by Raine Miller
“Hours later, you reciprocate and I take your ring. Small, silver.” He stopped.
She stood up and turned away from him. Almost without thought, she stripped her shirt away, letting it fall to the grass at her feet.
“So hot,” she heard herself mutter. “Too hot. Damned hot.”
A small part of her wondered what she was doing, but it was miniscule. The larger part knew, understood. Knew the immediate need to cool her body. Mixed into the chaos, a voice screamed at her to tear his clothes off, make him give her what she wanted, what she needed.
She opted for the water, instead. She undid the small corset and let it fall atop her shirt and the tie of her breeches. Without looking at him, she stepped over the rocky edge of the bath and into the water.
Better. It wasn’t too warm, wasn’t too cold, but just right for her fevered skin. She moved into the deeper water and bent, then began to stroke her way across the bath, ducking her head down, trying to drive away the clamor inside. She swam underneath, enjoying the quiet, the cool. She let it wash away the need to think.
Finally, the need to breathe brought her back to the world. She stood, only inches of her face above the water. The rim of her basket showed at the edge of the pond. He was gone?
A moment later, the water stirred behind her. She glanced down and there he was, swimming around her. The surface was like glass.
How interesting. You’d think it would be full of insects and little plants and the rich muck of this world.
Her brain shut off when he rose before her. The long tendrils of his hair obscured half his face. He stayed low in the water, eye to eye with her. Long, strong arms swept around her, pulled her close until they were pressed together, from chest to crotch. His cock was blessedly stiff, but he left it pressed to her mound, no attempt to burrow home. Yet.
She sucked in a fast breath, her arms, floating near the surface, seemed to move with a mind of their own, and one closed around his shoulders. The other brushed the hair from his face, to reveal the other eye.
“'Like a wine-dark sea,’” she murmured. “I never knew what that meant until I sailed on the Mediterranean.”
He smiled. “Ah, Homer’s words. But this sea, this pool, does not inspire such thoughts.”
Men could be so dense.
“Your eyes, Alan. If I could drink your eyes, I would stay forever drunk.”
One side of his mouth rose. “I find the same upon your lips, Pawes.”
“Emily,” she whispered, as his lips drew close to hers.
“Emily.” He exhaled and kissed her.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling herself higher. The boiling fire at her pussy demanded she attend to it.
This is totally insane. This is totally nuts. This is totally—oh, shit.
He held her from climbing atop him. Instead, he walked to the shore, constantly kissing her. The man kissed like a summer breeze after a long winter’s night. This man could give lessons on kissing to Prince Charming. To Prince Not So Charming and the entire royal family. His mouth was wet enough, his tongue the perfect gentleman, or the rogue. He knew when to breathe, when to use his teeth to nibble. He made her forget how desperate she was to feel more of him, elsewhere.
He set her on a mossy ledge, releasing her mouth. She protested when he parted her legs and, standing between them, lowered his head. He still stood in the pool.
She lost the ability to think. The curse words poured from her, while her hands gripped his head, yanked at his hair until he peeled her fingers loose. Her legs tightened around his neck, and he removed them, spreading her wider.
“I want to look. I had no chance to admire this beauty at the Raven. Your eyes were too aware of light.” He blew a cool breath across her and slipped his tongue down to dally with her again.
She’d caught her breath when he began again. And she’d thought he could kiss lips sweetly!
***
When she dropped her clothing and walked into the pool, he’d been mesmerized. She’d already stroked her way nearly to the other side before he dropped his breeches, stripped away his shirt and joined her in the water.
It did little to cool his body, but it did bring focus to his mind. The water caressed his skin, energized him for further pursuit. She was a seal—he was the shark. She charmed him when she spoke of his eyes. She disarmed him, deflecting him so that he found control over the perpetual fever. He wanted to be buried in her cunny, but he wanted to feast his eyes upon it first.
Every morning, he woke to the scent of apples in his cabin. It drove him mad. Three days ago, the crew shouted when they netted a large wooden crate found floating near the ship. When they tore it open, a bounty of green apples spilled forth. Mama Lu told him to look for signs. One hell of an omen.
Once she lay open before him, he filled his eyes with the bounty revealed to him and tasted. Her curse words were a symphony, reaffirming his every move. Twice, she trembled then shuddered with release. Only then did he stand, climb out of the pool and lay beside her.
She still gasped as he meddled with her breasts. “I do like them both, but the right one, she was first and will always be my favorite. Shall I look for a ring, likened to what we both dream of?”
“Uhhhh!”
He chuckled at her inability to speak. He pinched the nipple and she flinched, lifting her head to snarl at him.
“Don’t tease, you love it,” he said.
“Not always!” she protested.
He gestured toward the blanket and she nodded, muttering, “I am insane.”
“As much as I appreciate your mystification, I don’t find it flattering that you continue to assert you are insane.”
“Yeah. Well. All right. I admit you may not be the massive villain you’re portrayed as, but you’re still the perceived enemy of my captain’s lover. I. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”
“Don’t fight it, dear Emily.” He knelt down, guiding her to settle before him. “I don’t know or understand. I don’t care. I want what I want. You. Here. Now.”
“Oh, shit. Me, too.” She whimpered when he again claimed her breast, marveling at how completely it filled his hand. He loved how her nipple hardened so delightfully against his palm. She reclined back on the blanket and he rose above her.
“This time, I want to see your eyes. See me. Watch me, Emily.”
She gasped when he entered her. He waited no longer. He released her breast, locked his eyes on hers and moved. Her eyes widened, lost focus, found it again as he paused to give her time to recover. They were like two rich and wondrous coins. He moved harder and she spewed vulgarities. Determined to hear more than curse words from her, he held himself in check, keeping to a speed and rhythm that would put a younger man to the test.
At last, she lost the profanity and cried out his name. And he filled her, shuddering at the blessed release.
The afternoon was one of sweet excess.
The light failed and Emily started. “I have to head back. They’ll be looking for me. If they find me here with you, it would be bad.”
“They won’t look until morning. By now, they assume you’ve made camp.” He grasped her head and urged it back to his crotch. “You’re not done.”
“Alan! What if…?”
He increased the pressure. “You try a man’s patience, Mrs. Pawes. I tell you, I know the crew. They won’t come out after you now—it will be dark soon. And there is no moon tonight. They won’t worry about you. The island is perfectly safe. Finish!”
“I’m not sure I’m doing this right.” She examined his erect cock, one hand holding the base.
He laughed. “There is a wrong way?”
“I don’t have a lot of experience.”
To his satisfaction, she made a face at him when he laughed again, but dropped the objections. Her mouth was small, but the talent of her lips and tongue made up for that.
They finished off the bread and cheese some hours later, and he built a small fire. And they talked. She asked
about the ship, about how his crew survived his curse.
He shrugged. “The Immortal itself is immune to the flip side of my affliction. The crew interacts little with me, but is devoted to the ship. I asked Mama Lu about it once. She agreed that my luck saw me hold the ship; my luck saw the crew able to work it. For without them, the ship would be of little use to me.”
“Makes as much sense as anything.” She traced a scar at his right side, followed by another that curved at his bicep. She went from one to another. He didn’t know what she surmised about his scars, until she stopped and stared into his eyes.
“Each one is a dead man, right?” She sounded extremely serious.
He nodded, oddly reluctant to admit that fact.
“What is easiest? To kill a man outright, with pistol or sword, or knife, or to know that any who attempt to kill you will end up dead?”
The question unnerved him. He looked away, actually pondering the question. He cleared his throat. “I should have brought more wine.”
“Alan, please. I want to know.”
Deep breath.
“Outright.” He kept it simple, hoped she would accept it and drop the subject.
“If this…” she traced a gash at his thigh, “…was the result of a ship’s gun, did the entire gun crew pay?”
He lied. “I don’t know.”
Her brow creased. “In general, isn’t that how it works? You threw my pistol away before it blew itself to pieces. If a ship’s gun causes you harm, it will malfunction—it’s only logical.”
“Curses like mine aren’t logical.”
She thought a moment. “Oh, I think it is. It has to be. A guarantee of luck has to be deeply logical, or it’s nothing more than normal luck, which fails on occasion.” Her hand rose to touch the crescent line at his cheek. “And this? The man who did this must have seen his death coming.”
“No man died for that.”
“A woman?”
“No woman died. No one died. Enough.” He hauled her onto his lap. “You talk too much.”
“No, you talk too little. About something that must be the bitterest part of your life. The one thing people can trust with Captain Silvestri is that bad luck will follow the good…for everyone and everything thing but you. Except, that is the worst bit of fortune there is. What a joke.” Her voice petered off and her breathing deepened. He realized she slept.
What a long day. He stroked her head with slowness, barely stirring the cap of her silver-streaked hair. Thank God the necessity of a reply was gone. He wasn’t certain he could have hidden the sorrow her observation brought to the surface. Carefully, he lowered her to the blanket, draped the loose bit of the fabric over her bare body and quietly left her.
He walked on the beach for more than an hour.
***
She woke with the rising sun pouring onto her face. Lifting her head, she acknowledged he’d done it again. Disappeared before she woke.
“What the hell, he turns into a turnip when the sun rises?” she groused, pulling herself upright and letting the blanket drop.
The sound of morning songbirds, shrill and strident, filled the air. She was thankful there were no monkeys. Fun to watch, but she’d found them a real nuisance up close. Born thieves.
Well there were no monkeys, only an aged pirate who stole other things. She shook her head, distracting herself with a search for her clothing.
“Bastard could have left me something to eat.” She pulled her breeches up and tied them, slipped into her sandals and lifted her shirt. Out fell two green apples. She laughed and bent to pick them up. “Where in the hell did the intrepid Captain Silvestri find green apples?”
She inhaled deeply, relishing their scent. She’d told Alan the night before that her perfume was fast disappearing and soon she’d have none. But if he found a source of green apples, she wondered if a perfumer might distill the scent.
“Not one of those hobbies that caught on with me,” she reminisced, taking a crispy bite. She sat bare-breasted and finished one apple completely. Glancing around the area, she bent and buried half the apple core. She’d bury the second half somewhere else.
Once totally dressed, she thought about what to do about the blanket. She couldn’t leave it. The environmentalist in her wouldn’t allow that. But she hadn’t left the Quill with a blanket.
She unpacked her basket and carefully fit the blanket in, as a liner. She maneuvered the original items back in and found a small bag tied to the handle, hanging outside the basket itself. She freed it, opened it, and poured out the contents.
“Oh, shit!” A pool of gold, silver and pearls filled her palm. Gingerly she lifted the strand. A soft gold chain, bits of silver detail work and a handful of cream-colored pearls came into view. “My God. He said he’d taken a galleon. What the hell am I going to do with this?”
Wear it.
Yeah, right. No one would notice if she turned up with a small fortune hanging around her neck.
Found it?
Oh, yes. Some foolish bit of royalty lost it while taking a walk.
She sighed, held it up to her chest and regretted she’d left her Kraken mirror in her cabin. Well, she’d figure out something. She wasn’t going to leave it. She slipped it away and tucked it deep into the basket.
Her last discovery lay under the water bottle. A note.
Dear Emily,
Next time will be in my cabin. Follow the beach as it curves northwest. When you reach a rock bluff, turn inland. Keep the rocks to your right and you’ll come out near the Quill . If you keep a sharp eye out, you will see the purple flowers, growing in the damp areas of the rock face.
Find the silver ring, Pawes. I will find the gold.
Alan Silvestri
She loved how he assumed she knew where north was. She ought to follow the advice of bosun Janey and get a compass of her own. The woman did like to chatter, but she was also a master of protocol and practicality. Since she liked wandering the islands they stopped at, she thought a compass would give her more freedom. The ship was a congenial place to live, but provided little privacy—save for the inside of her cabin, and with Tink’s lock picking abilities, even that wasn’t guaranteed.
She’d secured Alan’s first gift to the inside of her bag, and so far it escaped discovery. Next time she went ashore at a profitable port, she’d come back with it pinned to the outside and said she bought it or traded for it. As they’d conversed the night before, Alan assured her it was nothing Mick would recognize.
The walk back proved pleasant. She did find a fresh clump of the purple flowers, but took only a few. Now that she knew where they liked to grow, she’d leave them for another visit.
Last night was incredible. The entire afternoon shocked and surprised her with delight. Alan could keep going day and night. She raised an eyebrow. Wondered if the little, blue, magic pill crossed into this world.
Or the men here are naturally more vigorous.
It wasn’t unusual for the deckhands to entertain the female officers multiple times a day. She bit her lip. Even her ability to enjoy repeated assaults without feeling raw and sore afterward amazed her. She was stronger after the last few months. Lost weight, slept better—when she wasn’t dreaming about Alan and that damned nipple ring.
She reached up to cup her right breast, then shifted the heavy basket to her right arm. She’d thought about it for years. Tried to talk Tom into it. His concern about infection, about it doing some damage, his total lack of enthusiasm for it, dampened her thoughts. Now, with Alan, the idea wouldn’t leave her alone.
Did she change when she arrived here? Or did this new world magically bring back her old self?
She found no answers before she reached the Quill. Janey came running up, shouting loudly to the rest. She clasped her hand and even took the basket. “I told them you’d figure it out. Davis was ready to send out a search party, but Jezz and Mick believed me. Hurry! The Bountiful drew anchor this morning with an offer to join them in taki
ng another French flute. Don’t you love how that sounds?”
Janey babbled happily about the ship anchored near the Quill and the chance to liberate the shipment of silks and satins their victim carried. Emily listened, saying little. Janey seldom left much room in her conversations for comment. But what she said always proved useful, so Emily didn’t mind.
“After that shipment we lifted last month, they’re being a bit more difficult. Between the Bountiful and the Quill, they won’t put up much of a fight. Neither of us are up to taking a galleon, though. We leave those to the Immortal and their bigger guns. The Spanish are nastier, anyway.”
They climbed into the cutter, and Davis took up the oars. He smiled at her, his eyes drifting down her body. That glance made her shiver. She ought to take him up on a night in her cabin. Emily’s thoughts drifted as they rejoined the Quill. She begged some time to catch up on sleep, promising to be ready when they reached their prey.
God knew, she wasn’t much help in the last raid, but perhaps she’d do better this time. She could look fierce, if nothing else.
Before she lay down, the ship slipped into the wind. She held up the mirror, admiring the necklace—it looked incredible. Carefully, she lifted the precious piece of jewelry off, let it slide into the bag, before tucking the package into her pillowcase. She’d find a better hiding place after her nap.
She slid into sleep, one hand cradling her right breast, aching strangely. Did it ache at thought of being pierced, or at missing his hand? She had no idea.
CHAPTER 11
Three days later, the battle for the French flute began. Emily stayed close to Davis, per Captain Jezebel’s orders. The Bountiful took on the port side; the Quill took on the starboard. The Petit Monsieur put up a good fight, but they were outmanned and outgunned. But after the Quill negotiated their surrender, pulling close enough to lay a plank down between the ships, the tide turned.
Emily searched the captain’s cabin, and once finished, turned to leave. The fabric being loaded on the Quill dazzled her. The richness of the colors literally made her mouth water. The crew babbled with excitement, unable to wait before peeling back the covers on the bolts and spilling the silks, satins and velvets out into the air. The blues, gold, reds, purples, and browns. It stunned Emily. She wondered what they were going to do with this treasure.
