The Maid and The Cook

by Eris Adderly

  “I’ve been with Captain Blackburn from the beginning. It has to have been … oh, some twelve, fourteen years now? It’s hard to remember. Maybe longer.”

  “Have you always been the cook?” She took up the needle again now that she’d drawn him into a conversation.

  “Oh no, that didn’t happen until I lost the leg. That was some seven years ago.”

  Brigit considered this as her eyes were back on her work. For a time, before he was down here feeding sailors, Bone was a regular part of the crew. He’d probably taken lives the same as anyone else aboard the ship. She didn’t know yet what she thought of this. How was he different from any other man who followed his captain’s orders? What made a man a murderer?

  “Who was Cook before?” she asked instead, keeping her questions to topics less likely to be upsetting. “What happened to him?”

  Bone grunted, leaning against the pantry door frame, his favourite place to stand and take the weight off his leg, it seemed. “Heh. Captain didn’t much care for him. When he saw I wouldn’t be keeping my leg, he gave the galley over to me, instead.”

  “But did he …?”

  A bark of laughter erupted from the bald man across the kitchen when he saw her wide-eyed look. “No, no! Nothing like that. Mr Till and the captain ended his contract and put him ashore in Kingston. Captain Blackburn isn’t a madman, Mrs O’Creagh. He doesn’t go about killing men for sport, though I’d wager you’ve heard otherwise.”

  She eyed him for a moment before looking back to the needle. He hadn’t lied to her so far, but he was right about what she’d heard. Black Edmund did have a reputation for doing a great many horrible things without remorse. Still, Bone didn’t seem the sort to sail under the command of someone so devoid of humanity.

  “And before this ship?” Brigit wanted more; wanted to know all he would tell her. “That is, how did you come to be here?”

  “Ah, another ship, another captain,” he said, waving her off with a gesture of his hand. The curl of his lip at the end of his sentence spoke volumes and she pressed him in her curiosity.

  “This other captain … was the reason you’re on this ship now instead of that one?”

  “Nothing makes it past ye, does it, pretty girl?” He favoured her with a wry grin as he folded his arms over his chest. “Aye, Captain Trask was meant to do nothing else but lead a crew of scoundrels. Born on Newgate steps he was, and the perfect man for this life.” Bone shook his head at some distant memory she couldn’t see.

  “Why did you leave his ship, then?” The needle rose and fell with her questions, and Brigit shifted on the stool. Her task was keeping her from giving full attention to his answers, and she was eager to have done with it.

  “Oh, he was an able enough captain, I suppose.” The cook sighed as he pulled the braids of his beard through his fingers, eyes on the ceiling. “And I was barely a man when I joined his crew, no older than sixteen. I hadn’t learnt the difference yet. He was fair with the crew and we always got our even shares; purses were always full. But a body comes to see, after a time, that there’s nothing to be done for some men. They’ll nettle ye, even to look at them, and Trask began to devil me just so.”

  “What do you mean, ‘devil you’?” The last of her words came out mangled as she reached the end of her sewing and bit the thread in two. It was crude, but she had no shears or knife on hand.

  “Well, now,” he said, “some of the crew weren’t bothered by his ways, but they made me uneasy. He’d empty his own purse too quickly when we went ashore, give ye a different answer each time you’d ask him a question. The man shifted like the wind and there was no telling from one day to the next what sort of temper he’d be in. The sea is shifty enough, and I came to see I no longer wanted to sail under a man who couldn’t stand fast against it.”

  Bone almost seemed bored with the telling of his own story, and his eyes were elsewhere, unfocused. Brigit was not bored at all. She watched him roll his head from one side to the other, eyes shut and creases coming at the bridge of his nose as he pulled through the pleasant ache of stretching the muscles in his neck. She found herself well pleased with the way the linen of his shirt drew tight over the broad mass of his shoulders as he did this, and was struck with the memory of her leg draped over one of them while he made her squirm with his tongue.

  Damn me if I don’t want to make him do the same.

  Brigit cleared her throat.

  “So you’d rather have certainty?” She goaded him now as her mood turned a sharp corner. “I thought you pirates wanted adventure?”

  “Not this pirate!” He laughed, his gaze snapping back to her, treating her to the grin that made her want to bury her face in his chest. “At least not nearly as much as Captain Trask was giving me. I’d like to know I’ve a place to rest my head and fill my belly. As much as a man can know in this life. And I wouldn’t leave it now. The sea is my home.” He finished with a sweeping gesture that took in the surrounding cabin, meaning the ship and, more broadly, the sea. Her thoughts were barely on his words now, though.

  She felt her thighs slip, wet against one another, as she bent to the side to gather up the bags she’d sewn. A lush tumble of thoughts fell on her like she’d opened a door to an overstuffed linen closet. There were things. Things men had asked for that Brigit O’Creagh knew to do. Things that would have him cursing or calling her name or both. She very much wanted to show this man what she knew.

  But how will you ask to do such a thing? Can you even say the words?

  Perhaps she could entice him into meeting her halfway.

  Yes. It worked two days ago and you weren’t even trying.

  Brigit came to her feet, some shred of a plan in mind, determined to see John Bone learn to receive as well as he gave. The sea was his home, was it? It seemed to her that for a home, it was missing some of the comforts a man should have.

  They won’t be missing for long.

  She smiled to herself.

  * * * *

  “And does Black E—, I mean, Captain Blackburn, is he more … steadfast?” She corrected herself on the captain’s name as she stood, her tone light and teasing. It endeared her to him further that she bothered to respect the man’s dislike of his nickname, even though he suspected her opinions of Blackburn were sceptical at best. Here was a woman who learned quickly.

  “He is that, lass, he is that,” He watched her move to the near side of the cutting block as he finished his thoughts aloud. “You’ll never see him half seas over with the crew or changing his mind about the course when we’re three weeks from port. No, our captain may not be jolly like the bosun or have pretty words to say like Mr Adams, but you’ll always know where ye stand with him, and that suits me just fine.”

  Something had shifted in her movements while he spoke, and part of him that had been asleep moments ago had come awake with the change. Her hips rolled in some deliberate way as she came to stand with her back to him, using the waist-high surface to fold the finished bags.

  “You seem to be full of pretty words, John Bone,” she said over her shoulder, bending forward to rest her elbows and forearms atop the block. “Taking galley maids for a look at the sunrise … putting fine notions in their ears.” The maid twisted a mischievous smile back at him, all but waggling that plump backside of hers in his direction, and he nearly forgot the rest of the conversation. Shades of some of his first lusty thoughts of her came flitting back.

  … bent at the middle over the edge of the cutting block, skirts up over her round bottom …

  He swallowed, wetting his throat.

  “Are ye tempting me, girl?” he asked, aiming to keep his voice level.

  “What if I am?” The arch of her brow and tilt of her jaw told him all he needed to know. In a breath he was behind her, hands at her hips, pulling the inviting backside with a bounce against his growing arousal.

  “So help me, Brigit …” he ground out between clenched teeth. He was too sensible a man to be coming undone
this way, his mind fogging over with lust at the sight, the sound of this woman.

  I think this one may be different, John.

  Without warning, she slid in his grasp and turned to face him, twining her arms about his waist and staring up to meet his eyes with cheekily feigned innocence as she pressed herself to him.

  “Help you do what?”

  Ohhh, this one.

  He seized up her mouth in the kiss her expression all but begged for, stopping to admonish her as he went.

  “I’ve got a bloody … kitchen to run.” Between hungry sounds he scolded her, and she teased him back with nips of her teeth and the subtle clawing of nails at his back. “I can’t spend … all day with … my prick fighting the inside of my breeches.”

  Her hands had wandered down to his backside during their bout of needy kisses, fingers kneading at the muscle there, causing him an odd flare of pride that this young maid could want him enough to touch him so. Before there was time for further thought, however, one of those hands was making its way over his hip and …

  He hissed and it trailed off into a groan. Brigit had him in a firm grip and gave a squeeze to get his attention. She had it.

  “You won’t have to spend all day,” she said, sliding her curled fingers along his aching length.

  Her voice had taken on a low, throaty tone he hadn’t thought her capable of, and he throbbed against her touch, grabbing up his own handfuls of bottom, crushing her teasing hand between them.

  “It’s not right to toy with a man, Mrs O’Creagh.” The words rasped directly into her mouth. She still sought to heighten his desire with a scattering of urgent kisses, even as he spoke.

  “Who’s toying, then?” She drew back and looked at him, eyes serious but a faint smile curling her lips. There was movement at his waist, and her fingers slid, travelling under the edge of his breeches. Like a much younger man, his heart hammered in his chest by the time Brigit spoke again. “What was it you said to me? ‘Let’s see to you, shall we?’ Well? Let’s.”

  Flesh made contact with flesh and fire danced over his skin. A palm brushed over the joining of leg to hip, making him jerk and take in a sharp breath. And then her hand was on him, cool fingers against the heat of his shaft, slipping towards the base while her other hand worked fastenings apart.

  With a shift and a tug, he was free, standing out in the open air. Brigit grinned at him as though she might be the one with the luck, and not the devil the ship was named for. She held his gaze with a challenge in those green eyes of hers and slid to her knees.

  Oh, save me. I’m done for.

  A feminine hand stroked at his length, priming him while he stood. He stared down in mute disbelief. She cast an approving eye over the jutting, eager cock in her grip, and he felt himself twitch and swell at the idea of her doing this out of want and not obligation.

  “Where shall we start, Mr Bone?” she asked, aiming him at the ceiling with her fist as she swept the pad of her thumb over the sensitive skin just beneath the flare at the end of his shaft.

  He looked down, dumb, shaking his head, too enthralled with the sight of her to form words. She knelt before him, the swell of her breasts labouring over her neckline, the pretty bow of her mouth curved in a smile. A mirage, most men would say, on a ship like this.

  “Perhaps from the bottom?” she suggested, voice sweet as she ignored the stiff flesh in her hand and instead gently took the loose skin of his balls into her mouth.

  This was a horrible time to be missing part of a leg: it was hard enough for a man to stand on two buckling knees. Lips made their delicate pull at his most tender flesh and he shored himself up with all his might. The last thing he needed was to fall before she—

  A groan rose up from his throat. She’d drawn one of his testicles fully into her mouth and began to suckle, rolling it around over her tongue.

  “Brigit! What are ye—”

  Its twin received the same treatment and now her fingers wrapped around his girth, stroking, pulling. He had to put a hand to the cutting block behind her to steady himself.

  Her attention had moved elsewhere, though, and now she was dragging her tongue in a deliberate, slow rasp along the lower side of his cock. He made the mistake of opening his eyes then, only to meet her gaze just as the stout, pink head was flattening her tongue as it hovered in wait over her open mouth.

  For a moment, he was suspended in time. Wide green eyes offered up such a gift to him, the likes of which he’d never imagined when the captain had given her over to his employ a mere two days ago. He’d expected at worst a nuisance, and at best something nice to look at. And now?

  Brigit paused in her actions, warm breath curling over his skin in a wicked little tease as she held the end of him between parted lips, not yet closing in around his eager, swollen prick. His hips gave a subtle thrust of anticipation and her eyes twinkled up at him.

  “Brigit …”

  “Mmm?” Wet warmth sank in around him as she ceased her games. Lips and tongue drew him in, greedy, accepting. The entire world had shrunk to include only him and this maid on her knees. Her mouth pulled at his cock, suckling in heady, unashamed appreciation. She made the act look like the greatest joy a woman could receive. Her eyes were closed, and small, languid sounds of satisfaction hummed through his flesh.

  As he stood there, trying to remain upright under her luxurious assault, she paused in the attention she was lavishing over him to pull back, her eye seeming to take his measure. She appeared to make some decision and then engulfed him again.

  This time, though, her movements were more careful. She slid farther down the length of him now, and halted her progress at intervals as she went, adjusting her lips and tongue along the way. He watched, speechless as, with ginger movements, she took more and more of him into her mouth until the tip of her nose came to meet the curls at his base.

  Brigit released a moan and a small sigh, her goal achieved, and simply held her position for a time. Her eyes remained closed and the wet contours of her tongue and palate shifted around him. He couldn’t stop himself from throbbing, wedged down her throat as he was, and the sudden pulse made her draw back in a rush to gasp, yanking him free into the cool air.

  His pretty maid was undeterred though, and gripped him again, taking aim with his shaft and plunging him once more between her lips. This time she was able to take all of him with more ease, and arrived in no time at the root of his need. She shifted her knees closer to him with a muffled sound of triumph, and her fingers slid up over his thighs, thumbs coming to curl in just at the bones of his hips. She rolled her eyes up to him again, and what she asked for with her gaze was beyond belief.

  “Ye … want me to …?”

  A slow nod from the lovely creature on her knees before him, this woman who wanted to please him but couldn’t answer aloud because she’d buried his cock between her jaws. The pads of her fingers gave a light squeeze of confirmation, sinking into the meat of his hips. Those eyes wanted nothing but to see him satisfied.

  He reached down and drew his thumb across her brow, over her cheekbone, along the taut line of her upper lip where it wrapped around him. She was completely still and patient, waiting for him to decide to do it.

  This is a dream. I’ll wake from this, won’t I?

  His fingers combed back into her hair along the side of her face, curling in to grip a loose handful near the scalp. With a slight movement of hips, he brought himself out of her mouth before making a tentative nudge back into the hot, wet promise she offered. Tightly checking his urge to plunge himself home again and again, John watched the expression on her face for any sign this wasn’t her intent.

  God, but it must be. If I’m to stop now …

  “Is this what you’re after?” he growled, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he rocked forward a bit, hand still in her hair. “Ye want a man’s cock down yer throat?” He pulled out again, tired of nods and suggestive looks, wanting to hear her answer aloud.

  “
No,” she said, eyes dark with need, “I want your cock down my throat, John Bone. Now haven’t you something to eat for your pretty girl?”

  Something clenched in his belly and her words possessed him. He sank in at once to the hilt with an exultant grunt and, having seated himself fully that first time, took up his grip in those dark, honey-coloured locks again and began to pump, feeding everything he had into her open, accepting mouth.

  So good. Damn me, but that’s good.

  Incredibly, her eyes rolled up at this and a soft moan shivered along the firm length of muscle he was working past her lips. John watched her hands fall to her chest as he settled into a steady rhythm. Her fingers delved below the edge of her bodice and in a fluid movement she brought her breasts out over the top, tightened nipples immediately taken up by her own pinching and rolling. The wanton picture she presented made him catch his breath.

  His voice came strained now as he pushed further, deeper. “Christ! A man can only … take so much! I—”

  Something darkened at the edge of his vision.

  His eye jumped away from Brigit to see a pair of feet on the stair, legs, knees.

  Fuck!

  He jerked back from the maid and her eyes flew open as she reeled at his departure.

  “Mr Bone!” came the call from sailor thumping down the steps, “Just the man I’ve come to see!”

  John yanked the tail of his shirt down over his slick, bobbing erection.

  “Afternoon, Hawke,” he said, gaze darting to the wide-eyed Brigit, still kneeling in front of him. She was frozen in mortified terror. “What say ye?”

  The cook nearly collapsed with relief when the younger man stopped halfway down the stair, leaning on his palm against the hull as he answered back.

  “Uh …” Hawke squinted into the galley. “Are you all right, Mr Bone?”