Eleanor looks forward to good news, peace and prosperity. Eleanor and Rogers find each other in the darkness of lust.

(Graphic Warning - explicit shameless sex scene.)

Chapter 20 - The Mistress

Yawning, Eleanor stretched herself, rolled around on her back, opened her eyes and for a moment wondered why her bed looked different and her window was at the wrong side of the wall. Her arm flopped down and she smiled. Now, I remember. She turned over to her other side. She was alone, but she could still see the impression of his body in the mattress. She reached for his cushion, pulled it close and buried her face in it, grinning. Enveloped by the traces of his male smell and closing her eyes, her head swam with the sound of his voice and the sharp image of his face, the way his eyes moved, or his jaw flexed peculiarly because of the scar, the feeling and greediness when they kissed last night, or the feel of his arousal brushing against her, and now the residual soreness and ache of what they had done, trying to be one. There is no better feeling than that. That first night after it had been a while and they wanted each other so bad they just cannot get enough. He could not get enough of me.

She had such butterflies at the thought of it, that Eleanor screamed in his cushion and kicked her feet on the mattress. I'm the luckiest woman in the world, at the very least of the island. Having had hours to kiss him, feel his face with her hands, lips and cheeks, see it from that close, he was now more handsome to her even than the day before. In her eyes, eyes in love, there existed no handsomer man. Eleanor hugged the cushion to her heart, rolled onto her back and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. She closed her eyes once more and remembered the feel of the strength in his arms, the movement of his muscles against her own skin. Slender, but strong nonetheless. She blushed at thinking the same of his arse. And finally she thought of his erection. She had loved the sight of it, and the feel of it when she stroked it. I want to kiss it. Not as big or heavy as Charles, not as wide - the morning-after soreness was not that painful for it - but elegant, silky, beautiful, just… just perfect!

Eleanor could hardly wait for his return. Not seeing, not hearing, not feeling or having him around for that half hour while her mind in love was awash with him was agony. I will just wait for him here, in bed, when he returns with the good news that Flint took the pardons. It never even crossed her mind that Flint would refuse, not after meeting and talking with Rogers. If anyone could convince Flint then it would be Rogers. Both men essentially shared the same dream, her dream. And she did lay in bed like that for a while, waiting, listening concentrated at the sound of a coach, or horses, or his step in the hallway, or the creaking of the hinges of an opening door.

But there was none of that – only the sound of a smith hammering away, people talking on the market square, voices below in the kitchen. Time seemed to go by so slow, too slow. And she felt too excited, giddy and impatient to lie like this for much longer. She was actually not even sure what time it was – well past sunrise at least. She blew out a sigh. Of course, it might be that Flint has not even yet arrived at the beach, or the parlay might take a while. All of a sudden, Eleanor could not stand the wait anymore. She pushed herself up, stepped out of bed and padded to the washing stand. After lathering herself she dropped her own chemise in the soapy water. She put on Rogers' robe while her chemise dried and chanced a peek into his office. A tray of choices to break her fast stood ready on the tidied desk. And when she glanced out the window onto the square, she realized it was at least well past early morning. He really wants me here, she smiled.

When her chemise was semi-dry, she put it on, thinking it would dry quicker on her skin, and began to eat her breakfast. Today two major issues would be solved – the cache would be retrieved and Flint would have accepted the pardons by now. And then Nassau would be safe and could prosper. There was still so much to do and rebuilding required, after so many years of neglect, standing still, or worse destruction. Eleanor marveled at the idea that she might actually for once live in a safer, secure and better world. She was not even sure anymore what that felt like. And cared for and respected by a truly good man – a man who wanted others beside himself to prosper, who put the safety of Nassau and its people first.

Eleanor had nearly finished all of her breakfast. There was only some strawberry marmalade left in its serving jar, her favorite. When she was little, her mother would present self-made strawberry jam on the table in a separate jar for her, before putting on her Sunday dress for church. She'd be allowed not to mind her manners and scoop up the extra with her finger. And so, indulging herself in that childhood pleasure, she set her foot on the seat of the chair she sat on, just like then, pulled her finger through the marmalade, scooped it up and popped her finger in her mouth.

Heavy steps walked through the corridor, the door flew open and in walked Rogers like a whirlwind, his eyes storming with a dark fury. He stopped dead in his tracks to gape at her and she stared back at him, wide eyed. A chill of dread ran down her spine, as his eyes became hard and calculating. She was caught unawares when he seized her arm and dragged her to her feet.

"Wha –" she tried to say, but he silenced her with his hard, ravenous mouth and almost forcibly willed her mouth and tongue to welcome him.

An entirely different beast than anger or lust raged inside Rogers – not passion, nor possessiveness, but dominance. Eleanor had vowed she was committed to him, but that was easy to say to a lovemaking hero. Is it true in the face of my darker self when I take what I need? In this ruthless state, he had nothing to give and could only demand sacrifice. His callousness had killed his brother, made him a stranger to his own children and his wife despised him for it. Can Eleanor pledge to such a person? Can she be there for me, when I am in darkness, wounded and isolated? Or will she betray me then?

Though initially surprised, Eleanor received his demanding tongue without brokering opposition or even moderating him. A wave of commanding lust from the man she coveted did not frighten her, nor appall her. It excited her. His desire only made her yearn for him just as much, while his sway made her very willing to comply and let herself be swept away by it. Her hands went around his shoulders, beneath his justaucorps and she helped him to shrug out of it.

Her receptiveness gentled him enough by a margin. Being assured that she welcomed it, his kiss was still greedy and deep, but slower and relishing. He tugged at the last sleeve to fling his coat aside, before putting his hands around her shoulders. Gingerly, he caressed her spine, all the way down to the small of her back, round to the curves of her bottom. He pulled her hips against his loins into his evident need. A throaty moan escaped him as lust blasted through him, shooting along his spine. He started to break the kiss, took her lower lip between his teeth and rolled his pelvis against her.

She shivered when she felt his bulge press against her and her gut cringed with anticipation. When he let go of her lower lip, she bemoaned it. Eleanor stood on her toes, leaning against his chest, trying to reach his lips again with her own. Last night's roles were reversed. He took initiative and control and he had no intention of handing it over. He stepped away from her and noticed the frustration appear on her furrowed brow when all she could kiss was air. She opened her eyes at him, her breath coming rapidly, her chest heaving.

Rogers had actually backed a good step away from her and began to unbutton his waistcoat. The squall inside him had stilled to that of the eye of the tempest. His blood and hormones raced through his veins, but at its center - in mind, heart and cock he felt a predatory calm. He met her yearning gaze and lifted his chin slowly towards the desk, while he removed the waistcoat. Never breaking eye-contact, Eleanor slowly backed up against the desk. She seated herself on top of it and rested each foot on the two chairs in front of it, her legs only slightly open.

When Rogers gestured his head again, indicating to spread her legs wider, it stirred her even more. Electrified, she pulled her chemise slightly up, placed her feet further apart, brushed her hair aside and eased back to lean on her elbows. Her blue eyes were becalmed like the Saragossa sea and settled on his bulge. She did not challenge him or question him. She was neither vulnerable nor beckoning. Eleanor simply was, waiting for him.

His chest heaved deep, slow breaths. His throat was dry, his head emptying, his heart tranquil, his erection hardening. Involuntarily licking his lips, Rogers stepped towards her. He looked down on her legs while his hands slid across her knees and thighs. His thumbs rippled along the muscles of her inner leg. He grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him, making her legs fold open and forcing her to lie on her back. Rogers lay his hand on her stomach and rubbed the shift upwards, staring at her mound, the curly hair, the deep pink folds. He marveled at the sight of her honeyed flower in the daylight, and it was all his. That Eleanor seemed excited by the fact made it all the more piquant.

Tantalizing, her excited nipples puckered against the damp chemise. He hovered over her, dipped his hungry mouth to her breast and sucked at her nipple through the chemise. Eleanor whimpered. He savored the sensation of his blood filling his cock until it strained hard against his trousers, his tip itching for her, his balls throbbing. He glorified at her nipple hardening and bouncing against his tongue. Meanwhile his hand went to her other breast and he brushed her other nipple with the flat of his palm.

All wound up, Eleanor brought her hand to her forehead, pushing her chest up to him. Wild with desire, she wanted more, so much more. The pleasurable sensation that began at her nipples coursed through her brain, along her spine, gave the butterflies in her belly wings and filled her with a pulsating longing for him. She was so ready for him. "Oh, please, fuck me," she begged.

Rogers grinned inwardly. Eleanor was the island – sensual, beguiling, instinctive, fucking hot, and only his, completely his. She even smelled of the island, the spices, the sea, salty, feminine and of sex. He let her nipple go, stood upright, unbuttoned his trousers, yanked her hips closer to him, and prodded his cock to guide it between her swollen, slick folds. He rapidly rubbed the foreskin over the head back and forth until it shimmered with pre-cum. All he had eyes for was his cock penetrating her moist entrance that started to give way for him. Eleanor's inner walls were still snuggly collapsed against one another. Rogers continued to stroke his cock to lubricate her anterior and nudged into her. He hissed at this limbo state of only being partially sheathed. Another flare of lust gushed through him. Slowly but surely, her muscles started to part and he prodded deeper and deeper, feeling the ripple of the muscles as they stretched and molded tight around him, until he was nestled profoundly into her moist heat. What a welcome. Feeling dizzy for a while, Rogers panted, readying himself for the sensation of retreat and straining every muscle to hold himself still. Right then her muscles squeezed.

"Don't," he rasped through gritted teeth, closing his eyes for a moment. He was unsure whether it had sound like a barked order, or a desperate plea, but she relaxed again around him.

He pulled back slowly, and his knees nearly buckled at the far smoother retreat while he moaned at the pleasure of it. He did not completely withdraw – never - just enough until his tip was settled at her anterior pillow. Rogers' patience was close to its end. He wanted to fuck her, not just nudge her. He thrust sharply into her, burying himself deep until he could sink no further. He grunted. Eleanor yelped. The desk moved an inch and groaned in protest. He retreated in the same fashion and drove into her, deep and hard. Again… and again… and again, in a slow, meticulous hammering rhythm, while Eleanor gasped high-pitched whimpers and he grunted or mumbled in mono-syllables, until instead of a tunnel he needed to drill into, her rose bloomed and became a warm, silky smooth pillow that caressed his cock excitingly. He cursed.

Eleanor arched her back, threw her hips upwards to meet him and cried in loud moans with every one of his thrusts. The desk creaked beneath her and griped when it was shoved an inch further. Each and every deliberate deep penetration pushed her closer to the brink in jumps, with that incessant, slow and hard rhythm of his. Bam… bam… bam. His pelvis pressed and rubbed against her swollen, throbbing nodule, while the ridge of his tip stroked back and forth along the bulge of her anterior wall for an exquisite, torturous instant before driving deep into her. Eleanor grabbed for the desk's rim behind her, to cling to something as her body started to tense and she angled her hips to maximize her own pleasure. Papers and a statue fell to the floor. With his next deep and slow thrust she cried out loudly in ecstasy. She could hardly believe how fast she was nearing her peak.

Her shrill whimpers and sobs managed to penetrate the awareness of his mind marinated in bliss. Rogers had been so isolated in his own physical need, so intent on taking what he must have for his own gratification, at his own pace, that he had not expected Eleanor to climax from this. It was as if she had jumped into his dark world and met him there, and he was not alone at all. They fucked each other, and yet even so, tumbled into a world of love in the lustful darkness of both their souls. "Oh, fuck. Eleanor!" he called out in joy.

Her foot lost contact with one chair, and when her other leg jerked with a particular thrust of his that caused even more friction than the previous ones, the remaining chair clattered to the floor. Eleanor cried bitterly, 'Woodes!", for without the help of the chairs it was near impossible to angle her hips and tense her body so that the she could make the last hurdle to the pinnacle of satisfaction. She was so near, only to have it slip through her fingers at the last effort. "Help me!" she moaned desperate, grappling.

Incapable of ignoring her plea, now that she was there with him, not wanting to lose her from this place they shared, Rogers grabbed her hips, held them up steady in the air like a tether for the both of them. She wrapped her legs around his thighs. She was surprisingly strong. Rogers retreated, evoking a moan from her lips that urged him on, and he slammed into her again. He croaked her name, feeling like he was losing his mind. Like a beating hammer, he pounded into her, rolling his pelvis, deep, over and over and over, slowly but surely quickening his pace.

Eleanor did not know whether she jumped from the cliff to the lifeline of her orgasm, or whether that last intense roll of his made it leap at her like a crouching tiger shark, but she pressed as hard as she could against him, writhing her hips for a long satisfying way, when her nerve center exploded and rippled through her like a tidal wave, making her inner muscles contract, expand, caress and stroke his cock. She cried out his name again, amidst of sobs and gasps. She floated in a dark universe, amidst stars. More, she was a shooting star herself, a comet, zipping past a vast cosmos, and reached out with her fingertips into the void, seeing colors shift like an aurora borealis, and he was still with her, inside her, propelling her further. There was more beyond this frontier. She could almost reach it.

Rogers cursed under his breath as her throbbing orgasm crumbled all restraint and his own looming peak beckoned at him. Taut muscles screamed joyfully in his brain. He knew he should retreat, retreat now, and shoot his seed outside of her, onto her belly.

"Don't stop!" Her moan, sourced deep from within her heaving chest, escaped her lips like a strangled cry. After his unprecedented stimulation of her anterior walls, her pearl's orgasm billowing through her deeper muscles actually brought her closer to a second one. "Oh, please. Don't leave now!" she cried. She tightened her body even more, digging her nails into the desk.

"I have to… I should…" Rogers gritted his teeth, sure he'd shatter his own jaw under the strain.

Dropping his head until his chin rested on his chest, he leaned on one arm. He clenched his arse, but could not move a muscle anymore. His fingers dug into the cheeks of her buttocks. Somehow, she took over, thrusting her hips at him in the same rhythm that he had marked out since the beginning. Her inner muscles clamped down on him, like a squeezing fist. All his control was about to explode, but right before that, she hung in the air and a high-pitched cry from exertion sounded from her lips, urging him to come, and come now.

"Jesus!" was the last thought and coherent sound he could make before his own release detonated.

The explosion raced through his cock and the first barrage of his seed discharged inside her, just when her second wave washed over his cock, like a rumbling tremor surfacing from deep within her, accompanied with a surge of wetness. The energy raced through his spine, all the way up his scalp. It burst out of his crown and swerved around him like a spring rainshower, making his toes curl. He could finally back up and thrust again – long, deep and hard - gunning a second round into her, and a third and at last a fourth, while her paradise squished, massaged, and lapped at him with long, contracting throbs along his full length and girth. In rapture, he came with deep, throaty grunts. Her breath were tiny gasps and sobs. A waft of her peculiar perfume flared his nostrils.

Rogers collapsed onto her and pressed his forehead against hers. He did not know where he was, when he was, who he was or why he was. All he knew was that she was there with him, embracing him. She lifted her legs and cradled his hips, while her hands snaked across his temples. Her knuckles brushed his scarred cheek tenderly, and then she wrapped her hands behind his neck, twirling some strands of his hair. Eleanor sighed and hugged all of him. Rogers grunted when she did that and his cock twitched in response. She chuckled. He could not help smiling and lifted himself enough to lean on his elbow and, at last, look into her eyes. They were dreamy and smiling.

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, gesturing his chin below him where they were still joined at the hip. "Twice?" he croaked, still out of breath. She giggled and a blush flushed her cheeks. Leaning his head on his elbow, he lifted his free hand to pick some of the stray strands of blonde hair from her glowing face. "I wish I knew how I did that, so I could do it again, some day."

"I know, and I'll remember," she whispered to him. She could smell herself on him and no doubt she was imprinted with his particular male aroma.

He actually laughed at that. A hearty, unconcerned, spontaneous laugh of mirth that she heard too rarely. He moved his hand from her face to her body, tracing his finger along the curve of her breast pressed against the damp shift. He leaned over, kissed the tip of her nose and sighed, relaxed. "What a woman you are." And as an afterthought almost, but which it was not at all, he whispered, "Eleanor," leaving the last syllable hang in the air.

It was not the first time he said her name in private company since last evening, but her heart nearly burst when he whispered it in such an intimate, happy manner, while he was still inside her. On the tip of her tongue played the words, "I love you." But she could not say them, not yet, even if she felt them being chanted by her blood coursing through her veins. Eleanor lifted her head to kiss his lips and probed with her tongue. He grinned first, but opened his mouth to stroke her tongue with his own. They lay like that, on the desk, legs intertwined, sweaty shirt against shift, kissing and fondling one another, in their bubble of love and joy in having found one another. They were unwilling to part.

Eleanor sighed with the afterglow of lust in her eyes. Rogers blew out a breath, realizing half the morning was gone already. The desk was growing increasingly uncomfortable and hard on his elbows too. "I have to get Rackham and the cache onto the ship as soon as the cache arrives." He disentangled himself from her, and she whimpered in disappointment. He ignored that and stood, sliding his hand through his hair. "What time is it?" He decided to strip out of his trousers. "I'm all sweaty." He lifted the fresh shirt he put on in the early morning and smelled it. "I smell of you and sex." Not that he minded that as much, but it would not do. He pulled his shirt off and threw it in the corner.

"I like smelling of you and sex," she said.

Rogers chuckled and turned around to look at her. She sat on the rim of the desk, her naked legs dangling like a girl's on a swing. "That desk must be awfully uncomfortable by now."

Eleanor jumped off and started to pick up the stuff that lay strewn on the floor. They really had made a mess of his personal office. She smirked at the cause of it, recollecting how strange and wild it had all began. Then she blinked and stood upright. He was angry when he entered, she thought. "I gather that Flint refused?"

"Yes," Rogers shouted back from his bedroom where he was freshening up. "Unfortunately."

Eleanor walked in, picking up after him. "Did anyone show up at the beach to join him?"

"No."

"That's something at least." Eleanor knotted her brow. Why did Flint refuse? Have I been so wrong about him all that time? "What did he say?"

Rogers dried himself with a fresh towel. "Could you take a fresh shirt, please?" Eleanor walked to the chest in front of his bed, opened it and took out the shirt that lay on top. "He's done with England. Blames England for Thomas's death and Lady Hamilton's in Charles Town."

Eleanor froze, as she handed him his shirt. "Miranda's dead?" And then she realized that it had been foolish to believe otherwise. If Lady Hamilton lived, she would be here on the island, in the interior. Until last night, Eleanor believed Flint to be dead and supposed that Lady Hamilton would be mourning him. She had felt too conscious about trying to visit the woman. And Nassau, Max, Anne, Jack and the cache had demanded all of her focus. But with Flint alive, there would have been no reason for Miranda to grieve in the interior, and she would have at least come and see the new regime. Eleanor sat down on the bed, in shock. "So, she has become one of his demons now."

"Beg pardon?" He walked to his closet and took out the blue green pants with matching waistcoat and justaucorps.

"Miranda once told me that she was there when Flint's demons were born. At the time, I didn't know her background story yet. But if she died in Charles Town, then she herself is one of those demons. So that's why he's been attacking colonies who've been hunting pirates."

"Could you help me with this?" Rogers asked. "Bloody buttons." Eleanor got up and started to help him with his waistcoat. "After he refused, despite my efforts to make him see reason, I warned him that the universal pardon is at its end. From now on, anybody who commits piracy is to be regarded as one of his men, and I'll hang them if I catch them."

She looked up surprised and into his face. So, that is it. Just like that, the peaceful transition is over. And we are at war with Flint. When and how, she could not say, but Flint was no man to let go easily. "Does he have a fleet? Did he say anything else? What does he want?" She noticed he was fidgeting with the stock-tie and took over.

"No fleet, just the Walrus." Rogers lifted his chin to make it easier for her to tie the cravat.

Well, thank god for him not having a fleet. Her mind wandered off to Teach for a moment. Teach had a fleet now, but the likelihood of Teach and Flint uniting was practically zero. Charles and Flint could barely stand each other's existence on the island, and Teach was worse than Charles.

"He said he wants his island back," said Rogers more muted.

"It was never his island to begin with," Eleanor said. What was it with these men claiming it to be theirs, cursing a king, talking about freedom, while never once thinking of the other people who lived on it far longer than they had?

"I told him as much."

"What can he do with just the one ship?" she shrugged her shoulders. Eleanor admired the result of his tie, before realizing he was staring at her. Startled by the intensity of his gaze, she leaned back and smiled. "What?"

"Nothing." His eyes began to smile. "Everything will turn out well. By evenfall the cache will be on its way to Havana." He put a finger under her chin and kissed her lips.

She smiled and took a step back. She held out the matching justaucorps for him. "I like the deep blue one, the one you wore in my cell. But Jack will envy you this one, just as well."

After he had put on the coat, Rogers turned to look in the mirror, checking his stock tie and thinking she had done a remarkable job in dressing him. It surprised him that Eleanor had noticed the color of his suit the day he visited her in her cell, let alone that she preferred it. "Rackham and envy are words that seem to go hand in hand." He turned around, away from the mirror, just in time to see her peel off her chemise and walk to the basin of water. He coughed, because the sight of her nubile, naked body was still startling to him. "More men have called in sick today. Could you visit it and give me a report by the evening?"

"Sure." She had pinned her blonde hair up at the back of her head while washing.

Rogers shook his head out of the daze, left the bedroom, closed the door behind him and picked up the book he had started to read the evening before from the floor. Travel overland was slow and would take hours. And one could hardly expect Rackham to oblige him into making interesting conversation. With the book under his arm, he walked out of his office to the corridor. Though he remembered having passed them, earlier on, Rogers had quite forgotten about the two regulars positioned outside his door during the day. Rogers and Eleanor had been loud enough to give these two men an earful, if not the whole west wing, including downstairs. That desk had at least moved a foot out of place. "Any news of the exchange yet?"

"Yes, sir. All went well. The caravan returned half an hour ago. Do you wish for me to send for Major Andrews?" the young man inquired. Rogers deliberated whether he preferred to meet the major in the assembly hall, for Eleanor's sake, or in his office. But before he could answer, the man also said, "And earlier Commodore Chamberlain wished to see you with regards the route and the location for the ship to lie at anchor."

Rogers pointed at the floor of the corridor. "The commodore was here?"

"Yes, my lord." With a straight face, the young man said, "He understood you were busy and not to be disturbed and relayed his message to us."

Rogers had a sudden coughing fit and he squinted at the lieutenant, trying to determine whether the young man was having him on. He thought he saw a little glint appear in those eyes. "And?"

"All is in good order, my lord. Everything is ready. And the route was scouted and cleared."

"Good."

"Twice, sir."

Rogers looked sharply at the lieutenant, and he could see a tug at the corner of the lieutenant's mouth. I should have the lout's leave taken from him for a week for his insolence. But there had sounded admiration in the way he said it. He had to admit he felt rather smug about that feat, himself. So, he ignored the jab. "I will see Major Andrews in the assembly hall," and started to walk off, but then halted. "You're dismissed. No need to hang around my door all day when I am not here."

("My true love knows no shame" (Flint's arc): Flint and Rogers are made out to be each other's twin characters, but at opposing sides. Hence, Flint's characteristics apply to Rogers, including his dark side - domineering, possessive and ruthless. Rogers has hidden and repressed this so far, especially in the face of civilisation. Sarah turned away from it and rejected him. Eleanor is inherently attracted and habituated to it because of her past and origin. Eleanor is a younger Miranda to Rogers - shameless, doesn't flinch at violence or ruthlesness.

Shame: The erotic plot tells Rogers' arc from a man using shame to prevent physical involvement to a man who doesn't care that his direct staff know that Eleanor is his mistress. Fornication and adultery was a crime in the colonies and England, punishable by public lashings. Rogers not hiding the affair in 3x09 while it has legal repercussions (especially if it can result in children that have no legal standing whatsoever) is utterly shameless. We can get how he ends up falling in love and is unable to resist the affair, but not even attempting to hide it, literally onvernight, is extraordinary. The 'desk' is the symbol around which this shedding of shame revolves: first kiss, fantasies, stripping, jealousy over Vane's hold on her yet transformin it, but after the parlay, in broad daylight, on the desk, completely shameless, 100% lust, but not animalistic. He commands her to be a lust object, and dominance is the motivator (not jealousy). He sheds the shame of social consequences when he risks fathering a bastard. Eleanor has an orgasm, shortly before him, to make it Rogers' choice whether he performs coïtus interruptus or not. He could withdraw, being already assured that she climaxed already. But he's given the opportunity to have them climax together, if he does not withdraw.

Eleanor=Island: harks back to Vane's opium trip in S1. Vane tries to win Eleanor by taking the island (fort) without her knowing it. Rogers does the opposite. He takes the island without wanting to win Eleanor but involves her in helping him. Rogers succeeds, through Eleanor, and as a result he wins Eleanor - first her mind, then her heart and finally her body.

Cupid & Psyche: the act is done in broad daylight, on a working place, but it is in an emotionally dark place, where their souls meet in love through an act of utter lust.)