Page 30 of Captive of the Pirate King
I can feel him pressed to my belly, so close to where I want him. He rubs against me, and I whimper my need over his tongue. Harder he kisses me, his arms banded around my body, locking me to him. But I don’t feel confined. I feel alive, and free.
“Tell me your name,” Locke gasps as I writhe along him.
“You have to keep calling me ‘Nick,’” I pant, kissing him again. “Or you might slip up when we’re with the others. What about you? You’re in disguise. Is Locke your real name?”
“It’s part of my real name.” He looks down, where my breasts are compressed to his chest, and he moans softly. “Gods, you’re adorable. Look at you.”
“But I’m so—mottled,” I say lamely, flushing deeper. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Why should it?” He stares at me, as if he honestly doesn’t believe I’m asking that.
I shrug. “People prefer unblemished skin.”
“No one has unblemished skin. That’s a false idea of beauty. And these—” he touches my freckled cheekbone— “aren’t blemishes. They’re an adornment. They’re art. Simply beautiful.” He ducks his head to kiss my shoulder.
I inhale sharply, unable to keep a wide glorious smile from breaking over my face. “I’m going to put you inside me now,” I whisper. Locke’s hardness twitches against me, and I grin wider at the response.
But at that moment, I hear voices. Distant, but distinct, and coming nearer.
“Locke,” I gasp.
“I hear them. Get out, quickly, and run into the forest. You can change there. I’ll stay here and distract whoever it is.”
Clumsily I haul myself out of the deep pool. Locke helps me out with a teasing push against my ass and a clever stroke of one finger along my slit as he pulls his hand away.
“You devil,” I whisper-yell at him, snatching my clothes and bindings. I have a handful of seconds to bury myself in the undergrowth before a couple of the pirates push through the bushes and stand at the edge of our pool.
23
I lie still, completely concealed by the foliage, but unable to move any further away without attracting attention. I never expected to be lying totally naked in the dense, humid forest of a tropical island. It’s not comfortable at all. Gnats hover near my nose, and I glimpse something scaly and multi-legged scuttling under the fallen leaves. What if something crawls on me? Or into me? Ugh. I press my legs together and cover my mouth and nose with my hand.
“Found yer own personal steam bath, did ye, Locke?” drawls one of the newcomers. It sounds like Tir, a graying granite block of a man. “Now that’s downright unfriendly, keepin’ it all to yourself.”
“Come on in, boys,” says Locke gruffly. “There’s plenty of room. Well… there isn’t, but I doubt that’ll stop you.”
The men splash noisily in. I can see a sliver of the pool from my hiding spot. Locke faces the men, keeping his back tattoo out of their view. While I was grabbing my clothes, he must have grabbed his bandana—it’s back in place, along with his eye-patch.
“Thought we might find you here with that runt of a cabin boy.” That voice belongs to Gorm, a pirate practically made of tattoos and piercings. “You seem to favor the lad, Locke. Can’t see why. Plenty of juicy tits and ass to be had ’round here. No need to settle for a little spotted frog of a boy. And if it’s a cock you want, you could do better.”
“Come to think of it, we’ve never seen the lad’s piece,” says the first pirate, Tir. “Seems odd, don’t it?”
“He’s a shy, jumpy sort of thing,” answers Gorm. “Might need to toughen him up a bit. Remember when we tied Quint to the mast naked?”
They both guffaw. I don’t hear Locke laughing though.
As for me, my stomach is turning at the coarse talk and the jabs at my expense. I grit my teeth, angry at the prickle of tears in my eyes. What they say about me doesn’t matter.
“Let the boy be, Tir,” grunts Locke. I’ve noticed that when he’s talking only to me, he’s smooth and well-spoken—but when he’s with the other pirates, he’s all brusque and growly.
“You do like him!” Tir says, triumphant. “So where is he? Did he run off? Oh, Nick!” he calls in a singsong voice. “Come on out and soak yer balls with us. We won’t bite. Maybe we’ll have a little fun, all four of us.”
All my muscles go rigid with panic. What if they start hunting around for me? What if they find me?
“No idea where the scamp is,” drawls Locke. “Go ahead and yell if you want. Won’t do no good. Hey Tir, who was that I saw you with last night? The blonde with the thighs?” He whistles appreciatively. “Good fun?”
I’m conscious of a quick pang of jealousy before I realize that Locke is steering the men away from the topic of me.
And it works. Tir groans with lustful exuberance. “Good fun? I’ll tell you aboutgood fun.” And he launches into a detailed account of his erotic escapade with the woman.
