Page 38 of Captive of the Pirate King
The fore peak is a narrow spit of boards just wide enough to sit on, with embellished railings on either side. On a ship where there’s little privacy, this has become one of my favorite spots to find a moment’s peace.
Here I’m concealed from most vantage points. Only someone right at the forecastle railing or on the fore mast could see me. When the head is occupied or too disgusting for me to handle, I come here to relieve myself. I’ve learned to do it quickly, with minimal mess, while clinging to rope and railing.
And sometimes I come here just to sit and be alone.
I rest my back against the wall leading up to the forecastle deck, and I soak in the clean sea air. Wind trails chilly fingers through my hair and clothing, and I relish its cleansing touch.
“You should be resting,” says a low voice above me, and I smile. I knew Locke was on duty tonight, and I wondered if he’d see me prowling about and come to find me.
I tilt my head back, and there he is above me, leaning over the forecastle railing. He flips up his eye-patch and smiles down at me.
“The crew’s quarters stink of man,” I tell him.
“I apologize on behalf of all men.” His smile dissipates, leaving a dark expression behind. “Nick, about what happened today—”
“You couldn’t intervene. I know. It would have made things so much worse.”
“Even if you were—what they think you are,” he says, low, “what difference should it make to them whether I love a man or a woman?”
My heart trips over itself.Love?I desperately want to respond—to protest, maybe, or reciprocate? I’m not sure which. I can’t speak.
Locke glances around. “I’m coming down.”
“There’s not enough room,” I protest. “You’re too big.”
Locke vaults the railing easily, lowering himself, and I squeeze aside to make room as his huge boots dangle down to the narrow spit of boards. He drops lightly onto the forepeak, and then he’s right against me, overpowering me with his broad chest and shoulders, the spicy fragrance of him. “Too big? That’s not what you thought the other night.”
He angles his body so his back is to the sea, caging me against the forecastle. His hands brace against the wall on either side of my head.
My body is already singing for him—it began warming and liquefying the instant I heard his voice. Traitorous body. Wicked wanton flesh.
Locke dips his mouth to mine, and I accept his kiss eagerly. He tastes like the savory bacon-and-potato pie Cook made for dinner, mixed with the sting of rum.
“You’ve been drinking,” I whisper.
“Only a little.”
“I miss wine,” I say softly. “I miss having a bed, and pillows, and privacy.”
He scrapes the unruly waves of auburn hair back from my face. “This has been hard on you, hasn’t it?”
Mutely I nod. Why is my lip starting to quiver? I blink rapidly, trying to will the tears not to rise.
“Beautiful Veronica,” Locke whispers. “My good, brave girl.”
“Beautiful?” I choke. “Liar. You heard what they said about me.”
“Stop.” He grips my chin. “Any woman with these features would be considered a peerless beauty. Your eyes alone could stop a king in his tracks.”
“You can see past the spots,” I tell him. “Not everyone can.”
“I don’t seepastthem,” Locke says. “To me, they are part of the beauty.” He kisses my cheek, my temple, my forehead—I tip my chin up so he can kiss my jawline and my neck. He nibbles along the heated pulse of my throat, and I let out the faintest whimper.
At the sound, Locke’s shadowed face lights with a feral grin. His palm slides down my stomach, moving beneath the band of my trousers, questing lower. When he reaches between my thighs, he swirls a thick finger through the slickness he finds there. “Veronica,” he growls against my mouth. “So ready for me.”
I grasp his face between my hands and pull his mouth to mine again, kissing him hard. My hips surge forward, forcing his central finger deep inside me. “Please,” I whisper. “Please take me.”
“We’ll have to be very quiet,” he says.
