this ain't for the best

flora

With each seam that yields beneath his fingers and every complicated and labour-intensive lace flower that he shreds, Flora feels as a euphoric release deep in her core. Like being bound in a corset that was far too small and being able to breathe little by little with every released eyelet, the queen weaves in flickers of literal pleasure as her finger continues its circles between her thighs even as Jack leans over her.

Crying out with relief and the dark thrill of knowing that something so beautiful was now ruined beyond repair, Flora straightens shakily on her elbow. In the low light of Jack's cabin, the captain's eyes look nearly black, though the queen has seen enough of him to pick out the slivers of deepest blue even without the help of the moonlight streaking through in rigid shafts from the window.

Shivers of pleasure have Flora's shoulders twitching and her belly tensing slightly as she peers up at him, her lips parted around fractured moans as she holds his gaze. "Well?" Raising an eyebrow, for a moment the queen imagines what she must look like, splayed across his precious maps in a puddle of red lace, demanding things of him in the middle of the night while touching herself.

Don't just stand there, Jack.

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!