by Sabrina York
He unbuttoned her shirt and his mouth traced a hot path over her cheek, her throat and her collarbone. When it settled on a bared nipple and he suckled her, she quivered. Her body softened, dampened. Her heart thrummed in a heady beat. Her hands, trembling, foraged as well, passing over the broad shoulders she loved so well, raking the muscles of his back and then, when he hit a particularly sensitive spot on her belly, nesting in his hair.
She held her breath as he unfastened her trousers. She lifted up as he slid them off. She bit her fist as his breath caressed her core—she couldn’t cry out. She shouldn’t. But when he tasted her she couldn’t hold back the moan. It had been delightful before but now it was even more thrilling. She spread her thighs, giving him more room to work.
He forgot his own warning as he licked and lapped, groaning and moaning and whispering how delicious she was. Delicious!
He was delicious.
And heavens, he was very good at this. Her body flowered under his attention, going hot then cold then hot again as he teased and tormented her. She shifted restlessly, lifting her knees and pulling him closer. Impatience, a simmering hunger, a growing need balled in her belly. Her pulse pounded in her head, in her heart and in that little button between her legs.
“Ned,” she hissed, trying to be quiet, but the sensation was too strong, too overwhelming, too exquisite. Skillfully, he led her to the edge. She panted as her muscles constricted, as the fever rose. Desperation clawed at her.
“Easy, Sophia,” he whispered as his fingers drifted over her core. They slipped lower to her entrance. “Easy, darling.”
She tried, oh she tried. But how could she, caught in this whirlwind as she was? His mouth closed on her again and he sucked, flicking her pearl with his tongue, and she seized. Delight washed through her in a scorching tide. She was certain nothing could match this absolute rapture, but then he thrust his fingers deep inside her and a new sensation rose. White hot with a quick, sharp pain, but it was a sweet agony followed quickly by the most incredible shards of wonder.
He was in her.
It felt divine.
He moved slowly and she began to tighten again.
“When you touch me…”
She struggled to make sense of his words. “Yes?”
He eased out and then back in. She shuddered at the astounding pleasure. “When you wrap your hand around me and stroke, this is how it feels.”
“Oh. Heavens.” No wonder he’d been putty in her hands. She resolved to do that more often. If they survived.
But at the moment, she didn’t give a tinker’s damn if she survived or not, because he was rising over her, nudging her legs wider and setting his cock where his fingers had been. She felt the tip and shuddered at his heat. He steeled himself to thrust.
She sucked in a breath. Clenched her muscles in anticipation. He chuckled. She felt the vibration where they kissed, at her core. “Easy, darling.”
“I don’t think I can be easy.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. Please.”
She forced her body to obey, though she fairly quivered with eagerness.
He pushed in, just a bit, and groaned. “Ah.” But when she wiggled beneath him, he winced.
Mortification flooded her. “Does that hurt, Ned?”
A hint of panic tinged his laugh. “Only in the best possible way.”
He eased in a little deeper, which felt wonderful but not nearly as nice as what he’d done before, but he seemed to be enjoying it and that was, she supposed, what mattered. She tried not to be disappointed that it wasn’t terribly scintillating—
And then he thrust. Thrust hard and deep.
She shattered.
Dancing lights filled her vision. Incredible bliss whipped through her being. It was magnificent, this feeling of fullness, possession and heat wild enough to forge an unbreakable bond.
Of a sudden, in a flash of insight, she understood. She understood everything.
But she had no time to reflect on this epiphany of life and love and the universe at large, for Ned retreated. She tried not to cry out in protest. She wasn’t ready for it to be done—but before she had a moment to gasp a breath, he lunged back in and she was, once again, possessed.
Glorious!
He continued this delightful motion, the incessant ebb and flow of a lustful tide, as timeless as the sea itself. With each advance, her body quailed, rising to a higher and higher frenzy. With each withdrawal, she clenched around him in a desperate attempt to keep him in. And with each clench, he grunted and groaned.
His pace increased and, with it, the tumult within her. Driving her wild with sensation, he pounded in and in, deeper and deeper, harder and harder. She clutched at him with her arms and her thighs. She arched up, trying to follow him or urge him on.
He needed no urging.
“Sophia, darling,” he growled, gripping her chin and smothering her mouth with a ferocious kiss. His hips moved faster, his thick cock whipping in and out of her body at a manic pace, scraping against screaming nerves and driving her ever higher.
She didn’t think she could stand it. Didn’t think she could bear it. Her breath caught. Her pulse rocketed. Her vision dimmed.
Ripples began deep in her womb and then traveled out in delicious rings, taking her, swamping her, devouring her soul.
Then he swelled inside her.
The new pressure, the delirious feel of his cock, the powerful plunges kissing some arcane bundle of nerves buried deep, devastated her. She lost all control. Digging her nails into his back, she exploded, imploded, dissolved.
A great wash of heat flooded her and she gloried in the knowledge that it was him. It was Ned, giving her his seed.
That, above all things, pleased her mightily.
And that was saying a lot.
For she was mightily pleased.
Ned held her close after helping her dress. He held her as she slept, pressing tiny kisses to her brow.
He was a fool.
Ah, not for this. Not for defying her brother’s command to keep away. Not for taking her. This was the least foolish thing he’d ever done. Even if they did not survive this disaster, he could die happy knowing she cared for him, she wanted him as he did her. He could die knowing he had given her pleasure beyond imagination.
No, his foolishness lay in the fact that he’d thought he loved her.
The feelings he’d had for her, thready and pallid, had not been love.
They paled in comparison with this, this tempest in his heart. He held her closer and squeezed his eyes shut. He could not bear it if anything happened to her.
Anything.
Wrapped in a coil of fear and agonizing adoration, he slept.
* * * * *
He awoke with a start at the sound of a key in the lock. Dismay dribbled through him. They could not be found entangled like this. He eased her off his chest just as the door opened and several brawny men crowded in. To his horror, grimy fingers reached for her and one man hauled Sophia to her feet. Her cry was like a lance to the heart.
“Time for your punishment, boy,” the pirate growled.
Ned’s heart leaped into his throat. “Wait!” he cried.
Another pirate chortled and grabbed his arm. “Oh, you’re coming too. Captain wants all of you to witness this.”
The men dragged them out onto the deck; the sunlight was blinding. It was a beautiful day. A beautiful day to die. He exchanged a look with Sophia. Though she held her chin high, a distinct dread limned her features. The deck was crowded—all the pirates and prisoners were assembled around the main mast. The captain stood before them with a long whip in his hands. Alarm skittered through Ned’s bowels. Surely he couldn’t intend to—
He pointed the whip at Sophia’s slender form. “Tie him up.”
“No!” Ned howled. He struggled to break free but couldn’t. There were far too many men holding him. He snarled and cursed and struggled like a wild man as the pirates lashed her arms around the thi
ck mast.
“We have very strict rules,” the captain said and cracked the whip. “Ten lashes for disobedience and ten for betrayal.”
A rumble went up through the knot of huddled prisoners.
“You can’t do this!” MacDougal cried, but the captain ignored him.
He paced back and forth beside Sophia’s bound form, coiling and uncoiling the whip. “You’re lucky, boy. The sentence for mutiny is death.”
Gasps rose.
“Are you ready?”
“No!” Sophia wailed.
Ned’s terror swelled. This could not be happening. This could not. Such a beating would kill her. Kill her. She was so small. So delicate. So tender.
“Best get it over with quickly. Best you learn the rules now,” the captain said, raising his whip.
“Stop!” Ned bellowed.
The captain sighed and shot him a look. “What is it?” he asked.
He shook off his captors and stepped forward “Punish me instead. The escape was my idea. He-he had nothing to do with it.”
“Ned, no!” Sophia sobbed. “I can take it. I can.”
Percy pushed through to the front of the prisoners. “No. Punish me.”
MacDougal stepped forward as well. “No, me.”
“Me!”
“Punish me!”
They all surged forward. All but Prudence Billingsly, who warbled, “I think I shall faint.” But when no one stepped forward to catch her, not even Lord Billingsly, she decided against it.
The captain surveyed them, hands fisted on his hips. “I should love to whip you all,” he said, “if it weren’t so very much work. But as it stands, there is one culprit. The one who betrayed my trust. This boy will be whipped.”
MacDougal blanched. “You can’t!”
The pirate stiffened. A muscle worked in his cheek. He forced a cold smile. “Can I not?” he drawled. He flicked the whip. It scored Sophia’s back with a hissing smack. She screamed.
Ned’s gut churned. Acid crackled and spat. Something bitter seared his throat. He lunged forward but the pirates caught him and held him back, though he fought them until he was short of breath.
The captain watched his struggle with a slight smile. “Trust me. It’s better to get it over with quickly.” He raised his whip again.
“Stop!” MacDougal cried. “His brother will kill you for this!”
“Oh, dear God,” Marquee muttered. He wiped his face with a palm and quirked a brow at MacDougal. “His brother?”
“St. Andrews. Ewan St. Andrews.”
“Really?” Marquee put his hand to his chest and shuddered. “I am so afraid. And who is this St. Andrews, this man who strikes fear in the hearts of intrepid men?”
One of the pirates stepped forward and whispered into his ear. Marquee paled. “The McCloud?” he hissed. He whirled and glared at Sophia. “You told me you were his relation.” He thrust a finger in Ned’s direction.
“I am,” she snuffled.
“The McCloud married my sister,” Ned said.
“Shite. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” He frowned at his men. “Cut the boy down and see to his wounds.”
Ned pushed forward and caught Sophia when she fell. He glared at Marquee. “I’ll see to his wounds,” he spat.
The last thing they needed was to have a pirate rip off her shirt and discover what lay beneath the torn fabric.
Marquee bent down to stare at Sophia’s face. He frowned. “I am sorry, boy, but you really should have told me. Is there anything else you’re keeping a secret?”
Sophia’s lips trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. “No.” A whisper. A lie.
Ned gave her a gentle squeeze, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the brig. Where she would be safe from these men. Where they could be alone.
He did not care if anyone followed.
Chapter Ten
Apparently, concern over Ewan’s wrath was enough to temper Marquee’s pique. He did not allow them to remain in the brig. He housed them both instead in a small cabin down the hall from his and sent his doctor to tend Sophia’s wound.
It wasn’t so very bad. Certainly not as bad as everyone thought. Though she did wince a bit as the doctor pulled up her shirt, peeling it off her back, and she might have yowled somewhat as he cleaned the wound. Thankfully it was low on her back so she was able to preserve her secret. Ned stayed by her side, holding her hand, which was very comforting. She hardly cried in the least.
Still, when it was finished and the cut had been covered and wrapped, she was exhausted. When the doctor left, she collapsed on the bunk and then flinched as a slice of agony scored her. She needed to remember not to move while it healed. This had been one lash. She couldn’t bear to imagine twenty.
Horror crawled through her as an even more hideous thought descended. She lifted her head and glowered at Ned.
His hand, which had been stroking her hair, stilled. “What?”
“I can’t believe what you did,” she snapped.
He blinked. “What did I do?”
“I can’t believe you commanded—commanded—Marquee to whip you instead. What on earth possessed you?”
“What possessed me?” He frowned at her. “What the hell do you think possessed me?”
“He could have taken you up on your foolish offer.”
“It was not a foolish offer. It was chivalrous.”
“Foolish.”
“What man worth his salt would allow his woman to be brutally beaten?”
His woman? A thrill ran through her. Still… “That is not the point. It would have killed me to see you whipped.”
“It killed me! Jesus, Sophia, do you have any idea? I wanted to die when that whip fell.”
“Honestly, Ned, you only think of yourself.”
“What?”
“Do you not have a care for my feelings? When you stepped forward and commanded Marquee to stop, well, my heart nearly ceased beating.”
“Your feelings? What about mine? You are my heart, my breath, my soul. I love you so much. I would do anything to keep you from harm. I wanted to rip that bastard limb from limb. And I would have if there hadn’t been so damn many men holding me.”
“You did fight fiercely but that is hardly the—wait. Did you say you love me?”
“Yes,” he barked.
“Really?” She gazed up at him, her heart full.
“Yes.” This time, much softer. He threaded his fingers in the spikes of her hair and kissed her reverently. “Sophia, darling. I love you so much it hurts.”
“Oh Ned. I love you too.”
He stared at her. His throat worked. When he finally spoke, they were not the words she expected. “You cannot love me.”
She tipped her head as Marquee would and clipped in his lazy accent. “Can I not?”
Ned pushed away from her and lunged off the bed to pace the cabin. It was cold in his absence. “No. You cannot. Oh, damn and blast.”
Cautiously, Sophia rolled over and sat up so she could watch him storm from one side of the room to the other. “What is it, Ned?”
He stopped and leaned his forehead against the far wall. His shoulders slumped, like a man defeated. “Your brother was right, Sophia. I am not worthy of you.”
“Oh bother.”
He whirled around, a bright light glimmering in his eyes. She did not like this look. “I’m not a prince or a wealthy man. I don’t have a title. Hell, I don’t even have a home of my own. What have I to offer a woman like you?”
“The bastard daughter of some nameless lord?”
He stared at her. “You know what I mean.”
Her heart stuttered. He might as well know the truth. “Sadly, I do not. I am a woman, Ned. And not one from a lofty perch. As a child, I lived in the gutter. Ewan and I stole to eat. Stole, Ned. I am nothing but a street urchin who had the good fortune to go to finishing school. An urchin with a very determined brother. He scratched and clawed and sacrificed to amass his empire
to carve out a place for me. If anyone is unworthy, it is I.”
“Never say it.” He fell to his knees before her and took her hands in his, stilling their fluttering. He stared up at her, his eyes shining. “You are a treasure.” Simple words but the emotion behind them shook her.
“You are the treasure, Ned.”
“Bah. I am the poor relation of a wealthy duke and nothing more.”
She could not hold back her laugh. “That is in itself impressive. I know legions who would trade places with you in an instant.”
“Beyond that—” His voice broke and he buried his face in her lap. “I couldn’t even protect you.”
“Protect me?” Silly, silly man. “You have protected me. All along.”
He sighed as though he didn’t believe her. Why did men have to be so stubborn?
“Ned, you were magnificent, fighting off all those pirates with the cutlass. My heart was in my throat the entire time but I was terribly impressed.”
“You were?”
“Oh, yes. I nearly swooned.” It had been from fear for him, but she had. “And when you fought them today, you were rather impressive.”
“Rather impressive?”
“Terribly impressive really. My womanly parts were quivering.”
He barked a laugh.
“The point is, I would rather have no other man protecting my honor. In fact, I would rather have no other man.”
He gazed up into her eyes. She kissed his forehead. His nose, his lips.
“I would rather have no other man. Ever.”
“Oh Sophia.” He wrapped his arms around her and then stilled as she winced. “I’m sorry, darling. I forgot.” He tried to back away but she would not let him.
“Come to me, Ned.” She tugged him closer. “Make love to me again.”
He paled. “Sophia, we cannot. Your wound…”
Oh. Bother. “It’s only a scratch.”
“It’s hardly a scratch.”
“I will allow you to be gentle.”
“You will allow—” He choked on his laugh. “Sophia. Darling. You cannot be serious.”