She didn’t protest. Her hands came forward, gripping the mattress for support, as she thrust her smooth arse into the air.
What a heavenly sight! Damian positioned himself between her splayed legs. “Are you ready for me, Belle?” And to make sure that she was, he slipped a finger amid the dewy folds of her feminine flesh.
She was hot and wet, and he groaned in ecstasy. Removing his finger, he pushed into her in one swift stroke.
Mirabelle moaned again and dropped her head down, her long hair spilling over her shoulders.
Damian maintained a firm hold of her hips as he thrust into her. Quick and steady plunges. He rocked her with a burning desire that consumed all his senses.
It was better than he had dreamed, taking Mirabelle from behind. The euphoria was palpable as it invaded his blood and rushed through his veins. Such energy, such potent life.
He struggled to control his orgasm, clenched his muscles to keep from spilling into her. It was too soon. She needed more time. He wanted her to experience the ecstasy of their coupling, to cry out in fulfillment.
And she was definitely feeling it. He sensed her climax approach. Each moan grew louder. She was so wet inside. Before the spasms erupted, though, he withdrew from her warm sheath.
“Damian!”
He was breathing hard, had barely enough control to keep his own climax in check, so he didn’t respond to her outrage in words. Instead he hoisted her back on her knees and turned her about.
Her breathing ragged, she was a wanton sight. Lips flush, breasts swollen with blood, eyes sensually slanted in unquenched desire.
He quickly drew her into his lap until she straddled his thighs. “I want to see your face while I make love to you.” Guiding her hips, he brought her down on him.
Mirabelle groaned and grabbed his shoulders. She bowed her head forward. Their brows touched. Their eyes met, reflecting such passionate need.
“That’s it, Belle,” he encouraged, voice rough and strained, as she took control, moving over him in haste. “Ride me as fast and as hard as you’d like.”
She kissed him then. A deep and soulful kiss that made his heart hurt. How he adored her. She brought him peace and passion and made him feel so alive. He could stay in this moment with her forever, he thought. It was true bliss. True rapture.
Mirabelle’s climax was quick to come. Her muscles shuddered around him in spastic pulses, blanketing him in warmth and satisfaction. Soon he sensed his own climax about to spill forth and he lifted her off him, spilling his seed with a great growl of gratification.
He had never cared about such delicacies before, thinking only of his own pleasure and fulfillment, but with Belle, he wouldn’t risk her becoming enceinte with no husband and four brutish brothers to confront.
When it was over, she draped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
Damian cradled her in his lap, gently stroking the ridges of her spine, wet with sweat. Closing his eyes, he just held her, touched her, committed her to memory.
Breathing more mellow, he eased Belle back onto the bed. He kissed her brow and brushed the wet and straggling strands of her hair behind her ear.
“Now will you tell me what happened?”
She didn’t say anything for a while. Then, softly, “I don’t think James will ever let me be a sailor.”
“He told you so?”
“He always tells me so.” She made a moue, then sighed. “But this time was different…this time I believe him.”
He stroked her flowing golden hair in tender regard. “Why do you believe him now?”
“He made a rather convincing point today. And I had a lot of time to think about it while locked away in the brig.”
Damian’s hand stopped mid stroke. “The brig?”
“Aye, I spent the day in there. Quincy let me out a while ago, but I had to wait till James was asleep before I could come to you.”
He liked the thought of her coming to him in need. It evoked his most primitive instinct to protect her. But he did not like the thought of her imprisoned like a convict.
Slowly he hoisted himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. “What the hell were you doing in the brig?”
“It was my punishment.”
“For what?”
She blushed. “I fell asleep during my evening watch.”
“So the captain put you in the brig? But you’re his sister.”
“That’s the trouble,” she grumbled. “I want to be a sailor, but James won’t treat me like one.”
“He put you in the bloody brig. I’d say he treats you just like one.”
“Only because I badgered him into doing it.”
He cocked a brow. “You did?”
“Well, I deserved to be punished like any other tar.”
He flopped back onto the bed. “Belle—”
“Don’t say it, Damian. I know you’re tickled to hear I won’t be a sailor. You were against the idea from the moment you heard it, but I—”
He squeezed her tight, curtailed the breath from her lungs. “I was going to say I’m sorry, Belle. I know how much this dream meant to you.”
He kissed her then. Slowly. Deeply. Never mind that he was tickled to hear that she wouldn’t be sailing the Bonny Meg, that she wouldn’t be risking her neck at sea. He just didn’t want to fight with her right then.
Damian slipped his tongue between her lips, drinking in her essence. She snuggled even closer to him, wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hold. Her body felt so good against him, so warm and comforting. He didn’t want to let her go—ever.
Damian moved his lips to the line of her jaw. He then licked her neck, tracing the regal contours from her collar to her chin. She moaned softly, digging and twisting her fingers into his hair.
Her breasts were next, the magnificent mounds neglected for far too long. Dipping his head, he cupped a plump breast in his eager palm, and brought the rosy tip to his parted lips.
Her back arched forward, thrusting the tantalizing coral peak deeper into his mouth. He sucked the generous mound, whipping his tongue over the puckering nipple in slow and sensual caresses.
He loved to hear her moan. To gasp. To cry out his name. Every wanton sound filled him with satisfaction. He loved to make her want him. He needed her to want him.
After thoroughly laving his tongue over the swollen mound, he moved to attend to her other breast, licking and kissing, giving it the same salacious rubdown as the first.
His lust sated—for now—he could look after any parts of her he had overlooked in their hasty coupling. And he did just that, massaging her backside, then skimming his fingers along her thighs in feathery strokes, making her shiver.
After he’d touched her everywhere, kissed her everywhere, made her sigh in total fulfillment, she rolled onto her stomach, wedging her elbows next to her large breasts. Propped up, she smiled down at him, a seductive smile that made him quiver with a frightening depth of emotion.
“I should be going before James wakes up.”
She kissed him. One quick peck on the lips before she moved off the bed to don her discarded garments.
He watched her dress from the bed. Studied her every movement in avid interest. She hopped to get into her tight-fitting trousers, her breasts bobbing. Then she stretched her arms high above her head to slip on her shirt.
He really should look away; this was too erotic to watch. But he did no such thing. He was transfixed. Something stirred deep within him. It rumbled and groaned and demanded satisfaction. Not lust. But…
He wasn’t quite sure. It was a familiar sentiment, though. Ever since he’d met Belle, the feeling had rooted itself in his gut, growing larger, stronger with each passing day. It alarmed him. It also made him feel almost whole. But he couldn’t keep Belle forever. And the constant wish to do so was only a distraction. A hope never to be fulfilled, for even after his mission was complete, he could not take Belle home with him. He was too much like his fa
ther—and he would hurt her as his father had hurt his mother. It was in his blood. In time, he would cause Belle great pain. And he didn’t want to do that. Ever.
When she was fully dressed, Mirabelle headed for the door, casting him one final, sensual look. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Damian.”
And then she closed the door.
Chapter 15
D amian had made a terrible mistake. It was one thing to flirt with a siren like Belle, it was another thing entirely to bed her. She had awakened in him the dormant demon of lust. Now the rutting instinct was so great, he was hard for Belle all the time. And if she didn’t visit him each night to slake his lust, he would tear the ship apart, plank by plank, in frustration. He had never felt this way about a woman before. So insatiable.
“Careful, Damian,” said Quincy. “The rope isn’t furled right.”
Damian glanced down to note the bundle of rope sagging in one direction. He quickly adjusted the overlap and continued to evenly roll up the yards and yards of rope.
The captain had deemed him back up to snuff and able to take on his roster of duties once more. Though no longer plagued by headache and vertigo alike, Damian was still forbidden to tend to the sails or any other chores aloft. Aside from navigational responsibilities, it was simple ship tasks for him. For a while at least.
He was also back in the forecastle, bunking with the rest of the men. There would be no more private rendezvous with Belle. That was a good thing, really. He had to stay away from the woman. He had already risked too much by being with her thus far. And since it was evident he had not the will to resist his enchanting siren, it was fortunate a material barrier was placed between them. One even he could not scale.
Yet the restless rumbling of lust was already howling in his chest, and he knew, despite all sound reasoning, he would find a way to be with Mirabelle. He had come to yearn for the peace and fulfillment she offered him in her arms each night. It was an addiction he could not shake—nor did he want to anymore.
“Damian?”
He looked up at Quincy. “What is it?”
“The rope.”
Damian glanced back at the rope, lopsided again. He heaved a sigh, and positioned the rope back to its rightful place.
“Something troubling you?” said Quincy, feeding him more of the cord, which Damian accepted and continued to wind.
“No.”
“A headache then?”
“No.”
“Clipped your tongue when you lost your footing the night of the storm, did you?”
Damian glared at the kid.
But an unabashed Quincy offered him a cheeky grin. “I only want to know what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s the matter,” he said gruffly. “I just don’t feel like talking.” I feel like ravishing Belle. But Damian kept that thought to himself.
“Well, then, I’ll talk,” a cheery Quincy quipped. “I don’t know about you, Damian, but I can’t wait to dock.” He leaned in closer to whisper, “There’s this wench in port, Tilly. She has the biggest pair of—”
“Quincy,” Damian cut in, his groin stiffening at the mere thought of a woman’s breasts. Belle’s breasts. Belle’s heavenly breasts. Belle’s heavenly plump breasts. “I need more rope.”
“Oh, sorry.” Quincy offered him more of the lead. “Now where was I? Oh yes, Tilly. A real wildcat. I could diddle away with her in bed for days. She does the most amazing thing with her tongue—”
“Quincy.”
“Hmm?”
“Is that a ship on the horizon?”
The kid glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like.”
“So that’s another one.”
“Another one?”
“I’ve seen a lot of vessels lately,” said Damian. “More than usual.”
“Really? I haven’t noticed.”
“I have.” Damian twisted the rope. “I rarely come across more than a couple of rigs during an ocean crossing.”
“And on this one?”
Damian thought back. “Maybe five or six sightings in the last three weeks.”
The kid quirked a brow. “That many, eh? I bet it’s the storm’s fault. It threw us for a big loop, more’n likely did the same to other ships. We’re all crisscrossing this way and that, trying to get back on course.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“Why?” Quincy wrinkled his brow. “Were you thinking something different?”
“Just the usual.”
“The usual?”
“Pirates…Quincy, are you all right?”
“Fine.” The kid made some garbled sound. “What makes you think it’s a pirate ship?”
Damian shrugged. “We’re at sea. It’s not impossible to meet a roving band of cutthroats.”
Quincy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But a ship hunting its prey for three whole weeks?”
“Like you said, the storm threw us all for a loop. Could be the ship took a while to catch up to us.”
“Right,” Quincy mumbled. “You know, you have a real dire imagination.”
You have no idea, Damian thought. “One has to as a sailor. Real dangers lurk the waves.”
Quincy presented him with more rope. “Damian?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever come across a pirate ship?”
He looked up at the kid. “No.” But he intended to change that very soon. “I didn’t mean to worry you about pirates, Quincy.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” he said stoutly.
“I mean it, kid,” he emphasized, in case Quincy’s confidence was nothing more than bravado. “The ship is probably passing by, just like you said.”
“No, really, I’m not afraid of pirates.”
Damian grumbled, “Just like your sister.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, kid. I need more rope.”
The rope was handed to him. “You know, Damian, I think it’d be rather adventurous to be on a pirate ship.”
“I’m sure you do.” It was just like the foolish scamp to think such a thing. Only Quincy wasn’t privy to the brutality of the trade. Or perhaps he was, but figured it was overstated to deter young bucks from straying the moral line. Either way, he didn’t know what he was wishing for.
“You never thought it would fun, Damian? Being a pirate?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Damian cast him a sympathetic look. “I didn’t mean to dash your wild dream, kid. But being on a pirate ship really isn’t for you. You’re better off here with your brothers.”
“I know, but…”
“But what?”
Quincy shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Cheer up, kid.” Damian went back to work. “Think of home…and Tilly.”
Quincy quirked a half smile, then sighed. “I think you would have made a good pirate, Damian.”
“I might have a long time ago—but not anymore.”
Damian coiled the last of the rope. He stood up and arched his shoulders back to take out the chink in his spine.
Eyes on the horizon, Damian said, “That ship is awfully close.”
Quincy turned around to see for himself. “Oh, that’s nothing. You should’ve been out here a few nights ago. Within a league’s eyes of another rig.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yah. Never had a vessel come so close, ’cept when…”
“When what, Quincy?”
The kid suddenly scanned the deck. “I gotta go find the captain.”
“He’s down below,” said Damian. “What’s wrong?”
But Quincy was off. All Damian could do was stare after the kid in wonder.
Mirabelle was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stairwell with salt and vinegar, when Quincy came bounding down the hatchway. He narrowly missed trampling her fingers, and didn’t even bother to pause and apologize. He just kept sprinting toward the captain�
��s cabin.
“Bloody numskull!” she cried. “Watch where you’re going.”
Quincy didn’t pay her any heed, though. He burst into the captain’s room without bothering to knock first. “I think we’re about to be attacked, James.”
Startled, Mirabelle dropped the scrub brush into the bucket and dashed down the corridor. But she was brushed aside when James came thundering out the door, spyglass in hand.
Quincy fell in step behind the captain, and Mirabelle behind Quincy.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, following the rushing pair topside.
“A ship keeps appearing on the horizon,” said a breathless Quincy. “She looks like she’s heading straight for us.”
Mirabelle couldn’t believe her ears. The Bonny Meg was about to be attacked? But she was a bloody pirate ship. No one was suppose to attack her. She was suppose to attack other rigs.
Poised on the poop, James lifted the spyglass to his eye and scanned the horizon. Mirabelle did the same, squinting. The other ship was still a good distance away, about five miles, she reckoned. Without a spyglass, though, the vessel was no more than a blot on the horizon, so Mirabelle couldn’t be sure of her direction.
“I was thinking, James,” said Quincy. “On the night we almost clipped another rig, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe she was gunning for us.”
The captain didn’t say anything, deep in thought.
“I was also talking to Damian,” Quincy went on to state, “and he mentioned spotting a handful of ships on the horizon over the past few weeks. What if it’s not many ships crossing our path, but one ship tailing us?”
Still nothing from the captain.
“It could be the American authorities, James. After escaping the gaol, we might’ve been followed into port.”
Mirabelle watched the captain’s inscrutable features in anticipation. After a long pause, he slowly turned toward Quincy. “I’ll order the helmsman to keep a safe lead from the other ship.”
She recognized that mulish gleam in James’s eyes. He was being overly cautious for her sake. He wouldn’t dash headlong into battle if he could avoid it—not with her on board.
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