More Harry fun. This occurs a few hours before the ship hits the iceberg, and it's the NSFW scene I was referring to in 'Impact'. And remember, I never explicitly stated then who was (or wasn't) involved in the scenario :)

Warning: adult content. Very adult. Uncomfortably adult. This is your last warning, haha. But as usual, my saucy scenes have a point to them - if you can get through some more discomfort, you'll see what I mean.

Harold desperately needed sleep, and wanted to fall asleep very badly, but there was one small problem.

Actually, it was one big problem.

He couldn't stop reliving his tryst on deck with Corrine last night - and as a result, his cock was hard as a rock.

Fortunately, work had distracted him for most of the day; he couldn't very well fantasize and maintain a hard-on while he was taking compass readings, working the slip tables, and calculating a dead-reckoning position.

But once he retired below, his mind immediately returned to her - as it had earlier, when he had a few hours' rest between the noon watch and the dog watch. After he sent the rose down to her, he had sat in the officer's mess and daydreamed about her, forgetting to eat the meal before him and completely ignoring everyone around him. When Pitman elbowed him and reminded him that they would be back on watch soon, he hurriedly gulped down the cold food and tea and rushed down to A deck to see if he could catch a glimpse of her before his watch. Unfortunately, she hadn't been outside, and, disappointed, he had returned to the chart room.

Now, though, he had a few hours off before the midnight watch, and although he wanted to see her more than he wanted to breathe, he knew if he didn't get some sleep, he would collapse.

And yet, here he was, frustrated, with a throbbing, aching arousal.

Like a dog worrying a bone (and the irony of that simile was not lost on his poetic mind), his thoughts circled back to the events of the night before. How did she get so wet? he wondered now. She had drenched him last night; his trousers hadn't dried fully for at least a half an hour afterward. He had never known a woman to leak that much before - didn't even know it was possible. She must be exquisitely sensitive, too, if she had been that stimulated by what they had done. All it took was a few kisses and some friction, and she had damn near exploded on him. Shit, he hadn't even touched her. He couldn't wait to see what she could do when he actually put some effort into it...

Damn it. This wasn't helping. He looked down at the tent in his pajama bottoms and sighed.

Right. He was never going to get to sleep if he didn't rid himself of this issue and get some relief. Reluctantly, he reached down and gripped his cock in his hand.

He hadn't had to touch himself in a long time. He had become a man at the age of fourteen when, after signing off on his first voyage, he had found the nearest brothel and spent his wages on a decent-looking prostitute who had willingly rid him of his virginity. Since then, he had found far more pleasurable ways of finding release - and he had rarely had to pay. There were a surprising number of middle- and upper-class women in ports all over the world more than willing to sleep with a handsome sailor, he had found - especially when he plied them with honeyed words and a breezy, confident attitude. And with the constant availability of willing female flesh, he had not had to resort to his own hand in ages. Besides, he had more discipline than that, and pleasuring himself made him feel weak and dirty. But in this case, he deemed it necessary. He couldn't very well walk around with a stiff cock for the next few days until they reached New York, could he?

Ah, New York. He would have a few precious days before he set sail back to England again... and he intended to spend every second he could in bed with Corrine - if she let him. And he thought, based on last night, that she just might. The way she was rubbing herself all over his cock and moaning... oh, she wanted it, and badly, too.

The memory of their passionate embraces stirred him more, and stroked himself a little faster.

She had been so eager; if he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was a professional by the way she moved on him. There had been half a minute when he had even contemplated unbuttoning his trousers and entering her right then and there, despite having guessed her virgin status as soon as he had first kissed her. With all that lubrication, and her obvious arousal, it probably wouldn't hurt her that much... and if he let her come first by dry-humping him, the entry would have been even smoother for her, as the orgasm would have loosened her up, made her less tense and tight. Fortunately, however, he had come to his senses, although none too soon. Of course later he berated himself mightily for being such a heartless, inconsiderate cad for even thinking it, but in the heat of the moment... damn, he had barely held himself back.

Oh, his own arousal was quite painful now. He needed to come, and badly; reliving the moment was prolonging the torture for him.

Of course, he knew she wasn't like the wanton women he was used to bedding, though; he would have to be very, very gentle with her when he finally did take her for the first time. But, just for a minute, he imagined that he had broken her in already, that he had taken her maidenhead and filled her with his cock... and she was gazing up at him with those incredible, expressive eyes, and begging him to go faster... harder...

In response, he went faster and harder on himself, a low, urgent moan escaping his lips.

His imagination continued to churn out fantasies, and he pictured gripping that plump arse in his hands, squeezing it as he drove into her, lifting her at just the right angle...

Shit. He was almost there. He moaned louder, his hand moving rapidly as the images continued to play vividly in his mind.

She would be wild for him, and he would demand that she scream his name as he pumped into her, making her come apart under him. And right before he strove for her core and exploded inside her, he would gaze deeply into her eyes and whisper that he loved her...

Wait a minute. What?!

But it was too late. That last image, that last thought, had sent him over the edge. With a gasp, he erupted suddenly.

He lay there stunned for a minute, not merely from the force of his orgasm, but from the realization that had so cleverly hidden itself from his consciousness until that very moment.

He... loved her? How was that possible? He wasn't even sure he knew what that meant. Sure, he respected and admired the hell out of her, was fascinated by her, desperately wanted to spend more time with her, wanted to protect her and would do anything for her... wait... was that love?

He thought of her conspiratorial and empathetic looks when they first met in Southampton, her bravery in scuttling up the ladder, her utter insolence when delivering the rude and dismissive gesture to those toffs, the trusting way she had clung to his arm when she was afraid, the enthralled attentiveness as she listened to him tell his life's story, the flirtatious, saucy way she looked up at him while she rid him of his uniform, the uninhibited, free expression on her face as she danced on the tables in the steerage general room, the wonder in her eyes as she gazed up at the stars...

A lifetime of precious, unforgettable memories in only a few short days. A whirlwind of events that made everything prior to meeting her seem gray and meaningless. And when he tried to imagine being without her, or losing her... well, it was devastating, unacceptable.

That last epiphany erased any doubt that still lingered in his mind.

So this is love, he mused in awe. Now I finally know. Unseen in the dark, he grinned from ear to ear.

His hand touched the sheets and came away sticky, bringing him out of his reverie with a start. Shit. What a mess he had made. He leaped out of bed and snatched the dirty shirt he had carelessly tossed in the corner earlier, and cleaned himself and the sheet before throwing it back where he had found it. Better make sure I wash that one myself, he thought wryly.

He flopped back on the pillow and sighed. His head was a whirl of thoughts, of giddiness at his revelation, the newness of a feeling he had never expected to experience. From this point on, the course of his life would be altered irrevocably, because her name had been carved into his heart, as sure as his own initials had been tattooed on his arm. And the knowledge that he loved her meant that he would not - could not - take the physical aspects of their relationship lightly. When the time and place were right, he would initiate her into the joys of lovemaking. He would teach her everything... and she would be his, would belong to him utterly, forever. But he would have to be responsible about it, make sure everything was perfect when it finally happened. He wanted it to be a memory she would treasure for the rest of her life - which, if he had any luck at all, would be spent with him.

So, although he was a bit ashamed of himself for losing control and being forced to satisfy his needs like that, he knew it had to be done - for her sake. He had needed to take the edge off of his lust so that the next time he saw her, he would behave himself like a gentleman, like she deserved... he wouldn't be tempted to yank up her skirts and bend her over the nearest flat surface so that he could take her from behind...

Impossible.

He was getting hard again.

He groaned and rolled over on his stomach, resolutely ignoring the returning ache. Go to sleep, Harry, he told himself, unconsciously using Corrine's nickname for him. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you can wake up and search out the woman you love.

The thought was still new to him, and it made him smile, a goofy, sloppy grin that ate up his face.

He finally fell asleep, still smiling, dreamily fantasizing about sneaking her up to his cabin and showing her exactly how much he loved her, and wondering if Pitman and Moody would mind the indecent noises coming from behind his door.