It was undoubtedly the wine also that made her wonder how it would feel to have the weight of all that hard muscle covering her. Despite lacklustre performances from her husband, her body remembered how it felt to be held, to have strong arms wrapped around holding her close, how it felt to welcome the heat of solid flesh inside her and lose herself in the pleasure.
Bella shifted slightly on the chair and tried not to stare at Dante's lips or watch his hands as they tore apart a biscuit. His fingers were long and square-tipped, the palms calloused and rough and she could imagine how they would feel running over her belly or breasts. Acting upon such thoughts and curiosities would surely come to no good end on board the limited confines of the Tribute. Certainly not when it involved a man like Jonas Dante. That would only be inviting chaos and disaster.
She cleared her throat and sat straighter. His lips were moving and he was talking, but she had lost track of what he was saying. Something about winds and weather and speed. No wonder her mind had drifted.
Bella set her goblet down with a heavier thump than intended.
"I thank you for dinner, Captain. It was delicious and much appreciated."
"I am delighted you found it to be so. And as you can see, I have not ravished you or compromised you in any way."
His words gave her a moment's pause.
"I did not think you would."
"Yes you did. You were fully expecting me to want to throw you on the berth and have my evil, brutish way with you."
His words struck so close to the mark she felt her cheeks redden. "Do not presume to pluck words or thoughts out of my head, Captain."
He pursed his lips and swirled the contents of his goblet. "Then perhaps I misread your invitation."
"Pray, sir, what invitation?"
"To satisfy your curiosity."
"My… curiosity?"
The tiger eyes lifted slowly from the wine goblet until they were locked fast with hers. "Do you deny that you have been sitting there for the better part of ten minutes wondering what it would be like to be kissed by me?"
Her mouth dropped open. "I have been wondering no such thing."
"Then you were thoroughly engrossed and heard every word I said?"
"Every word!"
"Even when I suggested that we might revisit the terms of our agreement and come to a more mutually satisfying arrangement."
Bella felt an instant fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't heard him say that. Had he truly done so? No. No, it was a trick to catch her out.
"You said no such thing. You were talking about the weather and boasting about the speed of your ship and giving voice to your intentions of reaching the Indies in record time."
Dante's smile was crooked. "Well then, perhaps I was the one thinking it."
"Thinking what?"
"Of kissing you until you admit you have been thinking about it since the night we met at the ball."
"Oh? Have you indeed? And here I was under the impression you were a man of action, not just thought."
Jonas chuckled. "You have a quick wit and a sharp tongue. Have a care it does not get bitten off."
"I have been known to bite back, Sir Pirate."
He leaned forward suddenly and she flinched. His grin spread as he extended the motion and reached for the wine bottle to refill both their goblets.
"Tell me more about this husband of yours. You said he was very old."
"I said old. Not very old."
"Your exact words, I believe, were 'kindly old gentleman'."
"He was quite spry for his age."
"I expect he would have to be to keep you from becoming bored. But come now. How old does one have to be to be considered a 'kindly old gentleman'?"
"Why should it interest you so much?"
"Well, I am fairly certain I fail on at least two of the counts, for I doubt you consider me to be either kindly or a gentleman."
"You have reason to fear your vitality, sirrah? Or that you might be in your declining years?"
Dante tapped a finger against the side of his goblet. "You do realize that most women finding themselves in your position would be terrified. Or at least somewhat frightened to be in the middle of the vast Ocean-Sea in the company of a crew of lusty pirates."
"I am not most women, Captain Dante."
"No, indeed. You test and challenge, you defy and parry insult with insult, sarcasm with sarcasm. By god it is like duelling with tongues instead of swords. My sister would dislike you intensely for she fancies herself to be the only one with a cutting wit. My mother, however… she would be delighted to know you have been on board my ship more than a fortnight and not yet been in my bed."
"I assure you, it has not been all that difficult to resist."
"Has it not? Then to be sure I must be in decline."
He drained his goblet and, finding the bottle to be empty, stood and walked to the sideboard to fetch another. He kept his back turned while he uncorked it and when he faced her again, he seemed almost surprised to see she was still seated.
He carried the bottle back to the table. Instead of filling his glass, he set the bottle down but kept his hand around the glass neck.
"What does frighten you?" he asked after a moment.
Bella pursed her lips trying to think how to narrow a thousand things down to only one. In the end she settled for: "Being helpless. Feeling I had no other option but to throw myself off a bridge and drown."
After another moment Dante pushed away from the sideboard. "Having seen you shoot a pistol as well as a musket, I would be hard-pressed to think of you as helpless."
"A necessary skill on Gutter Lane. I am not quite as proficient with a sword, I'm afraid, but I can hold my own in a contest."
Dante chuckled and set his goblet down. "As I've said, you wield your tongue like a sword and oft times that can make the deepest cuts. For my own part, however," he came around to her side of the table and took her by the shoulders, pulling her up before him, "I prefer putting my tongue to better use."
His mouth came down and covered hers. The act sas raw and audacious as the man himself, for there was no hesitation, no polite nod to manners, no compromise in what he gave or what he took. His mouth moved hot and sure over hers, working her lips apart so his tongue could invade, and when it did, when it rolled boldly over hers, she pulled back, startled.
She stood staring up at him, her mouth still shaped in a wet O, her heart beating fast enough and loud enough she thought he must surely hear it.
Before she could draw a breath or collect her scattered wits enough to speak, his fingers raked into her hair and he tipped her head back.
"A much better use, don't you agree?"
"I… I hardly think…"
"Exactly," he whispered. "Don't think."
His mouth came down again. This time the kiss was warm and devouring, possessive with no apology offered. She felt intrigued and excited all in the same rush of unexpected desire. She was stunned by the taste and feel of him, and each probing thrust of his tongue was met with involuntary shivers. The shock spread and curled between her thighs, creating a flood of hot sensations.
Dante eased his mouth away and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and dark, her stomach was twisted in a knot, and the blood was coursing like wildfire through her veins.
Her gaze flicked away, then came back.
"Still curious?" he asked.
"N-not in the least. Not the smallest part."
He grinned and bent his head so that his lips brushed against her ear as he murmured, "Liar. And if I have to kiss you again to win an admission, you will have no clothes on when I'm finished."
Bella's lips parted but no sound came forth. Butterflies were careening madly around in her belly, yet even as she acknowledged the warning, there were more urgent flutterings elsewhere, too compelling to be ignored.
He turned his head and his mouth hovered a breath away from hers, offering her one final chance to push away. When she did
not take it, his hand moved to the back of her neck, where he untied the braided strips of cloth that held her hair confined at her nape. The rich black cloud was released and he combed his fingers through it before burying them in the glossy thickness and drawing her forward. His mouth claimed hers again, ravaging it with a ruthless determination that set such a strong blaze of fire alight within her that the heat between her thighs almost sent her melting onto the floor.
An audible moan sent her hands sliding up his chest and around his shoulders as her lips and tongue suddenly became as aggressive and demanding as his.
Their mouths came apart, met again, came apart and slanted together as their hands started working feverishly to loosen and tear aside obstructing clothing. Her vest joined his on the floor. Belts clashed and clattered as they were thrown aside. Their embrace broke long enough for Dante to lift her shirt up and over her head, whereupon a husky growl brought his mouth down over the ripe, hard little peaks of her breasts. He captured one and suckled it deep. Bella's cry shivered in her throat and she clawed her fingers into his hair, holding him against her.
Without removing his mouth from her flesh, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the berth. There, before he sat her on the edge, he stripped off her boots and breeches and flung them away somewhere in the shadows. His big hands rested on her knees then slid along the smooth flesh of her thighs to her hips, then her waist, pushing upward beneath her breasts, lifting them like sweet offerings as his mouth returned to suckle there.
Bella's head fell back. Streaks of pleasure wracked her body with each swirl of his tongue, each pulling caress of his lips. Somehow she found herself laying flat, with her legs still hanging over the side of the berth. His breeches were open and shoved halfway down his hips and his fully blooded erection was pressing into her. Thick and solid, his flesh slid forward, pushing deep to fill her. She felt her body stretching, liquefying around him, opening to accommodate all of the invading pressure.
Needing no further guidance, she twined her legs around his waist and locked her ankles at the small of his back. As she lifted her hips to meet each demanding thrust, her arms flew out on either side and her hands clutched at the blankets. Her neck arched and her breath came in shallow gasps. Each stroke sent a brilliant ripple of pleasure through her body, and as each ripple passed her need grew urgent, more intense.
Her fingers twisted convulsively around the blankets and as the pressure built and the shreds of pleasure gathered together. The shudders in her body came faster, tighter, and her broken gasps turned into imploring cries. When his hands gripped her knees to open her even wider, she obliged willingly, eagerly, and impelled herself into each thrust like a madwoman. She wanted to pull him deep inside her, wanted that solid, sliding thickness to fill her so completely there was no room left to think or breathe, just to feel.
His hands dove beneath her hips, lifting her, holding her as the first shattering waves of orgasm threatened them both. Her eyes flew open in a moment of panic, for she had never experienced anything so completely unbridled and savage, but he only raised her higher, pulled her closer. A second wave of spasms, stronger and more shocking than the first, brought her body straining upward, fusing eagerly with his as the pleasure exploded into stunningly brilliant ecstasy.
~~
Bella had no one but herself to blame. Her own arrogance had put her where she was now, curled against Dante in a damp, limp, naked heap, one arm flung across his chest. The only light in the cabin came from a lamp on the desk, the wick turned low, shedding just enough of an amber glow to lend shape to objects around the room.
She was aware of every hair and bead of sweat where they touched, every inch of skin his mouth and tongue had explored. She had lost count of how many times she had started to get up from the berth only to be lured back by a hand or a brazen pair of lips.
Brazen indeed.
He had done things with his mouth and body that she ought to be too mortified to remember, let alone take pleasure in remembering.
She felt boneless, weightless. Where she thought she should have felt chafed and raw, she felt understandably tender but wholly, deliciously despoiled—inside and out. She ran her tongue over her lips and knew they were swollen from his plundering kisses. She could still taste him; the salt of his sweat, the musky maleness of him.
Her poor dear dead husband had been but a twig next to a tree trunk by comparison, and for even thinking such a thing, she suffered a warm flush of guilt.
Beside her, Dante slept the sleep of the guiltless. He drew a slow, deep breath, his chest swelling enough to lift Bella's arm with it. When he expelled it again, she took the opportunity to raise her head out of the crook of his shoulder.
She used the moment to study his face, seeing it completely relaxed for the first time. The creases across his brow and at the corners of his eyes were smooth. His eyes were closed but because he scowled so much while awake, she had never really noticed how long his lashes were or how they curled at the tips. There was a scar running down the left side of his cheek, cutting a white furrow into the dark stubble, and another on his neck, running diagonal to the healed mark left by Lugo's blade.
Her gaze moved lower and lingered over the breadth of his chest. He was all hard, sculpted brawn and she resisted the urge to trace a fingertip through the forest of soft dark hairs and instead, let her inspection wander lower, following the bands of muscle to his belly, then lower still to the second explosion of fur at the juncture of his thighs. Even at rest, his flesh was formidable, heavy, and thick. Fully aroused, it put to shame any memory she had of former lovers who cajoled and wheedled and could be controlled with flirty smiles and teasing glances. Jonas Dante was accustomed to being the one in complete control, of taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. The past few hours were proof of that.
As carefully and slowly as she could manage it, she extricated herself from the curve of his arm and slipped out of the berth. She snatched the quilt off the floor where it had been tossed and wrapped it around her shoulders as she tiptoed over to the tiny closet that housed the captain's private beakhead. After relieving herself, she emerged from the closet only to feel a persistent, pearly wetness leaking down her thighs, further proof of their excesses. She found a scrap of linen and used it to wash herself as best she could, glancing over frequently to make certain Dante was still sleeping.
That done, she started to search the shadows for her discarded clothing. Luckily none of her garments had been torn in his haste to remove them, though she doubted it would have given him a second thought. Or anyone else on board the ship, for that matter. She was surely not the first woman they had heard thrashing about in his berth or seen leaving his cabin in a dishevelled state.
That realization sent her sitting down hard on the nearest chair.
How on earth would she be able to look Varian St. Clare or, indeed, any of the crew in the eye again? Or Molly? Good God, the walls were made from the thinnest planks; surely Molly must have heard them together. Bella was fairly certain she hadn't actually screamed, though she had definitely made noises. Noises that could not be mistaken for anything other than what they were.
She combed her fingers through the tangled mess of her hair and sighed.
"If you are thinking of pouring yourself a drink, you can pour one for me while you are at it."
Bella looked over. He had turned his head and wore an expression that suggested he had been watching her from the second she had left the bed.
"I think I have had quite enough wine for one night."
The chains suspending the berth creaked as he sat up and swung his legs over the side. Naked, he walked across the cabin and used his teeth to pull the stopper out of a bottle of rum. He poured some into two goblets and held one out to her.
"It isn't wine. But it often gives remarkable clarity to your thoughts… for a short time, at any rate."
Bella slid a bare arm out of the quilting and took the goblet, but only because she h
oped he would move and she would not have to stare at all that naked flesh displayed boldly in front of her.
"I put your breeches over there," she said, pointing to another chair.
He looked. "So you did." He seemed to study her for a moment, then frowned. "Your modesty now is as unexpected as your lack of it not a trice ago."
"I simply find it awkward to talk to you when… when you're…" she waved her hand in the direction of his groin to finish the sentence and he looked down at himself.
"Most women would be flattered I think so highly of them."
"Most women, when confronted with that, would faint dead away. Assuming they hadn't already needed salts after seeing all of your scars."
He glanced down again. His belly, his hip, his ribs, his shoulders, his arms all bore the evidence of his violent lifestyle. Most of the scars were thin white tracings, like lines drawn on a map, but some were puckered and ugly. One in particular ran down the full length of his thigh, the skin stretched a shiny mottled red.
"I don't think of them as scars. I consider them victories against the devil's efforts to have me join him in hell."
"By the look of it, he has tried extremely hard."
"Aye, he's a determined bastard. But luck and sheer stubbornness have kept me one step ahead."
"Not all luck, I warrant."
"By Christ, was that another compliment?"
"I wasn't aware I had given you any at all."
He smirked and glanced at the dishevelled bedding. "By my count, at least three."
A flood of warmth came into her cheeks.
"Christ and all the saints, she blushes as well."
Bella took a deep swallow of the rum. "Oh do stop mocking me, sirrah, and put on some clothes."
The Far Horizon Page 12
