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Chapter 14: My Mine of Precious Stones

After Killian conceded defeat, Emma slowly walked back around to face him. She was a little surprised at her own audacity, but overall she was feeling very pleased with herself. She looked down at him lazily, her green eyes looking positively feline, like a cat toying with a mouse.

He locked eyes with hers, his too-blue eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration, humiliation, and the merest glimmer of admiration. For a few moments, there was only silence, the sound of their slightly labored breathing the only disturbance. Finally, grudgingly, he gave her the smallest, rueful grin, acknowledging that she had well and truly bested him.

Emma smiled triumphantly and sat on his lap, straddling him. Pulling him towards her with his necklaces, she began kissing him, softly but passionately, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her hands in his hair. He opened his lips and kissed her back, his tongue meeting hers, licking her lips. Gods, she felt so good, and Killian began to relax again.

"About bloody time," he growled into her mouth, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth, his hunger evident in his eyes. "Now, darling, be a good girl and unlock these cuffs. You've won, and it would be very bad form indeed to keep me chained up here." He gave her a charming, insouciant smile, and if he could have, he would have spread his hands out in a show of innocence.

"I will," she answered, kissing his neck lightly, "but once you're free, we're done for the evening. I don't want you jumping me the minute you're able," she warned him, a bit more sharply than she intended. She could feel him hardening under her again, and she herself was beginning to feel aroused, her belly tightening. She realized she had unconsciously begun to grind against him.

Seeing her flushed face and feeling her body tense, he could sense her interest. "Darling," he said in a wounded tone, "don't you trust me?"

"Not a bit," she said, trying to keep her voice light. She continued to nibble on his neck. He could feel his cock already hard again, and he thrust himself against her drenched folds, frustrated he could not free his hands to take her right then and there. He could feel the heat and desire dripping from her, and it only inflamed the fire in his own loins. I want you, his eyes silently pleaded

Aloud, he said accusingly, "you're the one not playing fair now. If you're denying me, then it's hardly advisable to rub yourself all over my body and kiss my neck," he pointed out, thrusting against her, and earning a grudging nod of acquiescence in return.

"Point taken," she said, climbing off him. "Give me a reason to trust you."

He sighed, martyred. "I swear by the Pirate's Code that I will not subject you to any unwanted attentions for the remainder of the night. Besides, you're so bloody dangerous and unpredictable you've probably got a dagger hidden somewhere in that nightdress." He grinned roguishly, his most charming self again. "You'd make a hell of a pirate."

Laughing despite herself, Emma circled around the back of his chair and freed him with a flourish.

Sighing, he stood up, stretched himself, and examined the cuts on his sore wrists. "Might need some rum for these," he ruminated. "You play rough, Princess."

"And you don't?" she said archly. She picked up her robe, put it on, and tied the belt securely

He smirked and moved closer. Judging her reaction by the way her eyes suddenly darkened with desire, he decided he could approach her without her enacting further retribution. Slipping his hand into her robe, he trailed his fingers across her belly, and around her waist. He slowly tugged her to him, feeling the air charge with expectancy the closer they became. With his other hand, he gathered up her hair, angling her neck back so he could kiss her. She responded coolly at first, but with increasing intensity as she felt his hard body against hers, reducing her resolve to jelly as he toyed gently with her nipple.

Breaking their kiss, she placed her hands against him. "What about the Pirate Code?" she challenged him, even as she played with the dark hair on his chest.

"Ah yes, the Pirate Code" he mused, "they're more—guidelines really," he said, continuing to play with her hair and nuzzle her cheek, his breath tickling her, "And besides, I specified that I would not subject you to any unwanted attentions, and it's very obvious from your behavior that my attentions are very much wanted here." With that, he pulled her into bed with him. She didn't resist.

Their final days at sea before docking in Pontus were peaceful, even joyful for the most part. They had reached an unspoken détente that difficult and painful subjects would be avoided and they would focus instead on enjoying whatever time remained to them before the real world intruded. Wanting to spend every precious moment that remained with her, Killian turned over most of his day to day duties to Gates and Smee.

They spent many hours drinking wine or standing at the wheel together as Killian shared his many adventures to strange lands and entertained her with the colorful characters he had encountered along the way. They also spent many hours in bed as both of them found it impossible to keep their hands off one another.

"Tell me about your time in the world without magic," she asked him over dinner one night. "Is it very primitive?" She wondered how such a place could exist, and if it did would it be better or worse? She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with interest.

Putting down his cutlery, he shook his head. "Not at all. It's a place without magic of the kind we know here, but it possesses a kind of magic of its own. It's a place where the inhabitants are constantly inventing new ways of doing things, machines that can perform the work of human hands, along with other, less noble inventions that kill people more efficiently. There is a dynamism and creativity that animates that world that we here perhaps lack. We live here in a certain state of paralysis, of stasis. And there's nothing to compare to the beauty of the music, the poetry and literature, and the fantastic art created with paint and marble." We've some of that, but nowhere near what they possess." He swirled his wine in his glass, gazing at it contemplatively, then leaned back in his chair.

"That song you sang to me the other night, that was from there," she remembered. "Do you know others?" she asked curiously.

"I do but I've a better way to let you hear their beauty," he answered, suddenly inspired. He stood up and walked to the cabin door and opened it. Sticking his head out, he called Isaac to come inside.

"I brought some of the music back with me. Fantastic stuff by men with names like Handel, Mozart, and Bach. Much of it is played on instruments we don't possess, but a great deal is sung in the great stone palaces and buildings where they worship their God," he explained. "I discovered Isaac has a beautiful natural voice so I've taught him a few."

"Isaac," he prompted the boy, "would you sing a little something for the Lady?"

Isaac looked at Emma nervously. She gave him a reassuring smile. He cleared his throat, took a few breaths, then began to sing in an

otherworldly, high clear treble voice.

Panis Angelicus!

Fit panis hominum

Dat panis coelicus figuris terminum

O res mirabilis!

Manducat Dominum.

Pauper, pauper, servus et humilis.

Emma was transported. The melody, the strange words, and Isaac's voice sounded as if sung by a heavenly being, an angel. The plaintive tune sounded like a prayer, conveying thankfulness, wonder, and deep humility all at one time. Although she could not understand the words, his angelic voice touched a deep emotional chord within her. She felt like she wanted to weep but knew not whether with joy or sadness.

"Isaac," she applauded when he had stopped, wiping a tear surreptitiously from her eye, "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard! You are very talented."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said modestly, looking down at his shoes.

"What does it mean?" she said, still marveling, as Isaac, still pink with pleased embarrassment, left the cabin.

Killian translated for her. "It means:

"Bread of the Angels

Is made bread for mankind;

Gifted bread of Heaven

Of all imaginings the end;

Oh, thing miraculous!

This body of God will nourish

the poor, the servile, and the humble"

"So beautiful," she mused. "You're right, we've nothing to compare." He had a faraway look in his eyes and a slight smile on his face, as if remembering more innocent times. This love for music and art was a side of him she never would have guessed. He spent so much time portraying the hard-bitten pirate. When did he have time to pursue these other, nobler interests?

Folding her napkin and putting it aside, Emma pushed back her chair and regarded him with frank amazement. "How did you learn all this," she demanded to know. "You must have been there a long while

Picking up his wineglass, Killian took a long sip. "After we escaped from my world, we lived for a time in Richard's. He was concerned that I continue my education, so he sent me to a school called Eton at the recommendation of the original Hook, who had been a student there. It's where he became obsessed with the idea of good form, among other things. I like to think I've preserved a bit of that," he smiled, remembering.

She continued asking him questions until they were preparing for bed later. "Do you remember any of the poetry?" she asked as she turned back the coverlet.

"I brought as many books as I was able when Richard and I left with Hook for Neverland. And I still remember many I learned at school." He paused, then gave her a roguish grin.

Reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms and recited a few verses for her.

"Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,

Until I labour, I in labour lie.

The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,

Is tir'd with standing though he never fight.

Still holding her firmly, he tangled his hand in her hair, and bent over to nip at her ear, continuing in a low, thrilling voice as he kissed her neck.

Off with that girdle, like heaven's Zone glistering,

But a far fairer world encompassing.

Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,

That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.

His hand now wandered gently down her neck and he fondled her breasts, still laced in her corset.

Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,

Tells me from you, that now it is bed time."

"

That would be the kind of poem you could recite from memory," she teased him.

Delighted with her, he played with her hair, burying his face in her soft tresses. Then he began undoing her laces and pulling off her dress. When she was naked, he picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. Pulling off his own clothes, he slid in beside her, admiring the soft glow of her flesh in the lamplight.

"Licence my roving hands, and let them go,

Before, behind, between, above, below.

He began to run his hands up and down her body, caressing her breasts and trailing down over her waist and the curve of her hip. He buried his face in her breasts, fondling them and licking and sucking the nipples into taut peaks. Emma sighed with contented pleasure. Keeping his movements controlled, he continued to recite as he caressed her.

O my America! my new-found-land,

My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann'd,

He moved his hands down over her folds, satisfied to feel her dripping wet under his touches. He gently rubbed her sensitive nub then began thrusting his fingers into her,

My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,

How blest am I in this discovering thee!

Emma gasped with pleasure, rolling her hips and giving a low moan. Removing his hand, to her evident displeasure, he continued his exquisite torture by climbing between her thighs to suck and lick at her engorged center, darting his tongue across drenched folds and sucking on her clit. For a moment, he raised his head over her warm, impatient wetness to look at Emma's face with an impish grin.

To enter in these bonds, is to be free;

Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be."

"

Seems very apropos, don't you think," he asked her, smirking. "It's by a man called John Donne and the poem is called 'To His Mistress On Going To Bed.' In that particular stanza he compares caressing his lover to exploring an undiscovered realm, and he's damned right." He hovered, tantalizing close, his hot breath tickling her and sending chills up her spine and fire through her veins.

Emma was breathless with desire, nearly over the edge, but she couldn't help herself laughing a little, "Killian, please don't ever stop surprising me."

He didn't.

The day before they were due in Pontus, Killian spent a little time at the wheel, his thoughts as usual completely obsessed with his Princess. Already he was fidgeting with impatience to return to her side and feel her near him, hating every moment apart from her. He cursed himself, knowing that he was hopelessly in love with her and there was not a thing he could do about it. He could barely concentrate on anything because he could not stop thinking about having her, every minute of every day. Knowing she was so close made it even more difficult. The past two years had been a matter of fantasies and daydreams. Her presence had made it utterly impossible to think about anything other than touching her. Gods, what a woman she was! Fearless in taking him on, never backing down when he tried to intimidate her, and so beautiful he felt weak at the knees every time he looked at her. Remembering how she had bested him, he felt the full force of her victories. He knew when he was beaten. Always he had known that falling for a woman was to expose a deadly weakness, and now he found himself in a position he had spent his life avoiding. In all likelihood, he reflected, his weakness for her would prove to be his undoing. Frowning, he tried again to concentrate on steering the ship.

He was interrupted when Gates, the quartermaster, approached him to go over the accounts and consider strategy for their upcoming destination of Pontus, so he turned the wheel over to Smee. Gates began going over the inventory lists from the captured booty and then asked him how, logistically speaking, he planned to ransom the Lady Swan. Would he use an intermediary, and if so, who would be the best choice? Gates also pointed out that by the time they reached Pontus, it would have become apparent that the Enchanted Island and its precious cargo had gone missing. How would they react if King Titus of Vargos sent his navy out to find them?

Hook scowled at him. "You don't need to worry. I've got it all worked out," he lied.

Gates looked at him skeptically. "Captain," he said, "I mean no disrespect. You and me, we've sailed together many, many years. And you've always been a fair Captain and made a good deal of money for all of us. But forgive me for saying that it is obvious to all of us that you're besotted with her and it's got me and the crew a bit worried. You can't think to keep her, you know." His tone conveyed a warning.

Pulling himself together, Hook gave a hard look at Gates and cleared his throat. "Of course not! I already have a proposal for the Lady Livia of Pontus and it will be immensely beneficial for all of us. She can be relied upon to make the arrangements. You've nothing to worry about," he reiterated.

Gates gave him a searching look. "You sure about that, then?"

"Dead sure, and I don't appreciate your questioning me or my motives," Hook said menacingly, closing a fist tightly.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Gates, excusing himself. "Again, I meant no disrespect."

Killian felt sick to his stomach. Why did he have to be reminded of this? The thought of ransoming his Princess, of voluntarily turning her over to another man, made him physically ill. Taking care not to appear in a hurry, he descended to the deck, opened his cabin door and disappeared inside. He'd already seen Emma on the deck earlier, and knew he would be alone. Sagging into the chair in front of his desk, he pulled out his flask and shakily poured himself a more than generous shot of rum to steady his nerves. He drank it off and then poured himself another. Then another. His thoughts whirled back and forth on themselves like an animal in a trap. His crew had always been loyal, but failure to secure a ransom for the Princess could risk a mutiny and loss of his ship. And even if they could be bought off, which he thought he might be able to manage, she herself had said from the beginning that it was either marriage to the Prince or, she believed, death and starvation for the people of her kingdom. Now that he had come to know her better, he had a hard time believing she could choose him – a pirate and criminal—over her duty, no matter how much she loved him.

He'd been reckless, hadn't thought things through. All he'd thought or planned to do was somehow find her, be with her again, and at least finish what they had started that night when she hid him in her bed and saved him from capture. Why did it have to be so fucking complicated? Perhaps he should do the noble thing, return her to the Prince and simply enjoy what little time they had together? And yet…and yet, the image of a another man, some poncy prince who barely even knew her, who did not in any way even deserve her, pawing at her with his sweaty hands, touching her perfect breasts, climbing between her white thighs and penetrating her secret places, the places where he had touched her and brought her to ecstasy, tormented him to the point of derangement. He glowered darkly and poured more rum. She was his, goddamnit, no one else was going to have her! He slammed his fist down on the desk. And by the time Emma returned to the cabin late in the afternoon, the Captain was good and drunk and had worked himself up into a jealous rage.

The moment she entered the room she could sense something was wrong. She froze when she caught sight of him. His hair and clothes were disheveled and his handsome face bore a scowl of fury. He flopped back in his chair, legs stuck straight out and crossed in front of him. He looked absolutely wrecked and about to fall out of his chair. Striding towards the desk to stand over him, she put her hands on her hips and regarded him. "You're drunk," she said matter-of-factly. "Why?"

He stood up, swayed slightly, then seized her shoulders and began to back her up against the wall. "I need to have you….right now," he growled, his face close to hers, scratching her with his scruff, the smell of rum on his breath overpowering.

He began to kiss her desperately, all lips, tongue and teeth as he ravaged her mouth. Realizing he was in pain and close to out of control, Emma returned his kiss, running her hands through his hair and rubbing his neck as he hitched her leg up with one hand and began grinding against her.

Fumbling with his laces, Emma stopped him. "Here, let me," she said, unlacing him and grasping his cock. She stroked him, and he groaned with pleasure into her mouth. He was breathing in ragged, stuttering gasps. She quickly eased out of her undergarments and pulled up her skirt to grant him the access he craved.

He eagerly pulled her legs up and lifted her in his arms. She linked her ankles around his waist and clung to him as he pressed her up against the wall and drove into her in one brisk, fluid motion that caused her to cry out with pain and pleasure as he suddenly filled and stretched her. Plunging in and out of her, she could feel her passion burning hotter and hotter, her body as tense as a bowstring about to let fly. She could feel herself beginning to climb as he growled filthy endearments and curses into her ear. Something about his wildness and need excited her, her body responding of its own accord, and she began moaning and contracting her muscles around him, squeezing him. Her craving for his body was so intense she wanted to swallow him up inside her and melt into him. She wanted to eat him alive. She wanted him to eat her alive. She began tearing at his back with her nails and biting his lip until she could taste blood as she sucked on him.

"Oh that's it, Emma, oh gods, your hot cunt feels so bloody good I could fuck you for days…no other man can make you come like I can…I can't lose you… " he groaned, his jealousy and pain causing him to fuck her furiously.

She kissed him roughly, biting at his lips and down his neck, sucking him with enough force to leave bruises. She was panting and moaning with need, encouraging him, "No one can ever fuck me like you….oh gods Killian I'm so close….I love your cock inside me… it's all I think about, wanting you every minute….I'm always wet, soaking wet for you …. I need you to fuck me…oh gods it's happening…." She began convulsing around him, a white light exploding in her head as the waves took her crashing down, over and over.

Feeling her come undone, he gasped, paused, then with two deep surges, he exploded into her. She could feel his cock jump inside her as he released his seed and she rode out her aftershocks, grinding against him and milking the last of his sticky release. They were both shaking and fell against the wall, panting. He continued to kiss and caress her face and hair frantically. "I can't bear the thought of another man touching you," he panted into her ear with a sound that sounded like a sob. "It would kill me." She reached up, touching his cheek, softly. "I know," she replied, her voice heartbroken, "I love you too."

They stood still a few minutes until their breathing gradually calmed. "Thank you for that, love," he whispered in her ear, as he let her legs down gently.

She said nothing, just lay with her head against his chest, her arms still around him. It seemed that the storm had passed, for now.

Helping him into bed, she crawled in next to him. Within minutes, he was passed out cold but Emma stayed close beside him, tucked under his arm, one leg thrown over his. She stayed awake for a long time, every so often tenderly kissing and smoothing his hair, his handsome face, his chest and belly. She rubbed her face in his scruff and against his chest. If he had been conscious, he would also have been aware of the tears that bathed him, along with her caresses.

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