Rated M. For obvious reasons...:)
Original Sin
It was a dangerous game. One she had dabbled with before. Yet, the allure had never dimmed. She shuddered inside; about to play the game again...
It was the original sin.
It was carnival night. The furnace wind was a flickering of wings about her face, the scent of him was nearby. Unchanged.
It was like heaven amongst the string lights. The paper lanterns and him...
Rose was breathless, stumbling about the place with such unsteady legs she considered herself to be a disgrace. The cheers and flow of music and liquor was clouded entirely by the sight of him.
Him. Jack Dawson.
How he was beneath her skin.
Her head and her heart were completely separated.
Her head, which was the only logical part of her, was genuinely happy; ecstatic to see him so – elated. The smile on his face seemed to reach his eyes. She remembered that smile so well. The way he had made her smile, how he had held her, then smiled, he had been happy. With her.
Her heart, however, was the opposite. It was torn completely, already weakened from the years of torment, heartache and time spent weeping herself to sleep – all for one man. The one man she had fallen for completely and utterly.
It had been eight years. They say time heals such things but time had done nothing for twenty-five-year-old Rose Dawson, nor had volunteering as a nurse in the violent, terrible war. Her work had taken her right to the centre of the action in France. Every man she feared would be him, every face she checked and every nightmare which came to her each night. She had never healed. The ghosts had never gone. Instead, they came back to her night after night. His face smiling at her, loving her and becoming part of her every day.
She had left him on a freezing night eight year previous, stood watching as she left a sinking ship on a lifeboat which he had ordered her to climb aboard and then he had disappeared from her sight and died – or so she had thought. For those years, she had mourned him. The life they could have shared, those precious moments and how he had promised her everything which she had ever wanted. He had taught her everything about the world, about how to live, to dance and how to fall in love. He had opened her eyes to a completely different way of life, how to not be everything which her education had taught her growing up. Her body had succumbed to him, she had given herself to him and him to her. She had made a decision, to leave her family and her entire world to join him, in his. She had been willing and she had expected to step off a ship with him in New York City ready to spend the rest of their lives together. Just them.
Now, a man had emerged. An open shirt, casually exposing the top of his under shirt with a slightly muscled, tanned outline of a body which had perhaps once belonged to a boy. Now, there was a male in control of everything. The long-legged stride towards her was enough to cause goose bumps to appear across her bare arms. Determined. Certain.
Out of the blue. That was the turn of events. A new beginning, a new chapter of her life. Eyes were wide shut, completely unaware of the energy which was coursing through her. She felt renewed. As soon as he had sight of her. She felt on fire, burning. There was no way that she could fight the emotions, the way her destiny was currently being controlled. He was glowing. The world had turned to dust, gathering into specks about her and the once wondrous landscapes disintegrated into nothing and he emerged...colour was in the world once more. Fighting was pointless, for she had lost control of it a long time before. Once before, Rose had been an innocent; a girl unopened to the wonders of the world, whilst trapped in a small bracket which was enough to make her succumb to suicide. Then, a pair of cornflour eyes had filled her universe. A pair of hands had caught her, breaking a long fall into blackness. Ears had listened with such fascination. Eyes had watched her body, peel away its layers for the first time before a man.
The furnace wind hit her face once more, and as he ceased his approach just before her on the brow of the hill, perspiration evident upon his cheeks, neck and the contours of his bones even though she shivered with such anticipation. The west coast ocean sent its salty scent across to her, along with his own. Hunger began within her belly; that face, those eyes and recalling the sinful pleasures which she had once discovered there within his body.
He was her original sin. The sin which she had given herself, seduced him into the backseat of a car on a night many years ago. The most erotic moment of her life...
With dry parted lips, Rose watched as all he did was stop, right there before her and offered an arm just as a gentleman would. As he had after her descending of grand stairs aboard a ship many years before. Wordlessly, she took it, to cling to him. To feel the way he now felt beneath her sweaty palms. His eyes glowed as he guided her onto a path winding past leafy shrubs and several vines wrapped obelisks.
Her dratted lust returned with a whoosh as powerful as the sea she could now hear crashing onshore. When he looked at her that way, all she could think about was that familiar scent and how it felt when he had lain atop her those years before, his glorious eyes blazing down into hers. A breeze came up, bringing the scents of the sea and his shaving soap. His shave wasn't close, the bristles of his beard adding a layer of manhood about him, as well as a reminder that he was older now and no longer such a boy. Their first meeting, both were adolescents and now, both carried the weight of the world upon them.
She forced herself to look away. Cleared her throat. Focused on the next wonder ahead. She did not have to wait long, as the path soon took them into a tunnel of arched wooden trellises covered in vines. She blinked. Stopped. Released his arm to examine the leaves more closely.
''Is-is this yours?''
''Yes.''
"Jack," she murmured. With a million things to ask, to say and to be answered. About the sinking. His survival and hers, yet nothing could come about properly aside from the present. "You've trained the grapevines into arches. How beautiful."
"It is." His voice was strangely hoarse. "Harvesting is a simple matter, really. Wait for everything to ripen. Then it all but falls into your hands of its own accord. Some things never fail to fall from my mind; growing up on a farm and all.'' Rose turned to see his eyes fall upon her.
''I-I never knew you grew up on a farm.''
''Yeah, it was small but we managed to get the produce right, enough to sell them-'' his eyes crinkled, as though trying to recall events from so long before.
''It sounds wonderful.'' Rose watched the leaves billow in the wind and a dark cloud of intoxication seemed to envelope her. "And you are trying to seduce me. In the garden. Again."
His lips perked at the ends. "Strictly speaking, you seduced me, Rose."
"Perhaps the first time. And I'd little idea what I was doing."
He eyed her bodice with stunning intensity, as though he might burn it away with his eyes alone. "I know."
"Stop it." A slow smile.
"What?"
She groaned, her hand hovering over her belly, where the heat bloomed and ached. She wanted to undress for him. She wanted to lie down beneath leafy arches and let him ravish her. There was no longer a need to provide an explanation for the missing years of their lives; here and now was what mattered. Forget the time which had passed. They were here, together, on the same heated night in California. This was another chance for them... wasn't it?
"What affects you have on me."
Frowning, he tilted his head. "What affect?''
Slowly, his frown disappeared, replaced by a subtle smile. Those pale eyes painted her from knees to head, leaving a trail of tingles. This was not normal.
"Tell me what you've done," she exhaled through the heat, her voice perhaps more demanding than initially thought of.
He lifted a brow. "I came here after the war. I settled. I found peace within the plants. How they grow and-"
She stomped toward him, completely lost in his words. "I am frigid. This is not normal. That is all I have ever been told. How I feel now is—mysterious." His hands clasped at his back. He narrowed his eyes, examining her like a specimen.
"Some mysteries may only be solved through experimentation."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I have to offer."
Raising her chin, she said, "Then, here is my experiment. Kiss me.''
A deep glower moved across his brow, darkening his eyes like a cloud over the sun. "Don't be foolish."
"Has the punch here tonight at the carnival been laced with some sort of herb? The lemon balm must produce a lustful madness."
He blinked. His glower turned disbelieving. Then, he laughed. The sound burst out of him, deep and flinty, as he rubbed his brow between thumb and finger.
"No." The laughter lightened to a chuckle as he shook his head. "Balm has no stimulant properties. Quite the contrary. That is one reason it is called 'balm.'''
She felt her cheeks heat. "Something else, then. Another herb. Or your shaving soap.''
"I am not poisoning you with aphrodisiacs. God, you have more thorns than a briar, woman."
"A briar, am I?" She sniffed. "Well, then, perhaps you should avoid kissing me. You wouldn't wish to-"
"You are being irrational."
"-injure those fine lips. And no touching, either. You'll need your hands–"
"Rose-."
"-for pottering about with your little plants-"
He stopped her words with his mouth, taking hold and sliding his tongue inside in one swift move. Predictably, her body lifted toward him-every fibre, every part. It wanted to merge, to climb, to feel his skin. She moaned at the pleasure of his lips. Clutched at lapels and clawed at a linen-bound neck. This heat. It could not be natural. She'd never felt the like-aching emptiness only he could fill, tingling shivers only he could spark. These were the strings of madness. He tied her so tight, she lost her beath.
She tore away, pulling his hands from her waist backing up until grape leaves brushed her skirts. Her heart drummed the bones of her chest in a desperate rhythm.
He stood still. Dark. A blue-eyed raven watching her carefully. "You've nothing to fear from me," he said hoarsely. But she did. The fear filled her like the incoming tide as she held his gaze. Examined those fascinating lips. The wonderful nose. Proud cheekbones and level brows.
His beloved face.
This beloved man
No. No, no, no, no. She could not love him.
Because he never told her in return.
Love without reciprocity made one a slave to endless desire and futile hope. It made one a fountain with no lake, just dry, empty stone. She refused to fall into such a trap. She would escape it. All she needed was a plan. This was Jack, after all.
"You are a briar," he murmured as though speaking to himself. "That is what you are. A single blossom is worth every thorn." Dear God. Resist. Resist. She must resist.
"If-if you call me briar again, I shall start calling you ..." She scrambled to think of something, but her mind was swimming in lustful inebriation. ''Jack...'' All she could think of was his name. How it fell so easily from her tongue.
His eyes fired. His shoulders went rigid. His head tilted and he licked his lips. Good heavens, he looked predatory. "Rose...''
Oh, no. Her belly was heating and fluttering in a most ominous manner. She shook her head. "I feel-''
He came toward her, hands clasped at his back, as though controlling just where he placed them. Once an adolescent he had touched every inch of her and she had writhed at his fingers.
"Jack." She swallowed and held up her hand. "I am—frigid. People say that I am terribly so. I never so much as could look at another-''
Her hand met his chest as he closed in upon her. He leaned down and blew a gentle stream of air on the side of her neck. Shivers took hold. Gooseflesh rose. Her nipples went painfully hard. "Not with me," he whispered. "Remember that. Perhaps other flowers bloom readily for any hand. You require mine." She felt his heart beneath her fingertips. Stunningly, it galloped nearly as fast as hers. He always appeared so calm, so unaffected by her proximity.
But his heart told a different story.
Sighing, she leaned into him. Breathed lemon and mint and shaving soap.
His lips nibbled at a spot just beneath her jaw.
She tilted her head to give him better access, even as she struggled against losing her heart.
"I– think you've done something to me."
"Not yet. But I intend to."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I cannot think clearly when you kiss me."
"Thinking is not required."
Gathering every ounce of will she could muster, she pushed at him. He stopped kissing her neck, but he did not back away. "Jack," she groaned.
Calmly, he tugged at the ribbons beneath her chin and removed her bonnet, plopping it onto the gravel. "Briar."
She met his eyes. Summoned her fortitude. "Tell me something dreadful. About you.''
His expression did not change-steady resolve and scalding intensity. He ran his knuckles lightly down her cheek to brush her lower lip. "Why?"
"I like to be informed."
"Hmm. Well, my patience runs short easy."
"That is natural, not dreadful. You have undesirable qualities. Everyone does."
"Some accuse me of tedious conversation."
"No, no. Worse."
He shook his head. "Such as?"
"I don't know! Something!''
The corners of his mouth twitched. "Why the need to know?" His grin went wide with a teasing glint. "You knew me long ago.''
She swatted his arm. "Do be serious."
He chuckled. "Here is the truth: At the moment, my only secret yearning is for you.''
"Oh, God." Fluttering panic set in. "Please, Jack. Tell me something bad. Something you wouldn't wish me to know.''
His eyes sobered. He turned his face toward the sounds of the sea. For long seconds, she thought he might not answer. Then, he did. "I hated your fiancé...your mother, too.'' His voice was distant. Quiet. "I still do."
She breathed through the pain in her chest. Forced her hands to clench rather than reach for him. "Everybody hates her-"
"Not like this. Not even when I met them. But years later, I thought of you, how closeted you were...shackled. In that damned cage that I just managed to open before we were taken from each other.''
He expected her to run. To balk. But she felt only shivers. More and more until they became bubbles of glowing light and heat and expansion. The sensations travelled through her veins to pulse and stretch every inch of her skin.
By heaven, she loved him. Perhaps she always had. For, now she understood how well she knew him. She knew him. Down to the bottom of his valiant soul.
How could she hope to keep her heart safe? The answer was obvious: She could not
"Jack," she whispered, opening her eyes. Beloved face. Beloved man. "Kiss me." A flicker of surprise. A blaze of desire. Then, his arms enfolded her, half lifted her. His lips were upon hers. His chest worked against hers. He pleasured her mouth and backed her against the leafy trellis and ground his hardness against her.
''Rose," he panted. "How do you do this to me?"
Her? This was him. Tall and fascinating with sorcery in his touch. He obsessed her. Possessed her. She was a vine upon his trellis, her form permanently altered by his presence. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her again, deep and long and pulsing. She stroked his arms and wrists. Frantically unbuttoned his shirt. Slid her arms inside and around his waist so she could feel his heat against her.
Soon, he was tugging at her skirts. Lifting them just as frantically but with far more precision. Then, his fingers, those sorcerous fingers—were upon her. How she had felt their gentle touch years before – how rough and yet tender. How she had come apart from guiding his hand to her breast and then shed her clothes to give him her most intimate part. The only man she had lain with...
It seemed to be a distant dream and now, acting upon the events which happened, it seemed to be quite the contrary. She spread her legs for him, holding herself up with fistfuls of his shirt. Gently, but with increasing firmness, his fingers generated a storm. Her head fell back, cushioned by leaves and vines. The pleasure was roiling, rippling, rushing like steam. It billowed out and up. Swelled toward his touch.
"I miss-" She twisted to force his thumb closer to where she needed him, too tortured to even speak.
He slid deliberately past the centre while stroking her with his other two fingers. The pressure grew inside, but not where she needed him.
This was how it had been that one time in the Renault. Who had seduced who? Neither could ever tell. Relentlessly, he'd coaxed her toward unimagined heights, delaying each explosive, repeated peak until she'd pleaded for him. Now, again, he drew out the pleasuring, his eyes glowing down at her with a feverish light. Hard, long fingers pressed her. His talented thumb stroked near, yet not upon, the centre of her need.
When the peak came, it shocked her into a long, gasping moan. Hard, powerful surges forced her onto her toes as he whispered in her ear, "That's what I have waited eight years to do.''
Rings of pleasure concussed through her, one after another, as he squeezed her tightly and kissed her throat. The ripples shivered outward even after he withdrew his beloved, pleasure-giving hand and let her skirts fall. Even after he bent and scooped her into his arms. She gasped again, scarcely able to make sense of her new position. She clasped his neck, trembling with the echoes he'd left inside her.
With swift urgency, he carried her around a bend in the tunnel. She spied a small opening cut into the trellises a window to the sea-before he lowered her gently back onto her feet. He stroked her cheek tenderly then shrugged out of his coat and laid it over a stone bench beneath the window. She stood swaying and watching, not understanding what he was about until he sat upon his outer shirt and pulled her forward between his knees. Then, he loosened his trousers. Raised her skirts. And without a word, he positioned her straddling him with her knees resting on his shirt and her backside resting on his thighs. She sighed and hugged his neck. Buried her nose in the linen. Beneath her, she felt him pressing where she was still slick and sensitive. She blinked. Drew in a sharp breath as the sensations started up again. She moaned and leaned back to see his face. Cupped his jaw and ran her thumb across his splendid lips. "Jack," she whispered, loving how near he was in this position. How she could see the blue rings around heat darkened cornflour. How she could kiss him so easily.
She brushed his mouth with hers. Ran her tongue across his lip.
He was saying something, but her blood was pounding and the sea was pounding and everything was pleasure.
"... lift you up. Just relax." She felt his arm strong about her waist. Felt the blunt tip of him hot and separating. Stretching and full. Sliding and deep and ... "Oh. That ... it is almost ..."
Too much. It was almost too much. As he lowered her down, he sank all the way to the root. Her earlier pleasure eased his passage, eliminating most discomfort, though some soreness remained from years of chastity.
But, God, how he filled her. How his eyes blazed and consumed her.
"Love me" he murmured. Yes. Yes, she would. She would take him inside and let herself love him. Because she did. She loved him. Her heart was going to explode with the joy of it. As it was, she felt on the edge of weeping.
She loved him. Jack Dawson.
She leaned her forehead against his. Held those stunning eyes. Saw a reflection that looked like ravenous hunger. Felt him brush something from her cheek. "Jack," she whispered, aching now. Between her thighs. In her belly. In her chest and heart.
His hands gripped her hips. A pained frown darkened his brow. "I cannot wait any longer.''
She kissed him. Nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
"Move," he uttered, his voice a thread. "You just have to move, my darling.''
It took her a few moments to puzzle out the angle, but once she braced her hands upon his shoulders, she was able to rise on her knees. Her eyes flew wide at the friction of the withdrawal. Then they drifted closed as she sank back down. Oh, to be filled again. The pleasure of it. The rightness.
"You're killing me."
"Oh." She grinned teasingly. ''Perhaps you should take the reins.''
Muscles in his jaw flexed. A little thrill moved across her skin, zinging between her thighs and into her breasts. "Perhaps you should." She leaned forward and tested a theory, whispering against his lips, "I am but a novice, you know. A master rider would have much to teach me."
He groaned, deep and pained. Dark light exploded in his eyes. His arm braced around her lower back while his hand gripped her thigh. Then, he thrust. Drew her down upon him and thrust deeper. Rougher. With every stroke, he filled her fully then withdrew to the tip. Again, and again and again. His rhythm was nothing like hers. This was hard and fast and uncontrolled. Heat built inside her sheath, the friction stoking a renewed fire. Soon, she was helping him sustain it, grinding her hips into his, kissing his delicious mouth. The hand that had been on her thigh moved in and touched her lightly just above where they joined. She jerked. Gasped his name. Seized upon him. Felt the culmination rise up suddenly in a burst of ecstatic pressure. God, it was painful to feel this much pleasure. She said his name through gritted teeth, clawed at his shoulders and gripped him inside, trying to hold him in place. He did not comply. He continued his pounding rhythm, his touch against her swollen centre harder now, forcing her higher until her voice shredded and her body coursed with rhapsodic waves. Behind closed eyes, she saw nothing but light. Bright bursts of light that were but a dim reflection of her pleasure's pulsating brilliance.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw something even more beautiful-her Jack's eyes fixed upon her, near mad with the pleasure she was giving him. And, in that moment, her longing deepened. Widened. Grew to include a new aim: She would give him pleasure he'd never imagined. She would become his obsession, as he was hers. Her reward would be to see this every day. Jack in a state of ecstatic bliss. She would feel this every day. His release exploding inside her. and stroking his hardened jaw, cupping his neck as he clutched her waist and groaned his release against her throat. If this was all she might have of him, if he could never love her, then she would take every bit. His pleasure. His need. His name and his babies.
She brushed away a stupid tear as she caressed his back and neck, kissed his ear and stared out at the incoming tide.