A Captive of Chance

by Zoe Blake

  Chance raised his right arm. For a moment, Isabelle was frightened he was going to hit her for damaging his back. Instead, he calmly said, “You are not finished. My arms need attention.” Chance then laid his head back on the rim of the tub and closed his eyes as if he hadn’t a care in the world or wasn’t torturing a captive, innocent woman with his request.

  With a sigh of relief and determined to remember to rein in her stubborn temper, Isabelle slowly moved on her knees to position herself to his side, next to the tub. Reminding herself again that she was at this man’s mercy, Isabelle gingerly placed the sponge in the water, careful to avert her eyes, before she ran it along his arm, from the shoulder to wrist. Against her will, she marveled not only at the display of relaxed strength but also the artistry of his many tattoos.

  Softly running the sponge over the black and gray swirls of ink, Isabelle could make out the shape of an exotic bird on his shoulder. Like a band around the large muscle of his upper arm, there were more gray swirls, but this time they took the shape of a turbulent sea. Sneaking a peek to make sure his eyes were still closed, Isabelle ran the soapy sponge over his forearm. Under the waves was the drawing of a fierce sea monster, Isabelle knew was called a kraken. The tattoo was so realistic it almost made her believe, that the tales of the heinous squid she had heard during her childhood on the island were true.

  Her eyes strayed to his hand, resting against the tub rim. It was tanned and weathered with just the barest spray of dark hair. Across the large hand was a patchwork of scars, cuts and rope burns, the hand of a seaman. Still staring at the quiet power of each vein and sinew, Isabelle remembered her punishment and blushed. This was the hand that gripped the thick, leather belt that bruised and reddened her bottom, the hand of a pirate.

  Deliberately shaking off her conflicting thoughts, Isabelle moved to the other side of the tub to wash his other arm. Before giving a thought to her actions, she reached out her bare hand to trace the grotesquely, beautiful tattoo that splayed over his heart and upper shoulder. It was a skull with a death sickle curved over top its head and a delicate iris blooming under its jaw. Her fingertips traced a petal of the iris.

  Isabelle stole a glance upwards and was startled to find a pair of sharp, emerald green eyes staring intently at her.

  Chapter Three

  His Riding Crop

  Crying out in alarm, Isabelle tried to pull back, but the moment her soft hand left his warm, wet skin, Chance’s own struck out to grab her by the wrist.

  Keeping his intent gaze locked with hers, Chance forced her hand flat against his chest. The silky warm feel of his skin contrasted sharply with the rough feel of the hair scattered over each contour. Isabelle once again tried to pull back, not wanting to learn anymore about the feel of his body under her touch, but a quick lifting of his chin in warning stopped her.

  Slowly, her hand was forced across his chest and then downward. She could feel the muscles of his stomach contract and tighten as her hand swept over them. Chance’s green eyes never left hers for a moment as Isabelle felt the soft touch of the water against the back of her hand. Realizing his intent, she tossed aside her stubborn pride and begged.

  “Please,” she choked out, her own voice sounding strange to her ears. Low and deep from fear and something else she refused to define. “Don’t.”

  His lips flattened in a determined line as Isabelle saw his jaw tighten. With an even more determined glint to his eyes, he thrust her hand deeper into the water, between his open legs till it brushed his cock. Loosening his grip on her wrist, enclosing her small hand with his much larger one, he compelled her stiff fingers to wrap around his girth.

  Chance gritted his teeth and groaned as her untutored hand hesitantly enclosed the length of his cock. Keeping her hand in a punishing grip, Chance applied pressure on the back of her hand till she understood his intent and squeezed her fingers tighter.

  Isabelle felt light-headed. The steam rising from the water. His heated gaze. Her innocent hand gripping the thick length of a man who was not her husband. Her eyes drifted shut, trying to distance herself from the overwhelming experience.

  “Non, ouvrez les yeux,” Chance fiercely commanded as he captured her chin with his free hand. His own voice deep and husky with lust. “Regarde.” Cradling her jaw in his hand, he pushed her head sideways, to watch the dark, illicit act beneath the water.

  Keeping his fisted grip tight, Chance forced Isabelle’s hand to languidly move up and down his shaft. Squeezing it tight as it neared the base of his cock and then loosening it slightly as it crowned over the head so the edges of her fingers lightly grazed the tip before traveling back down.

  Despite her situation, Isabelle could not but help to marvel at her first feel of a man’s member. It was deceptively soft, with a hard, almost unbending core, like silk over wood. Noticing his quick intake of breath every time she brushed the tip, that must be the most sensitive part, she thought.

  After several strokes, he once again forced her hand to do his bidding. Pushing it deeper between his legs, she was shocked to feel two round balls enclosed in soft, loose skin.

  “Hold on to my balls and do not let go unless you want another taste of my belt,” he gritted out.

  Frightened by the intensity of his words and look, Isabelle obeyed without a murmur of protest, cupping the balls in the palm of her hand, testing the weight and feel.

  With another look of warning, Chance released her hand and gripped his cock. Fortune’s Fate had not dropped anchor in a port in over two months. It had been too long since he had sunk between the thighs of a wench. When he finally took his little spitfire captive, he wanted to be able to last, not cum like a school boy getting his first taste of pussy. For that to happen, he needed a quick release.

  Stroking the familiar nine inches, he increased his pace, stirred on by the fascinated yet frightened gaze of his pretty little captive. Her beautiful mouth fell open in wonder as his hips rose above the water. He vigorously worked his own flesh.

  “Squeeze my balls harder,” he ordered as he felt the euphoric rush closing in on him. Isabelle pressed her fingertips in deeper, tightening her palm around his balls as with a roar he came.

  Isabelle’s deep, blue eyes widened in maidenly shock as thick cream spurted from the tip of his cock. Crying out, she released her grip and fell back onto her bottom. Using her forearms, she hastily scrambled away from the tub out of his reach, not caring about the consequences of disobeying him.

  Satisfied and replete, Chance rose out of the bath like some Roman Sea God. Water splashed off his naked body, over the tub rim, soaking the wooden floorboards of the cabin. Reaching for a line, he dried his skin, unabashed at his stark naked form, as his amused eyes took in the disapproving look of the woman crouched a few feet away.

  “Trust me, ma petite,” came his smooth voice breaking the tense silence. “You didn’t want to take that first one in your virgin cunny or mouth.”

  Laughing at her outraged cry, he crossed to the bell pull by the cabin door, giving her indignant eyes a full view of his taut buttocks. Two crew members came immediately at his summons and hauled the tub away. The cabin was uncomfortably silent as Isabelle watched him from her position crouched on the floor, afraid to move or utter another sound.

  Chance strolled naked up to a rough-hewn table and poured himself a generous pint of ale, observing the high color on Isabelle’s cheeks. Her red lips slightly swollen as she bit them in embarrassed frustration at her plight. Her large, round breasts rising above the tight ivory and lace corset as her breath came fast and deep.

  The minutes stretched on as he enjoyed the cool, bite of ale as it slid down his throat. Finally, there was another tap on the door. “Enter,” Chance called out, uncaring of his state of undress. Once again, the crew brought in the copper tub, followed by several new crew members hauling more buckets of hot water.

  Confused at first, Chance could see the very moment Isabelle realized the bath was for her. Scrambling to
her feet, she made a mad dash for the slightly ajar door.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” called out Chance as he looped a strong arm around her waist.

  “Let me go! Let me go, you… you pirate!” she screeched. “¡Bastardo! ¡Déjalo ir!”

  “Tsk, tsk. Such manners,” chided an amused Chance as he closed and locked the door. Carrying his struggling burden deeper into the cabin, Chance placed her on her feet near the tub. “As much as it pains me as a gentleman to say so, we did find you in the bilge, my dear. Trust me, you could do with a wash,” he chided.

  At her still mutinous glare and stubborn stance, Chance added, “Now as a pirate, I have no problem telling you if you don’t get your little arse into that tub right now, you will suffer the same fate as your cute companion right now.”

  Isabelle started, devastated to realize she had not given the paid companion much thought. She had been so concerned with her own current predicament she honestly had neglected to wonder about Marina’s.

  “Don’t you dare harm her!”

  “A little late to show concern don’t you think, my dear?” responded Chance sardonically.

  Isabelle had the grace to blush, but that did not stop her tirade. “If you harm either of us, you will answer to my fiancé!”

  “My, my… that does sound dangerous,” teased Chance, ignoring the unaccustomed pang the idea his little spitfire belonged to another man caused. By nature, he was not a possessive man, especially where women were concerned, but somehow the idea there was another man out there claiming his petite trésor, bothered him. Foolish of course, he thought with a smile. The other man could make all the fruitless claims he wanted. Belle was under his control now, and he was not letting her go till he was finished with her. Judging by the fact that his cock was already stirring back to life, that would not be anytime soon.

  “So who is the man who is willing to take on the fierce Le Chanceux to reclaim his property?” asked Chance, prowling closer to her.

  Le Chanceux, The Lucky, thought Isabelle. It was the first time she was hearing his name, well sort of. His pirate name at least. It was a terribly arrogant and assuming name. What was it about pirates and their silly mock names?

  “He is a very powerful British lord,” offered Isabelle as she backed up, matching him step for step.

  “His name, ma petite,” pressed Chance. “For posterity. People are going to want to know the name of the man who took down the most successful, the deadliest, most feared pirate in these seven seas,” stated Chance without a hint of modesty.

  Yes, thought Isabelle with a smirk. Terribly arrogant and assuming!

  Isabelle puffed out her chest in a show of pride, too bad it was all just a show. “He is Lord… Lord… um.” With horror, she realized she could not recall the name of her fiancé! Damn this insipid arranged marriage!

  Tossing his head back, Chance let out a bark of laughter as he closed the distance between them, backing her against the cabin wall.

  “This man must mean a great deal to you if you cannot even recall his name.”

  “I am merely frightened, of course I know his name,” she responded icily. “It’s Lord…” ¡Maldita! she cursed inwardly. “His name is of no consequence to you. We are desperately, deeply in love,” Isabelle finished lamely.

  Chance ran his fingertips along the bottom edge of her corset before resting on the fasteners in front. Since she was traveling, Isabelle eschewed the more complicated lace up corsets for a simpler one that fastened with small silver hooks down the front.

  Isabelle held her breath as he unhooked the bottom one.

  “I do not believe you, ma petite,” Chance whispered against her open lips. Emphasizing his words, he unhooked a clasp with each syllable breathed against her mouth.

  “I. Think. You’re. Desperately. Deeply. Something. But. It’s. NOT. Love.”

  Her corset fell open, revealing her paper-thin chemise. Disregarding her state of dishabille, Isabelle took in a needed deep breath, failing to see Chance’s reaction as her ample bosom rose and fell unhindered.

  Warm fingers reached for her pantalettes’ ribbon, pulling harshly on the delicate pink piece of silk; the ribbon tore. Her pantalettes fell to the floor. Isabelle tried to cover her modesty, but Chance crowded in closer till his naked chest brushed her silk-covered nipples, making them painfully erect.

  “Oh, god,” moaned Isabelle.

  “Not quite, but close to it in bed I’m told,” he chuckled arrogantly.

  Running a finger along the neckline of her chemise, he commanded, “Take this off.”

  Isabelle’s sapphire blue eyes flashed defiance.

  Chance closed one warm, large hand over her breast and squeezed. She gasped in a confused tangle of pleasure and pain.

  “Take it off,” he repeated with more force.

  Isabelle nodded and reluctantly pulled the flimsy piece of material over her head. They were both now standing skin to skin. She closed her eyes and turned her head, bracing for the abrupt loss of her virginity. Chance leaned down and placed a strong arm under her knees, sweeping her into his arms.

  Isabelle stiffened and waited to feel the bed linens as he tossed her on the bed and forced himself on her.

  SPLASH!

  Isabelle emerged from the hot water with an outraged sputter. He had unceremoniously dumped her into the bathwater!

  “You… you… you,” she sputtered, further pushing her long, wet locks out of her face.

  Chance placed both hands on the outer rim of the tub and leaned in close. “Don’t worry, my dear. I will be relieving you of that pesky, maidenhead soon, but for now, need I remind you, we found you in the bilge. You could use a wash.”

  Of course she should be relieved at the reprieve from his intentions, if only temporary, but Isabelle could not help feeling feminine affront at his implication she smelled. Snatching the sponge from his outstretched hand, she began to furiously scrub her skin while still trying to cover her breasts from his amused perusal.

  Isabelle took the fastest bath of her adult life, feeling his gaze on her exposed skin with every passing second. She decided to only wash her body and leave her hair for when she had more privacy. Reaching for a bathing linen, she wrapped it around her body as she stood up, feeling better once she was covered.

  “Where are my trunks?” she asked hesitantly. “I need to dress.”

  A still naked Chance, strolled nonchalantly towards her. Isabelle continued to train her gaze on his face, not one inch lower.

  “There is something I need first.”

  Isabelle’s stomach twisted in a knot as he ran his eyes up and down her exposed form with a look of appreciation before giving her an exaggerated wink.

  Chance reached out and ran his thumb along her lower lip, desire hardening his eyes. “Get on your knees.”

  “What?” asked Isabelle, baffled by the request.

  Sharpening his gaze on her open mouth, he repeated through a clenched jaw, not accustomed to his orders not being immediately obeyed. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

  Alarmed at the savage look he was giving her, Isabelle was still baffled. “But why?”

  “Because I intend to put my cock into that beautiful mouth of yours,” he growled, radiating barely leashed tension.

  Rather than staring at her beautiful breasts during her bath, Chance had become fascinated with her mouth. Her lips were a delicious red color, as if stained by a rich merlot. The plump lower lip, often caught between her pearly teeth. Imagining the feel of those same pearly teeth as they gently scraped along the underside of his cock, nearly drove him over the edge. It took all his restraint to allow her to finish her bath unmolested. There was plenty of time to take her cunny, right now he wanted her mouth.

  Confused, Isabelle stammered, “Such things don’t happen! That’s not possible!”

  “Oh, it will be a struggle on your part, but I assure you it will be possible.” After allowing his words to sink in, Chance said, “Now, Belle.”

&nb
sp; Isabelle blinked away the tears rapidly forming in her large, dark blue eyes. Never one to beg, she did so now. “Please, don’t make me.”

  Chance ran his knuckles along her cheek, smearing the tears. “You are my captive. It is your duty to see to my pleasure, that is if you value your life,” he responded quietly, making his words all the more dangerous. “Do you understand, ma petite?”

  Isabelle nodded her head as the tears continued to fall. Realizing she had little choice, Isabelle reluctantly obeyed. Clutching the bathing linen protectively to her chest, she bit her lip and slowly bent her knees. Keeping her head lowered in humiliation and fear, she refused to look at his erect cock.

  “Tilt your head back,” Chance ordered, his voice harsh with desire.

  Isabelle knew to fight would only cause her pain and delay the inevitable. With a sniff, she did as she was told.

  “Drop the linen. I want to see your tits,” he commanded as he fisted his cock.

  Isabelle let out a sob as her shaking hands dropped the bathing linen. She knew better than to try to cover her breasts.

  “Spread your knees open nice and wide.”

  She looked up at him bewildered.

  “I want to see your cunny. Lean your bottom back on your feet and open your legs.”

  With tears blinding her eyes and choking her voice, she tried once more to plead with him. “Please, you don’t have to do this. Please! My father will pay twice the ransom you ask if I’m untouched!”

  “Belle, I am losing patience.”

  She jerked her knees open, exposing her cunny to his avaricious gaze. As he looked his fill, she turned her head to the side, closing her eyes and locking her jaw.

  Seeing that she was going to need a little bit more encouragement, Chance stepped away and returned with a riding crop, one of his prized possessions. Made from the hackberry tree and butter soft leather, it was crafted near his childhood home in the south of France. The crop was a marvelous piece of craftsmanship. He had always wanted to see it kiss the skin of a beautiful woman but had held off till now. Somehow using this prized piece on the flesh of some nameless wench never appealed.