Jon stared at her in bemused astonishment. He downed the wine he was about to offer her and set the glass down. Candlelight had softened the rough furnishings in his quarters and glinted off the mullioned window.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Nineteen.” Her reply was edged with irritation.
“And how long have you been married?”
A brief pause. “Eight months.”
“Newlyweds,” he observed and stood at the side of the bed. Lady Gage fixed her eyes, unseeing, on the ceiling. “Was it a happy marriage?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” She snapped a look in his direction.
“Was it arranged or did you marry for love?”
Jon turned his back on her and opened his breeches waiting for her answer.
“Arranged,” she said firmly. “Our parents wanted it and we were glad to honor their wishes. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.” His broad shoulders lifted.
Jon had pulled off his breeches and underpants and his bare gloriously formed buttocks faced her. Bronwyn’s breath came so fast that she saw stars.
“I was to be married in the same way,” he said. “My father demanded it. I was seventeen.”
“I am surprised to learn that you even had a father. I cannot imagine you coming from human parents. Where is your wife now? Weeping, I imagine, over her end of the bargain.”
“We never married. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said abruptly. “Snipe all you like, I have a thick skin. I cannot be shamed into softening the terms of our agreement.”
Jon stretched out on the mattress, coming very close to her with his naked muscled body. A jagged scar ran over his shoulder. The touch of his bare flesh against hers was scorching and yet she shivered as if she was half-frozen. Breathing was difficult with Jon Stag so near. He propped up on his elbow and gazed at her with gray serious eyes.
“An agreement is not what this is, Captain. I will not kiss you,” she said coldly. “Nor will I talk about myself. I will not struggle or resist but do not mistake passivity for consent, only do what must be done so I may return to my cabin.”
Stag gave a low mirthless chuckle. “Well said, my lady. And now I shall lay out a few warnings of my own. I do not wish to kiss you or make love to you. I mean to fuck you. Do not mistake the passion I have for your body for love of your person. I’ll use you for as long as I require tonight and when I am finished with you, you may leave. Not before.”
Bronwyn squeezed her eyes shut as he opened the satin ties of her shift. The garment opened to her naval and he wasted no time in exposing her breasts.
“Oh sweet hell, you are perfect,” he breathed softly, causing her great shame because she was aroused by his pleasure at seeing her nakedness.
She crooked her arm over her face and tried not to cry. It was unendurable that her body should turn against her. She felt his warm mouth on her nipples, suckling and tonguing the tender bud and a second sensation began to grow in intensity.
Between her legs, there was such a terrible throbbing ache and it was unaccountably damp … humiliatingly wet between her thighs. She stifled a cry when he bit her nipple with his sharp white teeth. Jon Stag pinned her arms over her head with one hand and she couldn’t move. Bronwyn opened her eyes to find him watching her. Where was his other hand?
Her shift bunched between them. His fingers—those strong fingers roughened by work—had found the damp between her legs and he was—they were—!
“Ohhh,” Bronwyn sobbed. “What are you doing?”
“I am not going to tell you,” he whispered against her ear. “You forbade us to talk to one another. You will have to suffer the consequences.”
Pinned underneath him, there was little she could do and her helplessness was terrible. Jon Stag was stroking her sex in a manner that delivered the most shocking sensations.
Chapter Nine
BRONWYN TRIED to bring her knees together but Captain Stag held them apart easily with his thigh. Then she tried to twist away to escape his relentless fingering. “No more,” she pleaded.
He muttered an oath and bit down harder on her sensitive nipple to stop her from squirming.
His hand … his hand never stopped moving between her legs. Her thighs could not hold out any longer under the onslaught and splayed open wider. Her hips lifted and her back arched. Her body gave up everything to the pirate, but her mind resisted.
“This is not me,” she gasped. “You have not won.”
“By God, you are wet for me, Bronwyn.” He lifted and settled between her thighs, his manhood pressed against her private core, the last bastion of defense. He was hard as a sailing mast; there was no hope of putting him off.
Her body had shamed her, but her mind was clear. Jon Stag would take what he wanted but he could not take her power. Only close your eyes and think of the day you will kill him for this. When you and Roddy are free of Black Adder, Jon Stag will be made to pay.
The vision of the pirate captain hanging from the end of a noose filled her mind, and then he thrust into her moist, dark, secret place, hard like a sword goes through flesh.
Bronwyn screamed. “God damn, that hurts!”
Jon clapped his large hand over her mouth. “What the hell is the matter? You’ve had a man’s cock in you before, have you not?”
He drew back and peered into her face. Tears smarted in her eyes. Her nether region throbbed painfully from the assault and she thought she might be sick.
“Good God. You’re a virgin.”
“Shut up,” she croaked. “It is none of your business what I was. I am not one now.”
“But you are married. Do you mean to say your husband did not bed you?”
“There wasn’t time. He—he had orders to sail to America.”
“Eight months wed. It only takes a minute or two. You are lying.”
Bronwyn moaned. The pain had passed and the feeling of so large an object inserted in her body was uncomfortable. She wanted this business to end. “Let me up. You are finished getting your pound of flesh. I said let me up.”
“Finished?” He laughed in genuine amazement at her innocence. “I have only just begun. Don’t you know? Oh sweet hell, you really don’t, do you.”
Jon plucked the strands of her hair that had become stuck in her eyes off her face. “You are beautiful and you have a fine figure. Your tits are large and firm; a round bottom, narrow waist and your legs and ankles are comely. Your husband is an ass and I do not pity him. To pass up a tumble with a girl like you on his wedding night for the sake of orders—I would face court martial first before I left you so unsatisfied.”
“Stop talking,” she said. Her face was burning from the compliment. Bronwyn had little experience with men and was susceptible to flattery. Jon Stag was dangerous if she started to believe him.
“You are right,” he answered in a hoarse whisper. His lips were on her neck. One of his hands still bound her wrists in a tight grip. His erection had not diminished. Stag lifted and moved in a slow, devastating rhythm between her legs. “Why talk when we can do this instead. A virgin of all things. I believe you are my first, Lady Gage.”
She turned her face from his and stared at the wall as he took his pleasure. “You astonish me, sir. You strike me as the sort of man who would only bed virgins.”
“Why is that?” Jon’s voice was becoming strained.
“You are a pirate. It is in your nature to steal. A woman’s virtue or her purse—it is all the same to you.”
Feeling him inside her where no man had been was a strange and baffling connection. As much as she hated him, a voluptuous, carnal hunger for his sex was growing with every thrust.
“I am a privateer, not a pirate, but I am enjoying you too much to argue.”
Bronwyn smothered a gasp but she could not prevent her hips from lifting in response to his penetration. What had become of her? Captain Stag was her undoing. A hidden appetite for forbidden sex was bubbling to
the surface. She twisted and fought against his grip but with each movement of her hips, the pleasure they both felt only increased.
He laughed and bit her earlobe and Bronwyn’s blood chilled. Jon Stag was taking her—not as a man takes his bride but as a privateer claims his prize.
Pleasure was tamped down as she returned to her senses. He suffered no such dampening of the flesh. Stag swiveled and ground his cock inside her, forcing her legs further apart. Her wrists and arms ached from the strength of his grip. His face contorted and his neck thickened in bands of muscles to his battle-scarred shoulders. He drove into her repeatedly until Bronwyn caught his fire and lifted her hips to admit him deeper, harder and faster. She was ashamed by her lack of self-control and in disappointing herself once again.
Jon met her eyes in that instant and they shared a look—a secret look of animal pleasure in the act.
His body tensed, rose up and stiffened. Suddenly, he pulled out of her and she watched in amazement as his rigid manhood squirted a white filmy fluid over her belly. Stag’s face was squeezed shut in what Bronwyn thought could only be a paroxysm of pain. And then he flopped down beside her, panting, his skin shiny with sweat. “By God, you are a good fuck,” he panted. “I almost didn’t pull out in time.”
He took the trouble to release her from his grip. Bronwyn massaged her bruised wrists.
“Blood,” she said in quiet horror as she examined the carnage between her thighs. “I am bleeding.”
“It is only your hymen that was ripped. There is no permanent damage. I swear I’ve never met a girl so ignorant. Did you mother teach you so little before packing you off to be wed?”
Bronwyn’s eyes smarted, thinking of her mother and how she was not given the chance to talk to her daughter about her wedding night. She would have told Bronwyn what to expect if she’d been given time. If she wasn’t nursing the sick until she became sick herself—a sacrifice that men like Jon Stag would know nothing about, and would likely sneer at if they did.
She rose stiffly from the bed. “I will be leaving now, sir. I have no desire to stay another minute. I wish I had the courage to throw myself into the sea.”
He rose to his feet in his nakedness and stood in front of her. “Lie down and I’ll wash you up. Then you may go.”
She did as she was told, not having the energy to fight him. The hour was very late and she felt bruised from head to toe. Bronwyn accepted the cloth and turned away to cleanse the blood and semen from her thighs and sex. She then handed the soiled cloth back to him without a word. Let him deal with the disgraceful evidence of his coercion.
“Have I harmed you?” he asked.
She flashed him a look of utter disbelief. “I shall never be the same. The pain was terrible.”
“But you are not hurt. There is no permanent damage, is what I am trying to ascertain. Albeit clumsily.” Stag spun away to the whiskey decanter. He poured a tumbler full and brought it to his lips. “To hell with it—you are not the first woman to lose her virginity. Your husband will be glad to have the distasteful task over with. Men are not as thrilled to bed virgins as the clergy would have women believe.”
“I shall have to take your word for it since the matter is out of my hands,” she replied stiffly. “Well, if you are finished using me for your pleasure, Captain, I shall retire.”
He choked on his whiskey. “Good God, I hope it was for your pleasure as well, Lady Gage.”
He was still naked. Bronwyn hardly knew where to put her eyes and then opted for a bold stare at his manhood. “Enjoy your victory. It will be short-lived. As long as I am forced to endure your company, I will endeavor to make the experience as unpleasant for you as it is for me.”
She drew herself up and walked out of the room.
Jon didn’t doubt for a moment that Lady Gage meant what she said. He had never known a woman like her. She had no equal.
§
THE NEXT day dawned and the main deck was a hive of activity but it was full noon before Bronwyn found the courage to emerge from her cabin. The sun stood perpendicular to the horizon and blazed its wonderful restorative heat on her exposed head and neck. Roddy was with James and another boy learning to tie knots. The wind was with them, sails billowed majestically carrying the vessel along a great speed. She bent over the side to watch the water rush past and allowed her mind to drift back to last night.
The experience had not been wholly vile.
Captain Stag had been sequestered with Mr. Hawkins since early this morning; she was relieved not to have to face him. His smirk of triumph at seeing her looking well and rested would have been more than she could bear.
Bronwyn had slept soundly which dismayed her greatly. A fallen woman should be tossing and turning at the gates of hell—not sleeping the sleep of angels! She was worried about the condition of her heart. Had she completely turned her back on her father’s teachings? Matthew Barlow had said a sound moral code was as vital to survival as a steady aim. Consequently, the clergyman had taught her how to fire a weapon as well as ‘thou shalt not kill.’
She trusted her aim; it was her morals that were in doubt. Bronwyn had not utterly hated the encounter with Captain Stag as much as she should have.
The water below curled in white waves against the hull. The Black was a fast ship and soon they would have caught up to the Dauntless. So much could go wrong. She was too separated from God to pray for her own neck so she prayed for Roddy’s instead.
§
SIX BELLS.
BRONWYN’S NERVES pricked wide awake. She sat up, blinked several times, and then rose from her berth as quietly as possible. Roddy was sleeping soundly in the swaying hammock. The men had said they’d never known the Atlantic to offer such a smooth passage and were disposed to fear her a little less for being on board. She was able to convince one or two of them to teach her how to tie knots and the purpose of the various sails.
It helped her nerves to dwell on the routine domestic duties on board the Black. It helped to steady her for the nightly assignation she faced at six bells.
Bronwyn did not linger. Jon Stag was waiting for her in his quarters and if there was one thing of which she was confident in the man—he would act on his threat if she broke their agreement. And with Roddy’s lungs already so much improved, Bronwyn could not regret the bargain she had struck with the captain.
She drew her cloak over her shoulders, gave up a silent prayer to God for her soul and left the cabin.
The corridor was dark and silent. Other than the watch topside, the crew was fast asleep. The captain’s quarters were at the very far end. A gleam of light shone under the door. She took a steadying breath (that did very little to steady her) and boldly walked in without knocking.
“Good evening, Captain. I am here to service you.” Bronwyn dropped the cloak unceremoniously to the floor.
“Good God! You’re naked! Why are you naked?”
Unconcerned, and thankfully without a blush, Bronwyn dropped her gaze to her bare feet and legs. “You did not like my nightdress. I feared it might be torn. This is more efficient.”
She moved to his berth, which was a tumble of pillows and warm quilts, and sat down. The room was chilly. Bronwyn wished she had not been so hasty in dropping the cloak but she would be damned if she crossed her arms over her chest or otherwise tried to cover herself. Let him look. He did not own her.
Chapter Ten
CAPTAIN STAG drank down a tumbler of whiskey and avoided looking directly at her. He was strangely silent.
“You drink too much,” she said. “Is your conscience bothering you? If you don’t mind, I should like to be back in my own bed before midnight.”
“I can’t just make it happen on command, my lady.” His neck was red and his eyes glittered with anger and shame. Bronwyn was familiar with the look of a guilty man.
“Are you sure? Because it is at your command that I am here,” she needled. “Don’t expect me to help you. I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain.�
�� She lay down on the berth and folded her hands over her belly. “I don’t have all night. It is now or never, Captain.”
Stag slammed his glass down on the table, startling her. He closed the gap between them in three strides, wrenching his jacket off as he did so. “Do not move. I want to watch you in just that position, naked and helpless, and best of all—defiant. I love defiance, Lady Gage. It makes me hot to take you over and over again.”
He kicked off his boots and was out of his breeches before she could blink. Bronwyn’s heart hammered in her chest but she met his eyes with cold amusement.
“Splendid,” she said icily. “I am at your service. You may take my body as many times as you like, Jon Stag. You will never possess me. My soul is my own.”
“What do I want with your soul? You may keep it for all I care.”
“Then you will be fucking a corpse, as you so elegantly define your lovemaking. I was caught off guard last night by your penetration. You may have been deluded into believing I was taking pleasure from the act. It was only a natural human reflex. I am myself again. Now that I know what to expect, I can spread my legs for you and let you get on with it.”
She did just that. Cool air curled between her thighs. Bronwyn held his stare without flinching, waiting for him to climb on top of her and penetrate her with the huge staff that hung between his thighs.
Jon recoiled in mute horror and disgust, and yet there was a flash of admiration in his eyes.
“By God, you think I won’t do it.”
“On the contrary, I know you will. I’m only trying to facilitate the process. Speed things up, as it were. You have no feeling for me and I certainly have no feeling for you. What is left but brute animalistic copulation? No kissing. No talking. No joining of our souls. That was the arrangement, was it not?”
Stag’s grin was rueful. “I do not envy your husband.” He climbed into bed beside her. “He’ll need a will of iron to control you.”
The Pirate Lord: Aristocrat. Rogue. Spy. Page 6
