Page 67 of Stealing the Merman

Was that a compliment? Conall himself dressed immaculately for the occasion. He’d pulled his hair into a low bun and wore his pirate captain hat with its huge red feather. His dark blue coat was free of creases, the buttons polished. The large square buckle of his weapon belt lay against his chest and shone in the light of the lamps. Complete with black suede boots he could’ve been a gentleman were it not for the cutlass at his hips, a pirate’s weapon of choice.

Darin looked just as neat, having swapped out his old coat for a fresh white shirt and black breeches, which hugged his slim curves to perfection. He wore a weapon belt carrying his saber and two pistols.

Conall kept his hands at the small of Finn and Darin’s backs as they walked toward the tavern where the gathering was held. His touch burned a hole through Finn’s shirt; his hand sat heavy and protective on his back, reminding him whose idea it was to slide the plug into his ass that knocked his prostate with every step.

Each bump tantalized Finn until sweat pearled on his brow that had nothing to do with the heat of the night. Now and then, the toy would hit him particularly well, causing him to shudder and quietly moan as they passed rowdy groups of pirates drinking rum on someone else’s porch.

Fuck, he wanted to come. The plug rubbed him as they walked, sending sparks up his spine and into his balls. Had it not been for the snug rings restraining his cock and sack, Finn would’ve climaxed three times already.

He cursed Conall, and yet he was grateful he took care of him. That Darin and Conall ensured he wouldn’t be sexually frustrated tonight—at least not permanently, the tease was part of the fun after all—spoke volumes. Finn felt wanted and loved. His men looked after him and his needs, and he appreciated it more than words could say. He was delighted to have them in his life. Yes, Conall was holding back, but that didn’t detract from what he did to ensure Finn was satisfied. Finn wished for nothing but to make him and Darin happy and be there for them. He’d do anything to bring them joy.

Vieques Town was noisier than usual and smelled of spilled rum and sour beer. Trash and broken bottles piled on the side of the road, and gangs of singing, drunken pirates roamed the streets. The noise increased as they approached the tavern, a vast two-story building with several parlors and drinking halls on each floor. Its windows were lit by the oil lamps and chandeliers—Vieques used to be a wealthy place before it fell into the hands of pirates—hanging from the ceiling.

The door steward greeted Conall as Captain MacGeorge, a reminder of how well-known he was among pirates. He gave Conall a courteous nod, for it wasn’t customary for pirates and outlaws to bow to each other as people did in polite society. The man opened the grand entrance for them, and light, music and the scent of smoke and grog streamed onto the landing.

The scene inside was simultaneously glamorous and unsavory. The lusters of the chandeliers glittered in the light of candles and lamps while thick smoke arose from a fire too large for the oven holding it. The crowd had dressed to kill in finejustacorpsand fancy hats, and yet the same men wore eye patches, hook hands and peglegs.

Darin and Finn framed Conall as he strode into the tavern’s main hall, head held high and a lazy curve on his lips. Heads turned, and at the largest table, a man in a blood-red coat jumped to his feet, shouting and waving for Conall to join them. He’d tied a crimson bandana around his head and had placed a crooked tricorne hat with scuffed corners atop it. His features were pleasant, and the stretch of his shirt over his chest suggested he kept in shape.

Conall raised a hand in greeting, and as he approached, people on the long wooden bench lining the table scuffled aside, making room for him and his companions.

“Captain Bill Taylor!” Conall addressed the man in red. He took a seat across from him, Finn and Darin sliding onto the bench on either side of Conall. A bolt of pleasure shot through Finn as he sat, the sudden pressure on the plug pushing it into his prostate. He barely stifled his moan. There was a round of introductions, and Finn took note that many pirate captains had an attractive companion by their side. A young woman with a brunette braid and pearl earrings sat next to a silver fox, who dressed in all black like a priest. Captain Taylor, too, had company, a male youth no older than twenty, with lush black curls and olive skin. Perhaps a Spaniard or Criollo? He was nestled against Captain Taylor’s side, almost crawling into his lap as he pressed close. Finn took his cues from him and pulled one leg over the bench, straddling it as he shuffled closer to Conall. Another move, another restrained groan.

“These are Darin and Finn,” Conall introduced them, sliding his arms around their shoulders.

Captain Taylor looked at Finn, blinked, and his mouth fell open. “You got a merman,” he said when he recovered.

“Aye,” Conall said.

“And such a beautiful one! Not that your other boy isn’t a delight, but my god, a merman!” The words gushed out of Captain Taylor. “But Captain MacGeorge…”

“Call me Conall.”

Captain Taylor swallowed, looked at the half-empty, dirty beer glass in front of him, and wrung his hands. “Conall…” he said carefully, startling himself as he tried out the word. He looked like he expected to get whipped any moment. It was then that Finn understood Conall’s position in the pirate community. He wasn’tapirate captain. He was infamous. Feared. “Conall… I can’t express what a pleasure it is to see you again. I heard about the disaster aboardThe Poisoned Doubloon, and…”

Conall made a dismissive gesture. “It’s water under the bridge, and half the stories you’ve heard aren’t true.” But his body tensed, then gave a minuscule shudder, too slight for anyone to see, though Finn felt it to his bones.

“Well, the Brethren is delighted for you to join the gathering. There’s a lot to discuss, like raiding rights across the Caribbean and the Bahamas.” Captain Taylor’s eyes flew to Conall’s weapon belt. “You’ll get first pick, of course.”

“Of course,” Conall said.

Captain Taylor gestured for the young man running between tables, serving food and drink, and ordered a bottle of the tavern’s best rum for “Captain MacGeorge and his companions.”

More pirate captains gathered at the table, so many that several had to dismiss their companions. No one expressed Conall should do the same. A map was rolled out on the table, the curling corners tamed by tumblers and bottles. The negotiations began, and just as Finn thought it was going to be a long, boring night, Conall’s hand slipped from his shoulder, onto his waist and then underneath him. Through Finn’s breeches, Conall called on the magic of the enchanted toy.

“Try and keep quiet,” Conall said, though the flash of delicious cruelty on his lips told Finn he expected him to fail. “But I want you to be well entertained tonight.”

Finn grunted through his teeth at the first motion of the plug, fighting to contain the shiver threatening to race over him. He partially succeeded and ground his raging erection into Conall’s side, trying to relieve his swelling need. The toy in his hole grew longer and wider, pushing against every inch of Finn’s sensitive channel. It felt so good he bit at his lip to let the pain distract him from the madding desire in his loins.

Conall’s hand absently caressed his thigh, massaged his ass, as he stone-faced led negotiations with the other pirates. The table hid what he was doing, and Finn fought to control his bodily reactions and give nothing away.

Darin was on top of his game, whispering to Conall as he navigated the discussion: try to get this route, not that one, it’s more profitable. Conall wanted to give up pirating—but the men at the table didn’t know that. If he played his cards right, he could secure strategic raiding rights along popular trade routes that he could sell for a bag full of doubloons in a month or two. He was about to set himself up for life.

When the rum came, Conall and Darin filled their glasses and swigged the amber liquid in greedy gulps. Alcohol had an interesting effect on Finn: it hiked his insatiability to new levels. He took a careful sip, and the syrupy taste of spice and burned caramel washed over his tongue. He hummed and couldn’t resist a second and third mouthful before he set the tumbler down, hoping it wouldn’t send him into a downward spiral of increasing need until he begged Conall to take him on the table in front of everyone.

Darin didn’t need to be careful and downed glass after glass, his cheeks turning pink. He was used to large amounts of liquor and would be able to keep his wits about him whether he’d knocked back half a bottle of rum or not. But he, too, snuggled closer to Conall, who pulled him in with an arm around his shoulder. It was then that Conall gave the bulge in Finn’s breaches a discreet stroke. Finn bit his tongue, though it didn’t help when Conall reached between his legs, and the plug came alive with pulsing thumps. A choked moan flew from his lips, loud enough to be heard across the table.

“My,” the silver fox pirate said, “your merman is quite the sight. I gather it’s true what they say about them? That their hunger for men can’t be quenched?”

---