She shook her head. “He offered to make me a plate, but he’d already cleaned the kitchen...” Her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Mess hall,” she corrected with a smug little grin that elicited one of his to poke out. “I didn’t want to trouble him. This is fine.”
He walked over to her. “For a child, maybe.”
He caught her wrist halfway to her mouth and raised her hand. He took a bite of her toast. The pulse beneath his curled fingers leapt. The flecks of gold in her eyes shimmered.
He released her and straightened. “I’ll have him bring something else.”
He left her there and moved to the chest. He exchanged his clothes for cargo pants and a sweater.
“Not coming to bed?” she asked, finishing off the rest of her toast.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Can I come with you?”
Not sure he’d heard her correctly, James paused in the fastening of his boots. “What?”
She swung her bare feet down to the floor. “Can I come with you?” she repeated. “See what you do. I won’t touch anything.”
He eyed her legs. Even with the hem of his shirt brushing the tops of her knees, there was still a lot of leg showing.
“Not dressed like that you’re not.”
Scrambling up, she grabbed the heels from earlier and quickly slipped them on. Then she stood there like that made all the difference in the world.
“Definitely not.”
Her shoulders drooped. “What? Why? I have shoes.”
What she had was miles of already sexy as fuck legs in fuck me heels.
“Because seeing you like that is not going to help anyone do their job. Seeing you like that is going to get someone hurt. Possibly killed if I get my hands on them.”
She sat back down, lips curled down. “I guess I’ll just stay here then.”
That was the best idea she’d ever had. Until they got her clothes, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I won’t be long.”
He found Nicholas in the crew lounge with Presley, August, Michael, and Jordon. The five were seated around the coffee table, cards in hand and a thick cloud of smoke drifting around their heads.
“Hey Captain,” Michael greeted him first. “Want to join?”
James shook his head. “Who’s on deck?”
“Larson and Joseph,” Nicholas answered without looking away from his hand.
“Where’s Stevens and Marlow?”
“They’re getting the dawn shift.” He pinched his cigarette between his teeth, pulled out two jacks and tossed them into the pile; grown men playing go fish. “They’re probably in their cabins.”
“Hey, congratulations, Captain,” Michael piped in. “Heard the big news. I haven’t met the lady, but I hear she’s real pretty.”
“She’s smoking fucking hot, is what she is,” Presley muttered.
Nicholas kicked him under the table.
Presley blinked up to where James still stood. “I just mean...”
James shook his head. “It’s true. Can’t fault a man for having eyes.” He turned his attention to August. “Is the kitchen completely closed?”
August straightened in his chair. The wood groaned under his weight.
“I have some leftovers in the fridge. Want me to heat—?”
James shook his head. “I got it. Have you heard from Mable?”
The other man dug out his phone and checked the screen. “She said she picked up those items you requested, but she won’t be able to get them here until morning.”
“Morning’s fine, but it has to be before noon.”
August’s thumbs moved across the screen, relaying James’s message.
James turned to Nicholas. “Any word on that tracking device I asked you to get?”
Nicholas closed his cards, rapped them on the table once, then fanned them out again. “I won’t have it until the day after, but I picked up something close. It’ll do the job until the other one arrives.”
“And our location tomorrow for the meet?”
The cards were set down.
“I’ll have Stevens and Larson scout in the morning. But I still think we should have them come here. We’d have home court advantage.”
James shook his head. “You don’t shit where you eat.”
Nicholas didn’t comment.
“Hey, Boss?” Presley turned slightly in his chair. “Just curious, what are we doing with the cargo below?”
“It’s already bought and paid for,” James reminded him. “It’s going to be delivered.”
“So, we’ll be heading back out?”
James nodded. “Once I handle matters on land here, we’ll set out.”
Presley bobbed his head a few times and went back to his cards.
James met Nicholas’s eyes, exchanging a brief glance before turning on his heels and leaving. He picked his way to the mess hall. The corridors rang with the sound of his boots. Several of the rooms he passed hummed with the sound of low voices from TVs and stereos. He faintly considered getting one for his cabin; Cora could use the distraction. But she wouldn’t be on the ship for much longer and he hated that crap in his room.
Hated clutter.
The mess hall sat dark and empty when he pushed in the swinging doors. August hadn’t even left a light to guide James to the pantry. It was out of sheer memory that he made it without bumping into anything.
Supper was pork chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Leftovers were wrapped neatly in containers and labeled in the fridge. He emptied a bit of everything into a plate and popped it into the microwave. A can of soda was stuffed into his pocket.
With the heated plate in one hand, fork and knife in the other, he made his way back to his cabin.
Cora wasn’t on the bed when he pushed his way in. He found her at the round window, on her tiptoes despite the heels still strapped to her feet.
She looked back over her shoulder when he walked in. “Hey.”
He motioned her to come with a jerk of his head.
The food was set on his desk, along with the cutlery and the soda.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” But she sat when he pulled out the chair for her.
“Well, I considered letting you starve, but I don’t know how loud your stomach growls at night.”
His attempt at humor earned him a dry glower over curved lips. “Your thoughtfulness astounds me.”
“Just remember, I can be thoughtful.”
He took a step back as she picked up her fork and knife with an amused shake of her head. He watched her cut into the meat and popped a piece into her mouth.
Her low, throaty moan went straight to his groin.
“I don’t know how August does it, but ... gah, the man’s a genius.”
“I’ll let him know,” he murmured. “I have to do a round. Finish up and get to bed.”
“Aye Aye, Captain.”
Her cheek got her hair coiled around his finger and tugged. “Watch it.”
She just grinned around a mouthful.
He left her.
But she remained with him throughout his entire walkthrough.
Thoughts of her.
Thoughts of her father and the meeting in the morning.
Thoughts of Bishop and the shit that was about to hit the fan.
Who ever said a pirate’s life wasn’t exciting? It certainly beat sitting behind a desk.
James returned to his room twenty minutes later with a pilfered cookie from the kitchen to find Cora curled up in his bed, peacefully asleep. Her plate sat empty on the desk, knife and fork placed neatly on top.
She had done exactly what he’d instructed her to.
Had eaten her dinner.
Had gone to bed.
He wasn’t entirely certain if it was because he’d told her to, or because she’d had nothing else to do. But it didn’t matter. Consciously or not, she had listened.
That was progress.
He set the cook
ie on his desk and moved to the bed. James peered down at her. He studied the dusky splay of her lashes against the ivory curves of her cheeks, the soft set of her lips, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
She was stunning, painfully beautiful, like a piece of art created solely for him. If he could have, he would have put her behind glass, preserved her as she was forever.
But it wouldn’t have been enough.
He would have wanted to play with her.
He would have wanted to take her out and reenact all his dirty fantasies.
He wouldn’t have been satisfied otherwise.
He drew away the blankets, stripping her of their warmth.
He pitched them to the foot of the bed. Out of the way for when he rolled her onto her back.
Gingerly, he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt and lifted. His fingertips traced the path of skin from thighs, over her hips, dipped into the lines of her waist, counted every delicate rib, and paused at the slopes of her breasts.
It was here, she stirred.
Her lashes parted.
Her eyes locked with his in the murky obscurity of night.
She said nothing.
He said nothing.
He liberated her of her top.
She let him.
It was tossed somewhere behind him.
Leather hissed as it was dragged free of fabric. The belt buckle jingled in the hot silence.
“Arms,” was all he said.
She gave them, wrists touching, somehow already knowing what he wanted.
He circled them and slipped the tongue of the belt through the silver clasp. He slid it closed until her hands were bound. Then dragged both arms over her head. He fastened them to the iron bars of the bedframe.
His heart thumped in his chest. It clapped in time with his anticipation. He could taste the excitement at the back of his throat, a savory mixture of cotton candy and Cora. He could hardly stand it.
He stood back and studied his handiwork. Even in the dim light of the room, she glowed, a pale candle flame in the shadows. He could make out with taunting accuracy every part of her he wanted to kiss.
Touch.
Mark.
It was all on display just for him.
Springs groaned with the added weight of his body climbing over her. The mattress shifted. The bed rattled. But the woman never moved. She remained trustingly still, except for her eyes. They followed his every move.
“Scared?”
To his surprise, she nodded. “Good scared.”
Christ.
She would be the end of him. He could already feel it.
He lowered his head and skimmed a feather light kiss to the bite mark he’d given her earlier. No skin had been broken and it was already fading, but the sight of it fueled him with a surge of ownership. Like when he and Annie were children and they each wanted the last piece of cake. The first person to lick it, owned it.
He owned Cora Harris.
He’d licked her.
He’d marked her.
She was his.
Goose bumps rose across her belly where his lips trailed to her navel. The muscles flexed beneath his touch. She made a sound, a grunt of protest that had him raising his head.
“Ticklish,” she whispered, her tone breathless.
Lifting one hand, he brushed it in a slow sweep from underarm, beneath her breast to tummy.
The woman jerked. The sound this time was between a groan and a giggle.
James hid his grin in her belly button. Then his teeth in the soft skin just next to the tiny indent.
Not hard.
Just hard enough to turn the giggle into a sigh.
He resumed his mission. He could feel his own anxiousness prickling at his patience. He would do better next time, but it had been days since he’d tasted her. Being that close was a tease to his barely controlled addiction.
He parted her thighs. She raised them, bending them at the knees and splaying them as far apart as they would go, granting him unlimited access to her most sacred place.
“Good girl.” He murmured. He bent to her lips, already open and eager for his attention. “Hello again, sweetheart.”
His guttural drawl was followed by an open mouth kiss that included a teasing nudge of his tongue dancing between the folds to flick her clit.
The woman above him gasped. Her hips lifted, interrupting his task.
He pinned her with both hands bracketing the insides of her thighs, framing the slippery, pink petals of her sex. The muscles beneath his palm vibrated, but they remained still otherwise.
He returned to his own pleasure. He returned to painting the curves and folds of her with his tongue. He returned to tasting and teasing, to quenching the hunger he’d had building in his gut for days.
He dipped his tongue into the hot pool collecting over her opening. He circled the tight ring and nudged with just enough pressure to make her shudder.
His fingers replaced his mouth without lifting off the hold they had on her thighs. He pushed one thumb in and held it there, fascinated by the ripple of muscles trying to pull him in deeper.
“James...”
He ignored her breathy whimper and returned his mouth to the sliver of skin joining her thigh to the junction of her body, an inch from her lips. He suctioned, sucking lightly in time to the steady rock of his thumb inside her. He didn’t stop until his mark on her was the proper redness and size.
“Did you just give me a hickey on my...?” Her voice held silent laughter, but he also heard the incredulous shock under it.
“Pussy.” He rose up on one arm. The other remained, the thumb still working inside her. “Had to mark her somehow. And she isn’t yours.” He raised his head and met her hazy gaze. “She’s mine.”
He slipped off her, off the bed, and stood over both. He took a moment to enjoy the flush pinkening her breasts and flowing up to stain her neck and cheeks. She hadn’t closed her legs and the mark next to her glistening center winked invitingly, begging him to return.
To take.
Her, like that, restrained, helpless, but completely open and wanting was an image he would never tire of.
His hands discarded his clothes, unhurried, prolonging the moment he would be inside her again. He moved to the desk and pulled out a condom. He slipped it on before returning.
Cora wiggled the moment he drew closer. Her arms tensed above her head. Her legs pulled up higher towards her chest.
She wasn’t even breathing.
Her anticipation was as hot and palpable as the sun in the hottest July afternoon. He could feel the swelter of her desire radiating off her, could taste her musky aroma saturating the air. She was wound and ready with such intensity, he knew she didn’t have long.
“Do you want this?”
He closed his fist around the hard length of his erection and gave it a lazy stroke. He watched, fascinated, enthralled as she licked her lips.
“Yes.”
The space between her legs dipped as he knelt into place.
“That’s not it.”
The slender column of her throat bobbed rapidly. She licked her lips again. The bar above her head squeaked beneath her tightening fingers.
“Please.”
A grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “You’re getting much better at that.”
He took her hips in his hands and lifted her to him. In her eagerness, she pushed up with her heels and he nearly lost his grip.
He gave her thigh a smart smack. “Settle.”
She jolted with a pained yelp. Her heels lost their anchor in the mattress and she dropped down with a bounce. She lay still.
Once certain she wasn’t going to wiggle again, he brought her to him. With his free hand, he aligned the head of his cock with her opening and pushed through.
Cora whimpered. The frame above her head groaned with her struggles not to move, but she was still from the waist down.
He fed her inch by inch with a slowness he knew
was driving her crazy. He could see the impatience gleaming in her eyes, in the vicious grip she had on her lip. Frustration furrowed her brows, twisting them together.
Her quiet misery was intoxicating.
“Only good girls get what they want,” he purred, drunk on his newfound powers.
“I have been good,” she protested.
James lifted his head, one eyebrow arched. “Is that for you to decide?”
Cora bit her lip, badly concealing her grin.
He hummed quietly, working the sound with the final push of his hips, sheathing himself fully in her velvety heat.
“Oh God!” Cora’s spine arched off the mattress. Her head fell back against the pillow. “Too much...”
“No such thing.”
He gave an emphasizing nudge that elicited another throaty sob from her. The walls of her pussy tightened with the most exquisite pain.
He tugged back, giving her a taste of relief. He allowed her body to slump, her toes to uncurl. He waited for her chin to lower, for her eyes to open and find him. The green and gold were barely noticeable beneath the heavy fog of passion.
He closed the space, that sliver of an inch crossing the threshold between pleasure and pain, and held while the woman beneath him arched like a beautifully drawn bow string. Torrents of raw electricity wove beneath her heated flesh and zapped him in all the places they touched. It rippled beneath his palms.
“James ... James, stop ... stop ... wait ... fuck!”
She came before even he knew it was happening. Her body seemed to break against her will. It shattered, taking her with it in an explosion of fire.
The sight was glorious.
It was riveting.
Addicting.
“No ... no more ... no more ... I can’t...”
But it wasn’t enough.
He hadn’t had enough.
How could it be? He was a child at Christmas with a new toy and he’d just unlocked a special feature, a secret.
He was drunk on it.
High on her.
“No!”
Releasing her hips, he rose over her, a dark ship in the storm and took her mouth. He stifled her every whine, her every whimper, her every sob of his name.
He swallowed her air.
Her sense.
Her fucking sanity.
He wanted it.
All of it.
Everything she fucking had.
He wanted her soul.
Blood Script Page 16
