Eleanor has a very strange dream where her mother is upset with her and puts her to work. Both Rogers and Eleanor wake from their first sleep. Having always been told by her enemies what her faults are, she wants to know what her best trait is from Rogers. And as the title implies they share a soul's kiss.

(Obligatory warning - contains explicit love making scene. Despite the explicitness of it, I hope the LOVE comes through! (and it's the final one of this fic))

Chapter 26 - A Soul's Kiss

Eleanor's dreams were restless and dark. "About time, child," said Mr. Scott's wife Nani, who was her mother's servant. Nani stood with her hands on her hips scolding her in front of the house. "Rash and ignorant you are. Do you know how much the whole island has been looking for you?" In the darkness of the night, Eleanor could hardly discern Nani, but her sharp, severe voice and accented English could not be mistaken. The evening star twinkled merrily high above. Nani pointed to the door. "Now go in, for your mother wants you! She'll teach you how to curb that stubbornness of yours."

Her mother stood vexed, in her golden dress of vermillion roses and purple shawl. Though she was forever handsome, a black cloud shrouded her brow, and she laughed like a madwoman who glorified in her chance to finally allot her punishment. "What my daughter? Have you finally come to salute your mother? Or is it your man you've come looking for? For the moment, he has to mend. But be assured, I will provide for you and give you what you deserve. " Her mother winked at her.

Eleanor had no idea what she had done wrong. She almost asked, but her mother seemed so enraged and certain that Eleanor knew her own wrong that Eleanor feared denying any wrongdoing. She had done plenty of wrong in her past, had she not?

Her mother snapped her fingers and Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Mapleton appeared. "Strip her!"

Mrs. Hudson tore the clothes of her back, while Mrs. Mapleton flogged her with a cane. And when Eleanor stood in her chemise, her mother stepped towards her and laid her hand on Eleanor's belly. "Where will you lie in? How far are you gone? Should Mrs. Hudson start making baby clothes? Am I to be a grandmother now? At my age? And I should feel compassion for you? Shame! Shame! No, it'll be a bastard, if you have any child at all."

As punishment her mother took seeds of wheat, barley, corn, chickpeas, lentils and beans and mixed them in one giant heap. "I have to go to a wedding - an actual proper one - but before I'm back, you shall segregate each grain rightly."

Eleanor stared at the pile of seeds. I will never succeed on time. But Madi and Eme appeared from behind the sable curtain where they had been hiding, and sorted along with her. Next Max entered and bent down to lend two more hands, and then Anne, but also Abigail and Miranda. More and more, neighbours poured into the house, including the whores - Esther, Alice, Charlotte and even Idelle. With that many hands the task was easily done, and each aid left her until they were all gone.

She awaited her mother's return with relief. But when that fateful moment came, her mother frowned at the neatly separated piles. Hands on her hips, reeking of wine, her mother looked as if she had partied in the bushes, with twines of myrtle sticking out of her dress and a rose behind her ear. "This is not your handiwork, housekeeper. This was his doing, the one who persists in loving you to yours and his ill. Here's a crust of bread for your trouble." Her mother threw the hard crust in front of her feet.

Eleanor picked it up, and starving, she nibbled and sucked on the bread.

"I have another task for you." Her mother beckoned Eleanor and pointed to a cross on a map. "Fetch me some of that Urca gold. How you do it, I don't know nor care."

The gold was stored in a galleon, fitted with guns that roared like lions and stung like scorpions. "I'll get it for you," smirked Flint. "I love nothing better than a challenging hunt." And Charles said to her, " Don't worry, I'll get it for you from Flint." Silver grinned at her with mischievous blue eyes. "Watch!" he said and spread his arm out to sea. A storm rose to quench the thirst of Neptune's horses and sent it all onto the beach. Jack waggled his brows. "Now it's easy. We'll have all the gold as much as would please your mother." Featherstone danced on a merry jig, hands high, as he picked the gold hanging like fleece from a briar, and piled it into her apron.

Eleanor dumped the gold at her mother's feet, but her mother barely looked at it. "You will find no favor from me. I know the author of your success. It is the price for his adultery." She handed Eleanor a crystal glass. "I am thirsty and desire water from the rivers of oaths and lament. Fill it to the brim. You shall require some of that bravery and wit of yours."

"You have my word," said Flint to Miranda, but broke out in tears as he wept with her dead body in his arms. "You have my word," said Gates to Billy, but wailed as he saw Billy disappear in the waves. "You have my word," said Anne to Jack and tried to kiss him back to life, sobbing. "You have my word," said Max to Anne, and bawled broken on her knees. From everywhere, she heard oaths being whispered followed by the bitter bewailing. Eleanor ran with the crystal cup from here to there to catch their tears, until the glass was full.

Her mother cried out. "Impossible! What are you? A witch? Some magician? If that is your business then you may venture straight into hell." She pointed at her own face that looked as lovely as ever and then at Eleanor. "No daughter of mine would ever be one like you. My daughter would be kind, generous, beautiful and would know how to behave. You stole her from me and took her place instead. So ashamed am I that I dare to go nowhere anymore, for it's a disgrace. So, you will go down into hell and fetch me the beauty that is guarded by a dragon beast."

This time no volunteer came forward, and Eleanor had to do it all herself. Down she went, down, down the winding serpentine into the earth, into darkness where the beast lay coiled guarding its treasure with claws, poison dripping from its fangs.

"He will bite and claw to hurt you," whispered her father, velvety and soft. "Remember that you're free to walk out. And if you're trapped, think of tea."

Eleanor woke, gasping for breath. The room was covered almost in full darkness, except for one candle, burning low on Rogers' bed stand. It had been a long dream, a strange dream. Though her mother had looked like her mother, she had not acted like her at all. Her mother had never said a stern word to her. Nani though, and Mrs. Hudson. And how weird was it that so many of her enemies were helping her, aside from her friends? Even the dead, even Charles. No matter how she tried, Eleanor could not make head nor tail from her dream, nor understand whatever she had done wrong to be put to all those tasks.

She turned on her side and looked at Woodes sleeping. They both were exhausted after they had planned all the particulars of sending Charles to London. "I'm going to shift restlessly," Woodes said. "I'll wake you, and I want you to be well rested when you confront Vane."

"I'll probably lie awake anyhow," she told him.

"My injuries will make my own sleep but a light one," he muttered. "You'll keep me awake as well then. And I'm flat out exhausted. I need rest to mend."

"Yes, you'll sleep lightly, whether I'm here or not," she insisted stubbornly. "But you can't even walk by yourself. What if you need something?"

"I can walk!"

"You can limp," she corrected. "Barely."

He smirked and she peeked a glance at him. She had bent down to toe off his riding boots. Eleanor had shouldered him to his bed, stripped his trousers, and pulled out his bloodied shirt, while he gritted his teeth and aimed to bear the pain as best as he could. In the light of the single candle burning near the bed, Eleanor saw every bruise and scrape, including near his groin. He pulled the sheet to cover himself and grinned sheepishly at her. "I don't think I can -"

"That's not why I'm here, now," she smiled back, as she began to remove the stomacher, mantua, and petticoat of the dark green dress. She crawled under the sheet, still wearing her chemise, on her side, knees drawn, respecting his space.

Woodes had turned his head around to look at her. "Thank you."

She had smiled back at him, closing her eyes. "Goodnight, governor." And she had dropped asleep soon after.

But now, after her first sleep, she was fully awake. Her second sleep would probably delude her for at least another hour. In her own room, she would get up and read something or in her past life she would have wandered into the tavern and talk with customers. Eleanor bent her arm, leaned on her elbow and propped herself up while she studied him sleeping, the rising of his chest with the deep breaths of slumber. Despite the grueling day, Woodes slept peacefully. If he had dreams, they were not bad or strange ones like she had. She wondered whether her dream came about because of her conscious plaguing her for wanting Charles dead, though it did not feel the right answer to her.

Woodes' remarks about repeating the mistakes of her past ghosted through her mind and she tried to imagine herself as the governess of the island. How would I have dealt with all the situations of the past two weeks? Poorly! Not because she would have tried much differently than him, used other strategies, or had different aims. But she would have lacked a particular oversight and tended to react to situations on impulse rather than respond to them after deliberation. He was right when he repeatedly pointed out she would let her feelings rule her head, and yet she did not believe he felt less strongly about people or situations. She had seen, heard and felt his anger as well as his joy and affections. Woodes had found a way to both feel and even express his emotions, without letting them guide his actions. Eleanor recognized the difference, but she was still mystified how he managed to do that.

Rogers opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was instantly aware that someone was watching him. "Are you awake?" he asked her.

"Hmhmmm. Did I wake you?"

"No." His voice was deep and hoarse. His chest and throat itched. "Could you bring me some lemon water?" He felt hot too. "And open the window." Though he feared that probably would do little good in this climate.

The sheets rustled, sliding against her skin, when she left the bed and the mattress beneath him reverberated. Rogers propped himself up and watched her pad in her chemise through the room. Eleanor returned with a glass in her hand and came to sit on the bedside, next to him. She had cut a slice of lime too. She waited for him to drink and then set it on the bed stand, next to the candle. Her blonde hair was just hanging loose, across her shoulders.

Rogers reached for one of her tresses and let it slide between his fingers. It was fine and silky. "You are beautiful."

Her smile widened and she met his eyes. Then they went to his neck. "Did Charles do that too?" she asked about the angry red lines around his throat.

"No." He shook his head. "That was Rackham. He tried to choke me with his chains. Eventually, I elbowed him and punched him out."

Her eyes trailed back to his face, to the cut on his forehead. "Where did you learn to fight?"

"Dyson taught me my first moves."

Eleanor's eyes widened. "Your Dyson?"

"Yes, when I was seven. I trained at boxing and was the school's champion."

"Aren't you full of surprises," she smirked. Her eyes gained a special sparkle and so did her smile –naughty would have been an apt word to describe it. But she made no move towards him. Tea, think of tea, Eleanor told herself as she felt the familiar pull of letting her desire for him run its natural course. Though they had privacy, and it was the common hour for couples to have intercourse, Eleanor decided not to give in to her impulse that easily. She aimed to resist it. Later, she told herself. It does not need to be now. If he had fought Charles like he said he did, he was made of sterner stuff. In her mind there was no doubt that he could perform. Eleanor got up and walked to her side of his bed.

Rogers had half expected her to lean over and kiss him. And when she did not, he felt for a moment disappointed. But then again, his ability to move was restricted. His eyes followed her. When she lifted her chemise and crawled naked under the sheets, hope flared and, despite his bruises and hurts, at least some part of his body still functioned properly. She lay on her side and she rested her hand on his lower arm. While she made no effort to cover herself with the sheet and his eyes were drawn to the delight of her body, she actually had an aura of chasteness about her. And for some reason he found it even more erotic.

Eleanor smiled at him and her finger traced the skin of his arm. "I was thinking earlier about what concerned you to call me your partner. And yet here I lay, your partner. In the light of your fears, what then makes you have at least this much faith in me? Partners bring something to the partnership that the other does not have. Once, you said, you required knowledge. I am not the only one on the island who knows Flint, Max, Jack, Anne, … So, what do I have, that in your eyes nobody else has that makes you value me?"

Eleanor was not fishing for compliments. Eleanor wanted to understand herself. So often, her enemies had told her their opinion of her in her face – a tyrant, hungry for power, proud, selfish, short-sighted, temptress, manipulative and heartless. She had heard it so many times that she had become to believe it in the end and acted like it too. Weary of reasoning with people, of proving them wrong, it had been far easier to think they were right. And the more she acted like it, of course the more enemies she gained. Woodes was the closest ally she had ever had in her life. He was demanding of her and reminded her of her faults, but he never told her how she must feel or how she must think or even who she really was. He needed the best of her, he had said, and yet, he had never really told her who he believed her best was. Eleanor was not sure anymore who she was at all. She only really ever knew how she felt. Maybe that is why I am led by my impulses?

Rogers' first thoughts were all the things he loved about her and his feelings for her, but he realized that was not exactly what she was asking. What is the thing that makes me believe in her, not as a lover, nor as an informant? Her instincts? No, he distrusted most of those. Something similar, but entirely different. Once, Rogers realized what it was, he slide smirked and stared deliberately at her breasts. "I want to have a view on those day and night."

Eleanor looked appalled and pulled the sheet closer to her body. "I asked you a serious question. I need to know!"

"I won't tell you!" he grinned. "Unless you come closer, into my arms," he said with a sugary voice.

"That's blackmail," she mocked him, but could not suppress the hint of a smile. "I was trying to have a serious conversation."

"If I'll look like this," he pointed at his face. "And when I am restricted from grabbing you then extortion seems to be my sole recourse. Besides you can't expect a man to have a serious conversation when you crawl naked into his bed."

Her smile faltered. "It doesn't matter to me. You're still beautiful to me." She reached out and caressed his cheek with the knuckles of her hand. They stared at one another, and then she lifted her head to kiss him on the lips, as he snaked his good arm around her shoulders. Eleanor put her other hand beside his head to lean on it, so she would not put any of her weight on him.

Rogers smiled against her lips and murmured, "Now I got you where I want you to be." He opened his mouth to kiss her mouth, caressed her side with his hand until he cupped and massaged her breast.

Eleanor felt her body being swayed by his slow, velvety tongue and the touch of his fingers. She sighed, broke the kiss and whispered, "You promised me you would tell."

Rogers kissed her throat, her jaw all the way to her neck, her earlobe, making her shiver. Finally, he murmured into her ear, "Your intuition."

Eleanor opened her eyes. Intuition! It certainly was not even remotely the answer she had expected. Then she furrowed her brow. "How is that different from instinct?"

"The urge to do what we're doing now is instinct," he said in between kisses. "Knowing without much feedback how to please one another is intuition."

She laughed. "There seems nothing wrong with your intuition. Why you need me for then?"

Rogers let go, laid his head back and laughed. He let go of her breast. "Yours is keener." Then he said seriously. "And it is sharpest when you are concerned for the well being of others. It's why you know you're right when everybody else believes you're wrong. Like when you knew Teach was not here in the bay for Nassau and that he would try something."

Eleanor tried to think of other examples. "The night that Hornigold informed you of Flint's death a part of me did not believe it. I had this image of him and his crew marooned somewhere."

"At least on one point you were right. He's very much alive."

"But I've been wrong too," Eleanor reasoned. "I believed that Flint would accept the pardon. And this morning I felt no ill foreboding until Max pointed out to me that Anne would rather have died trying to kill eight dragoons than surrender the cache when Jack was not there, unless she had a plan to get the cache and Jack."

"Did Chamberlain manage to convince you that all was safe?"

"No!"

"Intuition is not infallible. It does not make you a fortune teller or magician."

"Intuition," she mumbled more to herself than to him. She liked it - useful, practical and yet implying being sensitive about the world around her. Maybe some women would have found it disappointing as it was not a romantic quality. But it was honest and only Woodes would have answered it so truthfully. Eleanor bent over him to kiss him. "Now, let me intuit what might please you." Her nails trailed down his chest, his belly and under the sheet. Rogers could feel her smile against his cheek when she kissed one of his cuts and her hand wrapped around his shaft. Her lips trailed to his ear, her hand worked magic, and she whispered, "I want to kiss you… here." She brushed her thumb across the head of his hard cock.

Rogers swallowed and looked at her as she gazed at him with the question in her eyes. He nodded in silence. Eleanor dragged the sheet away, exposing him to the night air. She kissed him on the lips, snaking her tongue inside. Ignoring his stiff muscles, he grabbed the side of her neck to pull her closer so he could return her kiss, moaning approvingly. And when her hand wrapped around the root of his cock, he approved it some more. His heart hammered in his chest as she began her slow descent with teasing lips and tongue. Rogers felt positively queasy with anticipation when she reached his treasure trail. Not in a lifetime, would he had ever dared to ask Eleanor to do this. And yet, now that she had offered, he had no patience. Parched, he licked his lips. "Eleanor, please stop teasing me like that." He closed his eyes, put his palm across her head and gently pushed her towards his eager awaiting cock.

His impatience delighted her. When she was still young, she had done it to finish Charles, before she allowed him to take her virginity. A penis was something intimidating and weird to her then. After that, it often felt like a chore that she got no pleasure from. Now though, there was nothing strange or daunting about a man's cock anymore. And Eleanor wanted to compare and please Woodes. Though he pushed her head and mouth towards it, it was more of an encouraging nudge in the right direction. It gave her a sense of sexual power, and with her nose on it she thought again how it was a thing of beauty. She wrapped her hand around it, hovered close and swerved her tongue around to experience the texture.

Rogers shuddered and held his breath. He trembled in her hand and stroked the crown of her head when Eleanor wrapped her lips over the tip and slid them across the ridge. As she experimented with her lips, her tongue and her mouth, his fingers twisted around her hair. His breath halted intermittently, switched to hoarse breathing and an occasional groan or moan. She used the ridge of her teeth, very gently. He jolted and grunted with an involuntarily spasm from his bruised rib. And when she twisted her tongue around him simultaneously, he groaned as if he was both in agony as well as ecstasy. All his awareness of pain withered away into oblivion at the combination of her silky, swiveling tongue, the velvet wet inside of her mouth and her lips rubbing up and down. His fingers caressed her cheek tenderly, not daring to interrupt her. She took more of him into her mouth, further and further, until she nearly gagged, and he cried out from joy, wrapping his hand over her head and pushing her even further. And then, finally she began to suck. "Gently," he beseeched her. His toes curled at this delicious torment. He ignored the occasional piercing pain of his side when he jerked involuntarily. Rogers loved pleasing her, but there was a certain delight in both of their full focus bent on his own pleasure. "Oh, Jesus. Don't ever stop," he muttered.

At first, Rogers enjoyed everything she tried for the sake of sensation alone, the novelty of it. But slowly and surely his pleasure gathered and aimed for an orgasm. Breathing and sighing heavily, he pushed his hips to indicate a slow rhythm. Closer and closer it beckoned, but remained out of reach. Her tongue, lips and mouth could only do so much. He needed something more. Rogers wrapped his hand around his cock to add the needed friction and speed.

Eleanor knew her main role was over. Her mouth served as a place of delight to receive, but she was free to explore. She cupped his balls in the palm of her hand.

He cried, "Oh, Fuck me!"

She knew it was meant as an exclamation in a state of ecstasy, that he could hardly have been sensible of his words. But eager herself, her inner muscles throbbed to pin herself on Cupid's arrow and receive his soul inside of her. Eleanor let him go with a pop and sat up. She bent over him, placing her hands beside his head. Woodes' eyes were squeezed closed and he gritted his teeth, while he still rubbed his shaft to reach his peak.

Finally, Rogers realized her mouth and lips were not indulging him anymore. Confused, he opened his eyes. "Why'd you stop?" He looked into her face hovering over his own. Her eyes were dark, dilated and full of desire. Then he felt her leg against his hips and noticed she intended to straddle him.

Eleanor grinned wickedly at him. "You just ordered me to fuck you."

"Did I?"

"Hmhmm," she nodded. "What my governor demands, he gets." She positioned herself as safely and comfortably as she could, tucking her knees beside his side and then circled her hips in search for him.

For just a moment, Rogers was slightly annoyed at her not completing what she had started when he had been so near. With the aggravation the pinnacle of his pleasure receded. But then Eleanor dipped in and kissed him, convinced him with her tongue, and her mound made contact, nudging and writhing slowly. Even if his mind still lagged behind, his cock recognized its true aim. And as she slid over him, her muscles parting and settling around him, Rogers thought of it as a mouth that kissed him there. Her clenching muscles were like thick luscious lips with the texture of a tongue. While her deeper interior was soft and billowing like a cheek and as snug as a throat. And how she kissed him! Circling, up and down, stroking, slowly and lovingly. He grabbed her by the neck, pulling her to him to kiss her back, lifting his hips, thrusting his tongue and cock, wanting to show her he loved her as much as his flawed angel was loving him now.

Eleanor wanted him to fill her completely, with his cock, his tongue, his mind, his love, his soul and his seed. If she had loved him before, she did more so now, because he trusted in her to know how to do it right, and his thrust touched and pressured her differently, in new ways against that sweet secret spot inside of her. She had to let go of his tongue, placed her hands on the headboard for support and lifted her hips slightly so she could writhe around the bulbous head. His arm went around her back for support to lift himself and take her nipple in his mouth. She gasped and moaned at the soaring joy she felt and Woodes made approving noises while he suckled her breasts.

Now he had even more Eleanor, inside and outside- two mouths and her body near his hands. He reached for her soft breasts, feeling a tightening inside and when her nipples swelled against the palm of his hand. It was not a lie when he told her that a part of him wanted her near him so often for her breasts. Since the day they had been packed and pushed upwardly in a stay, he was always aware of their delightful presence, even though he was too much of a gentleman to outright stare at them. The ever present awareness in the back of his mind of what looked to him as plums ripe for picking, had always put him slightly on edge around her, sharpened him to be at his best behavior around her, almost as if subconsciously he wanted her to choose him for a lover from the very beginning and those breasts would be his. Was it a coincidence that he started to keep her closer on the ship after he saw and heard how other men began to be charmed by her, younger men of good position, income and unmarried? The rascal in him did not want to give any of them even a hint of a chance with her, knowing full well that in the company of the most powerful man on the fleet it was unlikely she would ever have eyes for another.

And he was a rascal. He could not deny how women in London seemed to be delighted with his company – young daughters and pretty wives whose eyes glinted when he talked to them, complimented them, admired them. They would gravitate to him and sigh and whisper in their father or husband's ear. He had used his ability to charm the women into convincing his contact into helping him either with an investment or a voice of support in Whitehall. It was as if he had been their safe sin, for they knew he was married. Ultimately his design had always been getting the support of the husband or father, so he never crossed that line, even when it was blatantly offered to him at a stroll in the park at the end of a dinner party. He had kissed a woman once, behind a maze's shrubbery, allowed himself to give in to one delicious kiss. She had dark eyes and dark hair with Spanish roots and passions - a younger wife of one of the much older Admirals who was a stubborn old fool when it came to pardoning pirates. She had begged him to take her there, lifting her skirts for him, and he was very much tempted. Instead he had kissed her neck, sighed and said, "I cannot. We are both married, bound by oaths to God."

"But you are separated," she had argued initially.

"And yet I am true to her. She sent me away, I not her." He had nibbled her ear then. "If it were any different I would give my heart gladly, but it is taken already."

And with that lie, she had sobbed and bawled in his arms, telling him he deserved some happiness in his life. What a rake he had been to her, breaking that woman's heart. The next day the Admiral called on him to tell him he could finally agree to Rogers' plans.

He had desired that Admiral's wife, but nowhere near as much as Eleanor and her apple breasts that fit in his palms. He certainly had never felt this possessive of a woman. That security of an engagement and marriage he once had with Sarah, he might never have with Eleanor. Now, as she leaned over him, possessing him - body, heart and soul – he massaged the soft, bouncing pillows with his palms and thumbs, relishing the soft, sensitive skin. Exuberance made him shiver with joy when he nuzzled, licked and sucked her nipples into his hot mouth, felt them pucker and bounce against his tongue. He quivered when her areola glands became little bumps and the darker skin crinkled at the touch of his tongue. He loved her breasts. He loved her.

They rocked each other and they kissed one another, and if the mattress creaked and the headboard banged against the wall, they were too focused on each other to notice. Eleanor needed something more though. She leaned on one arm and reached with her hand between her legs to rub her little hard knob pulsing in need. It was not a position she could hold for long without cramping her arm, and he was too fragile to rest on him. "Help me!" she whispered in anguish.

He let go of her nipple. "How?"

"Some pressure, just outside," she gasped. His eyes trailed her arm and he moved his hand downwards, slid his fingers between her legs, close to where he was thrusting inside of her. Then he found her pearl and began to rub it lightly. Eleanor bit her lower lip, while she suppressed a gasp and closed her eyes. "Oh, yes." And then she began to move her hips. Slowly she danced on the tips of his fingers at first, increasing the pace gradually and came down on him harder and deeper.

He watched her face transfuse with delight, as she swung her head up, bit her lower lip, gasped and moaned, until he too had to close his eyes, rejoining the waves of pleasure that thrilled his cock, his balls and his soul. With every rock of her hips and each of his thrusts he loved her more and more. He clenched his muscles of his hips to meet her, strained his fingers hard against her sweet little pearl. Her gasps became small, short cries. He felt hot as if his blood was boiling. Every stroke of her slick muscles brought him closer to the edge, tickling his head. His balls were reaching a state of overdosing bliss, demanding celebrating release. "Sweet Jesus! Eleanor, I - you." It burned on his tongue and lips. "I – Oh, I want to come inside you," he begged her. "Please come!"

She clenched her arms that held the headboard, tightened the muscles of her thighs and calves, crying, "Yes! Harder!" She was so close. She just needed a little more pressure. She strained and clenched and reached and then there was the peak of pleasure that infused her pearl before it exploded and shattered throughout her body, expanding through her cleft in convulsing waves, just as his soul raced through his cock to dance in her womb. He cried out hoarsely at the sensation of her sucking him in, as he gunned more of his soul into her. Her moan of satisfaction was both high pitched and deep. Something fell to the floor. Then the light went out.

Trembling, Rogers felt as if a carriage of love had fallen onto him, smashed him and broke every one of his ribs. Love hit him like a ton of bricks. He so wanted to say it, desperately almost. He felt like she could turn him into her beggar of love. But it was exactly this that he dared not yet let her know.

Eleanor began to weep in convulsions of release. "I love you, Woodes," she sobbed as if it hurt her. "Oh, you can't know how much I love you." She wanted to keep him inside her, forever, or at least a piece of him.

He gasped for air under all that pressure of both their loves. "Come back to me, tomorrow, Eleanor. Promise me."

"I give you my word."

Stroking her cheek, he kissed her, lovingly and gently, in the darkness of the night.

(Psyche's missions: the dream is an adaptation of Venus's tasks. Three of Psyche's four tasks are deadly: golden wool of the deadly sheep, the water from the Styx and Cocytis, the box of beauty. With each task helpers appear to do the task for her or to give her advice: ants, reed, Jupiter's eagle and a tower. They think Venus's anger with Psyche is unjust and that she's cruel to Psyche for nothing. Venus never accepts the results, and believes Cupid's love for her causes her to do the impossible. In Eleanor's dream, the Maroon Queen, Mrs. Mapleton and Mrs. Hudson are the three servants of Venus: Custom, Solitude and Care respectively. Venus is described to laugh like Mr. Evil when Psyche arrives in her house. Venus's hatred and cruelty for Psyche seems to contradict her being the embodiment of love. Hence, why Eleanor's mother stands as Venus here. While Eleanor is not blameless in the past, she is not so evil she deserves any such cruelty either. All her enemies become the helpers. The women help her with the seeds. The pirates help her with the gold. And their tears over their own broken vows to each other serve as water from the Styx and Cocytus. Basically it suggests that Eleanor already performed those "missions", where her enemies did it for her. To contrast the strangeness of her cruel mother, her father (for once) is the one who advizes her like the tower, but using the words of Rogers.

Since Psyche ends up opening the box of beauty for herself in the hope to win Cupid's love back, I have Eleanor's mother order her to fetch/rescue herself from the underworld. Her mother is angry with the Eleanor who's at the bottom of the bloody ocean of Othello hatred. Her mother wants Eleanor to become the woman she always wanted her to be. It points to an identity crisis. In a way, the dream functions as contrast to Mrs. Mapleton's claim that Eleanor wears new clothes and has new friends, but has not changed much (which Eleanor would consider unfair). Mrs. Mapleton also claims that Eleanor can only understand herself through the eyes of enemies. I contrast this, by having Eleanor ask her lover what he sees in her.

Soul's Kiss: the "kiss" is a euphemism for "making love". A man in love who gets a heartfelt blow job from his lover tends to acquire happy, shiny eyes the day after. The cold love declaration of 3x08 and Rogers' in-love eyes when she returns from her visit with Vane, suggest something happend between them off-screen to make him completely smitten with her. Rogers compares the actual intercourse to being kissed. The candle falling to the floor and snuffing out alludes to the wounding of Cupid, which happens after the soul kiss. The description of Psyche's soul kiss at least leads to Psyche kissing Cupid on top of him. This fits the image of Eleanor standing at the governing side of the desk. Eleanor is the one with the power here, in both halves of the "kiss". I also repeated the "thrusting/trusting" wordplay.

Breast or buttocks: Rogers is a breast-guy (the 3x07 shudder moment when the top comes off). It leads back in to some of his London past, where he turns out to have been quite the charmer and heartbreaker (like Cupid) - both are rascals.

I - You: He almost said it. I originally had written he feels he could become her slave for her love, but Vane is the "slave", while Rogers is the "beggar".)