Serenity

‘’Do you ever feel like a misfit?’’ Rose asked, stroking at the exposed hairs on his chest. ‘’As though, for everyone else, their path is clear, and for you, it is dark and twisted.’’ Jack listened, entirely enthralled by anything she had to say, soothing her worries by running his fingers through her matted hair. ‘’I feel as though, with you, it all becomes untangled. I feel no need for the rules of society and all of its trimmings.’’

Jack propped himself onto his side, bringing her with him. ‘’Then, we could go tonight, take the fuckin’ car, to Santa Monica. The only entertainment we shall have is each other and the waves.’’

Rose giggled just a second before his lips muffled her. How idyllic it sounded, but could that be her future?

She knew she had felt something when she met him; by tonight, she would have loved him when she left him.

Rose was lying within the linens of the blankets Jack had retrieved from the car, with it entwined between her pale thighs—the stark contrast of her red hair with the white. A trail of cigarette smoke trailed about, making it appear to be the layers of a hazy dream. But it wasn't. This was indeed a part of her life.
A cigarette was passed between them. In a world full of conventionals, they followed the unconventional.
“Smoking is a sin,” Rose whispered, inhaling deeply, “and so is what we're doing right now.”
“Is that right?” Jack took the cigarette that she was offering. “And what about stealing a car?”
Rose's smile faded. Oh, how far from those silly dreams she had come.
"You have many things to confess during your next time in church."
The smoke trailed from his mouth, lingering about his face merely moments before he inhaled again. The unfastened buttons on his shirt fell open to reveal the smooth and tanned chest where she had laid her head after he had given her such pleasure that she never knew could exist, but still, she was mesmerised by the sight of him wearing so little. Here, in their little world, it was as though there was little need for many layers of clothing. By the light of the moonlight, she was seduced by his nighttime glow. And he of her; how the light caused her skin to be bathed with an ethereal glow.
Right now, though, on a wonderfully lit starry night, Jack examined his Rose inch by inch, but something about her mouth was delicately falling open. Was it to steady her breathing? The way he had to calm his racing heart and the urge to touch her creamy skin was unbearable. She simply rolled backwards, offering him a view of her bare bottom as she went before rolling herself into a cocoon of blankets. The wind had caused her cheeks to flush, or perhaps it was just the fire in the woods before them spreading its warmth across the small space of safety they had found unoccupied and claimed as their own just for the night.
''I much prefer this drawing,'' Jack told her, his voice silky and quiet as it rose above the fire crackles, and his drawing materials were laid before him. Charcoal and papers were all scattered about, the very ones Rose had purchased for him just a short time ago. That felt so long ago now. The dry heat expelled its way about them, and his shirt hung helplessly from his shoulder. ''I find the sight much more beautiful. More natural. More…you.''
Rose's head came up, a glassy, warm look omitted from them. ‘’Is that so?’’ She smiled lazily. ‘’Is that because I possess a quality such as those French girls.’’
‘’No.’’ He took the cigarette, taking a long drag before placing his new portfolio on the ground. They had cleared a private spot right in the centre, with only the moon's light and stars, and they were tiretyreting a wonderful glow across them. She had requested that he draw her there, just like one of the French girls.  ''The only thing I have ever looked twice at was you.'' Jack thrust the cigarette into the fire and knelt on the blanket before her. ''And I ain't stopped looking since, and I never will.''
In that second, their playful pretence ended, and his piece of charcoal and the sketch were abandoned for a second as stained, chalky fingers came up to touch her nose and dance across her lips. She was smudged black, and her nose rubbed against him, sharing the dusty charcoal marks. Fingerprints decorated the sheets, and her once dull and delicate fingers laced with his to feel his calloused gentleness. He stroked the side of her face with his knuckles. She was sleek, rosy-warm, and her pupils were dilating.
"I... just…." She was staring at his lips, and he returned that attention in kind. She pulled her gaze from him to look at their surroundings later. Just what were they doing? It felt all too surreal. So real.
Through her hazy vision, Rose could see the concentration in Jack's eyes, how he smudged across the page as though he were creating his version of her.
The thud of her heartbeat filled her ears, and she felt the urge to twitch in case it disturbed his reverie. The beauty of his face, framed by his hair, kept falling into his eyes while he was drawing her there beneath the stars, and it was intoxicating. The blue of his eyes sparkled in the dim firelight; the only sound was him scratching the paper and the odd crackling. The wind whooshed through the trees now and again, causing her nipples to harden, and all she could think of was how his lips had been there, giving her pleasure, making her squirm and yet, she could not help but feel the need for more. It wasn't cold; one may suggest it was cold if she wasn't in front of such a warm fire.
Rose exhaled slowly through her lip to calm a little more, as though knowing he could see every inch of her was the most daunting thought. He would glance up every five or so seconds with another intense look at Rose in her entire most vulnerable state, but one which made her feel beautiful; it made her nervous, but above all, it felt erotic. Just as erotic as his beautiful touch.
Jack blushed, and his eyes fell upon the hair between her legs. Goosebumps appeared over her breasts, and her nipples tightened as she suddenly felt a cool chill. It wasn't because she was cold; it was something else, as it travelled throughout her body.
''I do believe that you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste, or is it the heat from the fire?''
Jack's lips turned into a smirk as his eyes came to hers, and the fire danced within the depths of them.
''I cannot imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.''
''That is because he does landscapes.'' Jack smiled at her, teasing. ''Just relax your face. No laughing.''
''Sorry.''
As much as Rose had enjoyed the momentary teasing of his flushing cheeks, she returned to her serious face just as quickly. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she twitched now and again, feeling the adrenaline running through her. His hands mesmerised her; how they worked so quickly, smudging the lines and how the vision his eyes saw would be transferred onto a sheet of blank paper. He was wonderfully talented, recalling just how rough his hands were to touch from their work and how strong they were to pull her over the rail and save her life. The sparkle of his eyes seemed to simmer with something unspoken between them, and now and again, she heard him sigh or gasp for more air just as she felt herself, breathless but—alive.
Rose had broken down barriers that should never have been touched between herself and this man. They had come together, somehow. He had kissed her far too much. It was inevitable, slow at first, but then passion built in. It was a longing created from the very second they had laid eyes on the other. Now, she was laid in the middle of the woods, naked, before the man who she was infatuated with. Her engagement ring sat on her dressing table, remaining until she returned to Caledon Hockley. The choice had already been made, regardless of anything. How could she marry him now?
"I have finished," Jack said, uncrossing his legs and stretching his arms behind his shoulders in a pose so casual that she felt the urge to smile.
''Date it, Jack,'' Rose remembered how his others were always dated and signed, along with a person's name or a place. ''I want always to remember this night.''
What emerged was the drawing of a young woman, once so unsure of herself, of her path. Once radiating such a melancholy aura, they almost had driven her to death; now she was purely alive. Her eyes were glowing. Her body was worshipped. Her being felt…loved.
‘’I feel content,’’ she quietly confessed, ‘’you made me feel that, is it crazy?’’
"Probably." His voice grew husky as he leaned closer. He leaned closer still, turning her face back to him. "But you  have such a fire." He saw her lips part and realised her breath was coming faster, too. "I saw something different when I looked at you. Maybe I changed, maybe I grew up.’’
"Maybe I grew up, too." She placed her fingers on his lips. ‘’Maybe we’re both just crazy.’’
"Yes," he whispered back. ‘’But I am crazy for you.’’
Jack was leaning forward to kiss her. And this time, she couldn’t reply because his mouth remained on hers, hungry, demanding, and very, very seductive. He seemed to know exactly what to do. Each flick of his tongue, each nibble of his teeth sent shivers to the very core of her being, and she gave herself over to the pure joy of the moment, to the white-hot flame of desire. His hands were everywhere, and she felt him everywhere, his fingers on her skin, his leg nudging between hers. He was pulling her closer, rolling her on top of him as he slid onto his back. His hands were on her bottom, pulling her so tightly against him that the proof of his desire seared itself into her skin. Rose gasped at the astounding intimacy of it all, but his lips caught her breath, still kissing her with fierce tenderness. And then she was on her back, and he was on top of her, and the weight of him was pressing her into the blanket, squeezing the air from her lungs. His mouth moved to her ear, then to her throat, and Rose felt herself arching beneath him as if she could somehow curve her body closer. His whole body, every fibre and sinew, was awakening to her. The white linens were discarded as his fingers worked through the layers of sheets to gain entrance to the paleness of her skin. Its touch was heavenly silk, and it seemed to go beyond that, too.
''I hate what he has done to you. I hate the cage that he's put you in. I look at you now, so damned beautiful and a woman who is more than desirable. More than lovable. More than he should ever have.''
Jack expected her to run, but she only felt shivers, which increased until they became bubbles of glowing light, heat, and expansion. The sensations travelled through her veins to pulse and stretch every inch of her skin. By heaven, she loved him—perhaps she always had. For now, she understood how well she knew him. She knew him.
How could she hope to keep her heart safe? The answer was obvious: She could not. There is never any safety when diving into a lake, which leads to love. One can prevent any little foolishness from happening. The blues lifted as soon as she looked at him months ago, and she had only succumbed to the blue once more when the sun set on their initial time together.
“Jack," she whispered, opening her eyes. "Kiss me." A flicker of surprise. A blaze of desire. Then, his arms enfolded her, half lifted her. His lips were upon hers. His chest worked against hers. He pleasured her mouth and backed her against the cool ground.  She was a vine upon his trellis, her form permanently altered by his presence. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her again, deep and long and pulsing. She stroked his arms and wrists. He frantically unbuttoned his shirt. She slid her arms inside and around his waist so she could feel his heat against her. Then, his fingers were upon her, and she used her hand to guide it to her breast. His touch was soft, pure and yet rough. It wasn't wicked, pulling, or shoving; it was an act of touch from a compelling and loving man. There was something innocent about the mystery in him. In his touch. Almost skin to skin, she burnt for him. For something just a little further out of reach.
Suddenly, she seemed to be moving, and the one blissful heat of the fire went. She went cold for a moment as he suddenly wasn't pressed so tightly to her, and then, his mouth covered hers, and his hand came back to her breast. She spread her legs for him, holding with fistfuls of his shirt.  Gently but with increasing firmness, his fingers generated a storm. Her head fell back, cushioned. The pleasure was roiling, rippling, rushing like steam. It billowed out and up. Swelled toward his touch until his mouth was on hers. With fumbling hands, she stripped away what clothes she could of his until he was naked against her, entirely. The feel of him, from his toned, tan chest down to the bottom of his feet, all entangled with her, felt wonderful. There were no flaws, nothing to do, but I was utterly entwined with him in every say. Her nerve endings were on fire, every single one in her body. He pulled back long enough to catch her eyes; she squirmed beneath him, cheeks flushed with her desire for him. He needed to kiss her again, to be close to her and never let her go. Her hands were in his hair, twisting and pulling at it so gently as his lips found hers again.
"Jack-'' she whispered against his lips as he traced a finger down her cheeks. Everything suddenly seemed surreal as their naked bodies were clenched against each other.
"Jack," she whispered, loving how near he was in this position, how she could see the blue rings around heat-darkened cornflour. Dazed, she dared a glance down at his arousal, bare and unexposed. How could a man be so beautiful? Seeing the outline of Cal's before had been utterly frightening. Now, there was a primal need. The very one Madame Laurant had no doubt been speaking of so delicately; now, that thought was very near.
“Make love to me.'' She whimpered in almost a whisper. Her eyes alternated between his intense stare and his lips.
''Are you sure?'' Jack's throat bobbed on a swallow, signs of his nerves. ‘’This will be your first…’’
“I don’t care.”
He had to make this good for her. He had to. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, although his desire was now so fierce that he had no idea how to make a promise.
“I want you,” she said. “I want you, and I need something, and I don’t know what I want, but you have to be the first and only...”
Jack pushed forward just an inch or so, but it felt like she was swallowing him whole. She went silent beneath him; her only sound was her breath running raggedly across her lips. Another inch, another step closer to heaven.
“Oh, Rose,” he moaned, using his arms to hold himself above her so as not to crush her with his weight. “Please tell me this is all right...” Because if she said otherwise, it would kill him to pull out.
She nodded but said, “I need a moment.” He swallowed, forcing his breath through his nose in short bursts. It was the only way he could concentrate on holding back. She probably needed to stretch around him to allow her muscles to relax. She’d never taken a man before and was so exquisitely tight.
When he felt her relax slightly beneath him, he pushed forward a bit more until he reached the undeniable proof of her innocence.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “This is going to hurt. I can’t help it, but I promise you, it’s only this one time and it won’t hurt much.”
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“Trust me,” he said. And then he thrust forward, embedding himself to the hilt, sinking into her warmth.
“Oh!” she gasped, her face showing shock. He could only gather her to him.
“Are you all right?” She nodded.
“I think so.” He moved slightly.
“Is this all right?”
She nodded again, but her face looked slightly dazed and surprised. Jack’s hips began to move of their own volition, unable to remain still when he was so obviously near to a climax. She was pure perfection around him, and when he realised that her gasps were of desire and not of pain, he finally let himself go and gave in to the overwhelming willingness surging through his blood. She was quickening beneath him, and he prayed that he could hold out until she climaxed. Her breath was fast and hot, her fingers were pressing relentlessly into his shoulders, and her hips were squirming under him, whipping his need into a near-frenzy. And then it came. A sound from her, and her body tensed in pleasure. She was no longer a virgin, and Jack could only close his eyes from the fierce ecstasy of it all.
Within a second, her eyes flew open. Her hands were caressing him, how his eyes blazed and consumed her. As it was, she felt on the edge of weeping.
She loved him.
She leaned her forehead against his. Hold those stunning eyes. She felt him brush something from her cheek.
"Jack," she whispered, aching now. Between her thighs. In her belly. In her chest and heart. It was all so damned painful.
His hands gripped her shoulders. A pained frown darkened his brow.
"I-I feel--''
She kissed him. And nodded. ''I know." It didn't matter how he felt because she could see everything; his entire soul lay bare before her just from one glance into the depths of his eyes. ‘’I know because I feel it all, too.’’
She could only stare. Watch. Feel. Everything that had come to this very moment, to this edge. It was all now pulled seamlessly together. This was the reason he had found her at the stern. This was the reason that she had lived.
It wasn't for Elizabeth. It was for her. For Jack. For them.
Rose held him long after he had thrown himself over the edge of the precipice. Long after, her convulsions stopped. There, gazing at the stars and cradling him at her breast, she found the serenity she had been searching a lifetime for.