Raven Pirate Assassin Spy

by Landra Graf

  This path did allow her to experience something she’d never had. Something unknown.

  “You’re overthinking this.” He busted through her wandering thoughts. “To say yes only means your clothes come off. Nothing else. Remember…you choose what you want. I stop whenever you tell me to. This one decision doesn’t supersede future ones.”

  Relief flooded through her, coupled with a heavy dose of surprise. He was ceding control to her, the ability to determine each action or at least put a halt to ones she didn’t like.

  “Then yes.”

  Ian let out the breath he’d been holding on a slow exhale. He was thankful he had discarded his jacket because the room ran hot. The few clothes on his body were too many, but first he needed to please her.

  She’d said yes. To his removing her dress…. To wanting him. Obviously, her hesitance was because of poor care from past lovers. He’d change her mind. Demonstrate how a good paramour gave pleasure instead of taking it.

  Moving from his crouch to a standing position, he held a hand out, giving her a second chance to back out or confirm acceptance of his proposal.

  Damn. Was his hand shaking?

  She embraced his palm with her own, her fingers folding over the pulse point at his wrist, able to feel his pounding pulse for sure. She probably thought he was nervous. Hell, nervous didn’t skim the surface. Before him stood a woman hailed as a princess by the kaiser and all his allies. One half of the supposed “marriage that would heal the world.”

  Standing in front of her, he didn’t know for a split second, what to do or say. Her hair flowed about her, black as a raven’s wings. A pink blush spread through her cheeks and down her neck. A warrior of the sky, a monarch of death, and he wanted her with every piece of his battered soul. Now to make sure she didn’t change her mind.

  He let go of her, swept the curtain of her hair to one side, and hooked his thumbs under the straps of her dress. “Are you ready?”

  As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, but her eyes blazed with desire instead of mirth. She smiled and nodded. Her skin was hot beneath his touch as he dragged the straps off her shoulders. The bodice fell, baring her pale breasts with two small, dark, cherry-colored nipples.

  Tasting them became a priority, and he bent to pull one into his mouth. Then he grasped the tip between his teeth, exerting a little pressure, but not a full-on bite.

  She gasped. “Buon Dio!” Good God.

  “Do you like it?” he quizzed, words a bit muffled since he was still latched to her, lapping her skin to sooth his rough treatment.

  “More,” she moaned.

  Never say Ian Marshall didn’t follow his captain’s instructions. He blessed both breasts with a thorough tonguing, reveling in her response, so sensitive and damned erotic. When he finally moved away, he saw a smile he could only contribute to extreme arousal.

  “What now?” She wanted more.

  “Now we remove the dress completely—”

  She effectively cut him off, shimmying the beaded gown past her hips and stepping out without preamble. A small rounded belly, flared hips, and a thatch of dark hair between her legs rendered him speechless. Was there ever a more beautiful body to match such a miraculous soul? No, he didn’t believe so.

  Then he knew what he wanted to do. Worship her, as he’d mentioned before. “Climb onto the bed.”

  “Why?” She put one hand on her waist and eyed him with speculation.

  “The better to worship you, Captain.” Those words garnered him a smile and compliance. She sauntered to the bed with slow, sensual steps that, if possible, made his cock harden even more. He followed, and once she sat, dropped to his knees. Placing a hand on either thigh, he pushed outward, delighted when she spread her legs…for him.

  “My mouth is going to pleasure you now, Captain. Tell me if it’s too much.” Then he moved in, thumbs and forefingers spreading her lips to reveal her clit, a nub he flicked with his tongue.

  She groaned with approval, and he continued his onslaught, long slow strokes from her opening to the top, followed with short, rapid lashings, until finally he needed a full taste of her and inserted his tongue. He shivered at the idea of part of him being where, hopefully, his cock would be soon.

  As he mimicked the motions of lovemaking with his tongue, he could hear her panting. Her release was imminent, her body restless underneath him. Legs wrapped around his waist, she bucked against him as if attempting to get closer. When she finally cried out his name, a rush of arousal coated his tongue She tasted so good, he refused to let any of it go to waste and lapped it up like the gift it was.

  Pulling back, he grinned. She looked fully debauched, hair spread against the bed covers, chest heaving. “I never….”

  “What?”

  “Knew you could do that.” She propped herself up on her elbows, a playful expression on her face.

  “You’ve had some very inconsiderate lovers.”

  Sitting up, her smile became a frown.

  “What’s wrong?” He couldn’t lose her now.

  “I haven’t had any.”

  “Excuse me?” She led a ship full of disreputable men, lived a dangerous life, and to discover no one had ever worshipped her body, shown it praise as it deserved—a tragedy. “How is this possible?”

  She tugged her knees up under her chin, and Ian rose to sit on the end of the bed. “I’m a virgin bride meant to marry the son of the country who prizes innocence over everything else. Why would I have lovers?”

  Too true. Yet she was a killer, an inflictor of pain and death. He’d falsely assumed such a provocation required a sexual release. Tense situations usually left him seeking the oblivion an orgasm granted if only for a few moments.

  “I understand.” Ian stroked his chin. “Do you want to keep it…erm, your virginity, that is?”

  “I have my reasons for remaining this way.”

  “Care to share?”

  Stretching her legs out again, he tried to ignore her body, the moisture still clinging to her nether hair. She rubbed her feet against the soft blanket underneath them and spoke softly, “I’d be able to marry with or without my hymen intact, but giving that part of me to someone requires a connection far deeper than a simple friendship. I’d have to want that.”

  He understood what she meant, though in his experience, sexual romps didn’t require emotional commitment. Yet his first always held a special place in his heart. Why not the same with a woman? If the concern lay with the connection between two people and not the societal norms imposed by their respective homelands, there remained a chance he’d help her open up.

  “Some believe that having sex creates a bond, but that doesn’t mean you’re tied to someone for the rest of your life. Like anyone you love, the experience will create fond memories.”

  “Were you loved as a child?” She bent her head to one side, arms and hands propping her up on the bed.

  “My family was close, if that’s what you mean.” Closer than most in society’s opinion, for his mother and father loved each other.

  “Mine sent me to tutors from a young age. I spent most of my time either learning to inflict pain or having it exacted on me. Christmas presents and birthday gifts were either beautiful clothes or weapons.”

  How cruel to only be taught how to deliver death and agony or receive it. “No one told you they loved you or showed you pleasure?”

  “Those moments were few and far between. The only person who made it bearable was my brother. He gave me hope and a belief in concepts like fun and laughter. Then he was stolen from me, and I lost that closeness.”

  Ian stood, moving to free the buttons on his shirt. He shrugged out of the garment at a rapid pace and proceeded to his trousers. No more sad discussions or reliving horrible memories. He’d give her new ones filled with joy.

  “What are you doing?” Sorella sat up completely now at full alert.

  He grinned. “Removing my
clothes. It’s not fair if you’re naked, and I’m not.”

  She stared openly, no false smiles or sly grins, just honest curiosity, and his cock loved it, straining against his cotton underwear, aroused to a painful degree.

  “I haven’t seen a—a male part before.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid of the word cock, Captain,” he said shoving his drawers to the floor. He stood gloriously naked and empowered, thanks to her continued perusal of his form. She was especially focused on said cock.

  “How do we do this?” She sounded confident, but the tremble he’d seen pass through her body moments ago told him otherwise.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he climbed back onto the bed and began prowling slowly toward her on all fours. “You lean back against the pillows behind you, and I’ll worry about mechanics. I want you to indulge and have fun.”

  Laying back as he’d asked her to, she stiffened her body in anticipation. He spread out beside her, tweaking one nipple between two fingers. She moaned, her posture becoming more languid. “I like that.”

  He bent over her, taking the same tipped point into his mouth and suckling from it. “I believe I can show you more things you’ll like.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  He looked up, softened by the genuine concern in her voice. “Are you afraid of pain?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  Sorella thought she’d lose her mind. The sensations and tingling in her vagina were foreign, but not unappreciated, as Ian nursed from her breasts, tugging and laving each nipple until they were so sensitive she could…no, did let out a small scream.

  “Would you like me to move on to something else?” he asked with a chuckle, and then put his fingers through her nether hair, touching the small nub at the top of her vagina.

  “I ache,” she replied.

  “Here?” He rubbed her again.

  She nodded. “More.”

  The pressure built quickly, pulse pounding in her ears. Surely, she’d die. Within minutes, she called out his name as everything exploded. Her vision blurred, and she knew nothing but pleasure. “What did you do to me?”

  He moved now, spreading her legs and seating himself in between them. “I’ve heard it called many things. Most commonly an orgasm, though the French call it La Petite Mort.” The small death.

  “Yes, I can see why.”

  He inserted a finger into her opening. “You’re so wet. Dare I believe you’re ready for more?”

  Was she? Already her heart felt too big for her chest, blood pulsing at every main artery, and, hell, if she didn’t experience the stirrings of a new arousal as he added a second finger to the first. “Yes, please.”

  The words came out low and needy. Then the fingers were gone, replaced with the head of his cock. He rubbed it up and down over her opening, coating himself in the remnant of her last orgasm. If she had another one in her, it would be miracle.

  Forward movement came slowly. With each half-inch of penetration, he stopped, allowing her body to stretch and accommodate his girth. Not horribly wide, per se, but enough so that when he finally broke the wall of her hymen, he wasn’t fully seated just yet.

  She didn’t scream, just waited, and he looked at her for acknowledgement. Always caring about her. Were all men so considerate, the world would be a much different place.

  “Move, please,” she begged.

  So he did, plunging forward with a groan. Full, so full and marvelous. Then he pulled away, and she struggled to keep him there.

  “Sweet Captain.”

  “No, my name. Say it,” she said through gritted teeth as he moved in and out, setting a fast paced drive as if in a race; against what, she didn’t know. Then he leaned down and pulled her up so she sat on his lap. Grabbing her hips, he lifted her up and down on him. She took the moment to grab his face with both hands and join their mouths.

  The kiss turned from simple lips meeting to ravenous tongues, nips of teeth, and moans of passion. He pounded into her from below and devoured her from above. She’d never felt so insane, so absolutely out of control, or so desired in all her life. Orgasm threatened, building quickly as they continued to move.

  “It’s coming.”

  “Sorella,” her name was a whispered invocation against her lips.

  She saw stars; the world went black. Then he threw her off him, back against the pile of pillows, taking himself in hand as his own release spurted forth onto her thighs.

  As the last shudder racked his frame, he let go of himself and rose from the bed, moving away from her. Laying there, she began to doubt what they’d shared, doubt his words. Then he came back with a warm, damp cloth.

  “What’s that for?”

  “To clean up the mess I made.” He wiped her thighs clean, then moved away to discard the rag. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  All the uncertainty disappeared. Sorella was awed again by his concern, his blatant caring for her and not himself. She shook her head, and he climbed back to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

  The position was strange and new, but, like the intimacy they’d just shared, she wanted the closeness.

  “Has anyone held you for comfort?”

  “No. Whenever I was afraid of something, I was forced to face it.” A small lie; she didn’t want to recall those moments where her brother had hugged her and sang her stories, not when she’d just had the most wonderful experience.

  Instead, she chased away the memories by snuggling against Ian, loving the way his breath warmed her neck and how he provided a wall of strength because he wanted to, not because it was needed.

  He reached down and pulled the covers that had been pushed to the end of the bed over them. “What were you afraid of?”

  “I had a fear of heights. So I was taught to walk bridges and ropes over high spaces.”

  “That’s horrible. Your parents were evil.”

  “Fear is simply a brain function designed to inhibit your abilities. In some ways, their approach made me stronger. Faster. More capable.” She could stand in a pit of vipers, survive in small, enclosed spaces, and disassemble a brick wall because she had mastered her fears.

  Ian pressed a kiss to her neck, then her collarbone, each touch feather-light and already kindling fresh arousal. “While I find your strength admirable, you don’t have to fell every obstacle.”

  “That’s what they wanted me to do. To be able to kill with ease and maneuver out of any trap or trouble. I’m bred for that purpose.”

  “Do you want such a purpose?” His voice was low and soft as he stroked her hair, lulling her into a cocoon of peace. For the first time in…ever…she felt safe.

  “No.” Her eyes closed. All the lovemaking had worn her out. “I want to take care of my crew. To roam the skies and simply be free.”

  “Me, too, Sorella.”

  Then she let herself drift to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A pounding on the door brought her to a sitting position. She rubbed her eyes and looked down to see Ian’s arms still wrapped around her waist. Daylight streamed in through the porthole, bright and unfettered by clouds. The hammering continued in earnest.

  “Captain!” Bastille’s voice resonated through the door. “We’re being pursued!”

  Sorella jumped out of bed and sprinted to her dressing screen across the room, shoving her body into undergarments and all her usual wear. “Come in!”

  The doors opened per her command, slamming against the walls, the sound echoing.

  Ian’s voice rang out, loud and drowsy, “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a ship gaining on us fast, Captain. We can’t identify it, but they Morsed one message.” Her first mate paused.

  She pulled her shirt over her head and fastened the vest into place. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Surrender Tuul.”

  She emerged
from behind the screen with her lover still in bed, sitting upright and looking worried. “Don’t worry. We won’t go down without a fight.” The Liberté had plenty of tricks, thanks to ingenious engineering and the upgrades some extremely talented technicians had added to the mix. “How big is the challenger?”

  “Same size as ours.”

  Meaning the crew complement rested at roughly forty or less. Even forty was a big number for a vessel their size. She kept the numbers at thirty-five, leaving cabins open for last minute passengers and the like. “Then let’s—”

  The annoying ring of the attack siren cut her off, bellowing down the ship’s corridors.

  “Bastille,” she yelled, “I’ll meet you on deck.”

  He nodded and ran from the room. Once the man was out of sight, Ian jumped off the bed and grabbed his clothes. “So much for breakfasting in the room.”

  Of course, he would find a way to be relaxed in the face of such a challenge. She grabbed her balisong from the nightstand and shoved it in one holster, then crossed to the valise to retrieve her spare. “I love how you can joke. Those alarms mean—”

  “EMP. Yes, I’ve been on a ship under attack before. Where do you want me?” He’d snuck behind her, hands gripping her arms in a tender embrace. She froze. Suddenly pleasure and business were blurring and juggling. Both became an impossible feat for the moment. Ian sensed her confusion and let go.

  She rounded on him and gave him a peck to the cheek to apologize. “I’m sorry. I can’t think when you do that.”

  “No worries. Where do you want me?”

  The hurt in his eyes would have to wait until later. “They want Tuul, so head to the brig. We need to keep him secure.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” The honorific was bestowed with a wink, then he left, hoisting his coat from the chair on his way out. She stood for a moment…. In her case, one too many. The first EMP blast hit, and time seemed to momentarily freeze; a low sound, like the striking of a gong, echoed through the ship, ceasing as the pulse dissipated. Thank the stars for the new shields with wood and rubber rivet grafting.