A Pirate's Ruse

by Camille Oster

  Her most intimate part was on fire and burned. She couldn't keep still. The hardness of his anatomy pressed to her, sending sharp tension twisting her insides.

  Pulling away, he sat back, his hands traveled down her body, over her breeches and to her boots, pulling them off. She could see the moon lighting his bare shoulders, watching the light shift across his body as he moved. She couldn't believe this was happening, but she couldn't stop it either. Tension was so high inside her, she didn't know what to do with herself.

  Next were her breeches and his hands swirled around her hips, pulling them down. The air felt cold to her heated skin as they slipped off her legs. She watched him as he discarded her clothes. She should be stopping this, but she didn't want to. Suddenly, she realized the monumental thing that was occurring—she was laying with a man, and she should be saying no, but she wasn’t. Reaching over, he kissed her sex, sending sharp pleasure up her body. He licked her and further pleasure flowed through her, sharp and urgent, coiling the tension to unbearable levels.

  Rising on his knees, she saw his manhood, thick and strong and he ran his hand up and down its length. This was it; she was giving herself to a man. He would push inside her. A flitter of fear pushed in, but the curiosity was too strong—she wanted this, and she relented when he urged her thighs apart.

  His hand returned to her stomach, running along it, down across her thigh. He groaned and placed himself at her entrance, pressing in. Clara held her breath and her nervousness reasserted itself.

  Shifting above her, he kissed her, his tongue re-stirring the delicious sensations he generated. She trusted him—trusted him to do this. She felt pressure as he pressed inside her, then sharp pain. Wincing, she arched up and his hand stroked down the cheek. "Done now," he said. What did he mean done? Was this it?

  He pressed farther in until his hips met hers. A sense of fullness chased the lingering pain away. He was inside her, completely. He rolled his hips and sharp pleasure swirled around the fullness. There was more.

  His breath was heavy on her lips and she could feel his eyes on her, more than she could actually see them. He drew back and pushed into her again. Pleasure so sharp ripped through her and she gasped. It was so intense she almost wanted to escape it, but she couldn't. He thrust into her again, and yet again she gasped. Sinking his head down, he ran his mouth along her shoulder. She felt his teeth on her skin and another sharp thrust, generating a riot insider her, tension forming.

  "Don't hide from it," he said. "Let it take you." Somehow she knew exactly what he was talking about. The pleasure and tension was shifting inside her, growing stronger. "Let it," he said, barely more than a whisper.

  He moved in and out of her, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. The tension was indescribable and she tried to not fight it, even as it was building stronger and stronger. His elbows reached under her shoulders and his arms snaked around her back, gripping her closer. Her hips shifted and the tension only escalated, compelling her to seek it. Small groaning sounds escaped her throat with each of his thrusts and she arched into him, feeling the tension culminate. "Christian," she said, unsure she could do this.

  He ground into her hard and her heart seemed to stop, placing her on a knife-edge of exquisite tension, heralding either pain or pleasure. Something was coming. She existed in a space of nothingness until her body drew in on itself and then exploded in pleasure. Urgent, unstoppable waves of it washed over her, again and again. She heard him cry above her, suffering with the same culmination. He groaned through gritted teeth, arched above her, every part of his body straining. She could neither move nor fully comprehend through the strong waves washing over her.

  She was stunned when he sank down on her, her breath finally returning, drawing too sparsely into her screaming lungs. What had just happened was completely beyond comprehension. He'd come inside her and torn her body apart, and somehow, she had survived it.

  He was kissing the side of her mouth, slowly pressing his hips into her, sending shuddering and delicious reverberations through her. She was going to have to redefine the term delicious. She had through she'd known what it meant, but it had reached entirely new levels.

  When he rolled off her, she could breathe fully again. It felt like she was lying next to a furnace, her body was so hot, and she ached between her legs. Rubbing her legs together to dispel the ache, but it only make her ache for what they'd just shared. She couldn't believe what had just happened, and she was no longer a virgin—she was a woman, in every sense of the word.

  Chapter 28:

  * * *

  Clara rode him, willing to try it when he suggested she could, his cock buried inside her as she moved above him. Her breasts jiggled as she took him to the hilt and he had to rein himself in or just the sight of her exploring her own pleasure on him would be enough for him to release his seed deep into her. He arched beneath her and saw her pleasure intensify, her mouth widened with astonishment as she rode him. Her body shook deeply with exertion, control and pleasure. Her natural curiosity had found a new marvel and she was taking to it like a duck to water.

  Groaning, he reined his thoughts in, trying to think of something to cool him, but she wasn't giving him a fighting chance, riding him so forcefully he wasn't sure he could last. He really didn't want to lose himself before she had a chance to explore this to its completion.

  She arched, was getting close. Moans escaped out of her throat as she kept going. He just watched her moving magnificently above him, but he couldn't do it anymore. Grabbing her hips, he ground her to him and her moans turning into cries. He felt her body start to convulse around him and let his own release flow, taking everything he had with it. He suspected he could become obsessed with this.

  Her upper body flopped down on his in sated exhaustion and he wrapped his arms around her, still buried deep insider her, growing soft. He wanted to stay here, deep inside her.

  "Is the tide low now?" she asked after long moments regaining her breath. She rose and pulled away from him and he missed her already.

  "Yes, but it will be in another twelve hours as well," he said, rolling to his side, letting his hand stroke across her bare breast, which was so soft, his couldn't keep his wits about him. "It's dark now. We could just stay here until morning, and then find the clue." Leaning over, he nibbled on her breast’s bud, feeling it grow hard as he flicked his tongue over it. He grew hard, wanting her again. This really was going to kill him, but she rose and the moonlight shone patterns across her body through the trees.

  "Tide is out and this little reprieve is over," she stated, reaching for her breeches.

  Christian groaned, running his hands over his face and down his chest. "It doesn't have to be."

  She gathered her shirt and pulled it on. "Game's on. Do you think this is the last clue?"

  He didn't care. "Yes," he said, rising himself. "And I go in first."

  She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back, needing a last kiss now that the glorious interlude was over. He drew her to him, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth. This might be the most profound and compelling coupling he'd ever experienced, but it was over now. Maybe the fact that they were enemies made it so sweet.

  Her eyes chided him when she pulled away. Damn it, she was leaving him wanting more. It was normally the other way around, him priding himself on leaving women panting for more. But Clara's mind was on the prize and he let her go. "I go in first," he repeated when she disappeared from view.

  Finding his breeches, he pulled them on, doing up the ties closing away his well-sated manhood. Admittedly, he could have gone a few more rounds, utterly exhausting himself in the process, but now it was time to put this to side and get on with the business of winning this challenge. He wanted to beat her and he wanted to do so fair and square. He would just be better and faster, and now was the time to prove he was.

  She had her head down the blowhole by the time he arrived. "Hurry up, then," she said as she looked up. He to
ok a stick and tore some material from his belt to wind around it, smearing it in pig fat and lighting it with his new grinder. It was dark, but he could hear the more remote laping of waves on the shore. The tide was down and he walked down the bared seashore. "Where are you going?"

  "Well, you can stick your head down there if you want. I am going in the cave." He waded into the water, which reached up to his chest by the time he made it into the cave's mouth. He held the torch high as he walked in. The inside was sandy with rocky outcrops. She was standing deep in the cave when he got there, having squeezed herself down the blowhole. "You were supposed to wait."

  "I did wait. You got to go in first. It's not my fault you took an age to do it."

  He grumbled at her assertion, but then brought the torch around. Whatever they’d used to write the message, it had to be waterproof, so most likely it was tar, which would be hard to see in a dark cave.

  Christian had to move closely along the walls to examine them until he reached the message, Clara at his side, jumping with excitement.

  As a crow hides his treasure, so must you find yours.

  Clara read it, but very slowly. She really wasn't good at reading, he noted as he watched her. He knew immediately where he had to go. A crow's nest was the highest point of a ship and he had to seek the highest point of the island. This would require strength and speed, so he was in his element.

  "Bye, then," he said and pushed her over into the water.

  Surfacing out of the water, she growled her dismay, but he was already on his way out of the cave, taking his torch with him. The challenge was on and he wasn't helping her anymore. Chucking the torch, he swam to shore—long, powerful strokes until he waded up the beach, where he pulled his boots on again.

  Turning toward the jungle, he didn't relish making his way up that damned mountain in the dark. It was going to take hours, slowed down significantly at night. They could be fucking now instead of this, but oh well, it was on.

  The stream was the easiest way to travel through the forest, but it was still cumbersome in the dark. He had to make his way up waterfalls and over fallen trees, but he kept going. He was a good way up the mountain when dawn crept over the horizon. Exhaustion was nipping at his body and consciousness, but he wouldn't relent. This was not the time to worry about lack of sleep, or to stop to watch the sunrise. It was time to work and to work as hard as he ever had.

  His shirt was wet with sweat and he pushed himself harder, wondering how Clara was getting on in the jungle. He heard nothing of her, but refused to distract himself with thoughts of her, even if he had to force out intruding thoughts of her delectable body and the joy she'd discovered in their coupling. She was just a girl, like every other girl in the world.

  Looking up, he saw the rocky peak of the mountain. He had to keep going, pushing his aching arms and legs.

  *

  As the sun rose higher, he was at the peak, taking a brief moment to catch his breath and look for Clara, who was nowhere he could see. The sun was gaining heat as he made his way around the mountain crest, looking for the treasure, which was obviously in the chest they had been chasing all along.

  He searched as fast as he could until he came across an indentation in the rock surface, which just kept going, into a crevasse and cave. Somehow, light shone into the cave from a higher opening and he spotted the chest—unopened. "Yes!" he shouted, knowing he was the first there. He'd won. The chest was his, the challenge was his and Tortuga Bay was his. Everything he'd worked for had come to fruition.

  Walking over to the chest, he threw it open, seeing gold inside—and it was a beautiful sight. A message was written on the inside of the lid.

  Congratulations. The booty to the victor as is our way. Raise the flag and signal your triumph.

  He looked around and spotted a pole lying on the ground. The plain red flag would signal the end of the challenge and bring the ship back. They must be nearby, watching for this indication that the contest was over.

  Excitement rushed through his blood. He had won. Tortuga Bay was his. Turning his eyes back to the chest, his gaze traveled over the gold. This was everything he wanted, but a concern crept into the back of his mind. Obviously, if he won, she would leave—probably this afternoon. She would sail back to England and never return. A frown crossed his brow.

  This should not concern him—the vanquished faded away, that was the way of the world, and he should not be considering qualms about this just because he'd spent the night inside her. But it had been so sweet. His body tightened just at the thought.

  Looking over at the flag, he knew he needed to raise it. This was what he'd been working toward since he'd arrived in the Caribbean. Some pouting girl should not be keeping this from him, but he couldn't move. Something strained against it. All he saw was bleakness. He’d found something here on this island—something he’d been searching for without knowing it—a thing that consumed him, drove him and made everything else fade in comparison.

  She was just a girl, he firmly told himself—admittedly stubborn beyond belief, wracked with insecurity, but so very curious, taking adventure with both hands and holding on tight. She was like a blossoming flower and he'd had the privilege of witnessing it. He groaned. He'd been the one to guide her. A raging possessiveness flowed through him, settling like tension in his body. But she stood in his way. He needed to cut her loose.

  He wasn't stupid enough to believe he could make her stay with her defeat. She would leave—unlikely to be swayed by promises and fair words. And he didn't know if he was ready to make any genuine promises. He just didn't know what he was doing, except something was stopping him from grabbing that flag. Whatever he said to her, he would see her board a ship, probably to one of the minor trading towns, before making her way to Port Royal or even Nassau. Nothing he could offer her would make up for the hurt and embarrassment of her defeat. Why did she have to be so damned prideful?

  He heard a cry of frustration and closed his eyes. She was here, nearby, making her way to the peak. Before he knew what he was doing, he closed the lid and stepped back, withdrawing into the shadows as he listened to her scrambling around outside, stopping outside the cave, surveying it. His heart beat powerfully. He was letting this slip away for something he couldn’t define, couldn’t understand. But he wanted it—needed it.

  Slowly she moved in. He could hear her tentative footsteps, imagining the curiosity that fired her mind.

  She quickly ran to the chest and lifted the lid open, gasping as she saw its content. "I won," she said, barely more than a whisper. "Oh, by merciful heaven, I have won."

  Christian closed his eyes, not believing what he'd just done, what insanity had overcome him, but it was done now. He'd let the prize he coveted go, for a girl—to keep her here. It might be the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

  * * *

  Chapter 29:

  * * *

  Clara climbed up to the very peak of the mountain and waved the flag back and forth. "I've won," she screamed into the wind. "To all you bastards who said I couldn't, I hope it burns."

  She couldn't stop jumping with excitement, still not believing she'd won. Where was Christian? She wanted to gloat. Alright, that might not be the most mature and dignified way to act, but she itched to gloat.

  She waved the flag until she could barely raise her arms, finally putting it down and breathing deeply. It was so incredibly beautiful up here, on top of the world. The water glittered in the sun, as if it was delighting with her. She was on top of the world. She had conquered.

  How in the world was she going to get that chest down? It would never float along the streams. But she was a captain, damn it. She could order her crew to go collect it, unless Christian stole it. She wouldn't put it past him, but she didn't really care. She had won the town. There would be more gold in her future than she'd know what to do with.

  Leaving it behind, she scrambled down the mountain, until she found a stream to follow, ending up farther down the beach t
han she intended. She had to walk quite a while before returning to the fire they'd sat around last night. It seemed as good a place as any to go.

  Christian was there already, sitting on a log, eating the remains of the meal from the previous night. He stood when he saw her, knife in hand, but she knew in her gut he wouldn't hurt her. She walked right up to him and poked him in the chest. "I won," she said. "I won, I won, I won," she repeated so he understood.

  His eyes were clouded and inscrutable. He said nothing, but she imagined that it burned deeply to lose this challenge. It was only natural that he felt gloomy and subdued with this development. With every victory there had to be a loser, and today belonged to her.

  "To all those who said I was useless, they can suck a crab apple." She couldn't stop smiling. It felt so incredibly good. "And my father, he can cry into his rum. The town is mine."

  "You have to run it now," Christian finally said.

  "And who says I can't?" she challenged, lifting her chin high. "I can do anything."

  His eyes shifted away from her and she followed, spotting the ship coming around the southern end of the island. "Your celebration awaits."

  "Not everyone will be celebrating," she said quietly.

  "No doubt."

  Taking a deep breath, she watched as the ship sailed closer then threw anchor. The dinghy was lowered and two men rowed ashore. They were more interested in the remains of their feast than they were with either of the contestants.

  Clara waded into the shallow water, then stepped into the back of the dinghy, seating herself on the back edge. The men, chatting animatedly and chewed off-cuts from their booty as they started to row. Christian sat at the bow, looking back at her. His expression was passive, hiding his displeasure at this outcome. One of them had to win and she was just better today. That was the way of things.