Page 27 of The Sea Witch
“My duties aboard theJupiterkeep me busy from four bells to eight bells,” he replied, his voice deep in the shifting shadows of her quarters. “The moment I lay down, I’m asleep.”
“Chasing me all around St. Gertrude, onto your ship, ontomyship, getting captured. That qualifies as a full day.”
“My current circumstances aren’t calming.”
“Manacled and shackled,” she agreed. “A prisoner aboard a witch’s pirate ship.”
“That, and...” He cleared his throat. “Sharing close quarters with a woman... It’s not something I have much familiarity with.”
She lifted onto her elbow and regarded him as he lay in his hammock. The cabin was dim, save for the gleam of moonlight casting diamond-paned shadows through the long window. In the darkness, her quarters became as small as a pair of cupped hands, warm and close.
“Priestley by name as well as behavior. Or... you prefer men.”
“Neither are true.”
“A wife? A sweetheart?”
“Neither, again.” There was a moment’s silence before he spoke once more. “Most of the crew at sea go in search of company once they get shore leave. The same for me, when given the opportunity.”
“Women aren’t models of chastity, either, despite what preachers insist.”
“Yourself included?” He turned enough so that the pale light shining into the cabin revealed the gleam of his eyes as he gazed at her. His fingers were interlaced across his flat abdomen, but there was tension in them, the veins on the back of his hands standing out.
“This furnace burns hot.” She could scarce believe she told him such things, but there was a strange intimacy about speaking with him in the darkness, as if the words themselves drifted from her like so much weightless flotsam. Including telling him about the fact that she could barely go a day without some release.
Damn, with him in her quarters, she’d have no means of giving herself a climax.Thatwould prove a problem.
“Mine as well,” he answered, barely audible.
They stared at each other, the air thickening and heating more than the tropical climate surrounding them. He swallowed, and then returned his attention to the deckhead above.
“Then you’re a liar,” she said at last.
“The hell I am,” he fired back.
“Youdoshare a room with a woman.”
“A bed for a few hours,” he allowed, “but I never stay the night.”
She continued to stare at the sharp line of his profile. “A few pumps and then you weigh anchor.”
“Well,” he said after a moment, “isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?”
“By the tides, you have been sorely led astray by many misguided voices.”
“They enjoy it,” he answered. “My lovers. They tell me so.”
“Tell me, Sailing Master, do your lovers makethissound?” She let out a long moan. “Or do they say this,Yes, yes, yes!”
He said nothing.
Alys snorted. “Paying for your pleasure doesn’t ensure your lover’s.” She lay back and stared at the beams overhead. “Your ship has the lines of a sloop but in truth you’re a barge.I’ve nothing but pity for the women you take to your berth.”
“Fortunate, then, that you’ll never be in their place.”
“I count myself blessed, indeed.”
They both fell silent then.
