Lagoon

Jack

Excitement thrummed through her body.

The most she had ever seen of Jack before the lagoon was some of his chest, only what his shirt revealed, and what he had revealed to her on the island, the bottom half of his legs, again on the island, his hands, and his face, of course. It had made the fantasy, the wondering, the images in her head that much more intense, alluring, addicting.

Like she had told him, she had always imagined that she would see him, if she ever got to see him, in small portions, but having him all at once, soaking wet, vulnerable, had been almost too much for her to handle.

Now he was stretched out before her, waiting for her to begin her exploration, and she was going to take her time. The soft warm orange light from the candles was a far better companion for this task, rather than the darker bluish lighting of the jungle.

"Not sure where to start, darling?"

She abandoned her survey of his body to glance up at his face.

"Too many damn options," she responded, reaching for his belts. It took a few minutes, but after some cursing, and chuckling from him, she had both of his belts and his red and white scarf lying on the bed next to her.

"Remember that I said you need to tell me about all of your tattoos and scars?"

"Of course I remember. You said that just before you told me that you were going to hold me hostage."

She briefly wondered whether he would be open to the idea of just being her sex slave. Somehow she didn't think he would protest that much.

"Well, I also want to know how you collected all of this," she motioned at his clothes, and the various trinkets he had everywhere, "stuff."

Really, she wanted to know all of the stories about him, where he had been, his early life, things that he wouldn't tell anyone else. She wanted to know him.

He snickered at her, his smile free of the troubling thoughts that had plagued him earlier.

"In due time, Lizzie. Unless you plan to leave me unsatisfied?" He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip just a little bit. She glanced down at the still prominent bulge in his breeches, a small thrill jumping through her.

"No, I suppose not, though it might almost be worth it to see the look on your face," she said, swinging her leg around to straddle him. She pulled his shirt out of his breeches and tugged it up, having some difficulty pulling it past his hair.

"Does your hair ever get heavy?"

"Not unless it's wet, which it is fairly often."

She leaned forward a bit to play with it, running her fingers through it, then pushing it off his shoulders to give her room to kiss them. His skin tasted like seawater, as though it was permanently part of him, and of something spicy, almost smoky.

A hundred questions were running through her mind. She wanted to ask him everything she could think of, but the question that popped out of her mouth left her blushing a bit.

"What was your first time like?"

He looked at her in surprise, but she saw no guard go up, saw no indication that he was uncomfortable.

"Wow, can't say I expected you to ask that."

"I'm curious."

"You're always curious, darling."

She traced the muscles in his arms, finding all of the scars in his skin that she could see, tracing those too, feeling the raised edges, the puckered bits. Some people saw scars as shameful, or something to be hidden, but she felt like they were a testament to strength. Every mark on him could have taken him from her, could have prevented them from ever meeting, but he survived.