The Pirate King Ch. 14

The curses abruptly stopped. I held my breath, waiting. Hoping.

His face filled my vision and I drew in a gasp at the sight of him, the darkness he held. The hunger in his smile. Then his hand was in my hair, pulling my head up and back so hard I cried back.

He pressed his mouth tight to my skin just below my ear. "Oh love," he whispered. "Oh, love. You're so fucking good to me." My head was angled up and so I could only stare at the ceiling, but I felt his other hand slowly make it's way over my body, trailing something cold. Metal. I shuddered and he pulled me even closer to him. "Gonna make this so fucking good for you, baby. Gonna make this so fucking good."

My body was shaking with desire and anticipation, feeling the manacles move their way up my body. So slowly. He pulled back his head so that he was staring into my eyes, holding my gaze as the cold iron pressed lightly over my bicep, then forearm, then -

My eyes rolled up as a shudder passed through my body, the manacles closing around one wrist. I knew the Captain was watching me carefully, but I couldn't control this reaction, this moment of pure anticipation and pleasure. I didn't even think to try and reassure him that it was anything but a good motion, I was so deep within my own enjoyment.

When I could refocus my eyes, I found the Captain looking down at me with a mixture of amusement and lust. I stared into his eyes, feeling him lean up to close the second manacle. At this motion, too, a wave passed through my body, although less intense.

The Captain leaned back. His fingers traced lightly down my face and I turned into them, needed more contact. Needing him. "You okay?" he asked quietly. I could hear the concern in his voice. I could hear the hunger.

I wanted that hunger. I wanted him to consume me. The seas within me were drawing back up, readying themselves to come rushing back in. To crash against him, and I needed him to be ready. My mouth opened on it's own accord, my teeth seeking purchase on the calloused skin of his palm so light against my cheek.

He let me bite at him for a bit, then pulled away. I could feel his arm shaking. "Okay," he told me softly. "Okay."

Then his hand was back in my hair, pulling me up to sitting. He kissed me hard, bruising, for just a moment before he was pushing my head down into the mattress, face first. My body had to twist to accommodate this new position, leading to my ass popping into the air, supported by the knees.

The Captain had my hips in his hand and pressed against the side of his body, steadying me in this new position, almost as quick as I had come into it. He waited until I was no longer in danger of toppling before he released my hair. His hand slid up and over my back until it reached my bottom, where it slowly caressed my ass.

"Want you here." His voice was so dark, so dark. I shuddered to hear it. "Don't you fucking move."

As if I wanted to. As if I could, when he said things like that.

He shifted behind me, using his knees to nudge my knees apart. My heart was beating so fast to feel him behind me, to be so open for him. The sea was coursing through me. I needed him; I needed -

He moved as if he had all the time in the world. A single finger dripped it's way into my crack, starting at the very top and slowly making it's way to where I wanted it, where I needed it. The path felt slick and I knew he had found the jar of lube Val had packed in the trunk as well, but even that knowledge did nothing to make me feel better because he was taking so damn long.

"Sir," I began, but he cut me off instantly.

"Hush." I shuddered at the cold in his voice, at the fire. My fingers worked at the sheets beneath me, my breathing at a rate that could not be sustainable. He was killing me; I loved it. Finally his finger reached my hole, and I tensed to feel the sensation even as I knew I should be relaxing, even as the moment I had been waiting for was finally on me.

He paused for only the briefest of moments before his finger continued it's way down my crack.

"No!" I almost shouted. I couldn't believe he had denied me this. "Sir -"

I was silenced immediately by his hand hitting my ass.

The sound reverberated through my soul; the pain sent my oceans shuddering, crashing. Wonderfully, intoxicatingly on edge and then soothed, at bay, empty, and his hand was already rubbing away the sting and he was saying something but I couldn't hear it past the roar of the ocean settling and he should know that, couldn't hold it against me after he'd gone and done that.

His finger was pressing into the spot just between my balls and my ass, a perfect and terrible sensitivity that was causing me to arch up, moans escaping from my lips. How could he keep me so on edge with only one finger? Of course, it wasn't just his finger. It was the promise that finger held. All the things that were to come, that he was holding back. That he controlled for me. I begged him with my body, keeping my words in the curve of my spine, the quiet gasps that he was pressing out of my throat, the bunching of my shoulders. The way my wrists pressed against my restraints, over and over again.

He dropped a light kiss to the spot just above my spine. "Good," he whispered. And then his finger sunk into my ass.

I cried out. I couldn't remain silent, not when I had finally received from him what I had been needed for so long. For months. I pressed back, wanting more than what he had already given me, and received another sharp smack.

"Impatient," I heard him say through the haze he had shocked me into. "I said don't fucking move."

"Fuck," I think I muttered, and I know he laughed before pressing another finger into my ass.

I held still as well as I could beneath him, but it was so hard, so very difficult with the way he was going so slow, so deliberate. I didn't want deliberate. I wanted everything at once, wanted him to crash against me like my waves were trying to break against him. Instead he kept me right on the edge, giving me perfect glimpses of what could be then moving away, never enough, not enough, fuck I needed more, I needed -

"Baby," I heard him say. He moved his free hand to my hip, holding me tight. His voice dropped low, went so dark I thought I would die.

"Move for me."

I called out my thanks in sounds that I hadn't even known I could make, my hips slamming back. I met him again and again, fucking myself against his hand, driving myself towards my conclusion. I heard him panting and turned to look at him, found him rubbing his cock against my leg in rhythm with my own wanton bucks and it drove me crazy, made me need him more and I was losing myself in the ocean, in his fingers, in the movement and I would have lost myself completely had he not pulled his fingers from my ass completely with a gasp.

I wanted to cry. I think I whimpered, I was so upset, so empty. So needy.

"My love." His hands traveled up my my back until his body was bent over mine, his cock nestling into the crack of my ass. I know I whimpered at that, the feel of his heat so close, such an almost, but he merely sunk his hand into my hair tight and pulled my head back so that I could look at him.

My scalp tingling, my entire back covered in his skin. His cock in my ass. I felt him press his mouth my my ear and moaned, his wet hot breath feeling so much more in this moment than it ever could be.

"So fucking hot," he whispered. I felt his hips twitch and choked at the sensation. "Almost came just from watching you." This time his movement was slower, more deliberate. My head moved on it's own, trying to throw back, to stretch out my body in passion and spread out this amazing sensation through motion but he held me tight. "Wanna see you do that again." The head of his cock slid right over my hole, slick and sensitive and I gasped, nearly crying with need. "Will you do that for me, baby? Will you fuck yourself and let me watch?"

"Fuck me," I begged him, unable to stay quiet any longer. "Oh gods, sir. Please. I need - " He ground his hips again and I lost my words in sounds of pleasure and torment.

He buried his face in my neck. I felt his teeth scrape against my skin and it was so much, so sensitive. He had turned me into one giant nerve, one massive reaction to him, always to him, and when his hips made another motion I began to shake and he tightened his hand in my hair, his teeth biting down hard.

He kept me there for what felt like millenia, his cock passing over my hole, the head of it sometimes catching and I would nearly scream and he would just bite me, or tug at my hair, and continue. I was shaking so badly with need that he eventually stopped and pulled back to take in my face.

Whatever he saw there, it must have convinced him that I was in no pain but for the pain of waiting, of wanting, of flying apart at his every little touch and he must have decided that was fine for the next thing I knew I was falling, my body being pushed to the side.

I lay there on the bed, my weight on my shoulder, my heart in my throat. Just trying to breathe.

"I thought you wanted to fuck, not nap." I turned my head the slightest bit and found the Captain looking down at me with amusement. I tried to shoot him a look of daggers; I don't know how well I succeeded when he had made me so. So.

So.

He leaned down to me. My body reacted to his proximity immediately, shudders breaking out across my entire form. "Get on your back, hands above your head. I wanna make you fuckingscream."

Those words sunk into my skin even as the meaning hit me like lightning, my sensitive soul crackling beneath the full force of his command. Before he had even finished his sentence I was moving, finishing rolling over onto my back, my arms stretched up above my head like I knew he loved, my knees bent and legs spread. I looked down to him through lashes and waited impatiently.

He froze, absolutely froze. His hand had been on his cock, lazily spreading lube over it's length, but now he was still. Still but for his eyes which roved over my body, setting me ablaze, threatening to electrify me.

I shuddered, and that motion seemed to break whatever spell he had been under. He snapped his body forward, a single curse dropping from his lips as he grabbed my hips, lifting them suddenly. I gasped at the movement, then gasped again as he pressed my body into his.

"Fuck," I groaned, my head pressed back against the mattress. My legs wrapped around his back.

"Fuck, what?" he responded, his voice light with amusement but tight, so tight with all the things he needed to do. I would have taken comfort in hearing that he was as affected as I was except I was past that. I couldn't think about anything but the way his skin felt against mine, the way his voice slithered into the base of my spine and made my entire body shake. His hand slipped between my legs, his fingers wrapping around my cock. I felt a drip of precum, long pooling at the tip of my cock, shaken loose from all the things the Captain was, fall onto my stomach.

"Fuck," I whispered, but the Captain let me for he was cursing as well.

"You gonna come?" he asked me. I managed to nod through even as his hand slid up and down my length, threatening to end me.

He leaned down. "Don't."

I pressed my head into the mattress as hard as I could, something mixed between a sob and a moan making its way out of my throat.

The Captain continued his slow ministrations, killing me, making me alive, even as he positioned himself. He held himself ready, cock pressing up against my ass. I could see his breath speeding up, and yet he simply looked down at me, a sort of smirk upon his face.

"Are you sure you're ready?" he finally asked, and I saw that smile, and just.

I think the ocean within me grew tired of waiting. I would have laid back, waited at the edge for him forever, but I was not the only thing to consider in this body. I was the ocean, and the ocean cannot take orders forever. And had he not pressed me to this, had he not sent the sea out, pressed it from it's place with palm and fingers? Displaced an entire ocean?

He should not have been surprised when it came crashing back.

"Fuck!" I shouted, sitting up so suddenly our heads nearly collided. The sea was in my eyes; fuck, the sea was in my everything. I tasted salt water. I heard the ocean waves, felt the tides in my fingertips. My breath was the steady wind; my heartbeat crushed rocks to sand.I was the sea. "Just fucking fuck me already!"

The Captain looked at me, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Looked at me, the sea, held in his hand and his love and pushed to this. Dangerous. Deadly. Directed at him.

He looked at me there, saw me,saw me. And then the infernal man began to laugh.

"Impatient," he whispered into my temple. Night air met salt water and I was churning, churning. He pushed me back, watching me topple, my eyes locked in his, hepushed the sea back into his bed and then the Captain, my perfect Captain, leaned over me. "So fucking impatient."

His lips met mine just as he pushed into me. And I was in bliss.

I needed him so badly I barely registered if there was pain at all. There must have been; he did not go slow. He did not hold back. But all I knew at the time was pleasure, amazing whole-body pleasure stemming from between my legs as he pounded into me, one hand on my chained hands to pull me back again and again as he wanted, the other on my cock keeping rhythm. My legs were locked around him and I pressed my feet into him, trying to drive him deeper, harder. Faster.

When I came it was sudden. A shout shook loose from my throat even as a force ripped through my body. My cock erupted, painting both the Captain's and my stomachs with my cum.

The Captain was right there with me, slamming into me once or twice more as I rode through my own orgasm. Then he pressed deep within me and came before allowing his body to collapse onto mine.

We lay there panting for a moment. The sea slowly receded from my body, leaving me feeling strangely empty. Unfocused.

"Mhhhm." The Captain stirred above me. I felt his lips press against my chest and shuddered; I still felt sensitive. Raw, externally, as if this had taken down barriers I had not even known I had.

I nudged at him so that I could lift my arms up from between us, then resettled them around his shoulders. I felt him sigh at the contact. My hand slowly stroked over his shoulder, feeling his skin. His body. The slight sheen of sweat he wore from pleasuring me.

He rolled his hips from me, putting most of his weight on the bed beside us. His chest remained on mine, his head moving slightly to fit perfectly under my chin. I shivered as his fingers traced lazy circles over the skin of my chest.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Above him, I nodded. I wasn't ready for words yet.

He pushed up to look at me. "Sailor?" He sounded concerned.

I smiled to let him know that everything was okay, everything was perfect. How could it not be, when I had him in my arms. I watched as those dark eyes took in my face, searching. Making sure. A strand of hair fell into his face and I automatically reached to brush it away, only to find my hand's path stopped by the oppressive tug of steel. I turned to stare balefully at the manacles that kept me from my love's touch.

The Captain looked to see what had caught my attention and laughed. "Okay. Let's get those off." He slipped from between my arms, and then I was empty, truly empty.

I made a small noise then. It was the same noise I had made earlier in the night for the Captain, the one I had not recognized, but this time there was no lust mixed in to dilute the true meaning. Only abandonment. I still did not, would not, recognize it, but the Captain perhaps did for he froze where he was and looked down to me, concern and wonder clear on his face.

"Love," he whispered. "I'll be right back." He was moving as he spoke, getting further away. More distant. "It's just for a moment."

It felt like millenia. I curled up on the bed as I waited, mourning the loss of him.

"My love." His voice was soft. Gentle. I let it fall over me like warmth, like a sunset. Trust, trust and understanding. He would always come back to me. I always would need to come back to him. He was the sun; I was the sea. I allowed him to uncurl my body to reach my manacled hands, to free me from their influence. Then those hands were on him, pulling him into my arms. Wrapping him up in me.

He indulged me in this, allowing me to bury my face into the back of his head, my lips at the base of his spine. I fit him to me, guiding his hips to mine, his knees bending over mine, his back to my chest. I breathed him in until I was filled once more, until his air was the atmosphere and I was back at the pressure at which I should exist.

My fingers were now the ones tracing circles on his chest. I felt the way that shook shivers loose down his spine and smiled into his hair. "You're shaking," I murmured, feeling the way his words in my mouth did nothing at all to make him stop but instead caused a shudder of their own. "Too much?"

"No," came the immediate reply. I traced another circle. Then; "Maybe."

I paused for a beat. A breath. When he didn't continue, I lifted myself up so that I could look down at him. His hair was falling all over his face, making him hard to see.

"Love?" I asked gently.

"It was just. A lot."

"Always is," I reminded him. I remembered the way I had become the sea before him. Was he remembering that? Did that memory, when not in the heat of the moment, feel different against his skin?

Was he afraid of me?

"Was it me?" I asked him softly. "Was I too much?"

"What?" he turned to me, surprise clear in his face. "No, no, it was.I was."

My fingers brushed his hair from his face, uncovering those brows I knew so well, drawn close together. Carrying something I didn't understand. There was something in his voice, something that made me unsettled. "Love," I said, asking of him what was really the only thing that mattered, "are you alright?"

"Yeah. Of course." He bit his lip, pausing for a moment. When his eyes met mine again, he was looking through his lashes nearly bashfully. "I'm sorry I hit you."

I smiled down at him. "Don't be. I enjoyed it."

"I." There was something on his face, something more than what our conversation contained. I let him sort it out, but I did reach and take his hand to let him know I was there. My thumb passed lightly over his calloused palm, gentling him. Reminding him. I felt him relax at the contact. "I just don't like hitting people. You, especially. Like that the most."

"Like that?"

"Like." He shifted. "Like, as part of sex."

I couldn't help but be amused to see him so uncomfortable speaking of something he had done so fantastically, so exuberantly just moments before. "Why not?"

He shifted again. There was a long stretch of silence where he didn't look at me. When he did, my heart nearly stopped. His eyes looked like he was afraid, nervous. His face held things I had not seen since that night he had been drunk, had hoped to never see again. "I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it."

"Okay." My hand squeezed his lightly. That expression had no place on his face, not anymore. Not ever. And especially not when he was with me. I would kill every being who had ever had the insolence, the idiocy, theaudacity to even think of making my love look like that. "Okay."

His hand squeezed mine back. It was enough, that simple touch, to press the violence of the sea from my soul.

This man. My love. My soul.

"I'm sorry," he was saying again, and that wasn't right, wasn't right at all so I quickly dropped down to press a kiss to his forehead, hoping to press out all the things he held bunched there in his brows.