by Clare Sager
Shuddering, he paused there, filling her. So gloriously full.
As if he sensed her watching, his eyes flashed open, gaze roving over her face, and he swallowed, throat bobbing hard. “My word, Vee,” he breathed.
She nodded and looped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, tinged with a low moan – it could have been hers or his or both. Who knew anymore?
Then he withdrew, almost leaving her entirely. The emptiness was shocking for a moment before he thrust back inside in one swift movement, forcing a cry from deep in her chest.
So badly misjudged. She shook, heartbeat roaring in her ears. His fingers dug into her flesh as if clinging on to control as, again, he paused there.
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. “I should have” – his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat – “I should have asked earlier about … precautions.”
Gods damn it, was he trying to drive her insane with this stop-start? “The preventative.” He didn’t have to worry about withdrawing before the end. “Now … please …” It sounded far too much like begging, but damn the man, he’d given her a taste, and she wanted more. She arched her back, eyebrows rising – that had to be a clear enough instruction.
He scoffed and pulled out again, pausing at her entrance. “Impatient.”
“Damn right, I am – I’ve been waiting weeks for this.”
One eyebrow arched. “Oh, really?”
The insufferable arrogance. The delicious arrogance. Gods, if this was just the start, the well-earned arrogance.
But his grin faded as she hooked her feet around his back and pulled him in, winning his hiss of pleasure.
Breaths heavy, he drove into her, strokes assured, smooth, powerful, urging the waves through her once more. As if that wasn’t enough, he slid a hand slid between them until his thumb circled her pearl, stoking her cries, building the pressure to breaking point.
Too much. Far too much. She couldn’t … Her chest – hells, her whole body was going to burst.
Biting her lip, she lifted her weight onto her thighs, still wrapped around his waist. A low breath huffed from him as he squeezed her arse with near-bruising intensity and took her weight as if it were nothing, lifting her from the rock.
Hips now free, she rode him, chasing those building waves. It only seemed to fuel his desire, sending his movements wild, powerful, demanding, more like the man she’d fought beside than the one she’d followed into this cave.
Their lips met, parted, fell upon each other’s necks, kissed, sucked. He tasted of palm wine and salt. They licked and bit and cried each other’s names until the waves broke over her, carrying speech, carrying everything away, leaving only pleasure so intense, so staggering it was almost pain.
On instinct, she rocked against him. Her breaths heaved, blown out by his pounding, urgent rhythm. The muscles in his arms and neck corded and a frown creased between his brows. He was close.
Swallowing, she drove harder and harder, but in chasing his last peak of pleasure, her own rose once more, intense and bright and building. Their sweat-slicked bodies glided over each other, a shockingly good fit, until the sparking light claimed her again, forcing breathless cries from her lips. Seconds later, a harsh moan sounded in his throat, and his whole body tensed, shuddered, and contracted, arms locked around her.
With a trembling sigh, he sank to his knees, still holding her close. His eyes opened and fixed on her, something profound, powerful in that look. He lowered her to the soft sand, and they lay that way for many breaths, the air between them heavy.
If that had been almost unbearable in intensity, this – his look – was too much to take. He – did he see too much? No. No, it was fine, she was just … so much had happened today …
To escape his gaze, she rose and planted a kiss on his mouth, loosening her legs from around his hips. With a low sigh, he rolled onto his back, forearm over his eyes.
They panted, breaths loud in the sudden stillness of the cave. Only the dim blue lights of the glow-worms glistened on the crystalline walls and glinted on the pool. The sky through the hole in the roof was a deep violet-blue now, all traces of sunset erased by darkening twilight.
Her limbs splayed, loose and heavy. She shook her head. To think she’d expected him to be nothing more than a warm firm body and a welcoming mouth, a fleeting comfort after today’s brush with death. After all, wasn’t that what she and Fitz had been for almost three years?
Well, this …
A low chuckle shook through her. “Well, you were certainly more than I bargained for, Captain Blackwood.”
He scoffed, and his arm dropped from his face. “Likewise, Pirate Queen. Bloody likewise.”
Changing Course
The next morning, Knigh woke in his tent, warm and … and relaxed? Is that what the heavy feeling in his limbs was? And the one responsible …
Vee lay beside him, back against his chest, breaths slow with sleep. Her hair fell across the pillow in a messy halo of waves, locks touching his cheek, scented with that damn intoxicating smell of vanilla and petrichor.
He inhaled slowly, deeply, savouring it, her, this still moment when the familiar, simmering tension of deep-set anger and hurt didn’t thrum in his veins. His hand on her hip flexed, drawing his fingertips against the lines of her tattoo. A compass rose surrounded by hibiscus flowers perfectly emphasised the curves of her hip and rear. He shook his head, a laugh lacing his exhalation.
Yesterday, his nerves had been ragged after losing control on the Covadonga. The palm wine had been as sweet and strong as she’d promised. And when he’d healed her, joining their energies, it had been heady beyond endurance – her body too close, the cave too private, her ease too seductive. Of course he’d been too weak to resist.
Lords, who was he fooling? He hadn’t wanted to resist anymore. Attraction had sparked between them since their first meeting, had fizzled in the air like black powder every time they were alone and sometimes when they weren’t. And yesterday she’d talked him down from his madness, she’d been kind and reassured him, albeit in her own irreverent way.
Smiling, he peered down her back and shifted his light grip until his thumb rested in one of the dimples above her rear that he’d so admired as she’d bathed. He nodded to himself. What had been unthinkable just weeks ago now felt achingly right. The pad of his thumb circled the little indentation, and a small hum of appreciation rumbled in his chest.
Everything had changed. And not just because of last night. It had begun much earlier than that.
Vee wasn’t the monster the Navy painted a picture of in their reports. She was … Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what she was, but she wasn’t what they said – even he could see that. Everything he’d observed of her … No, there was no sign of her being a senseless murderer, a vicious beast, the notorious Lady Vice. And she might not be the noble, heroic Pirate Queen of the songs, but she seemed closer to that than the Navy’s villain.
Even without desire clouding his reason, his assessment of people’s trustworthiness wasn’t the best – hadn’t he believed in Father and the Duke? But he wasn’t the only one who saw her this way. As far as he’d seen, Perry’s judgement had been nothing but sound and she, in her own words, loved Vee.
Perhaps he was safe in this.
Purely from a naval standpoint, from the way she operated, privateering suited her. She preferred surrender over battle, targeted leaders when she had to kill, and rejected torture, unlike the most notorious pirates. She could be a great asset to the crown.
Although right now, eyes closed, no raised eyebrow, sharp grin, or flippant comment, chest rising and falling slowly, she looked soft, vulnerable, a beautiful woman rather than a naval asset.
He’d warned her not to trust him and she shouldn’t. Gods, he didn’t even trust himself, not after what he’d done to Billy, but here, in this tent, with just her … He wanted it. He wanted it so much, it ached in his chest. He didn’t just want her to trust him, he wanted to be worthy of her tru
st. He’d already disobeyed orders to keep her alive, and he’d do the same again.
He exhaled, shaky. What wouldn’t he do for –
A sharp rap on the front tent post made him flinch.
Vee tensed, frowning. “Mmm?” She rubbed her eyes and wriggled against him as if that would mean she wasn’t awake yet.
“Blackwood?” Bricus called from outside.
Knigh’s chest hammered. Wild Hunt and damnation, Bricus couldn’t find her here. He tugged the blankets up from where they’d pooled at their thighs, even if it only gave the illusion of protection. “What is it?”
“Captain wants to speak to you in his tent.”
Lords and Ladies, there was only one thing he’d want to talk about.
Vee’s arrest.
Buggeration. He needed a way out of that plot. It was one thing to hand her over when he thought she was a monster, but the person he’d met, the woman who’d found her way into his arms was no such thing. To trick her into returning to Albion, to serve her to the authorities on a platter would be nothing short of betrayal.
Nothing short of wrong.
Gods, what had he tangled himself up in?
His arm tightened around Vee’s waist and he ducked his face to her hair and its sweet smell of vanilla and fresh rain.
No, it was fine. He could fix this. He’d speak to FitzRoy now, play along, then he’d sit down and formulate a way out of this plan.
Once he put his report in, contradicting the patently false accusations about Vee and giving an accurate picture, the Admiralty would surely grant her a real letter of marque. She could become a legitimate privateer, and with her fame and gift, they might even fit her out a ship to captain, perhaps with Perry at her side. Her levelling influence just might keep Vee out of too much trouble.
“Blackwood? Have you gone back to sleep?”
Vee shook with a soft giggle.
He clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’ll be right there.”
“Right, well, don’t keep him waiting – he’s the captain.”
Footsteps thudded away across the sand, and Knigh sighed, dropping his hand from her face. He took a long breath, then sighed it out. It was fine. He’d decided not to betray her, and he wouldn’t. Hells, he should take a leaf out of her book – she wouldn’t worry, she’d just solve the problem.
He would work it out.
She stretched, long limbs cat-like with their lean musculature. Grumbling, she turned to him, a sleepy smile on her face. She slipped an arm around his waist. “You don’t have to go right away, do you?” Her hand found its way to his rear and gave a squeeze.
He scoffed, pushing her onto her back and rolling on top of her, weight on his arms. “I’m afraid I do.” He cupped her breast, smiling at the way it filled his hand so perfectly. Her back arched, just a little, but in unmistakable response to his touch.
And damn it, despite his intentions to get to FitzRoy, he responded in turn, blood heating, heart speeding, body stirring against her. He cleared his throat. “Or at least I have to go soon and” – he dipped his head and caught her nipple between his lips, giving it a quick suck and making her breath catch – “for what I plan to do to you next, I intend to take my time.” Next time, he would be languorous, savouring her in slow seduction, watching that blissful look on her face again and again. And again. He had the patience to make her beg – to say those words, rather than just please as she had last night and, gods, just the thought of that …
“Do you, now? And who am I to get in the way of your plans?” A slow smile claimed her mouth before she stretched, breasts lifting until he couldn’t help but capture them each in turn, grazing his teeth against her hardened nipples.
He gave a low groan. Damn the woman, despite making love twice last night, she’d got him at full attention again. Shaking his head, he pulled away, kneeling and grabbing his shirt with a snort. “Oh, well played, madam, well played.”
She grinned, eyes glinting in the dim light seeping through the tent’s canvas. Cocking her head, she raised her eyebrows. “What?” The fingertips of one hand traced a line above her breasts, ending at her collarbone.
With a soft growl, he turned away and pulled on his shirt. “I’m not looking.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Not so much that,” he said, pulling on his breeches, “I just enjoy teasing you a great deal.”
“Is that what that was? Bastard.”
He chuckled and combed his fingers through his hair – that would do for speaking to FitzRoy. “I’d apologise, but I’m not even the slightest bit sorry.” He crouched beside her and planted a lingering kiss on her lips. “Hearing you practically beg me to take you in that cave ...” He shook his head, his traitorous hand gliding down to her breast. “Well, I never thought I’d hear the notorious Lady Vice beg for anything.”
The notorious Lady Vice. He kept the teasing smile fixed in place even though his heart squeezed painfully.
She adjusted his hair, touch gentle. “I don’t beg, I’m just not afraid to ask for what I want.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. She wasn’t the notorious Lady Vice at all. And he had to fix the awful plan he’d put in place. With a stiff nod, he rose, ignoring her protests, and ducked out of the tent.
Weakness
The sea was wide and glimmering, the air fresh, and the wind with them, all without Vice having to use her gift at all. The Covadonga trailed in their wake as it had for the past few weeks, sailed by a skeleton crew, the silver safely split between it and The Morrigan. Breeze snagging her hair and tugging at her shirt, Vice strode fore.
What a bloody glorious day to be alive.
Speaking of glorious …
Walking the other way, deep in conversation with Aedan, came Knigh. He’d shed all traces of the uniform, now in breeches and loose shirt that the air blew against his torso. Again, the weather’s cooperation was nothing to do with her gift.
His gaze hit hers, making her internal organs dance a jig.
To the casual observer, he gave no reaction. But she’d learned his little tells – the poor man would be a fool to play poker with her now. The fractional move of his eyebrows, the crackling spark in his eyes so much like lightning in grey clouds, she could almost feel it with her gift, and the sudden, hard breath raising his chest.
Both continued in their strides, eyes locked upon each other. Every fibre in her hummed the closer he came, and she had to hook her thumbs in her belt to keep her hands from the temptation to swat his arse when he drew level, as she so often did when they were alone.
Their eye contact only broke at the very last moment. Then he was past, and she gave a slow, shaking exhalation.
Ooh, just you wait until later, Knighton Blackwood.
“What’s got you so cheerful, I wonder?” Eyebrows raised, Perry watched her from the bow.
Cheerful? Vice blinked. Gods, she was grinning like a loon, wasn’t she? She massaged her cheeks to get rid of the ridiculous expression and went to lean on the rail with Perry. Barnacle sprung to the gunwale, then to Vice’s shoulder with a chirrup of greeting.
Vice obeyed the cat’s unspoken command and stroked her. “I’m not cheerful. I’m just normal. This is normal me.”
Perry narrowed her eyes, trailing them over Vice’s face before shaking her head. “Nooo, you’re definitely glowing. And I’ve seen you sneaking out of your old quarters when FitzRoy’s not looking.” She twisted her mouth to one side and tapped her chin with her forefinger. “What could possibly be the link between these two things?”
Scoffing, Vice folded her arms. “It’s just sex. And he’s good at it.” She shrugged, ignoring Barnacle’s miaow of complaint at the movement. “I’m always cheerful after a good lay.” All true.
“Yes, but I’ve seen you after FitzRoy, Aedan, that delicious young man at Kayracou, those women at Kaiman, but never have I seen you like this.”
The back of Vice’s neck prickled, the sensation creeping across her shoulders a
nd down her back. That wasn’t …
She’d just been smiling. She did that. A lot. Small wonder, after all, since Knigh had kept her well-satisfied over the past few weeks. And yet she still desired his nearness, his touch, the sound of his voice much of the time they were apart. How strange to be gratified and craving at the same time. Was that even possible?
Perry was still looking at her with that smug smile and cocked head. Like she was right.
“What do you mean like this, anyway?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve seen you snap at anyone in weeks ... except when you’re pretending to make Blackwood help you find something in his cabin – very convincing, by the way, well done.”
Vice rolled her eyes. “Thank you for the excellent review of my performance – I hope you’ll send it to all the newspapers in Lunden.” She scanned the clear sky, the rolling sea, let the spray dust her face. “The weather’s good without me having to put any energy into it. We have a Hesperian treasure ship. We have silver. And we are the Queen’s own privateers. What’s not to be cheerful about?”
One eyebrow raised, Perry nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
Wild Hunt take her.
Irritation needled across Vice’s scalp. Perry was bloody insufferable. Just because she’d told her Knigh had called her wise and, yes, Perry did sometimes get things right, but right now she was acting like she was the fae’s own seer who knew some great secret the rest of the world, especially Vice, was blind to.
Cheeks hot, Vice’s nostrils flared. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I told you.” Perry raised her hands with an exaggerated shrug. “Because you’ve had just sex with plenty of others, but I’ve never seen you have this reaction to it. At least not since –”
“Don’t.” It was exactly as though she’d been plunged into a pool of ice. Every inch of her body tensed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her stomach felt like a solid block of frozen rock. It was obvious where Perry had been about to go with that ill-conceived sentence. Not since Evered.
