Yearnings Fulfilled And Unfulfilled
With the window open, it seems he can hear the macaws and parrots calling to each other, the faint hoot of a bat as it wings from tree to tree. It is May, and the air is heavy with jasmine and hibiscus, making every breath perfumed.
And when Elizabeth stretches out on the bed, dark eyes fluttering and suntanned ankles peeking out from the cotton of her shift, she is Venus herself, the curve of her neck inviting and questioning as she half-rises on languid elbows.
"What are you looking at that has you so enchanted?" she queries, seeing a man -- her lover -- bathed in pale moonlight, dark haired and absolutely perfect when he smiled. "Surely it can't be the sea."
"As of now," he replies, his eyes moving away from the black-blues of the ocean and silver-white ripples of moonlight playing over it on the horizon of Port Royal, "You."
"Such flattery," she chides, but her smile gives her away. Elizabeth is so young at times, and her palpable delight at things such as the clean sheets tangled at her feet, or the embroidery in the brocade curtains, or the patina of the bronze candlestick that illuminated her face and curls.
"When it comes to you, Miss Swann," he teases, walking forward on stockinged feet, "Flattery would be of no use."
She laughs and leans up to kiss him, full lips pressed against his as he encircles half her waist with one hand, the strict boning of her corset evident beneath his touch.
"I don't understand why you requested I wear this," Elizabeth complains, her kisses turning to bites against his jaw. "It's a ridiculous item of clothing."
"Be that as it may," he murmurs, trailing his fingertips over the tops of her breasts, over the thin, rucked material of her shift and the suddenly taut nipples before kissing her throat, "Do humor me, darling."
Her skin smells of cinnamon, soap, and warmth and the slight whimper he elicits by ever-so-slowly drawing the material off her shoulder and lavishing the bared skin with kisses is invigorating, as is the sensation of her ankles rubbing up and down the back of his calf. And when he loosens the first stay, lips never very far from her increasingly exposes her breasts, Elizabeth makes a breathy cry and shivers.
He is very careful to unloose her from the corset slowly, as much for his own pleasure as hers, as each undone stay is rewarded by a slightly more wanton display of desire, as the shoulder of the shift falls further down her slender arms, the blush-rose hint of her areola disappearing and reappearing underneath the thin, fine cotton, as her hips begin to rise and fall in an increasingly distracting rhythm.
Elizabeth is indeed to be treasured, each noise, each gesture such as the sight of her teeth pressing into her pouty lower lip as he pauses in his labor to tease her exposed skin with tongue and fingers until her body is pressed against his, trembling and gasping. She is not a passive woman, and her intent is clearly satisfaction sooner rather than later. James is quite aware of this, and perhaps some perverse spark within his soul enjoys making her endure until she can scheme and resist no further; he wants to see Elizabeth surrender and respond to him honestly, not merely the lover granting favors to the abject beloved.
There is no urgency in his motions, even as she grasps as his shirt, wordlessly pleading for him to remove it. With a smile, he pulls it over his head and discards it.
"Thank you," she says.
"My pleasure," he answers, returning to the very last of the stays before parting the corset like a shell, Elizabeth rising from it to embrace him with a low cry, her hair falling over his shoulder as she ardently pushes him against the bed, a mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes. Both of her shoulders are exposed now as the shift billows loosely about her waist.
"Have you enjoyed that?" she asks smartly, on her knees and hovering above him before leaning forward, the bodice of her shift gaping suggestively as her hands find themselves on either side of his shoulders and her neck just in range of his kisses as he puts his arms about her waist until she falls against him.
"Not as much as I shall this," he replies, turning them over so that his thighs press against hers. She laughs, and her fingers skitter over his bared back as her hips rise up, the shift shimmying upward to reveal her knees.
Unexpectedly delighted by them, James pauses to pull away and lift her foot in his hand, hearing the warm and affectionate chuckle as he raises the chemise to her thighs and presses his thumb into the arch of her foot and up a very shapely and indecorously tan ankle.
He gives her a kiss on the inside of her knee and the shift goes cascading upward, leaving her bared and vaguely obscene, the material still covering her breasts, arms, and stomach.
They share a smile over this instead of making awkward comments or turning away modestly.
"Perhaps we could rid ourselves of these distractions," she says, curls hanging over her shoulders and legs at lascivious angles, inviting further investigation by eye and hand, as Elizabeth lifts the chemise up inch by inch with a feminine wile of a laugh.
He will not be overmatched, and lowers his lips to her pale stomach, his tongue boldly flickering out to spiral outward until she shrieks. It is a risk, for perhaps no proper young lady would like a technique as questionable as this used upon her person, but Elizabeth has rarely cared for convention when the effects are pleasing.
If her shudder and the urgency of her cries are indicators, the effects are pleasing and she would quite like him to remove his trousers even as her chemise is rucked about her breasts, gapping and billowing about her body.
James is equally pleased to comply as her hands twist into the sheets, anticipation evident in her swollen lips and sparkling eyes watching him.
"May I?" he asks, smoothing down her chemise to expose yet more of Elizabeth.
"You may," she says, no longer arch, but equally desirous for the coupling.
He lifts the material slowly, but not with the same smirking arrogance with which he undid the corset. She raises her arms to assist him with the undressing, and when it is finally accomplished, she favors him with a smile.
"Not so difficult, really," she murmurs as her leg twines about his, rising to meet yet another kiss, her teeth clashing against his as they scrabble against each other in lustful desperation, rolling over and over on the bed until her head hangs off the edge, hair tumbling away as she moans and runs a free hand over his jaw and at the corner of his mouth.
"Anything worth winning is worth earning," he replies, drawing her up and setting her more comfortably against the pillows.
"It's earned," she whispers, and with that benediction, he enters her.
Passionately, her hips meet his, thrust for thrust, determined to show that he has not mastered her even as her cries grow louder and more overtly lascivious, pulling on his hair roughly when he excites her desire, and he is delighted to look into her half-closed eyes, the way her tongue thrashes over her lips when he is not kissing her, the deceptively maidenly flush in her cheeks as her bared breasts thrust forward.
Now overwhelmed with lust and anticipation, Elizabeth's fingers rake over his back, a sheen of sweat on her brow as she arches up again, mewling and crying for release, so close to ecstasy as the breeze ruffles the curtains and brings the scent of hibiscus and papaya into the air, and he is mindful of every way to stimulate her wanting, nibbling on her collarbone, thrusting more deeply and with less consideration...he is as close as she, and the quickness of his breath sends trembles of pleasure throughout her skin.
"Please...oh, please..." she wails.
But her wanton prayers are left unheard.
Elizabeth wakens, the cry caught in her throat. Beside her, Will sleeps still, but aching with some inexpressible longing, she cannot. Quietly, she leaves their bed, her corsetless body shivering not from cold, but from the intensity of her dream.
Commodore Norrington? Of all the people to cuckold Will in her dreams with, how could she find herself with such longing for the straight-laced (and unlaced) officer? And yet Elizabeth could almost wish to linger a moment or two more in her dreams, reach some sort of release before she wakens Will...but will not.
Though some might dispute it, she is, after all, a woman of her word.