“Yes, sir!” she squealed instantly, her eyes wide with panic.
He winked.
“You cut that fine, my girl. Next time be warned, you shall find me less accommodating. Now shift over while I remove this soiled bed linen. ”
Once he’d replaced the sheets with fresh bedding from the chest, he went to the outer cabin door and bellowed into the passageway, calling for assistance. A sailor answered. He handed over the linen, ordering the man to fetch clean water.
Back in the cabin, he found Florence out of bed, standing on one leg, attempting to brush her tangled hair. With no more warning than a rumbling growl, he took hold of the hand wielding the oval-shaped brush and removed the object from her clasp. Pulling her with him to the bed, he sat and dragged her down over his lap.
She kicked and screamed in protest, but he was having none of her shenanigans and yanked up the nightgown which he tucked about her waist. He anchored her to him with one strong arm and swung the other in an arc landing a stinging blow to her buttock cheeks with the back of the hairbrush. He recognised her shriek as one of pure rage rather than pain, but he determined that she would soon exchange her rage for remorse.
With a steady cadence of spanks, he covered her pale orbs with oval prints until her backside flushed pink from chastisement.
He could tell she now regretted her disobedience. Penitent words fell readily from her lips. She pleaded for a reprieve, one he knew he would not grant. Florence deserved this roasting. Shifting her higher across his thigh, he slapped her cheeks with the brush until the quivering flesh tinged red, and still he spanked on. She churned and swayed her hips as if in some way the movement would afford her some relief.
He turned his attention to her thighs and brought the brush to bear on her pale flesh. She stiffened with shock and squealed. He lectured her on compliance.
“I am interested to know if you ever deigned to obey your father?” he asked at the end of his lesson, genuinely curious to know.
“Sometimes…” She gasped the word breathlessly, shuddering. Her skin radiated heat as he continued to bounce a lesson in humility and governance into her stubborn hide with his arm.
She cried when he covered her lower thighs with blotchy prints, marring her pale alabaster skin, marking her as his. His to scold and his to take; the thought had him hard in an instant. It took iron resolve not to throw her on her back and plunder her virginal cunt right there and then. A red mist of lust pounded inside his head which throbbed in tune with his engorged cock.
Flory now lay compliantly over his lap, so he stopped spanking her and set the brush aside. Gently, he fondled her flaming backside.
She wept softly.
“You are mine. It will go easier on you if you stop fighting me and accept me as your man. I shall replace father, husband, and lover. I’ll take you whether you say yay or nay. The choice of submission is yours. But understand this…it will not change the outcome.”
He nudged her off his knee and grasped the dirty hem of her night-rail, lifting it over her head. He cast it aside and guided her down into the bed where she immediately sank, curled onto her side. He left her weeping into her pillow and went to fetch two lengths of silk rope he had purchased for just such a purpose as this. He took her wrist and expertly looped and knotted the rope around twice; testing that it did not cut too tight upon her delicate skin before he tied off the length at a bedpost. She fell onto her back, protesting loudly, but he ignored her pleas and tied her other wrist to the opposite side. She drummed her healthy foot on the mattress and spat insults at him. He finished the task, careful to avoid her injury.
“I am a sailor; those knots will hold. I’ll leave you now to ponder your situation. Think well on what I have said, little Flory. Perhaps in an hour I shall find you more amenable.”
“You cannot leave me this way! ’Tis indecent! I might catch a chill!” she shrieked in complaint.
“It is the hottest time of the day. I assure you, there is no chance of you catching a chill. Be warned, if I find on my return that there is no marked change in your attitude, Flory, a taste of my belt shall be your reward,” he warned. “I guarantee that will sweeten your demeanour.”
Closing the door behind, him he locked it, whereupon she yelled out that she hated him. He shook his head and tutted, grinning as he swaggered into the passageway heading for the deck. He was confident her stance would soon change.
Chapter 6
Limp in her bonds, Florence reviewed her situation. It was obvious to her that even if she managed to escape, her husband-by-proxy would be disinclined to accept her as his wife as she was now soiled goods. He would most likely pack her off back to Britain where she would be closeted away from society by either his family or hers, hidden from the world, in disgrace.
Florence allowed the image of the captain’s naked body rising from the tub to fill her mind. The vision stilled all other thoughts. She was entirely honest with herself and admitted that she did not wholly fear his advances. In fact, she admitted to finding them rather exciting. She even found him attractive. Perhaps it would not be so bad to remain on ship with him and live her life at sea as the captain’s moll? The thought of being discarded and replaced in time by a younger woman, left with no future, absolutely terrified her. Mayhap she could make some kind of deal with the man, but how could she bargain? With her mind in turmoil, she sifted through each of her options.
Marry him? She was technically already married. Perhaps she could ask him to return her to Herbert, along with a letter stating it had all been a dreadful case of mistaken identity…
Yes, that might work.
By the time he returned, she was ready to barter terms.
“I hope I find you in a more malleable frame of mind,” he stated, leaning against the doorframe, his meaty forearms crossed as he scrutinised her, his gaze sharp.
“Yes. I wish to discuss what will happen to me after you, when you…err, afterwards.”
His chuckle sounded bawdy to her ears, and warmth heated her cheeks.
“After I take you, d’you mean?”
“It is all very well for you to jest about it, but it is I who shall be ruined and left destitute,” she scolded.
He looked surprised. “Destitute?” he queried. “I’ll have you know that I am a very wealthy man.”
She snorted.
“That will last until you are hung from a yardarm. What am I supposed to do when that happens? Besides, you will probably have replaced me by then and moved on to pluck some other unfortunate lady’s maidenhead!”
“You think me some kind of Lothario?” His wry grin irritated her.
“Yes.” She snapped. “What I want is to dicker terms. Make some sort of agreement, an arrangement to be agreed between us in order to ensure my future after you have finished with me,” she explained.
Straightening, he unfolded his arms and crossed the cabin to the bedside. He checked her wrists.
“Well?” she prompted.
His eyebrows lowered.
“I understand your predicament. However, I do not intend to tire of you, but, I concede your point. Suppose I solemnly agree to return you to your husband when I am ready to let you go?”
She made a moue of her lips. “He will not want me…used.”
His hand smoothed her forehead.
“Good, no fever,” he murmured to himself. “He is a fool if he does not,” he reassured her in a normal tone.
“I am certain my husband is the type of gentleman who would refuse secondhand goods,” she replied.
“What if I were to lie then and say that you are still intact?”
She sucked in a breath.
“You would spare me?” she asked, ever hopeful.
“What? No, no, I meant that I would lie for you!”
She rolled her eyes. “Would you believe such a statement if it came from a fil… A pirate, if you were him?”
“Good girl, you are learning.”
Her body heated at hi
s praise. Why does he affect me so?
“Well, would you?” she pressed.
He shook his head, pensive for a moment, then snapped his fingers.
“I shall send him a ransom note assuring him of your well-being. He might even pay and take the risk you are intact.”
She glared at him.
“Bastard!” she spluttered, furious.
His lip twitched as he raised a brow.
“Do you need the necessary?” he asked suddenly, totally ignoring her outburst.
She scowled at him for the immodest suggestion. The infuriating thing was that she did need to go, and rather desperately. He must have seen the frustration warring in her eyes, because he untied her left wrist. When she was able to hop off the bed, he left her balanced on one leg while he fetched the chamber pot from the nightstand and placed it on the floor beside her.
“Do you require my aid?” he asked, casual.
Florence gaped at him.
“No, I most certainly do not!” she retorted, horrified.
Again that lewd chuckle; Florence gritted her teeth. Thankfully, he moved away into the other cabin, which at least afforded her a little privacy. Miserably mortified, she did what she had to do in the knowledge he could still hear everything.
He returned with a damp cloth and helped her up onto the bed where she lay on her back. He quickly swiped between her thighs. She shrieked, snapping her knees shut, but he was already done. He picked up the pot, leaving the cabin only to come back with a replacement chamber pot which he stowed in the cupboard.
Florence buried her face in the pillow, unable to look at him. He chuckled and left her alone. He bellowed into passageway, calling for luncheon to be brought. Her stomach growled. Florence realised that she had not eaten her fill at breakfast, and she was hungry. On his return, he handed her a fresh nightgown which she gratefully donned.
While she ate, he moved to lift her bandaged foot to rest upon a stool. Once seated himself, he talked of the sea and of his men. Each tale seemed more farcical than the last. When he told of a fisherman in Montego Bay who had lost both his legs to a large tiger shark, she questioned him more closely about the sea monsters he’d mentioned before.
“I have seen a painting of a tiger depicted as a striped, fur-covered creature. Are these man-eating fish also furry and striped?” she asked.
He chortled.
“No, no, a tiger shark is so named because it is striped like a tiger when it is a juvenile. They lose their stripes when they are full grown. They are smooth-skinned, grey, with a white underbelly. They have a dorsal fin on their back; they also carry a fin either side of their body. The dorsal fin is the first indication to any sharp-eyed sailor that one is about. They have a fan-shaped fish tail, not unlike a mermaid,” he explained.
She leant in, intrigued. “Have you ever seen one?”
“Which, a mermaid or a shark?” he asked.
“Either!”
“I have never seen a mermaid, not until I saw you seated in my tub, but I have seen many a dorsal fin circling in the water just beyond the ship.”
Florence ignored his mermaid comment. “Go on,” she encouraged.
“I once saw a dead tiger shark. It must have been around fourteen feet in length and it weighed in at one thousand, four hundred pounds. There are large white sharks which can grow much larger still, but thankfully, I have never seen one around the Montego Bay area.”
He continued to tell her tales of the sea and its mysteries until he brought their conversation to an abrupt close.
“It is time. Go and refresh yourself,” he instructed.
She gave him a glare and flounced out of her chair. Hobbling into her cabin, she slammed the door with unnecessary force. Alone, she gazed across at the open portal and limped over to it. She leant out. The ship cut through the churning sea which looked to be a very long way down. Florence could not swim, and the thought of sharks reinforced her decision not to jump. Another woman might choose death as opposed to ravishment, but Florence could not. Life was too precious to her to throw away; after all, something might happen and all would become resolved. How, she had no idea, but she was young and full of youthful optimism.
By the time the door opened, she was seated on the side of the bed, staunchly accepting her fate.
“Remove the nightgown.”
She turned her shoulders away and pulled the garment over her head, tucking it beneath her pillow.
“Lie back upon the bed and let me look at you.”
Her mouth dry, she swivelled about and lay down. One arm covered her breasts, the other her mons.
“Place your arms at your sides.”
She remained unmoving.
“Do it, Flory. Now,” he commanded sternly.
She whimpered but slowly, obediently, lowered her arms.
“Good girl,” he crooned, moving to sit at her side.
Florence closed her eyes against the humiliation that swamped her.
His touch ghosted against her cheek, and she started. Her eyes flew open to meet his dark, smouldering gaze, unable to look away as he gently grazed his knuckles down the side of her face. His palm unfurled and slid downwards to her neck and over her shoulder, until he reached the side of her left breast. He cupped her rounded flesh. His thumb flicked the burgeoning peak; her traitorous bud tightened in delight. Florence tried to repress a moan of pleasure but failed.
“You have so much to learn, sweet Flory. I am proud to be the man to teach you the passion you are capable of,” he growled huskily.
His hands kneaded and moulded her breasts; lowering his head, he suckled first one, and then the other needy teat. Florence became lightheaded. She mewled. As he suckled her breasts languid warmth swamped her.
Through heavy lids, she watched him. The image of the painted tiger that once hung above the mantle in her father’s study came to mind. This pirate had the same fierce look and grace of a predator. Florence shivered.
Knelt on the bedside, he nuzzled her neck, his hands continuing to play with her bosom, tweaking and tormenting her nipples until restlessness overtook her. A thrumming pulse pounded deep within her core.
“No,” she whimpered, afraid of the powerful furore overwhelming her senses.
He rose over her, his lucent gaze mesmerising. Her lips parted; he took her gesture as an invitation to kiss her, for his tongue swept along her bottom lip. Surely she should feel some disgust at this action? Instead, to her confusion, excitement blossomed. She accepted the invasion of his rapier tongue and relaxed, allowing him full possession of her mouth.
It is as I thought I am flawed. No decent woman would enjoy a stranger’s ravishment.
Florence recognised the same sensations which had swamped her when he’d played with her body while she’d bathed. The pleasure that had heated her blood then, now resurfaced, setting her skin afire. All rational thought became obliterated by fierce arousal. She lost all awareness of anything but his touch. Her world shrank, and all that anchored her to the moment was the captain’s touch.
“You are incredibly beautiful,” he purred.
For the first time, she truly believed she was as lovely as he stated.
He kissed his way down from her breasts whilst her unconsciously undulating stomach urged him onwards, down to the burning centre of her desire.
“I have to taste your honey,” he murmured throatily and shifted her legs over his shoulders one by one, burying his head in her core.
She cried out faintly with surprise but made no attempt to stop him as he laved her folds.
Surges of heat pushed her further into a maelstrom of lust. Although she wanted to berate him for doing such an unimaginably lurid thing to her, she could barely utter a coherent word. Beseeching whimpers tempered by encouraging mewls were the only sounds emitted from her dry throat while he licked the most intimate part of her. Her body bowed, wracked with passion. Bliss overwhelmed her, and she exhaled, giving a wild cry of abandon. Her orgasm detonated into wa
ves of sweet euphoria. All her limbs bunched tight then fell limp in repose, the tidal wave of bliss slowly ebbed.
She barely felt him shift; his face swum into her field of vision. His palm lay gentle against her cheek. His lips closed on hers in a tender kiss.
“I regret that the first time I take you must hurt, but forever after, you will know only pleasure from our union, I promise.” His lowered voice sounded like syrup.
Florence lay limp from her orgasm until something nudged against her entrance, invading her quim. She blinked. A pressure, although slow, continued insistently until the broad head of his cock penetrated her parted nether lips, entering her virginal passage. The invasion hurt.
“Stop!” she beseeched, and to her relief he stilled and shifted his hips, moving his length away from her.
“You are so wet for me. Feel how hard I am for you.” He took her hand and held it to his groin.
Her fingers curled automatically around the thick girth of his cock.
“Do you still say nay, sweet Flory?” he asked softly.
“I-I…”
“Yes?” His hot breath teased her ear. His teeth gently nibbled her earlobe.
“Yes,” she sighed, capitulating. She had no willpower left. The feelings he evoked overwhelmed her. Her body throbbed with need, Florence knew she wanted what came next.
“Relax, take a breath. In a moment, I shall resume, but I’ll allow you time to adjust to my intrusion before I take you.”
She sighed again; her muscles unclenched. He resumed his penetration, and then with a surge of his hips impaled her on his cock, rending her maidenhead. Florence beat his shoulders with her fists.
“There, ’tis done. Surely t’was not so bad? I shall teach you to fully enjoy the promise of your womanhood. Sweetheart, I can wait no longer. Your slickness tells me you want this as much as I. Am I right?”
He rocked seductively against her pelvis; the deep-seated movement rekindled her need.
“I-I…” she stammered, incoherent.
He rotated his flanks and snapped his hips; his tumescence swelled deliciously inside her. A bone-melting sweetness swamped her. She met him thrust for thrust, as they ground together.
Pirates, Passion and Plunder Page 40