Page 41 of Pirate's Intent
“It is not quite like that.” She shook her head. “You are not the criminal.” She stopped and frowned, still clenching her fists. “I want to lash out, hit him back, to not feel so helpless that I cannot right this wrong” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “To not feel this overwhelming guilt of not being a better protector to my sister.”
She swallowed and paused a moment before continuing. “Even though I cannot stop him from hitting us, I still have control, because I can move. I can take action. I can choose to put myself in his path so that he will lash out at me. Yet I cannot strike back because he would take it out on sweet Rose.” She sighed. “Even so, I am not always successful at directing his ire my way.” Her eyes met his. “I want to escape that if but for a moment. That burden of control...yet ultimate failure.”
He, in turn, ironically enough, sought the opposite.
He sought a means to take back the control his father relentlessly ripped away from him.
“You do not fail anyone,” he’d replied. “Especially your sister.”
“Don’t I, though?” Sighing again, she sat on one of several chairs randomly placed along the woodland stream and white-knuckled its edges. “Sometimes, I wonder... If I were locked down for but a moment...” she said softly. “If I were not allowed to leave this chair. Might I find peace then?” Something he had never seen before flared in her eyes when they returned to his. “Might I escape if but for a moment?”
Intrigued, he drifted closer, behind her, aroused by her more than ever...more than usual. He slowly untied her hair ribbon, put his hands over hers, and murmured in her ear, “What if you could escape? Truly. At my hands.”
“Your hands?” she said softy allowing him to pull her arms behind the chair. He tied her wrists loosely.
“What if someone happens along,” she whispered, testing the bonds, a flash of dismay in her eyes that she could easily slip free.
“What if?” he said softly. He pulled the ribbon tighter. His cock strained against his breeches at the hitch in her breathing. The pink staining her cheeks. The sudden desire in her big, vulnerable eyes.
“Things are different now,” she bit out, ripping him back to the present, referring, naturally, to the chair he had tied her to back then. “We are not those foolish children anymore.”
“We were not children then.” Bit by bit, so slow it was pure torture, he pulled her dress up. “And we are not children now.” He tilted his head in question. “Where is it, Hannah? Where is the brooch?”
Her breathing hitched in desire, but her eyes narrowed in warning. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He arched a brow and curled his tongue over his lips in a way she would most certainly recognize. “A treasure hunt, then?”
Her eyes widened, and her pupils flared as she took his meaning.
“I dropped it a ways back,” she relented, lying as well as she ever did. “Take me back, and I will give it to you.”
“Oh, you dropped it to be sure.” He knew full well where she had hidden it but was not about to pass up such a perfect opportunity. “And I will find it.” He pushed her dress higher up her thighs. “Then I will take it...all of it.”
Despite her half-hearted protests, he pulled off her drawers, may she never wear them again, and spread her legs with his thighs, not quickly but slowly, drawing it out. He had reenacted this moment far too often in his mind, not to do it precisely as he had back then. Not by the river but in the privacy of a hideaway he had found in the woods.
Just as she did then, her cheek flamed, and her breathing grew ragged.
“Do you remember?” he murmured, enjoying the sight of her dress riding further up still, at last giving him what had been gone from him for so long. “Do you remember what I did to you, my little tease?”
“You are a rogue,” she breathed. Her eyes slid shut as he ran his hands up her thighs. As he cherished her soft flesh.
“Yes,” he growled and pushed the chair back. He fell to his knees between her legs. “And hungry.”
“How dare—”
He spread her soft folds and licked the length of her, turning her protest into a long, throaty moan. She tasted as sweet now as she did then, her response to him just as it always was. He continued licking and tasting, lost in her, consuming juices he had longed to have on his tongue since the moment he left Yorktown all those years ago.
Fortunately, he’d planned ahead with this and had someone keeping watch outside, because as he knew would happen, he became solely aware of her. Anyone could slip in and slit his throat because he was so lost in having her like this again. Devouring the endless stream of moisture she provided. He closed his eyes and groaned along with her when he slid first one, then two fingers into her tight sheath. Though married briefly, she was as snug as a virgin.
So he pressed a third finger in.
His gaze drifted to her lovely face as she bit her lower lip, her head fell back, and she tried to arch. When her groans grew louder, he again thanked his forward-thinking that sounds of erotic pleasure were supposed to come from a brothel.
While tempted to draw this out, something he would most assuredly do in the future, his poor cock could not handle much more. So he thrust and curled his fingers deeper while suckling the nub at the apex of her pleasure.
Moments later, she cried out, shuddered then began milking his fingers.
He gave her time to catch her breath but not too long before he wrapped his hand in her hair and forced her eyes to meet his gaze.
