The Pirate Captain (102 page)

He kissed her again, his braids pattering a provocative dance on her chest. “Damn, you taste good.”

He had his own taste: rum—strong enough to make her light-headed—musk and desire, and she drank deeply.

They undressed each other with hands that occasionally shook and fingers that fumbled. Buttons suddenly became inordinately slippery, ties unmanageable. Her hand hovered at the ribbon at the neck of her shift, and she bit her lip, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “I can’t. I’m scared."

“Of what?”

“You.” What if it had been too long? Was it possible for the body to forget? At the moment, it didn’t seem possible, but the doubt lurked.

“Me?” Nathans disbelief dissolved, and his brows drew together. “You know I’ll never hurt you.”

Cate tried to smile, but his image blurred.

Dammit! Not tears! Not now!

She laughed mirthlessly. “No, not that way. I’m nervous as all hell, but it’s because you’re more…experienced.”

Nathan flushed under his tan and looked away. “Don’t worry luv,” he mused. “We’ll move easy. If there’s any part you don’t recall, just let me know.”

“But there’s…” Her hand went reflexively to her stomach.

“Your scars?” Arching an admonishing brow, he gently took her by the wrists, turned them up and kissed the inside of each one, the bristle of his mustache tickling the delicate skin. “We all carry them. You forget: I’ve seen them.”

“But I didn’t see you see them; there’s a difference.”

Nathan smiled tolerantly. “And so, you shall see mine, or blow out the candle. ’Tis your choice.”

Cate saw and heard his hopefulness that she would not. They both wanted something more than a furtive anonymous tumble in the dark. He would take her, flaws and all, if she would do the same.

“But, I—”

He cut off her objections with his lips, as reassuring as nothing else could.

“Now, then…” Nathan's eyes held hers as he pulled the ribbon free. On shaky legs, she stood transfixed on his gaze as he nudged the garment from her shoulders and it fell into a puddle at her feet. She observed him keenly for the first sign of recoil or disgust, but found nothing. His fingers dancing an air ballet around her, his eyes glistened as he took her in.

“My God.” His throat moved when he gulped. He shook his head in wonderment. “You’re more beautiful…How could I have ever…?”

Nathan pressed his lips to her cheek, neck, and collarbone, while at the same time sank to his knees before her. He cupped her breast, pale against his tanned hand. Lying heavy and taut in his palm, he took it deep against his tongue. She cradled his head in her arms as one would a child. He sank lower, his lips tracing a moth wing’s path over the slope of her belly, holding her by the hips to steady her when she flinched or shied. As he followed each scar, from the heaviest to the most thread-like, she could see in her mind’s eye the angle and curve of each one.

Cate closed her eyes. She grew more light-headed, the room beginning to spin. She clung to him, her anchor, afraid if she were to let go he would be lost to her forever. It had been so long since she had felt the sensations that now coursed through her. Sequestered for years, the body recalled all too well the yearning, the deep-seated, aching need.

At last, Nathan rose to his feet. “There now,” he said, as one would soothe a child.

“Now you,” she said, tugging at his shirttails.

Nathan took a half step back, slipped his shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor and spread his arms in display. Dark and wild, a blur of tattoos and scars, he glowed, bronze fading to ivory. The candlelight played patterns across his body, shadows defining the deep cut of bone and muscle. It was obvious was that he wanted her badly…very badly.

He lifted her to the bunk, and lowered himself over her. “Don’t worry. I shan’t risk burdening you with a child.”

He kissed her once more, this one a thorough exploration of her deepest crevices, his tongue darting, taunting, and teasing.

“Show me, Kitty,” he whispered. “Touch me as you would have me touch you. Use me as your chart. Give me your course.”

The ship’s ambient chorus of sail, rigging, and plank faded. Their eyes held each other’s as they played a languid game of show and tell: seeking and exploring, discovering and learning.

“Touch me here,” she said, curving her hands along the spring of his ribs. And so he did, gooseflesh following in the path of the softly callused fingers.

“And here.”

Nathan's breath caught and he trembled when she touched his nipple. It came up hard, as hers rose against his palm, begging to be suckled once more.

As she directed, he followed, echoing her every move. Her fingers teasing his stiffened length were answered by beguiling fingers, which found her slippery cleft. A fingertip at the tip of his cock delicately guided him further. When her eyes closed in ultimate surrender, he chuckled softly, and then slid down. Cradling her hips in his hands, he re-traced his exploratory route, re-discovering with lips what fingers had already known. She curved her fingers into the raven hair, and guided him, until she could hold on no more.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, his breath warm on the tender skin. “When you’re ready, luv, and not a moment before.”

Cate surprised him when she pushed him back and rose over him to track similar journeys: over the curve of his ribs, his skin rippling in response; down to the jut of his hip and the deep grove of his groin. She tasted the salty dampness at the hollow of his throat, felt the hard nub of his nipple, and smelled the deep must of the heavy thatch between his legs.

“Succubus,” Nathan hissed and pulled her to him. Crushing her mouth with his, he rolled above her.

Encircling his cock, she gave the silken length a few more strokes, and then guided him home. He gave a solid thrust and staggered with relief in her arms. She flinched, her tender flesh contracting at the invasion, and he tried to pull away.

“Nathan, no, please…” Her hand at his back held him in place.

“But, I…”

“No. Please.”

Nathan’s body trembled with the strain of giving her time to adjust, unable to move, unable to breathe. A flex of her hips her assent, he plunged to the root. He held so very still, allowing her to set the pace. She had the impression he would have never moved had she not seized his hips and goaded him on. She discovered years of denial weren’t as ready to be relieved as one might think. What had seemed so simple and imminent became an elusive taunt, teetering so very near, only to fall away, a dam impregnable. She bucked under him, urging, begging, demanding. Pain and pleasure ricocheted against each other, until they became a new glorious goal: to suffer one was to gain the other.

Her consciousness spiraled down to the point of their joining. Clawing at his flanks, she smothered her cries into his shoulder. Giving over to his own need, he settled with new purpose, driving harder and faster. The pounding became a fleshy rhythm, each thrust felt to her womb.

He sought to withdraw, but her hand at his back stopped him. His final shuddering gasp was lost as her finish came in a flood of long racking spasms, one overlapping the next as she crashed against him.

Forehead buried in the pillow next to her head, Nathan limply lay on top of her. His pulse echoed through their joining, and their hearts settled into a unified beat.

Yes, the body does remember—and remembers very well,
she thought, idly stroking his back.

Nathan’s body began to quake, and then the low rumble of a laugh finally erupted into the pillow. He pushed up, rolled his eyes back and fell away. Spread-eagle across the bunk, his chest heaved as he strove to catch his breath. He raised an arm to wipe the sweat from the side of his face, and then dropped as if it was too heavy to support.

He cut her a sideways look, started to speak, gulped, and tried anew. “Are you always that way?”

The flush of their love-making drained into cold mortification. Cate scrambled for the edge of the bunk. “I’m sorry! I told you it had been a while. I didn’t mean to—”

“No! No!” Nathan groped for her arm and pulled her back. “I meant, I have never been with anyone
ever
like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Embarrassment still heated her cheeks. “I was nervous; I’m not usually that…that…awkward.”

Nathan lifted his head to peer down his nose at her. “Awkward?” His head dropped heavily back down, and drew several more ragged breaths. “For a moment there, I thought I shan’t ever breathe again.”

“Suffering Jesus!” he gasped, with a lop-sided grin. “You are something!”

###

Cate had never experienced it, but she had heard of men who, once their needs were fulfilled, rolled away and slept. It would not have been a surprise if Nathan had fallen into that category. Once again, he proved to be unique unto himself: he gathered her close, nestling her head into the curve of his shoulder. One leg wedged between his, she toyed with one of his braids, and listened to the rush of his breathing under her cheek. The deep thud of his heart gradually steadied to an easy rhythm. His fingers languidly tracing her outline from temple to hip and back, he periodically brushed a wisp of hair from his face or pressed his lips to the side of her head.

She closed her eyes and reveled in the joy of him near. She had never thought to have a man again. Perhaps she had been too dubious and impatient of Providence. Perhaps, given sufficient time, it would smile. She brushed all the mystery and questions of the last weeks aside, and sighed in contentment.

He wanted her
.

It felt so good to finally know…

So good to be with him…

So good to be…

She buried her face into his shoulder and began to silently quake.

“Here now, what’s this? ’Tis not flattering to say I’ve driven a woman to tears.”

“Nothing…It’s…” Shaking her head, she rooted deeper.

“Did I…? Dammit!” His alarmed concern grew as he tried to see her face. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean…I mean, I thought you would have—”

“No, no,” she moaned, now too embarrassed to be seen.

He burrowed his hand between them, until her chin was found. He brought her face up to his and she cut her eyes first one way, then another to avoid him. His persistence won out and she reluctantly settled on the coffee-colored orbs directly before her. Just inches away, she could see the thick row of double lashes, the candle, now so very near to guttering out, catching the cinnamon and gold flecks.

“It’s nothing…” she sniffed, looking away.

“Well, aye, ’tis most definitely not nothing. I’ll wager it’s very likely something,” he said dryly.

“It’s just…It’s just…It feels so good to be held…” The rest was lost in a thin squeak as her throat constricted.

Cate sobbed, the frustration of spoiling such a joyous moment only adding to her despair. Years of never being touched in anything other than the most perfunctory of ways: accosted, yanked, barricaded, or mauled, she had been touched, but never held. She clutched him until her arms shook, while Nathan held her with the fervency of one hanging on to his life.

Nathan lifted her face once more and dabbed her eyes with the corner of the quilt. “I know, luv. I know,” he said, gravely. “More times than I care to think, I have paid a fair bit o’ coin just for this.”

Nathan found her hand between them and squeezed it.

“To know you live.” His voice shook with sincerity. “To know you’re something more than some heap of flesh stalking about.”

Sniffing, Cate hung her head and nodded.

He kissed her on the forehead, and then thumbed from her cheek a fugitive tear that squeezed out. “You’re alive. Know that.”

Chin wobbling dangerously, she nodded again, swiping at the tears glistening on the hair of his chest.

Nathan resettled her against him and nestled her head under his chin. “And I’ll skewer the next bloody damned scrub what says different.”

She gave a half-choked laugh. Once more Nathan had worked his charms.

A sputtering
pop!
And a hiss marked the death of the candle. Now cloaked in darkness, Nathan continued to hold her. Rocking her ever so gently, he stroked her neck and arms, while a thumb brushed her ear.

“Hist, now. Shh, shh…Shh, shh, shh…” he whispered so lowly at times to be almost the rush of the water against the ship’s hull.

###

Sharing the single pillow, they slept entangled and entwined. Sometime in the darkness, he came to her again, tender but wanting. Cradling her in his arms, as he proved to be the gentle and skilled lover she had suspected. At the end, they clung to each other and shook. In the foggy margins of sleep, they rolled together, fitting like spoons, his arm around her waist, his upturned palm cupping her breast—her surrender, his possession.

Sometime in the night, the bond was broken, ties snapped.

Adrift again.

Chapter 20: Something

C
ate lay quietly in the bunk the next morning, listening to the ship awaken.

It was as many mornings: Pryce and Hodder bellowing the men from their hammocks; the smell of wood smoke and cooking—most significantly, coffee—rising from the galley; the distant growl of holystones working their way aft; and the low rumble of male conversation and laughter, subdued by the presence of their superiors, but jovial nonetheless. The ship’s momentum picked up with the shifting of the sails, the heavier daytime versions bent in place of the fly-by-nights, the song of water and rigging raising a full chord.

From the salon came the gusty
slurp!
of Hermione taking her morning tea, a sound so close to cloven-hoofed ecstasy as could be imagined. Millbridge’s footsteps were interrupted by a colorful burst of cursing, a boot hitting a small furry body, and the high-pitched, puppy-like squeal of a rat.

“Goddamned varmint-eater slouchin’ again!” cried the ancient voice.

One could only hope His Lordship possessed the wisdom to remain scarce.

Weighted by Nathan’s seed still heavy in her womb, Cate idly watched a gecko scurry among the beams overhead.