“This is oil, Maddie.” Massaging the slippery substance into her skin, he finally caressed her derriere, and she hummed in appreciation. “It will make the first time much easier for you. But before we begin, I must have your promise that you will stop me if I hurt you or you change your mind. Now, tell me you understand, else I will go no further.”
“I understand.” Drowning in passion, awash, inundated, she yielded in that moment, though he knew it not.
And so he embarked on their new and enticing endeavor, driving her, inciting her, luring her into his world of unbridled debauchery with a series of salacious strokes and kisses in unmentionable places, and she pined for him. When he parted her bottom and smoothed the oil along her cleft, she tensed, and then there was decadent pressure, foreign yet beguiling.
Jean Marc grasped her hips and thrust, and she cried out from the shock, as opposed to pain. As he entered her, he stretched her, filled her, possessed her, and stripped her of any fragment of civilized behavior, and she reveled in the intimate invasion.
In unwavering submission, she spread wide her legs, and he curled about her and played an arresting accompaniment with his fingers at her core. So she held naught back from her man, and in the giving she received steadfast acceptance, encouragement, and incomparable satisfaction, and Madalene soared higher, farther, and faster than she ever thought possible.
With her pirate captain, she altered, she changed; she became something altogether different. No elegant façade born of years in study, no polished garments, no polite manners, no mask shielded her carnal cravings. For him, she functioned as a sensate being, pliant, adaptable to his yearnings, and resilient, to be cast and recast in the image he desired, and in so doing, Madalene found herself.
THE BLACK MORASS
CHAPTER SEVEN
A sennight had passed when Jean Marc stirred in his bunk and then stilled, as he did not want to wake Maddie. Dozing in his arms, her favorite resting place, she remained oblivious to his scrutiny, as he studied her face, the classical lines, elegant curves, and cute little nose. What was it about her? Why did she fascinate him?
It was supposed to be an easy conquest. Raid and pillage. He had done it before on occasions too numerous to count. But this particular invasion had been different from the start, as never had he taken a well-bred virgin. In truth, she remained intact, has he had not sailed her honey harbor.
But he claimed her windward passage every morning and night, and sometimes in between. That was his plan, was it not? He schemed to defile an innocent and prove he remained in control of his life, despite the pact with the Crown. It mattered not that he desired her; at least, that is what he told himself.
Yet, for him, with her, the more he took from her, the more he seized, captured, and consumed, the more he lacked. And while he fought with a seemingly insatiable hunger, his society miss came to him with her characteristic poise and assurance and without complaint. With a glance or a snap of his fingers, she bared her beautiful bottom. Indeed, nothing about the situation made sense, as she was not supposed to enjoy his depravity.
“A penny for your thoughts.” Nuzzling his neck, she giggled and walked her fingers down to caress his erection. “Or should I roll onto my side, my lusty buccaneer?”
“Not yet, Mon Chou.” Something bothered him, as she made endless references he did not quite understand. Although he meant to inquire about her comments after dinner the previous evening, as usual, she distracted him, and they uttered naught incoherent. “Yesterday, when you talked about living in Boston, and redecorating the master suite in your home for us, to what were you referring?”
“Oh, dear.” Reclining on her back, she focused on the ceiling and sighed. “I was afraid you might protest, but I want to live in the city where I was raised. All my friends are there, and I know we will be the height of the social season. Is that a problem for you?”
“Why would it be a problem for me?” Indeed, she spoke gibberish, and he shrugged. “You may continue to live wherever you wish.”
“So you are amenable?” With a squeal, she hugged him. “Jean Marc, you make me happy, do you know that? And no one is more surprised than I, as you are not what I envisioned when I dreamed of my knight in shining armor, coming to rescue me.”
“He did not wear an eye patch and carry a pistol?” She worked him then, stroking, squeezing, provoking, and he relished her desire. “You have grown so bold, Mon Chou, and I like it.”
“It is your licentious tutelage, my pirate.” She squirmed, as he fondled her tiny pearl at the apex of her thighs. “And I love it when you touch me.” Angling her head, she pressed her lips to his nipple, and he shuddered. “I suppose it is fortunate that I want a large family, as I suspect you will never tire of begetting babes, but we should wait to conceive until after we are married.”
And so Maddie stole the wind from his sails.
At first, he had no idea how to respond, as it dawned on him had miscalculated. But with her singular clarification, their conversations suddenly developed a clear and concise discernment, with no room for error.
In a flash, he transported to their fledgling fishing lesson and her simple statement, when she opted to yield her arse: And you would be willing to see it through to its honorable conclusion?
Madalene’s definition of ‘honorable conclusion’ varied drastically from his, as he referenced completion, while she referred to a wedding. But Jean Marc was in no position to take a wife. He remained a wanted man, despite the promise of a pardon, until he completed a year of virtuous behavior. Then he wondered why he even considered a union.
“What is it, my darling?” Covering his mouth with hers, she drew him deeper into the blissful paradise she manifested. “Are you afraid my friends will not welcome you?”
Incapable of speech, he nodded.
“Poor Jean Marc, they will adore you.” Glowing, she moaned as he caressed her breasts through the nightgown she insisted on wearing. “And I will never leave your side, so you have nothing fear. We will partake of all the delights of Boston, and I want to travel to the tiny cove, where you taught me to swim, as I have come to think of it as our special place. We can spend winter at Fair Winds and summers in the city.”
For the next several minutes, Maddie prattled on about myriad social affairs, venues, and locales she wished to share with him, and he imagined himself as her husband, garbed in gentlemen’s attire.
He envisioned himself beside her at the theatre, in the carriage as they rode about the streets, arm and arm as they strolled the Commons, and behind her as she engaged in her litany of charitable events. More importantly, he wanted her, and he ached to give her the dream.
To his surprise, she adopted the requisite pose, and he came alert when she wiggled her derriere in unmistakable invitation. “Please, Jean Marc. Just thinking of our future excites me, and I cannot wait any longer.”
It was a daunting realization that he provided the source of so much contentment and elation to one person. To need and be needed, in return. Never had he brought anyone satisfaction that extended beyond the realm of seduction and sexual gratification, and he comprehended, in that moment, Maddie’s idea of ‘more.’ He wanted that for her, but he doubted his ability to fulfill her fantasy, and that hurt him more than he wanted to admit.
Emitting a sob of impatience, she nudged him.
“Very well, Mon Chou.” He spat on his hand, wet the tip of his cock, spread her bottom cheeks, positioned himself at her opening, thrust, and gave her all he had to offer.
#
It was late in the afternoon when Madalene rose from a nap and frowned. At the washstand, she poured water into the basin and wet her fevered brow. The cabin seemed to spin out of control, and she soaked a cloth, carried it to the bunk, pulled back the covers, and gasped.
A small crimson stain marred the white sheet, and she twisted and turned, only to discover another mark on her nightgown. Unsure what to make of the curious development, she stripped the mattr
ess and collected clean bedclothes. After refitting the bunk, she piled the soiled cotton at the basin and attempted to scrub out the blemish. But once again she lost her balance, and she sat on the floor to gain her bearings. That was where Jean Marc found her, when he returned to his quarters for lunch.
“Maddie?” To his credit, he ran to her. “What happened, Mon Chou? Are you all right?”
“I am not sure.” She shifted. “But I am bleeding.”
“Merde.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bunk, where he deposited her with care. “Merde. Merde.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I hurt you, my delicate flower.” As he retraced his steps, he said over his shoulder, “Wait there, as I will be back.”
Confused by his reaction, she drifted on the fringe of sleep when he stomped into the cabin. Bearing two steaming buckets, he stomped to the tub and emptied the water, and she yawned.
“But I am too tired to bathe, Jean Marc.” Stretching long, she wiggled her toes. “I fear I might drown.”
“That is no concern, as I will not leave you.” That brought her alert.
“You wish to remain?” She blinked. “You would wash me?”
“Mon Chou, I have taken your bottom too roughly, to the point that I injured you.” He snorted. “Do you think it not a little late to be shy with your body?”
“But, it is not done.” Before she could protest, he drew her to her feet and whisked the linen garment from her. Covering her breasts, she pulled her legs together. “Upon my word, but you are the bawdiest buccaneer I have ever known.”
“I wager I am the only true buccaneer you have ever known, so that is not saying much.” With his hands at her waist, he hefted her into the bath. “Now you will take a long soak, and I will fetch our meal. Then you will retire early, as you must get better, and there will be no night games for us until you heal.”
“You cannot mean that.” She sank beneath the warm water and sighed, as she ached in places she never realized she could ache. “I shall tempt you, sir, and you will take me.”
“Do you presume to give me orders, Maddie? As I recall, I am the captain of the Black Morass.” No doubt he intended his brooding expression to incite fear, as he planted fists on hips and stared down his nose at her, but she could only giggle. “What am I to do with you?”
“Why, what you always do with me.” Yes, she baited her rogue pirate, as she loved his particular brand of ravishment. “Is that so wrong, because you claim it is quite natural?”
He opened his mouth and closed it. “I have well and thoroughly corrupted you, Mon Chou, and I am not certain that is a good thing.”
“You liked it last night and this morning.” She could not help but laugh, as he muttered invective in French and stormed out the door.
After a lovely respite, she perched atop a fluffy pillow, in Jean Marc’s lap, and he fed her bits of goose and truffle pie, interspersed with tantalizing kisses and tender caresses. And in those quiet moments of cherished overtures, she opened her heart and let it sing.
Indeed, Lady Madalene Davies had fallen in love with a bawdy buccaneer.
The only thing that tempered her happiness was the unknown. Would he permit himself the luxury of loving her, in return? Perhaps Jean Marc was not the problem.
Since she decided to break with decorum and yield part of her anatomy to her captain, she held one aspect in reserve. She refused him the bride’s prize, owing to a proper ceremony and the requisite vows. Why should he surrender what she wanted, when she denied him that which he coveted most? But how could she initiate the seduction, when she dealt with a past master in the sexual arts?
Therein hid the answer.
“So what shall we do, given you eschew your favorite pastime?” She placed a series of kisses along the scar on his face and removed the patch she detested. “Should I read to you?”
“I have no books.” He arched a brow. “We could play cards.”
“But I am terrible at such games.” Pretending to give the query ample consideration, she tapped a finger to her chin and then snapped her fingers. “I have a lovely idea. You could paint my portrait.”
“You would pose for me?” He appeared startled. “You would sit, that I might render your beautiful face on canvas, Mon Chou?”
“Indeed, it is the least I can do, given I forbade you from displaying the others.” Of course, she planned to model far more than her profile. “Why do you not collect your paints and palette, and I will assume an advantageous stance to inspire you.”
“All right.” He eased her from his lap. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much, in light of your special attention.” As he foraged for his supplies, she doffed her nightgown, pulled the few pins from her messy coif, and reclined on her side in the bunk.
After gathering his things, he set the items on the table, took up his palette, turned to her, and dropped the thin board to the floor. “No, Mon Chou. Your bottom is injured, and I would not harm you further.”
With her knuckles, she grazed her breast, as he never could resist her bold behavior. “But there are other things we might do.”
Myriad emotions invested his countenance, evidencing the war raging inside him. “Such as—what?”
“You can accept my maidenhead,” she said, in a whisper. “I give it to you, of my own free will, without any reservations.”
For a few minutes, he just stood there and stared at her. “Why?”
“Because I love you.” It wounded her that he thought himself undeserving of her gift. “And as we are to be married, what does it matter when we consummate our union?”
“Trust me, it matters a great deal.” He licked his lips. “We should not do this.”
“I disagree, and I want you.” She flicked her fingers. “Oh, open your heart to me, Jean Marc. Give me a chance, as I will never disappoint you.”
“I believe in you, Mon Chou, and I hold dear your dream.” Yet he fought her, as he lingered. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
Considering his ribald manners, his reticence surprised her. “Yes.” He approached, and she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to her. “Tonight, I wish to look upon your face as you make love to me. But in light of all we have shared, thus far, this is naught but a formality, as I long to be yours.”
On all fours, he crawled over her and then gave her his weight. “Mon Chou, you were mine the moment I found you on the Trident.”
THE BLACK MORASS
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a sunny, clear morning when the Black Morass pulled into Port Royal. At the entrance to the bay, a British Navy vessel signaled, and Jean Marc waved at the helmsman. “Heave to and yield.”
“Who goes there, and state your business?” inquired a lobster of rank.
“I am but an honest fisherman providing assistance to a citizen of His Majesty.” Jean Marc glanced at Tyne. “Go below and fetch Lady Madalene. Be sure to collect her belongings.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” The first mate dipped his chin.
“During a trip to the American Carolinas, I happened upon a ship in distress, aboard which a young woman clung to the stern rail.” Jean Marc recalled her history. “She claims her father resides in Port Royal. His name is Lord Nigel Davies, earl of Livingston.”
“If you will prepare your mainsail hull, you may transfer the lady into our custody, and we will deliver her to Lord Livingston.” The soldier barked orders to his men, and Jean Marc did the same.
At the waist, he met Maddie for the last time.
It was in those few minutes that he realized it would not be so easy to let go as he presumed. But when she appeared, garbed in another of her modest gowns, with a matching bonnet trimmed in lace, his knees buckled.
“Oh, Jean Marc, I am so excited, and you have made me inexpressibly happy.” Bouncing on her toes, she favored him with a shimmering smile. “And I just know my father will adore you, as do I.” Grasping his wrist, she dragged him to the plank. “We must hurry,
as I want to begin the next chapter in our life, as a couple.” She smoothed her skirts and fidgeted with her gloves. “Do you think we can marry by the end of the week, as I long to be your wife? And would you prefer a wedding on the beach, with your crew in attendance, or something small and private?”
“Maddie, wait.” He drew her to a halt. “I must speak with you.”
“Silly man, whatever it is, can you not discuss it with me after we arrive at the plantation, as I am uncontrollably exhilarated at the prospect of introducing you to my father?” When she met his stare, her enthusiasm waned. “For goodness sake, Jean Marc, you look as though you just lost your best friend. What is wrong?”
“I must bid farewell, Mon Chou.” Inside him, something fractured.
“What?” Furrowing her brow, she retreated a step, and her glorious glow dimmed. Then her expression sobered, and he braced for dramatics. Instead, she compressed her lips, stretched tall, and lifted her chin. “You never intended to marry me.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“No.” And it killed him to admit it. “Yet you should not grieve for what might have been, as we had fun, you and I.”
“Fun?” She swallowed hard. “But I love you.”
“More’s the pity, as I never asked for your heart, Maddie.” That was supposed to have been his victorious triumph, the moment of her ultimate downfall. She would cry, stomp her feet, pummel him with righteous indignation, and he would reclaim the marauder of old, the barbarian the British gelded would survive to ravage another innocent and prove he still controlled his destiny. Instead, an invisible but nonetheless potent grip clutched his throat and threatened to choke him. “Your dream is just that, a fantasy. Were I a gentlemen, I should never have let you labor under the ridiculous belief, but you know exactly what I am, so there are no illusions.”
“All right.” Inhaling a shaky breath, she extended her hand, as would a gentleman, despite her crestfallen appearance. “If that is all it was to you, then that is all it was to me. Goodbye, Jean Marc. I wish you well.”
The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) Page 6
