeem herself, not be so transparent in her desires. “You’re not hiding anything, are you, Captain?”

“Always, and at every moment.” Barbossa answered with a sly grin, but Elizabeth detected something was suddenly strange about him. He didn’t stall in answering her, not really, but there was a split second that Elizabeth felt as though she were looking at him from far away, something melancholic in his eyes that was gone just as soon as she had noticed it, and Barbossa was quickly undoing the ties on his shirt that her fingers had so nearly gotten a hold of.

Elizabeth was puzzled, whatever had haunted him for that fraction of a second was now gone, but what had it been? He’d opened his shirt and turned more towards her, she couldn’t stop her eyes from taking him in. She had no idea just how old Barbossa was, but his body had definitely not been worn down by age or life at sea. His upper chest was solid, pectoral muscles and deltoids distinguishable and prominent beneath red chest hair subtly touched with gray. His belly was flat, perhaps not defined and taut like Jack’s, but he’d not gone at all soft the way she’d always thought older men to. She couldn’t even see all of him yet and already she was marveling at him; a chest like that made Elizabeth want to have him above her. He must have had a form like a Greek God in his youth and it had managed to linger on. There were scrolling lines of tattoos all over his skin, she wanted to see more, to push the shirt off his shoulders and look at the man he was. But would he mind? What if he was indeed hiding something? “Tis a pity you don’t want me to touch you.” She smiled, not wanting to bring about that despondency that had so briefly been upon him.

How long had it been since a woman wanted to touch him? He couldn’t quite remember anymore, had grown accustomed to the turn of coin for such favors. He took both of Elizabeth’s small hands in his and pressed them beneath his open shirt over each pectoral muscle, but was unprepared for the way he felt himself flinch at the contact; she wanted to touch him! “Plot yer course,” he smiled at her lasciviously and swore to himself that this would be the finality of his self pity. He hadn’t brought her here to pour his bleedin’ black heart out to her.

Finally! The first time she’d touched him it was in a panicked effort to be free of him, but now Elizabeth drew shuddering breaths as her fingers traipsed across scars, tattoos and muscles that contracted and released under her touch. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, it fell to the mattress as she pressed her fingers into the thick trapezious and deltoids, then down over the arms that had held her against him with ample enough strength to squeeze the life out of her. She curled her fingers around the prominence of his biceps, watching his big chest heave, and remembering a time when Jack had fretted so about matching up against Barbossa’s sword. No wonder; Barbossa was known for his prowess as a swordsman, but perhaps lesser realized was the power and strength of him that Elizabeth observed and caressed right now. “Why an albatross?” She asked, her fingers skimming the faded ink over his left pectoral muscle, for such birds were considered harbingers of doom by sailors.

Is that the only marking she notices, he thought. “Apropos of a pirate, wouldn’t ye say, missy?”

She had to agree, and let her fingers drift lower through his chest hair, knowing he watched her, wanting to see her not only touch him, but gaze at his body as she did so. His nipples could scarcely be seen through the curls of dark red hair, but when she brushed one with her fingertip it was unmistakable. Barbossa’s strong body shivered against her hand and he gasped, his hand pulling free of the shirtsleeve and pressing her fingers firmly over the sensitive spot. His obvious pleasure made something pound between Elizabeth’s thighs, and she rubbed her palm over the hardening peak, letting her fingernails scratch his skin, figuring he’d appreciate the roughness. He groaned deeply, closing his eyes under the sensation and she knew she’d been right.

He’d never been a man overly susceptible to a wench’s hands on his chest, but it had been so long since he’d been explored like this, particularly by a woman who was so hungry to feel the cartography of his upper body beneath her hands. He felt her lean closer to him and tasted her sweet breath a moment before her lips brushed his, lightly, not staying long enough before kissing more towards the corner of his mouth, his beard, down his jaw, towards his neck. His body was alert and simmering now, entirely at the ready to besiege her again, but he didn’t want to thrash her about the bed in some mad, ravenous fray as they had before. Her fingers began to roll his nipple with an ever increasing pressure that sent a surge of desire racing through him and made his cock jump and squirm against his thigh. Why did she only touch his chest? Take it slow this time, he reminded himself, but he had to feel some deeper part of her, have some delicious taste of her. He cupped his hand under her chin and lifted her head from where she was following along the pulsating vein in his neck with her mouth and tongue. She moaned her protest, but he pressed his lips to hers, parting them and roving wildly in and out of her mouth with his tongue, ending her objection. One of her arms wrapped around his neck, the other thoughtfully kept its post toying with his nipple, there’s a good lass, he thought, and pulled her against him until she was straddling him. Heat from her warm crotch radiated through his breeches, and his cock strained to meet it. He ached to see and touch her body, his big hand encompassed her soft breast and he squeezed it firmly. She moaned into his mouth as they each fought to suck at the other’s tongue.

Elizabeth struggled between her desire to work kisses down his chest to his cock until she held it in her mouth, and her increasing need to feel him inside her, having her as harshly as he wished once again. She let her hand sink down from his neck, directly over his heart, feeling him give a sudden wince that seemed out of place, but when he kissed her harder and deeper, she knew all was well. Lightly her fingers trailed down his stomach, in between the end of his open belt and the buckle, and she cupped the swelling of eager cock and balls below it, massaging it until it throbbed against her palm. Barbossa growled sharply and bit her neck, pinching her nipple hard in between his finger and thumb.

She had better meant to release him now and not play too long through the fabric that kept them separate. His cock was becoming uncomfortably stiff; his entire groin was a mass of tight anticipation. Best to put her on her back and let her know how serious he was, she was less of a teasing nemesis that way. “Elizabeth,” he was so out of breath he whispered, “yer stirrin’ the storm, don’t be bringin’ it out in me!”

He was pushing her back, meant to move above her and end the ministration she’d intended to lavish upon his body. “No!” It was a breathless plea made more so by the scrape of his beard on her neck as he sucked hard at her skin. However, at the sudden issuance of the word “no,” Barbossa stopped and looked at her with patience in his eyes that made her begin to doubt his record as the rapist she’d always imagined he had been. He waited now, although anxious. “Please,” she whispered, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, pectoral muscles and nipples in a languid and admiring manner that made his eyes drift closed again. “Lay back,” she kissed him softly and slowly. “Let me do this.”

A beautiful, young, nude woman sat straddling his lap, rubbing his body as though she’d never seen such a beautiful man before, begging to ravish him; how could he argue with such? Barbossa was never so aroused in his life, but still, didn’t want her to know she held him in such rapture that he had no choice but to comply. He managed a heavy sigh, “Don’t be a tease, girl,” he warned her, sounding somewhat annoyed as he lay back upon his elbows, settling in against the pillows. “Jack may bend to yer touch like a cabin boy, but I will not acquiesce!”

Elizabeth smiled as she slowly crawled up his body. “I mean not to usurp anything, Captain.” She whispered, leaning down and kissing him, arching her back enough to put her hard nipples in contact with his chest. The friction of his chest hair over them made her gasp and shake, and Barbossa was no steadier beneath her. “I only mean to,” she kissed him again, swirling her tongue completely around his demonstratively and then sucking it hard, “hear my name on your lips.”

Her utter arrogance and confidence made a deep laugh want to escape Barbossa, but he was too lost in the atmosphere her body and words were sewing up around him. All he could do was throw his arms around her and hold her where she was just a bit longer, his hand smoothing down over her back, rubbing her buttocks up and down a few times before wedging two fingers within the elegant cleft between them and giving the sweet wetness of her dripping pink folds a quick stroke. She had to break their kiss she cried out so intensely, her head dropping to his neck and her small body tensing all over against his. Both her reaction and her wetness told Barbossa that he was not the only one suffering the most succulent of tortures. “Be ye certain yer not in need of me to take ye now, girl?”

Elizabeth refocused herself, enjoying the last of the mild tremors that had flooded her and kissed Barbossa’s neck to his shoulder. “After,” she whispered hoarsely, but hoped she would last. She kissed down his chest, dragging her tongue over his skin and liking the throaty groan it coaxed from him. She moved to his nipple next, and as soon as her lips were upon it, Barbossa jerked so powerfully he nearly sat up.

“I’ll not be such a gentleman much longer, dearest,” he ground out, resisting the urge to thrust his hips up against her and display how overwrought he was becoming as she sucked and worried his nipple in her mouth. “Finish with yer nursin’ or I’ll batter ye from aloft!”

Elizabeth took heed, but not without a measure of satisfaction. She wouldn’t have ever conceded Barbossa to be a man so easily put to begging, even if he didn’t quite plead. She kissed down his chest now in a straight line, in between his pectoral muscles, and again she felt him flinch, as if he tried to pull away before she touched him over his heart. She was so curious as to why this was, for he’d shied away from being touched there several times. Was there some unhealed injury there? She was now close enough to look, but to be subtle about her actions, but the only thing she could feel beneath her skimming lips was the scar left from his death, only that seemed to be fine enough for her to touch. What else was it? She lifted her head to get a better look under the guise of whipping her hair around to drag it over his chest. And that’s when she saw it.

An old tattoo, more faded than the albatross; he’d obviously had it for some time. Framing the scar left by Jack’s bullet on either side, in elegant, flowing script were two names. Making up the left side of an oval shape was the name ‘Graciella.’ Providing the right side of the oval was written ‘Juliana.’ Who were these women?


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