Fanfic
Title: Wildest of Waves (6/??)
Rating: NC-17
Paring: Beckett/OC
Word Count: This part, 4320
Summary: Begins pre-DMC and spans through post-AWE. Beckett is encouraged to take a wife--what follows is an intimate glimpse at that domestic life, rife with the trials of marriage and eradicating the seas of pestilence.
Warnings: Graphic sex, sexual violence, adult themes/concepts, language
Disclaimer: I don't own PoTC characters--Disney does. OCs are mine.
Comments: This is a work in progress. I don't know how many parts it will end up having.
A/N: There's been a lot of carriage sex recently. Samantha felt left out *g*
Part One can be found here.
Part Two can be found here.
Part Three can be found here.
Part Four can be found here.
Part Five can be found here.
Beckett was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs as she slowly descended. As she felt his intense gaze upon her, inspecting her, Samantha nervously smoothed her hands over the dark blue silk, feeling the tiny pearls embroidered on the fabric slip through her fingers as she did. She saw his eyes narrow slightly as she reached the bottom and she managed a pert little smile in response, one eyebrow shooting up on her forehead. He took her hand a little less than gently; she felt firm, almost threatening pressure on her fingers.
“Did you not receive my letter, Lady Beckett?” His voice was perfunctory, casual, but she saw the dangerous flash in the grey eyes.
“I received it, my lord.” There was a long pause as he swept his gaze over her again.
“And was it in any way unclear?” The voice was quieter this time. She forced herself not to tremble.
“No, my lord,” she replied evenly. “I am afraid the cream you requested was overlarge on me. So I chose this one instead.” Her eyes met his in unspoken challenge.
“I see,” he replied brusquely. “No matter. I have something for you.”
Samantha faltered slightly at his dismissive shrug. She had expected more of a reaction from him-at least the same bristling indigence that she had felt when she had read the brief order earlier. She had not expected indifference, and to see him walk away from her left her feeling confused.
He walked to a large wooden box sitting on a nearby table and opened it. Samantha’s breath caught in her throat. It was full of jewels-necklaces, brooches, earrings, bracelets and other adornments that seemed to catch fire in the candlelight.
“Most of them are family jewels, passed down when my mother died.”
He swept his eyes over her again, then turned back to the jewel box and pulled out a few pieces and handed them to her. She understood she was to wear them. She started to put them on, but Jane’s deft hands seemed to materialize from nowhere to fasten them.
“But, this,” he paused, pulling out a large, jeweled flower, “was made just for you.”
He handed it to her and she turned it slowly in her hand, examining it. She realized that it was a hair adornment. It was beautiful and unique. She opened her mouth to thank him, but he was back in the box. She watched as he pulled out another bit of brilliant sparkle. It was a wide bracelet of diamonds. He walked to her with the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist himself-covering the fading marks left from the shackles. His fingers lingered just a moment too long, and when their eyes met, Samantha understood what he meant her to-she had traded one type of shackle for another; that while she may not have been wearing the rusted irons, she was not free. She also knew at that moment that while he may not have verbally responded to her insubordination in her choice of dress, it had affected him. Beckett smirked at her and watched as Jane carefully placed the flower in Samantha’s hair.
“Much better,” he said. “Now, don’t speak to anyone until we’re in the box, and only then after I’ve…”
“I know. I understand what I have to do. My reputation depends on it as much as yours, Lord Beckett.” Her voice was curt.
“Hmm. Fine,” he replied as he turned from her and walked to the door. She picked up her skirt and followed him, almost blindly as the doors were opened for them and they walked down to the waiting carriage. She realized that this time, the carriage had more adornments and was being pulled by six perfectly matched palfreys with bobbing feathers on their bridles. Beckett helped her into the carriage and pulled himself in opposite her.
He settled back into the shadows of the carriage, staring blandly ahead, almost as if he were gazing out the window. Samantha swept her eyes over him quickly-took in the exquisitely tailored dark frock coat, with the brocade waistcoat beneath. He was impeccable, as always.
She turned her face to the window and stared out at the passing streets of London. Occasionally, someone would stop to stare at the carriage as it went by in its entire splendor. It made her uncomfortable, so she glanced back at Beckett. She was surprised to find him staring at her intently.
“Perhaps some privacy,” he said quietly as he tugged on a golden tassel.
The curtains fell across the windows, instantly darkening the small space. She let her eyes adjust before she looked at his face. Even in the shadows of the carriage, Samantha could see the subtle darkening of his eyes. She involuntarily recoiled, pressing her back hard against the unforgiving wall behind her.
Wordlessly, Beckett reached out and grasped her wrist firmly, his touch eliciting a sharp inhalation. Samantha felt a tremor ripple through her body at his firm hold, his intense gaze. She did not resist as he pulled her forward, across the short span of the carriage, until she collapsed breathlessly against his chest. Firm hands grasped her hips and settled her on his lap as his lips barely brushed her own. The warmth of his breath on her neck made her quiver as his hands fought through the sea of satin and brocade of her skirts until she felt deft fingers graze the soft skin of her thighs. A small moan escaped her parted lips at the caress. Beckett continued his ministrations for a few brief moments, making her writhe and buck as she straddled his legs. She felt his hardness pushing against her, the tip of his cock rubbing against her moist juncture, and realized that he must have loosened his member from his breeches. She felt his firm grasp on her hips again, this time lifting her slightly until she felt him slide inside of her. She gasped as he pulled her down firmly, impaling her. He lifted her slowly again, his hands guiding her in a slow rhythm, wordlessly teaching her how to ride him. When he released her, hoping she would continue on her own, she grabbed at his shoulders, but otherwise did not move. He could feel her trembling. He smiled against her neck before softly sucking at the tender flesh there. He would have to clearly take a more hands-on approach to her education.
“It’s my understanding that you are quite a skilled horsewoman,” he whispered in her ear. Samantha’s brow furrowed momentarily, confused. She had no idea why he would speak of such things as he was buried deep inside of her. “This is much the same,” he breathed, cupping his hands around her bottom. “Trot…” He bounced her a little, causing her to look down at him with wide eyes. He seized her lower lip between his teeth before sucking gently on the pouting flesh.
“Canter…” He rolled her hips on his own, rising each time to meet her thrust.
“Oh!” she breathed, a combination of understanding and pleasure-his cock had just found a spot deep inside of her that caused her heart to jump.
Slowly, she continued to rock, finding her own rhythm and relying less on his guidance. With each thrust, the tip of his cock would rub deep inside of her, causing her stomach to quiver and pitch each time it found that delightful spot. She quickly realized that from her position on top of him, she could control the speed, the depth, the length of the thrusts and relished her new position of power. But, if she would linger too long, enjoying the sensation of having him fill her so completely, or seemed to be too taken by the idea that she was in charge, he would seize her mouth savagely with his own, and firmly guide her with his hands. These kisses were those of possession by force, leaving no question of who was master.
“Now gallop, my dear,” he whispered into the round mounds of flesh that heaved against her bodice. Samantha did not need any explanation or his hands to guide her as she rode him with reckless abandon, arching her back and throwing back her head as she ground down on him-the heated desperation in his voice was the only encouragement she needed. He dragged his hand down her throat before holding onto her shoulders, crushing her against him as she rode him to culmination. He buried his face into her chest as he found his shuddering release, his panting drowned by the sound of her moans.
They remained still for a moment, her head resting helplessly on his shoulder, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. She felt his hands on her hips again, this time firmly lifting her away. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, reclaiming her seat across from him in the carriage. No longer caught up in the throes of passion, she ached and throbbed, and could feel the messy wetness of his leavings running down her thighs. She shifted her legs uncomfortably. She caught Beckett’s gaze and realized that he was still staring intently at her. She pulled out her small kerchief from her sleeve, intending to clean the dampness away when he was no longer watching her. As if sensing what she intended to do, Beckett reached forward and pulled the kerchief from her hand. Wide, surprised eyes met his dark stare.
“No,” he stated firmly, in response to her unspoken question. “I want you to leave yourself as you are. I want to know my seed is running down your legs every time I look at you.”
As she opened her mouth to retort, he reached out and seized the fabric of her skirt, sliding it slowly through his fingers. “This was made by the same dressmaker at the same time as the one I asked you to wear. Odd that this one is so becoming and the other fit so ill.” The tone of his voice was casual, but Samantha immediately understood why she would be wearing his leavings on her thighs-it was to be the punishment for her willfulness.
“My lord. . .” she started, but she was distracted as she felt the horses begin to slow. She hastily smoothed out her skirts and prayed that her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.
“It’s time for the show. Play your part well,” Beckett whispered into her ear as the carriage stopped in front of the Queen’s Theatre.
She gave a small apprehensive snort as the liveried footman rushed to open the carriage door. As she looked out, she saw the crowd of people that stared at her. She pulled herself straight and inwardly grimaced as she felt her thighs slide together. She chanced a small glance at Beckett and found him staring back, a knowing glint in his eyes. She quickly turned away and stepped out of the carriage.
Samantha could feel the eyes upon her, and Beckett’s words echoed in her mind-Play your part well. She did feel like she was playing a part as she stood there, waiting. She had always dressed well-she was an Earl’s daughter-but tonight she was dressed like a princess of the blood. She had gazed at herself briefly back at the townhouse and could imagine what they were seeing. Her stays were so tightly laced she could hardly breathe, but it flattered her figure so in the dark blue silk. Her hair was powdered and she felt weighted down by the jewelry she wore-in addition to the bracelet and flower, there was an elaborate netting of diamonds around her neck and dangling earrings that almost brushed her shoulders.
She only hoped that her skirts weren’t as disheveled from their congress in the carriage as she felt.
But there was only one thing that interested the gathered London society, and every eye seemed to be automatically drawn to it-the large wedding ring, encrusted with diamonds and sapphires.
She stood quietly as Beckett exited the coach, trying not to meet the eyes of any of those around her. There was a distinct silence as Beckett stepped forward towards her. She looked at him briefly, tried to take a deep breath, and took his proffered arm. He walked forward, oblivious to the crowds and up to the door. Within moments they were inside and being escorted to Beckett’s private box. He sat her in the very front of the box, clearly putting her on display for the people in the other boxes and on the ground below. Samantha held her head high and stared unseeingly forward, trying to not shift about in her seat-the wetness had become sticky. Beckett sat beside her and possessively covered her hand with his-a very public gesture of intimacy.
She did not turn as she heard the door to the box open. She waited until the visitor came forward and presented himself. Samantha recognized him as Lord Rochester.
“Am I to understand congratulations are in order?” he pointedly asked as he kissed her hand. He was not one known for his subtlety.
Beckett nodded at him. Samantha barely listened as he responded. “Ah, yes. We’ve been betrothed for some time. The Company is expanding its efforts to the Caribbean and I will be going with it to oversee the expansion. Should be leaving within the week. I felt there was no point in further delaying things, so her father and I decided that we should go ahead and seal the union.”
Samantha understood that this was her cue, so she smiled demurely at Lord Rochester. “It was quite romantic, really. We thought that it would be fitting to be wed on one of the Company ships, so we just took a quick jaunt out to sea. We were married yesterday. It was such a lovely ceremony.” She smiled emptily up at Beckett and he took her hand and pressed it to her lips. She felt like she was going to be sick.
Rochester clapped Beckett on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Who’d have thought that Cutler Beckett was a romantic?” Samantha felt a flush spread across her face and she hastily stared at her hands. For some reason, Rochester’s words had recalled a vivid image of Beckett’s face in the carriage.
“Hmm,” Beckett replied noncommittally.
Rochester swept himself into a bow and stepped towards the door. “Well, Lord Beckett, Lady Beckett, I’ll leave you to each other’s company.”
As soon as he was gone, Beckett smirked. “Well, that should have done it. Everyone will hear our charming little tale-that man has all the discretion of a scullery maid,” he muttered to Samantha, his lips scarcely moving as he stared out at the theatre.
True enough, the news about Lord Beckett’s union with the Earl of Northridge’s daughter spread throughout the theatre. Samantha was not able to watch the opera-a Handel piece she was not familiar with-for the steady stream of well-wishers and gawkers who felt it was necessary to personally congratulate Lord Beckett on his lovely bride. Everyone seemed to think it was extremely apropos that the East India Trading Company’s Chairman wed on one of her ships and nothing was said of the sudden union-clearly it was due to the impending journey to the Caribbean and not a pregnancy or any other shameful escapade. Samantha was surprised at how easily London society allowed itself to be led-her husband could have told them anything and they would have nodded along happily. It was if Cutler Beckett’s word were law. She sighed and tried to ignore the fact that everyone in the theatre was staring at her, whispering about her. As much as she was dreading sailing to the Caribbean, she realized that she was not going to miss her new position in London. She had always felt slightly invisible before, and enjoyed it, but now that she was married to one of the most talked-about men in England, she knew she would be on public display every time she was out.
Beckett almost seemed to be reading her thoughts and spoke softly to her. “Just think that tomorrow, every woman here will be rushing to their jeweler, demanding a flower for their hair, just like Lady Beckett’s.”
She met his gaze. “When are we sailing?”
He pursed his lips smugly. “Suddenly eager for Jamaica, are we?”
She turned her head to watch the players on the stage. “One cage is the same as another.”
He chuckled softly at her morose tone. “Even raptors come to relish their mews[1] in time, my lady.”
-----------------
It was late when the carriage stopped in front of the Beckett house. Samantha was exhausted and eager to free herself from the confines of her exquisite dress and clean the remnants of their congress from her thighs-Beckett had made a point of glancing down at her skirts and smirking frequently throughout the evening so that even if she somehow miraculously ceased to feel the dried leavings, she could not forget it. She flushed anew at the thought. As soon as they were inside, she started up to her room, but Beckett’s voice stopped her. “Where are you going?”
She paused on the stairs and faced him. “Bed. All this playacting has made me weary.” There was a slight edge in her voice.
“Come have a glass of wine with me in the study.”
“No thank you. Goodnight.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
She glared at him with a cocked eyebrow. He stood calmly at the foot of the stairs, his fingers laced behind his back. She looked longingly up the stairs and thought of dashing up them and locking herself in the bedroom. But, she sighed and went to him. He took her arm and led her to his study. She had not been in the room yet and she inspected it briefly as he led her to a chair by the fireplace. It was a dark room, with oak paneled walls hung with maps. His desk was large and filled an entire corner of the room. She could see the neat stacks of paper, the perfectly arranged books. There was a globe and all sorts of what she assumed to be nautical instruments.
Suddenly, a glass of wine seemed to float out of nowhere. Beckett stood beside her with two glasses. She took the proffered one and he sat down across from her. He leaned forward and stirred the embers of the fire with a poker. Samantha noticed he had taken off his jacket and as he sipped his wine, he absentmindedly unbuttoned his waistcoat. She was unsettled by these moments-when Beckett seemed like any other man. She took a quick gulp of the wine. Beckett leaned back in the chair and stretched out his booted feet.
“I plan on leaving the day after tomorrow. I expect things will be busy around here tomorrow-and I’ll have to go to the Company offices for most of the day.” Samantha nodded. “You’re not to go wandering off…I can’t spare an escort for you, so you’ll have to stay here.”
“You mean you can’t spare Mercer.”
Beckett smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t very fond of Mr. Mercer.”
Samantha took another drink of her wine before responding. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been very fond of henchmen and murderers.”
“Ah. You’re still going on about that Captain, aren’t you? Well, he hasn’t been murdered-Good God, Samantha. What a sordid imagination you have. We’ll have to put it to better use.”
Samantha paused for beat, surprised at his suddenly suggestive tone. She chose to ignore it. “But I saw…”
“Oh, I’m sure Mercer was a bit rough-the man does seem to enjoy his duties. But all in all, the man is a good Captain and a useful employee of the Company. However, he needed to be reminded to be a bit more astute in his responsibilities.” He paused and stared at the fire. “Regardless of your blatant disobedience, you looked lovely tonight. You also did very well-I believe people thought we had quite a mutual regard for each other.”
She was caught off guard-the way he simultaneously complimented her and mocked her. “My lord?”
He took a measured drink of his wine as stared hard into her eyes. “It will take us some time to grow accustomed to the other, I suspect.”
Samantha pursed her lips. “You mean it will take some time for me to become accustomed to you. I doubt you’ll take any great pains to conform yourself to me.”
“You’re right. The pain will be all yours,” he replied, his voice a bit menacing. His lips curled into an enigmatic little grin. She immediately fell silent and shrank back into her chair.
There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. “Are you looking forward to our little adventure?” His voice was slightly mocking as he rested his head against the back of the chair and stared at her, the firelight glinting off of her jewelry and making her sparkle.
“What is it going to be like there?” Her voice was so low he barely heard her.
He could tell she did not want to be social with him, nor depend on him in any way-even for information. “Lonely,” he retorted with a little twist of his lips.
She sighed at him and sat down her wine glass. She knew that she should not have made herself vulnerable to him.
“Port Royal is a city on the brink of renaissance.” She glanced back at him, surprised at the sudden change in tone, that he was actually answering her. “The entire area is ripe for colonization, industrialization. There’s a new world waiting to be tapped and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” He finished his drink and stood to retrieve the bottle. He refilled his glass then silently gestured towards hers. She lifted it and he poured a generous amount of the rich French wine into the expensive crystal. He sat down the bottle before resuming his place by the fire. “It’s my understanding that there are families of means in Port Royal, officers wives and the such, so there will be persons befitting your rank to associate with. There will be balls and teas and other frivolity as you’re used to. But you will not be allowed the freedom you were afforded at your father’s house.” Samantha bristled slightly. “For your own safety, you understand. While Port Royal has a substantial Royal Navy presence, there is a different breed of people there, and all sorts of wickedness; you won’t be able to go wandering out unescorted. There is also a great evil lurking in Caribbean, even in Port Royal itself.”
“A great evil?”
He looked levelly at her. “Something for me to worry about and not you.”
Samantha understood that he was finished divulging with her. “Is Governor Swann still there? And his daughter, Elizabeth?”
He was lifting his glass to his lips as she spoke, and she saw him pause. “You know them?” His voice was a bit quieter than it had been. Samantha did not notice.
“Yes. Their country estate was next to ours. When Elizabeth was in England, we would take lessons together. We were rather close friends before she left. I would be pleased to see them again, even after all this time.”
“Indeed. Well, I have no doubt that you will see them.” He glanced at her. “If you’re tired, you may go. I’ll be up presently.”
Samantha realized she was being dismissed, so she sat down her glass and stood. “Good night.”
Beckett did not bother to watch her go. He stared into the fire, absentmindedly listening to the sound of her retreating footsteps and soft click of the door behind her as she left. A few moments later, as if on cue, the door opened again and Mercer crept into the study.
“Good evening, Mr. Mercer.” Beckett spoke without turning to face the man.
“My lord,” Mercer greeted, tilting his head in deference to the back of Beckett’s chair. He took a few steps forward so he was standing opposite his master. Beckett continued to stare into the fire, finishing the last few sips of his wine before he spoke.
“Is everything in order?”
“Aye, sir. The Endeavour is ready to sail. The last of your things will be loaded tomorrow.”
Beckett nodded and flicked his eyes up to stare hard into Mercer’s pock-marked face. “And Sparrow? Any word on him?”
“Rumors, whispers. Some say he’s in Tortuga, some in Nassau, even a report or two that he’s in Singapore. The man’s a ghost.” Mercer caught the irritated glance that Beckett shot at him and cleared his throat. “But, we’ll increase our efforts.”
Beckett pursed his lips slightly as he sat down his glass and stood.”Yes, Mr. Mercer. I think that would be prudent. I don’t know why it’s so bloody difficult to find the man-I would imagine there’s a whore at every port he owes something,” he scoffed.
“We haven’t had any luck with the whores, as of yet, my lord. They all seem a bit…taken with him and reluctant to talk,” Mercer replied. Beckett’s eyes darkened.
“Well, I expect you to make them talk,” Beckett retorted as he walked out of the study. Before exiting, he paused in the doorway, resting his fingers on the frame. He spoke over his shoulder. “And one more thing Mercer-watch her Ladyship tomorrow. I have a feeling she’ll be trying my patience.”
[1] A mews is a cage/birdhouse designed to house birds of prey, such as falcons used in falconry.