Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories
Page 176
“Don’t move that,” he demanded.
“Uh huh.” Damn, she had no language skills! But she obeyed him. She was taking no chances on giving him a reason to stop.
He kissed her waist while his hand tugged at the knotted skirt tie. It gave easily, and he pushed the skirt down. Emily cried. She didn’t know why, but felt the tears running from her eyes. He didn’t appear to notice. She was glad of that, because they were beyond explanation. The blindfold caught most of the moisture.
He rose to his knees and tugged her skirt down. She lifted enough to make it easy. She could feel his cock at her thigh. It was so big. Oh, God! Would it hurt? Shit, she hadn’t even used a vibrator in the past year.
He slid a finger through her pubic hair and down to her folds. He chuckled as she gasped.
“Nice.”
His voice seemed more hoarse than before. She could feel his breath at her breast again. The right one, this time. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, his finger slid lower, took a slow turn around her aching tissues, and eased inside. She bucked and he bit, enough to relish, not damage.
The hardness of his cock, its length, the slickness at the tip, divided her focus. Her right arm was between the two of them; she forced it upward. Trying to take some initiative, she grazed the hair at his lower belly with her fingers.
He growled again. “No.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer, but went to his knees again, sliding his finger free. Oh! Fuck! Was he going to leave? Did she do something wrong? Didn’t men like to be touched?
“Don’t go!” she cried out.
“Go?” His hands urged her legs apart. “Open. Now.”
She raised her knees, following his inclinations. She truly didn’t care at that point how this progressed. He wasn’t leaving. He still wanted her. At least part of her. But what the fuck, she was only interested in one part of him.
He was suddenly gentle, moving atop her with care. Keeping his weight on one hand, kissing his way up her torso, he reached her face then paused. Alan stretched between them and slid one finger, than another, back into her, stroking her to incoherence. Not that it took much at that point.
“What?” She protested. “No, please, I want….”
His fingers left her then rose to paint her lips with the wetness he’d gathered. The smell of desire rose to her nostrils. He genuinely was intent on debauchery.
“Suck,” he said.
She let him slip them into her mouth and she cleaned them off, out of her mind with what he was doing. He bent and delivered one last devastating kiss, then kept moving until the tip of his cock lingered at her slick folds. He stopped. She drew a breath to protest and he slid into her.
“Oh, my God!” she wailed. “Shit! Damn! Fuck! Fuck! Fu-u-u-u-uck!” Her hands gripped his hips, the hell with anything he’d said before. She dug nails into his ass while he kept to a slow pace, filling her, reaching and stretching her to an extent she’d never known before. So good!
He cradled her head in his hands. “Such a mouth.”
“Fuck me!”
“I am.” He pulled nearly free and went faster this time. “You harridan. More?”
“Yes!” She pounded at his shoulders.
He actually listened to her and thrust with more and more power, until she lost her mind.
***
He doubted he’d ever forget that first time with her. And there would be more—he would drag her from the Quill with a sword, holding the rest at bay if necessary. Her cunny gripped him so tightly, so sweetly. And her mouth charmed him. Thirty years married and so hungry. Her fever nearly matched his.
Once he was certain of not hurting her, he let his control go. He’d come close to doing damage to her breast; he must be more circumspect. She was anything but careful. Her nails dug into him. The pain added to the passion. She screeched obscenities, cursed him, and pled with him.
Her feet locked behind his knees, so that when he pushed, she rose with him. This drove him to an end. She hit the angle of her pleasure and fluttered around him, pouring out wetness as she rode him, sobbing in release. He bellowed as his cock delivered oblivion, collapsing atop her in a state of relaxation he hadn’t known for days.
She wrapped her arms around his back, her legs slowly falling open.
“Damn.” He heard her gasp. He lifted off her, giving her room to breathe.
Her sudden jerk to one side surprised him. She tried to bury her face at his shoulder. “Eyes!” she whimpered. “Burns!”
He quickly slid down to offer her more shelter. “It means they are nearly done looking for you. The spell is trying one last chance to flush you out. Relax.”
The blindfold, fallen to one side, was barely visible. The light from the one candle, near the window, fell on the pillow. He quickly sheltered her eyes, shifting to provide shadow. “Close your eyes, tightly. Cover your face with your hand, while I snuff the wick.”
Stepping from the bed, he walked to the window and took care of the offending flame. Outside, he noticed two figures across the road. They were destined to be disappointed. He wasn’t. They’d leave now, and he could return to slaking his thirst. They would have to manage with initiates.
Turning again to the bed, he considered what he wanted next.
By the time a glint of dawn lightened the window, he relished the sound of her snores. His cock reclined, spent. But his time was up.
Once dressed, he slid the cover down from her shoulder to more clearly see the tattoo he’d caught a hint of in the faint light the night before. Above her left shoulder blade, he spied a circle of dog paws, dancing around a full moon. At her bicep was another ring of paws. He smiled. “Ah, the origin of the name….”
He wrote her a note and left it on the pillow.
Dear Mrs. Pawes,
Next rendezvous, aboard my ship. Last night was a pure delight. I look forward to our next bit of debauchery.
Alan
He removed a small pearl pin from his sash and secured it to her belt—a token of his appreciation.
He hauled his coat off a chair and her bag fell to the floor, spilling its contents. Going to one knee, he gathered up the items. A wallet of sorts displayed a placard. It bore her likeness. He smiled. “Ah, so it’s Emily.”
A small vial of liquid, hooked on a light chain, caught his eye. He unscrewed the lid and inhaled. The source of her apple scent. He liked it.
Lastly, a fabric-wrapped item. Curious, he freed it. The item fell into his palm; the carved Kraken coils made him start. He slid a finger down the handle, and his memories stirred. With a smile, he flipped it over to find a portrait of himself gazing back at him.
The shock threw him. He shot a glance at the woman, dead asleep on the rumpled bed. Confusion roared through him, anger. Did she cast on him? Was this a trick of Mick’s? He surged to his feet, ready to confront her.
And stopped. No, he’d find Mama Lu. She’d know. Casting near Tortuga required her cooperation. And she would not do anything against him. Of that, he was certain. Fairly.
He swallowed, took a deep breath, and stooped to recover the scarf. He wrapped the frame, glancing down at it once more. Only to see his present face gazing back at him. He blinked, it blinked. A mirror. Now it was a mirror? Shaking his head, he finished wrapping it and returned it to her bag. Perhaps, it wasn’t her magic—it was magic. Lu would know.
When he departed the tavern, he left instructions that Mrs. Pawes have every amenity available when she rose.
CHAPTER 7
Emily woke slowly, her body aching, yet oddly at peace. She stretched, moaning . Her eyelids flickered, and the memory of the previous night’s blindness caused her to open them wide, fearing the blindness remained. A wall glowed inches away from her. She raised a hand and brushed at the plaster. Seeing the cracks, her worries eased.
“Alan?” She rolled over, expecting to see him in the room.
It was empty.
Typical man. She guessed. She actu
ally didn’t have much experience with men, having married at twenty. But what she’d read led her to believe this wasn’t unusual. And for men of this century? Who knew? She shrugged as she sat up.
She’d gotten what she wanted, she supposed. So why the acute sense of bereavement? One hand clasped the sheet to her chest, the other pushed her up to sit. Her fingers brushed against something out of place. A bit of paper?
She lifted the notepaper and read it. “Oh yeah? Your ship? Yeah, I’ll skip on down to the harbor and ask for a Captain Alan of the ship something or another.”
But the note lifted her heart some. It seemed stupid to care, but she did.
Good thing there was no e-mail or texting in this place, or she’d find herself stalking him. Searching Google. She imagined the personal ad.
Desperately seeking tall captain who rescued old woman from vampires the other night. Call me!
With a giggle, she set her feet on the floor. Standing, she moaned. Her body creaked, her back gave a loud pop, and her pussy pulsed. Wow. And she needed to pee.
She’d been surprised while she strolled around town the day before to see that the public privies were more than open cesspools. Instead, they featured a crude bit of what she’d term modern plumbing. She surveyed the room, noting a door at one corner.
“What the hell?” She checked it out and found a bathroom.
She came out, much relieved. Once dressed, she checked the room thoroughly, wondering if he left anything else. With a sigh, she deduced he didn’t. After her bustier was secured, she pulled the belt from the headboard.
“What is…oh!” She unclipped the pearl pin from one of the buckles and smiled. Securing it on her blouse, she slipped into her sandals, picked up her pack and turned toward the door.
She paused, considering. What should she do? Her belly growled, making one decision for her. Breakfast first, followed by a visit to the Barmy Cock, where hopefully, she’d discover if the Quill was still in port. It appeared she’d be here for the duration. And should the ship be gone, perhaps Sam would take her on as a bartender.
Downstairs, a bright-eyed woman hailed her, insisting she sit down and have something to eat. “The captain, he insisted we take good care of you, Misses.”
“Well, thank you. I’m sorry I missed him this morning.” Emily determined she would not be embarrassed. She was an adult, as was he.
“Ah, well those sailors often rise early. He was taking the ship out with morning tide. He knows not to linger too long in Tortuga.” The apron-wearing matron smiled brightly. She chattered while setting a plate down in front of Emily that contained fried potatoes and sausages. Emily listened with one ear, her focus on the food.
She’d eaten poorly the day before—it was a pleasure to dig in heartily.
“This is delicious, thank you.” She took the drink offered, cleared her throat, and tried to think how to ask without asking directly.
“His ship? So, they’re gone…?” She let the sentence hang. She was no good at this.
“Ah, the Immortal was here some days ago. It was unusual for him to return so soon. Misses? Are you all right?”
Emily pushed the plate away, a sudden dead weight on her chest. She’d slept with Captain Silvestri? Spent the entire night with him. The man Mick hated. Mick, who befriended her, watched out for her....
“Uh…no, I’m fine. I only realized… I was supposed to meet a friend at the Barmy Cock this morning. I should leave. Hopefully, I haven’t missed her.” She pushed back from the table. “Thank you—you’ve been quite kind. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, love. He took care of it.” She reached out and tilted Emily’s head to one side. “He said you were vampire blasted last night. I see no sign of it, so you shook it off right. The Cock is down Broad Street, on the right.”
“Broad Street…it isn’t the wide one, is it?” Emily asked, distracted by the shouting in her head. Slut. Sleeping with the enemy. Fucking the enemy. Shit.
Gloomy, she made her way to the familiar bar.
Sam at the Cock told her the Quill was still in port. “They were in here hoping to find you last night. Said they’d be back. Or, go on down. There’ll be someone can see you out to the ship. You find a place to sleep last night?”
“Oh…yeah. Sam?” She looked up at the friendly man. Bartenders heard everything, knew everyone. But they generally didn’t gossip. There was honor among those who worked the bar; they didn’t blab about customers. Would he share with her?
“Yes, Misses Paw? What do you need?” He polished a glass.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked. It wasn’t what she wanted to know, but it might make it easier to ask the second question. “I always slept till noon after a busy night.”
“I ain’t been to bed yet. I don’t sleep until everything is cleaned up. Now, what do you really want to know?”
“Can’t fool you!” She gazed at the glasses, lined up on the bar. “Why does Mick hate this Captain Silvestri so much? I know he blames him for losing his father? Is that right? I’m not asking you break confidence, but I’m new here and I don’t want to stumble.”
“Well, Mick’s got his suspicions. When news came from England—I think it were a letter from his father’s solicitors—he became determined against Silvestri. And declared he’d take back the Immortal. I don’t know the particulars. I do know it’s an empty hope. Silvestri ain’t letting go of the Immortal. He doesn’t seem to hold any enmity toward Mick. He goes out of his way to steer clear of the man.” Sam set a glass down. “Why does it worry you?”
“I worry. Mick was good to me. And I don’t want to do anything wrong. I don’t know what Silvestri looks like, or the ship. I’m new here, and much is strange.” Her eyes strayed to the large CD player and the speakers sitting on shelves high on the wall. “And yet, much isn’t strange, but feels like it should be.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night. I should head on down, in case they decide to leave. I don’t want to miss them.”
“Silvestri is a tall man—long, gray hair, some hint of the yellow it once was. Wears his beard short, and has blue eyes. He’s a confident man, who dresses well. Silvestri is a working captain and that makes him strong. There’s a crescent shaped scar on one cheek. Are you feeling well, you look like it’s more than lack of sleep plaguing you?”
She swallowed her bile, sure now that she’d slept with Silvestri. Damn. “I’m okay. I should get going.”
“Well, if they did raise anchor, you come back here. I can always use a relief bartender until you find your feet.”
“Thank you! I appreciate the offer.” She smiled crookedly, hurried out of the bar, and set her feet on the path down to the harbor. On the way, she glanced down to see the pin on her blouse. With a snarl, she pulled it off and made to toss it away, then stopped.
It hurt. And she didn’t know if he knew who she was. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps he wasn’t trying to get back at Mick and it wasn’t about using her.
She pulled her pack open and dropped the pin into it. It might be something Mick would recognize, and until she figured this out, she wasn’t going to say anything. To anyone.
***
Silvestri set sail for the backside of Tortuga. Mama Lu wasn’t home, but her neighbors said she’d left the night before for the swamp shack where she mixed her potions. It would take some hours to get there.
He directed the ship’s officers on where they were headed, entered his cabin, and fell into a deep sleep—the second in days.
He stayed down until the ship dropped anchor, late in the afternoon. Once roused, he went ashore by himself, tying the cutter up to a tattered pier and trading it in for a more shallow draft, narrow boat. Then he set out for Mama Lu’s shack.
It took him two hours to make his way through the tangled roots of mangroves. By the time he reached her shack, he knew he’d be staying the night.
Mama Lu met him on the porch, sitting on a rocking chair and smoking a pipe. H
e inhaled deeply. It was good weed. She grinned and offered him a hit.
“Only the one, Mama. I need you sharp. I need me sharp. I brought a bottle. I need advice.”
“Course ya do. And a bottle is always welcome.” She took the pipe back and snuffed it. Saving it for later, he’d bet.
Ever since that morning, he’d found himself looking over his shoulder, expecting to see his benefactor gazing at him. More likely, lining up something nasty. He wasn’t allowed to enjoy himself to the extent he had with the delicious Mrs. Pawes. He stood a moment, reflecting on his night.
“Tell me what troubles the legendary, lucky Captain Silvestri.” Mama Lu interrupted the sweet memory of Emily licking his fingers clean. His smile disappeared. “Mama Lu, has anyone been casting against me? Is Captain March setting another absurd plan of vengeance in motion?” He’d meant to be less direct. Damn.
“Not wit’ my help. No one casts on this island without me knowing it.”
He considered a moment. “What about off this island?”
“Now you’re asking a question worth knowing.” She poured a drink from his bottle into an empty jar. After a sip, she grinned at him. “You meet the newcomer?”
“She’s casting?” He didn’t bother being impressed. Mama knew magic.
“Her? She don’t believe in magic. Yet. But…magic is using her.”
“I knew it!” He turned away, fist clenched. “Who?”
“More critical you ask what be using her. You tired of serving the northern witch, Alan? Ya ready to shed her benevolence and strike out on your own? That newcomer, she be the key to turn that lock,” Mama Lu’s voice softened. She set a hand on his shoulder.
Silvestri stared out into the dark swamp. A figure moved in the water. Two eyes, glazed and wet, glowed at him.
“You! Shhhh! Get ‘way! There be nothing for you right now!” she shouted to the wading zombie.
“You feed them, so they’ll keep coming back.” With a sigh, he continued. “Be free of her curse? How?”
“Yes, I feed them. I grow the mold they like. But there’s none ready to harvest right now. They’re harmless and bring me what I need. Now, I don’t know how this is gonna work. But the new lady, she be marked for you, brought for you. He’s working for you, Alan.”