THE MORNING AFTER
The fire was nothing more than dim embers playing upon charred ashes of what used to be wood in a blazing flame. Reaver lay awake, his elbow resting upon the finest feather down pillow that money could afford, his cheek resting upon the palm of his hand as he watched the beauty sleeping next to him. Her chestnut hair was splayed in an abstract manner across the second pillow. Her soft porcelain skin seemed untouched by anything, although after the previous night, Reaver knew that to be untrue. Her face held the serene expression of someone enjoying eternal sleep, in fact if it weren't for the constant rise and fall of her chest he would take her as a corpse. He admired the gentle curvature of her heart shaped face, her eyelids still held the faint color of eye shadow that she had adorned the day before, traces of lipstick smeared over the outlines of her thin pink lips. He reached over with his free hand and wiped away some of the makeup; this caused her to stir, turn on her side so that she was facing him, and let out a content sigh as she repositioned herself in the soft indent of pillows.
A condescending smirk plastered itself upon Reaver's face as he continued to watch her in her quiet slumber. He remembered the first day that she arrived in his humble abode, trouncing in to his mansion and demanding his help for something of her gain. He couldn't deny such a beauty on the spot but he had to test her first, he had to know if she was worthy of his accompaniment. And she proved herself. When he sent her to Wraithmarsh to fulfill his dealings with the Shadow Court he had fully expected her to return as a decrepit walking corpse. But when she returned, her skin still glowing with the same youth she had left with, he knew that she deserved his company in her quest, even if he was planning on betraying her the first chance that he got. He chuckled to himself at the thought, he laughed at the remembrance of her reaction to him upon her return from the shadow court. You conniving, slimy, deceitful, disgusting creature. Her bravery to say such words intrigued him; her complete lack of fear stopped him from putting a bullet through her head at that very moment.
Reaver took his mind away from the past and focused it back on the present where the gorgeous creature that had said such things to him in the past was now lying in his bed with nothing but a blanket to cover her nude body. He regretted not having seen her fully naked since most of their time was spent beneath the covers. He raised a hand to her face, his knuckles caressing her cheekbone softly as his eyes shifted from one facial feature to the next. He wondered what she would say when she woke up. He wondered if she would regret it, if she would regret him, and he smiled. Who could ever regret sharing a bed with the Great Reaver? Although he didn't doubt that this little Sparrow may be the first person to insult his sexual prowess first thing in the morning.
He shifted slightly in an attempt to get out of bed and Sparrow mirrored his movement by turning on her back, the blanket that covered her slipping down her collarbone to reveal a nice amount of cleavage to him. He quirked a brow and leaned down to trail swift open mouthed kisses from her neck down to where the hem of the quilt laid on her chest. A satisfied smiled crossed his lips when Sparrow sighed contently in her sleep and turned her head towards him. Slipping out from under the covers, Reaver continued his attempt to get on with the day. Despite the lovely creature currently inhabiting his bed, Reaver had business to attend to this morning. As he recalled he had commissioned for another painter to try their luck at capturing his utterly refined perfection.
Sparrow rolled over, her arm draping around the empty bed. Her chocolate eyes opened slowly, vision still blurred by grogginess. She stretched out, yawning widely before she sat up and glanced around only to see that she was alone in the well decorated, dimly lit bedroom. Her eyes averted to the floor where her clothes were still spread out on the wooden floor in an unorganized manner. The woman yawned again, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and leaning down to retrieve her clothes. She looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror-that only Reaver would have in his bedroom- adorned upon the wall parallel to her, her hair was an awful mess and her makeup was smeared all over her face.
"I look like a damned harlot," she muttered, running her slim fingers through tousled hair and wiping off any traces of beauty product from her skin. "Much better," she said with one final wipe around her lips. Not feeling motivated enough to get dressed immediately she glanced around for something else to wear for the time being and she spotted a blue silk bathrobe draped over a chair in the corner.
She slipped her arms through the kimono style sleeves and tied the sash at her waist. She examined herself in the mirror; the fabric dipped deep on her chest and fell just below her knees. "Not bad." She smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
Upon hearing an echoing gunshot Sparrow turned her head and rushed out the bedroom door, down a flight of stairs to the banister that overlooked Reaver's study. She planted her palms on the handrail and looked down frantically, only to see Reaver polishing his gun, accompanied by a newly deceased painter lying on the floor in front of him. Sparrow relaxed then, just another artist.
"You haven't given up on commissioning a portrait of yourself yet?"
Reaver's ear caught her voice and he upturned his head to look at her. He grinned, "Shouldn't perfection such as mine be immortalized?"
"Isn't it already?"
"Touché" he laughed, waving his gun in her direction.
"Oui, Oui, mon chapeau," she responded, having no idea what she had just said. Whatever it was it must have been funny because Reaver burst out into a short but thunderous laughter.
"You don't speak any other languages do you?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Sparrow placed her hands on her hips and stared down at him.
"You just said," he cleared his throat, "yes, yes, my hat." He could see her face turning red even from as far away as he was.
"I'm coming down," she said, swiftly changing the subject. He watched her turn away and she began to walk around the corner. When he heard her footsteps descending the staircase into the foyer, he had a cunning plan.
Reaver pressed himself against the wall beside the door and he waited, listening to her footsteps drawing nearer to the door. And as it opened he pounced, playfully restraining her from behind before she elbowed him in the stomach and spun out of his grip, pinning him hard against the wall. Reaver grunted at the impact, feeling the breath leaving his body, the wind being knocked right out of him. Sparrow's soft, long leg was lodged between his, her elbow pressed against his throat, and her eyes staring straight into his. Once he got his breath back he gasped and raised his hands to either side of his head. "I surrender cruel mistress."
Sparrow's eyes widened and she drew herself away from him. "Reflex," she apologized, pushing a strand of stray hair behind her ear.
"Oh, I thought we were playing a bedroom game." He dusted of his jacket and a Cheshire grin spread on his lips.
She shot him a disgusted glare. "Is that all you ever think about?"
"Of course not, I also think about whether or not I'll have to kill the next artist that depicts my perfect features imperfectly," he said, motioning towards the corpse that still lay on the floor. "I think about where my next sea guided excursion will take me and what kind of riches I will encounter on the way, I th—"
"All right, all right, I get it." She held her hand up and motioned for him to stop talking. She adjusted the top of the robe as it was coming undone and retied the sash around her waist.
"You look stunning in my robe by the way," Reaver commented, looking her up and down.
Sparrow caught his perverted sights and scoffed. "You are a disgusting pig." She placed her hands once again on her hips and glared at him.
He raised a brow and took a step towards her, his arms snaking around her waist, sliding easily over the silk. He pulled her against him and tilted her chin up. "That's far from what you were saying last night," he craned his neck down and kissed her collarbone softly, and then brought his lips to her ear. "My dear."
She closed her eyes, relaxing completely in his grip. His voice enticed her, made her want him all over again, he was like a siren calling to her with a song that only she could understand. He continued his trail along her neck, lining her skin with soft lips. His lips distracted her so much in fact that she hadn't noticed his hands creeping for the bow where the sash was tied. Sparrow felt the tie loosen and the strip of fabric grazed her leg as it fell to the floor around her ankles. She planted her hands firmly on his chest and pushed off of him. "You tricky scoundrel pirate," she whispered, a glare accompanied by a sly smile played on her face.
He grinned and chuckled. "I didn't hear any objections last night." He spoke in a sing song voice.
"Well, it isn't last night now, is it?" She raised both brows and closed the robe once again, leaning down to pick up the sash that Reaver had untied.
Reaver couldn't help but laugh, not only had she managed to be the most challenging target for sexual rendezvous, but she was also the only woman who was able to turn her head so easily at a morning 'session' with him. She was one intriguing little Sparrow. She didn't seem very-if at all- sexually interested in him even after he had already proven his skill between the sheets. She didn't even seem to fear the fact that he could, at any time, put a bullet straight through her head-this was proven to him by the mocking names to which she continuously referred him- and kill her whenever he pleased. Her apparent lack of fear-he knew- was a charade. Whenever he took the time to stare into her eyes rather than at her other features he saw a raw passion for being alive, he saw her hidden-but still present- fear of death. And he worried for her. He worried that she might make the same mistake as he.
But what business was it of his? She could do as she pleased.
Being so caught up in his thoughts, Reaver had failed to notice that Sparrow had already retied the sash around her waist and was waving her hand in front of his face in search of his attention.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes, but kindly repeat, would you?"
Sparrow motioned towards the corpse behind the canvas. "What did this one depict incorrectly?"
He laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leading her over to the easel. "Excuse us," he said as they stepped over the dead artisan. He motioned to the picture, "do you see that?" he asked.
"What? Your chin?"
"My jaw," he corrected, "is much more square than that," he scoffed.
Sparrow gave him an are-you-serious-stare and shrugged his arm off of her shoulder, proceeding to make her way towards the Study door. "I am going to get dressed."
"What ever for, mon joli petit moineau?"
She looked back at him, her face distorted into a sort of confused expression. She hated when he spoke to her in foreign languages, it made her feel as though he were above her in some way. "So that I can leave."
"So soon?"
"What does it matter to you?" she called from the foyer, beginning to ascend the stairway.
"It doesn't," he defended, following her back to his bedroom.
"Then why ask?" She sighed, exasperated by him now.
"Curiousity."
"Curiousity killed the cat,"
"Ah, but satisfaction brought it back," he pointed out, sitting on his bed while she gathered her clothes.
She noticed him sitting, staring at her as thought waiting for something. "What are you doing?" She asked, giving him an unrealistic stare.
"Watching you get dressed."
Her face flushed red and she put a hand on her hip, her clothes held to her chest in the other hand. "Really now?" she rolled her eyes.
He cocked his head to the side. "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can leave," he reminded her, motioning a hand towards the door.
Sparrow sighed dejectedly and placed her clothing on a chair beside her. Suddenly, a torch lit in her mind and a cunning grin spread over her face. "All right then," she took three sultry steps towards him cupped his chin, sorry, jaw in her hand and tilted his face to look at her. "You want a show?" She pulled on the sash, the robe falling open as she did so, and crawled over his body, forcing Reaver to lay himself down on the bed. Her lips claimed his as her nearly nude body laid itself atop hers.
Reaver gave a soft grunt; she certainly hadn't shown him this side of her last night. He became so caught up in her lips on his that he hadn't noticed her hands creeping to his wrists where she had bound them with the silk sash and restrained him to his bedpost. "What kind of game are we playing now?" He asked as her fingers clumsily worked to unbuckle his trousers. And as she crawled down his body she took his pants with her, leaving the garment at his ankles. She stood again and slipped the robe off of her shoulders and it fell to the ground in a crumpled mess.
He admired her full figure for the first time, her supple breasts and the defined curvature of her waist and her hipbone. From her hips fell a pair of long, slim legs burdened with a few battle scars. She turned away from him and he examined her backside. Her shoulder blades were riddled with small scars, probably from the grazing of bullets and arrows. She turned to face him again, her shorts in her hands now and she slipped them on, buckling the belt buckle tightly before she slid on her milk maid shirt beneath a navy blue twill bodice. He craned his neck to look at her as she made her way for the door. "What are you doing?" He demanded.
"You wanted to watch me get dressed," she quirked a brow.
He glared at her. She got him. "You can't intend to leave me like this."
"Oh, but I can," she giggled, and ran down the hall, and descended the flight of stairs once again.
Sparrow laughed as she came to the bottom of the stairs and was greeted by Reaver's butler.
"Good afternoon, Miss Sparrow," he bowed respectively.
"Good afternoon, Sebastien." She beamed at him and grabbed her pistols from the chest beside the door. She reached for the handle but turned on her heels before opening the door. "Oh, Reaver mentioned that he would like you to pay him a visit in his bed chamber," her beam quickly turned into a grin. "He's feeling a bit under the weather."
She swung open the heavy wooden door and with a jump in her step, headed away from Bloodstone Manor, for now.