by Selena Kitt
"Pork chops."
"And for breakfast this morning?"
"Eggs, bacon, hot cakes, sir."
The captain chuckled. "Thank you, sailor. As you were before your ice cream melts."
After a minimum of formalities, they left the men to their dessert and headed back down the passage. "I hope we have satisfied your concerns that we starve our enlisted men. I'd offer to show you their quarters in case you are worried they sleep on a cold floor, in a puddle of swirling bilge, with no blanket, but I'm afraid there are usually men off watch sleeping or resting in there and I won't intrude on their privacy."
"No, no." She felt like a fool. The stories they heard about the US military certainly didn't hold true on this vessel, at least. But Boris had laughed at her, too. He preferred the Soviet way but never said anything to imply the US capitalists were better or worse. Just that he'd wanted to come home and always felt the land of his ancestors was where he belonged.
"We should hit ice tomorrow and, when you're not used to it, it can be a rocky ride. I'm taking you back to my… your cabin so you can get some rest."
He'd become so much quieter now, less demanding, and she was oddly disappointed. The rise of his voice, the firm grip on her arm had reawakened something inside her. Add that to his American accent, although she wasn't sure a man speaking his own language had what could be called an accent, struck a chord.
Maybe it was the romance of the sea. Even a comrade could be overwhelmed by circumstances.
He took her arm again, but this time in a courteous manner, placing no demands on her, just guiding her in the direction they needed to go. Entirely appropriate.
But after months and years of working with no real release, appropriate wasn't what she needed.
Could this man offer what she needed? Or was his command and demand merely part of the job? They turned corners and traversed various hallways before she realized they had arrived at his quarters.
He opened the door and waved her in. "If you don't mind, I'll come in and grab some gear before I go find a bunk."
Anya watched him move to the closet and grab a small bag. "I'm sorry you had to give up your cabin for me."
He shrugged. "What can't be helped must be endured. I am certain I can find somewhere to get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day." Fastening a strap over the bag, he came to her side. "Good night, Doctor. If all goes well, our countries… and we… may make a great discovery before long."
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. "Da. That would be a great thing. Sometimes I feel as if my work is so pointless. I long for more."
He narrowed his eyes. "All the work of science is important."
"Yes. And I have a never-ending list of preposterous assignments, but I have different needs." God, could she be more obtuse?
He bent closer, his lips hovering just above hers. "Different, how?"
Her mouth dried, his heat so close, his scent surrounding her. If she stood on tiptoe, she could be kissing him, but he'd said and done nothing to suggest she should. What would he do?
"I need to be challenged, pushed beyond my self-imposed limits."
His hand came up and cupped her chin, holding her in place. "And how do you achieve this?"
She sucked in a breath, the room suddenly void of enough air. "I cannot achieve this on my own."
He studied her face. Would he understand what she was saying? Please don't make me spell it out. She wasn't sure she even could. Her core twisted and her lips parted. Sliding his hand from her chin, he closed it around her throat, tightening, tightening until no air would pass. She became lightheaded and swirls of sparks spun in front of her eyes. Her pussy clenched. He watched her reactions carefully, and when she made no move to step away, no attempt to stop him, he let go.
She moaned.
Chapter Four
Stroking her throat, he tried to ignore his own reactions. "I shouldn't have done that," he said, but he still kept his fingers at her pulse, savoring the thud of blood under the pads. "I'll leave now."
"Why?" Her voice swam through his doubt and urged apart the threads of his discipline. There were a thousand reasons why he should leave, all of which she would already be aware of. His command. Their country's unspoken opinions on fraternization on a joint mission. His inclination to do things she might or might not understand.
A report of a captain behaving in the ways he would if he did not leave that very moment could ruin his career, and how did he know she wasn't a spy placed on his ship to do just that? The Soviet ship's breakdown could have been staged. The report of a sea serpent a lie.
Her scent wound around him, drawing him in. Dr. Vanikova—Anya—he'd crossed the line past titles, at least for her, as soon as his hand closed around her throat—smelled spicy and sweet, like carnations and cloves—and he breathed her in as if he'd finally found air for the first time. Until now, he'd never imagined anything could surpass the salty brine of the ocean breeze.
Why would the mighty Soviet Union go to so much trouble to damage the career of a minor member of the US military? They couldn't use him to get to anyone with power—he came from a long line of enlisted men.
No… the only reason to leave now was that fraternization on shipboard was against the rules. And as his palm covered her breast, closing around its firm roundness, her nipple tightening under his touch, he just didn't care.
Still, duty called one more time that evening. "I have to put the ship to bed." Not a technical term, but one he used himself for his final tour of the ship, strolling the decks and speaking to the men on night watch. He couldn't sleep without knowing all was well on board the Northern Lights. "But I will come back—if you're serious about pushing your limits."
She lifted her eyes to his, the distance in them telling him more than her words ever could. But he needed the words.
"Tell me."
"Come back to me. I want no limits between us."
Releasing her breast, he stroked her cheek, rested his thumb on her full lower lip, pressing down. "Dangerous. There are always limits. Think about what yours are, and I will return in about an hour. Duty calls." He took a step toward the door.
"Captain, what are your orders… for me?"
Blood rocketed from his head to his cock. She could have said nothing more powerful. "Wait for me, wearing only your panties, kneeling, next to the bed." Sanity returned for a second. "And answer the door to no one. I have a key and will let myself in." He strode to the closet and found an oversized handkerchief. "Tie this around your eyes."
Anya nodded. "Yes, Captain."
He left her then, anxious to complete his rounds. Once safely in the passage with the door closed and locked behind him, he exhaled a big sigh. He had to be crazy. Or she was a witch. He'd never wanted a woman more. If she'd asked for vanilla sex, he'd still have been helpless to resist. But her request, to push her limits, to have no limits… his cock felt like it would break off if he bumped into anything. With his mind mostly back in the compartment, he drew a breath and headed down the passageway to begin his usual evening routine.
In the Arctic, he could not let down his guard. The safety of every man and one woman depended on his attention to detail. Was she undressed yet? In position already?
"Sir, would you like to observe the fire drill?" And he was on. 100 percent focused. Lives depended on it.
* * *
Anya's fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse. What had she been thinking saying no limits? The man stole her good sense. First thing Boris taught her was limit setting. Fortunately, the captain had not taken her up on her impossible offer. Sliding the fabric over her shoulders, she remembered the tightness of his grip at her throat and her insides clenched. She crossed her arms and tugged her undershirt over her head. She'd experienced many things with her former Dom, but he'd never put a hand around her throat, and she'd never been so wet.
Many of her comrades had adopted the padded brassieres so popular in the West, but Anya, with no
sex life to speak of, wore the standard and unattractive underthings easily purchased, having set aside her few prettier garments when she'd stepped back from her Dom. And of course, she hadn't brought them with her. At least she'd continued removing the hair from her underarms, legs, and even carefully trimmed the womanly areas, as Boris preferred.
The captain had been with many women, she was sure. And they all would have worn lace and silk, beautiful lingerie. For a moment, she considered taking off her panties, as well. They were so droopy and boring, white… but he'd not told her to and she didn't want him to find her defiant right at the beginning.
Although she'd never been perfectly obedient. A little acting out could lead to delicious punishment. She shivered in memory.
Arranging herself next to the bed, she parted her knees and tied the handkerchief around her eyes before resting her hands on her thighs, back straight, breasts thrust out. The captain would be enticed—wouldn't he? If only she'd had time to really prepare.
He'd thought he'd be about an hour. Yanking off the blindfold, she raced into the bathroom and washed herself thoroughly, then returned to settle into submissive posture and await the captain's return. What would he do with her? Were American Doms like Russians?
But then… Boris had been American. He'd blended in so well, sometimes she almost forgot.
Thoughts drifting behind the blindfold, she considered all the possibilities. The lovely ways the captain might choose to torture her. She loved ropes and especially steel around her wrists. Tight, always tight. Candle wax dripping over her nipples or clothespins clipped on and left until…
Fantasies played out, memories mingled with stories she'd heard from the other subs she'd met while with Boris. She had continued to meet up with them at cafés for a while before her lack of willingness to take on a new master gradually pushed her out of their circle. She had little in common with those who were looking forward to a night of kink and began to feel like a voyeur after a while—not one of her interests. She preferred a bit of exhibitionism.
She'd even begun to think perhaps she'd gotten past wanting a relationship with a Dom, or with any man. None had interested her enough. But the captain, with his dark, piercing eyes, short hair shaved up the sides, lean muscles moving under the uniform.
What if he was her one? The Dom she'd wanted. And in a few days, they would go their separate ways, likely forever. Even if the sea serpent panned out to be more than an optical illusion, as soon as a Russian vessel could be brought to the location, she'd board it.
If he turned out to be as special as she thought, she was setting herself up for major heartbreak. Chort vozm. Devil take it.
Silly. She was attracted to a strong man who offered a night, maybe two, of kinks she enjoyed. And since she'd never see him again, at best would exchange a few scientific reports about their findings, she had nothing to lose.
It was time to free herself to an experience she needed, desired… liked.
How long had it been? An hour? Two? The roll of the vessel, the dark quiet with only the rumble of the engines lulled her into drowsiness, and she slumped over, head resting on the scratchy wool blanket covering the bed at her side. She'd hear him coming and have plenty of time to straighten up. The stresses of a day that began before dawn eased away into sleep.
"Perhaps you did not mean what you said."
The sharp words penetrated the blanket of dreams where she was already tied up in the most exquisite bondage while the captain caressed her with the tails of a flogger made of… electric eels? Her subconscious's representation of their quarry? Okay, that was weird. But his tone jerked her upright, and she looked at him… toward him. She strained into the darkness of the blindfold, trying to wake all the way up. Dammit, why hadn't she been able to at least hold position? Once, she would have. "You were gone so long."
"I was gone one hour."
"But it seemed like—"
"Are you questioning me, Anya?" The chill of his tone boded badly for their evening together.
"No, no, Captain."
He chuckled and lifted her by her armpits to sit on the edge of the bed. "I like when you call me that."
"What do your other submissives call you?" How many did he have?
"I have no other submissives, not whom I call my own. But those I play with at the clubs generally call me Sir. Of course, they don't know anything about me. What my job is."
She swallowed hard. "Would you prefer Sir?" Her fingers tightened into the blanket on either side of her, the coarse weave scraping her skin.
"No, Captain is fine." The bed dipped next to her; he must be sitting. "But we have yet to establish what limits you have, Anya." His warm palm rested on her thigh. "I must have your honesty as well as your trust if we are to share a scene tonight."
She considered. Her limits had been rather extensive in the past, but somehow most of them seemed unnecessary now. She wanted him to decide what to do with her. To use her body and mind for his pleasure. But a few things had held little appeal. "No fire, no bathroom play, no needles."
His fingers slipped higher, toying with the edge of her droopy panties. "None of those things are enjoyable to me. Our time is limited, as are the toys I have to use with you here. I did not set out to sea planning to have a sweet submissive in my cabin, so you will have to pardon my scanty resources."
The ship climbed then sank, a wave bigger than the rollers that had lulled her to sleep. She tensed, but when his hand remained in place, fingers creeping even closer to the place she wished they would end up, she relaxed again. "That was a big one."
"You have no idea. Have you ever been on these waters before?"
"No," she said, focused on his touch. "I have spent most of the past two years researching a particular lake monster nobody can seem to confirm or deny. Among other fictional creatures." Her resentment would be showing, the insult to her intelligence these continued assignments offered.
"Like Loch Ness in Scotland?"
"It is considered high security, and I've already said more than I should, but in general, yes. Our government seems to feel my skills are best used in pursuit of legends." Her refusal to date a certain high-ranking Party member could hold some responsibility for her job. "I sometimes wish I had more to say about the work I choose to assume."
His breath warmed her ear. "I chose to enter the military, so my own research is somewhat determined by the government's interests."
"But civilians? In your country, are civilian scientists free to pursue their interests?" She surprised herself with the question, especially when he pressed a kiss to her neck before answering. It was as if her intellect and her libido ran on separate tracks.
"Mmm, well, to an extent. If they can get enough funding. Sometimes that's hard." He nipped the skin over her jugular, and she shivered. "Anya, our time in private is short. Can we discuss business at breakfast?"
"Mmm…."
"Groovy." He bit again, harder this time, and she whimpered. "I did give you one thing to do while I was gone, you know… Can you tell me what that was?" His hand on her lap moved between her legs, pressing the loose fabric into her own folds where it became instantly soaked with her juices.
"To strip to my panties and wait for you kneeling by the bed."
He bit her neck again, this time holding the skin between his teeth as he spoke. "And is that what you did?"
He sucked on the bit held in his mouth, and she shuddered in reaction.
"No, Captain."
He wriggled a finger around the edge of her panties and into her heat. "No, I don't think so either. You were a naughty little scientist."
"Ohh. Yes, yes, Captain."
"And do you have any suggestions for an appropriate punishment? We're on shipboard. I suppose I could have you keelhauled, or make you walk the plank."
She wasn't sure what keelhauling was but… "The ocean is awfully cold."
"True, I suppose I could have you clapped in irons."
She perked up
. "Da."
"Unfortunately, my serious irons are way down in the brig. I suppose we could go down there and truss you up. But you sound too happy about that. It wouldn't be much of a punishment, would it?"
"Nyet. Not a punishment, no." But it would be hot… absolutely hot. His finger found her clit and rubbed it, slow, excruciatingly slow, but exquisite. Her hips rocked.
"Stay still."
A long moment passed while she listened to the rumble of the engines and their breathing, felt the ship rising and falling on the waves, breathed his clean, male scent, fought not to writhe, and waited for his decision. Just as her anxiety level rose to the breaking point, he pulled his hand free and grasped her wrist.
A single tug and she lay over his lap, her bottom in the air and her head hanging down toward the floor. "In the good old US of A, we punish naughty girls, or naughty scientists, with a spanking. And,"—the first whomp of his palm nearly sent her flying—"we make it memorable so the spankee doesn't make the same mistake again."
She braced herself with her fingertips on the floor, and he proved his point. A flurry of slaps heated her cheeks and left her gasping. She'd never seen it coming. One, two, three, left, right, left, right, left, right. She brought a hand back, unable to stop herself, trying to block the next one, and a squeak escaped her.
He grabbed her flailing arm and held her wrist at the small of her back then leaned close. "You can't make any noise at all. Would you like a gag to help you?"
She nodded, ashamed of her lack of control.
"Very well, but if anything we do together becomes too much, I want you to have a word to say to make it stop. Something you wouldn't ordinarily say during a session. What might it be?"
She thought hard. "Borscht."
"Fine. If you say borscht, everything stops." He chuckled. "And because you will be gagged for at least a while, if you hold up two fingers, it also stops. Understood?"
She nodded and, in a moment, had something—another handkerchief?—stuffed into her mouth. She moaned into it as he grasped the top of her panties and dragged them down to her knees.