by Sean Michael
“Balderdash. I am not your woman.”
John laughed. “Indeed, you’re very much a man. You showed me that earlier.”
Stephen felt his cheeks heat, ducked his head and fought his groan. “You have no class, sir.”
“I do. I just choose to live in a world where it matters not.” John speared a chunk of meat with his knife.
“Where did you come from? Surely you weren’t born upon the sea…”
“Perhaps I was born upon the foam like Aphrodite.”
That image caught Stephen, captured him and made him laugh, amused him to the bone.
“You should do that more often, Butcher.”
“Do what, Beast?” He cut the thread with his teeth.
“Laugh.” Leaning forward, John slid a finger along his lower lip. His lips opened, pure shock keeping him still. “Yes, that’s a nice look as well. Makes me want to take your mouth.” John pushed his finger in and out of Stephen’s mouth in a suggestive manner.
Stephen pulled away, growling, frowning at the pirate. “It is not yours to take.”
“Oh, but my dear Butcher it is.” John closed the distance between them again, finger pushing roughly into his mouth. He bit down, groaning, growling. Refusing to let the pirate push him too far this time. John jerked, but didn’t pull his finger away. “You remembered I like it a little rough. I’m touched.”
Stephen pulled away, scooted back, body threatening to betray him, to fill. “You are quite mad.”
“Is that your diagnosis?” John’s eyes kept wandering from his own, sliding over his skin left bare as he fixed his blouse.
“Yes.” His nipples drew up as that gaze crossed over them.
The noise John made was animalistic and went straight to Stephen’s cock. Reaching out again, John’s finger slid across his nipple this time. “So responsive. There is such passion locked inside you.”
He gasped, he couldn’t resist, could not help himself. A low hum came from John, the pirate’s eyes narrowing, heating. John’s finger slid across his nipple again, turning at the last moment and scraping the nail over his flesh.
“Don’t.” A flash of lightning pushed through Stephen, and his lips opened on a gasp.
John held his eyes, finger passing over his nipple again. “Who’s going to stop me?”
“I can.” His belly rippled, near ached.
Lips twitching, John grabbed his nipple outright and pinched. “Oh, really?”
Stephen groaned, fingers wrapping around John’s wrist, tugging at the strong hand.
“You have lovely hands. No match for mine, but I like the feeling of them on my skin.” John seemed determined to turn everything back to sex.
“You…” He was going to lose his mind.
“Yes. Me.” Leaning even further, John took his mouth, lips pressing hard to his. Stephen stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, arms windmilling as he fought for balance. John grabbed at him, arm going around his waist and pulling him up tight against the solid body. “Careful, Butcher.”
“I…” Did one thank one’s captor for catching one up?
“I’ll take a kiss for saving you a nasty fall.” There was a wicked look in John’s eye as he kept Stephen close, mouth descending upon his once again.
Stephen’s entire body arched, off-balance, breath stolen. John’s tongue pushed into him, sliding obscenely within his lips. He groaned, grabbing hold of John’s shoulders as his head spun. John slid his fingers along Stephen’s spine, squeezing Stephen’s ass hard with his other hand. The smell of the sea and water soaked wood faded, to be replaced by something male and musky.
“Do you do nothing but rut?” Stephen asked when he had use of his mouth again.
“I eat. I drink. I fight. I sleep. I dream of rutting.” John gave him a wink, laughing at him.
“You should pray for your eternal soul, Beast.”
The sound of John’s laugher vibrated against him where he was pressed up against the wide chest. “I’m a pirate, Butcher. A little rutting is the least of my eternal soul’s problems.”
“This does not bring me great comfort.”
“It wasn’t meant to.” The hand at his ass massaged his muscles, John sliding one finger along his crease, pressing the material of his breeches against his skin.
“Find another to occupy yourself.” Stephen arched away, trying to keep his groin away from John’s touch.
That arm about him was solid and he only succeeded in having John tug him closer still to the long body. “You are the one who intrigues me. I want no other.”
“I…” He shook his head, hips rubbing into John’s heat.
John hummed, gliding a thumb along his crack. “Yes, you.”
Stephen would never offer that willingly, never trust that hand not to ruin him, tear him. “Never.”
That wicked laugh sounded again, drowning out the sound of the sea, the sound of his own heartbeat. “Never will come sooner than you think.”
So tired. Stephen was so very tired of the fight, of the perpetual worry and passion and fear.
“Nothing to say?” John pressed his fingers against Stephen’s entrance, only the thin material of his breeches keeping them out of him.
“You quite exhaust me.” He squeezed his body tight, groaning in protest.
“It is you who exhaust yourself, fighting me so.” His head was tilted, another kiss taken from him. His breath was quite stolen away, his heart pounding in his chest. The kiss went on and on, John biting at his lips as it finally came to an end. “Or perhaps it is yourself you fight.”
“You know nothing of me, nothing.” Stephen’s cock was full, heavy, aching in his trousers.
John slid a hand around him, finding his shaft unerringly, fondling him through the cloth. “I know enough.”
His errant body rejoiced, bucking up into the touch, desiring it even as his mind rebelled. John’s kisses resumed, tongue pushing into his mouth like it belonged there, fingers pushing into his breeches to wrap around his shaft, skin on skin. Stephen groaned, torn between sensations, between needs. John obviously had no such qualms, the hand around his cock moved with sure purpose, pulling such pleasure from him. If only he could think, could feel something beyond the pleasure, the heat, then he might be able to… John scraped his heavy thumb across the slit of Stephen’s cock, which made him jump and gasp.
John’s kisses became harder, more intense. He could feel the demand in them, and in the hand that worked his erection. His body insisted that he move, press into the touch, into that hard, wonderful hand.
“That’s it, Butcher.” John spoke against his lips. “Take what you need.”
“Don’t. I can’t…” But he could and he did and to protest seemed foolish.
“Of course you can.” John laughed, biting at his lips, tongue pushing in between them, fucking his mouth.
Heat flooded him, his desperate noises loud and shocking in the cabin, in the air around them. John’s moans and growls joined them, John’s other hand sliding along his buttocks and pressing against his entrance as his cock was roughly stroked with the other.
“Don’t…don’t ruin me.” Shudders rocked him, his entire body caught in the storm.
“Not this time. I will not take your virginity—you will give it to me.” John’s hands kept moving, pulling on his cock and sliding along his crease. There was no cessation, no moment to breathe or think. Stephen shook his head, gasping, hips moving in random little jerks and pulses.
“Keep saying no, Butcher. I’m sure you don’t know the meaning of the word.” Stephen wasn’t even sure what the man spoke of, all he knew was the fire inside him. A fire John continued to stoke, to build until it was all consuming and there was nothing but their bodies caught within the flame. Heat poured from him, one wave of heat after another crashing over him.
“You should see your face, Grey,” murmured John, slowly sliding his hand away from Stephen’s cock. John held the same hand to Stephen’s mouth. “Taste yourself.�
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“Please.” Stephen could not see which he begged for—to stop or not.
One of John’s fingers pushed into his mouth, covered in his own seed, the taste sharp, salty and bitter. He had two paths—to bite or suck, and his body chose the path of damnation for him. John’s moans surrounded him, the seed soaked fingers sliding in and out of his mouth. John’s other hand landed on his shoulder, pushing a little. “I would have your mouth, Butcher.”
“No. No, I cannot.” It was sinful, the road to madness.
“You keep saying that word, and yet, here we are with your seed on my fingers…” The hand on his shoulder continued to push, not quite forcing him down.
Stephen stepped away. He would not. He could not.
John growled, one hand going to his own cock, the other wrapping around Stephen’s arm and tugging him in for a bruising kiss. His hand joined John’s, his lips parting under John’s onslaught. This would be the final time. Only madness awaited him in this cabin. Only madness.
Seed poured out from John’s cock, hot on his hand, burning the proof of his sins into his skin. “You see, Butcher? You are mine.”
Only for a moment longer. Stephen would bear this no more, God save his soul.
Chapter Six
The doctor slept hard—John suspected the man had taken something from his bag of tricks to help with that. He himself felt completely healed and in good spirits. In great spirits in fact—Grey’s responses to his advances had made the last couple of days most enjoyable. The man’s body was like putty in his hands, pliant and needy, so responsive. It was perhaps time to convince Grey’s mind to follow.
He grinned. Oh, yes, a seduction rather than a taking—he could just imagine it, Grey making the first move, Grey kissing him. Grey offering himself. That way he would not break that lovely spirit that attracted him so, and yet he would still have the man. After all, he had already more than proved that the person Grey fought so hard was not John, but himself.
John laughed, climbing the stairs and turning his face to the sun. It felt good to be above deck, the spray of the seawater and fresh air made him feel whole and hale. Grey would come to enjoy this. Would become one of them, he was sure of it.
He checked in with everyone, making sure they all knew he was well, still in his prime. He even dealt out some blows with the cat ‘o nine tails, one of the men having disobeyed Matey’s orders. They all knew when he wasn’t around, Matey ran the ship, but sometimes the rabble needed reminding.
They were a good crew, though, on the whole.
He spent a few hours above before the lure of pale skin wearing his marks and sweet, angelic curls sent him below again. There was a battle of wills waiting for him. One he would win. He grew hard just thinking on it.
He opened the door, shocked to find the man gone, disappeared. He stepped out and closed the door again, asking Tom if the lad had been standing guard the whole time.
“Yes, Captain, sir.”
He went in again, looking around. The bed was made, the room straightened, the doctor’s bag still there, but only half full. So they were back to this. He steeled himself, ready to be attacked with any manner of strange tool Grey used in the course of treating his patients.
“Show yourself, Butcher.” John would not indulge in a game of search and seek. He was the captain. Silence answered him.
He sighed and went to the porthole, opening the glass and letting the breeze in. The bedclothes ruffled, the sound of the ocean soothing. “I do not understand how a man could lock himself to the land. There is nothing to compare to the freedom of the ocean.” He knew the good doctor listened, heard him, watched and waited.
“I am the master of my own destiny. The ruler of my own rolling country. There is none can tell me what to do, how to live my life.” He stood proudly, watching the ocean. One day she would take him deep into her arms and quell his breath, but for now she was his savior, keeping him safe and free.
Something behind him shifted, slid upon the floor. He was ready to pounce, but he gave no outward sign. Instead he continued to watch the water. “She is a most constant lover. Perverse, violent, treacherous, beautiful. But always here, always welcoming me into her arms.” The single constant in his life.
He felt the air shift, heard the glide of feet on the floor. He turned, quick as a sea snake, grabbing the doctor’s wrists and slamming Grey up against the hull. Those storm-filled eyes met his, the anger clear as morning. Absolutely beautiful.
John growled softly and leaned in to nip at Grey’s lower lip. The man made no sound, moved not at all, the unwilling responses of the last few days missing. His growl got louder and he bit this time, bringing blood up. Those eyes never flinched, held his, so strong. He licked the blood away, letting the taste fill him as he pushed their hips together. Grey refused to move, to look away, to do anything.
Damn the man! John pushed harder, erection rubbing along Grey’s, hands tightening on the trapped wrists. That stare didn’t falter, Grey’s fingers clenching into fists. He kicked Grey’s legs apart, hand reaching down into the man’s pants to squeeze Grey’s balls. He would get a reaction. Those eyes went dark, jaw clenching. There, he was close.
He pushed his hand beyond the sensitive balls, finger pushing along Grey’s entrance, relentless, insistent. Those eyes filled with tears, but still stared, Grey’s throat working, his body tight. John pushed his finger in, taking what was his to take, thoughts of seduction fading under Grey’s refusal to admit his attraction.
Grey’s eyes closed, the doctor shuttering himself away, drawing into a still silence.
With an angry half-roar, John yanked his fingers away, flipping Grey so he faced the wall and ripping the man’s breeches from his ass. Grey went limp, motionless, refusing to fight him. Angry, John tore the rest of the man’s clothes off, kicking Grey’s legs farther apart. Grey refused to stand, refused to move, stayed as limp as a rag.
John roared and flung the man from him, tossing Grey to the floor. “Where is your pride now, Butcher?”
Those eyes stared at him, angry, cold, strong.
“Would you prefer I toss you to the dogs in my crew? They’ll make easy pickings of a sweet thing like you.” If Grey stopped being entertaining…
One eyebrow arched, those eyes snapping.
“The devil you know or all his little minions, Grey—your choice.”
Moving faster than he’d give the man credit for, Grey moved across the floor, grabbing a heavy statue and hurling it at his head. He ducked out of the way, humming, his cock perking up. Yes. There was that fire, the response he craved.
Grey pulled a cutlass from beneath the bed, holding it with a surprisingly sure grip.
“Well, well, well. There’s your backbone. You almost look as if you know how to use that thing.”
A strong feint came, slicing the sleeve of his shirt, the threat clear.
John was impressed. “Not bad,” he murmured casually, moving to the right, giving himself more room to maneuver.
The sword flashed again, cutting the other sleeve, driving him toward the door. Make that very impressed.
“And what exactly do you plan to do once you’ve run me through? Throw yourself overboard?” By the black-hearted devil, John wanted the man. And more, he wanted Grey to be equally as moved. All that anger and passion turned on him. He nearly groaned from it.
“Open the door and lead me to a longboat, or I’ll slit you from jaw to hip.”
“Come now, Butcher, I thought you’d taken an oath to preserve life.” He didn’t know when he’d ever been so hard.
Another flash, another lunge, a line of blood appearing above his nipple. “The door.”
John swallowed his whimper, forced his hips to still. Oh, by the horned devil, he wanted. Grey would give himself or he wasn’t John the Beardless, pirate captain. “What about it?” he asked, playing dumb.
“Open it and tell your men to stand back. Then you will walk me to the rowboats and set me free.”
/> John laughed, genuinely amused. “Oh, Butcher, I can’t do that.”
“I will unman you, Pirate. Do not mistake me.”
A shiver of excitement went through him. Would Grey actually attempt to do it? Did the man truly have that kind of strength? The thought of it was indeed intoxicating. “I will not let you do that.”
Grey struck him with the blade again, nicking his hip. “You are not armed, demon.”
“But you cannot hurt me.” He watched the blood slowly stain his breeches. “I like your version of foreplay, Butcher.”
“You are mad.” The blade pointed at his throat, vibrating. “The door.”
He groaned, erection hard as stone. He could not lose this one. He had not seen such passion, such anger and vigor in an age. John could imagine what Grey would be like were the butcher to come willingly. Keeping his eyelids at half mast, he gave a lazy smile and, quick as a snake, he reached up and grabbed the blade. The pain was insistent, undeniable and sharp as anything as he twisted the sword from Grey’s hand. He pushed it away, ignored the screaming of his nerves.
He had a few heartbeats of pure shock on Grey’s part, the man gaping at him.
John collected the sword with his uninjured hand, holding his other hand in a tight fist. “Well, there you are, Butcher. I have need of your services again.”
Grey shook his head. “Completely mad, I vow. Why must you fight me so?”
“I am not fighting you. You are fighting me, remember?” He leaned back against the door, beginning to feel a bit weak. He needed to get rid of the sword. He needed to assure himself that Grey would dress his wound.
The doctor took over, Grey tearing a strip from the bottom of the man’s own blouse and binding his hand tight. “Fool.”
“You would have been killed,” John murmured. “My men would not have allowed you to continue to hold me as hostage.”
“Oh.” Grey’s storming eyes met his. “They would not have obeyed you?”
“Not with your blade at my throat, no. They would not have.”
“You should sit. If you fell, I could not catch your weight.”