by Amber Lin
His fingers spread over her buttocks, grasping, probing. Reaching around to the crease between until she twitched in his arms, surprised. Disgusted? No part of her would be left unknown. He kept an entire room of maps, but not a single one described the terrain of her body. He would have to roam her, explore her. He would measure her with his hands and mark her with his tongue.
With a groan, he forced himself away. He opened the door and gently propelled her inside.
“Undress and lie on the bed.”
He remained standing just outside the door. The cabin was dimly lit by the moon through the porthole. He saw the curious look she gave him before turning to obey. He couldn’t explain the lack of control shredding him inside. His lust was like knives, and he’d rather cut himself a thousand times than nick her even once.
If he watched her undress, if he pulled her clothes off himself, he would be lost. He would ravage her. Hurt her? He grimaced at the thought. No. He could borrow the finesse of Adrian or the gentility of Jordan Bradshaw for one night. If he were a true gentleman he would wait until the banns had been read and the vows had been spoken—but there was little chance of that. He was taking her tonight. The least he could do was be careful with her.
He rested his forearm on the wall and leaned his head against it, trying to ignore the whispery sounds of fabric coming from inside and the soft creak of the rope as she climbed onto the mattress. He shut his eyes, but his mind filled in the spaces. Her skin was like cream—except when it wasn’t. Other times it turned pink, when she flushed with embarrassment or arousal. And other places were a deep plum that made his mouth water to taste.
“Nate?” she called.
“I’m here.”
His gaze remained averted as he stepped inside and shut the door. While he undressed, he still could not look at her. Even so, he felt her, the force of her nakedness filling the air around him and warming his skin like sunlight. Though sunlight had never made his cock hard. It jutted obscenely, aching, throbbing.
Then he faced her.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Despite his order to undress, he thought she might have kept her chemise on. Perhaps he’d thought she’d lie down, straight and motionless with eyes closed, a virgin ready to be despoiled. Instead she sat in the middle of the bed, completely naked, hair tousled around her shoulders. She was a pagan offering, staked to his bed.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.
She tried to smile. “I don’t know how to do this part.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” He knelt on the bed and tilted her face up. “Just let me in. Trust me. Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.”
Her eyes were wide with anticipation—and a little fear. He wanted to tell her to look away, but that wouldn’t protect her. Nothing would protect her as he knelt between her legs. Her legs started to close, an expression of profound embarrassment on her face.
“Are you going to…?” Her question trailed off, and he realized what she meant. Are you going to use your mouth on me? And he realized something else. That wasn’t only nervousness on her face—it was excitement. She wanted him to lick her again. She wanted to hump his face again, the wicked girl, and she couldn’t be more perfect.
“Yes, love. I’m going to put my tongue right here.” He trailed his fingertips over the soft petals of her sex. “And put my teeth right on this edge.” He grazed his fingertip over the hood of her clitoris, making her jerk. “And here— I’m going to put my cock here. You’ll let me do all of that, won’t you? You’ll keep yourself open to me while I spend inside you?”
Her eyes begged him before she did. “Yes. Please.”
Jesus.
He bent down and tasted her, laving the damp folds of her cunny, teasing the taut nub of her clitoris, just as he’d promised. She twisted and whimpered with every stroke, on the verge of an orgasm he refused to give her. When she was pulling at his hair and pressing up with her hips, he reared back. She whined softly, and though he hated to see her desperate and needy, she had to be this way.
“Whatever happens next,” he said through gritted teeth, “do not cry.”
She gave a half laugh that turned into a sob. “I’m going to cry if you keep teasing me.”
Yes. He knew the feeling well. Fisting his cock, he gave it two brief pulls, trying to alleviate the ache. Of course, that only made it worse. Everything was worse around her—the pulse in his dick, the ache in his heart—and he never wanted it to stop. He placed the head of his cock to her folds and slid home.
…
Juliana gasped at the feeling of fullness. Her vision went white, the pressure blinding, before she could focus on his face and the worried look on his face.
“I’m fine,” she said, though the words came out thick. It didn’t matter though—he was already pulling out. Already leaving, and she wasn’t ready for this to end. She clasped her feet around his body and held him fast. “Don’t stop,” she gasped.
He groaned. His eyes fell shut and shudders wracked his body. “Never.”
When she loosened her legs, she realized what he meant. He slid out of her with what felt like unbearable friction, whip-quick, before pushing in again. This was the rhythm she’d used while straddling him, and with her own fingers. His rhythm. How had her body known it before he’d ever been inside her?
He braced his knees, reared up, and thrust into her—creating a new fullness, finding a spark of pleasure. Familiar, yes, but so much more.
Everything she’d done before was like a beige-toned painting, a single moment of mindless relief. But this was vibrant and real, a living thing that pulsed between their bodies, an energy that melded them together, expansive, endless.
It was supposed to hurt. She knew that from whispers at her boarding school and sly drawing room questions for a newlywed woman. This did hurt, like something had torn, like a wound was rubbed on every breach. That distracted her, but not enough she could ignore the pleasure. Sweet tension curled through her body like bliss-dipped ribbons, affecting her limbs, her chest, until she could barely move except to spread her legs wider. Her arms fell to the bed. Sumptuous. That was how it felt, a sensual feast.
He leaned down to capture her nipple in his mouth. The wetness shocked her, despite the wildness of what was happening below. The warmth of his tongue made her shiver. As if her breasts were connected to her sex, she clenched around him. He groaned, and redoubled his efforts, licking and biting her tender breasts until she cried out for mercy.
There would be none. The slight discomfort kept her from shattering, a thin cage that held her passion in check. But his nimble hands and his indomitable will would not let her rest. He reached between their bodies and fondled her until she tensed suddenly. All the breath left her body, leaving her to gasp in reckless delight.
“Nate!”
His face twisted in a mask of agony. He looked taut and in pain, with none of the pleasure she felt. But he did feel it, too. She could tell by the way he strained against her. The way his muscles bunched in desperate need.
She could tell by the way he shouted, “I’m here. Fuck. Fuck. I’m right here.”
He lunged at her, into her, around her. He froze above her, his eyes closing, mouth falling open on a hoarse cry. Liquid heat bathed her sheath, and she jolted, suddenly aware of just how much she’d given to him.
Not only her virginity.
The pleasure seeped from her body like warmth in winter. Her passion grew cold. This was how babies were made. In coming to her as man to woman, he had made her the most vulnerable of all. With money.
Growing up, her whole life had been mapped out for her. She’d accepted the terms, because she understood that she was fortunate. New dresses and parties. And eventually, suitors. A husband her father would choose, or at least approve of. But their ruin had taken all that away. Like a curtain falling after a play. No matter how real it had felt, it had all been an act.
This was real.
And it wasn’t how she’d wanted her life to unfold.
Tears stung her cheeks, and she turned her face to hide them.
“What’s wrong?” Nate pulled back, his hands running over her body, lightly, as if it to check for injuries. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, I— Oh, God.” Her voice broke on a sob, and there was no hiding how she felt. She could feel his horror at her reaction, but she couldn’t console him now. It’s not because of you. It’s not because of what we did. He patted her arm—awkwardly at first. Then he swore and pulled her into an embrace, her back against his broad chest, his thick arms around her.
She wanted to thank him for that, but all that came out was a choked sob. He tried to calm her, petting her hair and murmuring nothing words. Above all, she wished to stop crying, but the weight of her experiences came down on her.
The loss of her dreams. Her fear for the future.
And the one she had barely dared to acknowledge—the gut-wrenching betrayal she felt at her father’s abandonment.
She still couldn’t be sure what had happened in the business. It hurt to believe he might have stolen from his own company. Why? They had always had more than enough. A new carriage. A famous instructor for her piano lessons. There was so much they could have done without, and she wouldn’t have complained. Her father had made those decisions without her, but she was the one who would pay.
Most of all, it hurt that he’d chosen to leave without her. Because there was no other explanation. He had been there one night—and then not there when the constable arrived to take him into custody. When Juliana had been sternly asked to leave the premises, she’d held out hope that her father would be waiting somewhere outside, that he would come to find her.
None of that had happened, and she cried now for the aching loneliness. Grief crashed down on her, all at once, as if the carnal act had unlocked the part of her.
“Juliana,” he begged. “Tell me what I did. What happened? Let me help you.”
The last sobs shook her entire body. What must he think of her? He’d asked her one thing—not to cry. And that was what she’d done.
“You’ve done nothing but help me,” she managed.
She heard his head move against the pillow, disagreeing with her. “That doesn’t matter now. Whatever happens in the future, I’ll protect you. You believe me, don’t you?”
She shuddered, sadness and hope warring within her. God help her, she did believe him. It felt a little like cheating, as if she really were the thief he’d once accused her of being. She didn’t deserve his kindness, his acceptance. His proposal.
Maybe someday she would be able to return the favor.
“Yes. I believe you.”
He froze—almost the same as when she’d told him she loved him. There was still disbelief in his posture. Though why he doubted her feelings, she couldn’t fathom. He was handsome, kind. A little crude, but surely she wasn’t the only woman to find that fascinating and alluring.
He offered himself freely—his name, his position. His money. She suspected he would be more comfortable if she stayed for those reasons, instead of the one that mattered.
Because she wanted to.
Marriage. The word rang with finality. Destitute, ruined, she should have been grateful for a proposal. Still, something made her pause, perhaps a repressed worry that she didn’t know everything about Nate yet, and couldn’t yet trust him.
Lord, after what happened with her father, she should know better than to blindly trust any man. But when Nate looked her in the eye and called her his sweetheart, she had to believe he cared about her. And she did. She felt the truth of it in her gut.
She turned in his arms. “If I can trust you to protect me, you can trust me to love you.”
Shadows moved through his eyes. He was conflicted over something. Was it guilt? It was definitely resignation. “Yes.” He swallowed thickly. “Yes, I can. I do.”
Her eyelids drooped. She was halfway to sleep, lulled by the aftermath of passion and the thump of his heart. “Just don’t leave me,” she mumbled.
“No, love. You’re stuck with me.”
A smile curved her lips. Her pirate, always bargaining, always threatening. He couldn’t simply ask and receive an answer. That would be too polite by far.
He made every act a mission, lived each second to the fullest. He had inscribed the darkest part of his life on his skin but in a place few would see. He loved her more than she’d ever hoped for in some ballroom-spun marriage—even if he had yet to say the words. His actions said it for him, his care of her and the way he kept stroking her hair even when he thought she’d fallen asleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Nate woke to the smell of burning wood. Not the oil from a lamp or coal in the hearth. Wood. For a moment, he was thrown back to the grass-covered knoll facing the docks, where the men burned whatever spare lumber or broken carts they could salvage for heat. Back then, his nightly goal had been to survive until morning. He wouldn’t let the cold, the hunger, or the yawning despair drag him under. And he’d succeeded. Somehow, he had pulled himself up—
Why did it smell like a fire?
He jolted upright. “Fire.”
Beside him, Juliana rolled over, mumbling, “What?”
“Get up. Right now.” He shook her roughly, too horrified to be gentle. A fire could trap them, trap her. He couldn’t see any flames or black smoke, but they weren’t safe here belowdecks. He had to get her out of there.
At least the rest of the crew was safely gone. Only a skeleton crew and a watchman remained. But why hadn’t the—
A bell pealed from overhead, a warning, all hands on deck. He slung on his trousers before grabbing Juliana’s hand and pulling her out of the room. From the corner of his eye, white cloth flashed as she dressed quickly.
“Hurry,” he shouted.
Her frightened breaths trailed behind him.
The companionway was blessedly clear—of fire, of smoke—and he pulled her up the ladder with him, onto the deck, unwilling to release her for even a moment until she’d be safe. The smell of charred wood assaulted him, mingling with fresh night air. He saw the orange flame curve upward to the sky for one brief moment before a heavy tarp was thrown over it.
Doused. In moments, the threat had been extinguished, but his frantic pulse remained.
The fire would have blocked their escape if it had spread, its focal point the dockside exit. Part of the ship’s railing had already burned away. The wooden gangway itself appeared to have taken the most damage. It still extended between the ship and the dock, but he wouldn’t trust it to hold weight.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Of course,” she said, but her gaze dropped to where he held her hand. He’d been holding it too tightly, he realized. Crushing her fingers. He released her, and took a step away for good measure. She shivered, her pale skin pebbled and exposed. She wore only his shirt.
“Go down below,” he told her. “Dress quickly, but warmly, and come back up.”
Her eyes were anxious. It affected him to see her worried for him, to know that she would slay his dragons if she could. Such a small body—too much of it visible beneath the hem of his shirt. He moved to shield her from the crewmen who were waiting for his orders. They needed his instructions, but this was more important. His priority, his allegiance, had always before been to his ship first. Now it went to her.
“I’ll be fine,” he said gently. “But I need to know that you’re fine, too.”
She nodded uncertainly and slipped below deck. Only when she was out of sight could he deal with the wound in his ship. His men wore grim expressions as he examined the damage. Easy enough to repair. The true cost would be measured in the weeks the ship would remain in dock. But the fact remained, it could have been much worse. A fire on a ship could easily be fatal.
He turned to the highest ranking sailor. “What happened?”
The seaman’s eyes were dark. He had been with
the ship long enough to feel her pain. Hell, every sailor could. Even the young boys would grow solemn when they saw what had happened to the old girl.
“Someone attacked her, Captain. Threw something wrapped in rags, already on fire. She didn’t have a chance.”
“Did you get a look at the man?”
“It was too dark, and I was already running to fetch the buckets.”
Nate glanced at the dock where a few workers and passersby had stopped to watch. Had the assailant remained behind to see his handiwork? Nate wanted to vault over the rail and find out, but that would only alert any guilty parties. Still, everyone in the vicinity should be questioned. Already Nate’s worry had begun to tighten, to harden into anger. He would find whoever attacked Nightingale and make him pay.
“Take two men and find out what you can. If anyone saw something, detain him.”
The seaman looked surprised. “By force?”
“Bribe him first. But if they won’t stay put…” The silence spoke for him. “And send a message to Sinclair.”
Nate had no desire to bring the Thames River Police to their door by threatening bystanders. Neither did he particularly wish to involve the duke, who would no doubt alert the authorities in any case. Damned aristocrats believed that everyone was on their side. Nate knew that public authority meant very little in the realm of fairness and justice. When he found the perpetrator, he would exact his own justice.
Even if the perpetrator was Juliana’s father.
He lifted up the tarp and made a disgusted sound. This part of the rail would need to be replaced. That would be easy. The hull was another matter. Even if the planks had not burned, the structural integrity might be compromised. They would need the shipbuilder to examine it and make repairs.
For certain, they would not be able to set sail as planned.
Nate tossed the canvas onto a pile of supplies closer to the hatch. A squeak came from underneath. Narrowing his eyes, he circled the pile. A foot stuck out at the bottom. Jesus.