Then, he took hold of her again. Arabella’s legs nearly gave out as she noticed they neared that massive bed. She had hoped they would speak now, that some sort of explanation would be in order—but one glance at the heavy bulge swelling at the front of his breeches told her that talk was the very last thing on Drew’s mind.
“Wait,” she whispered as he swung her around and pressed her against one of the bed posts. “Wait!”
With a sneer, he reached up and began plucking the pins free of her wig, letting them fall noiselessly to the rug. He snatched the confection of curls and ribbon from her head and hurled it across the room. Then, he divested her of the muslin cap constricting her own hair—a mass of brown coils that came tumbling free to surround her face.
He gave her a grin, but it was more akin to the grimace of the golden lion bonded to his headboard. “I detest the sight of you in such frippery. I prefer you the way you truly are.”
Before giving her a chance to respond, he began using his shirtsleeve to swipe at the rouge staining her lips and cheeks. He wasn’t gentle about it, leaving her lips swollen and her cheeks hot when he’d finished, the pink stains marring his sleeve.
Before she could blink, he’d drawn a dagger from his belt, arcing it toward her with motions that left her breathless. She screamed, but then clamped her lips around the sound as she realized the blade had not so much as touched her flesh. The sides of her bodice fell slack, pins sent scattering across the floor and her stomacher fluttering to the floor. She sucked in swift, sharp breaths and tried to calm her racing heart. He wasn’t going to hurt her—at least not yet. He seemed intent on toying with her, the golden pools of his eyes glowing in the light of the tapers, his lips parting on rasping breaths as he pressed the tip of the knife against her collarbone.
Arabella held as still as possible, feeling for herself that the blade was so sharp that if she so much as sneezed he would draw her blood.
He stroked the knife along her skin, using it to push the garment off one shoulder, then caressing the sharp edge to the other side to repeat the motion. The bodice fell off her shoulders and to the floor in a heap. Prying her away from the bedpost, he spun her to face it, then pushed her against the lacquered wood, the knife kissing between her shoulder blades, then over the laces of her stays, though he did not slice them. Instead, he focused on the strings tying up her skirt, pushing the puffy folds of the garment off her. Despite the tension and fear keeping her on edge, she couldn’t deny the relief of being free from the garments.
She clung to the bedpost as he tore away the bumroll she’d worn to add volume to her skirts, as well as three layers of petticoats. Dropping to one knee, he snatched off her shoes and hurled them against the wall, making her flinch at the sound they made when they struck the tapestry-covered wood.
Then, he was turning her to face him wearing only her stays, shift, and stockings. His chest heaved with labored breath as he reached out to take one of her curls between his fingers. He stroked it to its end, then released it, letting his knuckles strum over the column of her throat and down to her breast. She shuddered and leaned against the bed for support, certain she would melt into a heap at his feet. It had been so long, and she felt starved for his touch. For five long years she’d only been able to dream of him, and now he stood here looking at her with fire in his eyes. What she wouldn’t give to have those hot, lazy summers back—lying in the sand which him, the ocean washing over them as he touched parts of her body that set her on fire.
Just then, he could have done anything to her, and Arabella would have let him. All she knew was that he was here, he had her in his sights, and—God help her—she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Oh, Drew,” she whispered, her gaze falling to his lips. “How I’ve missed you.”
His grin hardened even more, until he was akin to some predator baring his teeth at her. He strummed his thumb over her mouth, pressing down on her lower lip to part it from the upper.
“How prettily your lips lie, Bella.”
She shook her head, the rough pad of his thumb abrading her tender mouth. “I would never lie to you.”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That remains to be seen, and rest assured I intend to investigate your claim that you thought me dead. In the meantime … I seem to remember this lovely mouth of yours being good for a bit more than lying.”
Her belly clenched as he pressed his thumb into her mouth, the salty taste of him invading her senses. On instinct, she closed her lips around him and sucked. He hissed through his clenched teeth, snatching his thumb free of her mouth, then wrapping a hand around her throat. It took only a slight squeeze for him to command her to her knees, his eyes burning down at her as he reached for the fall of his breeches.
Chapter 4
Drew’s hands shook as he unbuttoned his breeches to free the painful erection he’d been walking about with since he’d laid eyes on Arabella. His mind was a torrent of confusion, suspicion, and anger, and it had all converged upon him like a hurricane at her declaration that she’d thought him dead. Will had said something similar at the church, but it hadn’t affected Drew the same way. He’d taken it to mean that he’d been dead to his brother, who had conspired to rid the world of him all those years ago. This was not some assumption he had plucked out of thin air, but a fact he had learned for himself years ago. It had taken him longer to come to the conclusion that Arabella had been in on the entire thing. But the pain in her voice, the tears he’d seen in her eyes as she hinted that she might not have agreed to marry Will had she known Drew was alive, gave him pause.
He knew the treachery of Will and Archibald to be true and needed no further proof, but his Bella … he’d wrestled with her part in it all from the beginning.
Drew had turned the circumstances over in his head several times, wondering what would possess the woman he loved to give herself to his brother when she knew him to be at sea. Hadn’t she gotten his letters promising to return to her come hell or high water? Didn’t she believe that he would never let anything stop him from making her his as he’d promised?
If she’d chosen someone else, he might have understood. He would have assumed she’d been lonely and tired of waiting. A mulatto woman living on her father’s mercy in Jamaica had few options and a good marriage proved her best prospect. But for her to marry Will …
The news of their courtship and betrothal had led him to the only conclusion that made sense: One day she’d looked up and realized that Will wanted her for himself. Drew had always known this, but had trusted in Bella’s love for him, never imagining her head could be turned. But maybe being the wife of a carpenter turned seaman wouldn’t be enough for her. Perhaps in Will she had found the security she longed for—a wealthy planter husband to give her all the things Drew couldn’t.
None of it sounded like the girl he’d known all his life, but time away from Arabella had allowed the idea to implant itself in his mind and fester. He had tossed and turned at night trying to make excuses for her, to tell himself he couldn’t be right.
Eventually, his mind had won out over his heart and he’d grown resentful over her treachery as well as Will’s. Even so, his vengeance had always included making her his again. She would warm his bed and be his pretty little treasure, the jewel in his crown as the king of the seas and his own little island holdings.
Only, as she knelt before him just now, watching with wide eyes as he took the hard, thick length of his cock in hand and stroked, he wrestled with his conscience as well as his assumptions. Had he been wrong to think her party to Will’s schemes? Had she simply been a victim of his brother’s machinations, just as Drew had been?
Either she was telling the truth, or she was a very skilled actress.
He didn’t have time to puzzle it all out now, not with less than an hour before The Sea Lion would set sail. But one thing he did have time for was taking advantage of her position on her knees and the offering of that luxurious mouth. He’d been achin
g for her—the touch of her soft hands, the heat and wetness of her mouth, the warmth and clench of her cunny. That last part of her was something he’d never taken, hanging onto the noble idiocy of his youth. He’d wanted her to be his wife before he had her that way—something he cared nothing about now. Arabella was his and always had been, and now that she was his captive he would use her as he saw fit.
“Open for me, Bella,” he growled, grasping a handful of her thick curls and angling her head to his liking. “Suck me with that pretty, lying mouth of yours.”
To his surprise, she obeyed without a fight, parting her lips and bracing her hands on his thighs. Her tongue darted out to lap at his swollen cockhead. He sucked in a sharp breath at the hot strokes as she circled the little pink organ, then began licking her way down his shaft. His balls pulsed and ached, his stomach contracting as he strained toward the pleasure while fighting not to spend the moment she enveloped him in her mouth. He’d been almost a month at sea without a woman, and the occasional tumble he allowed himself with whores were few and far between. He’d devoted his life to his ship and crew, and now to exacting retribution on those who had hurt him. Pleasures of the flesh were occasional indulgences that served to fulfill a physical need and nothing more.
But, Christ, he had forgotten how good she was at this. Of course she was good at it—he’d taught her himself. Hidden in freshwater coves, or slinking away to the beach at night, he’d tutored her in all manners of pleasure while preserving her maidenhead, and she’d always given as good as she got.
“Fuck,” he moaned, when she took him into her mouth, enveloping him in slick, slippery heat. “Yes, just like that.”
He grasped her head with both hands, fingers tangling in the coils of her hair, and ravaged her mouth without holding back. What need did he have to take things slow and easy with her, to treat her like a lady? She was his, a vessel to be used to his satisfaction, a captive to his desires and whims.
She whimpered and groaned around him, rising up on her knees to take him deeper and bobbing her head to the rhythm created by his snapping hips. He took one of her dainty hands and wrapped it around his cock, helping her stroke and suck him in tandem. He squeezed until he was certain her fingers must ache, but she didn’t draw away or flinch. She merely sucked him harder and pumped him at the swift rhythm he wanted.
Drew closed his eyes and let his head fall back, reveling in the sharp breaths she drew through her nose, the moans muffled by his cock between her lips, the sounds of her gagging and choking when he shoved into the back of her throat. His legs shook and his thrusts became more erratic as the end drew near, the anticipation of it so heady he could hardly breathe.
He held her in place with a tortured groan and thrust deep, release sweeping over him with spasms that doubled him over. She gulped and gasped around his cock but swallowed his seed like a greedy wanton, her fingernails gouging his thighs as she scrambled for purchase in the face of his powerful finish.
Drew pulled out of her mouth with a ragged exhale, shoulders heaving as he fought to catch his breath. She fell to her bottom on the rug, her lips red and swollen, her eyes wide and glazed. Tucking his cock away, he swiftly buttoned his fall before reaching for her again. It was time to cast off, so he couldn’t drag her to the bed and live out the rest of what he’d been fantasizing about doing to her. For the moment, she’d taken the edge off his need and that would enable him to think clearly in the hours ahead.
She didn’t struggle as he sat her on the edge of the bed, though she did give him an incredulous look as he untied one of the cords tying back the bedcurtains. Arabella appeared half-drunk, her lips still parted, her head lolling on her shoulders as he arranged her to his liking before lashing her hands to the headboard. He allowed just enough slack for her to choose to lie back or sit up, but tied his knots so she’d have no hope of escape.
She shifted upright, folding her legs beneath her as he retreated, adjusting his gun belt and reaching for his coat and tricorne. He took one look at her before departing, cursing under his breath at the carnal picture she presented. Undressed with her hair wild about a face softened by desire, she was the picture of every dream that had sustained him during those horrid days aboard the HMS Hannibal.
Turning away, he thundered through the door with a vow to return as soon as humanly possible and make that dream into reality.
Arabella sat in Drew’s bed with her back braced against the headboard, her head spinning and her cunt pulsing with unquenched desire. Above her, the sounds of the ship being prepared to launch out to sea rang out in a pounding of boots and yelling voices. One of the windows hung open, allowing in the calls of the pirate captain.
“Hoist the anchor and the mizzen, and let’s get the Lion out to sea where she belongs, you scurvy dogs!”
“Aye, Cap’n!”
“Anchors aweigh!”
Closing her eyes, Arabella let her head fall against the gleaming black wood, her mind tossing about like a boat in a storm as she grappled with all that had occurred in less than two days. The ship gave a groan and swayed as the ocean began pulling her out into her depths.
“The night’s far too quiet, Mr. Ceasar! Let the sea know who breaches her waters with the call o’ your drums!”
“Aye, Capn!”
This order preceded the rhythmic pounding of drums, a primitive cadence like a war cry emitting from the black and gold vessel. The pounding only exacerbated the headache thrumming in her temples, as well as the pulsation of desire between her legs.
As Drew had commanded her to her knees before him, Arabella had experienced a fleeting impulse to fight him—to demand he tell her the truth of what had gone on for the past five years. But, her need of him had won out, and she’d become awash in the urge to be close to him in any way she could, touching him, tasting him. It had been so long, and she hadn’t realized how starved she was for him until the moment he’d freed his cock and angled it toward her mouth.
What she had really wanted was for him to finish stripping off her clothes and lay her down on this bed for a proper reunion. The past could be washed away with the joining of their bodies and the fulfillment of so many years’ worth of starvation and longing. This would be easier then, for she would truly feel as if she belonged to him again.
“Hands to the sheets! Hoist the fore and main sails!”
His thundering voice made it difficult to steer her mind away from the memory of him standing over her with his legs braced wide, those long ropes of brown hair kissed with gold hanging over his shoulders and into his eyes. She bit her lip as she recalled the spark in his stare as she’d lapped at his cock, and the deep groans of his satisfaction when she’d begun sucking him. His profane mutterings as he’d fucked her mouth, the musky scent of him, the feel of him hot and hard against her tongue … all of it was enough to have her squirming where she sat, pressing her thighs together to stifle the pulsations there.
The ship lurched a bit, picking up speed as it cut through the Atlantic, swaying in a comforting, mind-numbing motion. Through the open window, she could hear the men calling back and forth to one another, Drew’s orders loudest of all. She thought of Will and her father, and wondered how they fared in what Drew had referred to as ‘the bilge’. She assumed that must be some place belowdecks, and hoped that they weren’t too uncomfortable.
But then, she remembered Drew’s disbelief at her claim that she had thought him dead, and his assumption that she was lying. Furrowing her brow, she tried to think through the haze of exhaustion. If Drew hadn’t been dead all this time, then who had sent word to Falmouth that his ship had gone down with all hands? Will had confirmed it himself when she’d asked, and what reason had he to lie?
What reason, indeed?
The nefarious thought had her craning her neck to stare at the heavy ring weighing down her left hand.
Will had been the truest friend she’d ever had besides Drew, and she could never think of a time she had caught him in a lie. Thi
s was why she found it so difficult to believe he might have known all along that Drew hadn’t gone down with the HMS Hannibal.
She shook her head and sighed, too tired just now to puzzle it out. She’d hardly slept the night before her wedding for being so anxious, and what was supposed to have been her wedding night being dragged through the jungle. Just now, she had a difficult time keeping her eyes open. As sleep claimed her, she gave herself over to her fate and prayed that all would be revealed sooner rather than later.
Drew spent what was left of the night on the deck of The Sea Lion, relieving this man or that man on watch since he was too restless to return to his cabin and sleep. While spending in Arabella’s mouth had eased his torrential desires temporarily, he’d been distracted while guiding the crew through casting off. His gaze had frequently strayed to the quarterdeck, below which his little captive remained with her wrists bound to the bed. While he could have trusted Rory with the ship, he wouldn’t abandon his crew so he could lock himself away with Arabella to have a proper taste of his personal prize.
These men had risked their lives to help him earn his revenge. He owed it to them to always put the crew, and The Sea Lion, first.
But, as the sun broke free of the horizon, and the coffee and bacon scented smoke billowing from the galley began floating through the air, he realized his time of respite was over. He had to confront his past, and that meant dealing with his other two prisoners.
Rory appeared from the galley holding two steaming tin mugs. Drew accepted what turned out to be black coffee. The bitter brew jolted his senses, its aroma helping pull him back from the brink of exhaustion.
“Mornin’, Cap’n,” Rory murmured between sips. “Spent yer whole night up here, did ye?”
“My ship, my right to spend the night wherever the fuck I want.”
Pirates, Passion and Plunder Page 6