Page 44 of Of Magic and Rum
The music dies off, and the drunken murmurs soon follow as all eyes play on me.
Mary laughs and belches. “This should be good.”
Jack rests his forearms on his thighs and digs the bottle into the stand between his ankles. He grins at me. Given this distance and the haze of the fire, it’s subtle, but I catch it, and it only motivates me further.
“I want to personally thank the Captain for not only not giving a shit about what’s between a person’s legs to join his crew but also accepting me—scales and all.” I’m speaking to the crew, but I dare not take my eyes away from Jack. “Because here I’ve found liberation. Here, I’ve foundfamily. And here, me and Mary are the She-Wolves of the damned seas.” With each passing word, my voice grows louder, and my fist rises as high as it’ll go.
Mary trots to my side, holding up her bottle. “Fuck that. We’re pirate fuckingQueens,” she bellows, the rest of the crew bursting into cheers and laughter.
The music picks up livelier than before, and the crew goes into exuberant jigs and turns wobbly circles around each other. The tune resonates with the typical tavern fare—quick, frantic, and upbeat. I spot Jack through the bouncing bodies, holding up his bottle to me, and that devilishly handsome grin has my nymph powers in a frenzy with an entirely different tune playing in my mind.
Mary is tackling Ragnar, begging him for a piggyback ride he will give her if she promises not to yell in his ear again. Red and Glog are practicing some convoluted friendship handshake, and Aranck enjoys the fire in silence, his gaze captivated by the flickering orange flames. Even Squid, still perched in the crow’s nest, watches us from up high.
My hips start to sway, and I curl my arms above my head, my wrists turning and my fingers gracefully extending with each motion. We sea nymphs are driven to do this when our interest is piqued when we sense that matching attraction from a potential lover or partner—mate. My late mother had found my father in much the same manner, and centuries later, I’m luring myowncatch.
Jack perks to attention, draping one arm over the chair’s back and sliding his brawny legs wide. The alcohol isn’t numbingmy intentions but rather unburdening me, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in eons. I drag my hands up my body, purposely catching my fingers on the blouse, revealing hints of skin—my stomach, ribs, and the underside of my breasts. Mary and I had tossed our half corsets and hats aside when the fire first blazed. It’s just me in a white linen shirt and trousers and my crimson hair falling in shambles around my face.
With every swerve of my waist, I’m stepping closer to Jack. My back is to him now, hands trailing the length of my neck until they’re playing in my hair, ass sweeping from left to right. I keep this part of my body facing him until his scent overtakes my senses, and I know I’m close enough to touch him. When I turn, the sand throws me off balance, and I wobble, laughing. Jack’s arm snaps like a whip to catch me.
“Almosthad it,” Jack whispers, smiling and helping me stand upright.
Sucking in a slow breath, I bend forward and run my hands down his thighs, resting them there for a beat. “Oh, I still have it,Jack.”
The dips and grooves of his abdominal muscles capture my attention, and the chiseled wonders of his chest and arms have me wetting my lips. I trace my fingertips over the tattoo, circling his left wrist and forearm and traveling the rest of his arm and chest. But another tattoo, hidden on the underside of his right forearm, has my heart racing—a simple black-lined silhouette of a woman with long hair, peering over her shoulder, and afishtail.
Jack doesn’t pull away from my touch and scoots closer. “I see you’ve discovered the irony.”
I brush our noses together, breathing him in, the sound of his steady but gradually quickening heartbeat like thunder in my ears. Crawling onto his lap, I straddle my legs on each side of his hips and wrap my arms around his neck. Jack’s hands find theirway to my waist, fingers exploring under my shirt and grazing the skin that dips between my hips and ribs.
“Do you know how often I’ve beenthisclose to calling the entire jewel hunt off?” Jack’s eyes roam my chest, the roaring fire’s light behind me making the fabric transparent.
“What?” I cup his chin in one hand, lifting his eyes to mine. “Why would you do that?”
Jack keeps one hand curled over my ribs and, with the other, grabs my ass and pulls me against him until our hips meet. “Because youarea jewel.”
His words are like electric raindrops over my skin, and I press my lips to his, swirling my tongue inside his mouth and rubbing myself against his stomach. Jack grunts but takes everything I’m giving him.
Pulling away, I press my forehead to his, trying to catch my breath. “Jack, let’s sneak off somewhere in the darkness, we could?—”
Jack groans, rolls his head back, and peers skyward. “You’rekillingme, Annie.”
The fog in my mind grows denser, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand. You don’t—want me?”
“Christ, no.” Jack’s head lifts, and he slides both hands over my lower back, holding me as if I’ll fall from his lap. “It physicallypainsme how much I want you so damned badly, but love, you’reinsanelyinebriated.”
In one instance, Captain Rackham outsmarts his foes, deceives them, and robs them blind, killing them if necessary. In another, he’s cordial and considerate.
I chew on my bottom lip, grinning at him. “Is Calico Jack—gentlemanly?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Jack moves one hand to my breast, cupping and kneading it, his thumb flicking the nipple. “I’ll still take advantage.” He presses a feathered kiss to the corner of mymouth. “I’m not withoutanymorals, I’m just more of what you’d call—a gray area. Besides, I’m not certain how much bruising my ego could take if you couldn’t remember how skillful I was atravishingyou.”
I’m completely andutterlygone for this man. This human. This mortal warrior.
Swaying my hips on his lap, moaning at the feel of his rough hand on me, I slide my blouse down one shoulder, then the other. “Kiss me then.”
“That—” Jack tears the rest of the shirt away, dropping it on the sand at his feet. “—I can do.”
He lifts the bottle and uses his teeth to pull the cork. With one hand pressed to my back for support, he dips me backward, my chest on full display. He pours rum between my breasts, letting it trickle down my stomach, some of it collecting in my belly button. My scales shimmer to life, some of the ridges protruding from my breastbone. Jack’s tongue laps the delicate skin beneath one breast, then the other, and drags it over the ridges, a growl bubbling in the back of his throat.
