The Maiden Voyage of Aria
By: Bastianne
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, besides any original characters/plotline that my imagination has construed.
1.
"Aria, help me with this will you?" Christopher Hanson asked of his fifteen-year-old sister, who was currently lost in a gaze of splendor at the looming bulk of floating pine in front of them, aptly named 'The Forest Maiden,' for the way the sun gleamed off her deck.
"Hmm?" She inquired dazedly, removing her eyes from the ship in the forefront of her vision to the spectacle that was her older brother-who was looking to be capsized from the weight of hauling behind him two storage trunks at once.
He was huffing and puffing with sweat dripping down his red face, and if it weren't for the fact that she didn't want to cause him a hernia, she would have continued watching the display in undisguised amusement.
"Oh! Right, well here we go, on the count of three all right?" Chris nodded and the two piled the trunks one on top of the other and each grabbed a handle of the bottom one. Aria began counting. "One…two…thr…Oomph!"
"You hapless twit! The trunk crushed my foot, oh Ow Ow Ow!"
At the last second, Aria had dropped her handle in surprise as one of the most beautiful men, she had ever seen in her life passed her by on the dock. He had short-cropped black hair-which was unusual in itself, since most men she knew grew their hair long-and deep brown eyes. His tanned complexion only added to the appeal of his high-set cheekbones and aquiline nose. He wore a loose-fitting cotton shirt and tight brown breeches decorated at the waist by a red sash.
Aria followed the jaunty swaying of his hips as he moved past her through the crowd of milling spectators wishing to view the beginning of 'The Forest Maiden's' voyage. Her eyes followed his form, until he was completely out of sight.
By God, he was the most wonderful specimen she had every seen! And the way his sweat glistened off what she could see of his exposed chest…oh, how she wanted to run her hands down the length of his arms and…she may be only fifteen, but her imagination exceeded her experience in such matters as this.
Aria finally came to when she realized that Chris had been smacking her on the arm for the past half minute. She looked up into his amused expression and knew she had been caught staring. Well really, who could blame her? But at least he didn't seem too upset with her over his foot anymore, which could only be a good thing. After shaking herself a bit and clearing her thoughts, Aria helped her brother heave the two trunks onto the ship's deck for the crew to place in their respective cabins.
Aria and her brother were all prepared for the months of travel aboard 'The Forest Maiden' as she crossed the Atlantic Ocean to reach her destination of Jamaica. For two years, the siblings had planned for when they would leave London and their memories behind, only to forge a new life together in the Caribbean.
Chris or Lieutenant Hansen as he was now called had started out as a cabin boy for his father, who sailed as a privateer under the King's Crown for just over twenty-one years. Sadly, his father, on a voyage back home to England in order to visit his estranged family (who he had not seen in over a year), his ship 'Lillian's Bells' came under attack by a Spanish fleet of pirates.
The ruthless band of miscreants slaughtered the crew (who fought very valiantly indeed, but only so much can be done when one is outnumbered almost five-to-one), raided their stores, and slashed the ship's sails, and proceeded to deal floggings to many of the crew, until they passed out from the torture, screaming their mothers' names. They left no survivors, save for the Captain himself, Sir John Hansen, whom they strung up by his wrists and gave him many a shallow swipe with a cutlass; leaving him to bleed to death, while his form dangled from the crow's nest and his eyes were forced to take in the sight of his crew's mangled and bloodied broken bodies, littering his once clean deck.
'Lillian's Bells' arrived in London Harbor a little over a week later, to the horrified gaze of one Commodore Norrington-who had just arrived from Port Royal himself in order to discuss business with his Rear Admiral. Sir John had passed out long ago from fever and died shortly after his ship arrived at port.
The sorrowed Commodore was forced the deliver the message of the Captain's death to his family, who resided just near the bay in a respectably large, three-story-house painted in blue and white with an accompanying veranda.
Upon hearing the news of her husband's untimely and most horrific death, Lillian Hansen settled into a deep depression and became bedridden within the following six months. Not even her two beloved children, Christopher and Aria could seem to ease her pain. And so, with her immunity decreasing rapidly, due to her fragile mental condition, Mrs. Hansen found herself contracting pneumonia-a disease of which stripped her lungs and heart of much needed strength; and in the end wasted away to no more than a shell of her previous vivacious self.
Before she died however, Lillian Hansen called upon her son and daughter to counsel-for she was no fool, and the knowledge she had to impart on her children was deemed most appropriate.
It was when her mother lay on her deathbed that Aria was told the story of how her precious mother and father met on a voyage to the town of Port Royal, some twenty-five years previous. The two soon fell in love over a common kin-ship with the ocean and wedded not long after they reached Jamaica. The couple returned to England and for years, they lived happily with Sir John earning his profit and knight ship (he saved the life of the Dowager Duchess of Wyndham when her ship was under attack by a group of rogue French pirates) as privateer for the British Royal Navy.
Throughout his twenty odd years of experience on the sea, Sir John picked up valuable information dealing with lost treasure and buried islands in which only his crew knew of as well. Sir John realized the importance of such information, and therefore, took it upon himself to keep a journal of his findings; including the bearings to the hidden treasure of 'La Isla de los Pajaros.' Before each voyage he made, Sir John made sure to leave his precious journals with his wife for safe-keeping, in case something as awful as his death should come about.
During her last few days of life, Mrs. Hansen saw fit to show the journals to her children, so they could garner the lost knowledge for themselves and perhaps embark on an adventure to reclaim the lost treasures; for she knew that her time was running out and she wanted to be sure that her beloveds were taken care of. Mrs. Hansen also saw fit to explain the story of her lost childhood to her children; since it was a story they were not aware of and not even her dear husband had ever heard tale of it from her.
Her real name was Caoimhe Lily Turner and she grew up in Dublin, Ireland where her parents were simple potato farmers. She had a brother, William Andrew Turner, who she had not seen since she was thirteen and him twenty. He had left life Ireland to come to England and join the British Navy. She was unaware of what he was doing now-though she had a feeling if he was still sailing, he would be in Port Royal (for that was where most sea-men of older years deigned to reside). She had no clue if he had kids, or if he even lived; but the important thing to pass along to her children was that they might have kin somewhere.
After their mother died, Aria and Chris decided that England held too many painful memories for them to continue their lives there; so when Chris entered the naval force under the command of Captain Eustace Potter, the two waited until the opportune moment for them to escape the confines of their rigid society-for Aria was a girl coming of age and would soon need to make her debut, though she was loathe to admit it-and journey to a more hospitable climate.
That opportunity came two years after the death of their mother, when Christopher Hansen was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant and given leave to begin his station in the Caribbean, under Commodore Norrington-the same man who had delivered the ill tidings of his father's demise two years prior.
So after two years of tears and hardship and hard work, Aria and her brother Christopher were ready to embark on a new journey; one that would shape the course of their lives, like sand smoothes even the hardest stone over time.
2.
The ship was loaded up and ready to depart within the following two hours. I journeyed over to the rim of the deck in order to wave goodbye to the milling crowds of people below, who were waiting eagerly to see 'The Forest Maiden' break the waves. Throughout all the excitement however, I could not help but think of the man that had passed me and my brother by on his way through the docks; such fathomless brown eyes I had never seen before.
I made it a point to search the crowd of well-wishers for another glimpse of the man, in case he decided to bid farewell to the ship as well, but it was quickly becoming harder and harder to distinguish any of the people who were fifty feet below, with all the swaying the ship was doing. I had to concentrate on holding on to the railing, lest I fall off from leaning too far forwards.
Nevertheless, I was excited for our departure-it being my first time on a boat (even when my father was still alive, he deemed it too dangerous for a girl the age of twelve to accompany him on his privateer journeys). I looked over to the helm of the ship, where my brother stood, most likely discussing some naval nonsense with the Captain of the vessel; high above the two men however, lay a stand of fenced-in pine surrounded by the flapping white sails-it was the crow's nest, and my best chance to get a good view of the harbor; the only problem was making sure my brother didn't catch me trying to climb the monstrosity-who knows what he would have to say about propriety when he had the benefit of an audience.
I was wrong; avoiding my brother wasn't my biggest problem-it was shimming up the blasted piece of wood to begin with, while the dress I was wearing hampered my movements. I prayed a strong wind didn't blow near me and lift up my skirt to give the whole of London a view of my bloomers.
Each step was hard work, and each grab of the hand resulted in numerous splinters, but when I reached the threshold of the nest basically unharmed and stood leaning against the railing while I collected my breath, it was a sight to behold. Just don't look down, I told myself, because then I'll miss the safety that only being on solid ground could bring…well more or less, with me being on a ship to begin with. Oh but the view was magnificent; my last true view of England-because I could tell you now, I was never returning to my memories. I wanted to wash the past away in a flurry of salt water and wind on my face.
"Captain, we're ready to depart!" The call was given for the champagne to be smashed against the stern of the ship, and off we went on to better adventures. Before the crowd formed one massive blob of color and texture while we sailed away however, I found my eyes locking with the first person to witness my crime against lady-like behavior; the very same person I had been searching for while I was still on the deck, and if I was honest with myself, the reason I climbed the crow's nest in the first place so I could get a better view of the crowd.
I draped my arms over the railing and peered at him with my blue eyes. I watched as his brown eyes trailed the ship and its crew (taking in each detail like he was committing it to his memory), and come to rest on my face. He quirked his mouth into some sort of ironic grin and inclined his head to me in acknowledgement; from afar, even I could see how his eyes twinkled when they looked at me-like he thought the situation funny. Well, can't have that, I thought; if he was as generous as to tilt his head a couple inches, I should be able to return the favor-instead this time, I gave him a sailor's salute using the two fore-fingers on my right hand. Goodbye, whoever you are, you beautiful man, you. We continued to watch the other long until the crowd departed and we were but specs in the distance to each other.
I continued watching the waves crash against the bow atop my perch on the ship, until the rattling of the railing signified to someone climbing his way up to meet me. That someone was my brother, Chris.
"Ah, there you are. I should have known; you always had to see things for yourself." He came up beside me and leaned his elbows against the wood. We both stared at the horizon for a few moments, until he broke the silence by turning to look at me.
"What?" I asked, since he was giving me an odd sort-of bemused smile.
"We're going to be starting a new life when we reach Port Royal. A lot of things are different there. Women are less restricted by the views of others and propriety is less of a concern. It will be more dangerous there-especially for you. You know, with you being a girl and all. It's time you learned to defend yourself against unwanted advances. And I think…I think it's about time I taught you how to handle a sword."
Oh I could hug him, I really could, but I don't think he'd appreciate being accosted by his sister in front of his peers-hugging was not a manly thing to do. Father was supposed to tutor me in sword-play upon his return home when I was thirteen, but we all know how that story ended. I always cursed the fact that I was born a girl, since I never had as much freedom of movement as my dear brother did. To be able to learn how to wield a sword and protect myself was very appealing; I had enough of being the weak, little sister.
"Oh thank you thank you thank you!" I settled for patting his arm and giving him a bright smile. The smile dimmed however when I saw his face change to one of deep concentration and he turned his body to face the waters once more.
"I'm only sorry I have to be the one to teach you." I knew that wasn't meant as an insult. He was sorry he had to teach me, with father being gone from our lives. I oftentimes wonder if father made the right choice becoming a privateer. He easily could have stayed on dry land and continued making swords for the king's army, like he did in his younger years. He would have avoided the dangers the water brought. But then I realize, he would have never been happy; content maybe, but never being able to receive the full joy that life had to offer. He was born with the sea in his blood, like me and Christopher were; and he could never be happy without the freedom that the ocean had to offer.
"I'm sorry as well." I looked down at my cupped hands. "But at least he's with momma right now, watching over us." My brother was still peering over the waters with his brow wrinkled, as if in remembrance of some long forgotten time, when all we had to worry about was which story to tell me before bedtime-most likely one about pirates.
"Remember when I was little and Henry the Dog got run over by a carriage and you took me aside and told me to look up at the stars during the night and watch how they were all shining down on me?" He nodded and I took a deep breath. "You told me Henry the Dog was one of those stars, and throughout all my years to follow, no matter where I would go, his star would always be watching over me, until the time came for me to become my own star." I reminded him, looking at him from under my dark lashes while a few tears stained my cheeks.
"I remember," he said softly.
We watched the horizon for a few more minutes, until by some unspoken agreement, I wiped the tear stains from my face and we both descended the nest, with Chris helping me climb down the rigging, until we both landed with solid feet on the deck of the ship.
All of a sudden, I was completely spent. I took a deep breath of the fresh ocean air and swayed a little on my spot. The warm cot in my cabin was beginning to sound very appealing.
A few hours later, I lay in my bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows with my knees drawn up to my chest and my head resting on my knees. I twiddled the ruby and sapphire ring my mother had given me before she died around my pointer finger. I let the tears come while I whispered a song.
"Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder where you are…" I softly sang until my throat dried up and I drifted into a deep sleep. And outside, on the cloudless night, the stars twinkled above 'The Forest Maiden,' as she crashed against the waves on her way to the Caribbean.
3.
The next day at dawn, I was shaken awake by Christopher; apparently to learn how to wield a sword, one must only have five hours of sleep.
"Come on, come on. Up you get."
"I'm coming," I grumbled, shoving my hair out of my face and rising from my cot. I looked forlornly at the sight my bed made: silk sheets and wool blankets jumbled up in a mess of pillows stuffed with goose feathers. Oh to be asleep again…
I dunked my head in a basin filled with fresh water and changed from my chemise into some of brother's breeches and one of his white shirts. I had clothes of my own, but my body was in the process of developing and most of my pants could not fit my curves. I'd rather be swimming in cotton, than have it cling to me. I wasn't in the mood to give the sailors onboard a look at my goods anyway.
I climbed the stairs and met Chris at the starboard side of the boat. He tried to catch me off guard by throwing a sword in my face, but I was not one to back down from a challenge; I caught the hilt easily and gave the sword a practice swish. Up, down, left, right, I swished my sword in a complex pattern only I could think of; he seemed impressed.
"Alright, enough of that," Chris said, catching the sword from my waiting fingertips. I had thrown it up in the air, and it was tumbling down its descent. "First, I'm going to show you how to handle it properly." He came to stand behind me and adjusted my right hand, so my four fingers were gripping the bottom of the hilt and my thumb was on top. "Now keep your fingers loose. There you go, like that. And make sure your wrist isn't locked; you don't want to be spraining it when you need to turn your sword." He moved to stand in front of me and drew his own sword in the same way he just showed me.
"We're going to work on our thrusts now." I nodded eagerly. "What you want to do is a two-step move. Put your strong foot just a little ahead of your weaker one to gain your bearing, step with the weaker one first to gain your momentum. Then step with your right foot, at the same time thrusting your sword in front of your person. Push off with your right foot, and use the motion to carry your sword through." I did each step, slowly at first, trying the movement out, and then faster after I found I could handle the steps. Chris nodded, satisfied.
"Now, we work on parrying another person's thrust." Here, he had me bringing my sword up cross-wise to meet his, while I dropped my front foot to maintain balance.
"How was that?" I asked.
"Very good; I think you just might be a natural." I smiled, proud of myself. He noticed. "You should feel proud-most girls can't even handle the weight of a sword, let alone use it." Well, I thought. I'm not most girls. Chris smiled, as if reading my thoughts.
We practiced for the next couple of hours, before he had to be on duty.
"Tomorrow, we'll work on your footwork." He called to me as he went downstairs to get some food with the waking crew. I couldn't wait; finally, I was learning something other than how to apply powder to my nose and rouge to my cheeks.
The schedule continued throughout the first two weeks we were at sea; with Chris always having to rise me himself so we could practice. No matter how used to handling a sword I got, I was never going to get used to waking up at the crack of dawn. Some things just shouldn't be done, and leaving your bed before the sun is awake is one of them.
After Chris left to attend to his duties each morning, I stayed on the deck to continue practicing; I would always stop just before the majority of the crew came aboard however, because being watched is not something I enjoy. When the crew came up, I would take my leave and go down to my cabin, wash the sweat off my body and change into a dress-though no corsets for me, thank you very much.
But there's only so much you can do when all you're given is a couple of books and a journal to write in, so it was no wonder I soon became bored during midday- which is why I found myself up on the deck near the crow's nest, searching for an available sailor to teach me the ways of the ship.
Chris didn't want me associating with the men, and being the protective big brother that he is, had specifically forbidden me from conversing with any member of the crew, save for the Captain and his little boy-who was around the age of eight. Christopher most likely thought that any man whom I deigned to speak with would try to accost me; how that was supposed to happen in the broad of daylight in an open space alluded me; we weren't on a pirate ship after all.
I looked around and spotted a worthy adversary at 2:00 o'clock. The man looked to be young, around the age of twenty or so and was busy doing nothing besides standing around and watching some other sailors climb the rigging. I squared my shoulders and marched up to meet him.
"Excuse me," I said tapping him on the arm to get his attention. He turned around to greet me.
"Hello Miss Hansen," he smiled. "Can I help you with anything?" He was a stick of a man; thin as-can-be, but standing at a good six feet. He had scraggly blond hair and pale blue eyes that seemed very kind.
"Yes, actually there is, Mr…?"
"Lieutenant Davies, Miss."
"Lieutenant Davies," I acknowledged him, "would you mind terribly if I asked for a little of your time to show me the ways of the ship? Only, I often get bored in my cabin, and I wondered if there wasn't something else I could do around here." I gave him my sweetest smile.
"Oh! Well, I can't see why that would be a problem Miss Hansen." I gave a silent cheer. He looked to his right and gave a tiny smirk to a fellow soldier. "I have some free time now, actually. How would you like if I gave you a tour of the ship and explained a little on how things are maintained?"
"Oh you darling boy, that would be wonderful! But do please call me Aria," I gushed, stroking his arm.
"Will do, Aria; but only if you call me Weston, or Wes if you like," he replied with raised eyebrows.
"Wes it is then," I said giving him my arm to place at the crook of his elbow. And off we went.
4.
Throughout the next five weeks, I picked up the vocabulary exchanged aboard the ship and learned the various workings of the vessel. It wasn't long before I could identify each part of the ship. Wes also had me learning how to tie a sailor's knot and what to during a storm. I had yet to learn how to steer a ship; but that was understandable, since I wasn't the Captain, and didn't need to touch the wheel anyway. Between sword-fighting lessons in the morning, reading some of my Shakespeare collection, writing in my journal, my mid-afternoon walks with Wes, and my midnight walks by myself, time stopped seeming to stand still-like it did when we first left England, and before I could blink, we were about a week away from settling in Jamaica.
Wes and I had become very good friends during our voyage on 'The Forest Maiden,' and even though he was the only other sailor I was permitted to talk to (once Christopher found out about my afternoon lessons, he decided to make it clear to the crew that no one else was warranted to talk to me, other than a short greeting; really the boy sometimes goes too far), I found real companionship with him. He was my first real friend who wasn't a brother or a dog, and in some ways I began to love him.
When our meetings first started, all we deemed appropriate to talk about was the ship, but we soon became more comfortable with each other. I told Wes stories from my childhood of helping my father with his metalsmithing (for he also owned a shop along with his privateering business), and how after each day in the shop, I would come home covered in coal and smelling of sweat and filth, but with a happy smile on my face, and my mother upon seeing me would almost burst into annoyed tears at the spectacle that was her daughter.
Wes told me how he grew up without any real family, save for his uncle, who was the Captain of 'The Forest Maiden,' a Mr. Andrew Bailey, his mother's brother. Since Capt. Bailey was oftentimes at sea, Wes was forced to raise himself, for his governess, a harsh woman of sixty was constantly berating him for his mischievous behavior and many a time had to leave the manor in order to clear her head. When Wes outgrew the need for someone to watch his every move, he already had a young cousin in need of guidance.
It was a beautiful Caribbean night; clearer skies you couldn't find anywhere. Looking out through my port hole, I felt I owed it to King Poseidon to pay homage to the stars, so I grabbed my robe and slipped out of my cabin and onto the deck of the ship. Wes was already leaning against the railing near the helm of the ship, watching as the waves crashed against us.
"Beautiful night, hmmm?" I came to stand beside him and lean against the rail as well.
"Yes, it is," he agreed. I looked at him. Something had been plaguing my thoughts; doubts about what I would do with myself once I reached Jamaica.
"What do you plan on doing when we reach Port Royal?" I assumed he would follow his Captain and be returning to England at the end of the month-after the soldiers who were commissioned to work under Commodore Norrington were delivered.
"Long before this voyage started, I planned on sailing back to London. It is where my home is after all. But now, seeing how glorious these waters are and feeling the breeze of the Caribbean on my face, I can't help but what to see more of the horizon. You don't get this in England."
"No, you don't," I said softly.
"I also feel that I have some incentive to stay at Port Royal, other than a desire to sail these waters," he said, looking at me. I turned to fully meet his gaze.
"And what's that?" Wes turned from watching the waves and took a step closer to me. I caught my breath he was so close; I leaned into his touch as he put his arms around my small frame.
"Oh, I think you know." He leaned down, which was no small feat, him being as tall as he was. I leaned my head in, following his movements with my eyes. His lips came down on mine in the briefest of tender caresses in my first kiss. He pulled back to gauge my reaction, and I found myself following him; he looked into my eyes and our lips met again with more pressure.
I pressed my body into his, while my hands stayed clamped on to his shoulders. He slid his hands down my arms, his touch making me shiver, and came to rest them on my hips, pulling me closer, until we were molded together.
I really had no experience when it came to boys, but when he opened his mouth to slip his tongue through, I opened mine on instinct. It was wonderful-his tongue exploring my mouth with feather-soft caresses. Soon, I became used to the sensation and met his tongue with my own, flicking his teeth with its tip, and making him groan. We stood their, kissing one another, and exploring each other's bodies with our hands for an indeterminable amount of time, until breathing became a problem and we both broke off panting for air.
"What…?" I couldn't find words to describe what I was feeling. I had never even considered courting him before and here we were, struggling to breathe after exploring each other's mouths.
"I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he said leaning his forehead against mine and hugging me close. I breathed in his musky scent of vanilla mixed with sea-water until I became dizzy.
"I liked that," I told him. He gave me a quirky smile.
"I liked that too."
"Then by all means, please continue," I said into his ear. He turned my face to meet his.
"I plan on it," he breathed. This time, when his lips met mine, it was much more demanding and much more powerful. His mouth slanted over mine again and again, sucking the very air out of my lungs.
He began guiding me on a path I was sure only he was aware of, since it just felt right for me to close my eyes. We knocked into a barrier of some sort, with my back hitting hard wood. I began to lean against it, until I heard the turning of a knob and my wall was no longer there. Oh, so it was a door, then.
Wes continued to back me up, while at the same time devouring my mouth, until the backs of my knees hit something soft. I broke the kiss to turn my head and found myself staring at my cot. Wes had led us to my cabin.
"Wes, what…?" I began, but he shushed me with a finger on my lips.
"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted you?" He asked, huskily.
"N-no," I said, my body trembling a little. "I had no idea you wanted me at all."
"Then you're a very foolish girl." He began kissing along my jaw-line and down my neck. With his hands he pushed my robe off my shoulders and kissed along my collar-bone; breathing and sucking on the skin between intervals. Was this what I wanted, I asked myself. I always thought the only man I would ever make love to would be my husband, and here I was, being kissed by a man I wasn't even sure I liked that way until a few minutes ago. We needed to talk about this before it went any further.
"Wes, wait," I said pushing him away with my arms, and in the process falling down on my bed. I twisted to my knees to look at him. "What is this?" I gestured between us with my hands. "You've never shown this kind of interest in me before." I narrowed my eyes at him, sniffing the air for any signs of alcohol. "Are you drunk?" I asked suspiciously.
He chuckled a deep, throaty chuckle and moved to stand directly in front of me. He kneeled down on the floor and placed his hands on my fore-arms and looked me in the eye.
"I guess you could say I am, but not in the way you think." He looked deep into my eyes; midnight blue on sky blue. "When you came up and stood beside me on the deck and looked out over the ocean, I couldn't help but notice you. Notice the way the stars gleamed in your hair and how the moon cast a glow on your face. You were beautiful. You've always been beautiful," he said stroking my cheek. I looked down, bashful of the way he was causing my cheeks to stain and how his breath made my skin tingle. "No, don't look down," he said lifting my chin up with his index finger so our eyes met once again.
"I've known you for just going on six weeks now, and each day I've had to live with settling for just a smile or a brief touch of your fingers on my arm, and that made me happy. You make me happy. I don't want to rush you into anything, and I would never make you do something you're not comfortable with, but when I touch you and kiss you, and the way your body molds into mine when we're embracing, it makes it almost impossible to stop."
I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding. I didn't know what I expected to hear, but what he was saying was making my whole body go warm. I brought up a finger and trailed it from his ear down to the tip of his chin, memorizing his strong face and square-cut jaw. He shivered under my touch.
"What do you want from me?" I asked him. What he was making me feel was so new and yet so exciting that I wanted to hold onto it forever.
"I don't want anything from you, and yet all I want to do is hold you and protect you. I trust you when I don't really trust anyone else. I want to keep you safe."
"You make me feel safe," I whispered, leaning my face into his until our noses touched. I nuzzled his cheeks with my lips and trailed kisses along the curve of his jaw until I reached his mouth. I continued to brush my lips against his until he responded. Leaning back, I put my hand on the back of his neck and took him with me. We both sunk down onto the mattress with him supporting most of my weight with his arms.
He crawled on his knees to meet me and positioned his body over mine; being careful that he didn't crush me. I brought my other hand to the back of his neck and clasped my hands there, while he lowered his lips onto mine in a tender and slow kiss.
"You've always made me feel safe, Wes," I breathed, when we broke apart. He smiled and kissed me again.
He started to divest me of my nightgown and I arched my back to help him lift it over my head, while I untied his shirt. He undid his belt to slide off his breeches and threw them along with his shirt and my chemise over his head to land on a chair by my desk. Soon we were both naked. He looked at me, and I started to blush under his scrutiny. My heart was pounding and I closed my eyes to breathe in a calm breath and get a hold over my emotions.
"Open your eyes, Aria," he told me. I did and what I saw surprised me. It wasn't his body that made my breath quicken again-though it was beautiful. It was the look in his eyes as he peered into my face that made my pulse run wild; like he could see right through me and into my soul; a look that told me he knew all my secrets and desires and could see my heart as if it was beating right in front of his eyes-it was terrifying. I watched, fascinated as he began to spread feather-light kisses over my shoulders and the valley between my breasts.
"So tender," he mumbled into my skin, "so innocent."
He continued to kiss along my breasts and down to my stomach, while I ran my fingers down his back and over his shoulders to come to rest on his chest. His lips blazed a fire along their trail and his fingers worked at caressing me in places I had never even dared to look on my body.
My pulse quickened and I felt like I was burning, my nerves feeling like pinpricks. He positioned himself between my legs, and I could feel his hardness against my stomach. I kissed his brow and looked into his eyes and time seemed to stand still. What was he waiting for, I wondered. But I saw it in his eyes, that he was asking permission to continue and so I nodded, bracing myself for the pain that was sure to come.
He kissed both my eyes and slid into me, pausing only once when he reached my barrier. I gasped at the pain, because it was sharp, and even though I was ready for it, I felt unprepared. Unchecked, two tears slipped past my eyes and down my cheeks, leaving a wet trail. Wes kissed each cheek and moved to my mouth so as to take attention away from the pain he was causing me.
I moved my hips to adjust to him, and he moaned and started rocking back and forth very slowly. I molded my mouth onto his and kissed him fiercer than I had ever done before, while wrapping my legs around his hips to become more comfortable. With each thrust I arched my back to meet him, and grinded my fingers into his shoulders.
I could feel an intense pressure building up just below my abdomen and I began to whimper. As Wes's thrusts increased in momentum, so did the pressure. He pumped furiously into me and dug his nails into my buttocks for more leverage. The intense pressure that was building spread throughout my body, until it exploded in a wave of heat, leaving my nerve-endings on fire. We both cried out and Wes's sweaty body collapsed against mine.
We lay together, with him still on top of me until we caught our breath and Wes pulled out. He rolled over onto his side, bringing me with him, so I was leaning against his chest and our bodies were spooned against the other's.
"I think I just might love you," Wes said pushing my brown, waist-length hair off my shoulder, and kissing me on the crown of my head.
"How do you know what love is?" I asked him, turning my head to the side so our lips could meet. I had never experienced love before. I loved my father and my mother and my brother, and Henry the Dog. I admired Commodore Norrington for the way he commanded his fleet. I appreciated Captain Bailey's hospitality towards me and my brother, but I had never been in love.
"I don't know what love is, having never felt it before. But I do know that I have never felt more fulfilled lying here with you in my arms."
"Oh," was my eloquent response. I paused before answering. "Then I think I might love you as well."
He kissed my head again as I settled it under his chin. We soon became silent, letting the rhythm of our breathing soothe us into sleep. Even though I had never felt happier, I couldn't help but think of all the times something went right, another aspect of my life fell to pieces.