Page 11 of Stealing the Merman

Darin looked like a startled deer. “Sir?”

“It’s too dangerous. You haven’t been trained with the sword.”

“I saved your life!”

“I would’ve been fine, and you know it. During the next raid, you will stay on board and defend the ship. You’re a good shot, and I’ll have someone show you how to use a musket, how to fire the cannons. I don’t want you in the middle of a raid again.” Because Conall knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. That his attention would fix on Darin instead of raiding the ship. He couldn’t think with him around. Everything about him was distracting.

“But I—”

“You will obey,” Conall growled, and Darin lowered his eyes in submission.

Conall stalked toward him until the tips of his shoes met Darin’s. His hands found Darin’s hips and sank into his shirt where it was tucked into the waistband of his breeches. Conall pulled the light cotton free, then he dove underneath it. The heat of Darin’s skin burned his fingertips. Conall clenched his jaw to suppress a reaction when his hands came to rest on Darin’s sides. His waist was firm, yet his skin was soft as silk and exuded pulsating warmth.

The day had been hell, but with alcohol buzzing through his veins and Darin in his arms, it all faded away. His hands ran up Darin’s sides, collecting the fabric of his shirt on the way until he pulled it over his head. He cast the shirt aside and leaned in. Darin’s lips parted, and Conall captured them. The sweet and spicy taste of rum lay on his tongue, and Conall licked it, savoring the heady mix of alcohol and boy. He indulged in it for a precious moment, then he tore away. He was going too far.

His fingers found the buttons of Darin’s breeches and worked them open. Under the fabric, Darin was rock-hard. Once Conall had him undressed, he led him to his desk. He swept his arm over the table, clearing it. Books plummeted to the floor, papers scattered in the air before floating to the ground. Conall’s rapid breathing never slowed. He needed to reconnect. That raid had nearly killed them both.

He grabbed Darin by the neck and bent him over the desk with gentle force. The boy moaned, and Conall unbuttoned his own breeches with one hand. He found the oil in his drawers and slicked up. Then he kicked Darin’s legs apart and placed an oiled finger pad on his entrance, causing another lovely sound to slip from his mouth.

“I don’t want to see you in danger,” Conall said, and with his free hand, he slapped Darin’s buttocks. Darin yelped in surprise, his pucker twitching under Conall’s finger. “Boarding an enemy ship is dangerous. The strain takes a toll on everybody. When I return from a raid, I want you to be safe and sound aboard this ship. I want you to be waiting for me so that I can relax with you after risking life and limb.” Conall’s fingertip breached Darin’s hole. He slid inside, the boy’s hole slick with oil from when Conall had used him in the morning. “You’re my whore, and I can’t enjoy you when you get injured in battle and the carpenter has to stitch you up. Yes, the carpenter. You might have noticed we don’t have a doctor on board. Am I making myself clear?” He crooked his finger and probed Darin’s prostate.

“Ahhh! Yes! Yes, sir. Very clear.”

“Good.”

It was half the truth. Darin didn’t need to know worry ate Conall alive when he thought about him engaging in battle. Once had been enough. If Darin complied because he thought it’d please him, that was enough.

He fucked Darin with his digit, in and out, staying clear of his prostate. Then he withdrew, only to invade him with two fingers. Darin groaned, his sphincter helplessly trying to close. His smooth insides squeezed Conall’s fingers as they slowly entered him. Conall moved at a steady pace, letting Darin adjust. When his hole grew pliant, Conall scissored his digits, parting those hot, pulsing walls. Darin hissed at the stretch but didn’t complain. “Good boy.”

Conall pulled out, only to push in with force. Darin gasped. He’d turned his head and pressed his cheek to the table. His face was flushed pink, and he looked up at Conall through his messy fringe. God, he was perfect. Conall couldn’t wait to make him scream.

His fingers dove deep and found the spot he was looking for. Darin jerked, and Conall withdrew. A disappointed whine followed, causing Conall to smirk. His fingertips circled Darin’s gland, never touching it again. First, the boy frowned, then rhythmic whines poured out of him, one for each time Conall looped around the place where he desperately needed to be touched. Finally, he begged.

“Please, sir. Please. I need you… Nghhh… Please touch me…”

“I am touching you,” Conall said, keeping his tone casual. With his free hand, he landed another smack on Darin’s buttocks, earning him a squeal.

“Sir! Please! I need youthere.”

“Where?”

“Sir!”

“Say it, boy.”

If Conall had thought Darin couldn’t turn any redder, the crimson creeping into his face was proving him wrong. “Please,” Darin whispered, “please touch that place deep inside of me. The one that makes me see stars. Makes me feel so good. You’re the only one who’s ever—”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by a scream of pleasure when Conall’s fingers firmly plunged into his prostate. Darin’s eyes widened, his pupils dilated. His mouth hung open, and he shook all over. His inner walls rapidly tensed and relaxed around Conall’s digits. Was he that close to coming? God, the boy was a miracle.

The scent of sweat and salt permeated the room. Conall grabbed Darin’s balls. He made a pathetic little sound when Conall first ran his fingers over them, then cupped and weighed them in his hand. They were nice and heavy and had climbed toward his body. He let go and took hold of Darin’s cock. His fingers smoothed over the hard, swollen flesh. Darin keened when Conall reached the smooth head. He thumbed it, feeling wetness. When he looked, he saw a clear rope of precum running down.

“You’re leaking precum onto my boots,” Conall growled.

“I’m sorry, sir, so sorry,” Darin breathed.

It didn’t sound like an apology. Conall didn’t want one. He took Darin’s cock and gave him a couple of firm strokes. More bitten-off whimpers.

His next slap to Darin’s ass landed simultaneously with a nudge to his prostate. Darin reared up, arching his back so gorgeously, Conall wanted to kiss every inch of his skin. He did no such thing. He grabbed the base of Darin’s neck and pushed him back onto the desk. Darin offered no resistance, surrendering to Conall manhandling him.

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