Matthew sat back to watch him, watch the open, blissful expression on his face, and reached out to run a single finger through the sweat beading on his chest. Achmed grabbed his wrist, holding his eyes, and Matthew felt more naked under that gaze than he already was.
“Matthew,” Achmed said, voice dark and molten. He tugged on Matthew’s wrist, and Matthew followed the instinctive command, lying down on the floor. Achmed pulled his boxers down, wrapping sure, strong fingers around Matthew’s hard cock. Matthew let his eyes fall shut, straining into the grip as Achmed got him off with steady strokes, hand twisting on the upstroke. Matthew groaned softly, reaching out with his right hand, instinctively finding Achmed without opening his eyes and pulling him down for a sloppy kiss, panting his orgasm into Achmed’s willing mouth.
“God.”
“Yes.”
Matthew turned his head, opening his eyes to see Achmed lying down next to him, his soft cock still hanging out of his boxers. Achmed caught his gaze and tucked himself back in, doing up his trousers and belt.
Matthew couldn’t help placing a hand on Achmed’s chest, feeling Achmed’s heartbeat under his fingers. Achmed put his own hand over Matthew’s. The look they shared said it all, Matthew thought, more than they could ever say out loud.
“I think,” he said slowly instead, “that I have to go home.”
Achmed nodded, sitting up and pulling away. “I know.”
Matthew carefully straightened his own clothes, struggling with the buttons. Achmed didn’t offer any help. “I….”
Achmed looked at him, giving him a cocky, crooked smile. “Don’t forget me, though.”
Matthew grinned, even though his heart felt heavy. “Forget you? You’re going to make me famous.”
Achmed laughed, abruptly leaning in and kissing him, deep and hard, tongue dueling with Matthew’s until they were both panting with exhaustion. “Be good,” he said.
Matthew swallowed, looking into Achmed’s eyes one last time. “Stay alive.”
K.J. JOHNSON lives near The Hague, The Netherlands, where she moved when she was two. She doesn’t remember a time when she wasn’t making up stories, and it was inevitable that she ended up writing. She spent most of her high school career reading and telling stories instead of studying, much to the despair of her family. On the plus side, she is fluent in three languages as a result of all of this.
She’s always been someone with unconventional hobbies, from karate in her teens to bellydancing as a student, and writing is another one of those eyebrow-raising things that fits right in her alley. She’s single and carefree, loves city life and abhors all things nature. She also has a passion for coffee and chocolate.
You can reach her at [email protected].
WORTH THE PRICE
CORNELIA GREY
LIEUTENANT Edward Moon sat on the floor, busy cursing himself.
The collar of his uniform jacket bit into his neck. His arms were twisted uncomfortably behind his back, securely tied. He snarled, jerking fruitlessly at the rope. He was such a moron. God damn it. He was screwed. The pirates were going to make him walk the plank, that was for sure. Why the hell hadn’t they just murdered him straightaway? There was no point in prolonging his torment.
He slammed his head back against the cabin wall in frustration. He knew very well who to blame. It was that bastard Commodore Orwell. He’d left Edward there. He’d left him, left him to be captured, even though they’d had plenty of time to rescue him and escape safely. Sure, Orwell was probably giving chase to the pirate ship now, acting all manly and heroic when he’d just proven he was nothing but a bloody coward. The Cassandra was way too light and fast for a heavy man-o’-war to capture. The pirates must be heading to their hiding place, somewhere past the straits in the Atlantic. Edward had no illusions.
Maybe Orwell would be on time to fish his body out of the water before the sharks got to him, Edward considered bitterly.
They’d been chasing after the Cassandra for weeks. Captain O’Shea had been ransacking the Spanish Main for too long. Damn, he’d been chasing after O’Shea for longer than he could remember. The bloody man was a devil, relentless like the wildest storm. It had become an obsession for him. Capture the great James O’Shea. And he’d ended up here, tied like a pig ready for the slaughter, at the pirates’ mercy.
At least Marcus had managed to escape, Edward thought. He found comfort in that. He could take whatever the bastards would do to him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Marcus, young, gentle Marcus, suffering. He abandoned himself against the wall, eyes closed. He would be brave. He would show them how a man died.
Something pricked his hand. He touched the object, felt its sharp tip scrape his fingertips—a sharp nail, protruding from the wall right by his bound hands. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. He could at least show that he wouldn’t go down without a fight, show them what Edward Moon was made of. He gritted his teeth and set to work, patiently rubbing the rope over the nail. Small fibers snapped. It would take bloody ages. He just had to hope the pirates were too busy fleeing to think about their prisoner.
He’d lost track of how much time had passed when he felt the rope snap. He worked frantically, tearing it off his wrists before attacking the knots that secured his ankles. He loosened them, was barely done kicking the rope off when the door opened and a man with long blond hair walked in.
Edward growled and charged.
He sprang onto the pirate, and they crashed back against the door, slamming it closed. The man reacted instantly—he blocked Edward’s fist, clung to the arm Edward was pressing against his throat. They grappled for a few frantic moments, gasping between gritted teeth, gauging each other’s strength. Edward caught a glimpse of steel-blue eyes staring straight at him from under a mess of pale blond locks. A jolt of surprise shook him, distracting him for the fraction of a second. That was Captain James O’Shea himself—
The captain was quick to take advantage. His boot collided with Edward’s knee with surgical precision. Edward’s leg gave out under him, sending him staggering back. In an instant the captain had unsheathed his sword. Edward stood very still, panting, eyes on the glistening tip a fraction of an inch from his throat.
Edward gritted his teeth. He would not. Be. Afraid. “So what you gonna do? Aren’t you going to call for help?”
James tilted his head to the side, an infuriating, smug grin on his lips. His pale blond hair fell down his chest in rebellious strands. “I don’t need to, Lieutenant Moon. I can kick your ass all on my own.”
“That’s pretty easy when you have a sword and your opponent is unarmed,” Edward snorted. He could feel himself grow flustered under those unrelenting blue eyes. “Just what I’d expect from pirate scum like you.”
The captain’s expression hardened. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he threw the cutlass on the floor. “Watch your mouth.”
Edward growled and lurched at him. The captain was swift to drop into a crouch to avoid Edward’s wild hook. He sprang back up in time to parry a cross and landed a liver punch that had Edward doubling over, sputtering and wheezing.
“So,” Edward rasped, trying to catch his breath. “What are you going to do with me? Murder me? Hang me from the mizzen and celebrate?”
“Your opinion of us is dreadful. And here I thought we were being perfect hosts.” The captain smirked, just a little breathless. “You’d better be more grateful for the hospitality, or I’ll throw you overboard.”
Edward charged again, snarling. It was useless. The captain dodged and slipped out of his grasp without apparent effort, and Edward’s fist grazed nothing but clothes. It was an odd, intoxicating dance that had him growling in frustration and something else entirely. Edward’s blood was boiling now, his head spun—he was drunk on the captain’s smell, salt and sweat, the glimpse of his strong teeth, the defiant gleam in his eyes. The candlelight smeared on his pale hair. James O’Shea, alive and breathing and impossibly close, after all the time he�
��d craved him, wanted him. And still Edward wanted more—he wanted.
Edward attacked again and again, relentless, until he finally managed to break past those alarmingly swift reflexes. He grabbed the captain’s wrist and twisted it hard. James gave a choked gasp as they slammed against the door. He laughed then, a wild, exciting laugh. Edward pinned his wrists against the hard wood, clutching them too hard, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
James wasn’t even trying to break free of his hold. He looked at Edward, his hair a luminous halo around his flushed face, teeth bared in that infuriating, smug grin.
“There are men dedicating their whole lives to chasing you,” Edward said. He wasn’t sure what possessed him. Now, only now he understood how it was possible to crave something so wildly as to lose one’s mind, how this man could have driven so many to madness and back. He could feel his self-control slip dangerously, predatory instincts springing unbidden. Maybe it was too late, he thought frantically. Maybe he’d been ensnared too. “Do you know that? All they want is to capture you. To… own you. You are a much sought-after prey.”
“Am I?” the captain asked. His voice was rough, enticing.
“I’ve seen men driven to madness,” Edward said slowly. He was utterly spellbound. James’s scent, his warmth, were intoxicating. “Because of you.”
Their bodies were flush against each other. Edward could feel the captain shift, move his hips, rubbing against him. He felt James’s tense muscles, the hardness between his legs, and repressed a hiss. He found himself responding—he couldn’t help but move, grinding his hips against the captain’s. He couldn’t suppress a surge of exhilaration when that ripped a moan out of the pirate.
“What about you?” James rasped. Edward couldn’t look away from his lips. “You have captured me now. Are you mad too? Do you want to… own me?”
Edward’s blood burned, his thoughts scattered like ashes in the wind. He’d always thought those men were insane, spending their lives to desperately hunt someone down. But now, now that the person he’d hunted was trapped under him—fierce, defiant, beautiful—God help him, he understood. One lifetime in exchange for this seemed worth the price. He was going to die, he tried to tell himself. He was going to be killed by the pirates, and there was no sin in taking advantage of the hot, pliant body in his arms, in giving in to the fierce instincts that roared in his veins.
“Yes,” he growled, and surged to capture the pirate’s lips in a feral kiss.
James’s mouth parted under his; his tongue snuck into Edward’s mouth, claiming it, battling him for dominance. Hands yanked at his jacket, and Edward tore it off, never breaking the kiss, tossing it to the floor before putting his hands back where they belonged. He roamed James’s strong, willing body, trailed his hands down James’s flanks, his thighs. James ripped at his shirt, burning hands spread on his chest. Edward wondered if he could feel his mad heartbeat. James’s touch moved lower, hands pressing against his abdomen, before shamelessly tugging at his breeches.
Edward bit back a groan as nimble fingers grazed his hot, straining cock, stroking it once, twice, before pulling it out. The captain didn’t hesitate, gripping him steadily, pumping up and down in determined strokes. Edward growled low in his throat and sucked on the captain’s tongue, barely resisting from thrusting in his hand. He nearly ripped the lacings of James’s trousers, eager to touch him. The captain’s cock was heavy and hot in his hand—he palmed it, pushed down the foreskin. Warm liquid trickled between his fingers. He pulled back from the kiss, gasping, leaned to nuzzle the corner of the captain’s jaw, taste the salt lingering on his skin.
“You’ve already,” he murmured, pausing to graze his teeth along the sharp jawbone, leaving faint red marks on that impossibly pale skin, “gotten so hard.”
“So have you,” the captain rasped. He tightened his hand around Edward’s erection, tugged at it hard to prove his point. Edward didn’t react; he trailed his tongue on the tense tendons in the captain’s neck, sucked a bruise on the soft skin there. He stroked James’s cock slowly, torturously, coaxing frustrated moans and whimpers from him. The captain writhed under his touch, squeezed his cock in a warning.
Edward couldn’t help but look down, mesmerized—the pale skin of the captain’s hand, his fingers wrapped around Edward’s thick, red cock. Edward watched him move his hand, flick his thumb over the head. He groaned, his free hand braced against the door beside the captain’s head. He reached lower, trailed his fingertips over James’s balls, brushing the sensitive skin behind before grasping James’s erection again. The head of the captain’s cock was slick with precome, and Edward stroked it with his thumb, smearing the warm liquid.
He twisted his wrist, and James arched sharply against him, a delicious flush staining his pale cheekbones. He was panting now, rough moans escaping from his lips. Edward felt close to losing his mind, spellbound by the captain’s lips, his taut body. The air between them was hot, almost unbearably so. He could feel it seep into his blood, pool into his groin, pulse in something close to pain with each of James’s strokes.
The captain’s free hand grasped his nape, forced his head up. Edward stared into half-lidded blue eyes. He could read the pleasure in the captain’s soft moans, in the way he arched his back, hips thrusting into Edward’s grasp in utter abandon. Edward burned, consumed by hunger and desire. He surged forward, captured the captain’s mouth in a possessive kiss, conquering him, marking him. James moaned into his mouth, responded with passion—their tongues tangled, hot saliva tricking from the corners of their mouths. Edward grabbed him hard, thrust into his hand once, twice, his whole body tense in an aching desire—his orgasm swept over him suddenly, a violent tide that shattered his every thought. He came hard, gasping in the pirate’s mouth as he spilled over his hand, nearly blinded by the intensity of it. James stroked him through the last achingly pleasurable throbs as Edward let his head drop and panted wildly, trying to catch his breath.
James was still moving against him, his cock hot and heavy in Edward’s hand. Without thinking, Edward dropped to his knees and took James in his mouth. He sucked him hard and fast, not stopping until the pirate was writhing and moaning under his hands. He clutched James’s hips hard to hold him still and licked at the hot head, trailed his tongue along the underside of the shaft. James’s head thumped back against the door, his hands fisted in Edward’s hair. His hips rocked and shuddered, and Edward held them tighter, pinning him down. Restraining the pirate gave him a heady, powerful feeling. The great Captain O’Shea, reduced to moaning and writhing and gasping under his hands, his mouth….
Edward took him deeper, sucked him until the captain’s moans became a low, continuous chant. James’s cock was thick in his mouth, and he struggled to swallow more of it, feeling it throb under his tongue. Its salty taste addled his brain, made him mad with greed. He glanced up to see the captain’s flushed face under a mess of blond hair, his lips parted as he moaned. Blue eyes met his, and Edward held their gaze, still sucking on James’s cock. The captain looked utterly bewitched, as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Edward’s face, Edward’s mouth, Edward’s lips stretched around him. James’s hips snapped, and he let out a long, low moan. His cock pulsed in Edward’s mouth, trickling hot seed.
Edward swallowed, tongue working around the head, sucking and licking until the last drops were gone and the pirate was slumping back against the door, gasping desperately. The grip on Edward’s hair weakened, and he glanced up, licking a trickle of come that had escaped his lips. The captain was looking down at him with something close to amazement.
Edward was pretty sure he shouldn’t have felt so smug.
He got up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He fastened his breeches, tried to button his shirt with whatever buttons were left. The ship reared up sharply, and he stumbled, bracing his hand on the door to avoid tumbling into James. Only then did Edward notice that the ship was rocking too much, moving in sharp jolts and jerks. The c
aptain’s expression shifted, growing cold and serious and distant within an instant.
“This is trouble,” he gritted out. He’d already tucked himself back in his breeches. His shirt still hung askew, leaving one rounded shoulder bare. Edward had to squash a sudden, hungry desire to put his mouth there. He knew the sea too. He knew there was trouble coming.
James pushed him away and strode across the cabin, yanking on a leather harness and a thick jacket. He opened a drawer and dug out two knives, stashing them in his harness. “Damn. I should have noticed before,” he muttered.
“Where are we?” Edward asked, a sudden dark foreboding in his mind. He was fairly sure he knew already. “Where are we going?”
James grimaced. “We’re sailing toward the Atlantic, by the straits. The waves are too strong. I don’t think we can make it through.”
The Cassandra shook and jerked harder now. Edward could hear the wind howl outside, the angry rumble of the waves. The storm must have been growing fast. God damn it. He knew at sea things could go to hell within moments.
“Wear this.” James threw him a thick leather jacket. Edward grabbed it, dumbstruck.
“What for?”
“You’re coming with me. I can use your skill,” James said, tight. “You’re a lieutenant, you know more about sailing than many of my men.”
James was looking at him with utter disinterest, cold, as if he hadn’t just come down Edward’s throat, moaning for him. As if they hadn’t just writhed in passion in one another’s arms, as if his lips weren’t still red from Edward’s bites and kisses. Edward shouldn’t have found that so enraging. He felt himself flush with anger and snapped. “I’m not helping pirates.”
“You can help us, or you can sink when this boat smashes on the rocks. Your choice.” James shrugged and strode out into the howling wind. Edward caught the glimpse of dark menacing clouds, a mayhem of rain and waves hurling over the ship, before the door slammed closed.
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