“That’s all your captain needed to hear, love.”
Then Jason’s massive hands were spreading his cheeks wide, and the thick length stopped bumping his hole and pushed right into it. Something that only vaguely resembled a human voice slaughtered its way from his throat as Jason impaled him in one slow thrust. The sound was stifled by Jason’s hand.
Once Jason’s balls met his ass, the inevitable question came. “You all right?”
“Yes,” Flynn hissed. Thankfully, Jason took him at his word and didn’t stop to ask him any other questions. The cock in his ass filled him as wonderfully as always—each stroke stabbing his prostate and sending semen dripping from his cock. Fiery pleasure flash-flooded through his veins, undammed and unstoppable.
“All mine,” Jason said after a particularly rough thrust. Teeth and lips assaulted Flynn’s back and neck, but he didn’t mind in the least. He loved being marked. He needed somewhere to belong, and his somewhere happened to be a someone—Jason. Just as Jason needed someone who was his and his alone.
Parents were liars: sharing sucked balls.
Flynn’s brain shorted out after that thought, because he was coming. He shot his load all over the smooth wood, his chest, his pants; he made a fucking mess, is what he did. But that was nothing compared to the mess Jason made when he arched his hips, slammed deep, climaxed, and then continued fucking through his own semen as it poured out of Flynn’s ass and down his legs. In fact, Jason kept moving as if he could permanently stuff his essence inside of Flynn.
He might as well tattoo Captain Jason Lane was here or Property of Captain Jason Lane on Flynn’s ass. Except that neither of them were into tattoos. That made Jason’s primal claiming more effective and powerful.
Every muscle in Flynn’s back, chest, and arms was screaming from the strain when Jason collapsed against him and finally fell still. Even though the annoying tingly feeling was setting in, he didn’t object.
Just as he had submitted to being chained to the stocks, Flynn had shackled himself to Jason—his lover and pirate captain.
He could only assume that Jason had future plans for the stocks. Whether they were placed out on the restaurant’s main floor or not didn’t matter, because Flynn already knew that he would be the only one with the pleasure of being imprisoned by them. He was, after all, the captain’s favorite and willing prisoner.
K.R. FOSTER has wanted to be a published author since the age of twelve. That goal was brought into focus when she became the features editor of her school paper and graduated at the top of her class. K.R. enjoys every part of the writing process and edits stories for other writers frequently. She lives in the Northwestern United States with her sister, staying indoors so much that her room’s often referred to as a “cave.” K.R. is very open-minded and engages in debate and deep conversation whenever possible.
You can contact her at [email protected].
MY HAND IN YOURS
EMILY MORETON
LIVING on the coast, most of the sea people were fishermen, sailing out in the early morning on a summoned wind and drifting back in with the waves. I’d see them going out as I was walking home at the end of a night of keeping the peace, crossing the cliff top to my cottage.
Maybe I should have seen the ship, though powers know none of the cliff guardians spotted anything. First I knew was a man dressed head to toe in black but for the red bandana in his equally dark hair, his booted feet crossed at the ankle as he reclined against the wall of my cottage. His eyes were closed, his face turned up to the sun.
He was certainly the best thing I’d seen in more days than I could count.
“Can I help you?”
He rolled his head down to look at me, a gold tooth glinting as he smiled. “You’re the town peacekeeper, they tell me.”
“And you are?”
“A man looking for you.”
“Someone else has duty now.”
He smiled again, full of charm and innuendo. “Maybe I’m not looking for you to keep any peace.”
That sounded more promising than any other plans I had for my day. That said, everyone knew better than to break their wards by inviting a stranger into their home, and peacekeepers knew better than most. “You have a name, at least?”
“Not one that you’ll know.”
I couldn’t help the way my eyes tracked his body, head to foot. He was a man who knew how to dress to draw the eye, or so he seemed to me. “That would be why I asked.”
“Why don’t you tell me yours first?”
“You don’t know it? Being as how you know where I live and what I do.”
His eyebrow quirked, amusement written all over his features. Even knowing it was likely at my expense, I couldn’t stop a return smile. “No man can know everything,” he said. “Though I would surely say I know a deal about most things.”
More and more promising. “Jack Tanner.” I stepped closer to offer him my hand and saw a pistol hanging from his belt where I’d missed it before. Not that they weren’t permitted, but few people carried them, mostly relying on magic and other means of defense.
Unless he didn’t carry it for defense.
“A pleasure to meet you, Jack Tanner.” He took my hand in his, which was firm and dry, callused in interesting places. Maybe best not to think of that with his hand still around mine. “Roberts.”
“No first name?”
“Some call me Rob. Or Robbie, but not so many with that.”
We were still holding hands, and he seemed no more inclined to let go than I was. “So, now we’re past the names, can we move to the reason for your presence at my door?”
He squeezed my hand and released it. “Mainly that I couldn’t get further than there.”
“And you want to?” We were close enough to each other that I could feel the heat of his skin, smell the saltwater clinging to it.
“A deal further than just inside the door,” he agreed. “Rumor has it you might be a man to seek out after too many days without.” I couldn’t help the way my eyes widened in surprise at the blatant offer after barely more than introductions, and his smile quirked to the side in response. “I don’t think this is so much of an offer that you’ll be wanting to turn down.”
It wasn’t as though he was wrong. “Well then, step inside.”
He prowled round my one-room cottage as I locked the door and removed my boots. Usually I’d be nervous about someone else in the small space, too aware of the precarious piles of books and the smoldering fire, but it seemed he was a sea man, and I’d seen the inside of their cabins. By comparison, my cottage was palatial.
“Small bed,” he commented, looking down at the patchwork quilt spread over the mattress, the single white pillow.
I shrugged. “Not usually anyone in it but me.”
“We can surely change that.”
I was ready for a little more conversation, a little more flirtation, even. Instead his hand closed around my wrist, and I was tumbled down into the mess of covers, his body over mine as he kissed me, stubble scraping my skin, his mouth tasting salty, a hint of tobacco beneath it.
I buried my hands in his thick hair, tangling my fingers in it as he groaned in my mouth. His weight pressed me into the bed, his tongue pressing into my mouth, tangling with my own. I shifted, pressing closer to him, and his legs fell open, his thighs bracketing mine, his groin pressed against me. I felt his hardness and pushed up into it.
Maybe we had only just met, and barely met at that, but he was what I wanted right then.
I pushed at his clothes, fighting buttons and ties and laces with fingers gone clumsy with desire and lust. He seemed to have less of that problem—it took him the work of moments to have my clothes opened and pushed away. The feel of his clothes rubbing against my naked skin, the tantalizing flashes of his own skin against mine, were an unexpected thrill, and when he rubbed his still clothed erection against my own, I may have let out a sound close to a whimper.
He leaned back, my mouth gaping open a
t the loss of his lips against mine. His eyes were dark, flashed darker as I reached up to push his shirt away. In the fading light of the day, shadows played over his shifting muscles as he reached for the lamp oil I kept by the bed, pouring it over his fingers. One eyebrow went up in what I could only read as a challenge; I spread my legs and moaned at the first push of his slick finger where none had been for longer than I cared to remember.
He prepared me only just enough to allow him entrance. He was long, hard, and thick, and I couldn’t contain the low groan that slipped out of me as he pushed in, his balls resting against me.
He took me like a man who had been far too long without, pounding me so hard I had to grip the headboard to keep from being crushed into it. His hands were tight on my hips, helping to hold me where he wanted me, my own member slapping against my stomach as he thrust into me, taking me, his breath heaving.
I’d never yet finished without something on my dick to help me, but I was far from sure that would stay true. I felt myself approaching my climax, rocking my hips to meet his every thrust, gasping as he lit me up from inside. “I’m close,” I managed to moan out. “I’m—”
To my amazement, he froze, his cock pulsing inside me as he moaned, clearly climaxing in me.
“Did you?” I asked anyway.
He shuddered once more, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Did I say that it’s been some time?” he asked.
I rocked my hips up, letting him feel my erection, leaking against his stomach. He shuddered again. “Did I say that I was close?” I asked. “And still am.”
He pushed himself up, his grin wicked. “Then allow me to finish you.”
I know I whimpered as he pulled out of me—sensitive from too long without that kind of penetration—but that hardly mattered in the face of how I screamed at his mouth on me, sucking me hard, teeth scraping at the head. I couldn’t even draw breath to warn him, my climax took me so quickly.
When it was finally over, I pushed him weakly away from me, then shuddered again as he met my eyes, thumbing a smear of my release from his bottom lip. “I believe you may have finished me completely,” I managed.
His grin was almost childishly pleased, in a way that made me want to reach out for him and hold him close, though I still barely knew him. “Then my work here is done,” he said.
“You’re leaving?” I asked, disturbed to hear a note of alarm in my voice for all that he was still lying half-naked beneath my legs.
“You did say you were finished.”
I couldn’t stop my yawn. “Finished for now,” I corrected. “It would take more than that to finish me for good.”
“Well then.” He shifted until he was lying beside me, his arm against mine. “Perhaps I might stay a little longer.”
I AWOKE in the predawn gray, dragging my eyes open, exhausted from the second round we’d partaken in. I was not entirely surprised to find Rob sitting at the foot of the bed, pulling on his boots.
He must have sensed me stirring, as he turned, his eyes bright in the gloom.
“I have to leave,” he said quietly. “My ship sails with the sun.”
I was no more surprised to hear that than I had been to see him pulling on his boots; my disappointment was another matter. “I saw no ship come in yesterday.”
His grin was almost feral. “You would not, unless we wished it.”
I knew then what I had probably known the moment I saw him but had been unwilling to admit. “A pirate.”
“Of a sort,” he agreed.
“Of the sort who sails into port and seduces the peacekeeper while his men sack the town?” I struggled to tell if it was anger that I felt or something more like sadness. Naked on my back in my own bed, I rather felt it might have been closer to the latter.
Particularly when he reached over to trace a fingertip down my cheek and over my bottom lip. “Not so much of that sort, no. Of the sort who wanted to seduce a man he had heard spoken of throughout the town, and seen about there too.”
I shivered at the obvious desire in his voice, and stroked my hand up the length of his thigh, ghosting over the hard package between his legs. “Then perhaps once more to remember me by.”
He leaned over and kissed me hard, his tongue pushing into my mouth, our teeth clicking together with the force of it, and then he was leaning back again, leaving me breathless. “This will not be the only time we spend together,” he said, his voice low with the force of a promise. “You can trust me for that.”
He was gone before I could find a response.
I ADMIT to a certain trepidation as I made my way down into the town, despite his implied assurance that his men had not sacked it while I lay drowsy and sated beside him. However, it seemed that I’d had no need to fear; the town was as perfect and quiet as it ever was in the early morning viewed from the cliff top path.
I made my way down the path my eyes turned out to sea, trying to spot Rob’s ship as it sailed away. I saw nothing and was not surprised by this.
I did not, in truth, expect that I would ever see him again.
BUT, as is often the case, my expectations turned out not to be so accurate as I thought, and it was barely a handful of months before I returned to my cottage one evening to find a familiar black-clad figure standing outside it.
“Fair evening,” I called to him.
His grin was wide and charming—far more so than his sly and wicked grins had been—and I could only return it. “Fair evening, Peacekeeper. You’re late.”
“I wasn’t aware I’d a guest to return for.” I was close enough to touch him, but his hands hung loose at his sides, and I was not willing to be the first to reach out.
“And now that you are aware?” he asked.
“Then it would be only right to invite him in.”
I made to step past him, lower the wards on my door, and drag him to my bed. Before I could, though, his hand closed once more on my wrist, and I found myself pushed up against the wall of my own cottage, the wood warm at my back, his body warm at my front. My prick showed its interest in the position before my brain had processed it, and his indicated similar feelings.
“Tell me, Peacekeeper, is this something you’d have to bind me over for?”
My mind went immediately to places it should probably not be going. “Only if it was to disturb the peace.”
He smiled, slow and knowing, and nudged his thigh against my groin, making me groan. “I don’t remember you being all that peaceful last time.”
I wanted him—more than I wanted to feel his muscular thigh between mine, more than I wanted that slow, deep voice in my ear, I wanted him inside me. The buttons of his pants were easier to manage this time, and I hardly cared that we’d both be bound over if anyone should stumble upon us. No one would up here, and I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to stop had we been in the middle of the main street, not once I had him in my hand, hot and hard, not when he was pushing spit-slick fingers into me.
Not when I was wrapping my legs around his waist, feeling him push into me as our mouths crashed together, teeth and tongues and the half-familiar taste of salt on his lips.
He took me as he had the first time, deep and hard, every thrust ripping a cry from my throat. My own cock rubbed against the shirt that still covered his stomach, the material dampening as my cock swelled, leaking steadily. The wall was firm at my back, his body firm under my hands as I clung to him, barely held in place by his hands on me.
“Will you—ugh—finish like this?” he asked, pulling his mouth from mine.
I shook my head, though I thought I could, perhaps—I had the second time, before, face down on my own mattress, pinned and moaning. “Touch me.”
His mouth on me had been a delight, but his hand, huge and warm, with calluses in so many interesting places, was something yet more intense. I wanted to go on like that forever, caught between the sun and his skin, his cock driving such perfect pleasure into my body. Instead his skin rasped against mine, his thumb rubbe
d at the slick, sensitive head, and I could no more have lasted than I could have taken to the sky and flown away.
My climax shook me from head to foot as he continued to thrust inside me, endless pulses of pleasure that I thought would never stop.
When it was finally over, I hung limp beneath him, my head tipped back against the wall, my neck muscles too weak to hold it up. He had stilled inside me at some time, barely twitching in and out, though every movement made me shudder again, weakened by my own pleasure.
“Would you finish me?” he asked, his voice low and wrung out, as though he too had climaxed so spectacularly. I surely owed him such, but the idea of coordinating my hand, or worse, my mouth, for such a thing was laughable. I could barely coordinate my eyes to stay open and my lungs to keep drawing breath.
“Finish inside me,” I offered. In that moment, it was all I had.
I did not expect for him to lower me carefully to the grass, cupping the back of my head so it didn’t thump back and cause me pain. Nor did I expect him to drape himself over me, to lean down and kiss my slack mouth as though… as though this was something more than a romp for a sea-hardened pirate and a man who had no one else to give him that, two people who hardly knew each other beyond our bodies joining.
I ran my fingers into his hair and held him against me to kiss more, because for all that it was unexpected, it was far from unwelcome.
When he slid back into me, I gasped, overly sensitive from my climax, and he kissed the gasps from my mouth, kissed any sound I might have made away before it could pass my lips. His climax, when it came, was gentle as mine had not been; a sigh and a shudder, and his body going limp in my arms.
In that moment, he was neither pirate nor stranger to me.
“I’VE to leave with the sun,” he said later that night, lying beside me as neither of us slept.
“I understand,” I said. Who was I to ask for something more—for a chance to learn him as he had learned me, to learn the two of us together? Everyone knows the tales of pirates, of how they take to sea and never return to stay on land, and only a fool would try to keep them. I may be a fool at some things, but never so much a fool as that.
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