Eleanor and Rogers make love and she remembers what caused her to break-up with Charles Vane.
(Graphic Warning - explicit M-rated sexual romance descriptions)
Chapter 17 - The Lovers
Rogers laid the book down. Softly, Eleanor closed the door and glanced at him from across her shoulder. Something about her air was different, and he frowned, mystified. Is something amiss? Then with a sure stride she approached and came around his desk. He rose, all his senses suddenly telling him why she was here. When she stood only mere feet in front of him, looking up at him, his body tensed in anticipation like a man bracing himself aboard a ship that was about to be wrecked in the blue depths of the ocean, blue as her dress, blue as her stormy, hungry eyes.
Eleanor reached for his face with both of her hands and pressed her lips onto his with passion, hitting him like crashing waves, and he was lost, searching her mouth as hungrily, resting his hands on her hips to pull her closer. She felt dizzy as he kissed her back and she trailed his chest with yearning. She could feel the hardness of his body, the muscles underneath his shirt. Finally, she could touch him and his masculine smell mixed with cinnamon was intoxicating to her. She was desperate to stroke his naked skin. Her hands stalked down towards his trousers and tugged at his shirt.
He helped her, pulling at his own shirt. She stopped, resting her hands on his sides, looking into his eyes, and he bit his lip in shame while wondering why she stopped. Will she leave me again, tonight, in all this wretched state? Where's my resolve now?
The doubt and shame written on his face startled Eleanor. He hardly dared to meet her eyes. Eleanor did not want this to be a one time act born out of lust. She wanted to show him that she chose him, not just now, not just tonight. There ought to be no doubt in his mind that she decided this of her own volition, aware, deliberate. And Eleanor knew he too ought to make the choice, as aware, or use his freedom to turn her away if it tortured his conscious.
At last, Rogers met her eyes, almost accusingly, scared, intense. She let go of his shirt and moved her hands to the buttons of her mantua. Her heart beat a thousand times, fearing he might indeed tell her to go. Button by button, she undid her jacket, removed it, and then dropped it to the floor. When he stood there gaping at her, she reached for his hand and lifted it to her laces, while her fingers removed his cufflinks.
Rogers shuddered, his breath trembled and his eyes raked her bosom trapped in her stay and only inches away from his touch – a sight no proper man should see, but her husband. Breathless, he gazed back into her eyes. What now? Her hand lifted his and he began to pull the laces of her stay - tugged and yanked them loose. This is really happening. I'm doing this, he thought as he stared at her lovely face, while her own eyes trailed his fingers ripping one tie after the other free. He felt drunk with desire. His heart, his breath and her sighs thundered in his own ears. All the laces undone, he yanked the stay free across her shoulders and her body. I want to see. The stay fell on the floor.
Eleanor gasped as if he had just liberated her. And Rogers felt all the blood rush to his loins, like an irresistible pull from his gut that nearly made his knees buckle, and settled into a pleasurable strain. She wrapped her hands around his neck, while he undid her petticoat, so that her light chemise was the sole fabric left between his hands and her skin. Her eyes were dark as an abyss to lose oneself in. He imagined he would never be able to resurface again.
Free from the restraint, Eleanor cupped his face and kissed him full on the lips. She moaned softly from satisfaction as he kissed her back. Your turn, she thought, and her eyes gestured his shirt. I want to see. He pulled his shirt higher, overhead, staring into her eyes for as long as he could. I want to touch. Her hand went to his hard stomach. Her fingers marked the soft skin above his trousers, across his belly, his ribs, on to his shoulder where she noticed an old burn mark. Did he gain that in the same battle as his facial scar? Lovingly she traced the outskirts of the burn.
His erection hardened, as her fingers trailed his torso. Rogers dropped his shirt and stared at her nipples puckering against the fabric of her chemise, so thin he could see the darker shade of the areola. His eyes sought her angelic face, trailed her full red lips and he saw how she studied his shape and form. She was fascinated by him and he let her look and feel. She's an angel. Eleanor's eyes and deliciously teasing fingers halted at his shoulder where he had a scar from debris burned him, in the same incident that scarred his face and cost his brother's life. Seeing her so enthralled by the marks of tragedy and time on his body, made him want her more than ever. God, I want her.
While her hands softly went around his neck, he pulled her to him and kissed her as if he was starving. He pressed his lips so hard to her luscious ones, have them open slightly, in order to taste and experience their texture. His hungry kisses made her breathless, and a stone dropped to her loins. She ached for him. He was just about to taste her mouth with his tongue, when she broke the kiss. No, Eleanor, I'm famished, he thought. I want you. I need you. Her hair was tousled, and she looked up into his eyes. God, forgive me, but give her to me. She held him by the fingertips, literally and figuratively. Eleanor stepped out of her shoes and took a few retreating steps. Come with me. Join me. She looked at him, imploring, as she stepped back and felt his fingers slip away from her. She let go of his hand, and he dropped his, dazed, gobsmacked. Rogers could only gape, as she turned her back to him, walked into his bedroom and lifted her chemise.
Her longing crushed her. Eleanor had never wanted a man as much as him. She did not wish to feel so utterly lonely anymore. She wanted a partner in life, one she was safe with, who would not hurt her, who actually understood her, knew her secrets, what she wanted, truly knew her. That partner was him. And yet, she strolled to his bedchamber - his bed, not a pirate's – alone, bravely lifting her chemise. She dared not yet look at him. She stilled her frightened heart, lifted her leg and began to unroll her red stockings.
Bewildered, Rogers admired her full nakedness. In the light of the chandeliers, her body looked sculpted from the softest marble. Eleanor stopped in front of his bed. She lifted one leg, rested her rose-colored foot on the chest and undid her red stockings, first the left one, then the other. Rogers had time to breath, calmed and entered into a zone of inevitability as she stood with her back and gorgeous heart shaped buttocks to him. Look at her, so fragile, so delicate, so natural, innocent. It fully dawned on him then what they were about to do -something shameful in the eyes of society. I can still turn back from it now. I can take my coat and cover her up, tell her that it is my fault that it got this far already. She looked across her shoulder at him, a vision of vulnerability, a Venus Kallypogus in human shape come to him, risen from the sea.
Trembling, Eleanor had waited for him to come. She peeked across her shoulder. He still stood where she had left him, gawping. Her heart nearly broke. Please don't let me stand here alone, anymore. She was tempted to lift her hands and cover her breasts.
Only mere flashes of thought zipped by at all once. The zephyr brought her to me. I fetched her, to my side, to be with me. I want her. Sending her away now would be like ripping the brittle wings of a butterfly. Why not just be happy? I want her, I want her, I want her, his mind drummed and his feet moved on its rhythm.
He padded on his naked feet from his office to his bedroom. As he was almost upon her, she turned towards him. Gently, his fingertips stroked her waist and nudged her into his arms that made her feel as if she was being sheltered by feathered wings. One hand of her wrapped his neck, the other went around his body. She would not let him go anymore. And as he leaned in to kiss her, she balanced on the top of her toes to meet him half way.
Rogers covered her nakedness with his own body. Though initially he had gathered her into his arms as if indeed she was breakable, he soon pressed her tightly against him, crushing her round and soft breasts against his chest. Like velvet, their lips met, mouths half open. She smelled of the sea, of rosewater. She tasted of sweet, dark rum and some perfume that he could solely describe as Her. Rogers groaned and his loins tightened in his trousers.
Their tongues touched, taking a first wild flavor. Passions exploded in a struggle, where their tongues, hands, bodies wrestled to match one another, to find that sweet spot of harmony between exploring a new body, another body, a level of unchartered intimacy and unable to know it fast enough to satisfy. She clung to his lips, to him, like a drowning one. One moment, his hands raked her back tenderly. The next he dragged her by the shoulders to him, rolling his tongue deeper into her mouth. Their sighs, smacking, sniffing for air and the sound of brushing skin reigned the silence of the night.
Swinging her head to the side, Eleanor came up for a breath and he solely had the nape of her neck to kiss. His erection pressed against the curve of her belly. She wanted him naked, to feel the delicate skin of his hardness rub against her. It was just the last layer between them. Without it, they would be equal in this. She unbuttoned him, and her foot dragged his trousers down to free him.
Rogers let go of the sweet spot in her neck, stepped back, and stepped out of his trousers. He took her back into his arms, closer, very close, reveling at their nakedness and the experience of inadvertently touching each other with more than hands and lips and tongues alone. Her soft breasts yielded against his chest like pillows. Her hardened nipples swept against his skin. The sensitive head of his cock brushed against the curve of her belly, and lower when she stood on her toes.
Rogers paced himself, wanting to savor every sensation, discovery and experience of her. Lovingly, Eleanor caressed his face and head, while her other arm across his shoulder pulled him close. Never before she had expressed her desire for someone in this way. She wanted to love him and be loved. He gathered her to him by her shoulders in like fashion, melting against her. It had been such a long time he had held anybody and it had never felt so caring. Having found that harmonious momentum, with the struggle of the initial clash over, they kissed and sampled each other, more aware, gentler. And when he buried his face in her neck in worship, sucking the blood pumping there gently to the surface of her skin, she gasped and dug her nails in his shoulders as her head swam with burning desire.
Where this had all started with Eleanor flinging herself at him, Rogers now initiated the exploration. Eleanor bended and surrendered. It was a delight - the heat of her naked skin, the female fragrance, every sigh and little noise that escaped her lips. It was a revelation to be covered with his feathering kisses and tender strokes, deepening Eleanor's aching need. Fascinated by this sensual creature in his arms, he looked at her face, as she threw her head back, eyes half-closed, lips half open. Hovering over her, he caressed her forehead and cheek with his hand. She brushed her lips to his thumb and took it in, while she lifted her hips so that his erection bowed and the tip of it was pressed against her warm and moist sanctuary. A low throated moan escaped him. Eleanor bit her lower lip. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder as she lowered herself, writhing her hips adoringly so that she could tenderly enfold the head. Rogers breathed hard as his hands dropped to her buttocks and he pushed a little to just give her a first amorous sample. It was no attainable position for any long time, but as he pushed himself partially into her, felt her part slowly and then envelop his tip, he trembled, and opened his eyes – big blue pools of affection. They stood motionless, a naked man and woman, as naked as they had been born and nature shaped them, in each other's arms, doting, warm, aroused, connected, and they only saw each other's depths in the eyes of the other. It was a fair encounter of two most rare affections, as if heaven rained grace down on what grew day by day between them.
Fondly, he lifted her to disconnect, wrapped her small hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. Wide eyed and lips parted, Eleanor took a step back. He matched her with a step forward. Another, and yet another, until they stood beside his bed. She reached out with her hand, in a welcoming gesture. They nestled against each other, intertwining legs, molding their bodies to one another. Her leg hugged his thigh. His knee pushed her inner leg. Her foot stroked his shin. His hand grazed her hip, across her round cheeks of her buttocks and wrapped around her thigh to pull her closer. Even their breathing, heaving their bellies up and down, was a form of touch. He dipped his head and nuzzled his nose against hers, while he and she inhaled each other's breaths, brushing lips. He pressed his forehead against hers.
Rogers wanted it to last, the miracle of her lying in his bed, this magical opportunity to express all he felt in his heart, his belly and his cock without words. I love you. I prize you. I honor you. Eleanor was delirious and intoxicated with desire coursing through her. Anxious for what would come next, Eleanor's breaths came rapidly. This tenderness was all so new to her. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she would come to him like this, determined, eager, shameless and yet vulnerable, fragile like a butterfly in the palm of his hand that he could crush, and so very naked. She wanted to bask in his affection, let herself be swept away by his fondling and caressing. How can there ever be any shame in loving her? Whatever made me believe so? - What did I ever do to deserve this man? Is this what love is?
At long last, he pressed his lips onto hers. She quivered and moaned from satisfaction, inviting his passion. Rogers rolled her over so that she lay beneath him, pushing her into the feather mattress with his weight as if she fell from heaven in a cloud, while his tongue explored all of her mouth. Gently first, languid, but the more he kissed her, the more he wanted, the hungrier he became, like a starving wolf of the sea. He sought her mouth and tongue, greedy and famished, while he traced the outline of her breast, cupped it and brushed his thumb against her nipple and then pinched it hard. His self-control started to come undone, and to preserve a last shred of it, he buried his face in her neck, sucking her earlobe.
Gasping, she closed her eyes and wrapped her hands around his head, kneading his hair. In this mixed display of his passion and affections, she wavered between aching for wild abandon and taking pleasure in the torture of his kisses and caresses. She cupped his face and lifted her head desiring his tongue, dragged her thigh to his hips to compel him to enter, lifted her hips with wanting and arched her back in answer to his kneading her breast. She wanted this man to know and experience all of her, every inch of her body and her response to his touch; she desperately wanted to know and feel all of him, including the untouchable, everywhere.
Eleanor's spontaneous reaction deepened the experience for him. And yet he feared that as soon as he gave in to her loins begging for him he would lose himself in a self-abandon that might dampen her pleasure. They struggled with each other, with her hands, legs, feet and hips imploring him to enter, and him holding off that moment for as long as he could, kissing her hard on the mouth, grabbing her hand, stroking her, devouring her breast, avoiding her loins. But all his resolve shattered when she mumbled one word - "Please."
How could his pleasure soaked brain and his keen cock pounding with hot blood refuse such a despairing plea? Rogers lifted himself on one hand, rubbed himself a few times to spread the drop of dawn glistening at the tip and guided himself to her writhing hips, searching for the moist welcome of her entrance. He looked down to witness himself entering her. The sensation of the dampness of her opening, the silkiness of her petals enfolding him and the simultaneous sight of it nearly made him burst. Eleanor gasped satisfied, while her legs wrapped around his hips to prevent him to escape. All of her draped herself around him as he allowed himself to sink deeper into her – her hands, her arms, her legs, her lips, this heavenly well, her being, her soul, not allowing him to escape. Rapture! He lifted his hips, pulled back and felt like dying in heaven itself with the sensation of the rim of his cock's head rubbing against the rippled texture of her. Just as quickly he wanted to re-experience the parting of her inner muscles when he pushed, slid into her - the joy to thrust into her. Every retreat only increased his need and rush to be enveloped by her femininity again, to penetrate the essence of her. Nor could Eleanor suffer him withdrawing from her. She clawed to meet him, desperate for him to find her and reach her.
They both wanted the same thing – to meet one another on the ethereal through the physical, desperately searching, grappling, thrusting for that moment of bliss where the walls of reality would implode and they could float in each other's arms through the stars. For that though, they did not yet know each other too well. Soon, Rogers brawled with himself as the road split between abandoning all restraint and fuck her to reach that all liberating spurt, or deserting her altogether and then neither would be gratified. Frantic, Eleanor tried to follow, use his passion and lust as an anchor to find her way to her own climax.
Rogers could not curb self-indulgence anymore, not when Eleanor's foot grazed along his thigh, down to his shin and she lowered her hips to experience more friction; not when her moans and whimpers penetrated his bliss infused brain. The creaking of the mattress and the slow banging of the board locked him in the excitement of the physical world. He put his weight on her, buried his face in the dampness of her neck and hair, grabbed her hips and thrust deep, hard, his mind solely engaged in rubbing back and forth in her cleft and the feel of his balls against her silky cheeks. He tensed, digging his fingers into her ass, wrapping her shoulder in a clenched grip, as he banged roughly into her. His breath was hoarse, his grip smothering.
Eleanor lost her leader, unable to follow him to the peak. She could only cater to his obvious need for imminent satisfaction, and find excitement in his pleasure; in witnessing the transformation of this otherwise civilized man into instincts driven by lust; in the knowledge that if she could not meet him in heaven, she could make him partner in the instinctual. And she did find happiness and joy in that, welcoming him, encouraging him. But then she remembered something. "Not inside me, please," she whispered. "Pull back in time... Please."
He felt the tingling begin - the start of a panicked surge towards his orgasm - and slammed into her, almost not hearing her plea, except for the please. He did not even remember his own name. But as he came at a plateau where his cock was overdosed with jubilant sensation, his body could just spare enough of the pumping blood to make cohesive comprehension of her words. With the greatest rigid effort he refused himself the last thrust, grabbed his own cock and jerked off as a throaty groan escaped him. It washed over him like a tidal wave, his balls burst, and his seed spurted into her downy blonde hair and onto her belly. She clung to him. He jerked once more, slower, and squeezed another jet onto her, and again, again, … until he was finally spent and he could relax his body, breathing heavily. Depleted, he made one last effort to lift himself and rolled off of her, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaved up and down to a slower, normal breathing again.
Eleanor caught her own breath, savoring the throbbing memory of him having been inside her. Her body glowed with a soothing ache. And yet, being a witness to his release was not equal to partaking in it. A part of her felt locked out, wanting and needing him still. When she grew increasingly aware of the stickiness clinging to her skin, she climbed out the bed and padded to the washing stand to wipe off the glistening, translucent white liquid that had already coagulated. It was not the first time she washed off semen, but it was the first time she regretted it. For a moment, Eleanor rested her hand on her belly.
A child had been growing inside once. Charles was just too damn careless too often. She used to drink tansy tea when he ignored her wish and came inside her. But eventually that method was bound to fail. Had she kept it, she would now be a mother with a baby less than a year old. But she could not bring a child into a world of debauchery, with a father reveling in violence and talking nonsense about a lion keeping no den. Mrs. Mapleton had recognized the early signs of her condition as well as her desperation and offered to help her out, using a Higgonson syringe that pumped soap and strong anti-septic irritants into her womb - a frightful, degrading and painful procedure. Sick with fever afterwards, Eleanor had been forced to confine herself to recover and let Mr. Scott take care of business. Charles never even came to see her and he never knew. She wanted to tell him, once, but found him drunk in the arms of whores in his tent. He had laughed at her jealousy, telling her that he was a free man with a man's appetites and if she stayed away from his bed for a month he would seek pleasure somewhere else. And that was the end of them.
Lying exposed to the night air, Rogers came to himself enough to listen to the chirping of the crickets. He contemplated the implications of what they had just done as he stared at the ceiling, one arm lifted high, supporting his head. He was confronted with his own weakness, unable to keep his resolve to avoid the affair, and being no better than an animal in the end, to her even. Oh, he felt great, sensationally wise. He had not felt this relaxed and satisfied in ages. He would do it all over again and no doubt continue now that he had begun. Her wanton unreservedness in the throes of his passion was a novelty. Sex with Sarah was silent, hiking her nightgown up under the cover, after he had doused every candle. He was not even certain if Sarah had ever enjoyed it much. Sarah enjoyed pregnancy though. She never asked him to come outside of her and when she was not with child, she would whisper in the darkness she hoped his seed would quicken.
He glanced at Eleanor standing at the washing stand, while she dabbed her belly with a cloth. A part of him wished she did not need to; that they could revel in each other's bodies and allow his seed to take root. That would be folly. Eleanor at least kept her head. Still, only with the whores of Newfoundland had he ever ejaculated outside, and Eleanor was no whore to him. He wondered what she was thinking. How was it for her? Her, who had come to him and shed her clothes layer by layer in the revealing light of the multitude of chandeliers that burned. Why tonight, and not before or tomorrow? He had tasted rum on her breadth. Drunk and going back to her roots. Eleanor was a Nassau, ultimately uninhibited, a woman who walked amongst cutthroats and drunks and lifted her skirts to stand with naked feet in the surf. He loved her for it, but ultimately he feared her over it just as well. While he wanted to meet and collide with her, transform their joining into something higher than just the sum of them, in that moment he only felt a vast divide.
Eleanor lay back down in the bed, pulling the sheet over her legs, her back turned to him. In all that time, Rogers had not uttered a word to her, not before, not during, not after. He lay silently beside her. She waited and waited. What is he thinking? Why is there such a barrier between us now, when he was so tender and passionate before? Suddenly self-conscious, she covered herself. "If you don't say something, I'm going to have to."
Rogers heard her – a voice like a lark. For a moment he did not know what to say. If he did not speak he would shame her, and if he revealed his darkest insights of their differences he would hurt her. He began to collect thoughts that hung at the periphery of his awareness. "Eight of my men have fallen ill." His voice was deep, relaxed and hoarse still. "One of your warehouses has been converted into a sick bay." He took a deep breath. "If we had been honest with ourselves, we'd have seen it coming. Where chapter one is 'Conquest of a Foreign Land,' chapter two is always 'Suffer the Illness to Which the Natives Are Immune.' Those eight men won't be the last. Many of my people will die. Every man and woman that followed me onto this island will be susceptible to it."
Rather confused, Eleanor listened. His voice was soothing, soft but also raw. Work is always on his mind. She did not know what to say about it, though yes it was not uncommon for foreigners from Europe to die. Does he fear for his own life?
" Yet as I lay here," he said. "The three words I keep hearing in my mind over and over again are 'except for her.'"
Slowly, Eleanor turned and lay on her back, holding the sheet modestly across her breast, while she rolled her head sideways to look at him. Rogers had not been talking of his men, but her. The thought of her dominated his mind, and she had not expected that.
He lifted his arm and dropped it to rest beside him, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He could see fear in her eyes, and pain. But he could no more lie to her than to himself. "You're one of them." He looked at the ceiling once more. "Whether I choose to acknowledge it or not, nature is going to keep reminding me of this fact in the coming days with every death we suffer."
Lying on her back, Eleanor sighed in disappointment as he voiced what separated them, rather than joined them. Her heart felt like glass about to be shattered. "You think I'm a danger to you?"
"I know I can feel my connection to London diminish with every day I'm here. I can only assume your connection to this place is growing at a similar rate and that sooner or later the instincts that led you into the prison cell I found you in will return." He blew out his breath, now that he had said it, knowing full well what a scoundrel he was for reprimanding, rejecting her now, after this, as they lay both naked next to each other in his bed. Perhaps Sarah had some reason to hate him.
Her heart wept, for how could her Cupid be so cruel to believe she would betray him. She rolled on her side towards him. Rogers glanced to look at her, and the visage of a trembling, vulnerable Eleanor tugged at his heart, transfixed him. "You asked me once if it was true what my enemies say of me." Her voice was that of a defenseless woman, scared, heartbroken and reaching out in her utter loneliness. "That I would turn on anyone, no matter how close, if it served my ambition." Trying to control the strangling feeling of emotions, she whispered , "I was that way once." She sobbed, "But I do not wish to be that way ever again. I'm resolved to shed it. I'm resolved to have my word mean something." Biting tears away, Eleanor shifted around and laid her hand on his shoulder. She pledged herself on his heart. "And I give you my word my commitment to you is inviolable. Not because my freedom depends on your success here. Not because I seek to regain that which was taken from me nor vengeance upon those who took it."
Stunned, his heart hammered in his chest. Can this be? Does she mea what I hoped she means? Can she feel as much for me as I feel for her? And yet, he did not trust his own heart in this and whispered, hopefully, "Then why?"
Too scared to say more, she sighed. Eleanor trembled and her eyes were watery with emotion. Can you not see, can you not feel how much I love you?
Rogers did see it in her dark, dilated pools. Rogers did feel it emanate from her sigh like an inaudible sound that reverberated in his heart. The divide was gone. He stood with her in that imaginary surf and allowed the azure foam and small waves cover his feet. Rogers reached out for her face, wrapped his hand around her neck, while she cupped his face with her own delicate fingers and closed her eyes. He pressed his lips onto hers, held her close to lay squashed against one another. Her soul was in there. And at the moment it was the only way he could get closest to it. Somehow, sometime, he would find the key to unlock the physical barrier and truly join her.
Eleanor's petal lips kissed him reverently. He was all she had and all she needed. Don't hurt me anymore, I'm yours, trust me, she tried to say as she clung to his lips. He kissed her back. For a moment he opened his eyes and glanced at her, seeing her face so close to his. Hers were closed, her eyelashes moist. She does. She loves me. She's mine. Rogers rolled her on her back. The cushion and mattress creaked. He forced her mouth to open and rolled his tongue around hers, deeper to taste her once more, including the flavor of afternoon rum. He liked it actually. He finished the kiss with a kiss, as her hands still held his face. Rogers lifted himself a few inches to look at her lovingly, to truly see how much she wanted him to be near to her, not just his body, but all of him. Eleanor's gasp came like a frightened sob, a breath that he could inhale. He kissed her and she answered his kiss. A tear roll out of the corner of her eye.
Tenderly, he brushed a hair out of her face. "Shh, Eleanor." He kissed the tear away. "Just give it some time."
Her hands pressed against his jaw and she kissed him on the mouth again as an answer. She would give him and them all the time he needed. To hear him say her name to her was the most wonderful thing he ever did so far. He held some of his weight up, leaning on one arm, while his other hand swept down her body beneath him. Eleanor shuddered at his touch. She was still so close to her own satisfaction.
Rogers realized he had brought her closer to the brink than he had believed it. He already had the key in his hands to unlock her – it only required tenderness and affection from him, and it was all he felt. His hand rested for a moment on the curve of her belly. She quivered beneath him like a taut string. Rogers brushed her lips with his, inhaling her breath, allowing her to breath his. His hand trailed the silky curls of her mound, went lower, between her legs that she opened for him. His thumb brushed and tested the rosebud that he knew would guaranty her pleasure.
Eleanor gasped and sucked in his breath, when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers before sweeping his lips against hers, while he applied pressure onto the pink pearl. His tongue entered her mouth, languidly. He rolled his thumb around over the small, hard, throbbing knob at the same unhurried manner as he revolved his tongue around hers. She was actually not sure yet whether she wanted this. Oh, it felt wonderful, and far more right that he did this, instead of Max. But she knew it would require her to take from him, to expose herself to him in a manner she had never shown to a man. Eleanor would need to trust him to help her, fantasize in front of him, when he had such a power to hurt with one word alone.
He felt her hesitate. Rogers opened his eyes. "Eleanor," he whispered as he stayed his thumb. She opened her eyes. "Do you trust me?"
She studied his handsome face, the scar that was a part of him, and then looked back into those blue eyes that could be severe at times, boyish wonder at others, and now full of concern. Eleanor could not speak, but she nodded. Yes, I trust you.
Soothingly, Rogers dipped his fingers in between her folds, while his thumb rotated the precious button below, and this time she jerked her hips giving in to what he was willing to give her. Slowly he began to rub his fingers inside of her, forward into a beckoning motion. One hand of hers dug into his shoulder muscle, while she dropped her other hand on the mattress, next to her. Breathing, sighing and yelping, she moved her hips rhythmically up and down to his touch, imagining he was thrusting inside her and began to contract her muscles more and more.
When a new wave of wetness surged passed his slick fingers, he felt his own arousal resurface. He moaned approvingly. But having been sated already, it existed without the conflicting urgency. As he released her mouth, slightly biting her lower lip to then let it go, he admired her glowing face, heavy lidded eyes, half open petulant mouth from which the loveliest gasps escaped, her blonde tousled hair and her hand stretching and pulling at the mattress sheet. Rogers shifted to lean on his elbow more so that he could grasp her hand in his, while the other rubbed her harder, fiercer, stronger. As she arched her back, Rogers had a momentarily glorious view of her.
Eleanor's eyes flew open and she saw nothing but affection in his eyes. The corners of his mouth were tugged into that of a reassuring smile. His smile faltered as he drowned into those large, dilated, blue eyes of hers. It was impossible to stop gazing at one another. It deepened her pleasure, as if he reached inside her where nobody else had ever been. She moved with rough, precise thrusts of her hips to reach for ecstasy. Eleanor clenched her muscles and with fast strides she jumped level per level to her peak. His jaw went slack, as he felt drawn into her mind, into her heart, seeing the onset of her orgasm happen in her eyes. Her free hand went to his cheek again, steadying his gaze, as if it were a lifeline, a tether to his soul, and then she exerted herself to make that final jump, making her body so taut it almost hurt.
Rogers had wings then, taking her with him higher and higher with mounting strides. She reached out in her mind, fingers gripping a ledge, hanging on, clinging until the supernova blast and she tumbled and tumbled and tumbled like a leaf on the wind. A slow shudder escaped her lips, and he could feel her contract in ever increasing waves around his fingers. He gripped her hand tightly, intertwining his fingers with hers. He rolled his thumb with even more pressure across her rosebud, and she cried out as he caused another wave of tremors within her. He lowered his forehead against her, while he let her swell of contractions flood over his fingers. A waft of a heady, sweet Eleanor tantalized his nostrils. Rogers chuckled involuntarily, as the surge of her rapture washed over him. It was almost as if he had come with her. Not this time, but perhaps next.
Even as the tingling settled like dust, he held her in the cup of his hand, massaging her lovingly. Her breath was ragged. She felt like a feather rolling on waves of the sea that landed her safely back onto the sand, yet vulnerable, exposed, soft without scales or bones to protect her. Eleanor began to sob heavily, and buried her face in his neck. He rolled onto his side and onto his back, dragged her with him, holding her to his chest. Finally, he moved his hand from between her legs and towed one leg of hers onto him. She still had an arm around his neck, her face buried into his chest, sobbing with sputtering cries. His hand went up to her face and he felt the wetness of tears and smelled more Eleanor.
Rogers lifted his head to kiss her forehead and whispered, "My sweet, sweet Eleanor." It only made her bawl more. With his thumb he tried to wipe away her tears. "Don't cry," he murmured.
She tugged him closer to her and gasped for air. "Joy! It was from joy."
That made him chuckle. He lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her lips, before she snuggled close to him, resting her hand on his heart, and he rested his own hand on top of it.
(Writing versus show - show had no actual sex scene, only the before and pillow talk leading into again - notedly different to prior lover scenes, except Flint-Thomas and 4.01 Silver-Madi. This has little to do with going soft on sex or nudity: Max-Georgia scene and Woodes-Eleanor strip fully. It's the first time we see Eleanor completely naked in front of a lover. The scene implies romance, rather than lust, though there's loads of passion. The show can use music and cinematography to set the romantic mood. I can't. I can only tell it by actually incorporating the sex, blending the POVs even within the same paragraph.
Candles (show) - shot of two chandeliers, in such an angle that it appears the second chandelier is a mirror reflection of the first (though there is no mirror against that painted wall). The image evokes a sense of mirroring with 2 objects that are physically apart, yet appear to be very close. Pretty much every shot that does not zoom into them kissing after that has always 2 chandeliers burning, in or out of focus, even if apart in different rooms. A visual symbol that these two characters burn for each other.
Paradise Lost: Conventionally Eleanor is a seductress, as Eve seduces Adam to take the fruit. But Eleanor interrupts the event twice, each time when Rogers is giving in to lust. When both are naked, the scene becomes affectionate and tender. In Paradise Lost the angel ordains Adam to copulate with love, not lust, and how this might in time make them spiritual beings. The pillow talk, with Eleanor asking him to speak and Rogers then making clear how different they are, suggests that the "soul union" experience did not come about. So, I have him eventually being overtaken by lust (the description becomes more hardcore and physical). He climaxes, but not Eleanor. This leads to a feeling of emotional separation, as Adam experiences after they both ate the fruit and copulate, only to wake wishing to cover their body up. The second time, Rogers negates his own physical needs and it leads to emotional unity. Better, but still separated physically.
Cupid & Psyche: incorporated stylistically with multiple references such as butterfly, Venus in human form (and copy image of the marbled, coy Venus Kalypogus), arms like feathered wings, lifting/flying Eleanor upwards, a kiss balming lips with dew, rich cabinet, Cupid being disarmed, a brow like a castle and lips like forts, arms to chase away fears, tears from love, love ought to be blind. On the first night Cupid tells her that each has to "give up his treasure, quite bankrupt through a rich exhcange of pleasure".
Tempest: Some of Eleanor's internal thoughts allude to Miranda's love declaration to Fernando. The pregnancy hints at Vane as a Caliban. Prospero removed Caliban from the household, after he attempted to violate Miranda, wanting to populate the whole island with his progeny. In this fanfic, Caliban succeeded in taking Miranda for himself, and in a world without anti-conception this leads to pregnancy. Eleanor/Miranda here prevents Caliban's progeny wish. The abortion experience leads to Eleanor choosing a bedwarmer in Max.)