by Landra Graf
“That’s why you do it?”
“Yes.” Honesty served as a painful companion. “And in rare cases, necessary.”
“Rare, meaning…”
“When someone has a gun trained on your head and won’t hesitate to shoot.” The image of the German soldier’s gun pointed at Ian flashed in her mind, one image she’d prefer to never see again.
“Valid point.” He approached her cautiously, much like the first night he’d kissed her, no doubt afraid she’d rebuke him. Her hand still clasped the doorknob firmly. It was a lifeline, a way to remove his threat to her emotional stability. This man truly brought out the worst feelings, yet he proved wise, brave, and downright irresistible when it came to seduction.
“Now you should—”
He reached her, putting a single finger up to her lips. “Wait one minute. Let me say this last thing, and then you can kick me out, stab me, or whatever you want.” He looked upward as if the ceiling could assist him in finding the words to say. “I’m sorry for my harsh words and for the teasing. If you’ll let me, I’ll make it up to you. If not, I’ll respect your wishes.”
“Why say the words, then, and do all of this?” She shoved him, righteous anger restored. This time he gave, moving back two steps. Another shove and another step.
“I wanted you to see what I see. To see what you’re capable of.”
“And what’s that?” she growled.
“Compassion. Empathy.”
Ian gave a small smile as her eyebrows lifted from their narrowed position, and her jaw fell open.
Since she’d entered the cabin, he’d run through his own whirlwind of feelings, highs to lows and back again. From anger to love…. Love, hell. Each time he’d attempted sympathy, she’d stir him up again, only to have him fall as soon as he extracted another verbal dissection from her. This time, he couldn’t tell if she planned on hitting him or embracing him. Instead, she crumpled to the floor, her physical actions mirroring how he felt—drained.
He dropped with her, pulling her into his arms as she sobbed. To see her cry broke his heart. This was never his intention, no matter how frustrated or confused he found himself. An ache took residence in his chest, something dull and throbbing like he’d been hit with a heavy punch. Maybe, just maybe, words would soothe his pain as well as hers.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He continued murmuring apologies, lips pressed against her hair, breathing in the scent of gardenia amidst the smells of cleaning solutions. No doubt she’d scrubbed up the blood and mess alongside her crew while he’d sat in her room, sulking like a child.
“I didn’t want to see. It hurts…. All this hurts.” She clung to him, hands fisting his shirt.
When did things become complicated? The minute I set foot on this ship. Too true because he had found himself wrapped up in her sarcasm, her biting retorts, and even the way she threw a knife. He was fascinated at how, one minute, she was the most dangerous person he’d ever met, and, in the next, a lady who danced like an angel. He’d make it up to her.
“Let me take the hurt away.”
“How?” She looked up then, cheeks streaked with water tracks.
“With this,” he said before fusing his mouth to hers.
Instead of pushing away, she pulled him closer, biting at his lips then soothing them with licks of her tongue as if trying to mete out a punishment of sorts and a very enticing penance at that. Giving her control over the embrace, he grew hard as the kiss deepened.
She rose onto her knees, hands moving to his shirt and ripping it open, then pushing the cotton fabric along with his jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor. With his chest bared, their mouths still battled, breaking every few seconds as she removed her own shirt.
He heard more than saw the rustling, felt the movement of her arms as they brushed his chest. Then her bare skin slid against his and he lost his mind. Standing up, he broke their embrace and tugged her with him, lifting her into his arms and marching toward the bed. He threw her onto the mattress, loving the sound she made, a delighted noise, when she landed.
As he shed his boots and pants, she watched, licking her lips and driving him wild. “Take off the rest,” he said. Not a suggestion—no, a demand, which she obeyed.
In less than a minute, she lay there without a stitch of clothing covering her, naked, gooseflesh pebbling her skin.
“Are you cold?”
She nodded.
He joined her on the bed, covering her with his body. “Then let me light you on fire.”
They kissed, the motions ravenous, needy. Her fingers raked his flesh then gripped him at the wrists, the restraint enflaming him as much as everything else she did.
Between embraces, she mumbled, “Let me on top.”
“Happy to oblige as soon as I taste you.” He moved down her body, still allowing her to hold him captive, and she spread her legs in invitation. Moisture glistened on her folds like a beckoning call. He lowered his tongue to lap at her, unable to do anything with his hands. Somehow the inability to touch her with anything besides his mouth turned him on even more.
Her eyes rolled backward as he began a fresh assault, flicking her clit with multiple strikes then plunging into her, mimicking the very action he planned to take with another part of him soon. She moaned and tugged on his arms. He went with the motion, slipping his tongue from her, dragging against the sensitized flesh until he stopped at her hood and sucked her clitoris.
“Ian,” she cried out.
No relenting, no holding back; he kept sucking, using his teeth to nibble at her. He’d wanted to make her scream, and she did, her release coming with her verbal declaration. Then his arms were free. He hoisted her by wrapping one arm under each thigh and lifting her halfway off the bed, mouth still on her pussy as he lapped up her orgasm, the taste of her something he’d never get enough of. Tangy but sweet, this flavor was a fine delicacy one could only get at the juncture between her thighs.
Her chest heaved as he removed her limbs from his shoulders and gently put her back on the bed. “Your turn,” she said, dragging herself to her knees and motioning for him to lie down. Her gaze was sharp, nothing like the drugged, sensual look of a woman in the aftermath of pleasure.
He lay back against the pillows, worried her devious expression hinted at a joke he didn’t know. She gripped his cock; it pulsed in her hand as she held it, her long, tanned fingers a sharp contrast against his pink flesh.
Lowering her head, she swiped the tip with her tongue. Feeling wet heat against his flesh, he naturally rocked his hips upward, wanting the cocoon she teased him with. A little idiot voice inside his head reminded him she’d never done this before. Bastard that he was, he liked the idea of being her first in all things. He’d already taken her maidenhead; no hardship to let her allow him another guilty pleasure.
So he forced himself to relax, letting his body release the tension taking hold as she wrapped her lips around his cock. Heaven offered no sweeter place than this room or the tongue swirling around his length. Soon she began moving up and down, finding a rhythm, and his legs tensed, feet arching as she cupped his balls.
Holy hell. He didn’t want to come yet. He wanted to feel her slick heat first. “Stop.”
She did as he asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No, but I want you to ride me like you wanted, and if you keep doing that, I’ll be out for a bit.”
Smiling she let go and straddled him. Taking him in hand once more, she guided his cock to her entrance. As he slid in, she gasped.
“Okay?”
“Mmhmm,” she moaned, impaling herself on him. He nearly came then, watching the look of abandon on her face. She reached up and touched her nipples, squeezing them between thumbs and index fingers.
Her hips gyrated, grinding her inner walls against his member. She moved up and down in slow, mind-numbing movements meant to prolong the torment. Some tender emotion snagged his heart in the midst
of the most sensual experience of his life as she moaned, “Ian.”
He needed to grab control, to wrestle the beast in him into submission through climax. Grabbing her hips, he moved her in a fast-paced, pounding race to the finish line, only to pull her forward and off his cock at the last second squirting his come onto her back. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and licking it with her tongue. Hell, this woman amazed him time and again.
“Not giving you another orgasm.”
“Well, it’s not over yet, is it?” She gave him a wicked grin.
Most likely she’d be the death of him, but until then, he’d give anything to please her for as long as she’d have him. “No, my captain, indeed, it’s not.”
Chapter Fifteen
They stayed in bed all afternoon, loving each other. The only time she rose from the bed was to acknowledge Bastille and give him directions for repairs as they docked at the town of Torshavn in the Faroe Islands. Then back to Ian’s arms, she went, making love multiple times as the sinking sun faded. Some sessions were rough, and others were sweet, tender…as if Ian wanted to wash away her previous sins by loving her body as thoroughly as possible.
After the sun set, she fell asleep and woke to grapes being dangled in front of her face. “I brought food,” he said, plucking one of the fruits from the vine and pushing it between her lips. She bit into the tart, sweet orb, loving the taste as it exploded in her mouth.
“Where did you get them?”
“Bonita and her fancy speech gained a whole crate from a merchant in the harbor. He’d brought them north from Greece to sell to someone interested in trying their hand at wine making, but the buyer was late to show.”
She grabbed a grape from the vine herself. “Our luck, then.”
“Indeed. I’ve also got hot soup and bread if I can tempt you from the beneath the covers to eat with me.” He leaned back, letting her see the spread he’d assembled for them. How she’d slept through the noise, she didn’t know. She’d become less cautious with this man around. Her training usually had her awake at the slightest movement.
Her stomach grumbled.
“Obviously, you’re hungry.”
“I could eat.” She threw the covers back, presenting her naked body to the cold air. Her nipples tightened at his eager perusal.
“Maybe waiting a little while isn’t a bad idea.”
She wagged her finger at him. “No. We wouldn’t want the soup to go cold.”
“You’re right. Food first, pleasure later.”
He moved away, placing the fruit back on the table and gathering a robe for her from the dressing screen. No additional ogling granted, she donned the proffered robe, tying a neat bow at her waist, and rose to join him. Two chairs with pillows on the seats provided comfortable seating, and steam wafted from the bowls placed at each setting. A spoon, a knife, half a loaf of bread, and the rest of the grapes completed their fare.
“Drink?” she asked.
“Ah, yes.” He reached to the side of the table, disappearing for a moment and then emerging with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “A little Madeira also courtesy of Bonita’s fine negotiating tactics.”
Popping the cork, he poured a little into his glass and tasted it first. Whether he was checking for poison or taste, she didn’t know, but appreciated the gesture. “Perfect.”
Filling the glasses halfway, he handed one to her. “A toast,” he announced, raising the glass. “To a beautiful dinner companion, delicious food, and a cook I’ll need to steal after we meet with The Cursed.”
She smiled and clinked her glass against his before taking a healthy swallow. “Would you really try to steal her?”
“The woman knows her bartering skills. She was a force to be reckoned with on the dock. When I’m in the merchant world again, a woman like that would be a leg up from the help I’m used to getting.”
“Where are you getting your help from?” She took a sip of the soup, potatoes in cream broth with onions and other vegetables. No meat, but such a commodity would be scarce anywhere in Europe, and on a small chain of islands, non-existent.
“The streets mostly. I tried to give young boys and girls a chance to get out of the future already set up for them and away from parents who’d sell their bodies or trade slave labor for drugs. It’s bad in my hometown, but I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of places like those in Europe.”
Tearing a piece of bread from the loaf, she shook her head. “No, surprisingly, people in Europe value their children. More often those children are eager to work or join the kaiser’s army as a means to ensure their family’s safety. That’s how he’s winning, offering food, clothing, and the promise of more.” She dipped the bread into her soup. “When you’re starving, you’ll give anything to ensure your belly stays full. I’ve seen men and women who were determined to refuse, give in as soon as the cupboards are bare.”
Taking a bite from her bread, she looked up. His face was filled with anguish. “He needs to be stopped. Germany needs to be stopped.”
“Why?” she asked between bites. “Because they’re smarter at war and winning over the starving masses with flour?”
Ian scoffed. “No, they need to be stopped because what they are doing is wrong. You know it, and you hate it as much as I do. Yet you hide behind a mask of indifference.”
“I don’t hide. I choose to remove myself from the conflict. As you so eloquently put it on the floor of the Embassy, live one day at a time with what happiness you can make for yourself.”
The frown he wore deepened.
“I’ll admit this conversation is making the dinner less happy by the second,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “Let’s discuss other things. The repairs on the ship are finished, and Bastille wanted me to tell you we can depart whenever you wish.”
A rock of indecision lodged in her belly. Leaving meant going after The Cursed and the possibility she’d lose Ian. Instead of formulating a plan, she’d spent all day in his arms. Now she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do besides fly up and offer herself in his place, for his debt to be absolved.
“Sorella, what’s wrong?”
He must’ve caught her frown. She gave a little laugh. “Just thinking how awful it will be to not have any more grapes after today. I’m sure the crew is enjoying the treat.”
“They are….” The last word dragged out as he let go of her and went back to his meal. “You can speak freely, you know.”
“I want to send scouts ahead to survey The Cursed hideout.”
“That’s not really necessary—”
She didn’t care, but it would buy time. “Humor me. I’m not suggesting because I plan to attack, merely as a safety precaution. We just got into an air battle over your bounty, which I killed. I want to make sure Luther isn’t prepping to come after me once he receives the bad news.”
The nod he gave seemed half-hearted.
“What?”
“It’d be better to just fly in. Announce yourself, and let him welcome you.”
Now it was her turn to make an unladylike snort. “And you really think he will?”
“I’ve seen him do the same for countless airships.”
“No doubt his mercenary partners.” The gang had to be well connected with a large number of airships to move as they did and receive information.
He patted the back of her hand. “Then why not pretend you want to become one. A banner of truce will get you invited in. Whatever you decide, to attack or not, you won’t have to sneak around or endanger crew members.” The suggestion held merit, more than she would like to openly admit.
Another thing she refused to admit, at least out loud, was that she really wanted to stay in port for another day and continue her tryst with Ian. If she couldn’t confess her feelings to him, though, it was time to start planning the
ir approach to The Cursed. She swallowed another spoonful of soup, letting the silence drag out.
“So do you like my idea?” He was positively yummy when feisty, teeth clenched and impatient.
“It’s not horrible. Have any others?”
He watched his captain talk with Bastille, watched her explain the plan to the helmsman, and even watched her walk and whisper to each crewman on deck. He was lost. No matter how much she infuriated him or attempted to argue with him, he wanted her. The logic he’d so poetically quoted to her about sex not equaling emotion was officially thrown in his face.
The truth was he’d been hooked since the moment she’d stabbed the dirty bastard who’d wanted to hurt Gretchen; since she’d danced with him on the deck of the ship, and then in a ballroom where all her secrets were on display. He loved her. Such a pesky word, love, but like his memories of yesterday, it shoved its way to the forefront of his mind, wedging itself in with his moral compass.
Now they were almost to The Cursed’s island, maybe a half hour away. He’d stayed up late with Sorella, planning how they’d handle their arrival and the upcoming talk with Luther. Then he’d held her, made love to her, possessed her at first in a sweet, caring way, but things quickly turned heated and frenzied at her insistence, as if they couldn’t get close enough, as if time slipped away from them. The more passionate the lovemaking, the more likely they’d bind their souls together.
Hell. Binding souls? He’d lost his mind, yet in the confusion, he’d made a decision. No sense in trading her secrets for his freedom. No, he’d take another job; blame Tuul’s death on the invading bounty hunters. No one knew differently except for him, Bonita, Bastille, and Gretchen.
Then if she’d have him, escort him aboard the Liberté on this last job, they’d soon be together…free.
