Page 36 of Captive of the Pirate King
Locke keeps diving into me with his fingers, until I can only hang onto him and breathe, ragged and quivering.
Then he throws me face-down onto the pallet, hitches my hips up, and sinks into me with a quaking groan. This time he achieves a depth that he didn’t before, hitting a spot that sends exquisite sparkles through my abdomen. Again and again he moves, in and out, sometimes a quick pounding rhythm, sometimes a slow languid glide. I lose track of how long he pounds into me—I only know that I crash and shatter once, and then again when his thick fingers probe between my legs, massaging in quick, firm circles.
It’s as if the two of us are trying to cram a week’s worth of love-making into a couple of hours. It’s messy and wild, and when he comes the second time we collapse in a shaking tangle of limbs, spent and breathless and weak with pleasure.
27
“We can’t just lie here.” My voice is blissfully weak. “I have to get dressed.”
Locke leans over to kiss first one breast, then the other. He pets them ruefully. “Poor things. I wish you didn’t have to bind them again.”
“It’s a necessary discomfort, thanks to the rutting Pirate King.” I roll my eyes. “Where did this ‘Pirate King’ come from anyway? How did he gain so much power? Have you ever seen him? What does he look like?”
Locke chuckles, pressing his fingers over my mouth. I can smell my own scent on his hand. “So many questions. To answer them in order—no one knows—in the most dastardly way—yes—and he’s old. Paunchy. Big gray beard. Missing hand, wooden leg.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “I thought he might be rather handsome.”
“Kings are rarely as handsome as one might hope.”
“I suppose that’s true. Back in Ivris, our king is white-haired and wrinkly, nearing eighty—and his son is a disgruntled fifty-something who’s tired of waiting for his turn on the throne.”
“Pirate leaders have no laws of succession,” Locke says. “The power goes to the man bold enough to take it, the one ruthless enough to cow his enemies and kind enough to inspire loyalty among his allies.”
I sit up, examining his face. Under the shaggy dark hair and the scruffy jaw, under his brusque demeanor aboard ship and his animalistic passion, there’s a keen, agile mind. I’d like to explore it more.
“Where do you come from?” I murmur, laying aside the single lock of white hair that arches from his brow.
His gaze shutters, walls rising in his eyes. “From somewhere dark and deep.”
“You’re running from something, too. Maybe you’re secretly a prince who went to sea to escape the royal succession. Or a notorious highwayman, fleeing the noose.”
“I don’t run from anyone.” He gives my forehead a quick kiss and rises, pulling on his clothes. “People run from me.”
He snaps the eye-patch into place again and wraps the soggy bandana around his hair, concealing the white stripe. “Sleep well, Nick.”
He ducks out the tent flap, into the pouring rain. Half-smiling, I rewrap my chest and put on the half-dried clothes I discarded earlier. Then I douse the lantern and lie in the dark, my mind racing. My body is thoroughly satisfied, but I have so many questions, and worries, and plans. It takes a long time for me to drift off.
I’m roused by a kick to my rear—sharp, but not cruel. Cook’s angular frame and beaked nose tower above my pallet.
“Captain’s bound he’ll set sail again today,” he says. “He’s heard some rumors of trouble out to sea, and he wants to get to Ravensbeck for more news.”
“Trouble?” I wince, sitting up. “What kind of trouble?”
“There’s news of a great storm near here, one that sucks in ships—pirate, passenger, and merchant alike, and they’re never seen again. The islanders claim there’s a monster at its center, eating whatever comes its way.”
“Sounds like a folk tale.” I yawn.
“Be that as it may, the Captain’s not taking chances with our fine cargo. Up, and look lively. We must load the boats and make ready to leave.”
Groggily, I shove on my half-boots and stumble outside in the pre-dawn chill, my soles squelching in wet sand. There are men waking up everywhere, pulling their dicks out and urinating wherever they please. Gross. Lucky for me, I’m clever at finding excuses and private moments when I need to relieve myself. I volunteer to tote water from the village well, which allows me a few minutes’ detour into the trees to take care of personal matters. Still, I have no idea what I’ll do when my next monthly cycle begins.
Hours later, we’ve brought aboard all the fresh supplies from the island, along with our tents and gear. I don’t catch more than a passing glimpse of Locke now and then, as he labors alongside the other sailors to prepare the ship for the next leg of its journey.
“How far to Ravensbeck?” I ask Cook.
“About a week if the weather’s good,” he replies. “If we stay on this course, we can intercept another merchant vessel on the way. TheLady Marcella, she’s called. Supposed to be richly laden with goods, and the Captain’s got an eye for her.”
A panicked chill raises bumps all over my skin. “We’re going to attack another ship?”
