Page 50 of Of Magic and Rum
For whatever reason, his words don’t ring true in my mind. My godly intuition says to me that this wasn’t happenstance. Whatisthe more accurate statement?
We finallyfoundeach other.
Who would’ve guessed the only woman ever to steal my heart would make me equally angry and entirely captivated by her? It’s someone’s idea of a cruel joke or the most profound gift. Whatever the case, I’m eternally grateful this someone orsomethingsaw fit to introduce us. And that she fancies me to boot. I’ve plundered goods, gold, and gems, but nothing is more valuable than the sea nymph sleeping contentedly in my arms.
Truffles remains splayed on his pillow, all four limbs stretched like a star, his tail lazily swaying in his slumber. I don’t dare move, let alone breathe, from fear of disturbing her, but when she stirs awake, moaning and rubbing her head against my chest, I pull her to me tighter.
“Morning,” I mumble into her hair, my voice gravelly as it usually is first thing when I wake up.
Anne’s fingertips trail my bare chest, tantalizing the bit of hair at my sternum. “Mm, what happened last night?”
An iceberg can’t compare to how frozen I’ve become. I rhythmically tap my forefinger on her shoulder, treading lightly on my following words. “You—don’t remember?”
She yawns and turns until she’s almost entirely on top of me, resting her elbow on my chest. “I remember the Charybdis and us fighting it underwater. But after it hit me, things started to get fuzzy.”
I’m still a rock-solid statue save for my eyes blinking and fingers relentlessly tapping. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
The corners of her lips twitch before she breaks into a fit of laughter, making the hammock sway and nearly toppling us out of it. “I am. Iamshitting with you.”
Blowing out a breath and holding the hammock taut to keep it from making a full spin, I drag a hand down my face. “I knew that.”
“Yeah? You looked a little worried—possibly mortified.” Smiling brightly, Anne tugs my beard.
Snaking my hand down her smooth back until I reach her ass, I grab it. “You’re right. You should probably recount last night in grand detail to reassure me.”
“Or—” Anne starts, trailing her hand up my thigh until she reaches my cock, fisting it. “We can repeat it this morning, step by step.” She enunciates the last “p,” and I move my lips to hers, my length twitching in her grasp, eager to feel her again.
Meow.
My eyes fly open, and I peel away with my lips still parted.
“My cat has other plans,” I say through gritted, grinding teeth, flashing Truffles a seething glare.
Truffles blinks once and flicks his tail, moseying to the door where he plops onto his butt and waits, facing it.
“Does he usually relieve himself inside of your cabin?” Anne asks, biting back a smile.
Groaning, I shift a leg from the hammock and slowly crawl out, holding it for Anne. “Christ, no. My cabin already smells questionable without adding cat piss to it.”
Anne climbs down, those fiery tresses hanging over her porcelain back like a waterfall ablaze. “Well, you can’t deprive him of shitting simply because you want your piece wet again.” Her hand grips my cock—hard,and I groan, kissing her before Truffles’ whining meows plague my eardrums.
“I know, I know,” I mumble, swiping my trousers from the floor and hopping into them. “Lest I neglecteitherof my pussies.”
Anne rolls her eyes but still grins and slaps my ass. “Go, Jack. I need to get dressed and wash up.”
After giving her a final peck on the lips, I open the door and waltz on deck, shirtless and bootless. Truffles screeches and sprints to the back corner of the ship, where the crew’s wooden crate is filled with sand for him to do his business.
Duke approaches first, his thumbs looped in his belt, and he whistles some random sea shanty. “G’morning,” he says as if his body language alone doesn’t spell it out.
“Yes, we fucked. Am I to be ashamed of such a feat?” I arch my back toward the sun’s warming rays, stretching and scratching my head.
“’Course not. It’s only a bit unconventional the way it happened. You were furious with her over failing to mention that a giant mythical beast has been chasing her.” Duke drums his fingers at his hips.
“Your point?” Combing my beard with my fingers, I move past him, my bare feet slapping against the moist deck wood.
Duke chuckles, following several paces behind me. “You’re a strange bird, Jack.”
“I wouldn’t say that. My anger stemmed from her ability to pull the wool over my eyes, which, ironically, was the exact reason she also impressed the hell out of me.” I yank a bottle of grog from Ragnar’s crate as he passes, ignoring his grumblings. Popping the cork, I take several swigs and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “We’re both passionate people, Duke. What do you want me to say?”
