He drove into her, wild, brutal.
A madman seeking salvation.
He lost himself.
His control.
His patience.
His will to be human.
She let him.
She welcomed every vicious kiss, every ruthless thrust. She twined herself around him, as tight as the lock of her core taking his abuse.
“You’re not going to sit tomorrow,” he snarled into her ear. “I’m going to make fucking sure of it.”
Her answer was the sharp piercing of her teeth into his shoulder, hard enough to hurt.
Hard enough to bleed.
James roared. His fingers tangled into her hair and he dragged her face back. He took her mouth in a bruising kiss. He would have suffocated her if she hadn’t broken it to wail her second release.
He tumbled over with her. He had to. He had to stop while she was still breathing, still capable of walking.
“Christ, I want to fuck you to death.”
His bloodthirsty declaration was met with an oblivious little giggle. She had absolutely no idea the limits she tested for him. She had no idea how badly he had to control himself. It was a sickness. A fucked up sickness. And she was both his cure and the cause.
“I can’t feel my fingers.”
Lifting his head from its nestled place in her shoulder, James looked up at the slightly purple tinge in the digits peeking up from their leather confinement. He undid the belt and tossed it over the edge of the bed. Then took her hands in his.
Blood was already beginning to return, but he rubbed them lightly, rubbed at the welts around her wrists.
“Okay?”
Cora nodded, her eyes on his face.
He released her and rolled off the bed. He padded into the washroom, and returned five minutes later with a glass of water and a damp rag. The glass was handed to her. The rag was tucked between her legs.
“Cold!” Cora yelped.
Water slopped over the rim of her cup to spill over her breasts. It pooled between her breasts and dribbled along the underside to dampen the sheets.
James knelt next to the bed and suctioned his mouth to the puddle. He ran the flat of his tongue along the path of the trickle, tasting the salty tang of her skin and cool water, and feeling the heavy clap of her heart.
“Why is it cold?” she panted, breathless.
The hand still holding the cloth remained firmly in place, but he bit gently into a nipple. “So you can walk tomorrow.”
“You should probably stop that then.” Her mouth held a wobbly grin that contradicted the heat in her eyes.
Releasing the crest of one breast, he switched it for the other one. “I’m not doing anything.”
Her breathy laugh spoke volumes to her disbelief. But she didn’t ask him to stop again.
“I have something for you.”
That perked her interest. Her head came up.
“What?”
“Hold this.”
Leaving her holding the rag in place, he rose and went to his desk. He returned with the cookie.
Her eyes lit up. “A cookie?”
He let her wiggle higher on the pillows before switching the treat for the water glass. She immediately tore off a piece. It disappeared into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her skull with her lusty moan.
“I never thought I’d miss chocolate this much.”
James set the glass on the desk and dropped down next to her, exhaustion and the wee hours of pre-dawn drawing his eyelids closed.
Cora had other ideas.
“James?”
“Hmm?” He kept his eyes shut, already in that place between blissful sleep and consciousness.
“When can I see my parents again?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
He hooked her middle blindly and dragged her to him. “Soon. Now, go to sleep.”
Chapter Thirteen
James hadn’t exaggerated. She could barely walk the next morning. Every step was a reminder of him pounding into her with the craze of a wild animal. It throbbed with an intensity she could barely fathom.
But Christ if she didn’t love every second of it, and fuck if she didn’t want to do it again. Just as soon as her vagina stopped feeling like she’d spent the whole day riding bareback on an elephant. No amount of ice in the world was going to help that swelling go down.
She climbed out of the shower, using both sides of the narrow stall to ease herself onto the mat. Her thigh muscles trembled with the effort. Her pelvis bone whimpered.
She almost whimpered.
But there was no time to stay curled up in bed and wait for her body to realign itself. It was dawn, and James had shaken her awake with only a quiet, time to get up. He’d been gone before she could tell him she didn’t want to get up, that she’d barely slept.
Nevertheless, she hadn’t been able to return to sleep. She’d lain there for a full ten minutes before realizing she was wide awake. Then she’d made the mistake of getting up.
The pain had nearly been enough to force her back into bed. But she’d grabbed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the chest and waddled her way into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would loosen the muscles.
It hadn’t.
She’d just finished dressing when James entered the room. He found her standing in the doorway between the washroom and the bedroom, hands braced on the frames, not moving.
“What?”
She stared at him, kind of hating him for the throbbing in her cooch, while simultaneously wanting to jump him all over again. The conflicting emotions were no help at all with the frustration she couldn’t shake off.
“You broke my vagina.”
James blinked. “What?”
“It’s broken,” she stated very clearly. “I’m sure of it.”
“Your vagina?” he clarified.
“Yes!” she snapped. “Christ.”
In that moment, Captain James Crow proved himself a very wise man. He discreetly cleared his throat and kept a tight lid on the grin she just knew he was suppressing, because it was all over his eyes — a glint of pride and smug arrogance.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and jaw. Then used the tips of the four fingers on that same hand to tap his bottom lip.
“Are you sore?” She looked him over, searching for signs that he was in even a tiny measure of pain.
“My back hurts a little,” he confessed.
Bastard.
“Hey.” He caught her elbow when she started for the bed. “What if I told you you could have a hot bath tonight?”
Cora’s eyes narrowed warily. “I’m listening.”
“First you have to do something.”
He took her hand and led her from the room. They passed a couple of men headed in the opposite direction. Neither glanced at her, or said a word. But they inclined their heads to James.
“Where’s Nicholas?” she asked.
“At the bridge.”
She frowned. “Which bridge?”
“The ship bridge. The control room,” he explained.
That only served to confuse her further. “But we’re not moving.”
“The ship needs to be monitored twenty-four hours of the day, even ported.”
“Are we going to the bridge?”
She didn’t think so. They seemed to be going deeper into the ship, opposed to the edges. Her theory proved corrected when she caught sight of the familiar sign to the officer’s lounge. Then the door itself.
There was a man inside. An older man with downy white hair trimmed short and kind brown eyes. He was dressed entirely in black and a white collar was tucked beneath the crisp turndown of his lapel. He sat on the sofa with a tattered prayer book in his lap, and a patient expression.
He smiled and rose when James walked in, showing off a single dimple on the left side.
“This is Cora,” James said, propelling her closer.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
He offered her his hand. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Cora. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Not sure how to respond to that, she offered him a small smile.
“Reverend Marcus is going to marry us,” said James.
She realized she should have realized that. It was part of their agreement, after all. She had accepted his non-proposal. But she hadn’t realized how quickly he wanted to get it done. Although, she probably should have.
“I see,” she whispered, struggling around the breath lodged in her throat. “Now?”
Both men nodded.
But only Reverend Marcus seemed concerned. “Are you all right with that?”
She didn’t need to look at James to know her answer, even if it was a lie. “Yes, of course.” She even managed a bigger smile.
Be his wife.
Be his wife.
That was the agreement, yet nothing had ever felt more wrong. Being his bedmate, being his lover, his fuck toy, being his whore, had been so simple, thrilling even. She had no hesitation, no doubts.
But his wife...
“Cora?”
The Reverend had asked her something. He was watching her with concern and patience.
She flushed. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I asked if you wanted to change.”
She’d only been given the one dress that James had torn to shreds, and she doubted he had another.
“No, this is fine.”
Marriage had always been something Cora had expected to share with Elise. There was supposed to be tears, and champagne, and dresses. It was supposed to be months of planning and turmoil. It was supposed to be with the man she couldn’t get enough of.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of her fucking life.
She wasn’t supposed to want to cry.
But she was wrapped in sweats, a baggy shirt, and no shoes. What little makeup she’d applied the night she’d been scrubbed away with her shower. Her hair, having gone several states of wet and dry without a brush had become frayed, tangled, and brittle. Her skin was pale and dry from days at sea and lack of sun. She was quite possibly the ugliest bride to ever walk the aisle.
What was worse, her mother was nowhere in sight. Her father hadn’t given her away, and Deidra wasn’t there to throw her an incredibly inappropriate bachelorette party.
She was alone and trapped.
But she stood when Reverend Marcus asked her to.
She faced James like she was supposed to.
She answered with conviction when the damning question was asked of her, and she signed the paper joining her forever to the man who had no qualms about taking her life.
It was only when he declared they seal the union with a kiss that neither she nor James moved. Protocol seemed to have failed them both.
But he came to his senses first.
He hooked a finger into the loose material of her shirt hem and tugged her to him. The unexpected pull sent her straight into his chest where his arms came around her, where his hand burrowed under the weight of her hair to cradle the back of her neck. She was entirely at his mercy as he bowed her to his body.
Then he kissed her, his and her eyes still open, both daring the other to close first. Their lips melded in an angry dance of wills and unrepressed passion. That was the thing they never seemed to lack between them—passion, desire, a deep, unquenching thirst to fuck relentlessly. It was all there, roaring like an inferno of undiluted lust. It was almost enough.
Why wasn’t it enough?
He released her mouth with a final nip of teeth. His hold remained resolute and unyielding around her as their breaths tangled together in rapid pants. It was the kind of hold that vibrated with possessive energy.
“I have something for you in my quarters.”
The words took several seconds to process properly through her mind. Once it did, she pulled out of his hold and made her way a bit gingerly to the door on weakened knees. Nicholas waited for her just outside the door and the feel of his constant presence prickled the annoyance she’d been fighting back every time he escorted her from one part of the ship to the other.
While she’d gathered it was for her protection and he was only following orders, she still couldn’t help feel like his time was being wasted because of her.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around?” she demanded as he led her to James’s cabin.
“Captain’s orders.”
Cora shook her head. “You’re his second, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be doing more important things?”
Nicholas seemed unfazed by her venom. “The Captain wants me to protect you. That is my only priority.”
“And why is that?” She stopped and rounded on him. “I kept my promise. I won’t run. I’m his stupid wife now.”
She realized how that sounded after the words left her, but she didn’t back down. She was stupid. Probably the stupidest person on the planet. Marrying a complete stranger was usually reserved for drunken vacationers in Las Vegas, but it was made worse by all the real reason tying her to him.
The reason she had to be compliant.
Obedient.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was being forced to spend her life with a man who hated her, but she was neck deep in a world she’d avoided her entire life. Adding the continuous threat on her parent’s lives, all she wanted to do was huddle in a corner and cry.
Instead, she stood in a dank corridor, glowering at the only person she could yell at without getting spanked.
“Stop following me!” she snapped, horrified when her voice broke and tears welled.
Nicholas said nothing. He did nothing. He stood big and mute while she gulped for breath and fought not to fall apart.
“I can get there on my own,” she finished weakly.
Leaving him there, she made her way down the familiar halls and doors in the direction of James’s cabin. Nicholas followed, but at a far, discreet distance she could almost pretend wasn’t happening.
She locked herself up in the room and slumped against the door. She shut her eyes and let herself slide down to the floor.
She was married, and not to a man she loved, or even a man she semi liked.
She was married to the enemy.
A man who could melt her with a touch and freeze her with a glance.
A man who couldn’t be bothered with what happened to her.
She married her kidnapper.
Her captor, and there was nothing she could do about it.
He owned her.
The twist and turns of her new life reminded her of a board game she used to play with her parents on Sundays during family time. It was an elaborate maze of ladders and snakes, and being forced to maneuver around the reptiles to safety without falling down the ladders. Her life was now a series of trap floors and cobras. One false move and her whole world could be ripped out from under her.
But that didn’t mean she needed to accept it. Marrying James was the only way to protect her parents. She didn’t regret that. She’d sacrifice everything for them, her body, her future, her life. None of it mattered if they weren’t in it.
If keeping James close meant marrying him, fucking him, submitting to him, she’d happily do it all. Plus, what better place to be than inside the enemy’s circle?
Semi comforted by her new purpose, Cora rose from the floor and went in search of whatever James had for her. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been there before they left, which meant Nicholas, or one of the other men had placed them there while their captain was tying the knot.
They were clothes, all laid out across the bed in a neat row.
A cashmere sweater in a soft beige, buttery soft jeans, a coat in an off white, and white, lacy undergarments. Next to them, a hairbrush and her makeup bag. On the floor, next to the cot, a pair of gorgeous knee high boots in soft, black leather. Everything was her size and the perfect tones to compliment her coloring. She couldn’t have chosen be
tter if she’d gone shopping for herself.
The door opened behind her and James emerged. He looked from her to the clothes she hadn’t touched and hesitated.
“Something wrong?”
She turned away with a shake of her head. “They’re nice. Thank you.”
“Cora.”
The compulsion overrode her original desire to keep the question in her head to herself. The single murmur of her name in that tone left no room for anything, but her absolute honesty. She wasn’t sure what it was, or how he did it, but the word left her without a shred of consent.
“Why?” She bit her lip as if that might stop the rest, only they were already on the heels of the first. “Why did you marry me?” She faced the blurry outline of him. “I already agreed to sleep with you. I agreed to stay. I don’t...” Her breath caught in the knot in her chest. “I don’t understand.”
He closed the door.
“It wasn’t enough,” he replied with a hint of remorse she refused to believe wasn’t her imagination.
“I didn’t want to get married.”
“I know.”
“Not like that.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
His quiet patience was doing nothing to smother the emotions welling up inside her, threatening to spill over. She would have preferred his rage, his annoyance, his indifference. Not this. She couldn’t handle this.
“Then why did you do this to me?” Her voice broke. “How could you hate me so much that you would deprive me...?”
“This wasn’t my plan,” he told her with just a hint of stress that mirrored in his eyes. “I never wanted you here.”
“Then take me back!” she cried. A tear slipped. Then another. A cascade of never ending pain. “Take me home, James.”
“No.”
Heart drumming wildly between her ears, Cora spun and snatched the first thing she could get her hands on. The sweater was hurled at him. Then the jeans. The hairbrush was about to follow but her arms were restrained. Her body was crushed. She was pulled into his chest.
“Enough,” he murmured into her temple.
Breathing hard, she stood rigid in the confines. Her back heaved beneath the scalding touch of his palms.
“I hate you,” she choked into his collarbone. “I hate you for doing this to me, for taking everything I care about away. I will never forgive you.”
Blood Script Page 17