Page 4 of Stealing the Merman

Where was Conall now? When he’d regained his strength and their time together wound down, Finn took him to the nearest human-inhabited island. He told him to find him at the merman colony of Shroud Cay, should Conall want to see him. Out of all the men Finn had played with, Conall was his favorite. He held hidden depths Finn had caught glimpses of. The shipwreck afflicted Conall more than he admitted—he physically recovered but remained quiet, big shoulders hanging. His eyes were vacant and only sparked when he looked at Finn.

Their time together had been a precious, fleeting gift. Finn doubted he’d see Conall again.

Chapter Four

Darin

Darin furiously scrubbed the navigation room to get away as soon as possible. Conall’s presence unnerved him, and he had other work around the ship. It was best if he finished before the captain and the navigator concluded their meeting. The last thing he wanted was to end up in an awkward situation where he’d be alone with Conall. He’d embarrass himself again, and once per day was plenty.

Outside the windows, the sun had set, its last rays painting an orange-red ribbon along the horizon that faded into the dark blue of the night sky. Darin was wiping the last chest of drawers and thinking about cooling off on the ship’s lower decks when the conversation between Conall and the navigator wound down. Darin focused on the work in front of him with intent, pretending not to hear the tell-tale rustling of clothes as the men stood. Paper whispered, the unmistakable sound of the navigator rolling up the map, the old parchment tearing in one place.

Conall sent the navigator away, and quick, light steps ushered out the door. If Darin had thought the room couldn’t get any hotter, he was proven wrong fast. Alone with Conall, lava shot through his veins, heating his cheeks, and pooling between his legs alike. Dammit, this wasn’t the time. But Conall’s effect on him couldn’t be denied. Hyperaware of the man behind him, Darin’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He didn’t dare turn and look, frozen in place in the quiet room. Why didn’t Conall leave? Surely any moment his heavy footfall toward the door would announce his departure. The seconds crawled by, stretching uncomfortably. Darin’s fist tightened around the cloth. He’d have to move and keep cleaning, the unease of the situation tormented him.

Darin breathed in and lifted his cloth to the wooden furniture to— “Drop it,” Conall growled, and Darin almost did, but years of sharp words and physical discipline at the orphanage had trained him to not flinch like a scared rabbit. Sweat ran down his nape as he forced himself to put the cloth down slowly and turn to face his captain. “Come,” Conall said and made a gesture for Darin to follow him as he strode toward the door.

What was that about? He trailed after Conall as they left the room and proceeded along the dim hallway. The wooden planks creaked under their feet. Was he in trouble? Darin couldn’t think of anything he’d done that’d make the captain angry. Conall was fierce and grim but not unjust. Plus, if he’d wanted to speak with Darin in private, he could’ve done so in the navigation room. No, this was something else.

When Conall took the stairs down, Darin’s heart leaped into his throat. This was the way to the captain’s cabin. Not that he hadn’t been there before. Every morning, Darin brought him breakfast and handled his errands. At night, he lit his lamps, collected laundry and received the day’s last orders. But even after four weeks aboard, being in the captain’s cabin still unnerved Darin. No, that wasn’t correct. He’d worked on plenty of ships and the captain’s quarters had never been a place that intimidated him. It was the fact they wereConall’s quarters that left him on edge.

In front of him, Conall’s untamed mane flowed around his shoulders as he proceeded toward the solid walnut door that marked the entrance to his private cabin. Darin’s was one door down the hall—the cabin boy was to be within the captain’s reach at all hours of the day to fulfill his every wish.

The lamp in the hallway cast a faint golden light on Conall’s form, highlighting his broad shoulders. His back stretched the cotton of the white shirt before his silhouette tapered to his waist and hips. Muscles rippled under the fabric as he pushed the heavy door open. He made it look easy, though Darin knew how weighty the door was.

Conall marched inside, but Darin stopped dead at the threshold. It was too early for the captain to retire. Perhaps he wanted to fetch something before heading to the mess for dinner with the rest of the crew as he usually did. Then he’d have the final meeting of the day, with the quartermaster and the first mate, to make arrangements for the night. They could say what they wanted about Conall, but how organized a crew he ran was a far cry from the raging chaos on other pirate ships. In the late evening, he’d indulge in a glass of rum or two, play a round of cards, and retire on the approach of midnight. It was hours from midnight.

From his vantage point at the door, Darin watched Conall loosen the ties at the front of his shirt, exposing several inches of tanned skin. Darin swallowed, his throat dry.

“Come in, boy,” Conall said, his voice rich and dark.

Boy? Darin was a man, like Conall. Less than a decade separated them. Darin waited for righteous indignation to rise in his chest. It didn’t. Instead, a pleasant warmth spread. He shouldn’t like being called a boy, but he couldn’t help it. Not when it came out of Conall’s mouth in a tone that carried authority and tolerated no objection.

He took a tentative step into the room. “Close the door,” Conall said, and Darin knew why he was here. He felt it in the thickness of the air, in the heat of his cheeks and the frantic heartbeat in his chest. So, he’d been right. Conall had hired him for a task a younger cabin boy couldn’t do. There was no obligation for Darin, but when he signed up as a cabin boy aged twenty-one, he knew what he was getting into.

But one thing was odd; why had Conall waited for weeks? Darin had been at his disposal the entire time, and he’d wondered if Conall had changed his mind, if he hadn’t found Darin to his liking after all. Maybe, Darin thought with a sinking feeling, he wasn’t to Conall’s tastes, but they’d been at sea long enough for him to grow desperate.

Darin took a deep breath and pushed the thought out of his mind. He should make himself useful instead of getting lost in his head. And so he lit an oil lamp, dipping the dark room into a dim glow. The solid cherry wood furniture took on a russet shine and cast deep shadows.

“Rum?” Conall asked as he pulled a bottle and two glasses from his cabinet.

“Yes, sir, please,” Darin breathed and stepped closer.

Conall poured them a couple of fingers each and regarded Darin over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. He hummed his approval and watched intently as Darin picked up his drink. The rum smelled bold and syrupy, of fruit and burnt caramel. Daring, he maintained eye contact with Conall as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig of liquid courage. Spice and vanilla exploded on his taste buds, the alcohol burning his throat as he swallowed.

Conall downed the rest of his drink, and Darin sighed internally, knowing that the captain didn’t find him attractive. Why else would he have waited a month to take advantage of Darin’s presence? Why else would he drink before bedding him? Darin didn’t want to think about it and finished his rum. It helped him ignore the nagging feeling.

When Conall’s giant paw of a hand settled on his cheek, it caught him by surprise. Darin blinked, the alcohol warming his stomach. He looked up at Conall, his expression unreadable. Darin’s lips parted on their own accord.

“You’re very pretty,” Conall said, the words rumbling out of him low and rough. It was as if Conall had read his thoughts and wanted to appease his worried mind. “Such high cheekbones,” he said, tracing one with his thumb. “Such a fine jawline.” Fingers brushed from Darin’s ear to his chin. Conall gripped him there, forcing him to look into his eyes. “You’ve been hard to resist.”

Resist?

“Unlace my shirt,” Conall said.

“Yes, sir.” Darin reached out with trembling fingers, and when he touched the thin cotton, he gritted his teeth to not jerk back. He felt as if he’d been asked to pet an angry bear. Yet he worked his fingers in quick and efficient moves, unfastening the laces until they trailed to the sides, exposing inch after inch of Conall’s torso. The sharp, hard lines he revealed left him lightheaded. Conall’s pecs were firm and full, his abdomen a relief of solid muscle. Scars marked his skin, but they didn’t diminish his perfection. If anything, they added character.

The laces undone, Conall drew the shirt from where it was tucked into his breeches. He let it hang open and pulled a chair from under his desk, swung it around and sat on it, legs spread wide. “Come here, boy.”

Darin obeyed, his heart beating like a drum. He approached with sweaty palms, his step unsure. It made him proud that he didn’t stop until he stood between his captain’s legs. Then everything happened quickly, as if it was important to proceed with speed, lest one of them had time to reconsider and change their mind. Conall’s hands went for Darin’s fly, and he held his gaze as he undid the buttons. Only when his strong hands gathered the material and firmly pushed it past his hips did Darin turn his face away. His cock sprang free, jutting out and curving up to his stomach. He hoped the shadows of the night masked the blush that darkened his cheeks. Gingerly, he stepped out of his breeches and pushed them aside with his foot.

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