“She’s getting away!” cried James.
The Bonny Meg maintained the weather gage, bearing down on the enemy ship. The other rig was desperate to escape, turning downwind. As she rolled, she exposed her hull.
“Aim for the belly!” James ordered.
At the same moment the enemy’s cannons pointed up at the Bonny Meg’s sails. A series of blasts thundered through the heavens.
Sophia’s heart was in her throat as splinters rained. She ducked. The shards of wood pierced the deck like daggers. The fore and mizzen masts remained untouched. The mainmast was crippled, but standing.
Sophia poked her head through the hatchway once more…but Black Hawk was gone.
The deep, quick raps of her heart filled her head as the pressure in her skull mounted and throbbed. Blinded by the dense smoke, she screamed, “James!”
A big shadow loomed. It was a dark and familiar silhouette. A gust of wind pushed the gray wall of fumes across the deck, revealing the pirate captain looking haggard.
But alive.
Sophia’s heart quickened. The black devil was covered in soot. It was smeared across his features, too. The black smudges stressed the dark fire burning in his deep blue eyes as he glared at her.
“Get below!” he blustered.
He was hoarse. The shouting and smoke had ravaged his throat, deepened his voice…made it huskier, more seductive.
She shivered.
She glanced at his dirty shirt, ripped. The muscles underneath glistened in the sunlight, the flesh stained with gunpowder and sweat—and blood.
He was hurt.
But he was alive.
She might not be for too long, though. He looked murderous. But she didn’t budge from the hatchway. She waited another minute for the other ship to take flight before she was sure the battle was over—and he was still alive.
Sophia descended the steps, coughing. She beat the air with her hand, shooing the smoke as she returned to the captain’s cabin to wait for him.
Chapter 15
James grabbed the ratlines. He curled his arm around the coarse rope and clenched his teeth. Lungs heaving, he glared after the enemy vessel sailing away and cursed the craven crew. He had come so close to sinking the impostors.
“Shit!”
William approached him, looking bedraggled. “I second that.” He wiped the dark smudges from his brow. “At least we frightened her. She might not venture out to sea in our name again.”
James gritted, “She didn’t even balk when we raised the flag.”
“She got a good beating, though.”
“Aye, but she’ll recover from it…and set sail again. She’s cheeky.”
“We can always give chase.”
James glanced at the mainmast. Sunlight bled through the pockets in the smoke. He squinted and observed the ravaged tip. “We’re hit. It’s too dangerous to give chase. See to the repairs, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“And the crew?”
“No casualties,” reported William. “A few broken bones, though. Cuts and bruises, too. Quincy’s tending to the injured. He’s got a steady hand with a needle and thread…Do you want me to summon him?”
James glanced at the wound smarting at his breast: a long gash that cut across his pectoral. Not too deep, though.
“No,” said James. “Let Quincy see to the other men first. I can wait.”
James looked at the Bonny Meg. There was still smoke drifting through the rig, but a strong wind quickly pushed the heavy fumes out to sea.
He surveyed the damage for the first time: tattered ropes and sails, smashed planking. The capstan was missing a few bars. But the rig was still in good order. The repairs would take a few days. A week, perhaps. But the Bonny Meg had weathered worse storms and battles. She was strong.
“Set a course back to England,” ordered James.
“And the impostors?”
“We’ll get them yet, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.”
William walked away, shouting orders to the tars. There was rapid movement as the able-bodied men cleared the debris and set to work on the repairs.
James glanced at the hatchway. He imagined the ghostly image of Sophia—and stiffened. He would throttle the witch. But not now. Now he had to inspect the rest of the ship belowdecks, the crew. But later…
An hour later James opened the cabin door. The viper had busted the lock. There was nothing to protect her from the rest of the men. Not that the tars would hurt her; James trusted the crew. But she had risked her own precious reputation. Was she daft?
Sophia was sitting on the bed. She jumped to her feet as soon as he entered the room.
She was ragged. Shift stained with soot, cheeks with ash. He glared at her. He moved his eyes from her head to her bare toes. No blood. No bruises. She was all right.
James let out a loud and heavy breath. He sensed he had been holding it for the last hour.
“I told you to stay in the cabin,” he said darkly.
“I don’t take orders from you.” She glanced at his chest. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart…I know you wanted me dead.”
She cut him a wry look. She crossed the rubble in the room and collected a canteen of fresh water from the floor. “Take off your shirt.”
Muscles twitched. “Like hell.”
She grabbed a small towel off the floor, too. The room was a mess after the stormy battle. She had to circle tossed linens and toppled chairs to get to him.
The long wisps of her dark brown hair hugged her torso like a thick and woolly blanket. Wild. Sophia. That was Sophia.
“Let me tend to the wound,” she said, eyes alight.
“I don’t need your bloody help,” he returned stiffly. He would endure the pain, the filth. He would stomach the blood and the ash before he’d let her touch him with a kind hand. A deceptively kind hand. The woman was cold. She had ice for blood. No heart at all.
Sophia tucked the towel under her arm. She pinched her elbow against her rib to keep the linen in place. It rested against her breast, pressed against the tear in her shift.
He eyed the soft, creamy patch of flesh that peeked through the tattered fabric. James fisted his palms. His fingertips pulsed with the memory of her plump breast in his hand, her nipple hardening and lengthening under his thumb’s ministration.
He shuddered. She reached for him with her free hand—and yanked the scruffy garment off his shoulders.
“There,” she said smugly. “Now we’re even.” She tossed the rags away. “Sit on the bed, Black Hawk.”
He didn’t budge. Every muscle was taut. Blood pumped through his veins and into his cock. He was fighting hard to keep the fire in his belly from burning through what was left of his clothes.
Sophia pushed him. She splayed her fingers and pressed her palm against his midriff. She was hot, too. The heat in her hand—her eyes—betrayed her true feelings.
He sat down with a grunt. He glared at her, trembled softly. He watched as she popped the cork and soaked the linen with the fresh water.
She set the canteen aside. She looked at him with beautiful, bay brown eyes. Mussed hair. Wild lips. Sophia. That was Sophia.
She stepped between his legs to better reach the wound; his thighs quivered.
Softly she dabbed at the gash across his chest. He was quiet, unmoving as she nursed him tenderly. Not Sophia. She was not Sophia now. Sophia wasn’t kind. She wasn’t tender.
She mopped the blood. He ached to the bone. He ached for her. Seven years ago he had engaged in a battle. As now. Seven years ago he had returned to the plantation house after the raid, needing her. As now. But she had vanished. She had deserted him.
She had killed him.
He slapped her wrist.
She dropped the towel. It landed on his boot.
“What was that for?” she demanded, bemused.
She had touched him too much. She had liked it
too much. It was there in her eyes. But the past was dead. He wanted revenge.
He kicked the towel across the room. It smacked against the wall. “Keep your hands off me.”
She pinched her lips. There was a dark fire burning in her eyes. “But you’re hurt.”
“I’ll heal.”
He got off the bed. He was sick. There was a heavy, almost crippling sentiment in his gut. It stifled his movements.
James headed for the door. “I have work to do.”
He had a ship to look after, a crew to heal. He didn’t have time to waste with the witch. Let her cast her spells on some other poor sap, like the earl.
“Wait!”
“What?” he barked.
She slipped between him and the door. There was longing…lust in her eyes.
Burn, sweetheart.
He rasped, “Move.”
“James,” she whispered weakly.
“Oh no.” He caged her. He pressed his hands against the door and looked deeply into her wicked eyes. “You can scream my name, Sophia. It won’t do any good. I’m not interested.”
“Liar,” she gritted.
She was breathing hard. He inhaled the woman’s sweet musk. It thrilled him, set his bones shaking. She was making him weak with her arousal.
“What do you want, James?”
I want you to beg me.
She reached for him, hand trembling. “Please.”
He cuffed her fingers. Blood pounded in his head. He wasn’t sure he had heard the word. “What?”
She mouthed the word again. “Please.”
He gnashed his teeth. “Louder.”
“Please.”
He pressed his lips softly against her mouth and whispered, “Louder.”
“Please!”
The aching cry resounded in his throat. It was his undoing.
He crushed his mouth over hers. So soft. So hot. She tasted like the sea. She tasted like smoke. She tasted like Sophia.
Sophia!
Long, strong arms gripped him. She pinched his neck in need. Such savage need. She opened her mouth for him and let him ravish her. She took everything he gave her—and she still wanted more. He sensed it, the woman’s insatiable desire.
James grabbed her and thrust her against the door; the planking shuddered. Blood throbbed through his veins. He reached between her breasts and removed the small knife. “Spread your legs.”
She obeyed.
He bussed her sweet lips before he dropped to his knees. She wanted to sink to the ground, too, for her knees buckled.
“Hold still,” he ordered.
She spread her fingers apart, bracing the door for support. She whimpered. He loved to hear her wanton whimpers.
Come for me, sweetheart.
James pierced the shift with the blade. In one swift stroke, he rent the garment. She gasped. He dropped the knife. He seized the two halves and split the skirt even more. He split the linen right to her navel.
Sophia groaned as he exposed the folds of her feminine flesh. He groaned, too. He was so hungry for her. It had been so long since he had tasted her.
He trembled as he slipped a finger inside her wet passage and watched the sweet fluid bleed from her womb and soak his hand.
That’s it, sweetheart. Come. Come!
She cried out. She wanted him. She needed him. He sensed her every shameless thought, her every throbbing want.
He was one with her. And she with him. She filled the dark and empty places in his soul. Giving her pleasure, joy made him feel alive. He made her wet. He made her happy. He alone.
He wanted more.
James parted the dark curls at her apex and softly kissed the engorged and quivering flesh, tasting the dewy moisture on her nether lips.
She whimpered and trembled even more.
More!
He wanted more from her. He wanted to unleash every desire she had buried, every passion she had smothered inside her. He wanted her to ache and throb and weep for him. And him alone.
You can’t live without me.
He slowly raked his fingers along her leg, tickled the hollow at her knee. He caressed her warm thigh, stroked her buttocks as he licked her quim. He thirsted for the heady juices.
She cried out in pleasure.
Louder!
She twisted his hair around her fingers, pinched his scalp. She pressed him harder against her core.
“Oh, James!”
That throaty cry; it made him burn. He gripped her buttocks with both his hands, kneaded the plump flesh as he feasted on her most sensitive part.
She lifted one leg and draped it over his shoulder, giving him greater entrance to her pulsing arousal. He could feel her belly heave and quiver against his sweating brow, each gasp a soft cry of bliss, urging him to work faster, harder to give her release.
He slipped his tongue into her quim, so hot.
“Yes,” she screamed. “Yes!”
He was hard. So hard for her. He pulled back and licked his lips, still hungry for her. He grabbed her hips, twisted her around, and pressed her against the door.
“What are you doing,” she demanded breathlessly.
“Trust me, sweetheart.”
He grabbed the knife.
She stiffened.
He sliced the back of the shift. She gasped again. He stabbed the wall with the blade before he tore the rest of the garment, exposing her delicious arse. The cheeks so white and creamy, he grunted in pleasure.
He kissed her buttocks. Nibbled.
She writhed against the door. “James, please!”
He wrestled with the buttons at his trousers and parted the flap. He lifted to his feet. He was stiff and ready for her. “Open for me, sweetheart.”
Sophia thrust out her arse. He was taller than she, so she had to stand on her toes, while he had to bend his knees. He grabbed her hips and guided her over his erection.
She sobbed with pleasure to feel that familiar thickness inside her again. The heat. The powerful heat.
Like no other.
“Tell me, sweetheart.” He thrust once. Twice. Slowly. Deeply. “Does it feel good?”
She gasped. “Yes.”
So good!
So very good!
James rocked against her buttocks. It took him a minute to find the right rhythm. Their rhythm. But once he had recovered it, he moved within her with purpose. Strong and steady thrusts.
Sophia pressed her cheek against the door. She let him take her. Fill her. Blood throbbed through her veins. Her breasts ached and swelled as she undulated against the barrier. The friction teased her nipples, so sensitive, and she reached for the cords at her bodice to relax the garment.
But James was there first. He slipped his robust hand along her midriff and cupped an aching breast, making her moan with delight before he gripped the lacing between his fingers and pulled.
The bodice stretched. He shoved his fingers inside the material and kneaded the sore and tender flesh.
“Yes!” she cried.
She placed her hand over his. Their fingers worked in harmony to give her the pleasure she longed for.
She had missed him. She had missed the man’s intimate touch. He moved inside her the right way. She didn’t need to tell him what she wanted or even how she wanted it. He knew. He just knew.
He let go of her breast. She made a grousing noise before she cupped the raw flesh and kneaded it herself. But he’d had to let go. He grabbed her hips again. He needed both his hands to properly guide her over his erection, to keep the thrusts strong and steady.
He pressed his thumbs against her backside. The man’s fingertips gripped her hipbones as he maintained control, pumping into her quim with measured strokes. Not too slow. Not too fast. He was teasing her senses. She cried out for more.
Take me.
The energy inside her welled and welled. It was ready to burst. She had held it in for so long, since the night of the ball. She had seen him for the first time in seven years tha
t night. And slowly it had been building. Slowly the need had been working its way through her bones and muscles, her heart and mind. And now it was time. Now it was time to let go of all that energy and frustration.
Take me.
She clenched her quim.
He grunted to feel the tightness. He liked it tight. The man had control. He had the power to take her slowly—or swiftly. But she knew him, too. She knew how to get what she wanted out of him without a word.
“Tell me, James,” she whispered hoarsely. “Does it feel good?”
He grunted again. The hard and raspy breathing, the guttural groans as he worked harder to get inside her, thrilled her. The burning pressure within her strengthened as she heard him making love. He was loud. She liked it loud. She liked to hear from his lips what she was doing to him.
Take me.
He thrust harder. Deeper. Swifter. He lifted her toes off the ground as he plunged into her. Again and again.
“Yes,” she screamed. “Yes!”
He touched every sensitive part of her. He snagged her wits, her senses, and she responded to his every command.
Take me!
She surrendered to him. She gave him everything. He sensed the capitulation, for he undulated in quick and piercing strokes. It was a dance. A wild and quick dance. In sync. In harmony.
The orgasm came. Her muscles throbbed. So sweet and hot. She cried out as the energy poured through her veins and tears filled her eyes. Tears of joy. And satisfaction. The afterglow was intoxicating, the sated feelings so incredible, she started to weep.
Sophia cried freely as he grinded his hips against hers, seeking his own desperate release. And with a feral cry he found it. He poured himself into her, the moist heat filling her. She tightened her muscles again, giving him the friction he needed to come.
She was so weak. She had lost everything to him and she wanted to sink to the floor, but he maintained a sturdy hold of her hips.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He pressed his heavy chest against her sweating back and dropped his chin on her shoulder. The man’s breath was loud and fierce beside her ear. She matched his savage gasps. Together they breathed. Together their hearts beat as one.
The Infamous Rogue Page 17