The Briar and The Rose: Chapter Eight
“I don’t want to!” Evie insisted and a scowl contorted Barbossa’s face.
“Ye’ll do as ye are bid, wench!” He growled, his voice a soft purr that skimmed the hairs of her neck. But blow it all, he wasn’t her husband and she not his property and she was feeling sorely weary of his domineering air. Since when had he got the idea his coin purchased her deeds beyond the bedroom anyhow? So she pouted, crossed her arms hard across her breast and flounced over to the fireplace where she the jut of her chin was stubborn and the flare of her nostrils sheer bold-faced defiance.
A great dark frown creased Barbossa’s countenance, pulling the corners of his mouth downwards, bearing hard on his brows as though they were weighted and he unfolded his long body from the chair, to stand in an attitude of looming tension, shoulders scooped forward and hands in loose fists at his side. He said nothing more but stood and stared at her and between him and the fire she grew more than a little uneasy.
“What you want me to do it for?” Her voice was a trifle desperate. “What good can I be? And what will you do, with me off like that, with nowt to entertain you up ‘ere?”
“If I feel the need for company, I’ll procure the services of Giselle” he retorted and oh, that stung sharply indeed and she felt certain that he’d said it deliberately, that he saw deep into her despite all pretensions not to and she grew more tormented.
“That Sparrow is a thief is what ‘e is!” she burst out. “’Ow would it seem to the other blighters if I took back a thievin’ customer? They’d all think they could pull a fast one on me! I won’t fuckin’ do it, no not even if you beat the brains from me, you great brute!” And now she even stomped her foot and half expected the temper she’d seen flare up infrequent to lead him to do just that - well had he not made allusions to beating whores before?
But he did not fly at her from across the room, but merely settled his face into a neutral expression, raising a hand to his hip.
“Is it more gold ye want?”
Why were men such bleeding fools! “Just because I’m a whore doesn’t mean all things can be bought of me!” she shrieked and slammed her fist into the mantle in a fit of temper that much resembled his a day or so prior. A candlestick toppled and hit the mantle with a clunk. His eyebrows darted all the way up his brow but a little chuckle escaped his lips when she winced and nursed her smarting hand. Striding over to her, he took her hand gently between his own and laid a warm kiss upon it, rubbing it softly between his calloused palms.
“Now, now,” he soothed. “’Tis for me that ye be doin’ it after all. Don’t vex yeself so, for it grieves me to see ye in such a temper, hair all on end and face aflush. I would much rather, as it were, see ye so dishevelled beneath me.” With one hand he pushed her hair back off her face and cupped her cheek in his palm. “I have lost much and have much to regain - and the truth of it is, I couldn’t do it with ye, tendin’ to me as ye did or now, in what I ask ye to do. My wee treasure - my little Evie.” He pulled her against him, muffling her fast against his chest and she closed her eyes tight shut at the feel of him, the firmness of his body. And how rarely he spoke her name - it was always wench, missy or whore. How rarely Evie. She stretched her arms about him, feeling the slender, strong arc of his back swell with each inhalation and how lovely it was to feel him so great and strong - next to her petiteness, he was broad and large and there was some delicious comfort to being lost amidst the folds of his clothes, that tang of sweat, alcohol, brine and apples that so defined him filling her senses. She felt her resolve flounder. “Will ye not help a man wretched and ruined?” He continued softly, stooping so that his lips might dance sweetly over her hair. And she knew what her answer was to be.
Tortuga blazed and crackled with the jesting and laughter of a thousand delirious souls. The pouring of rum, the chink of coins, the clang of swords all swirled together and melded with the grunts of copulating couples, the crack of pistol fire and the bang and crash of inebriated instruments to form some chaotic symphony that rent the moist dark night in several places, like a whore’s stockings caught on rusty nails.
Evie sat upon an enormous barrel outside of one tavern, legs dangling over the sides and drinking in the cacophony of visions that surrounded her. Men brawled, men sang, men supported each other’s drunken bodies, men wept and embraced each other, men belched and embraced a whore, men tipped back their heads and emptied great tankards down their throats. The nights were beginning to get dryer again and her dress was of the thinnest pale yellow with silk flowers dressed in her curls and her lips a deep carmine. She looked pretty and fresh and shuffled her card deck expertly, crossing her shapely ankles over each other so that they were turned most attractively for those that passed and so high did she sit that those ankles were near on eyelevel to all.
But Evie was careful not to make eyes at any one fellow in particular, because it was one fellow in particular that she waited for. And soon enough, he came, squeezing out from between the bodies that crowded the tavern door, rather like, Evie thought to herself, a cockroach from the cracks in a wall.
Evie riffled her card deck loudly, the sound like a peal of gunshots and called out to her target as he lurched past:
“Fancy a tumble, Jackie boy?”
Sparrow whirled on his heel and eyed the young whore up and down inquisitively; his gaze going from her cards, to her bosom, which strained the laces of her bodice considerably, and then back to her cards again.
“Of which sort do you speak, young Missy?”
She winked, her eyes sparkling in the lantern light. “Whatever sort you fancy, my fine fellow.”
“Well.” Jack clicked his tongue and paced deliberately towards the barrel. “This is a turn of affairs.”
Evie wrinkled her nose and tossed back her hair. “What d’you mean? We’re all squared up now, remember? I’ve no objection to a little sport with you, whether it be upon the card table, or under it as it were.” And she smiled, small square teeth bared.
Sparrow hovered a moment, eyes turned upwards to her, an attitude of deep consideration upon him. Bronzed skin, missing teeth, matted hair, all that and yet there was still an edge of naivety upon him that Evie had long ago lost. But she could sniff it upon others and what she sniffed upon Jack now was youthful romanticism. Captain he might call himself, but he was every bit as green as the exuberant deckhands on their first voyage and all swept up in the possibility of the enormous, roiling green garden of the sea. Evie clucked, shook her head tittering.
“Never mind then, lad. Off you go to safer company.” And turned back to her cards. So of course, Sparrow flicked her a couple of coins and offered her his arm.
Barbossa had deserted her room, that they could conduct their business in private and for a moment she pondered where it could be he had retreated to, what hot and boozy corner of Tortuga he now entertained himself in. Perhaps he was with what remained of his crew - Bo’sun, and a few others - or perhaps he had done as he threatened, and gone off with Giselle. Her face grew hot to think of it. If he must make sport with another, did it have to be a pal of hers? But Sparrow had put his dirty boots up on the bed and she darted over to knock them off.
“Oy! Careful there! You ain’t movin’ in, you know!” Picking up a bottle of rum from the sideboard she hid the grimace on her face and sat down besides Sparrow who moved to put his arm about her shoulders.
“So what game are we to be playin’ then? I’m a dab hand at almost any sort you care to name!” And he smiled in what he must have thought was a seductive manner.
Evie thrust the rum bottle in his hand and urged him to drink. “’Ow would a boy like yourself know the kind of games a woman most enjoys, eh?” Her tone was teasing, her eye glittered and Sparrow feigned insult, accepting the rum. “I’ve a few years on you, young strumpet and I wager a mite more mileage as well; though that’d be a close one I admit.” And chugged heartily of the rum. Evie scoffed and tossed her hair, leaning back upon her elbows, knowing that in this position her breasts were most prettily displayed and her pelvis tilted forwards.
“You know what I reckon? I reckon you’re nothing more than the son of a swell what didn’t like taking orders for your pa and nicked off with ‘is ship!”
Sparrow joined her against the pillows, head resting upon an elbow, rum bottle clenched in other hand and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Not so bright as your eyes, then, love. I’ve been about the world long enough to learn things that’d make even your toes curl.”
And Evie goaded him further, ensuring his tongue was further whetted not just by her teasings but by the rum she continued to supply in abundance and Jack Sparrow grew more and more loquacious and less and less cautious with Evie removing not much more than a stocking, and unbuttoning her bodice, until finally they came upon the topic that Barbossa wanted most to know about.
“It’s not a ghost story!” Jack protested and Evie scorned him. “Oh it is, Jackie boy, don’t try and be tricky with me!”
“It’s not!” He insisted and gestured for more rum, which she swiftly provided. “I swear upon my honour that every word is true. Well, except for all that curse nonsense. But I’m tellin’ you, right now love, the Isla de Muerta is a real place and there is a real treasure upon it and mark my words, my fine sweetheart, your humble Captain Sparrow is goin’ to find it and then he is goin’ to be a very. Wealthy. Man.” He punctuated his final word with another gulp of the liquor and then squared a challenging look at Evie as though to dare her to contradict him. Evie guffawed and whacked Sparrow upon the arm. “’Ow are you supposed to find an Island what nobody can find unless they already know where it is, eh?”
“Ah!” Jack held up a finger and looked triumphant. “Ah ah ah! Precisely. As it so happens, I already know where it is!”
Evie stopped at that and eyed the intrepid young Captain curiously. “Do you now? And ‘ow did you ‘appen to come by that piece of information?”
Sparrow went to answer and then halted mid-gasp, as though thinking twice. “A gift. From a friend. Close friend. “
Evie raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips at Jack. “Someone gave you the location as a gift?”
Sparrow looked almost imperceptibly shifty. “Aye, aye love. And now I be seekin’ a crew to sail with me to said Island and claim the grand treasure for ourselves, so that we might retire as gentlemen and live the rest of our lives enjoyin’ the spoils. A good plan, is it not?”
Evie rolled back, looking hard into Sparrow’s eyes and grasped the rum bottle, taking a generous swig for herself. “’Ave you ‘ad much luck?”
Sparrow’s eyeballs slid left. Then up. Then back down. “No.” He admitted finally. “Not so many as wants to shail after an unknown treasure with an unknown Captain as it happens. Nincompoops, the lot of ‘em.”
“So this treasure,” Evie pondered. “Is a chest fill to brim with solid gold pieces - close to a thousand of ‘em, you reckon - and it’s on a far off island and ‘as been for close to two ‘undred years without no one seein’ ‘ide nor ‘air of it, and your plan is to go after it with a rum bunch of scallywags and snatch it all up.”
“Aye!” Sparrow grinned drunkenly and jerking his head in discombobulated fashion. “Aye, that be about the shum of it. “
Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head at the fellow. “You’re a nutter, Jack Sparrow, and there’s no doubt about that. You givin’ the lads any sort of guarantee?”
Jack looked insulted and snatched the rum bottle back. “What guarantee is there, young Missy, when one chooses to shail upon the seas? The only guarantee is that the sea will alwaysh be there, whether fierce, calm, kind or cruel, and that to sail upon her you musht be an adventurer! That’sh what I seek! Adventurersh!” Jack’s head was beginning to loll and his words increasingly difficult to articulate. “Or there’s no point in shailing with Captain Jack Shparrow!” He managed with a Herculean effort to draw the bottle up to his lips once more and took a sip. “Now, are you adventurer enough to board my ship, young Mishy, for my masht is shtandi -ng - very - sh -“ and quite suddenly, he was unconscious upon the bed, the rum bottle hugged tight against his chest. Evie leant over the prostrated form and slapped him about the face a bit - not taking much care to be gentle. Sparrow didn’t stir. A thoughtful look upon her face, Evie refastened her garments, drew out her card deck, and waited.
It was not so long before she heard a faint footfall on the stairwell beyond and not long after that it grew louder until it trod finally upon the landing. She could tell by the sound and weight of the steps that it were a man out there and sure enough, a moment later, her door was opened and Barbossa let himself in.
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly to see Sparrow still there but Evie merely shrugged and gestured with her head to the rum bottle. Barbossa’s following grin was sly.
“Did he have ye?” Was not the first question Evie had expected to hear, but she concealed her surprise by looking down to her cards.
“Does it matter?”
She felt him frown, as though the change in his expression altered the air about them, and felt a grim satisfaction. Let him wonder!
“Did ye learn anythin’ of use to me, then, wench?” His tone was sour and so she raised herself from the bed and went to the sideboard, pouring him a generous glass of wine and delivering to his hands with a bright smile and an eager kiss.
“The Island is called Isla de Muerta and apparently it can’t be found ‘cept by those what already knows where it is - and Sparrow just ‘appens to ‘ave a very good friend what does and was nice enough to share with ‘im. As to why the friend ‘asn’t gone after the treasure themselves, ‘e was mum to that. It’s a treasure all right, just as you thought, but not the usual sort. It’s gold of the Aztecs, close to a thousand pieces of it if you believe ‘im - not that I’d be quick to - ” and she shot the unconscious Sparrow a glare, “ - and all of it untouched for years and years.”
Barbossa grinned and took two or three steps closer to the bed to gaze critically at Sparrow. “Now, that be a far elaborated version of what he’s been goin’ about town with.”
“Oh, and apparently,” Evie piped in, pouring a glass of wine for herself, “the treasure is all cursed. If you take it, you’re damned. Damned to endless existence, whatever that means.”
Barbossa cocked a brow and his lips contorted in amusement. “Is that so? He most certainly has been leavin’ that part of the tale out.”
“’E didn’t rate it much.” Evie joined Barbossa by the bed, gazing disdainfully down at the snoring pirate. “Apparantly was put upon the gold by the Aztec Gods as punishment to all peoples what wasn’t Aztec. Somethin’ to do with some Spaniard what vexed ‘em.”
Barbossa lifted a hand to the back of Evie’s neck and stroked her there. “Good lass.”
“What do you reckon?”
“I know nowt of those Gods or in what ways they work, but I’d be inclined to believe it’s more than a little fancy on the fool’s part - told to impress a whore who’d loosened his tongue. A long-vanished treasure, or so he claimed in Trinidad, of impressive quantity. A thousand pieces is certainly impressive. But what concerns me - where my interest truly lies - is with his ship. “
Barbossa’s eyes glittered and Evie felt a shiver down her spine as she watched him gaze so intently at Sparrow. It brought to mind that cat and mouse business again, to see him with such a look of dangerous concentration on his face. It thrilled and frightened her at once.
“Sparrow might not be a name renowned, but his ship be known as something of a legend. ” He whispered. “The Black Pearl. It be the true treasure here.”
And as he towered over the bed, his shadow cast dark over Sparrow’s form, the latter suddenly opened his eyes and regained consciousness. He squinted at Barbossa at first then his eyes widened with a vague alarm - and some sort of weary familiarity - and he made a pawing grab for his sword. Unfortunately, he had unbuckled it upon first entering Evie’s room and it lay now on the chair at her dresser. Sheepishly, he grinned, seeming to mistake Barbossa’s solemn expression for fury, and raised an explanatory finger.
“I’m not shure if yer aware of thish, mate,” Jack slurred. “But your shtrumpet ish a whore. Hate to be the bearer of bad newsh, but if your going to evisherate me, then ash a point of honor, you ought to evisherate all of her previoush clientele. And ash that would be imposhible; it ish only jusht you shpare me ash well. Mm?”
Much to Jack’s visible confusion, Barbossa merely threw back his head and laughed. “Do I look the sort of man who’s wench would have one over on?” He demanded of Sparrow, who cowered back against the coverlet before managing another grin as the situation did not descend into the violent blood bath he evidently thought awaited him. “Evie, my treasure, the lad and I here be needin’ another drink.”
Knowing enough to know she was no longer part of the game, Evie scurried off obediently to fetch another bottle of rum whilst Barbossa hauled her chair over to the side of the bed, and Jack lurched upwards, one hand fumbling in his messy locks.
“’Ave we met?” He bewilderingly queried of Barbossa, squinting hard upon him in the dim candle glow - Evie’s candles were burnt almost to their wick. Barbossa merely smiled charmingly and took the glass of rum Evie proffered. “Not that I can recall.” He replied, and took a long draught. Jack looked woozily at his glass as though seriously contemplating whether or not to chance it. By then Barbossa had finished his and held out his glass for a top up.
“Come on, lad!” He commanded Jack. “Drink! Ye be in port. Is that not occasion to make merry, even for a beardless boy as yeself?”
Jack winced and managed a half-smile before forcing himself to down a good half of his rum. Evie could not help but enjoy his discomfort. Barbossa thrust out a hand to Sparrow and requested the honour of knowing who he drank with.
“Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service.” Jack managed a flourish with his introduction, as though his full title were not one he could grow weary of sharing. “May I have the honour of knowin’ same then?”
“Ca - Barbossa.” Barbossa finished shortly and drank again. Jack frowned, his dark brows meeting almost in the centre.
“Barbossa, eh? Well, I mayn’t of met you, but I have heard of you. Weren’t you of late a Captain of a great ship?”
Evie could see the stiff tremor that ran down Hector’s neck and gripped his shoulders, but he continued to smile and shrugged his shoulders as though to say Ah!
“A man of the sea knows how quick the winds change. And change for me they did. “
Jack tipped his glass in Barbossa’s direction. “Well I’m sorry to be hearin’ that.”
Barbossa nodded and tipped his own glass. “Thank ye.” And together they drank. Evie could not help but notice that now all whisper of danger was past, Jack seemed to have recovered mighty swift from his severe state of drunkenness. Rum bugger. Once finished, Barbossa gestured to Evie who went to him and was pulled upon his knee and there she was nestled with one of his calloused palms sliding comfortably into her bodice.
Seeing their intimacy, Sparrow grew nervous again and hastened to exclaim: “I want you to know, mate, that nothin’ transpired between the young lady here and I, nothin’ but a bit of friendly conversation, as it were. “ He grinned ingratiatingly and nodded at Evie. “Isn’t that right, love?”
And Barbossa’s sharply amused eyes slid to her. “Is that so, m’love?”
Evie tried not to pout at her secret betrayed. “You passed out afore anythin’ could!” She snapped at Sparrow and felt the rumble of Barbossa’s chuckle reverberate through her. Blast that Sparrow! She turned her back on his as much as she could in her snug position and let her fingers play in Barbossa’s beard. Where her thigh swelled to meet her hip she could feel the stirrings of his organ and wondered if it were her touch or her humiliation that so roused him.
“And what is it for you now, Barbossa, if your ship is lost to the depths?” Jack conveniently at once opened the door for Barbossa and sealed his own fate. Barbossa took care to treat the enquiry casually, lifting his shoulders.
“What I be seekin’ now is a new opportunity - though Captain no more, a man of the sea I still be. Nay, but I must be resigned to humble myself as a crew man to another Captain, take me loses as I would me winnin’s. It would not see me swiftly ascend the ranks if I sit idle upon land, now would it, Mr Sparrow?”
“No, indeed.” Jack agreed. “And have you procured yourself this other Captain then, eh?”
Barbossa scowled in distaste and shifted Evie upon his lap, the better that she might rub against his cock. “I much regret to say I have not, Sparrow. The Captains in this miserable pit - they lack vision. Seek nothin’ more than to go over paltry merchant ships to take their spoils in spices and silks. How would I ever to be affordin’ a new ship if all I’ve got to show for me service is silver spoons and watch fobs, mm?”
“How indeed!” Sparrow waved his arms about and gulped down another drink hastily. He was well drunk and betraying his mounting excitement in spite of himself. “I can entirely sympathise, my friend. I happen to be seekin’ out a crew at this very moment and find myself plagued by much the same trouble: lack of vision!”
Barbossa raised his chin to Jack and his eyebrows darted up delicately. “Is that so.”
“Aye. It is.” Sparrow noted his cup was empty and waggled it queryingly at Evie who rolled her eyes and leaned over to refill it with the rum bottle she kept close by. “A great opportunity I offer them, a chance for adventure such as the likes of which they’ve never known and what do they do? Belch and pass out! It’s a tragedy, it is.”
Barbossa smiled and stroked Evie’s hair, his other hand still cupping her breast. “What opportunity is this then, lad?”
And Jack recounted the tale of the Isla de Muerta. He neglected to mention the Curse; though whether that was so as not to seem dissuasive, or because he thought nothing of it, Evie could not say.
Barbossa nodded as though impressed at the close of the tale. “Sounds like it be a right pretty pot ye be goin’ after, Sparrow. The sort ye could use a man with twenty-seven years experience on the sea for.”
“Well, see here Barbossa!” Jack exclaimed, as though the idea had only just come to him. “Why don’t you join me on my venture and we’ll split the treasure equal like - ought to be more than enough for you to procure your own ship once more or at least get a ruddy good start about it - and I wouldn’t insult your ample experience than offer anythin’ less than First Mate. What say you to that then?”
Barbossa bared his teeth in a grin. Jack did not know that grin; but Evie did. It was wicked as a shark’s. “Ye know, Jack, if I take up with ye, others will be more inclined to as well. I dare say I can convince enough to give ye not less than a full, able-bodied crew.”
And Evie knew, that somewhere out in the stinking hot night, the Bo’sun waited to hear from Barbossa.
Jack’s grin was all shameless charm. “Why, I’d be honoured to set sail with a fellow whose reputation stands as yours does, then Barbossa.”
Barbossa’s smile had faded to a mere twinge upon his lips and he held Jack’s eyes for a long moment before offering his hand over Evie’s body. “Then, we have an accord.”
“Indeed we do!” and Jack shook firmly.
And though she knew it was what Barbossa had wanted, still Evie could not help but feel in that handshake portended something decidedly unsettling.
Later, when Sparrow had departed, lurching in a sway that left Evie wondering if he’d make it through the night to Captain the Pearl in one piece, she clattered away the empty bottles into a corner of her room - all the evidence of the bargain that had been struck there that night, and a humble whore’s room it might be but that bargain had reeked of a disquieting significance - and stripped wearily down to her chemise, laying her hair ornaments amongst a cluttered rainbow of others on her dresser. Barbossa returned, having walked Sparrow out to the streets below, one firm hand about the lad’s shoulder, chuckling to himself with no small ounce of smugness.
“We’ll be leavin’ on the morrow!” Barbossa declared.
“Already?” Evie bit her tongue at the plaintiveness that had escaped into her voice.
“Aye, wench, afore the sun has finished risin’. I meet with me Bo’sun before dawn, he’ll gather together what was left from the Siren and more besides - more than enough of a crew for Captain Jack Sparrow!” He spat these last words with vicious mockery and kicked his boots off. His knee was slowly beginning to heal and he moved a great deal easier than he had two days ago. Evie crossed by him to the sideboard for her gin, but did not lift her gaze to look at him. There was an uneasiness she could not shake from her shoulders, no matter how big a gulp of gin she took to send a shiver through her. Barbossa’s arms slipped about her waist from behind and his lips found her neck, kissing her there softly, and again. He kissed his way up to her ear, where his hot breath brought gooseflesh up on her neck, and then down again, his hands sliding upwards to first cup and then fondle her breasts. Evie moaned and pushed against him, feeling his erectness dig into the small of her back. Barbossa’s mouth, lips, teeth continued to assail her flesh as his hands pulled her chemise downwards, baring her breasts and she arched her back in response to the feeling of rough skin sliding against her own softness. He whirled her around to crush her against him, grasping her arms tight and kissing her hard. In that kiss she felt a piece of herself crumble, plummet downwards into a darkness where there was nothing but the sensation of his lips upon her own, kissing her lips numb, then fiery, then bruised, his tongue darting about hers, his teeth nipping her lightly as the fancy took him. He lifted her chemise up and over her head then stretched her out onto the bed and covered her body with his own, his hands pinning her wrists to the bed above her head, his mouth seeking out her nipples and playing upon them until they grew so tender she thought she climax from that alone. Her cunny was alive and throbbing and she rubbed it against his stomach in the ache to get some relief but still he continued to tease her. She writhed beneath him and felt herself grow wetter until the coverlet beneath her was slick with her juices. Finally, he left her breasts and his lips blazed a trail downwards, down to where her sex opened to him like a ripe fruit, hot and swollen and his tongue darted as tormentingly as could be. So long had she waited for him to give her some satisfaction that the merest flicker of his tongue sparked a thousand little flames of pleasure and within a few quick strokes she climaxed violently and with noisy enjoyment. Rising up onto his knees, Barbossa watched the last tremors of her pleasure pass through her, unbuttoning his pants and withdrawing his cock, long and thick and exactly the thing Evie needed most now. He stroked it a few times in an idle fashion though it was hard as could be, gazing down at her spread-eagled beneath him before placing his hands upon her thighs and spreading her even wider then driving into her one hard, firm stroke. She gasped at the pleasure of it, to be taking forcefully without mindless brutality, to be taken properly without faltering ineffectualness. She grasped his arms and squeezed the muscles there, enjoying the mingled expression of fervour and ecstasy on his face as he fucked her. Her breasts bounced with the rhythm of his rutting and he bent over far enough to grasp one nipple between his teeth, biting until she squealed. He withdrew, turned her over onto her knees and entered her purposefully in this fashion, grasping her hips, a grunt punctuating his every thrust. It felt good to be fucked so vigorously, so assuredly, to be devoured whole from within and she let herself slump forward and enjoy the sensation. From here he could drive into her more deeply and more roughly and soon all that was left of her were her hips where his fingertips dug, her arse and her cunny, consumed with a fiery sort of bliss. She swooned into the coverlet and let herself be fucked into oblivion, moaning only when one of his hands left her hips to grasp first her shoulder, then knot itself in her hair and his pounding grew harder still and gasps were coming from him now, quiet, swallowed but still there, bursting from his lips until finally, driving against her so hard she thought her hips might shatter, he came in one low growl and she felt the pulse of his spendings within her and closed her eyes in satisfaction, moving one hand between her legs so that she might gently stroke her swollen sex.
He did not withdraw from her immediately, but played his hands upon her back, lifting her hair up and off her neck, running his hands down her spine, stroking her shoulders. It was lovely, this gentleness, after the aggression of his rutting and she remained very still, and smiled to herself. For some long moments he petted her gently until, with an aching groan, he pulled away and stretched out on the mattress next to her. She edged closer to him so that she might lay her head upon his chest and he encircled her with his arms, his eyes shut and a short sigh escaping from his lips to dart up to the canopy above them. If only every fuck were like that! She thought, and though she was sore it had been sorely worth it and a right good note to part on. The long night of drinking, of scheming, of fucking finally began to take their toll upon Evie and her head grew heavy and delirious with the need to sleep. Just as she felt herself begin to slip under, Barbossa roused himself, sitting up so quickly she grew giddy by the disruption and wondered what he was about.
“There be but a scant few hours left to this night, wench.” He barked and fetched her deck of cards from the sideboard. “Get some of yer beloved coca leaf into your cheek and chew heartily. Ye’ll learn this well before I depart.”
And with what was left of that hot and muddled night, he taught her how to cheat.
“Ye’ll do as ye are bid, wench!” He growled, his voice a soft purr that skimmed the hairs of her neck. But blow it all, he wasn’t her husband and she not his property and she was feeling sorely weary of his domineering air. Since when had he got the idea his coin purchased her deeds beyond the bedroom anyhow? So she pouted, crossed her arms hard across her breast and flounced over to the fireplace where she the jut of her chin was stubborn and the flare of her nostrils sheer bold-faced defiance.
A great dark frown creased Barbossa’s countenance, pulling the corners of his mouth downwards, bearing hard on his brows as though they were weighted and he unfolded his long body from the chair, to stand in an attitude of looming tension, shoulders scooped forward and hands in loose fists at his side. He said nothing more but stood and stared at her and between him and the fire she grew more than a little uneasy.
“What you want me to do it for?” Her voice was a trifle desperate. “What good can I be? And what will you do, with me off like that, with nowt to entertain you up ‘ere?”
“If I feel the need for company, I’ll procure the services of Giselle” he retorted and oh, that stung sharply indeed and she felt certain that he’d said it deliberately, that he saw deep into her despite all pretensions not to and she grew more tormented.
“That Sparrow is a thief is what ‘e is!” she burst out. “’Ow would it seem to the other blighters if I took back a thievin’ customer? They’d all think they could pull a fast one on me! I won’t fuckin’ do it, no not even if you beat the brains from me, you great brute!” And now she even stomped her foot and half expected the temper she’d seen flare up infrequent to lead him to do just that - well had he not made allusions to beating whores before?
But he did not fly at her from across the room, but merely settled his face into a neutral expression, raising a hand to his hip.
“Is it more gold ye want?”
Why were men such bleeding fools! “Just because I’m a whore doesn’t mean all things can be bought of me!” she shrieked and slammed her fist into the mantle in a fit of temper that much resembled his a day or so prior. A candlestick toppled and hit the mantle with a clunk. His eyebrows darted all the way up his brow but a little chuckle escaped his lips when she winced and nursed her smarting hand. Striding over to her, he took her hand gently between his own and laid a warm kiss upon it, rubbing it softly between his calloused palms.
“Now, now,” he soothed. “’Tis for me that ye be doin’ it after all. Don’t vex yeself so, for it grieves me to see ye in such a temper, hair all on end and face aflush. I would much rather, as it were, see ye so dishevelled beneath me.” With one hand he pushed her hair back off her face and cupped her cheek in his palm. “I have lost much and have much to regain - and the truth of it is, I couldn’t do it with ye, tendin’ to me as ye did or now, in what I ask ye to do. My wee treasure - my little Evie.” He pulled her against him, muffling her fast against his chest and she closed her eyes tight shut at the feel of him, the firmness of his body. And how rarely he spoke her name - it was always wench, missy or whore. How rarely Evie. She stretched her arms about him, feeling the slender, strong arc of his back swell with each inhalation and how lovely it was to feel him so great and strong - next to her petiteness, he was broad and large and there was some delicious comfort to being lost amidst the folds of his clothes, that tang of sweat, alcohol, brine and apples that so defined him filling her senses. She felt her resolve flounder. “Will ye not help a man wretched and ruined?” He continued softly, stooping so that his lips might dance sweetly over her hair. And she knew what her answer was to be.
Tortuga blazed and crackled with the jesting and laughter of a thousand delirious souls. The pouring of rum, the chink of coins, the clang of swords all swirled together and melded with the grunts of copulating couples, the crack of pistol fire and the bang and crash of inebriated instruments to form some chaotic symphony that rent the moist dark night in several places, like a whore’s stockings caught on rusty nails.
Evie sat upon an enormous barrel outside of one tavern, legs dangling over the sides and drinking in the cacophony of visions that surrounded her. Men brawled, men sang, men supported each other’s drunken bodies, men wept and embraced each other, men belched and embraced a whore, men tipped back their heads and emptied great tankards down their throats. The nights were beginning to get dryer again and her dress was of the thinnest pale yellow with silk flowers dressed in her curls and her lips a deep carmine. She looked pretty and fresh and shuffled her card deck expertly, crossing her shapely ankles over each other so that they were turned most attractively for those that passed and so high did she sit that those ankles were near on eyelevel to all.
But Evie was careful not to make eyes at any one fellow in particular, because it was one fellow in particular that she waited for. And soon enough, he came, squeezing out from between the bodies that crowded the tavern door, rather like, Evie thought to herself, a cockroach from the cracks in a wall.
Evie riffled her card deck loudly, the sound like a peal of gunshots and called out to her target as he lurched past:
“Fancy a tumble, Jackie boy?”
Sparrow whirled on his heel and eyed the young whore up and down inquisitively; his gaze going from her cards, to her bosom, which strained the laces of her bodice considerably, and then back to her cards again.
“Of which sort do you speak, young Missy?”
She winked, her eyes sparkling in the lantern light. “Whatever sort you fancy, my fine fellow.”
“Well.” Jack clicked his tongue and paced deliberately towards the barrel. “This is a turn of affairs.”
Evie wrinkled her nose and tossed back her hair. “What d’you mean? We’re all squared up now, remember? I’ve no objection to a little sport with you, whether it be upon the card table, or under it as it were.” And she smiled, small square teeth bared.
Sparrow hovered a moment, eyes turned upwards to her, an attitude of deep consideration upon him. Bronzed skin, missing teeth, matted hair, all that and yet there was still an edge of naivety upon him that Evie had long ago lost. But she could sniff it upon others and what she sniffed upon Jack now was youthful romanticism. Captain he might call himself, but he was every bit as green as the exuberant deckhands on their first voyage and all swept up in the possibility of the enormous, roiling green garden of the sea. Evie clucked, shook her head tittering.
“Never mind then, lad. Off you go to safer company.” And turned back to her cards. So of course, Sparrow flicked her a couple of coins and offered her his arm.
Barbossa had deserted her room, that they could conduct their business in private and for a moment she pondered where it could be he had retreated to, what hot and boozy corner of Tortuga he now entertained himself in. Perhaps he was with what remained of his crew - Bo’sun, and a few others - or perhaps he had done as he threatened, and gone off with Giselle. Her face grew hot to think of it. If he must make sport with another, did it have to be a pal of hers? But Sparrow had put his dirty boots up on the bed and she darted over to knock them off.
“Oy! Careful there! You ain’t movin’ in, you know!” Picking up a bottle of rum from the sideboard she hid the grimace on her face and sat down besides Sparrow who moved to put his arm about her shoulders.
“So what game are we to be playin’ then? I’m a dab hand at almost any sort you care to name!” And he smiled in what he must have thought was a seductive manner.
Evie thrust the rum bottle in his hand and urged him to drink. “’Ow would a boy like yourself know the kind of games a woman most enjoys, eh?” Her tone was teasing, her eye glittered and Sparrow feigned insult, accepting the rum. “I’ve a few years on you, young strumpet and I wager a mite more mileage as well; though that’d be a close one I admit.” And chugged heartily of the rum. Evie scoffed and tossed her hair, leaning back upon her elbows, knowing that in this position her breasts were most prettily displayed and her pelvis tilted forwards.
“You know what I reckon? I reckon you’re nothing more than the son of a swell what didn’t like taking orders for your pa and nicked off with ‘is ship!”
Sparrow joined her against the pillows, head resting upon an elbow, rum bottle clenched in other hand and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Not so bright as your eyes, then, love. I’ve been about the world long enough to learn things that’d make even your toes curl.”
And Evie goaded him further, ensuring his tongue was further whetted not just by her teasings but by the rum she continued to supply in abundance and Jack Sparrow grew more and more loquacious and less and less cautious with Evie removing not much more than a stocking, and unbuttoning her bodice, until finally they came upon the topic that Barbossa wanted most to know about.
“It’s not a ghost story!” Jack protested and Evie scorned him. “Oh it is, Jackie boy, don’t try and be tricky with me!”
“It’s not!” He insisted and gestured for more rum, which she swiftly provided. “I swear upon my honour that every word is true. Well, except for all that curse nonsense. But I’m tellin’ you, right now love, the Isla de Muerta is a real place and there is a real treasure upon it and mark my words, my fine sweetheart, your humble Captain Sparrow is goin’ to find it and then he is goin’ to be a very. Wealthy. Man.” He punctuated his final word with another gulp of the liquor and then squared a challenging look at Evie as though to dare her to contradict him. Evie guffawed and whacked Sparrow upon the arm. “’Ow are you supposed to find an Island what nobody can find unless they already know where it is, eh?”
“Ah!” Jack held up a finger and looked triumphant. “Ah ah ah! Precisely. As it so happens, I already know where it is!”
Evie stopped at that and eyed the intrepid young Captain curiously. “Do you now? And ‘ow did you ‘appen to come by that piece of information?”
Sparrow went to answer and then halted mid-gasp, as though thinking twice. “A gift. From a friend. Close friend. “
Evie raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips at Jack. “Someone gave you the location as a gift?”
Sparrow looked almost imperceptibly shifty. “Aye, aye love. And now I be seekin’ a crew to sail with me to said Island and claim the grand treasure for ourselves, so that we might retire as gentlemen and live the rest of our lives enjoyin’ the spoils. A good plan, is it not?”
Evie rolled back, looking hard into Sparrow’s eyes and grasped the rum bottle, taking a generous swig for herself. “’Ave you ‘ad much luck?”
Sparrow’s eyeballs slid left. Then up. Then back down. “No.” He admitted finally. “Not so many as wants to shail after an unknown treasure with an unknown Captain as it happens. Nincompoops, the lot of ‘em.”
“So this treasure,” Evie pondered. “Is a chest fill to brim with solid gold pieces - close to a thousand of ‘em, you reckon - and it’s on a far off island and ‘as been for close to two ‘undred years without no one seein’ ‘ide nor ‘air of it, and your plan is to go after it with a rum bunch of scallywags and snatch it all up.”
“Aye!” Sparrow grinned drunkenly and jerking his head in discombobulated fashion. “Aye, that be about the shum of it. “
Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head at the fellow. “You’re a nutter, Jack Sparrow, and there’s no doubt about that. You givin’ the lads any sort of guarantee?”
Jack looked insulted and snatched the rum bottle back. “What guarantee is there, young Missy, when one chooses to shail upon the seas? The only guarantee is that the sea will alwaysh be there, whether fierce, calm, kind or cruel, and that to sail upon her you musht be an adventurer! That’sh what I seek! Adventurersh!” Jack’s head was beginning to loll and his words increasingly difficult to articulate. “Or there’s no point in shailing with Captain Jack Shparrow!” He managed with a Herculean effort to draw the bottle up to his lips once more and took a sip. “Now, are you adventurer enough to board my ship, young Mishy, for my masht is shtandi -ng - very - sh -“ and quite suddenly, he was unconscious upon the bed, the rum bottle hugged tight against his chest. Evie leant over the prostrated form and slapped him about the face a bit - not taking much care to be gentle. Sparrow didn’t stir. A thoughtful look upon her face, Evie refastened her garments, drew out her card deck, and waited.
It was not so long before she heard a faint footfall on the stairwell beyond and not long after that it grew louder until it trod finally upon the landing. She could tell by the sound and weight of the steps that it were a man out there and sure enough, a moment later, her door was opened and Barbossa let himself in.
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly to see Sparrow still there but Evie merely shrugged and gestured with her head to the rum bottle. Barbossa’s following grin was sly.
“Did he have ye?” Was not the first question Evie had expected to hear, but she concealed her surprise by looking down to her cards.
“Does it matter?”
She felt him frown, as though the change in his expression altered the air about them, and felt a grim satisfaction. Let him wonder!
“Did ye learn anythin’ of use to me, then, wench?” His tone was sour and so she raised herself from the bed and went to the sideboard, pouring him a generous glass of wine and delivering to his hands with a bright smile and an eager kiss.
“The Island is called Isla de Muerta and apparently it can’t be found ‘cept by those what already knows where it is - and Sparrow just ‘appens to ‘ave a very good friend what does and was nice enough to share with ‘im. As to why the friend ‘asn’t gone after the treasure themselves, ‘e was mum to that. It’s a treasure all right, just as you thought, but not the usual sort. It’s gold of the Aztecs, close to a thousand pieces of it if you believe ‘im - not that I’d be quick to - ” and she shot the unconscious Sparrow a glare, “ - and all of it untouched for years and years.”
Barbossa grinned and took two or three steps closer to the bed to gaze critically at Sparrow. “Now, that be a far elaborated version of what he’s been goin’ about town with.”
“Oh, and apparently,” Evie piped in, pouring a glass of wine for herself, “the treasure is all cursed. If you take it, you’re damned. Damned to endless existence, whatever that means.”
Barbossa cocked a brow and his lips contorted in amusement. “Is that so? He most certainly has been leavin’ that part of the tale out.”
“’E didn’t rate it much.” Evie joined Barbossa by the bed, gazing disdainfully down at the snoring pirate. “Apparantly was put upon the gold by the Aztec Gods as punishment to all peoples what wasn’t Aztec. Somethin’ to do with some Spaniard what vexed ‘em.”
Barbossa lifted a hand to the back of Evie’s neck and stroked her there. “Good lass.”
“What do you reckon?”
“I know nowt of those Gods or in what ways they work, but I’d be inclined to believe it’s more than a little fancy on the fool’s part - told to impress a whore who’d loosened his tongue. A long-vanished treasure, or so he claimed in Trinidad, of impressive quantity. A thousand pieces is certainly impressive. But what concerns me - where my interest truly lies - is with his ship. “
Barbossa’s eyes glittered and Evie felt a shiver down her spine as she watched him gaze so intently at Sparrow. It brought to mind that cat and mouse business again, to see him with such a look of dangerous concentration on his face. It thrilled and frightened her at once.
“Sparrow might not be a name renowned, but his ship be known as something of a legend. ” He whispered. “The Black Pearl. It be the true treasure here.”
And as he towered over the bed, his shadow cast dark over Sparrow’s form, the latter suddenly opened his eyes and regained consciousness. He squinted at Barbossa at first then his eyes widened with a vague alarm - and some sort of weary familiarity - and he made a pawing grab for his sword. Unfortunately, he had unbuckled it upon first entering Evie’s room and it lay now on the chair at her dresser. Sheepishly, he grinned, seeming to mistake Barbossa’s solemn expression for fury, and raised an explanatory finger.
“I’m not shure if yer aware of thish, mate,” Jack slurred. “But your shtrumpet ish a whore. Hate to be the bearer of bad newsh, but if your going to evisherate me, then ash a point of honor, you ought to evisherate all of her previoush clientele. And ash that would be imposhible; it ish only jusht you shpare me ash well. Mm?”
Much to Jack’s visible confusion, Barbossa merely threw back his head and laughed. “Do I look the sort of man who’s wench would have one over on?” He demanded of Sparrow, who cowered back against the coverlet before managing another grin as the situation did not descend into the violent blood bath he evidently thought awaited him. “Evie, my treasure, the lad and I here be needin’ another drink.”
Knowing enough to know she was no longer part of the game, Evie scurried off obediently to fetch another bottle of rum whilst Barbossa hauled her chair over to the side of the bed, and Jack lurched upwards, one hand fumbling in his messy locks.
“’Ave we met?” He bewilderingly queried of Barbossa, squinting hard upon him in the dim candle glow - Evie’s candles were burnt almost to their wick. Barbossa merely smiled charmingly and took the glass of rum Evie proffered. “Not that I can recall.” He replied, and took a long draught. Jack looked woozily at his glass as though seriously contemplating whether or not to chance it. By then Barbossa had finished his and held out his glass for a top up.
“Come on, lad!” He commanded Jack. “Drink! Ye be in port. Is that not occasion to make merry, even for a beardless boy as yeself?”
Jack winced and managed a half-smile before forcing himself to down a good half of his rum. Evie could not help but enjoy his discomfort. Barbossa thrust out a hand to Sparrow and requested the honour of knowing who he drank with.
“Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service.” Jack managed a flourish with his introduction, as though his full title were not one he could grow weary of sharing. “May I have the honour of knowin’ same then?”
“Ca - Barbossa.” Barbossa finished shortly and drank again. Jack frowned, his dark brows meeting almost in the centre.
“Barbossa, eh? Well, I mayn’t of met you, but I have heard of you. Weren’t you of late a Captain of a great ship?”
Evie could see the stiff tremor that ran down Hector’s neck and gripped his shoulders, but he continued to smile and shrugged his shoulders as though to say Ah!
“A man of the sea knows how quick the winds change. And change for me they did. “
Jack tipped his glass in Barbossa’s direction. “Well I’m sorry to be hearin’ that.”
Barbossa nodded and tipped his own glass. “Thank ye.” And together they drank. Evie could not help but notice that now all whisper of danger was past, Jack seemed to have recovered mighty swift from his severe state of drunkenness. Rum bugger. Once finished, Barbossa gestured to Evie who went to him and was pulled upon his knee and there she was nestled with one of his calloused palms sliding comfortably into her bodice.
Seeing their intimacy, Sparrow grew nervous again and hastened to exclaim: “I want you to know, mate, that nothin’ transpired between the young lady here and I, nothin’ but a bit of friendly conversation, as it were. “ He grinned ingratiatingly and nodded at Evie. “Isn’t that right, love?”
And Barbossa’s sharply amused eyes slid to her. “Is that so, m’love?”
Evie tried not to pout at her secret betrayed. “You passed out afore anythin’ could!” She snapped at Sparrow and felt the rumble of Barbossa’s chuckle reverberate through her. Blast that Sparrow! She turned her back on his as much as she could in her snug position and let her fingers play in Barbossa’s beard. Where her thigh swelled to meet her hip she could feel the stirrings of his organ and wondered if it were her touch or her humiliation that so roused him.
“And what is it for you now, Barbossa, if your ship is lost to the depths?” Jack conveniently at once opened the door for Barbossa and sealed his own fate. Barbossa took care to treat the enquiry casually, lifting his shoulders.
“What I be seekin’ now is a new opportunity - though Captain no more, a man of the sea I still be. Nay, but I must be resigned to humble myself as a crew man to another Captain, take me loses as I would me winnin’s. It would not see me swiftly ascend the ranks if I sit idle upon land, now would it, Mr Sparrow?”
“No, indeed.” Jack agreed. “And have you procured yourself this other Captain then, eh?”
Barbossa scowled in distaste and shifted Evie upon his lap, the better that she might rub against his cock. “I much regret to say I have not, Sparrow. The Captains in this miserable pit - they lack vision. Seek nothin’ more than to go over paltry merchant ships to take their spoils in spices and silks. How would I ever to be affordin’ a new ship if all I’ve got to show for me service is silver spoons and watch fobs, mm?”
“How indeed!” Sparrow waved his arms about and gulped down another drink hastily. He was well drunk and betraying his mounting excitement in spite of himself. “I can entirely sympathise, my friend. I happen to be seekin’ out a crew at this very moment and find myself plagued by much the same trouble: lack of vision!”
Barbossa raised his chin to Jack and his eyebrows darted up delicately. “Is that so.”
“Aye. It is.” Sparrow noted his cup was empty and waggled it queryingly at Evie who rolled her eyes and leaned over to refill it with the rum bottle she kept close by. “A great opportunity I offer them, a chance for adventure such as the likes of which they’ve never known and what do they do? Belch and pass out! It’s a tragedy, it is.”
Barbossa smiled and stroked Evie’s hair, his other hand still cupping her breast. “What opportunity is this then, lad?”
And Jack recounted the tale of the Isla de Muerta. He neglected to mention the Curse; though whether that was so as not to seem dissuasive, or because he thought nothing of it, Evie could not say.
Barbossa nodded as though impressed at the close of the tale. “Sounds like it be a right pretty pot ye be goin’ after, Sparrow. The sort ye could use a man with twenty-seven years experience on the sea for.”
“Well, see here Barbossa!” Jack exclaimed, as though the idea had only just come to him. “Why don’t you join me on my venture and we’ll split the treasure equal like - ought to be more than enough for you to procure your own ship once more or at least get a ruddy good start about it - and I wouldn’t insult your ample experience than offer anythin’ less than First Mate. What say you to that then?”
Barbossa bared his teeth in a grin. Jack did not know that grin; but Evie did. It was wicked as a shark’s. “Ye know, Jack, if I take up with ye, others will be more inclined to as well. I dare say I can convince enough to give ye not less than a full, able-bodied crew.”
And Evie knew, that somewhere out in the stinking hot night, the Bo’sun waited to hear from Barbossa.
Jack’s grin was all shameless charm. “Why, I’d be honoured to set sail with a fellow whose reputation stands as yours does, then Barbossa.”
Barbossa’s smile had faded to a mere twinge upon his lips and he held Jack’s eyes for a long moment before offering his hand over Evie’s body. “Then, we have an accord.”
“Indeed we do!” and Jack shook firmly.
And though she knew it was what Barbossa had wanted, still Evie could not help but feel in that handshake portended something decidedly unsettling.
Later, when Sparrow had departed, lurching in a sway that left Evie wondering if he’d make it through the night to Captain the Pearl in one piece, she clattered away the empty bottles into a corner of her room - all the evidence of the bargain that had been struck there that night, and a humble whore’s room it might be but that bargain had reeked of a disquieting significance - and stripped wearily down to her chemise, laying her hair ornaments amongst a cluttered rainbow of others on her dresser. Barbossa returned, having walked Sparrow out to the streets below, one firm hand about the lad’s shoulder, chuckling to himself with no small ounce of smugness.
“We’ll be leavin’ on the morrow!” Barbossa declared.
“Already?” Evie bit her tongue at the plaintiveness that had escaped into her voice.
“Aye, wench, afore the sun has finished risin’. I meet with me Bo’sun before dawn, he’ll gather together what was left from the Siren and more besides - more than enough of a crew for Captain Jack Sparrow!” He spat these last words with vicious mockery and kicked his boots off. His knee was slowly beginning to heal and he moved a great deal easier than he had two days ago. Evie crossed by him to the sideboard for her gin, but did not lift her gaze to look at him. There was an uneasiness she could not shake from her shoulders, no matter how big a gulp of gin she took to send a shiver through her. Barbossa’s arms slipped about her waist from behind and his lips found her neck, kissing her there softly, and again. He kissed his way up to her ear, where his hot breath brought gooseflesh up on her neck, and then down again, his hands sliding upwards to first cup and then fondle her breasts. Evie moaned and pushed against him, feeling his erectness dig into the small of her back. Barbossa’s mouth, lips, teeth continued to assail her flesh as his hands pulled her chemise downwards, baring her breasts and she arched her back in response to the feeling of rough skin sliding against her own softness. He whirled her around to crush her against him, grasping her arms tight and kissing her hard. In that kiss she felt a piece of herself crumble, plummet downwards into a darkness where there was nothing but the sensation of his lips upon her own, kissing her lips numb, then fiery, then bruised, his tongue darting about hers, his teeth nipping her lightly as the fancy took him. He lifted her chemise up and over her head then stretched her out onto the bed and covered her body with his own, his hands pinning her wrists to the bed above her head, his mouth seeking out her nipples and playing upon them until they grew so tender she thought she climax from that alone. Her cunny was alive and throbbing and she rubbed it against his stomach in the ache to get some relief but still he continued to tease her. She writhed beneath him and felt herself grow wetter until the coverlet beneath her was slick with her juices. Finally, he left her breasts and his lips blazed a trail downwards, down to where her sex opened to him like a ripe fruit, hot and swollen and his tongue darted as tormentingly as could be. So long had she waited for him to give her some satisfaction that the merest flicker of his tongue sparked a thousand little flames of pleasure and within a few quick strokes she climaxed violently and with noisy enjoyment. Rising up onto his knees, Barbossa watched the last tremors of her pleasure pass through her, unbuttoning his pants and withdrawing his cock, long and thick and exactly the thing Evie needed most now. He stroked it a few times in an idle fashion though it was hard as could be, gazing down at her spread-eagled beneath him before placing his hands upon her thighs and spreading her even wider then driving into her one hard, firm stroke. She gasped at the pleasure of it, to be taking forcefully without mindless brutality, to be taken properly without faltering ineffectualness. She grasped his arms and squeezed the muscles there, enjoying the mingled expression of fervour and ecstasy on his face as he fucked her. Her breasts bounced with the rhythm of his rutting and he bent over far enough to grasp one nipple between his teeth, biting until she squealed. He withdrew, turned her over onto her knees and entered her purposefully in this fashion, grasping her hips, a grunt punctuating his every thrust. It felt good to be fucked so vigorously, so assuredly, to be devoured whole from within and she let herself slump forward and enjoy the sensation. From here he could drive into her more deeply and more roughly and soon all that was left of her were her hips where his fingertips dug, her arse and her cunny, consumed with a fiery sort of bliss. She swooned into the coverlet and let herself be fucked into oblivion, moaning only when one of his hands left her hips to grasp first her shoulder, then knot itself in her hair and his pounding grew harder still and gasps were coming from him now, quiet, swallowed but still there, bursting from his lips until finally, driving against her so hard she thought her hips might shatter, he came in one low growl and she felt the pulse of his spendings within her and closed her eyes in satisfaction, moving one hand between her legs so that she might gently stroke her swollen sex.
He did not withdraw from her immediately, but played his hands upon her back, lifting her hair up and off her neck, running his hands down her spine, stroking her shoulders. It was lovely, this gentleness, after the aggression of his rutting and she remained very still, and smiled to herself. For some long moments he petted her gently until, with an aching groan, he pulled away and stretched out on the mattress next to her. She edged closer to him so that she might lay her head upon his chest and he encircled her with his arms, his eyes shut and a short sigh escaping from his lips to dart up to the canopy above them. If only every fuck were like that! She thought, and though she was sore it had been sorely worth it and a right good note to part on. The long night of drinking, of scheming, of fucking finally began to take their toll upon Evie and her head grew heavy and delirious with the need to sleep. Just as she felt herself begin to slip under, Barbossa roused himself, sitting up so quickly she grew giddy by the disruption and wondered what he was about.
“There be but a scant few hours left to this night, wench.” He barked and fetched her deck of cards from the sideboard. “Get some of yer beloved coca leaf into your cheek and chew heartily. Ye’ll learn this well before I depart.”
And with what was left of that hot and muddled night, he taught her how to cheat.