Page 22 of Captive of the Pirate King
The boat bumps into sand, and the pirates hop out to pull it in closer. Unable to wait a moment longer, I shuck off my boots and leap over the side of the skiff.
My bare toes plunge deep into wet sucking sand, cool and thick and grainy. The sensation is pure pleasure.
16
Asplorchsound from behind me tells me that Dez followed my example and jumped out of the boat as well. Cook chuckles and tells us to “have a good time” without the usual tension in his tone.
Dez and I run through the shallows, foam skimming our calves, tendrils of seaweed brushing our ankles—and then we’re really on land, pounding across damp flat sand. I hop over prickly ridges of corrugated shells, onto the pillowy sand beyond. It’s still warm from the day’s sunshine.
Joy turns me careless, and I tear off the cloth around my head so I can feel the wind rush through my short hair. I know I did a terrible job cutting it, and honestly it’s better that way. The more disheveled and ragged I look, the better.
I stick with Dez for a while, because when we’re side by side it’s easier for people to see two teenage boys. Besides, he’s not a bad kid. A bit lazy, a little too anxious to immerse himself in vices—but that’s typical of a boy his age.
Tonight, though, there’s not a hint of laziness in him. He’s brimming with energy and eagerness, so I follow him around, his joy fueling mine. We snatch roasted pork so hot that its grease burns our fingers, and we snag tankards of rum. We claim sugared rolls from the high-piled platters near the bonfires, and we perch atop a broken overturned rowboat, just inside the circle of firelight, to enjoy our loot.
The villagers mingle with the sailors and pirates, joking and laughing, jostling each other, whooping and whistling. A number of women are present, and I instinctively shrink when one of them comes too close. I’m afraid they will see what I’ve concealed from the men on theArdent. And I’m still not sure if, or when, I’ll reveal my gender. I have to think about what would best serve my goal of finding Mordan.
When Dez and I have eaten all we can hold of fruit tarts, stew, roast pork, and fried fish, he tucks into the rum.
“Take it easy,” I warn him, as he tips back the tankard and gulps it down.
“I don’t feel it,” he says muzzily. “Not a bit. I’ve got a stomach as hard as the Captain’s dick.” And he points to where Neelan sits on a wooden bench, with a busty woman on his left and a handsome young man on his right. It’s true—there’s a visible bulge in the Captain’s pants.
I can’t help laughing along with Dez. But I’ve had a few sips of rum myself, and what breaks out of me is an actual giggle, not the brusque masculine laugh I’ve been perfecting.
“You know,” Dez slurs, leaning confidentially toward me, “sometimes you sound like a girl. No ’fense.”
“None taken,” I mutter, burying my face in my tankard again.
Dez is snoring a few minutes later, so thankfully he can’t think any further about my incautious giggle.
The rum tastes terrible, but it makes my chest pleasantly warm and spicy inside, so I take another sip. Best not to think too hard about what’s in it or how it was made. It’s certainly a far cry from the refined wines I consumed at home.
Most of the crowd on the beach has clustered around this particular bonfire, since Captain Neelan holds court here. I scan the beach, peering into the dark beyond the glow of the flames. There are a few shifting shapes on the sand, and the moonlight licks bare buttocks and surging backs. Apparently some of the pirates couldn’t wait for a more private place to get their pleasure.
My face burns from rum and embarrassment. Back home, coupling in public was unheard-of. Here, no one seems to care much.
“They’re purely carnal creatures,” says a voice at my elbow, and my whole body thrills at Locke’s presence. “Free of all the rules of social conduct. Don’t you love it?”
Secretly, perhaps I do. My most salacious interlude happened in the study of a nobleman’s home, with a half-closed door and a short hallway between me and the dinner party my family was attending. The heir to the house took me on his father’s desk. He gave me the best orgasm of my life, but he could talk of nothing but ledgers and lands, so I crossed him off my mental list of potential husbands.
Sometimes I wonder if the exquisite power of that orgasm was partly due to the peril of being caught, the increased chance of being seen.
“I can see the appeal,” I murmur. I’m tempted to take another sip of rum, but my brain is already growing soft and silly, and if I go too far I won’t be able to keep up my necessary ruse.
Locke ruffles Dez’s hair. “Poor lad. Drank himself to sleep too soon, and now he won’t be able to join in the fun.”
“He’s too young for that kind of fun,” I say sharply.
“Notthat.” Locke jerks his head toward the rutting pairs in the darkness. “I meant the songs, and the dancing. Now that everyone has eaten their fill—ah, what did I tell you?” For at that very moment several of the villagers begin to play instruments—twanging lap harps, pipes, and drums. It’s a jaunty melody that makes me want to jump up and dance.
My gaze travels Locke’s form, from his broad shoulders to his long muscular legs. I wonder if he can dance well.
Before I can ask him and make an idiot of myself, one of the island girls approaches him. She has bronze skin and long braids swinging to her waist. She’s beautiful, with soft golden eyes and full lips.
“Care to dance, sir?” The girl’s voice is melodic, enticing. Her breasts swell against her light tunic, which is held up by a shell-studded rope around her neck, leaving her shoulders and back bare. She glows with health, warmth, and luscious beauty.
In contrast, I’m a scrawny, scruffy, brown-speckled scrap of a thing, flat-chested and sloppily dressed.
