Page 39 of Captive of the Pirate King
I nod, and he unfastens his pants, letting himself bob free, hard and hot against the exposed strip of my stomach. I tug my own pants down to my knees.
Locke turns me around so I’m facing the forecastle wall, and he urges my rear up and out. After a few more strokes with his fingers, he pushes into me, a thick swelling heat tightening deep in my body. A choked gasp breaks from him, and he bows over me, his profile skating along my cheek. The sensation of his perfect scruff against my smooth skin is exquisite.
One broad hand travels my bound chest, along my stomach, then down between my legs. Locke massages me there, quick and light at first, then deep and slow. My breasts are aching, my stomach quivering—every nerve I have is alight and sparking—I’m practically dripping with need.
Carefully, quietly, Locke surges into me faster. We could be seen at any moment. We could be caught like this, rutting silently like desperate animals in the dark.
The thought repeats over and over in my mind—we could be seen. We could be caught. And the peril of it makes me come hard, squeezing Locke repeatedly as I bite my wrist to keep from squealing.
“Oh gods,” he says hoarsely, and I feel him jetting inside me a moment later. He pants against my neck, and when he’s done riding out his pleasure he plants a fierce, claiming kiss on my cheek. “No one else,” he whispers. “You will let no other man take you like this. I want you to be mine, Veronica, always. Forever.”
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I disengage myself from Locke and pull my trousers back in place despite the dampness along my thighs.
“Say it,” he murmurs, tracing my chin. “Say you’ll be mine alone.”
“You know I can’t promise that,” I tell him. “We’re going to Ravensbeck together, and then I need to find my brother. I need to make sure that he—that he’s under control.”
“How could you control someone as powerful as you say he is?” Locke tucks himself away, adjusting his pants.
“I have ways.”
Locke’s pale eyes narrow, glittering in the starlight. “What kind of ways? What exactly is the relationship between you two? You said you were very—close—”
Shock and disgust roil in my gut at the implication. “Ugh, no! Is that what you think of me?”
“I don’t know what to think, Veronica. You haven’t given me much information, and I don’t know you very well.”
“I don’t do anything ofthatkind with mybrother. Ugh.” I shudder. “No, this is something else. It’s a secret I can’t tell you yet, because I’m afraid it will change everything, for both of us.”
“Another secret?” Locke’s mouth curves in a rueful smile. “Always these secrets dancing between us.” He gives me a long, luxurious kiss, salt and spice and sweetness. “I should go. They’ll be looking for me soon.”
He vaults upward, one foot on the fore-peak railing to propel himself higher. His hand catches the forecastle railing, and he’s climbing up and over before I can say another word. There’s a lithe grace to him, despite his bulk, and I can’t help a little open-mouthed admiration.
“Locke!” I hiss at him. “When we attack theLady Marcella,will I be expected to fight? To—kill?”
“No, Nick. The cabin boys stay below, with Cook.”
“Oh. Good.”
He’s disappearing, but I call hoarsely again. “Locke!”
His head pops back into view. “What?”
“And you—will you be expected to kill?”
His grin vanishes. “I’m a pirate, love. If the men of theLady Marcellawant a fight, we’ll give them one, and it’ll be bloody. Morals are wilder and more changeful out here on the Shorn Seas. You’d best begin thinking more like a pirate and less like a high-born lady.”
This time, when he leaves, I don’t call him back.
Another day passes, and I sense the crew’s tension ramping up even higher as we near the area where theLady Marcellashould be. I stay in the galley as much as I can, offering to do all the hardest jobs. While Cook is sifting herbs together with spices and Dez is off scrubbing the corridor, I work on scouring pots, clearing off the grime and grease.
“I’m curious about this Pirate King,” I say, scraping at a clump of hardened grease with my thumbnail. “Have you ever seen him?”
“Not many have seen him up close,” Cook says. “But I’ve seen him twice. Once, on my last ship, when he came round inspecting it, I caught a partial glimpse of his face. And he was standing on the docks to see us off when theArdentleft Ravensbeck. Like a god he looked, lean and tall, with his black coat trimmed in gold, wearing a black crown.” Cook shook his head, his eyes distant.
“Lean and tall?” I frown. “How long ago was this?”
