Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

What? Her hands braced upon his chest, she wiggled, circling her hips. She was exposed to his gaze with nowhere to hide. Her breasts heaved with each laboured breath, and his gaze followed their movement. His thumb brushed her nubbin, and she ground her hips down, his cock jerking inside her, his large hands clasping her waist, and with the corners of his mouth curling upwards, he guided her onto her knees, his cock retreating with tantalising slowness.

  “Oh…” Her head lolled, and a soft moan trailed out.

  He pulled her down and thrust up, Marie’s eyes snapping open.

  “Oh!” Slowly, she rose and fell, building up a gentle rhythm as old as time.

  Jack gathered the cream of her desire; his hand reached back, fingers trailing between the cheeks of her bottom, his thumb resting over her rosette. Marie froze, her muscles clenching, flexing her hands nervously on his torso. “Jaaac-k…” she trailed off uncertainly.

  He backed off, his free hand rubbing her lower back. “Trust me, sweeting?”

  She stared into his eyes and, capturing her lower lip between her teeth, gave a nod.

  “Good girl.”

  His thumb returned, teasing her rear entrance and coating it with her juices. He breached her with his thumb and, gasping, Marie surged forward at the bite of pain.

  “Breathe out, relax.”

  Relax? Was he jesting? Let’s see how relaxed he was with a thumb up his arse! Marie bit off the sharp retort and kept it firmly behind her teeth, fighting against the unfamiliar feeling. Jack plucked at her nubbin, making it tender and bombarding her with the contrasting sensations. Her hips bucked of their own accord, and his thumb sank deeper. She panted, though strangely, her quim heated and slickened.

  “You like that, Marie?”

  She could hear the smile in his voice, the smug bastard.

  “Do you like having my thumb in your tight little arse?”

  Marie wiggled her hips experimentally. “It feels…strange.” Fuller.

  He punched his hips up, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

  He gritted his teeth. “I won’t last, Marie.”

  She lightly scratched his chest, grazing his flat nipples, and Jack bucked into her, hard. It was a frantic and wild coupling, driven by their long separation. Her back bowed, and she screamed, flying apart; her quim squeezed Jack’s hot length. Jack’s fingers dug into her hips and, working her up and down on his cock, he continued to thrust into her, forcing her to ride the crest of her release. The muscles in his thighs gave a tell-tale tensing. Groaning, he thrust into her, and his hot seed flooded her. Her delicate body trembled from aftershocks. The strength leached from her, Marie’s body sagged against his chest—she couldn’t move even if the house was on fire.

  “Missed you,” he breathed and squeezed her to him, his lips brushing her temple.

  Marie snuggled closer to his warm body—she’d missed him, too. Her head rested on his chest, her dark hair blanketing their cooling skin. His fierce heartbeat slowed, the skin warm beneath her cheek, and she allowed her mind to wander.

  Some men were born dangerous, and people would instinctively sense it, giving them a choice—they either followed or got out of his way. Jack was just such a man. But heaven forbid if you were ever between Jack and his goal—he was a man you never wanted to cross.

  She’d met him when he’d returned home with her father as his first mate. Young, tall, and strong, Jack had seemed different from the rest of the driftwood crew, and she had tested her infamous temper upon him. She had come off the worst in the skirmish, with both her pride and bottom stinging.

  Her father had laughed, saying she had at last met her match. Marie’s lips curled—and so she had. That little tingle of fear teased and tantalised her, knowing she would never have the upper hand, but at the same time Jack tempered himself with gentleness. For her at least.

  She shivered, flexing the tips of her fingers. The attraction between them was a powerful, living, breathing thing.

  “I’m so happy you are back.”

  Jack stiffened—it was only slight, but she had felt it. Frowning, she pushed herself up onto her elbow to better look at his face.

  “What is it?” she asked, unease tickling between her shoulder, an itch she couldn’t quite reach. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, sweeting,’” he said with a careless smile, stroking the small of her back.

  Marie’s mouth dug down and, shrugging off his hand, she rolled away from him.

  “Despite never being home, I can read you better than that, Jack,” she snapped caustically, lighting another candle in short, jerky movements. “So, tell me, what is wrong?”

  Jack stretched and shifted up the bed, putting his back against the headboard. He raked a hand through his hair with an impatient sigh.

  “I’m putting back out to sea as soon as the ship is resupplied,” he admitted.

  “No!” Marie inhaled, his words punching her in the stomach.

  His eyebrows disappeared into his dark shag of black hair.

  “I am serious, Jack, I need you to stay here.” Marie captured her lower lip, worrying the flesh between her teeth, and at last gave voice to her concerns. “I do not trust Governor Pulleine.” Fine, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough, surely? There was not a hint of commerce that happened without the governor taking a cut. The corrupt pig held Bermuda in a stranglehold. But soon they might have the chance to break free. Marie had been discreet in her enquiries to see if the planters would sell directly to them. But she feared she had not been discreet enough. Not only that, Pulleine had started to suggest that Jack was in debt to him and that he was sure they could make an arrangement to see the debt cleared. She fought a shudder, remembering the way he had looked at her—it had made her feel dirty and unclean. It was ridiculous; she knew with absolute certainty Jack had never taken money. The man had an independent streak that rivalled her own and would be damned before he danced to that pompous ass’s tune. The governor and his men were growing bolder, assuming she was here alone and without protection. It was why she always kept a knife on her and a pistol close. She needed Jack here, but if he was caught or killed…

  Then she would be alone and at their mercy, a fate too terrible to contemplate.

  Jack scoffed, “I have an arrangement with Pulleine, you are safe here.”

  The idiot.

  Marie ground her teeth. Yes, they had an arrangement: the loot that Jack brought back, Pulleine purchased for a fraction of its worth. He put his seal on it and shipped it through legitimate channels, growing fat on the profits. But thanks to Marie’s careful handling, they had a way out. Now they had enough money to enter into a legitimate business: their own shipping company. Granted, it would be small to begin with, but one that could thrive, because who would be fool enough to attack a vessel commanded by a pirate crew? But the thick-eared man never heard her out!

  Marie narrowed her gaze and spat back, “Only while you’re of use to him. You overestimate yourself, Jack.”

  His dark eyes narrowed, black and shining in the low light, giving him the appearance of a fallen angel. After a tense moment in which Marie braced to feel the lash of his tongue, Jack’s face became blank and unreadable, as if carved from marble—he’d closed himself off from her.

  “I will not have this argument again, Marie,” he said softly, swinging his legs over the narrow edge of the bed, presenting her with the cold, impenetrable wall of his back.

  Marie swallowed her anger back down, determined to make him listen and see reason.

  “I need you here with me,” she begged.

  His face turned stony. He said nothing, and desperation clawed sharply at Marie’s gut. She had to make him understand.

  “I watched my father dance at the end of a gibbet, I can’t watch you die, too. Why continue to take the risk?”

  She reached for him, trying to bridge the distance between them, and the muscles in his back jumped, him flinching away from her, like her skin burned him. Pain
knifed her chest, and she retracted her arm, blinking furiously. Fighting to get her emotions under control, she trembled. Jack rose and, stabbing his leg into his trousers, he began to dress in short, furious movements.

  “You knew who I was when we wed, Marie,” he bit out, his accent thickening. “I’m a pirate—I’ve always been a pirate and I always will be.”

  It was the same response whenever she tried to raise going legitimate. All of Marie’s good intentions flew out the window, the restraints holding her temper in check burning through. She tugged her shift over her head, tearing the hem in her anger.

  “If you leave me now, I will not be here when you return!” she shouted the angry words at his back. Jack’s whole being stiffened, freezing in the action of reaching for the door. Marie bit the tip of her tongue, wishing she could recall those words—Jack did not respond well to threats.

  He turned to face her. His smile gained a cruel edge, and the dark eyes of the Devil gleamed back. “You know better than to threaten me, Marie.”

  He took a step towards her and, her stomach knotting, she backed up a step. But he kept on coming. The action of a predator, no, a wolf stalking its prey. Her back kissed the wall, and he leant over her, caging her from all sides to prevent any flight.

  His strong forearm was anchored next to her head, and he inhaled, chest expanding to rub against her too-sensitive nipples, reminding her that just moments ago his lips had been locked on the reddened buds, demanding her complete surrender.

  Her senses were full of him, overwhelmed by his sheer, raw power that made his crew follow him and others fear him. Her breath came faster.

  He put his lips inches from hers. “If you run, there is nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. I will scour the oceans for you, and not you, the king’s navy, or the damned Devil himself will keep you from me.”

  His hand speared through her hair, and he gave it a gentle tug, forcing her face up to him. He devoured her mouth, plundering and taking—she loved it as much as she hated it, knowing it punishment for voicing her mutiny. Marie refused to be the submissive party, not this time. She poured her anger into the kiss, duelling for control. When Jack broke off, he was breathing heavily, revealing she wasn’t the only one affected, but her lips tingled and felt swollen.

  Marie glared at him and sneered, “You forget, mon capitaine, that you wed a pirate captain’s daughter not a meek and mild woman!” She gave a haughty toss of her head, freeing her from his control.

  Jack grinned, murmuring, “So I did.”

  He leant down to kiss her again, and Marie jerked her head aside. Jack hesitated for a moment, and then his lips brushed her cheek, his action tender and at odds with his previously rough treatment.

  If he could temper his action, so could she, and the flames of her anger died back. Marie grasped his sleeve and tried once more, swallowing her considerable pride. “Stay”—Marie gazed up at him—“please, I’ve been talking to the planters—”

  He cursed and turned away from her. “I do not have time for this, Marie.”

  Fury seized her. She was no lapdog to beg for scraps of his affection—or his attention! He’d taken the time to fuck her before he put out to sea again. A lead weight settled in her stomach, and she rubbed her arms—he’d made her feel used and soiled. A bitter taste burned the back of her throat. At least whores got paid for their services. Possessed by the Devil’s own temper, she strode towards the door and threw it open, smashing it into the wall.

  “Then go!” she shrieked, pointing through the portal, the hurt twisting up into hideous anger, ripping through her with the power of a typhoon. “Go be with your crew! Go fuck one of them for all I care! I don’t need you!”

  His image shimmered, and she blinked back tears. Jack’s face was a dark, furious mask, and Marie jerked her chin up, determined to hold her ground. He took a step towards her, and she sucked in a breath, waiting to see what he would do. Disappointment knifed her sharply when he spun on his heels and left, cursing under his breath. The door slammed shut behind him with a finality about it, like this part of her life was over. He’d left her, during a middle of a fight. He had left her! The words beat, each one a hollow, synchronised body blow in her mind. He had never walked out on her in a middle of a fight, never left with harsh words spoken between them. She stared at the boards of the door, any moment expecting it to open. Condensation slid down the window, and her breath misted. She hugged her arms tighter to her chest, waiting for him to come back to her. The sun rose, burning off the sea mist, revealing no ship lurking on the coast. The tears dampened her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands and cried, her heart breaking. He wasn’t coming back.

  11th March 1715, St George Bermuda

  The wind beating at his weathered cheeks, Jack increased his stride, and his cloak swirled over his shoulders. He inhaled, breathing the sweet air into his lungs—it was good to be home. And home meant Marie. He couldn’t wait to see her after months at sea, missing her more that he could have ever imagined. When he had taken Captain d’Auvergne’s daughter to wife, he would have laughed if anyone had told him he would come to crave Marie, with her prideful temper and flashing eyes. Before her, women had been as exchangeable as bottles of rum. But the longer the absence, the sweeter their reunion. His smile faded—they hadn’t parted on good terms. Jack shifted his broad shoulders, guilt and apprehension pricking him. He should never have left in a temper or his lips curled ruefully, or allowed her to throw him out of their room. He should have put down that little rebellion straight away, by taking the feisty lass over his knee and tanning her arse. It was the French in her—a very temperamental people, the French—though he loved her passion in their bed.

  He sighed, and his pace slowed. That had been months ago. Surely, she had forgiven him in that time? He would explain the windward passage had been a poor hunt and that there were rumblings among the crew to replace him as captain. That was why he couldn’t delay. If he’d lost his captaincy then they would have nothing.

  He delved his hand into his weighted pocket for the bauble that had cost him a sizable chunk of his prize share. A large single pearl hung from a gold chain. When it had been added to the pile, it had instantly reminded him of a second moon in its unblemished perfection, and the moon forever commanded the tide. That was what Marie was, his moon, pulling him back to her. Jack pictured it gracing her neck, the pearl nestled between the generous globes of her breasts. Against her flawless tanned skin, the lustre would be offset to perfection and should put him back in her good graces. She would be duly appreciative, and then they could enjoy their reunion, all night long.

  His breeches tightening to an uncomfortable degree, Jack increased his pace. He crested the hill, the outline of their home only just visible, and he frowned—there was no light in the window; perhaps Marie had gone to bed early. A cloud shifted, and a shaft of moonlight fought through the darkness. Jack froze mid-step. Their house …

  A lead weight settled in his stomach. He ran forward, the tall grass slashing at his boots. No, no, no…

  He rushed towards the gutted remains, each step revealing the extent of the damage. Dark scorch marks scarred the walls, and the roof was gone, the beams fallen through and poking up over the walls like protruding ribs.

  “Marie!” Fear drove him forward. Dear sweet God, what had happened?

  A fallen beam blocked the doorway; there was not a flicker of life.

  “MARIE!” His heart seemingly in his throat, Jack put his shoulder to the beam and heaved, fear lending him the strength of ten men. It shifted and clattered against the opposite wall. Dreading what he would find, Jack entered.

  The ground was soft underfoot. Plants had started to grow and flourish in the little crevices, nature attempting to reclaim the derelict building. It was dark, hollow, and cold inside; nothing of their former home remained. His hands shook—this hadn’t happened recently. He searched the ruin, unable to believe the evidence with his own eyes. There was no sign
of Marie, unless the body burned up in the fire. Still, it gave him a sliver of hope. When she chose to be, Marie was lethal and cunning—hell, she was a crack shot with a pistol. Marie would have escaped. She had to have escaped. He fisted his hands at his sides, the bones in his fingers whining in protest. She had to. First, he had to find Marie, and then whoever had done this would pay.

  They were dead men walking.

  Chapter 2

  21st May, 1717

  The infamous pirate, the Black Scot—so named for his unmerciful moods as much for his black head of hair and dark eyes—watched proceedings from the captured vessel’s quarterdeck with a disinterested eye. It was said when you stared into his eyes you saw the Devil himself staring right back. Jack’s lips curled with dissatisfaction. This small merchant vessel hadn’t even put up a fight. He should be pleased at such an easy prize, without risk to his ship or crew, but all it did was leave him restless and filled with bleak thoughts.

  “Fis a putain!”

  Jack chuckled, a rare glimmer of amusement lifting his usual sombre cloud. One of the passengers making their displeasure known, no doubt, but calling a pirate a ‘son of a whore’, while accurate, wasn’t wise.

  The tendrils of the past tugged on memories he thought to have buried. He remembered Marie muttering those same words under her breath when they were having a fight, right before he bent her over their kitchen table and reddened her sweet, impudent arse. He closed his eyes against the old sorrow; he had scoured every inch of the coast for his missing wife but had found nothing. Not a hint nor hair could be found of her to reveal her location. It was like she had never existed. When the months started to turn into years, he had to consider the very real possibility that his precious wife was long since dead. If she was not, then why did she not seek him out?

  Jack shook himself, pushing such thoughts away, and returned to the task at hand. All properties were to be collected and divided among the crew as laid out in the articles they had put their mark to. He always oversaw such proceedings. Though his men knew better than to cross him, they were well-trained and had everything in hand, including the rich plunder.