i'm the storm your mama warned you about

JACK

hellraiser
risk taker

If The Ark didn't have his full attention before (and not to worry, she definitely did) there's no escaping it now, not as her hips roll deliciously against the pressure of his fingers, not as desire spills low and loud from her wine-dark lips and drives whatever spectators remain outside wild. The flush of heat that drips down the Captain's spine is all his own, to know that she'd never hear him beg; his magic might be keyed into her pleasure but his pride is still all his own, and he laps it up like a man starved.

"I was hopin' you'd say that," he whispers, voice roughened by control that's beginning to slip, and as her mouth crashes against his, Jack shifts back on the bed like this is a dance they've coordinated together. His back hits the threadbare sheets, the serviceable pillows, his fingers still circling her clit even as he feels the heat of her tease against the head of his cock, breath hitching softly in his throat.

She's like gazing up at the stormy sea itself, wanton and wild and ultimately the decider between who will sink and who will sail, and as she sinks down upon him at last the world outside disappears almost entirely. Jack's hips arch up automatically, driving into her at the same time, wanting her to properly know what it means to have him if that's what she wants.

full speed ahead
'til i'm dead in the fast lane