Chapter 9: Eight Months
A/N*I have moved this story to the M rating, just to be safe. ::shrugs:: Hope no one has a problem with that… XD
After a month of drifting in and out of consciousness, being poked with a needle, prodded and fussed at, scolded to eat more, sequestered to bed and told umpteen times that she needed to sleep, Elizabeth was bored out of her skull.
Never mind the fact that she had a slit in her side half the length of her arm. She was ready to go out, but anytime she tried she was quickly shepherded back into Jack's cabin. It was the nicest berth on the ship, and though no man was supposed to receive special treatment, everyone insisted on mollycoddling her, including Jack.
In the beginning she popped in an out of consciousness, to find Will at her bedside, or Jack, or even James once. He'd released her hand like a hot iron when she woke, and fled before she could say a word. His loss, for she might have liked some intelligent conversation.
When Will came to her there was only one thing on his lips. We're leaving.
She refused, of course. The argument became so heated one time that Cotton, the ship's informal doctor, had burst in and kicked the whelp out of the cabin. He'd mimed at Elizabeth that she would pull her stitches if she engaged in such things and wagged his finger scoldingly.
With a cheeky grin, she'd promised to be good, even though she had no intention of giving in to Will's demands. She had survived—once she healed, she would be ready for more adventure, more danger. She knew it to the bottom of her soul.
Even Jack did not make for pleasant company at first, fussing over her like a mother hen, telling her off for taking her attention off the fight for the sake of his sorry hide.
She did not regret a thing, and she told him so in no uncertain terms.
He stormed off.
He returned, kissed her, and stormed off again.
He did not even thank her for saving his life until much later, when she seemed to be well on her way to healing, the worst of the fever passed.
The losses in the fight with the Inmaculada had been heavy, and too many men were committed to the sea sewed up in their hammocks.
A pirate's life.
However, for the survivors, the rewards had been great. It became apparent why the Spanish had fought so fiercely: aside from valuables, jewelry, bullion, and silks from Manilla, several ladies had been hidden away in the hold, women from rich families on their way home back to Spain from Veracruz. It was not a pretty thought what a crueler pirate crew might have done with them, but Jack's lot were better men than that. It was written in the Pearl's articles that no woman shall be sullied against her will.
The take was so rich they decided not to even bother with ransom, sailing off into the sunset to let the Inmaculada lick her wounds. They had plenty of their own to tend to.
After the fever passed Elizabeth devoured her way through all the books Jack had to offer. Daniel Defoe, Woodes Rogers, Jonathan Swift, Exquemelin, even Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan though it bored her to tears. She was so desperate she even began picking her way through a copy of Don Quixote taken from the Inmaculada, using her knowledge of Latin to puzzle out the Castillian.
Best she could tell, this Quixote bloke was an odd one, and there were a lot of windmills in Spain.
Frustrated, she set the book on the side table, where a glass of water and a box of chocolate also rested, a delicacy also plundered from their latest prize. But she didn't want to eat. She didn't want to lay here anymore, immobile, when the weather was fair and she could just feel the sun and the trade winds upon her face.
Frustrated, she lay back further into the down pillows.
They smelled like Jack. Everything here did, and lying amongst his bedclothes, engulfed by the spiced sandalwood scent of him anytime she moved—she was losing her mind. And her mind was her only source of entertainment here, really, so she needed it intact. She tried to count the knots in the planks above her head, but quickly grew tired of it. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
She couldn't.
She thought of the last time she'd been allowed to have any fun, which had been at the swimming hole with Jack, before the whole crew interrupted them. But that was a lucky stroke, wasn't it? Because she didn't know what she might have let Jack do to her, had they not…
She thought of his hands upon her. Strong, calloused, clever… Her own hands drifted across her belly, up her side that was not fileted like a fish, and with her eyes closed she could almost pretend it was Jack. What if they hadn't been interrupted? Wicked thing, she let her mind wander, and her hands too. One found her breast, stroking a nipple that was pebble hard beneath her questing fingers. It made frissons of pleasure shoot through her loins, the ache that seemed to strike her anytime Jack so much as looked at her.
Her right hand continued south, exploring the curve of her belly, and lower, caressing the downy curls of her sex.
I've never wanted anyone the way I want you, Elizabeth.
Just the memory of those words from his lips made her wet, made her tighten and ache in places she'd always been told a lady ignored. Well, thank God she wasn't a lady anymore.
This wasn't the first time she'd touched herself with Jack Sparrow in mind. When she'd been naught but a teenager on the cusp of womanhood, she'd read about him, and even then she'd wanted him in ways she knew not how to describe. And after their time on the island…oh. It was rarely her fiancé Will Turner's name on her lips when she explored herself at night, the rest of the household abed.
She experimented with touching herself, making small circles about that little fleshy nub between her folds. Her fingers were too soft, too small. She wished…she longed. She imagined hands that were larger, stronger, rough from the handling of ropes and helms and cutlasses yet knew so perfectly what to do with her tender flesh… Her back arched, her hand moving faster, her heart beat loud as a drum in her ears.
"Jack…" she whispered, imagining him above her, his lips on hers, his weight pressing her down into the berth. She dipped a finger inside her weeping quim, wondering if it would be anything like that to have him inside her. It wasn't enough to slake this unnamable need, and she doubted it. Somehow, she knew this was just a paltry taste, but it was all she had at the moment. She moved her hips against her hand, her breath coming quicker.
There was a fast knock and Elizabeth barely had time to right herself in the bed before Jack burst in the door, his boot heels knocking across the deck as he quickly crossed the floor. "'Lo, Lizzy," he called absently, not looking at her, his eyes intently searching for something upon his desk. It was not there, apparently, and he began rooting in the drawers next, frowning as he rifled their contents. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, and went to a trunk, his back to her. He continued muttering under his breath, something about a silver drachym and winning a bet with Norrington.
She was grateful, and prayed she did not look so guilty as she felt, the fire of unrealized release still burning in her veins. Moving as quietly as she could, she smoothed her shirt and her hair and the sheets, wiping her hand upon the fabric. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart. A small smile pulled at her lips—which she fought not to let turn into a grin. If only he knew.
It took a few moments for her to realize Jack had turned, and was looking at her rather acutely, his dark eyes narrowed.
Her heart returned to her throat.
His interest suddenly called elsewhere, Jack absently tossed the box he held back into the sea chest, and it struck with a rattle and a crash. He didn't seem to care. "Are you alright, love?" he asked, his interest sharpened upon her. The trinkets in his mass of hair tinkled as he canted his head to regard her. Slowly he approached, looking her over thoroughly. "Ye look a bit…piqued."
"Yes, I'm fine," she answered quickly. Too quickly, perhaps.
The corner of his mouth turned up, and in that moment he had the look of a wolf who had spied a lamb strayed from the herd.
"Aye? You must be awfully bored in here by yourself all day. All the books run through like a wildfire, I see." He tutted his tongue, shaking his head. "There's merit in learning to take your time, you know, all the better to savor it."
She frowned, suddenly quite unsure if he still spoke of books.
Her posture straightened as he sat down on the berth beside her. He felt her forehead. "You're a bit warm, but not feverish." Inwardly she groaned as he took her hand. The hand, with which she'd touched herself with such abandon, wishing it were him. He considered it carefully, inspecting her long fingers in his own. The smirk widened slightly.
"Sticky fingers, love. Been into something sweet?" His eyes flitted to the box of chocolates at the bedside table, which was quite closed. She gasped as he lifted her fingers to his lips, sucking the tips clean. "Mmm." It came out more like a growl, and Elizabeth found she could not move, could not speak, could only watch him with horrified fascination. Embarrassment burned in her veins, and yet—Jack was not shaming her.
He simply seemed intrigued, his dark eyes boring into her.
"Has it been driving you mad?" he asked quietly. "Laying here in my bed? Does it make you wonder what it would be like?"
A shuddering sigh escaped her, and she closed her eyes, utterly unable to look at him in that moment. "Jack…" she pleaded, unsure if she was asking for mercy, or confirming his all too astute observation. Nothing escaped him, it seemed. Ever.
"Well, don't let me interrupt you," he urged her, kissing her fingers and leading her hand back down, beneath the sheets. She gasped as his hand and her hand slipped beneath her shirt, and inside the loosened laces of her breeches. His rings were cool on her flesh and she gasped. "How do you like it, Lizzy?" he asked before claiming her lips with a gentle kiss, his tongue caressing her lower lip. He moved his thumb against her, which in turn pressed her fingers into her sensitive flesh. Her hips moved of their own accord, and a small sound escaped her that could easily have been mistaken for pain.
What a strange thing desire was, writhing and pulsing, practically making her its slave in its demand to be slaked. She could not think of anything past Jack's hand upon her, and the release it could bring her if she moved just so. Feeling bold, or perhaps utterly mad, she dared to remove her hand. "Show me," she whispered against his lips, and it was Jack's turn to groan, a low throaty growl that raised gooseflesh all down her spine. He caressed her with his thumb slowly, trying the waters, and she felt her body align to him like strings to a bow.
"I would wager my last doubloon the boy's never touched you like this," he said against her ear, the motion of his thumb quickening against her, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.
"No," she admitted, her voice almost unrecognizable as her own. "No, he wouldn't dare."
Jack snickered a little, the sound sending a thrill down her spine. "Stupid boy. When are you going to tell him, Lizzy?"
She didn't know where she got the pluck to toy with him, retorting haughtily, "Tell him what, Jack?"
The pirate laughed, pausing in his administrations between her legs. A mewling sound of protest escaped her, and his grin widened. "Tell him to go away," he iterated, thinking briefly back on an encounter he'd had with the whelp shortly after Elizabeth's accident. Swords had been drawn, dramatic speeches exchanged. Lizzy didn't know it, but Jack let Will cool off in the brig for three days before he felt he could let the boy roam again without receiving something pointy in his back.
Elizabeth found it hard to think, and she tried to move her hips against his hand, but he held himself back just so. She didn't know where she grasped the presence of mind to quip, "And I thought we bargained for a year, Jack? Are you going back on your promise?"
Jack growled, thinking that if she did in fact make him wait a year he might die of wanting. And yet if she still wasn't sure…
She would be.
He would make sure of it, starting now, and he began to move his thumb against her again. She practically melted with relief, moaning sweetly in his ear.
"God, Lizzy, you are so wet," he ground out before kissing her again. "Who is it you were thinking of?" he asked, demanded, his teeth grazing her skin. This moment of doubt amidst all his certainty was endearing somehow, and she pulled him close, her hand finding the bare skin at the base of his throat.
"Of course it was you," she whispered, her defences down, and he rewarded her by kissing her deeply and moving faster, harder, touching her at a pace she hadn't even known she would like. Her side ached, the flesh around her stitches pulled, but she was helpless to these sensations and she couldn't bring herself to care, immune to the pain. She buried her face in the bend of his neck, and suddenly her release was upon her like a lightning strike, her spine arching, her strangled cry of abandon muffled in his hair. Pleasure bloomed in the cradle of her hips, spread through her body to the tips of her toes.
She saw stars.
Elizabeth had never felt anything like that at her own hands, and as she shuddered with the aftershocks in his arms a small joyful laugh escaped her. Utterly incapable of speech, she kissed his neck and rested there in the cradle of his arms, regaining her breath. He caressed her hair and the curve of her spine, making her shudder even more under his skilled touch. Was there no end to what this man could do to her?
It was Jack who spoke first quietly against her temple. "If I pulled your stitches Cotton will have my hide."
She chuckled in response, her body shaky, spent, exhausted, and this time it did hurt. Somehow, it had been more than worth it. "That wasn't in the doctor's orders?" she teased. "I feel much better."
"Well, he is mute so I suppose we could claim a misunderstanding," he quipped with a wolfish grin that somehow, after all this, made her blush. Delighted, he touched her burning cheeks with a gentle smile. "You're beautiful," he assured her, kissing her forehead.
"And you are…generous."
He chuckled in response to that. "I can be, love." Their lips brushed. "Does that mean you're ready again?"
"Again?" she asked, scandalized and delighted in equal parts.
"Oh yes. A fiery young lass like you…oh darlin'. There's no tellin' how many you've got in you. Imagine what it would be like to have me touch you like that with my clever trickster's tongue."
At last, he succeeded in shocking her, her mouth forming a surprised O. The pirate laughed, smiling wide, a tender mischief twinkling in his eyes. She always found him beautiful, she reckoned, but in that moment…oh. It really wasn't fair.
"That would seem…selfish, perhaps, considering," she finally answered, allowing her gaze to stray down to his groin. The bulge in his breeches was quite prominent, and Jack's grin turned back to a smirk. "Would you like…that is…you'll have to show me how…" She wasn't even sure what she should call it. She had so much to learn, and the thought that a man like Jack could ever really be satisfied by her…It seemed impossible. Utterly surreal. But the way he looked at her now…it defied all expectation. All logic. Everything she ever thought she'd known.
There was nothing he would have liked more, his desire for this woman clamoring like an off-key symphony in his veins. It was jarring and loud and he could hardly think around it. And yet she was not exactly the picture of health yet, and he knew afterwards he would not be happy with himself if her recovery was delayed due to his own selfish needs.
Since when had such things mattered to him? This woman had him tied up in knots.
He kissed her again, hard, his fingers tangled in her hair. "I'll take ye up on that sometime soon, love," he promised. "But at the moment you're slit nearly from your naval to your nose, on my behalf I might add, and I think you should rest. You should have no trouble fallin' asleep now."
She didn't know how it would be possible, and yet after he kissed her sweetly once more and tucked her in, sleep claimed her quickly. Upon exiting the cabin Jack took a detour to the hold, intent on finding a dark corner where he could be alone with his hand for…five seconds? He groaned, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall.
Four more months until a year was up.
She would be the death of him.
Thank you kindly for your feedback, your reviews make my day!
