by Tina Donahue
Smiling, he captured her hand, led her down the hall past numerous rooms, and stopped at the last. He pushed the door open and escorted her inside.
Polished white marble covered the floor, the same as in the hall, the ceilings high, windows large, facing trees and a clearing to show the distant water. It sparkled blue-green, matching the silk sheets on the large mahogany bed.
Never had she witnessed anything as imposing or as inviting. Given what had transpired between her and Tristan in the hall, she had no doubt what would soon happen in here. Their bedchamber for all time.
The room sported low tables, a large armoire, chairs, a basin, and a metal tub. Two bare-breasted young women filled the thing with steaming water and scented oil.
Tristan spoke to them in French. They padded to Diana and pulled at her clothes to remove them.
“Stop that at once.” She pushed their hands away. “I can bathe myself.”
Tristan cupped her chin. “They don’t understand English. Please, allow them to assist you. I’ll return shortly.”
He gave her a quick peck on her lips, said something to the young women, and then was out the door and closing it. His footfalls faded in the hall.
The women stripped Diana, leaving only the diamond collar. They scrubbed her until she glowed pink and washed her hair twice. Once they’d dried her completely, the prettiest girl grabbed a container of reddish powder and tried to apply the tint to Diana’s nipples.
Shocked, she twisted away and started.
Canela stood near the closed door, her chin lifted in challenge.
Diana’s first reaction was to hide her nudity. She faced her instead. “What are you doing in here?”
Loathing shone in Canela’s eyes, then insolence. “How sad it will be for Tristan when you cannot satisfy him.”
So rouging a woman’s nipples was Tristan’s idea. Given Canela’s comment, she’d gladly done so for him many times.
She wouldn’t any longer, not if Tristan expected to share his wife’s bed. Diana gestured for the young woman to apply the rouge.
Once she’d finished, the other girl tied violet silk around Diana’s hips. The fabric fell so low it barely covered the curls between her legs, the cloth knotted in front, allowing Tristan to see her thighs and to have ready access to what he craved most.
The young women finished arranging Diana’s hair. Her tresses flowed over her breasts. Her reddened nipples peeked through. The plainer girl rubbed a sticky white substance into Diana’s navel and seated a large diamond inside.
She couldn’t believe what they’d done to her, a reverend’s daughter. Despite her bravado with Canela, Diana grew fevered at what Tristan would expect from her in his bed.
His feet slapped the hall floor.
Both women hurried Canela to a passage hidden behind the armoire. The furniture creaked into place and snapped shut.
Blood pounded in Diana’s ears.
Tristan came inside and bolted the door.
His skin glowed from his bath, hair was freshly washed, face shaved, his silk robe scarlet, the color of passion. A fragrant breeze flowed through the windows, parting the cloth, revealing his arousal.
Heat flooded Diana, though not from shame…excitement. She took him in hungrily. His chest was as marvelous as she’d recalled. Brown hair trickled in a thin line past his navel and flat belly to his groin where it flowered thick and curly above the root of his shaft and sac.
Or rather, his balls and cock. Words the men on the Lady Lark had used when referring to a man’s sex, not caring whether she’d heard them or not.
What shameful, decadent terms.
She liked them.
Tristan’s cock was turgid with want, hard from lust. Prominent veins snaked up its impressive length. The smooth head was ruddy, his balls the same color, lightly furred and plump, his powerful legs roughened with hair.
Unbearable need tore through her, leaving her breathless and weak, helpless to deny whatever he willed.
“Diana.”
She nodded, transfixed. His shaft had grown harder and longer within the last seconds.
“Diana.”
“Yes?”
“Show me your breasts.”
Her thighs tensed. A pulse beat deep within her sheath. She brushed her hair off her shoulders and folded her arms over her head to expose herself fully.
Her nipples constricted.
His shaft thickened.
Rather than experiencing shame as a reverend’s daughter should, Diana had never known such wonderful vulnerability, stripped of everything separating her from him. She ached for his touch.
Tristan extended his hand for her to go to him.
Only a few steps separated them, but she understood their significance, her joining him willingly.
She crossed the space and slid her hand over his. Male desire scented his clean skin. His hair fell in soft waves on his forehead, past his ears and neck. She longed to drive her fingers through his locks to see if they were as silky as they looked, but awaited his next command.
He pressed his lips to her palm. His breath tickled, mouth warmed. “Take off my robe.”
The world shifted. Lightheaded, she slid the garment over his shoulders. The silk fluttered past his hands and floated to the floor. An overwhelming urge coaxed her to kneel, cup his weighty sac in her palm, and take his stiffened rod into her mouth. A notion she’d never had until now.
Tristan swept her into his arms.
She molded to him, stroked his shoulder, then down his back.
He tensed.
Diana froze. She’d touched scar upon scar, surprised and anguished by what he’d gone through. What she’d refused to believe until now. “You were flogged. Oh Tristan, when did this happen? How? Why?”
“We won’t speak of it.” He avoided her gaze.
She cradled his cheek. “Why not? I want to know what happened.”
“Never. I forbid it, do you understand?” He settled her on the bed.
She took his hand, needing to comfort, to know all she could about his hard life.
Embarrassment flooded his features. He pulled away from her hold and made lazy circles over her belly.
Heat burst wherever he touched her. She wiggled closer, wanting more.
Wearing a delighted look, he untied the silk around her hips and pushed the cloth away. A faint breeze licked the moisture between her legs, proving her desire. He combed her delicate curls, then sought her slick folds.
Pleasure coursed through her ruthlessly.
“Lift your hips.”
The moment she had, he pulled the cloth away. Holding on to the silk, he straddled her, his cock and meaty balls resting on her belly, warming it. He lifted her arms above her head.
She tilted her face. “What are you doing?”
“Making certain you yield.” He wound the silk around her wrists, then secured the cloth to the bedpost and looked down at her as a god or a pirate captain might. “I’m also making sure your obedience leads to pleasure.”
Diana had no desire to defy or flee him. Even if she had, she couldn’t. The cloth trapped her wrists, his weight her legs, his gaze her will. His shameless need said he would have her now and enjoy her at his leisure while she submitted.
Fighting him was the furthest thing from her mind.
His kiss thrilled, scent intoxicated, his strength and warmth a comfort she’d never known. She tugged on her bonds, needing to touch him. He grabbed her wrists to keep her still and obedient. Once she’d yielded, he pulled his mouth from hers before she was ready.
He lifted a small bowl from the table and drizzled warm, scented oil over her breasts, the act wonderfully depraved.
She closed her eyes.
“No.” He cupped her mound. “I want you to watch what I do.”
A daunting prospect. However, she did as he wanted.
He swirled the fragrant balm on her tightened nipples
and breasts, fondling her with a husband’s right and as a male demands.
There couldn’t possibly be a more delightful pastime.
He suckled her nipples.
Desire thrummed through her, settling between her legs. Lust engorged her folds.
Oiling her slowly, maddeningly, he paid particular attention to her sensitive nub, grazing it.
She came alive as she never had and strained for his touch.
He stroked her folds rather than her most sensitive part, frustrating her. She lifted her hips, desperate for him to arouse her fully.
He tongued her there.
Heat and pleasure filled her to near bursting. She needed to peak, desperate for relief.
Tristan stopped. “Open your eyes. Spread your legs farther.”
She barely found the strength to do either.
He rubbed her harder, faster too. God help her, she needed more and pushed closer to chase release.
He stopped.
She wanted to growl oath after oath but finally understood his intent. Obedience to his will was her only recourse if she wanted pleasure. She gave herself to him freely and fully.
He teased her sex, but wouldn’t bring her to completion. Her climax barreled close and faded away, the process repeating endlessly. Damp from tension, she couldn’t breathe or think.
Miraculously, the unbearable heaviness grew, then overwhelmed so unexpectedly, she shuddered in climax. Her sheath pulsed hard.
With one hand on her bound wrists, he captured her mouth, plunged his tongue inside, and stroked her nub lightly. She bucked, scarcely able to withstand his touch. Her flesh was far too sensitive. This newest climax arrived faster than the last and with such force she tore her mouth from his and gulped air.
He kissed her cheek. “Well done.”
She laughed.
He settled between her legs and bathed his thick crown in her moisture. “This may hurt at first, but the discomfort will pass.”
“I’m not afraid.” Never had she been as ready for anything as she was for him. She pulled back her legs and invited her husband to take her virginity.
His broad grin confirmed his delight. He ran his crown down her cleft, then eased inside and pierced her barrier.
A sharp, painful sting surprised her.
His smile faded. “You all right?”
Better than he could know. His concern meant everything. “Yes. Please continue.”
He eased into her with care and buried his shaft until Diana feared she couldn’t take much more inside. Tristan worked her skillfully, proving her wrong. Their curls finally touched.
She’d never witnessed a lovelier sight and gave him a soft smile. The pain had already passed, replaced by longing and wonder.
He looked happier than she’d ever seen him, then concentrated on pleasure, pulling back until his cock was nearly free before thrusting inside, driving into her repeatedly. His balls tapped her buttocks.
She tightened her sheath around his length to add to the wonderful friction between them. With each stroke on her nub, extraordinary heat and delight built, coiling within her, surging to a point Diana could barely contain herself.
Her lids glided down. She lost control and dashed toward release, unmindful of anything except what happened in this bed with him.
Tristan held back on his own climax and rode her to another peak before he lost himself to pleasure. He pumped fast and hard, at last spilling his seed, his bellow uncivilized and deliciously male.
They panted in time. Her channel throbbed around his spent flesh.
He sank down, his cheek to hers.
The bed smelled of sex. Desire.
She yearned for love.
Chapter 5
Chadwick Vincent had joined Tristan and Diana’s crews on the main deck of the Lady Lark. The men faced each other, though not to battle. They’d called a council and had already voted Miles Montgomery captain. An honor granted due to his excessive girth and the valuable information he claimed to have concerning Benedict Bishop.
Vincent had yet to hear anything meaningful from Montgomery. Every mariner knew Bishop was old, sour, and quite rich. “What other details do you have on him, if anything?”
Montgomery gingerly touched his blackened eye and shot Vincent a look of pure hatred for having punched him.
The swine was lucky to be alive. After Vincent’s escape from the hold, he’d been eager to send Montgomery straight to the devil, but Tristan hadn’t wanted a slaughter.
Vincent seethed at how Tristan had betrayed the men and him. His head pounded with agonizing pain. His yellow scarf was dirty from blood where someone hit him seconds before he’d reached Diana. “I’m still not hearing anything from you.”
Montgomery dropped his hand. “Bishop’s waiting for Miss Fletcher in Mozambique. He means to have her as his personal whore. Show her off to those around him as his prize. It ain’t just her beauty he craves, but her innocence.”
Vincent snorted. “He ain’t likely to get that now.”
Others made crude remarks concerning her purity. Some grumbled about not getting their share of Diana who’d surely been beneath Tristan by now.
“Bishop ain’t aware of it, is he?” Montgomery scanned the group. “Nor will he be to my way of thinking. We give him what he wants and take what he’s got. It’s been said he powders his wigs with gold dust and eats from silver plates with diamonds in them. He’ll pay dearly for the woman. After we take her from Kent and get our fair share, we’ll still ransom her as though she’s pure.”
Vincent crossed his arms. “After she’s been beneath me, she ain’t likely to remember what any other man has done to her.”
“The girl will be well used by each of us. As for Tristan Kent, he’ll surely beg for death once I’m through with him.”
The men cheered, then boasted about what they’d do to Diana and Tristan once they found the pair.
* * * *
Tristan leaned over Diana.
His heat warmed her and his scent aroused.
He pressed closer. “Open them.”
After a moment of playful defiance, she parted her lids. He was so bed-mussed and virile her blood raced.
“Dear girl, I was speaking of your legs.”
Of course he was. His seed and her passion dampened her cleft, her channel slightly sore from his use but craving more. She gave herself to him easily, yielding and receptive to the kisses he trailed past her cheek to her ear.
He brushed his lips over her temple. “In a few moments I want you again.”
As she did him, in all ways, not only in his bed. She was hungry for information about him, how he came to be in this place, what monster had flogged him. Too many questions were poised on her lips that she couldn’t give voice to. He didn’t want to speak about the past. He hadn’t offered her love in the future. Even though she’d always hope for his heart, she worried he’d never give her anything except momentary pleasure. For him, their coupling might be enough. For her it marked only the beginning and might sadly be the end.
She shoved those worries aside to become the dutiful wife. “Then do take me. It’s surely your right.”
He stopped kissing her neck. “Take you?”
His bewilderment undid her. She wanted to stroke his lashes, smooth back his hair, hold him, and promise she’d ease whatever loneliness and sorrow he’d ever known.
Not certain he’d ever want her to do so she simply nodded.
“No, Diana. You’re wrong. I had you.”
“You took me, Tristan.”
“No. You desired this.”
She had but wouldn’t admit it, the same as him when she’d asked about his back. He’d refused to ease her worry then or encourage her pressing need to be close as if she had no right to know anything about him, including whatever pain he’d endured. Now that she’d shut off her innermost feelings to him, he didn’t like it.
His frown went
from confused to determined. “Very well. It would appear I’ll have to take you and take you and take you until you do desire this.”
Or he grew bored with her.
If only he’d talk, or at least listen. A lasting bond between a man and a woman wasn’t forged by sex alone but with love to enrich the connection. An obvious reality men didn’t appear to understand or perhaps they didn’t care. When their lust for one woman ended, they too easily transferred their desire to another.
On this island, Tristan could sate his carnal needs with little effort. The women weren’t only lovely but plentiful. He’d never needed her or any other Englishwoman. Paradise was at his fingertips, especially with Canela always around.
Diana looked away. “To take me is surely your right.”
He muttered beneath his breath and eased her face to his.
Something rattled. He looked over.
The door groaned the way it would when someone leaned hard against it.
Diana went hot at what had transpired in this chamber and bed. “Someone’s listening.”
He rolled off her and yanked on his robe. She fetched her mariner’s clothing. Tristan pulled the garments from her and tossed them aside.
She tried to get past him but he wouldn’t let her. “Move.”
“No. I’ll handle this. You’ll remain in my bed, waiting for me. I want no argument, understand?”
She showed him her back.
“Have it your way. At least for the moment.” He padded to the door. “When I return, you’d better be on the mattress with your body and heart opened and willing to your husband.”
Before she could retort, he left the room.
* * * *
Tristan prayed Diana wouldn’t follow him.
The shadowed hall to the left proved empty. To the right, Canela stood in the doorway to another chamber, not trying to hide her presence or what she’d been up to. He strode to her.
She fell to her knees, opened his robe, and cradled his cock.
He stepped back. His bedchamber door still hadn’t opened. For once, Diana hadn’t defied him. Fearing she might, he closed his robe and frowned at Canela.
On her feet, she slipped her arms around his neck.
