Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  She should be pissy, but his confidence was oddly compelling. Without objecting, she joined him.

  “When did you last bathe?” she asked him. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.

  Hell, if she was going to go along with everything he’d set up, she might as well have one or two small demands.

  “This morning,” he answered.

  “I’m not sure about my…about piercing…uh…either,” she stuttered, when he swept an arm around her, pulling her atop him. His cock nestled at her thatch. It grew hard to think.

  In the midst of her body’s roar of want, he answered her concern. “We’ll talk about the piercings later. Once we’ve both satisfied other needs”

  His large hands gripped the inside of her thighs, spreading her more thoroughly around him. She couldn’t take her eyes away, breathlessly watching every move he made, every expression on his face. She’d never experienced a response within herself that was so sharp and alert. She wanted to watch him, see for herself the power she held at this moment. For once, she felt in control and was going to enjoy it, if only for a little while.

  She swiveled her hips. He drew a sharp breath, but his eyes were locked like a laser at the juncture where cock met cunt but was not yet welcomed inside.

  She squeezed her thighs and he licked his lips. It was fascinating to observe how intently he paid attention.

  She made Silvestri pay attention? Was that it? Or was there more to it. She didn’t know.

  ***

  Silvestri battled with himself not to roar, grip her hips and hold her as he drove upward, into her sweet heat. It hurled him toward insanity. Every move she made saw him fight with the urge to pillage. To take what he wanted would be normal, but he waited and wasn’t sure why.

  Her hot cunny called to him, and he found it fascinating. He couldn’t look away, lost in her manipulation, playing with him. If she didn’t move soon, he’d spill like a boy. She stopped, raised up on her knees and gradually slid downward, taking him in. He groaned; his hands shifted to the outside of her thighs, to her ass. And she lowered herself onto him, around him...onto his chest. And he held her, wanting to know this place for the rest of his life.

  Hours later, she slept and he kept watch over her. How totally unplanned, these deep echoes of tenderness he found as he stroked the lines around her eyes. So softly, she didn’t stir. This woman he would keep safe. He’d use her, yes. Sent by the Kraken to give him hope, he’d be a fool not to follow the clues. He bet she succeeded beyond any goal that great creature envisioned. Through her, he found a reason to fight. And he’d find freedom.

  CHAPTER 14

  She woke the next morning to find he’d left the cabin. She moaned. Her battered body was going to ache. Stretching, she blinked in amazement at the lack of pain. In fact, she hadn’t felt this good in decades. Raising one arm, she examined it. Still a bit flabby, still some wiggly skin at the upper part. But underneath all that, her other hand traced the new muscles. In the faint light she realized how dark her skin had grown.

  In the months she’d been here, in this strange new world, she’d seen no sign of skin cancer. And she’d looked. She’d asked the others if they worried about it. Tink laughed at her. She did that often.

  Lifting a leg from the covers, she eyed it with some pleasure. It took months to stop the morning groans. When she’d first started helping on the Quill, she hurt—constantly. She’d been fairly useless for a long time. Stubbornness saw her persevere.

  Sure, she took up the hobby of book binding at the captain’s suggestion. And part of the money she brought in went toward ships funds. She’d wanted to do more. And she learned. Helping with lines, mending sails, cleaning. All that fresh air, the sunshine, the work, it did what steady visits to the gym didn’t.

  “I’ll never be skinny, but I’m thinner,” she spoke to her extended leg.

  “Heaven forbid you grow skinny.” Alan stepped away from a dark alcove.

  She dropped her leg and sat up. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  He adjusted his breeches. “A small privy. Not much more than a simple hole, but better than the alternative.”

  “Bathroom? I don’t have to use a bed pan or…?” She stopped. The Quill did boast one rather impressive bathroom, but the rest were little more than old-fashioned outhouses. On a ship, that confused her to no end.

  Janey explained that the inside privies were sanitary due to a chemical mix tossed into the holding area that broke it down to basics.

  “We wash them out every week.” She’d grinned, obviously proud.

  “They have this on every ship?” Emily asked.

  “Not every, but most. The French don’t believe in it. They think it’s some evil thing that will eat through their hulls. It might if they don’t wash it out.”

  Well, Silvestri wasn’t French, so she shouldn’t be surprised.

  He pulled a robe from a drawer and held it open, beckoning to her with a broad smile. She eyed the robe with pleasure. A lovely shade of blue, almost turquoise, and covered with intricate embroidery of birds and blossoms. The colors mesmerized her.

  He lifted it higher and she gave in, slipping from the bed and straight to the robe. He slid it over her shoulders and stroked her arms, mimicking the way it caressed her skin.

  “This is the softest thing I’ve ever felt.” She touched the sleeves.

  “Not the softest, but I admit, it’s close,” he answered.

  With a snort, she stepped away. “This privy, I need shoes?”

  “No, it’s clean.” He gestured toward the alcove. “I’ll collect breakfast while you see to your necessities.”

  She nodded, heading for the…what did they call them on a ship? The head? He’d fed her last night, after an initial bout of fucking that left her gasping. And they’d drunk, but not to excess. She was thankful. Throwing up on the Quill wasn’t pleasant, no matter what they were tossing into the privy, er head.

  They had done much more than eat. The passion between them flat out amazed her every time.

  They ate and chatted. He asked about where she’d come from. About the past, about her family. Nothing about the Quill. Nothing about Mick.

  “Did you gain anything from your days with the dye guild?” He stroked her hand where it rested on the paper she’d unloaded from her bag.

  Why did he make her nervous?

  She pulled her hand back, feeling a need for some distance. “Yeah. Some basic formulas I can use for a few colors. A light blue and a burnt red, of sorts. Would you like to see?”

  He nodded, and she pulled out two sheets of a thick paper. “They wouldn’t let me actually do more, and I snuck the directions out. I don’t have a good memory, so I’d excuse myself to use the bathroom to write it down. They didn’t want me to write anything down.” She pulled out a tiny booklet, not much bigger than her palm and grinned. “Thank God pencils seem to find their own little portals.” She opened the book and the stub of a pencil fell out.

  “Quite sneaky of you.”

  “I try.”

  He carefully unrolled the blue sheet. “This is nice. I imagine if the paper will absorb it, you could deepen the color?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t going to experiment with this. I only have so much.” She’d cheered her success when the off-white sheet took the dye nicely. “I can use this to make two books.”

  “Show me how you do it.” He sat back, watching while she pulled out several plain sheets of paper. She folded them carefully in half, used a smooth bit of wood to make a clean crease. She repeated the process. It was mindless, but oddly calming. She smiled while working, glancing up at him now and again. He didn’t ask anything.

  She formed a dozen folios, the single sheets folded in half, and tucked them together. “This is called a signature, the basic form of the book.” Handling a straight edged bit of hard wood, she looked at Silvestri. “I need a sharp knife with a narrow point.”

  He grinned and handed her a small blade from his be
lt. “It is sharp.”

  “You may need to sharpen it again when I’m done. Paper tends to dull the edge.” She lined the paper up carefully, set the wood down and trimmed off the uneven edges. Next, she opened the signature. She used the tip of the knife like a drill and placed three holes at the fold.

  She cut the cover next, from the blue he’d admired. She made it a fraction larger than the signature. “This is a simple book. Nothing fancy like those stupid ledgers they made me put together. Hey!” She looked over at him. “If you bribed them to teach me, why the ledgers?”

  “An excuse. And I can always use a ledger or two. I keep accurate books.” Those blue eyes were hard to resist, studying her.

  She snickered. “What do you need books for? Not that I’m saying you can’t read or anything. Or write. You draw in them?”

  He smiled at her, raised a single eyebrow. “I am a successful businessman.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Lucky curses might explain some of the idiots with fortunes in my time.”

  “I am not an idiot, and I am more than my curse.”

  His voice lowered, and she glanced away from the book. He wasn’t watching her any more, but looking into a dark corner of the cabin. She sighed. She and her big mouth.

  “Okay, I know that. I’m sorry. Alan, were you born with this curse?”

  Might as well try to get some real information out of him while she worked.

  “No. I wasn’t. I was born the fifth son of an impoverished English lord. I was sent to sea to make my way. Big brother snagged a rich enough wife to buy me a commission as a powder boy, at twelve. Two years later, I escaped the navy and joined a pirate crew. I’m sure I disappointed my brother, but he was always a pig-faced son of a sow.” He scowled.

  “Oh, well. Don’t hold anything back there, Alan.”

  Must be more to it. Family stories tended to be full of many dramas. She’d been an only child, with few dramas. But she’d observed them from friends and neighbors.

  She took some fine twine from her bag, threaded it into the holes and began the intricate weaving that brought it together. “What next? You rose through the ranks to captain, raided the Spanish Main, rallied a fine and loyal crew, and rescued some fair maiden from a corrupt admiral….” She glanced up to see him staring at her. She shrugged. “Sorry, Hollywood pirates. Lots of drama and romance, high seas adventure….” Her voice faded. “Never mind.”

  “Sounds like some silly melodrama. No. But I did meet my fate at fifteen. That’s when I was cursed.” He stood up and bent to examine the book. “That is quite nice. I’ve seen your work in several ports. I hope you get a good price.”

  “I do.” She tied the final knot and set the book on the table. “Here, you can keep track of the ships you take, or the women you fuck or…something useful.”

  He lifted the book and smiled at her. “Something useful. Thank you. And I have a gift for you.”

  She put her supplies away, wondering what he planned to give her. A sudden thought lifted her head. “I don’t want anything from that galleon. It wouldn’t feel right.”

  “That galleon? What have you heard about a galleon?” He was searching through a tall cupboard of sorts. She didn’t like the tone of his voice.

  “Uh…nothing? Never mind.” She lifted her bag and tucked it back into the corner where it rested before. Threading her fingers together, she sighed and lowered her head to the table. “I’m no good at this.” Closing her eyes, she swallowed the sudden attack of nerves.

  “No good at what? Lying. That is true; you have no talent for it.” A door slammed and she shrank. She really didn’t want to see him angry. He may have sounded as though it didn’t matter, but the slam of that cupboard door told another story. She wasn’t fooled. “You heard about the galleon. I did not wish for their deaths, Emily.”

  She heard him approach and sit next to her on the bench.

  “I know that. At least, I think I know that. But I actually don’t know anything.” She took a deep breath, raised her head and met his eyes. “I think I’m insane. I think I drank some bad stuff at that pirate fair and am suffering one phenomenal delusion. Or I fell, struck my head and am in a coma. Or maybe I finally suffered a nervous breakdown….”

  He touched her head and she melted into the security of his arms. She wasn’t scared when she was with him.

  This must be what she trusted him with. She trusted him to keep her safe.

  ***

  He set the bottle down on the table and pulled her close. She’d trembled at the harsh words she’d used to describe her thoughts. Insanity, hallucination, breakdown—none sounded positive. He sighed. “If I am a delusion, than I am a most fortune delusion to be sailing these seas with you at my side. Here, I ordered this made for you.”

  She looked up and followed his gesture to the bottle.

  “What is it?”

  “You said your perfume was nearly gone. I commissioned this. I feel it’s quite close.” He grinned. She snatched the bottle, carefully undid the wax seal and almost reverently lifted the stopper to her nostrils. The tart scent of ripe green apples filled the room. This was a heavier scent than what she normally wore, but the best the perfumer could manage. He’d been pleased with it. It made him think of her, even if it wasn’t an exact duplicate of the scent.

  “Oh. Wow. This is much better!” She dabbed the stopper on her wrist followed by a brush at her neck. “This is exceptionally thoughtful of you. My little bottle is nearly empty. Thank you!” She inhaled again at her wrist. “It’s more concentrated—I’ll use less at a time.”

  The smile she turned on him saw his stomach drop. Sweet, open, and without worry or concern regarding his motives. He remembered a tiny niece who would look at him that way after some small gesture of affection. They’d always been small gestures; he’d little to spare.

  What was the little girl’s name?

  He couldn’t remember.

  Emily tilted her head at him. “Where did you go?”

  “What?” He shook his head, reached for her wrist and held it to his nose. He took a breath. “Ah. Mixes better with your skin than the perfumer’s. I can show you how to reseal the bottle so it will transport without spilling.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” She leaned toward him. “I’m touched.”

  “I truly do not think you are mad, Mrs. Pawes.” He understood, but didn’t resist the chance to tease.

  When she actually initiated a kiss, almost shyly, it took every bit of willpower not to pull her closer and smother her in his arms. Her tongue ventured a small exploration of his lips. So incredibly gentle, soft, he suddenly felt terribly weak.

  He raised his arms and held her, but not with the fever of a starving man this time. The silk of the robe cooled his pulse. Her presence calmed him, and he knew he’d keep lying to her. To tell her was to invite interference and risk her life. To lie risked this fragile relationship, but at least she would not be in danger.

  Rousing himself from a bout of melancholy, he chuckled, rising from the bench. “Now, we have another twenty-four hours. Time enough to experiment.”

  ***

  She eyed him with trepidation. The loss of his simple embrace surprised her with a tug at her heart. Not only her body this time. She missed him? He wasn’t ten feet from her, and she missed him.

  This was insane. She needed to get back to her world. She had a book to write, a grand tour to take. She planned on getting a cat for the little camper, to keep her company. Yes, a nice, fat rescue kitty, and together they’d go everywhere she ever dreamed of. Run away from the entire idea of growing old. She wouldn’t be bothered by being alone, she liked being self-sufficient. It was nice not to miss people.

  Her mind whirled.

  He returned to the table and sat, resting a hip on the edge, put a boot on the bench next to her, and handed her a deck of cards.

  “You want to play cards?” she ventured a guess. “What? Strip poker? Not fair, you’re wearing more clothing than I….” He
r eyes drifted to the cards, fanning them out. “Oh.”

  “I ran across them at a little shop in Tortuga and found them quite inspiring. I’ve flipped through them, but waited for a woman worthy of such goals. Now.” He leaned closer. “I’ll pick two, you pick two, and we’ll pick one together.”

  She swallowed the sudden surge of interest. Kama Sutra cards. She’s always wanted to try those. But now? She was fifty-three years old! She’d never been terribly limber.

  Oh! That was a nice one!

  She tilted her head, well, maybe. It was a lovely deck, with photographs instead of sketches.

  He took the cards from her and shuffled them expertly, then spread them out face down in a fan on the table. “Pick two.”

  “You’re quite sure of yourself, Captain Silvestri. What if I…we…can’t?”

  “Can’t? Why can’t we? We’ve already mastered several of the more basic positions.” He slid a card from one side, lined it up without flipping it over. He waited for her, eyebrow raised in expectation.

  Emily wanted to do this. What the hell. She did!

  She drew a card and put it next to his. He drew. She drew. He held her hand, closed his eyes, clearly expecting her to follow course. She sighed and let him move their combined hands over the deck, then fall to select one.

  He flipped the first one over.

  CHAPTER 15

  The light changed, shining through the window on the portside. He diligently rubbed and massaged her right calf while she moaned.

  “It was that damned Trapeze Position. Lucky I didn’t break my neck.” She moaned again at the deep pressure he used to dig into the tight muscle. “On my head? That was nuts.”

  “You should have trusted that I wasn’t going to let go. I held your hands—you didn’t have to grip so tight with your legs. And the blankets were there for padding.” He felt his cock stir at the memory.

  It was going so well. He perched on the edge of the bunk, Emily’s warm body pressed against his chest until she bent slowly back, anchoring her legs around his hips. His grip locked on her hands as he gazed down at her tits, her back arched, locking her cunt firmly to his cock. So sublime, almost perfect, until her foot slipped, causing Emily to twist in panic and end up with a painful cramp.