by Addison Cain
Which wasn’t funny at all.
“You know I’m joking, right? I mean about the damage part. We all agree, and he keeps a tally if we're willing to take that beast the old-fashioned way or down the throat. A little lube, a little wine, and he’ll get it in. Brace, think of England, and let him finish.”
“That is… extremely unsettling. Especially as you are not British.”
Chloe shrugged a pretty, uncovered shoulder. “Britain is gone. As is Japan, the Philippines, South Africa, Alaska… The only way out of this is getting to the Pacific and finding a sailboat to Russia.”
Scientifically speaking, the woman was spot on. The heat melted ice, exposing fertile land. A person just had to cross a radioactive ocean, pay the mafia, sail thousands of miles, and show up old and ready to die.
“Six more nights, and then I won’t have to go back again for at least a handful of months.”
It was the quietest of the women, a practical girl, who asked, “Don’t you like it in there?”
“I liked medical school and my fiancé and my future. No, the fact that he plays music and rubbed my feet doesn’t cut it.”
In chorus, the entire fucking room erupted. “He rubbed your feet?”
“Don’t think he did it out of some kind of… whatever. I outplayed him in a word game. That’s all.”
And with that one flippant reply, half the room turned frostier than a glacier; the other kept staring down at their noodles.
They couldn’t possibly be jealous? “I didn’t fuck him.”
“You should have! Now it’s going to be so much harder for the rest of us!” Brooke—Brooke, who was days away from earning her freedom—shouted.
“I’m sorry?” Not that Eugenia was, but what on earth was someone to say to that?
“Just let him have sex with you. No more of this Joan of Arc shit. We are tired of trying to live up to your crusade! None of us want to whore, all right?”
“You have a choice in who you let into your bodies! Like me, you can refuse.”
The quiet one again, Jessica. “I’ve been here three years. What do you know?”
“I know that he’s told me my debt is twenty-million, and that I would not be able to fuck my way out of that hole even if I tried.”
And that shut up the table but did not stop the squinty-eyed consideration of Joan.
Chapter Seven
There was no music on night two. But there was more wine.
“The girls told me you were going to tie me up and fuck too hard.” She raised her glass but refused to drink. “Apparently, you also have a large penis. I'd love to know how many tickets it cost you to bribe them into making that comment.”
Clinking her glass and taking a sip of burgundy, he asked, “Do you like large dicks?”
“No. I like nice men.”
Hand scrubbing a stubble-free cheek, he said, “Then you’ll be disappointed.”
“You shaved… and you’re dressed practically in a suit. Couldn’t find the jacket?”
That caught him, right with his palm to his outstretched neck.
And the moment was too good to pass up. Eugenia slid closer to stroke where his shirt sleeves were rolled up and a muscular forearm was on display. “And look how pretty you are in a white button-down and slacks. I’ll tell you what, sugar. One fuck for a scented candle, some Chapstick, and five-thousand tickets? I’ll even throw in some foreplay, wine, and music before I grease up the ol’ strap-on and I work it in.”
Her game backfired when he caught up a handful of hair and held it to his nose. “You know why foreplay is not allowed.”
Looking from side to side, night two of the grandeur of the captain’s apartments was far less impressive. “But it happens here. I’ve heard all about that thing you do with your tongue, you dirty slut.”
Smirking, melting into her teasing, muscular chest on display where he failed to do up the last buttons, and disgustingly brazen, he hummed. “Consider it a perk of leadership.”
“Used goods aren’t really my style.” She looked down to his tented slacks.
He bantered right back. “Two virgins does not a good sexual experience make.”
On that, he was wrong. She’d had plenty of intensely fulfilling sexual experiences with Li Wei. “Sounds like your first time was a bit underwhelming. And not that I’m ever discussing my sexual history with you, but you seem smart enough to grasp that there are a lot of creative things partners can enjoy that don’t involve penetration. Considering that you’re basically a pimp, I’d have expected you’d do more than doggie style night in and night out. You’ve made sex a chore for all parties involved.”
The smile he gave her was legendary. “Well, well, the women have been talking.”
Taking her first sip of wine, she followed with, “Apparently, you’re uncircumcised. I commend your parents. I think it’s a barbaric practice.”
He mirrored her sip. “What else did they tell you?”
With a sigh, she took her place on the couch, legs crossed at the knee—a thing her mother would have corrected at once. Ladies cross their legs at the ankle. And stretched back against the pillows until her face pointed up at the ceiling. “Between you and me, I think two or three of them are sweet on you. The rest are angry with me for not fucking you. Unfortunately, they didn’t believe it when I lacked the details. You should have prepared me with a speech. The bondage fetish would have been useful to know.”
Unlike the previous night, he left his couch to plop down at her side. “Are you asking me to tie you up?”
“No, thank you.” If his sitting so near was some kind of test, she was not going to scoot. Not when they had an agreement. “Repetitive doggy style also sounds extremely boring.” Head lolling so her gaze might leave the ceiling and meet his, she asked, “It must be, right? Why not change it up. Laziness? Disinterest? Don’t take this as a compliment, but the man who came up with all these twisted rules that make up the society on this ship… his lack of sexual creativity is a bit disappointing.”
“They did mention that tongue thing. Is that earning me any credit?”
She should not have laughed, couldn’t even blame it on the wine. But it was funny that this man just refused to be insulted by fact. “You should be gentler with them. Maybe assist in their climax if you’re going to get your own. Aren’t pirates supposed to be sexy and wicked in bed?”
From playful to disapproving, he took away her glass and set it down. “As cute as your game is, their time in this room isn’t about pleasure, and you know that.”
“They did mention that you pull out long before climax and finish yourself, with a towel ready and everything so none of your semen gets on them. And if the girl wants, she can give you head instead of fucking for the same amount of tickets. That’s how they try to impress you. Because I think we both know you’re bored of the game you created.”
“If I don’t treat them equally, it upsets the status quo.” And he looked broody when he said it, just the way the women described.
What had been intended to annoy him was actually far more interesting than she expected. “Equally selfish in bed except for the occasional tongue thing? I don’t fuck anyone, and it seems your rules haven’t suffered too much for it.”
“Only Neil.”
Ouch. How could she have forgotten this man murdered someone for nothing more than asking to pay off her debt?
The room suddenly chilly, she stopped lazing and sat up like a proper lady. Legs crossed at the ankle and shoulders straight. “Tell me in detail how I’m supposed to describe our night to the women over breakfast. You can have your status quo. I don’t care if every last soul on this boat thinks I fucked you. Win the pot of tickets. Recycle it into your economy. Did we do it on the bed? On the sofa? Are you a floor kinda guy?”
“Against the wall.” He nodded his chin to a dark corner. “Face-to-face so I could see you. Everyone will expect that for your first time.”
“Did I come?”
> “Would you be able to describe it?”
“No…” Eugenia wouldn’t be able to climax if there wasn’t some emotional connection. “That’s not a lie I’d be able to pull off.”
“And now you understand why the men dump their food and beer on the same women they kill themselves to buy. Can’t have the natural female physiological response kick in. There can’t be any ties—why the women don’t cry but some of the men do when the door closes and the night’s entertainment is over.”
“You are a really sick man.” A sick man who had put his hand on her knee.
Who was lifting that hand to pinch her chin as if he might kiss her. “I would be gentle with you, if I could trust you not to breathe a word of it.”
Cocking a brow, she asked, “And what about that natural female physiological response?”
Lips cocked, hazel eyes languid, he said, “You hate me. I don’t think we have a problem there.”
“Which brings us full circle to why on earth you think I’d want your dick inside me.”
“Because we’d both like it, and you know that.”
She brushed her lips over his, not a kiss. A taunt. “But I’m the unattainable whore.”
“Eugenia.” The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
“I’ll tell everyone you fucked me in the corner, standing, face-to-face. You came on my stomach, wiped yourself off on my dress. I cried after and slept on the couch.”
“You’ll need to smear some blood on your skirt.” Serious as murder, he added, “I am big. You’ll bleed the first few times.”
“And after five more nights of charming conversation, the other women on weekly rotation, I’ll only have to play this game three or so times a year.” Which sounded so ugly to say out loud. “I should just throw myself overboard right now.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned back against the seat and shut his eyes.
Blood on the dress wasn’t going to be enough. “You’re going to need to slap me around a little. And you’ll need a scratch or two, because I would have fought back.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” How dare he look angry? How dare he make this out as if she were the difficult one?
“I’m just following your rules, maintaining your status quo. Don’t get mad at me if you don’t like living in the hell you created.”
Standing, he towered over her to snarl, “But at least I’m living. And so are you. And so is every other fucking person on this boat! They are all safe.”
“Temper, temper, slaver. Use it. Hit me now before you puss out.”
And he did, catching her when she flew at him on a roar and fought back like a wildcat. The tussle was short-lived—but effective. Pinned to the ground, her hands caught above her head, bleeding strips where nails had raked him decorated all the way from his neck to where his shirt exposed too much chest for the costume to be considered gentlemanly. Marks that would scab and sit on display for others to see.
“Jesus, Eugenia…” He panted, hard against her leg.
Chest rising and falling, hungry for more violence but subdued no matter how hard she struggled, she forced herself still. “You need to get off me now.”
“I don’t want to.” Which, of course he didn’t. Not with a massive erection pressed to her thigh.
Which was problematic. This was supposed to be a charade, but he was leaning in close, and there was nowhere to retreat when one was already caught.
Lips to her jaw, not quite kissing, more like a man desperate for air, he pleaded, “Five-hundred thousand tickets.”
“You can’t buy me, Aaron. How many times do I have to tell you that? I am not for sale.”
“Then fuck me because you want to!” His grip on her wrists tightened. Muscles bulging to stretch the fabric of his shirt and he tensed. “We both know you are as wet as I am hard. Hate-fuck me, scratch me to bits, but let me inside you.”
His hand was already bunching up her skirt as if she’d given permission. Eugenia snarled, “Have you lost your mind?”
Leaning up with a sexy smirk, one that belied eyes dark with passion, he teased, “I’ll do the tongue thing.”
Afraid his hand might reach higher than midthigh, that she might be forced to face something she didn’t dare think of, she whispered, “My answer is no.”
“Fuck.” And he was off her, running a hand through his hair as he paced.
Stopping only long enough to see where she lay on the floor, skirt halfway up, disheveled, half warrior and completely agitated. The image of her laid out like a sacrifice caught him. Caught him dead in his tracks from whatever mental gymnastics he was working through to get his way.
Jaw tense, he ordered, “You sleep on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
Which was so utterly backward she didn’t know where to begin. But she did not argue. Not when he looked like that. Not when he was looking at her that way.
“You’re going to be under guard when I’m not around. Suicide risk. Everyone will expect it.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong. Had he really raped her, the mind might have gone someplace too dark despite her desire to survive. So she nodded.
“Get to bed. I’m going to go jack off in the shower.”
No need to tell her twice, she scampered from the floor and dove under the covers. She heard the water running and knew she’d never fall asleep.
But he took forever. And it had been a long day. Long months. A long six years.
Her eyes closed. And when she woke, she slipped from under the covers, the man snoring on the couch awake the instant her foot hit the ground.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Hand to the latch, not quite awake but very eager to be gone, she turned her head to see if she’d left an item in the room.
And then he was there, his hand on her hand, pulling her touch from the latch. Slowly turning her until her back hit the panel.
As close to her as he had been when they wrestled on the floor. As close as they would have been had he actually fucked her against the wall.
Then he took her chin to inspect the light bruise on her cheek. Eugenia found she could not meet his eyes, though she felt his silent demand she do so.
When he won—she the coward and he the clear victor—softly, he said, “There’s no blood on your dress.”
“Maybe you’re not as big as you think you are.” She wasn’t even trying to banter; she just wanted out of the room and in the safety of her own.
“I am.”
“Listen. I have chores—”
“Turn around. Trust me.”
She’d trust a venomous snake before she trusted the slaver, but still, she turned, felt the weight of his body press her to the door. As if he needed a moment to collect himself.
As if he enjoyed the feel of her.
And then he lifted her skirt before she might stop him. And spit. Rubbing it into her thigh with the fabric.
While she tried to stop her heart from racing.
While she could feel him reach into his trousers and rub himself. While he worked his shaft and groaned against her neck. The sharp sting when his lips locked on her throat and he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. The vulgar sound he made when he came on the backs of her thighs.
And once again rubbed his fluids clean with her skirt.
Breathless, he spun her around before her hand might find the knob, caught the look in her eyes. “One more thing.”
Hooking her bodice, he tore, buttons flying until heaving cleavage was on display. Eugenia pressing so hard against the door she might as well have merged atoms with the wood.
Taking in his work, he sighed. “Now they will believe it. Go to breakfast just like this. Wear the dress all day. Say it was punishment for scratching.”
This was so much more than just spreading a rumor. This was a public shaming.
“Don’t cry. It’s not real, remember?”
But it felt real, and her eyes did sting. Because her pride ha
d always been on the large side, and this was humiliating.
Chapter Eight
The captain was right, she didn’t need to tell their concocted story. One look at her semen-stained dress, at the spot of blood where he must have bitten himself before he spit, at the torn bodice and her exposed cleavage...
One look told it all.
Or maybe it was her unnatural silence, her deer in the headlights unblinking stare.
She did her chores in that dress, sweating under so much fabric. She ate her meals in that dress, the other ladies kind enough to not poke fun or ask questions.
She worked Table #2 in that dress. The only table to which she had ever been assigned, and she knew why. Because he had his usual spot, where he could look right at her. Listen in on all she said.
Keep tabs.
Just like the three guys who now followed her everywhere she went as she scrubbed floors or washed dishes. And though Eugenia recognized them, she couldn’t remember their names.
They didn’t talk to her anyway. They talked to each other as they guarded the commodity that just might be tempted to jump overboard. Talk, it seemed, was their other job. Spread the tale of how the pretentious virgin had fallen.
How all the men snickered when the captain strode by, her scratches on his neck and chest. His hair tied back so they could not be missed.
Jumping at every noise in a party that was nothing but noise, one of her evening guests said, “We know he can be a little rough. And for your first time, that was probably a lot to handle. I’d treat you right, if you let me come to your room. Show you how it’s supposed to be between a girl and a man.”
“Woman.” When was she going to get it through these boys’ heads that they were women?
“I stand corrected. Between a woman and a man.” And his smile was kind, the gray at his temples charming, considering.
And what was there to say except, “I’m sore.”
Nodding in understanding, he said, “We’ll talk about it again in a week or two. There’s no rush.”