by Ellie Rowe
Arching my back and pushing against the bed with all my might, we sit up so he can fuck me from behind. It’s even deeper than before and I’m tossed between pain and pleasure with each thrust.
His fingertips are digging into my ass before he slides one hand around to rub me off as he keeps up his pace. Fuck that feels amazing. Every time I start to wish I had more stimulation he’s there like a goddamn mind reader.
“Come here.” He damn near growls and pulls out to flip me on my back. His stupidly muscular frame is towering over me as he looks down with a breathless need. Taking one last glance at my naked body he slams both hands down one each side of my head.
I gasp as they hit the mattress so hard it bounces me a little, making my breasts rise up to meet his chest. He kisses me hard and I wrap my hands around his neck and into his hair, nibbling his lip if only to hear that sexy moan again.
“Goddamn Veronica.” He pushes into me once more and it’s all of two strokes before I wrap my legs around his waist clinging to him for all he’s worth. He rocks his hips, gyrating against me. All our hatred, all our teasing and scolding and fear and anger at this horrible fucking day are being crushed by the weight of our bodies moving together.
His breath quickens and he buries his face in my neck, his stubble rubbing against me.
“Oh God!” I breathe as I rake my nails over his back coming closer and closer to my breaking point. With one final thrust he explodes inside of me and I tighten down around him in my own final frenzy. His body shudders against mine as he finally releases and I ride him out until I’m good and satisfied.
Hank fucking Wilder indeed.
Eighteen
Hank
Whoa.
I stare at the ceiling and try to wrap my head around what the hell just happened. The only conclusion my brain comes up with is, again, Whoa.
As a grown man who’s been around the block, slept with an assortment of beautiful and talented ladies, broken bread with some great intellectuals, and even gotten a Golden Globe nomination for a screenplay I co-wrote, I’d like to think I’m capable of a more articulate description of how I’m feeling after making love to Veronica.
I regret to inform you, Whoa is as good as I’ve got to give for now.
Hard to believe that a day or two or forever ago, I turned down Yvonne D’mica’s offer in this very room because I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be with Veronica. That has now happened, quite unexpectedly, and it has exceeded expectations.
What I’m saying is, I do not regret one iota turning down Yvonne’s advances. And I’m so glad I answered Veronica’s SOS. Both times.
Here, I can put it another way: as a man, I’ve never had an orgasm I didn’t enjoy. But I have only had a handful that made my toes curl. Veronica just gave me one of those.
Get the picture?
I flatter myself that she’s enjoyed the one she just had, too, because she’s already out cold. I wonder if she was as surprised by what happened as I was? Thank God she started it.
Did it mean anything for her?
What did it mean for me?
Her naked body lies beside mine in the dark room. She is motionless except for the rise and fall of her belly as she sleeps. Every couple of breaths is punctuated with the tiniest and most innocent of snores. It’s fucking adorable.
“What a turnaround,” I mutter to the ceiling.
I’m fucking exhausted. The last two days have involved copious amounts of alcohol, two rescue attempts, a kidnapping, an ass whooping and now some head-spinning sex. I should really get some sleep.
I close my eyes. The hum of the boat’s engine and the rhythmic beat of the waves against her hull combine to form a lulling white noise. Thinking about the boat takes my mind in a whole new direction. A new question pops my eyelids wide open.
How deep into the ocean are these guys taking us?
“Do they even know where the hell they’re going?” I wonder aloud. Veronica stirs slightly and mumbles something from deep in her sleep. Good. Let her sleep. No reason to wake her with worrisome thoughts right now.
I think back to when we were last topside. Try to recall our position in relation to the sun. I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to the sky, of course, what with the guns pointed at us and trying not to get shot and all. If memory serves, though, we were heading in a direction that was taking us far from any land that I can think of. I assume we are still on that course.
Which is a course to where, exactly?
There’s a small porthole in the cabin. I could get up and look out, see if I can get my bearings. Two things keep me in bed. One, even if I could somehow get a sense of our position and our direction, what am I going to do about it? Two, I have little desire to leave Veronica’s side.
As if she can sense what I’m thinking and wants to weigh in on the subject, Veronica rolls over in her sleep and drapes an arm across my chest. She snuggles even closer to me. I feel her breasts press against my side. Her soft legs brush against mine. She nuzzles her face into my neck.
I’m supposed to sleep like this? A part of me wants to shove her away and dive overboard. Another part of me wishes the pirates would forget about us down here, and she and I could disappear off across the ocean…
Oh boy. My head is really spinning, isn’t it?
I look down at the top of Veronica’s head. “You bring your own set of questions, you know that?” I say softly, so as not to wake her. Then, instinctively, I kiss her forehead.
She murmurs again and smiles slightly in her sleep.
What the hell am I doing? This isn’t me. Is it?
I imagine this scene playing out on some screen in a movie theatre. In my fantasy, the lone audience member at the screening is another version of myself. He’s aghast at the romantic image flickering 40-feet tall before him.
“Hank,” Audience Me screams at the screen, “what’re you doing, dude? You’re a movie star! A millionaire playboy party-guy. Front-page tabloid news! This isn’t you, man!”
“Maybe it should be,” Movie Screen Me tells Audience Me. “Maybe I should call it quits on the party life.”
“But the party life is amazing!”
“C’mon. The party life is bullshit and we both know it.”
Audience Me looks scandalized. “You take that back.”
“Besides, isn’t that lifestyle getting old?”
Audience Me starts throwing popcorn at the screen.
“Maybe,” Movie-Screen Me continues, “a fiercely intelligent, independent woman is exactly what’s missing from our life. Forget the parties.”
Audience Me stands and points accusingly at Movie Screen Me. “West Joliet would laugh if he could see you now.”
Maybe he would. Who gives a shit.
“Fuck West Joilet,” Movie Screen Me declares. “And the rest of Hollywood with him.”
Cue the music. Fade to black.
I come back to the reality of the dark cabin. Y’know, that reality where I’m actually being held hostage along with an incredible, naked lady who’s asleep at my side.
Yeah, OK, so… there’s clearly a few things I need to sort out. It can all wait till we’re out of this mess, I decide.
Putting aside any more doubt, confusion and self-arguing, I wrap an arm around Veronica and pull her even closer to me. “Sleep tight, kid,” I whisper and kiss her hair once more.
Then I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face…
When I wake up, the other half of the bed is empty. I almost panic, but then I hear the shower going. Through the un-closeable bathroom door, I can see Veronica’s naked body as she washes herself. Her back is to me and the clear view I have of her ass instantly arouses me. About fifteen different exciting moments from last night flash into my head and I am ready to go again. When she bends over to lather up her legs, I strongly consider joining her in there.
Be a gentleman, Hank, I tell myself, and turn my gaze from the bathroom. Instead of pushing m
y luck with her, I pull on my pants and torn shirt.
I need to address the most important issue facing us: survival. My stomach is growling. If we’re going to get out of this, we need our strength, which means we need to eat.
Still keeping my glance averted from the shower, I stride to the cabin door and pound on it till someone opens up.
The pirate who opens the door has a black eye. I recognize him as one of the assholes I beat up yesterday. He flinches slightly upon seeing me. I have to say, that brings me no small amount of joy.
Briefly, I wonder if he was on guard duty last night when Veronica and I… We weren’t exactly quiet, try as we might. Well, if he heard anything, he’s welcome.
Back to the situation at hand. “We’ve been cooped up in here with no food for hours,” I tell him sternly. “About time for some breakfast, don’t you think?”
“You don’t make demands.”
“Your captain said we were to be treated a damn sight better than this, didn’t he? Next time I see him, should I let him know you refused to keep us fed?”
I see the dickhead struggle between his own stupid, macho impulses and his knowledge of what Green Scarf ordered. I lean in a little to back up my threat. He flinches ever so slightly once more.
Then his gaze drifts past my shoulder. I follow his look and see Veronica stepping out of the bathroom. She’s drying her hair with a small towel. Another, somehow smaller towel wraps around her body. It barely covers everything.
I look back at the pirate, who isn’t even trying to hide his lust. It’s nauseating. I snap at him. “Hey, pal. Eyes over here.” He quickly looks at me again, flinching again. “Breakfast?”
“Yes. OK.
“There’s a good boy. I like my eggs scrambled. Ditto for the lady.” I close the door in his face just as he tries to steal one more look, the pervy bastard.
It’s rare that I’m the most gentlemanly guy in a room. I kinda like it.
Nineteen
Veronica
“You’re not one of those weirdos that eat ketchup on their eggs, are you?” The question is absurd. But, believe it or not, not as absurd as our current situation.
I’m not sure what Hank said to them but somehow, he’s got us sitting above deck like a Manhattan couple out to brunch. A Manhattan couple out to brunch with a terrifying pirate captain but hey, who’s counting.
“God, you are, aren’t you kid?” Hank looks at me bemused and shakes me out of my stupor.
“No for god’s sake I do not eat eggs with ketchup.” I grumble as I stab into my breakfast with a little more zeal than necessary. This whole thing freaks me the fuck out, and I don’t mean questions about my preferred condiment. Everything is just so fucking weird.
The crew is bustling around as the captain whistles, whistles, and stuffs his face with toast, eggs and various types of jam than I’ve even heard of. I’ve travelled all across the world at this point and have never seen such a lavish spread of ‘stuff-to-spread-on-toast’.
“I am not a man of ketchup.” Laughs captain green scarf and he and Hank clink their orange juice glasses like they’ve just realized they’re long lost brothers. I look at Hank incredulously.
If I hadn’t gotten off at least three times last night with the aid of various body parts belonging to Hank Wilder, he’d be having a piece of my mind with those fucking eggs. Fortunately for him, even with all this weirdo Captain Nemo shit I’m in a startlingly good mood.
I may or may not have curled up against him all night. I’m not sure I’ve done that since college. Maybe never. I’m usually a, ‘thanks for the sex, get out of my room’ or ‘this cuddle was nice now go away so I can actually sleep’ kind of gal.
On the rare occasions sex with Ross was good enough to want to stay near him afterwards, we both just opened up books and started reading immediately like nothing had happened. So how did Hank do that?
Why did I want to stay near? Looking at him now I must have been delirious from lack of sleep and food. Or maybe he crafted the temperature of the room to make women want to stay close post coitus.
That’s right Veronica. Women. Not just you. Women. You’re nothing special to him. It was one night of, okay maybe fucking amazing sex. And one night of snuggling in close enough to breathe in his scent before drifting off to sleep. But that’s it!
Captain green scarf snaps his fingers and hollers to the young kid to bring coffee. Coffee. That’s a word I’d probably know in any language. Clearly, I’m not hiding my desperation well because the Captain bursts into a fit of laughter, spitting little egg pieces into his moustache.
“Refill Miss Swift’s cup before she eats the coffee pot!” Hank apparently finds that real funny too and throws his head back to howl along with Green Scarf. What the fuck is his problem? How can he act like nothing's wrong here, when there is very clearly EVERYTHING WRONG HERE.
Young kid smiles sheepishly as he refills my cup. Even he seems to be in a different mood. He’s more shy and, I don’t know, thoughtful? Like he’s worried of clanking the cup too loud or spilling the coffee too much. He’s even got a towel slung over his arm like a butler from a sitcom.
Is everyone being weird because they heard us last night? The thought makes my stomach churn. I don’t want these low-lifes knowing anything about my private life. My only solace is that the door is mighty thick. And if they heard me, they also heard Hank.
And Hank made enough noise last night to make me think he really did enjoy himself. He’s an actor, I suppose but why fake it? It was good. Really good. And when two people click like that, there’s no way you can fake it. Plus…I’m not sure he’s that good of an actor.
“Thank you.” I say, as genuinely as possible. And I am grateful. The coffee is unexpectedly strong and delicious. Must be another Hank requirement. Or maybe there’s cocaine in it. I’m not sure I care anymore. Young kid nods and bows to scoot away from me. Dear god.
I rip off a bite of toast to hide my scowl. Oh fuck this mango-dragon whatever the hell jam is fantastic. Actually, everything here is. Hank really took the time to stock the place. Not sure he expected to be dolling out his fancy jam for pirates. Although with the way he’s chumming up with them again, I guess he doesn’t care either way.
“Would you like any more juice, Miss Swift?” Green scarf asks as he proffers the crystal pitcher. I’m sorry when did I die and join the crew of the Titanic? The upper level Titanic, not the jolly dirty Irish folks below.
Maybe I shouldn’t complain that everyone’s being super polite and shit, but how does that supersede the fact that I’m being held prisoner with a stranger? Even if the company isn’t as bad as I originally thought.
But this act of Hank’s, if it is an act, it’s unsettling. What does he hope to gain with this buddy comedy anyway? Getting close to them isn’t going to get us out of here. If anything, getting close to them almost got me hurt. I put down my fork, suddenly feeling ill.
“No juice, that’s okay, that’s okay!” Captain laughs and pours himself another glass. He ought to pass it around, aren’t pirates susceptible to scurvy? I try to smile and turn away to look around us. Why aren’t they heading for shore? Sure, Hank’s got the place pretty well supplied but don’t they have piratey business to attend to somewhere on land?
Another uproar of laughter from Hank and the crew sends me reeling. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but unless this friendly shit can turn this boat around, we’re still heading into the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. I can’t take this any longer.
I push myself up, perhaps a little too hastily and both Captain and Hank jump to their feet. It almost feels polite, like good old-fashioned southern company. Stand when the lady stands, sit when the lady sits. I’ve always depended on the kindness of pirates. What a laugh.
“I’ve just got to use the restroom.” I smile as sweetly as I can. Green scarf nods and waves me off, shoving another piece of toast in his mouth and conferring with Hank on the jam situation.
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br /> The one thing I’ll give him, besides for being undoubtedly exceptional at oral, is all this elbow rubbing with the enemy means I’m not being followed around by a gun all the time. I pass the little girl’s room and push open the door for effect. Nope. Still no one behind me.
I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do up here. But even if I get another look at the motorboat, I could garner some new information. Sneaking around to the other side I have a clear view of the empty cockpit. And the radio. Holy shit the radio.
Slipping inside I look around me once more to be sure I’m not being followed. I can still hear their stupid laughter from the brunch picnic so it feels like now or never. I find the volume and crank it down.
The last thing I need is to power this thing up and some tacky yacht rock or rap music comes blaring through the speakers. Once I’ve got the radio on, I turn the dial up just a little bit at a time. Thank Christ the sound is only coming out of the little radio speaker. No T-Pain to give me away.
This radio’s different from mine. Yeah, they’re all fundamentally the same but it’s like those card machines ya know? At one store you swipe and hit the green button, the other it’s the yellow button or you wait until they click you in? Anyway, I’m futzing with this stupid thing trying to find a signal.
Each frequency I hit is another dud. Just static or dead silence. Finally, I find one and my heart starts to hammer in my chest. This is it. I’m going to get help and get us the fuck out of here. Away from the creepy happy-go-lucky pirate routine, away from the would-be-rapists and party boat bullshit. This was it.
I click on the receiver and clear my throat.
“Hello? Hello can anyone hear me? This is vessel…” Oh fuck that’s right, “This is vessel Let’s Do This radioing for help SOS for—”
The door of the cockpit slams open and I whirl around, holding my breath for fear of what I’ll find. Oh fuck.