Bronwyn looked away, suddenly unable to meet the captain’s gray eyes now that he was so near. Her breathing became erratic as well and she felt her flesh grow pink.
“My husband will not try to control me because there will be no need. We shall be of one mind.” She could hardly breathe. “The man I marry won’t want anything less from our union.”
Jon stroked her breasts, feather light, with a look of peculiar awe on his face that she found utterly disarming. Why didn’t he just put his thing inside her and be done with it? For pity’s sake, she was near to tears again from talking of the husband she would never have!
“The man you marry is the man you have married, my lady. The deed is done. The die is cast and you’ll have to live with your choice. I trust you have chosen wisely. Even though there is no love between you, if he is a good man, you may come to love him.” His voice rumbled deep and sensuously through her being.
She could only nod, speechless with desire. Captain Stag had succeeded in arousing her despite her stubborn refusal to feel anything. Her sex was beginning to pulse with blood and excitement yet he had barely touched her. Not as he had done the night before and she wondered if he would.
“What is wrong?” he asked. “You are staring at me oddly. Either you mean to kill me or kiss me.”
“Neither. I—I feel that I want—I want you to touch me, Captain.” The words were blurted out before she knew what she was saying. Her impulsiveness would be her ruination one day.
“I am touching you.” Stag’s voice was tight and strained.
“No. Touch me. I feel … I feel so peculiar right now. I can hardly form the words for what I want.” Her cheeks crimsoned and she squirmed deeper into the pillows. “If you were the last man on earth and I was the last woman, we would have to copulate. It would be our duty.”
“So, you would have sex with me if I was the last man on earth.” Jon grinned wickedly. “Just what every man longs to hear from the woman he is bedding.” Bronwyn’s perfect young body was under his, willing to be taken. Every muscle in his body was tight with restraint and intense sexual arousal.
Her dark eyes found his. “I don’t feel anything for you—but I feel everything when I am with you,” she whispered. “How can that be? I was taught that it isn’t wholesome to desire carnal pleasure and I never have until now. Am I depraved?”
The question was so innocent and raw. She truly blamed herself for giving in to him. Jon’s long-neglected conscience pricked. “I am taking advantage of your dependence on me.” At least he got that out without breaking into a sweat. “If you knew the whole story, there would be less pleasure in accommodating my demands, believe me.”
“If it is taking advantage, then why do I feel this way? I think I may go mad.”
Jon clamped down on his growing lust. “Do you like the feeling?”
“Yes.” She gazed at him silently. “I know it is wrong, but it is the truth.”
Thunder cracked over their heads followed by a jagged shard of lightning. Rain lashed at the window. The mullioned panes of glass tinkled like crystal.
Jon closed his eyes briefly, wrestling a storm within. Bronwyn’s breasts were soft and womanly. He cupped one in his hand and gently squeezed it. She made a noise, a whimper of pleasure. Jon’s pleasure was just as keenly felt. He bent his mouth to his hostage’s nipple (for that is what she was to him) and dragged his tongue over the tender protruding bud.
Velvet. Her skin was like velvet. He seemed to lose consciousness at the same time he was completely conscious his tongue and lips were latched onto Bronwyn’s tits.
His hand moved down, down between her legs. She shifted, opening them wider for him. Jon rested his hand on her mons pubis, springy with pubic hair that was sensitive to the touch. She gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders.
“Captain ... we must stop, we must stop. This is more than the law allows.”
“What law would that be? On board the Black, I am the law.” He brought his lips down to hers. “War and circumstance has forced this upon you. It is nature’s law that compels you.”
Jon kissed Lady Gage on her full, luscious lips that had been beckoning him at every turn today. He kissed her deeply, fully, probing between her teeth with his tongue, diving inside her mouth, filling her as his cock was hot to fill her in other ways.
“Touch me,” she murmured in his ear. “But if you hurt me again, I will kill you….”
“I am not going to hurt you,” he answered softly and believed that he meant it.
Stag moved his hand down between her legs and gentled the folds of her vulva apart. He slipped his finger inside her tight vagina to gather the fluid there. Bronwyn gave a little moan but kept her eyes fastened on his face.
His mark was the pliable, sensitive bud above her vagina—her clitoris. Massaging and fondling the nub had doubled its size. Almost involuntarily, Bronwyn spread her legs. The entrance to her vagina softened and grew wetter under his ministrations. The girl was ripe and ready, and he was a young man with an erection unlike any he had ever known.
She would not be his for long, Jon realized, and he would never know another like her.
HER BREATHING became rapid and shallow. Bronwyn panted, her legs quivering, shaking, and her voice rose with the wind. She moaned, crying out as the man she hated brought her to climax.
When it was finished, she slammed her legs together with a sob of defeat. “What have you done to me? I cannot endure another night of this. I shall die.”
“You won’t die, and it is necessary. It is what a considerate man does to prepare a woman for penetration.”
She met his eyes. Jon Stag’s raven hair was stuck to his neck and shoulders where it had escaped the tie he used to hold it back. She pulled it free, wonderingly; his thick black locks swung loose around his face. He looked more and more like a pirate every day they were at sea—and yet he acted less and less like one. Captain Jon Stag puzzled her immensely and Bronwyn did not enjoy being puzzled.
“Why do you concern yourself with my pleasure? I am in your power—even more so now that my reputation is in ruins. Do you derive a secret satisfaction out of watching me debase myself before you? Will you gossip about bringing Lady Gage to her knees with your men?”
Rage boiled through her at the thought. “I admit to having a hot temper, sir, and I have been guilty of jumping to the wrong conclusion on occasion—but I’m warning you: I will fight back if you cross me.”
Jon Stag rolled over and lay on his back, laughing at the ceiling ruefully. “You must be the only woman in the world who reacts with suspicion when a man gives her an orgasm. I won’t lie about it; I derive satisfaction from seeing you satisfied, but you are no more debased in this bed than I am.”
He twisted his neck to look at her. The expression in his eyes was sincere. “I will not hurt you, Bronwyn. Not as long as you are aboard this ship. When I take you—if you enjoy it, no one will know but me. I won’t speak to anyone of what we have done here. You have my word.”
“The word of a pirate.”
“The word of Jon Stag.”
Bronwyn’s eyes went to his erection and her lower belly clutched and fluttered responsively. She lifted up on one elbow, took the stiff member in her hand and was triumphant when he choked in surprise. Ah, so she had power too! Let Jon Stag see what it was like to be rendered helpless.
His eyes widened and his pupils dilated as she stroked the pulsing organ. “You are exceedingly big and hard, Captain. Were you this big last night when you took me? No wonder there was so much blood and pain.”
“Not quite this size, no,” he said through a clenched jaw. “Pain and blood are unavoidable the first time. I warn you, my lady. You are in danger if you keep that up. I am laboring mightily against a rampaging desire to ravish you.”
When there was no response, Jon risked looking at Bronwyn.
Her eyes were glassy with white hot heat. Bronwyn’s sexuality fairly bounced off her nubile body. How was he r
estraining himself—and more importantly, why? He cupped his hand behind her neck and drew her down for a kiss.
Bronwyn pulled back. “No. Kissing is for lovers and we are not that, Jon Stag.”
In retaliation, Jon pinched her firm round tit harder than he would have if she’d kissed him. He ran his palms over her velvet nipples; they puckered taut and hard with the same tension he felt in his groin. She was right, he thought. What they had between them was not love.
Bronwyn locked eyes with him. Her hand stroked his cock and his hand massaged her tits. They were burning up for each other. An explosion of raw, unsanctioned sexual heat. Was it the forbidden that was fueling this mad lust? Knowing he was defiling General Gage’s daughter made him hard. If she were a woman of no importance, would she have this effect on him?
No, what Jon felt for her had gone beyond mere revenge. Maybe it had started out that way; maybe that was his original motive for forcing her to come to his bed. But it was Bronwyn he wanted now—not Gage’s daughter—Bronwyn, who already belonged to another man.
Chapter Eleven
BRONWYN WASN’T asking herself questions. She wasn’t thinking at all. The storm had not let up and neither had the demands of her flesh. When she could find her voice, she said: “Jon Stag, if you are going to break every rule of decency, I want to experience all there is of carnal lust. Leave nothing out. Another chance like this will not come my way.”
She immediately regretted her passionate demand because the pirate climbed on top of her and lowered his head until his mouth was between her thighs. He parted the folds of her sex in a lewd manner she could not fathom and then—oh dear heaven—the man drew his tongue over her most private place.
“Captain Stag—Jon! Please don’t!”
“Oh God, save me, but you taste sweet, my lady. I could eat you for days....”
He lapped, knowing exactly where to apply pressure to excite her, tonguing her with an insistent rhythm that drove her to the crest of an orgasm. She could not stifle the whimper that rose to her throat. “Please, please, Jon,” she babbled. Her back arched and her hips lifted.
Jon plunged his tongue inside her vagina and she fairly lost her mind. Her muscles stiffened. A sound tore from her throat that did not sound human as the thunder crashed and her body gave up everything up to the pirate captain.
As for Jon Stag, the thrill he felt on bringing her to orgasm and slurping down her honey juice was powerfully erotic—and surprising. His motives were becoming more confused by the hour. Jon’s cock didn’t care that the naked girl in his arms was his hostage; his cock was eager to fertilize a young womb. Jon was a pirate; he had no moral code—although he was becoming uncomfortably aware of the stirrings of one. Bronwyn’s beautiful breasts bounced against his chest as she recovered from the aftershocks of the climax.
“I think I shall never know bliss like that again. It is almost too painful to be real.”
“Your husband will do the same, and often, if he has any sense.” He moved off her body and tried to regain a measure of self-control. “I have used you enough tonight and it is almost the beginning of the first watch. You may return to your quarters.”
Bronwyn drew her knees to her chest and covered herself with the quilt. She let out a little sob but her misery was nothing to the frustration Jon was experiencing. His balls were painfully engorged. He stared at her, struggling with himself to resist.
“Lady Gage, I’m not going to fuck you tonight. The risk of pregnancy is too great. I will not be able to stop—I’ll lose control the moment I penetrate you. Goddamn it, the strain is unbearable for a man! Just get your things and go.”
She sat up, bare-breasted and unabashed. “I won’t. You demanded a bedmate—well, here I am. The damage has been done, sir.” Bronwyn gazed at him with dark, passionate eyes. Her hair tumbled about her bare shoulders. “I believe I can offer you a measure of relief. Do not judge me too harshly for knowing of this technique. I have been in rough company of late. Stand up.”
Jon obeyed. He stood at the side of the berth and his cock thrust forward as forcefully as the prow of the Black. Both embarrassing and painful but he trusted her not to laugh.
Bronwyn hunched forward on her knees and clasped his hips. She opened her mouth like a bird and took his knob in her mouth. Jon choked. “Where the hell did you learn to do that? Tell me who the man is and I’ll cut his throat.”
She pulled back with a light laugh. “Then you will have to kill every man on board for they all talk about the whores they have bedded. One only needs to stand nearby to learn a great deal.” She rolled her tongue over Jon’s pulsating knob. “You are wonderfully made, Jon Stag.”
He watched in stunned and grateful astonishment as her full lips parted and she took his stiff member into her warm wet mouth. Jon reached up and planted his hands on the oak beam to keep from clutching her hair and pumping wildly. His throat ground out a roar of pure masculine command. His penis throbbed and his balls stretched as Bronwyn sucked harder, making little moans of pleasure that she could not possibly have been taught. Jon fought for control when he realized she was enjoying having him in her mouth as much as he was.
His buttocks clenched with each exquisite thrust. He felt her hands on his hips, guiding him deeper and controlling his movements. Jon gazed down, glassy-eyed, and saw the girl’s pouting lips wrapped around his shaft.
It was too much. He lost his mind.
Jon squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists and jaw, straining against ejaculation. When he knew his control was slipping, he lurched back and came in a stream that showered down over Bronwyn’s luscious breasts.
Jon collapsed beside her in a sweaty heap. The storm was dying out. The rain and wind had abated to a steady drum and hush. His body felt shattered and his throat was raw. Bronwyn left the berth to wash herself at the basin. Jon lay on his back and tried to focus his mind on what had just happened.
“You did not have to do that,” he said gruffly.
“I know.” She was wiping his semen from her breasts that were so high, they cast shadows against the wall.
He watched in dumb amazement that she could be so beautiful and unsullied even now after what he had forced upon her. Knowledge she had not sought until she stumbled aboard the Black in search of her servant.
Stag was using her—and God help him—he would not stop.
As if reading his mind, Bronwyn hung the damp cloth on the rod and then moved to retrieve her cloak. She drew it over her naked shoulders and left his quarters without another word.
§
“HELLO.”
His baritone voice sounded behind her. Her heart stalled in her chest. Bronwyn turned to find Captain Stag standing with his hands behind his back, his ebony hair tied back and his dark eyes and handsome face looking well-rested.
“Hello.” A creeping heat burned her ears. She turned back to the sea, like a frightened little debutante she thought with contempt. She could not endure the young captain’s searching gaze.
He moved to her side and following her lead, he stared out to sea. “Mr. Frame puts the Dauntless in sight in two days time.”
“That is good news.” She swallowed. Her hair had come free of its comb again and blew in her eyes. Bronwyn brushed it back impatiently.
“Allow me,” said Stag.
He removed the comb and deftly gathered her hair together in a clever upsweep that he secured with the comb. He adjusted tendrils around her face and admired the effect.
“Your mama did not teach you how to dress your hair either,” he murmured.
“I do not have my maid with me. I am not as presentable as I usually am in public.”
“You are fortunate you have other attributes to make up for it. You are quite beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She choked. He was standing close enough to convey the impression of intimacy to anyone observing and to absolutely shatter her equilibrium.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. Did you?
”
“Very well. And … ah … have you had enough to eat?”
“I have, thank you.” Bronwyn looked up, squinting into the sun to meet his serious gray eyes. Jon was without his jacket in the heat of the day. The white shirt he had on had blown back at the neckline, exposing his chest. He wore the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. She had never seen a man in a raw natural state as striking as Captain Jonathon Stag.
A scuffle was heard behind them, drawing Bronwyn’s attention.
Mr. Hawkins was thrashing a small boy with a rope. “You worthless maggot—get below and do the work I’ve given ye or I’ll give you something to cry about!”
“Stop that!” she shouted and sprang into action. Bronwyn darted between the boy and Hawkins. “Stop hitting him. What has he done? He is only a child!”
“He is a member of this crew and if he does not earn his keep, he’ll get a beating! This has nothing to do with you, Lady Gage. Stand aside!”
The boy was sobbing inconsolably and babbling something in French. Bronwyn tried to remember the few phrases she had learned in her brief education. “He says his name is Louis and he is … malade … seasick?” she asked the boy.
He answered her by vomiting his breakfast on her blue velvet skirt. Bronwyn caught the boy under his arms and hauled him to the side of the deck to finish the job. He retched into the sea, his small body wracked with convulsions.
“Seasickness is it? Laziness is more like. Leave him be, I’ll soon straighten him out.”
“He needs fresh air and rest—not a beating.”
“What are the lad’s duties, Mr. Hawkins?” Jon Stag cut in before Bill Hawkins could argue.
“He is small and wiry; I put him below in the gunports, cleaning the cannons. We could not ask for a calmer sea—nary a cloud in the sky and this one claims to be sick!”
“It is past the claiming stage, Mr. Hawkins. The boy has been sick all over Lady Gage’s gown. Send a man to find her something decent to wear. A pair of trousers will do until her dress can be cleaned if that’s all you can manage.”
The Pirate Lord: Aristocrat. Rogue. Spy. Page 7