Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

  After a long moment, he reached up and pulled the damp towel from the hook over the bunk. He carefully lifted himself aside to wipe her thighs, then cleaned himself as well and tossed the towel to the floor. His strong arms encircled her in another snug embrace. She twined her arms around his neck and lay still, her satiated body still trembling a little, her pulse rapid, her heart full.

  He nuzzled her ear. “Jolie, querida mía. Did you call me ‘Captain Marcano’ just now…?”

  She giggled. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? It sort of just came out. I suppose you elicited my full respect; I had to speak it.”

  He chuckled, caressing her hair. “I feel more like your cabin boy right now than your commander. Utterly subservient and docile.”

  “Docile? In no way, Captain Marcano, are you docile. You’ve completely commanded every bit of me, made me your hungry, lust-ridden wench, that’s what’s happened here.”

  He grinned down at her face. “You own me, Señorita. How can I be ‘Captain Marcano’ any longer in the presence of your stunning beauty? I’m overwhelmed. No, I cannot be called Captain. You cannot even address me as ‘Gabriel.’ Call me ‘Gabe.’ No, not even that…boy. You there. Cabin boy, come hither. I have need of you.”

  Jolie laughed heartily and decided to try it out. “Cabin boy, come hither. I have need of you.”

  He growled and nuzzled her neck, making her squeal a little. “Yes, Señorita, here I am.”

  #

  Sometime later, Jolie awoke to find her back pressed tightly to the captain’s chest, his strong thighs resting against her buttocks, his lips softly nuzzling her ear. Her eyes opened, but she didn’t move, savoring his nearness. He slid his hand down to her hip and pulled her back against him more firmly, and the soft flesh of her derriere met with the insistent pressure of his rock-hard erection. She squirmed at the contact, not used to lying naked in bed with a man who was sexually aroused.

  “I am sorry for waking you, querida,” he whispered against her ear. “You need rest, but I am having trouble sleeping while sharing this bunk with a beautiful, warm, seductive female.” He kissed her shoulder, his tongue brushing over her skin. His hand glided upwards over her belly to cover a breast, caressing it as the nipple hardened against his palm.

  Jolie covered his hand with hers, and squirmed against him again.

  His shaft surged hard against her, and he groaned. “Stop moving like that—you are killing me.”

  She endeavored to lie still, shuddering as his warm lips continued their assault on her shoulder and neck, and his strong fingers massaged her breast.

  “Gabriel,” she protested, shivering as his tongue stroked the ridge of her ear, “I can’t be still if you do that.”

  He took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked gently, and she writhed against him again. He exhaled unevenly. “I should give your body a rest. It is not good to overdo it at first. Do you have any pain?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it pain, exactly.” She pulled away from him enough to turn over so that she was facing him, and reached up to stroke his muscled chest and arm. “I’m feeling quite well, actually.”

  He brushed the hair away from her face, chuckling. “You are optimistic, but I think it would be better to give your body a rest from intercourse. There are other ways to pleasure one another.”

  She blinked at him curiously in the shadows, faintly discerning the fall of his ebony hair against his chiseled jaw before he leaned over to kiss her lips. He caressed her cheek while kissing her deeply for several long moments, then eventually broke off the kiss to lay her back, move lower and find her nipples with his tongue. She cradled his head, tangling her fingers into his hair, moaning low in her throat as he lavished attention on each of them, all the while stroking her waist, hips, thighs, and belly.

  His hand glided down over her waist to her hip, exploring her slender curves before trailing up against her inner thigh. His expert fingers found just the right pleasure point once again and caressed her hungrily, teasing and massaging her until she writhed against him. All the while, he licked at her nipples, tugging gently with his lips until she thought she would go mad. Her inner core seemed to expand and contract at the touch of his talented hand, until it began sending waves of an intense orgasm throughout her body.

  She strained upwards against the muscled wall of his chest. “Cap—tain… Oh… Marcano…”

  He smiled and muffled her cries by covering her mouth with his. His hand stilled, but he continued to kiss her languidly. After a moment, he drew back to whisper, “Would you like to do this to me?”

  Jolie’s eyes opened, and she struggled to make out his expression in the darkness. “Do you mean, touch your, uh—”

  “Yes,” he said, a little self-consciously.

  “I would love to.”

  He took one of her hands and drew it downward between their bodies, wrapping her palm around his hard erection. “Now, touch me,” he coaxed huskily.

  “How, you mean—rub it?”

  “Just allow your hand to caress me. Up and down.”

  Jolie felt her palm perspiring a little against the heated velvet skin of his huge shaft and took a deep breath. Slowly, a little awkwardly, she moved her hand up, her fingers gliding over the tip and finding slick wetness there. Quite intrigued by the smooth, hard feel of him, she pulled her hand downward along his generous length, amazed at how arousing it was to touch him like this. She reveled in his groan and little shudder of delight as she traced the tip with her fingertips and then wrapped her hand around him again and pushed back down.

  “Ay, Dios, Jolie…”

  She discovered within herself a kind of strange desire to kiss this intimate part of him like he had so willingly and deliciously done to her. She sat up, grasped his shaft carefully, and bent forward. He tensed, raised his head, and seemed to be holding his breath until her mouth came into contact with its intended goal. He groaned; she rubbed her lips against the tip and lightly along one side, marveling at its size and firmness and silken texture. It pulsed with life so she encircled the base with her fingers to hold it still, delighting in his reactions, the way his muscles flexed and the pleasure sounds that were escaping his throat. His hands swept over her shoulders and back and tangled in her hair. Jolie covered the entire tip with her mouth, closed her eyes, and fondled him with her hands.

  “Jolie…Dios…” he whispered hoarsely. “Use your tongue and—suck a little.”

  She readily complied, and he grasped her shoulders, then buried his fingers into her hair, moaning as though her mouth and hands were tormenting him. She knew it was the best torment imaginable from when he’d done this to her, and smiled inwardly. She could feel the involuntary rippling of his abdomen muscles and the increasing tension in his hard thighs, and gloried in the realization that she could so successfully pleasure him.

  Just as he seemed to be on the edge of climax, he reached down to ease her mouth away. “You won’t like it coming into your mouth, querida,” he managed just before he came into his own hand. He lay back against the pillow for a moment, then rolled over and reached for the towel on the floor. He cleaned his hands on it, tossed it aside again, and turned to reach for her. He rolled her onto her back and nuzzled her neck hungrily.

  Jolie clung to his neck, smiling shyly. “Gabriel, that was… I mean, I really…”

  “Enjoyed it?” he chuckled against her jaw.

  “Yes. Am I…wicked?”

  “Wicked because you enjoyed giving me pleasure that way?”

  “Mm-hm. I mean, isn’t that what whores do?”

  “They don’t do it for love and love’s desire, Jolie.”

  She thought about that. “I suppose you are right.”

  “There is nothing wicked about what you did to me. You enjoyed it? Then perhaps you can understand why I want to do it to you. Why I love doing it to you.”

  Jolie shivered as he began kissing his way down her torso, easing her knees apart as he moved lower.

  #r />
  In the early morning hours, before the light of dawn, the crewman on watch peered through his spyglass into the hazy darkness to reaffirm what his eyes were telling him: a vessel was approaching from the east, traveling at a non-menacing speed, but approaching steadily all the same. She flew no colors, which could as easily mean danger as not, although she was far enough away at the moment that she presented no immediate threat. The watchman descended from the crow’s nest, calling down to the helmsman.

  “Looks like a fishing schooner from here, hombre. Should we alert Guillarte or the captain?”

  “Lieutenant said to alert him only should anything come up. Said the captain would be busy tonight.”

  “Aye, but it’s almost morning.”

  The helmsman smiled. “I have a feeling the business the captain is attending is not finished yet.”

  “I’ll go and awaken the lieutenant, then. We’re miles from any port; we can’t afford another pirate attack now.”

  #

  “That’s no fishing schooner; it’s a common pirate sloop, and she’s definitely interested in us,” Guillarte muttered, jaw tightening as he peered through the spyglass. “Call Trujillo and have him get the gun crew on the cannons. Rosales, get a full crew on deck and bring her about. Someone call Belardo.”

  As the men scurried off to obey orders, Guillarte peered through the spyglass once more. The sloop was gaining on them, and still she displayed no colors. Guillarte took out his pistol and grimly began to load it. This was no time for a pirate attack; Marcano had told him before he retired to his quarters that he was going to offer Jolie his ring.

  I am sorry, amigo, but this sloop wants to do business with us.

  The upper deck began to fill with crewmen who swarmed about preparing the Amatista for battle. Guillarte watched from the forecastle as they trimmed the sails, slowing the brigantine a bit as the sloop inched ever closer. Even in darkness the crew of the Amatista worked together expertly, and Guillarte’s chest swelled with pride at seeing his orders carried out with precision and expediency. He and Marcano had trained up a fine crew, a crew who had pulled them through many a close scrape. This time would be no different.

  “¡Mira, Teniente! ¡Muestran colores!” shouted a sailor.

  Guillarte turned to look out across the black expanse of waves to where the sloop was coming into closer view, and raised the spyglass to see—that yes, she had raised her colors, and they were Spanish.

  He lowered the spyglass. “They fly the colors of España,” he shouted over his shoulder. “But stay alert. They intend to have a conversation with us.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Marcano awoke to the sounds of shuffling and voices outside on deck. Dazed, he peered down at the beautiful girl sleeping beside him, curled into the curve of his body. Something was going on outside, although there must not be any immediate danger, or his men would have alerted him. Still, he felt adrenaline begin to pump through his lethargic body, still gloriously satiated from making love to the sweet siren at his side. His eyes caressed her face as he thought about the miracle that she returned his love and wanted to marry him. She must be safe and protected at all costs. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then carefully extracted his arm from under her and rolled away to sit on the edge of mattress. He stretched his arm, shoulder, and back muscles languidly, then stood to retrieve his trousers.

  A sleepy voice from the bunk called out to him. “Gabriel? Is it morning?”

  He finished buttoning the placket of his trousers and perched on the edge of the mattress, reaching over to smooth her hair. “Not quite, querida. But I must go check on the crew. I will be back soon.”

  He hoped that was true. He returned his attention to dressing himself, tugging on his boots and standing up to pull a shirt over his head, stuffing it into his waistband. Out of caution, he strapped on his cutlass and pistol, then walked back around the bunk to see if Jolie had fallen asleep again.

  Her lovely whisky eyes were watching from his pillow. “We are in some kind of danger.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Not necessarily, hermosa. The men would have called me if we were under attack.” He knelt on one knee beside the bunk and reached over to stroke her rounded cheek. “Stay here and rest. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

  “Last night I enjoyed the most wonderful moments of my life,” she said softly. “I never want this to end.”

  “Sí, querida. Neither do I. You will always be mine.” He rose to his feet and left the cabin, eager to dispose of whatever delay they might have encountered and return to her side.

  #

  Marcano eyed the craft approaching them in the shadowy darkness.

  “It appears they want to talk with us. Their signal indicated they have a message,” Guillarte told him. “I didn’t feel it was necessary to disturb you yet.”

  Marcano nodded.

  Guillarte studied his face, an amused smile curving his lips. “I trust your suit was well received?”

  “What?” Marcano frowned, distracted by the sloop’s steady approach.

  “Did she accept the ring?”

  “Oh, aye.” Marcano cleared his throat and raised the spyglass to peer out over the waves.

  “And?” Guillarte pressed.

  Marcano lowered the spyglass. “And what?”

  “And the man who offered it?”

  “Oh.” Marcano raised an eyebrow. “Aye.”

  Guillarte punched him in the shoulder. “You devil!”

  “Wrong, my friend,” Marcano grinned. “Making love to such a goddess has sanctified me; I feel like an angel this morning, just descended from heaven.”

  Guillarte rolled his eyes.

  Marcano once again peered through the spyglass, leaning into the wind as it tugged at his shirtsleeves and tossed his unbound hair. “Perhaps it is an emissary from Philip. No doubt the queen has involved us in another war and he needs us to return to España immediately.”

  The sloop maneuvered closer, drawing up alongside the Amatista’s portside bow. Marcano scanned the upper decks of the vessel for some sign of their captain. The crew was Spanish, but their manner was odd; they kept their heads low rather than greeting the crew of the Amatista. Marcano knew something was amiss, but if they were pirates, why wait until they were this close to attack? The crew of the Amatista could easily board and overwhelm the sloop before it could get away.

  A large figure stepped out from behind a mast on the forecastle. His shoulder-length silver hair glinted in the dim moonlight as he towered over the Spanish crewman at his side. Marcano lifted the spyglass to get a better view of his face. His blood froze.

  “It’s Hauste,” he whispered, moving a hand to his pistol.

  Guillarte rested a hand on Marcano’s shoulder. “Cálmate, Capitán. We can readily take this sloop in battle. Let’s see what the English viper has to say.”

  They waited as the crew of the sloop maneuvered their vessel until the two ships were separated only by thirty feet or so of dark, choppy waves. Hauste rested a booted foot atop a rum barrel and scanned the decks of the Amatista with interest. He raised a spyglass in the direction of Marcano and Guillarte for a few seconds, then lowered it, a cold smile on his face.

  “Ah, the mysterious blue-eyed Spaniard; you are slippery as the devil, but at last I caught up with you,” he called out.

  Marcano handed his spyglass to Guillarte and stepped forward to grasp the railing of the balustrade in both hands. “I was unaware you were looking for me,” he returned loudly. “What’s this about, Englishman?”

  Hauste’s laughter rang out across the waves, drowning out the sloshing of water against the wooden sides of the two vessels. “Come now, Captain Marcano, we both know what I have come for. You have something that belongs to me, something very valuable, not easily replaced. One-of-a-kind, you might say.”

  Marcano folded his arms. “You must be mistaken, Hauste. I have nothing that belongs to you.”

 
Guillarte and the rest of the Amatista’s crew stood silent, poised, waiting. Only a handful of them understood English, but all of them no doubt understood the tension in Marcano’s voice and the rigidity of his posture.

  Hauste motioned to one of the sailors standing behind him to come forward. The man came into view, holding a large bundle of cloth in his hands.

  Hauste turned back to Marcano. “Not only do you have something that belongs to me, Marcano, but you see, I also have something that belongs to you.”

  Marcano watched grimly as a second sailor pulled the layers of cloth back from the bundled object. A collective gasp rose up from Marcano’s crew as the faint moonlight revealed one of the largest gold nuggets known to man—the Corazón de Isabela.

  Guillarte raised the spyglass to peer at it.

  “Quite a prize, isn’t it, Captain?” said Hauste. “When I began to ask around Crab Island about you, I found that you were looking for stolen Spanish treasure, a legendary chunk of gold. I figured that was what you were doing snooping around the French House property. My dogs and I wasted no time digging up this little jewel.”

  Marcano’s blood ran cold. He’d never intended for the Corazón to wind up in anyone’s hands other than his own, and had vowed to his king that it would be returned safely to the Cathedral of Seville where it belonged.

  “You see,” Hauste continued, “I wagered that you would become attached to my stolen treasure, so I became attached to yours.” He re-covered the Corazón with the cloth. “Now, to be fair, don’t you agree that you should bring out what I have come for so I can see that my property is intact? After all, I have shown you the gold nugget.”

  Marcano glanced back at his first mate, whose face bore an expression of firm resolve. Luis’ quick nod told Marcano he would back him. Marcano turned to the Englishman. “Unfortunately, Hauste, I am still ignorant of what it is you seek. We hold no property of yours here.”