The Duke & the Pirate Queen

by Victoria Janssen

  Maxime paused, slid one hand around the back of her neck and said softly, “I need you on my cock.”

  The bluntness of his need tightened her belly. “Do you want to be inside me?” she asked.

  He shook his head, his fingers brushing restlessly over her skin. “Your hands, your cunt, it doesn’t matter. Just, just be close. Please.”

  She kissed his mouth, deeply, messily. She let her arms collapse, let herself fall atop the solid support of his body. His cock felt rigid and hot against her thigh; still kissing him, she squirmed until his erection nestled between her thighs. He moaned softly and she pressed against him, harder.

  Maxime stroked his hands down the length of her back, then gripped and kneaded her rear. “So good,” he said. “You feel so good to me, Imena. I wish we could stay like this for days on end.” He laid kisses on the side of her head, warm echoes of the damp throbbing inside her cunt.

  “Maxime,” she murmured, letting her lips brush his ear as she spoke. “I could take you like this.”

  “I would like that,” he murmured back. “I like to watch your breasts. I like to watch your face when you’re close to coming, and when you’re trying to fight it off.”

  “Or,” she said, quickly licking his ear and undulating against him, “I would like you to be deeper inside me.” She hadn’t said enough. He wouldn’t understand. She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes and spoke quickly, the words pouring forth like water. “So deep I can’t sense anything but you against me, in me. I want you to come into me from behind, your hands grabbing my hips, squeezing my breasts, your chest rubbing against my back, your mouth at my ear, saying my name.”

  Maxime’s fingers were going to leave bruises on her buttocks. After a long, gasping pause, he said, “You are going to kill me, sweeting.”

  “Will you do that for me?”

  “I’d fuck you in front of the whole of Julien’s court if you asked it of me,” he said and half chuckled, half groaned. “Let’s turn away from our audience, though, shall we? If you can’t see my face, I don’t want anyone else to see it, either.”

  Behind their pavilion lay trees. Imena stared at them with inner relief. She could lose herself in the forest, find distance from all observation. Except for Maxime. As he knelt behind her, leaned over her, wrapped one muscular arm around her waist and pressed his cock so slowly, so deliciously, into her cunt and against the walls of her inner passage, she could not see the trees and the freedom they offered. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the feel of his skin against hers, inside and out, as he pushed deeper, deeper and deeper still.

  She couldn’t quite catch her breath; she needed all her air and strength to bear down on his cock with every inner muscle she possessed, and to thrust back against him so he would not withdraw from her, would not separate them. Maxime’s belly heaved on her back, little sobbing breaths as his hips jerked against her, as sweat sprang between his chest and her back, his hand slipping in sweat over her taut abdomen, her breasts, and down into the upper folds of her cunt where she lay stretched wide open to his touch.

  She was barely conscious of anything beyond the slick rubbing of his cock within her, every fraction of movement nearly unbearable against her swollen flesh that wanted nothing except more friction, deeper, faster, more. She let her head fall forward, cushioned by flower petals, and arched her back, working herself against him with blind fervor, each breath a sob of effort that squeezed her ever higher.

  Maxime suddenly froze, his arm clenching her hard around the belly. “Imena,” he said in her ear, his voice desperate. “Oh, Imena. I love you so much.”

  His hot breath scorched her ear and she cried out, bucking against him, writhing, her climax spilling out from her cunt in stormy waves, jerking her body against his belly, yanking crying sounds from her throat. As her convulsions slowed, she fell slack against his restraining arm and felt, impossibly, his cock swelling inside her.

  He’d said something. He’d spoken her name, and—

  She arched back against him, and with a cry he drove into her, deeper and faster than before, until he, too, came hard, his semen flooding down her thighs.

  It was some time before Imena realized that their opponents had never reached climax, and that she and Maxime had won.

  The most embarrassing thing about the whole experience, for Imena, was cleaning up afterward. Imena had to fight off the help of any number of jubilant islanders who wished to pamper their winners with all manner of locally manufactured unguents and intimate personal services. No doubt Maxime was more used to such things than she was; he at least had a personal servant who saw to his clothing and grooming, and a bevy of additional body servants for formal occasions requiring complex clothing and preparations. She knew for a fact he’d had casual sex with at least three of them, male and female alike. She preferred Norris, who would never intrude as they were being intruded upon now.

  Maxime captured her hand and led her behind the pavilion, shouldering aside dozens of grasping hands. It wasn’t much better, given that the pavilion had no sides, but after a few stern glances, their would-be helpers retreated, leaving a woven basket and a pile of clothing behind.

  The music still played, and islanders mingled and danced in the clearing where before they’d argued. No one could hear them if they spoke in low voices. Imena found a towel in the basket and said, “If they follow us back to the boat they will recognize it comes from a larger ship.” Briskly, she wiped herself down, beginning with her thighs and cunt.

  “Then we won’t let them follow us.” After a brief hesitation, Maxime reached into the basket and removed a cloth for himself.

  “If I were in command here,” she said, “I would wonder where two such well-nourished castaways had sprung from. I’m not sure if Pauk or anyone else has begun to wonder.” She grabbed her clothing, ragged and dirty as it was, and shimmied into it, breathing a sigh of relief once she was clothed. She’d feel better with the addition of her cutlass, but this would do for now.

  “Then we’ll get away from here quickly,” Maxime said, tossing his used cloth onto the ground. “Should we slip away now? Most of them already seem to be involved in postcompetition celebratory flower-eating.”

  Imena thought, then shook her head. “I don’t want any pursuit.”

  “I’ll speak to Pauk, if you permit.”

  “I was hoping you’d be willing.”

  “Imena! Diplomacy is my second most valuable skill!”

  Before negotiations began, Maxime demanded their knives and her cutlass back. Being granted her own weapon went a long way toward improving Imena’s mood. She kept the cutlass in her hand while the two men spoke.

  Pauk said, “And what of our usual prize? You seem like a man who would appreciate having his pick of our most attractive women, and I’m sure they’d appreciate you.” Pauk smiled significantly. “Or you may have men, if that’s your preference, though we have none to match those.” He waved a hand toward their competition.

  Maxime cast a glance at Imena, his eyes alight. “Do we have time, do you think?”

  Imena scowled, only then noticing the naughty light in his eyes. “I think we have what we need,” she said.

  Maxime bowed to Pauk, short and formal. “Then we’d like to depart. If you’ve left our boat?”

  “I offer escort, one of our young men.”

  “No need.” Maxime paused and then said casually, “If we should return. Could we claim our prizes then? Or perhaps some other services of commensurate value?”

  Imena recognized the commanding tone in his voice, but she didn’t think Pauk did. Pauk merely nodded, as if it were of no consequence, and popped a flower into his mouth. “I am sure we could come to some arrangement.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ONCE CLEAR OF THE BREAKERS, IMENA STOPPED rowing. “Hold on a moment,” she said.

  Maxime pulled in his oar and leaned back, stretching. Before he could ask why they were stopping, Imena slid over the side,
clothes and all.

  Washing off the experience? Or washing off him?

  It was difficult not to feel hurt, even after she surfaced and, in her normal tones, said she’d be glad to mind the boat while he had his own dip.

  He made a point of holding out his hand to help her climb over the boat’s side. Her grip was firm, her hand cold from the sea; once she was back in the boat, she rubbed her head dry with a cloth and then busied herself with the oars.

  Maxime yanked his shirt over his head and scrambled out of his trousers. There wasn’t much room for dressing and undressing in the boat, but swimming in his clothes would be far too much like being in a shipwreck.

  If only that had happened. He would have been content for quite some time as a castaway with her.

  He slid into the water, sighing as it lapped at his shoulders, then kicked his feet up and floated. Salty seawater cleared the musty scent of flower petals from his nostrils, and it felt good to expose his flesh to nothing but the vast stretch of empty sky.

  His earlier feeling of hurt washed away as waves lapped at his skin. Imena understood what it was to be in command, to always be watched. She had been right to give them this little time before they returned to her crew.

  Maxime swam back to the boat and rested his forearms on the side, lazily treading water. “What are we going to say?”

  Imena wasn’t looking at him, but she rested her hand near his elbow. “I’m not sure,” she said. “We can’t leave yet. Seaflower isn’t quite ready. We can’t depend on avoiding the islanders for the rest of our stay, even if they are on another island.”

  “And if we encounter them? And they inform your crew that we’re their champions?” Imena shrugged.

  “You’re not worried for your dignity?”

  “I’m the captain,” she said. “My dignity is implicit.”

  Maxime grinned. “Even naked.”

  “Especially then.” Slowly, she smiled back. “Are you planning to swim all the way back?”

  “That depends on if you let me back into the boat.”

  She chewed her lip, pretending thoughtfulness. “I don’t really want to row this boat by myself. You have quite a few more muscles than I.”

  “Showier ones, anyway,” he said. Once back in the boat, he took a cloth from her and scrubbed at his hair and beard. “I have another question for you,” he said after he’d struggled to pull his clothing back over his damp skin.

  Imena found their water flask in the bottom of the boat and drank from it. “Another question about my dignity?”

  “The islanders,” he said, accepting the flask. “Is the location of these islands widely known? Are they charted?”

  “It depends on one’s charts,” she said.

  “Ah. For example, is this group of islands closer to the duchies, or to the Horizon Empire?” Her gaze flicked to him. He added, “I haven’t thought this through yet. But it’s best to be prepared for the future, isn’t it? And wouldn’t this make a lovely anchorage for certain times when you needed just that? Completely aside from possible benefit to the islanders. I don’t think they can survive here indefinitely, not without outside help.”

  Imena pushed an oar into his hand. “We need to row.”

  A few minutes later, she said, “I had forgotten you were a duke.”

  “I forget quite frequently,” he said.

  “If you weren’t a duke, or…if you wanted to give it up, would you have stayed? With the islanders?”

  He answered without hesitation. “No.” Then wondered why she’d asked.

  Imena sounded thoughtful as she continued. “They offered quite a few incentives. And I think you could have helped them.”

  “I could have. I’ve been trained to be a leader. That doesn’t mean I want to lead every person I meet.” And Imena would not have stayed with him. Would she?

  “You might be safe there, in hiding,” she said, and he realized the direction of her thoughts.

  “I’m not going to hide, not like that. Would you?”

  Imena sighed. “No. I wouldn’t, either.” Clearly changing the subject, she asked, “What if these islands are closer to the empire?”

  That was easy enough. “Then you can tell your mother about the islanders if you wish. Or do nothing if you think that’s better.”

  Leaning into her oar, Imena said, “We can decide later. I’ll need to think on it.”

  “It’s not as urgent as all that,” he said. “But…they did treat us honorably. By their standards. They set us free in the end.”

  Her expression was eloquent, but she didn’t argue. “Put your back into it,” she said. “We can worry about the islanders once my ship is repaired, and we’ve figured out who’s trying to kill you. And the pirates. I confess I’m a little worried about pirates just now.”

  He admitted that she did have a point.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ONCE THEY’D SAFELY RETURNED TO CAMP, MAXIME decided he would see what he could do about Imena’s worry. They had a source of information on the pirates ready to hand, thanks to Chetri. He spent the next two days observing Annja and Suzela as they went about their tasks: Suzela collecting fruit, shellfish and turtle eggs, and Annja working in turn with Kuan, Nabhi and then Seretse, the carpenter.

  On the second morning, in a temporary lull in his ship work, Seretse set a blanket on the beach. Next to it, he laid out his tattooing tools, wooden handles with clusters of needles at one end. He’d recruited Annja to keep water boiling over a small fire, to supply him with a stream of clean cloths, which he used throughout the process to wipe blood and excess ink from his client’s skin. Annja would also clean the needled tools of blood after they were used. Maxime thus had an excellent excuse to wander over and chat with her. He wasn’t the only one who found the prospect of watching Seretse pound colored ink into people’s skins fascinating.

  Most of the time was spent on Kuan, whose back was already covered with outlines of fish; Seretse was coloring in a section of the outlines with soft, steady strokes. While he worked, Maxime asked Annja, “Where is Suzela?”

  “She didn’t want to watch this,” Annja said. She, however, was watching avidly as she spoke. “Haven’t you noticed that by now? She’s soft as a jellyfish about some things.”

  “And you?”

  Annja shrugged. “Kuan is willing to have this done to him, and Seretse is only hurting him as much as is necessary. I don’t mind the blood, either.” She grinned briefly at Maxime, and he blinked, startled. “We women, we bleed every month, and if we do it’s a wonderful thing.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said. He rested his chin on his updrawn knees and watched as Seretse wiped blood and ink from Kuan’s lower back. “Are you going to ask for a tattoo?”

  Annja shrugged again, but her indifference seemed feigned. “I might.” She sat for a time, watching, then added, “I like the ones Chetri has.”

  “Perhaps you could ask him about them,” Maxime suggested.

  “Hmmph.” Annja lifted the lid of her water pot and peered inside. “Fetch me another bucket of water, will you?”

  That afternoon, Maxime discreetly trailed Annja as she collected Suzela and Chetri and headed to a quiet inlet.

  I’m not a voyeur, Maxime reassured himself, stretching out more comfortably on a warm rock. It overlooked the beach. Chetri is too sympathetic to those women by far. Imena needs an objective opinion on them.

  In the tiny cove below him, the rock’s shadow stretched on the sand, where Chetri had spread an array of woven blankets in bright colors. Chetri leaned over the edge of a blanket, using the shells of recently devoured mussels to scrape sand into a small mountain range. His hair was loose, drying slowly in the sun, and he wore only tattered trousers and one of his necklaces, and the earrings and brow ring he never removed. Annja and Suzela, in patterned linen wraps, sat near him, sucking the last scraps of freshly caught, freshly cooked flatfish from bones. It was a good thing Maxime had eaten before ensconci
ng himself on the rock.

  Chetri abandoned his mountain range and leaned back on his elbows, closing his eyes against the late-afternoon sun, which glinted from his silver jewelry. Maxime noted with interest that neither of the women moved away from him, though there was plenty of room for them to do so. Suzela braided Annja’s hair, then twisted her own river of curls into a loose knot, securing it with an eating utensil, or perhaps some device Maxime hadn’t seen from above.

  A few minutes later, Annja rose to bury fish bones in the sand. Chetri glanced at Suzela. “You’ve had enough to eat?” he asked.

  Maxime noted he’d given her a question she could answer by a nod or a shake of the head. But Suzela, astonishing him, responded verbally. “Yes, thank you.”

  Annja looked up sharply. She stood and brushed sand off her knees. “We’re going to talk?” she said.

  Suzela nodded. “I think it’s all right.”

  Chetri was staring at her, astonished. “You’ve never spoken before. I was beginning to think you couldn’t.”

  Annja snorted. “She speaks when she needs to do so.”

  Suzela drew her feet beneath her before she continued. “Norris said…she said she had a secret, and that no one on the ship, no one, had ever betrayed that secret to anyone. She’s been on the Seaflower four years, since she was twelve.” Suzela’s voice was rough, vibrant, the sort of voice that grabbed a man by the bollocks. It was almost, Maxime thought, as attractive as Imena’s voice.

  Chetri asked, his curiosity evident, “Did Norris share her secret with you?”

  “No,” Suzela said. “Was she telling the truth?”

  “She was.”

  Annja sat next to Suzela and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “We don’t have to talk to them at all. We can leave if you want. I’ll go with you. What kind of secrets could a twelve-year-old have?”

  Suzela touched Annja’s face. “It doesn’t matter what sort of secret it is. If it’s a small secret, then even better. I think we can trust them.” She paused. “And you said I could be the one to choose.”