A Narrowing
Elizabeth's dress whispered quietly about her ankles, adding a soft whoosh to the night air along with the shuffling sound of her hand sliding swiftly along the railing of the deck. She did not bother to search the clouded sky for hidden, distant stars. They didn't mean anything, anyway.
Her feet had been left bare, a thing that the Commodore regularly implored her not to do, and they were damp with wayward sea spray. She imagined herself slipping across the deck and into the ocean, a human being no longer entirely of herself. When she felt her body cease to slide, she found herself staring presently at the wooden door that opened to the cabin she shared with her husband.
The doorknob looked to be of mahogany in the dark, but her hand felt, as it reached to twist the deceitful thing, that it was still porcelain, as always. Pushing the door open, she wished to shut out the whispers of the crew and the relentless moaning of the rigging as it pushed against the wind. The silence that resided in the cabin rushed towards her and pressed lovingly against every inch of her body. She pushed it away with the hiss of a struck match.
The light swirled even to the deepest corners of the room, and she moved to lie on the bed. It was only built for one, but somehow it managed.
She sighed and arranged her dress about her legs so as to fight off the inevitable chill. She truly hoped he would not be long, for the quiet nights often carried her to memories long lost in the fray of those that wished to be remembered. She thought of her wedding night, waiting for him as she did now, only she had long abandoned her nerves and the tingling dread betwixt her thighs.
Her eyes were shut and facing towards the ceiling when he slipped in. She did not need to look, for the picture had already formed in her mind. He stood there in his uniform, gazing at her. It was dazzlingly clean, yet softened by the candlelight, which glinted off the gilt at his shoulders and cast a somewhat golden hew about his face.
He then began to undress slowly. He had all the time in the world, did he not, with his wife lying so sweetly in his bed? His night clothes rested much less crisply against his skin, and he moved in next to Elizabeth, his front pressed closely against hers.
"Elizabeth," he said, as he said most nights.
She did not bother to respond, and James kissed her long and pointlessly. Elizabeth felt out of place and dispassionate on the ship, where she was confined to the wooden timbers, prohibited to roam as often as she pleased. She desired nothing other than to return to the green of Port Royale. Not even James was a satisfying enough consolation prize. There was just too much damn blue here.
His first kiss led to another, another, and another. Their fingertips trailed over each other's bodies in slow-motion, with tingling pleasure.
Elizabeth imagined that they were home, where they could lie and touch wherever they wished, all throughout their rooms. Their first few months of holy matrimony were spent in idle pleasure for Elizabeth, in hushed meetings for the Commodore. The sweltering heat would allow a siesta of sorts during the afternoons, and the high and mighty of Her Majesty's Navy would file down the sloping drive and into the foliage once more as meetings concluded until evening. James, world-weary, would slip out of the burden of proper dress, barefoot in his cotton breeches and shirt as he headed slowly throughout the open house. The numerous windows gave the impression of a high-end and rather sunlit jungle. He'd peer into empty rooms until he found his darling.
One such afternoon, he found her in their shared chambers; her hair swept across a back bound tightly in silk. He wasted no time for romantic scruples, choosing instead not to break his stride as he neared her, immediately sweeping his hands across her breasts and undoing the knots of her bodice with fleet fingers. Elizabeth's eyes were closed and raised towards the ceiling in ecstacy as he undressed the both of them.
She caressed his back as he eased her into a chair in the corner of the bedroom, resting one hand on the upper part of her thigh and the other bracing her neck and head, his fingers intertwined in her hair. His pushed her leg to the side, taunting her as his mouth moved around her breasts, pausing to pull at her nipples, making her body shudder. He moved methodically downwards as her fingers kneaded his back and her kisses peppered his neck. The Commodore moved his hand from her thigh, placing it steadyingly on the small of her back before entering her. Her back arched as his cock worked in and out, in and out. He whispered to her but only once and thus her soft moans were all that broke through the thick air. He longed to make her scream, for their privacy was certainly not in danger; she feared what was not there.
After he had left her, he carried her the few feet to the bed, where the pair laid entwined in exhaustion. Elizabeth's hands roamed freely about his body, exploring the inches of him that she knew most intimately, causing him to harden even as he caught his breath. His lids were heavy about his eyes as he gazed out at the palms. Her attentions to him made him ache for her even as she was at his side.
The sea breeze drifting in through the wide windows that a servant had thrown open earlier that day could do nothing to cool them.
But those were mere desires, memories faded into the ether; here, Elizabeth despised the way the cot made her back ache, the way it held James close to her when she wanted space to truly look at him instead of to merely touch him. The sea forced him towards her in small bits, and she wanted the whole of him. The sea rocked them, pushing them together and pulling them apart, endless and merciless.