The Pirate's Bride

by Skendrovich, Cathy

  Her whole body tensed, and Andre reached up to soothe her, touching her braided hair and stroking it. He felt her muscles relax.

  “Gilbert was different. He came from a merchant family and one day would inherit the company. I saw the opportunity to marry into his family and possibly worm my way into sailing one of their ships.”

  “Pirating is much more dangerous than sailing as a merchant, oui, Madame?" Andre chided without bite as he continued petting her hair. He’d reached the end of braid and used his fingers to unbind it.

  “Being courted by a merchant turned out to be the most dangerous of all,” she retorted bitterly.

  “Touché, ma chaton. Continue, if you would, please."

  With the fastener removed, he now began to untwist her plait, flexing his fingers through the silken threads of her hair, all while listening to her nasty tale. Her voice became tight the closer she got to the actual attack.

  “We danced at several balls, some soirées. even strolled along the Vieux Carré. all properly correct,of course. until that night. I decided to see...to see what kissing Gilbert would be like. I...I had never been kissed on the lips. Only on the backs of my gloved hands, or on the cheek by papa,or relatives. I...I wanted to know a man’s lips were like.

  With one hand already fanning her hair out across his chest, Andre took the other hand and tenderly cupped her chin. The desire to protect her swept over him, foreign but oddly right. She sighed at his touch.

  “I let him take me out to my father’s...my father’s gazebo, where we started to...to kiss, and I tried putting my...my tongue in his mouth, as I’d heard the maids whispering about below stairs—”

  “Baiser français, he breathed, quirking one corner of his mouth up while continued comforting caresses upon her.

  “Whatever. G-Gilbert took that as...as permission to g-go farther, I guess. He said he wanted to l-look at me. Not to touch, j-just look. I was flattered, and...and I liked the kiss, so I agreed.” Her speech quickened now as if just to get past this part, and he felt his own body tense as she neared the attack upon her person.

  “He tried to unhook my dress. It wouldn’t budge. We went back to kissing, and then, and then, he said something about having to see me, needing to see me, and-and he pulled the back of my dress apart, and then I was fighting him, saying no, pushing him, but he wouldn’t stop, and he tore the dress, and shoved up my skirts, and—”

  In one fluid movement, Andre sat up, pulled Sophie into his lap to face him, and clasped her heaving body against him tightly. Her wide-eyed, glassy stare, that pale, pale face, worried him. He hated the fact he’d forced her to relive her rape, hated the man who’d done this to her.

  He wanted nothing more than to hunt the villain down. Wanted to find pleasure in perhaps shooting out the man’s kneecaps, or stripping him naked and staking him out on a desert island for the sun to bake his ballocks until they looked like shriveled grapes.

  Aye, that would be appropriate for attacking this pure young woman and taking her innocence. Once more, he found himself comforting her, shushing her rasping breaths while smoothing her hair. He was relieved at least that no tears were in evidence.

  Eventually she brought her breathing under control. “What hurts the most is knowing that it was my fault. I invited it by...by kissing him in that forward way—”

  Andre held her away from him, waited until she looked at him. “Mon dieu, did you not say ‘no,’ Madame?"

  Her vivid blue gaze bore into his as she realized his implication. Slowly she nodded.

  “Then don’t be foolish enough to blame yourself for his behavior. Even I, most feared pirate in the Caribbean, know what ‘no’ means.” Then he pulled a face. “Of course, I’ve never actually been told ‘no.’”

  A tight smile was his reward. She appeared so fragile at this moment that his heart cracked. Again, he wished he could ferret out the scum who’d robbed her of her innocence. Kill him slowly—organ by organ. Perhaps he would ask his father to unearth the lowlife. Sophie may want to bury the memories, but, now he knew her story, Andre couldn’t let it rest. Wouldn’t let it rest.

  The air around them changed. It crackled between them. He left his introspection, returned to the present to find her scrutinizing him. His pulse tripped as she lowered her gaze to his throat. He swallowed loudly. She no longer looked scared. She looked confused. Confused and...aroused?

  “That is your attraction, I’m afraid, mon mari," she whispered. He held his breath at what he saw in her expression, though she had yet to meet eyes. She licked her lips, and nearly groaned aloud. “For all your bluster bloodthirsty talk, for every bad deed you’ve committed against me, you have also been kind. Patient. Caring. Now I don’t know think, or do. Do we go through with the annulment?" voice lowered still more, as if were asking question of herself. strained look unfazed, like decision didn’t matter him, but it did. oh, how

  “Or do we tear that paper up, and tell the priest to forget you ever went to him? I don’t know what to do.” Her gaze rose to his, and he could see the indecision in its depths. His breath stalled in his lungs, his stomach sank at the thought of never being with Sophie again. Never arguing with her, never pulling a weapon on her. Never kissing her.

  He roused himself from the sensual stupor she was weaving with her husky voice to say, “Then give me today and tonight to sway the verdict.”

  Their gazes held. With only the darkening of her eyes to warn him of her intent, he almost jumped out of his skin when she leaned forward and pressed her mouth into the hollow of his throat and sucked. His head spun, from her kiss or from his withheld breath, he didn’t know. He only knew he was lightheaded in her presence.

  “I’ve wanted to do this for days,” she murmured, touching her tongue there, her warm breath wafting over him until he shivered. She moved from his neck, planting gentle kisses along his jawline, right up to his ear. Next, she nipped the lobe. This time he did groan.

  Sacrebleu, she was seducing him, and doing an admirable job of it. She snaked her hands into his hair, took fistfuls it as mouth hungrily moved to lips. She latched onto them without finesse, yet he found himself losing track time and place for the first moment in adult life. Her lack experience intoxicating.

  He was no longer in charge. His mind blurred, his only link to the here and now was her, her seeking lips and hands as they streaked over his face and through his hair. Her eager mutterings that sent him into a spiral of emotions, none of which he was ready to confront.

  All he wanted to do was feel. Feel and erase. Feel her mouth on his skin, her fingers caressing him, her body against his. In addition, he wanted to erase her memories. Erase the violence and replace it with gentleness. Gentleness and passion.

  He dropped back onto the blanket, pulling her with him, swallowing her grunt of surprise as she landed on him. The jolt of their landing broke the erotic spell. She braced the palms of her hands on either side of his head. Her unbound hair draped nearly to his chest.

  Andre raised his hands to her shirt. He hesitated. He took her stillness for permission to continue. Yet, for the first time he fumbled when disrobing a woman. This moment was more important than any other liaison of his past. His hands shook as he dragged the material up her back and over her head.

  She reached for his shirt, yanked on it in frustrated haste, causing him to snort. “I know how you feel, ma trésor, but Ii do need something to wear back on the ship. He grinned, relieved be regaining his equilibrium enough joke. For a moment there, he’d been sinking into uncharted seas.

  She wavered, and bit her lip, hands pausing at the hem of his shirt. That familiar caution and reticence settled over her features as she straddled him. He sighed, already missing the tiger this kitten had once been. His attention honed in on the one item he hadn’t counted on.

  “I did not know you bound yourself, mine wife. Since when?”

  “I usually do. You have not been around me much.”

  “I intend to rectify that post h
aste. May I?” He placed his hands on the cloth over her breasts, and saw her shiver. He smiled.

  “Yes, please. I find...I find I need to feel your touch on my skin. I need to feel your lips on mine, and I want to touch you. I need to touch you. Is that wicked of me, Andre?”

  Her words aroused him. He busied himself by finding the end of her bindings, his fingers clumsy in their efforts. “No, mon ange, most definitely not. We can only enjoy ourselves more if passion overtakes all reason, oui?"

  He had reached the end of the strips and let them drop, finally feasting on her nakedness in the light of day. He ignored the embarrassed flush spreading across her chest and up her throat, brought his hands up to her breasts.

  He covered each with calloused palms, watched as she closed her eyes, and dropped her head back. The movement thrust her breasts more fully into his hands. He cupped them, molding, forming, until her sighs became moans.

  He continued to stroke, massage those ivory globes. When his fingertips brushed her nipples she squirmed atop him, looked at him under heavy lids. He rose upward, closed his lips over one hardened nub, sucked hard enough to make her cry out.

  She leaned forward, and he smiled as he suckled. She wanted more, and he obliged, nipping and licking each nipple until she whimpered with need. Her hands returned to his hair, fanning it about his head while she rocked against his straining arousal.

  Although he could spend the entire day tasting every inch of her, he sensed she was close to unraveling. Overjoyed with her responsiveness, he nevertheless released the tight little bud he’d been savoring. “Mère de dieu. You are like the most delectable bon-bon. I could die a happy man here at your breast. But let me see if I can provide what you desire so desperately, hmm, madame?" He reversed their positions, and then rose up on his knees to pull her breeches down legs. Next, he stood and shucked own clothes, tossing them aside except for the pouch wore about his waist.

  While he dug in the pouch, from the corner of his eye, he caught her sneaking sidelong glances at his aroused state. He swallowed a grin, even as he felt himself respond to her attention.

  He must have choked back some sound, for her sapphire gaze shot to his, her face flaming red at being caught looking at him there. Finished removing what he’d been fishing for, he returned to the blanket, held up the cylindrically shaped animal skin object and slid it over two fingers. She frowned at this interruption of their lovemaking. He answered her unasked question.

  “You do not want to get with child, eh, ma femme?

  Brow still furrowed, she shook her head.

  “Then may I introduce our new best friend. We French call them capotes anglaises."

  His grin widened as she translated. “English raincoats?”

  He laughed with devilish delight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sophie looked from the item to Andre. “That goes on...it?” He opened his mouth to speak but she continued. “You actually...dress it?”

  A couple beats of silence passed before he threw back his head and laughed, eyes watering. She failed to see the hilarity of the moment. She smiled only because he had a rather charming laugh, as well as an enticing, masculine throat.

  Finally, he sucked in a deep breath, and wiped his eyes. “First of all, never call him it. Never. That’s an unwritten law. He’s the Little Captain, or just Captain, or Second in Command. Although, he often is First in Command. At least, he seems to make most of the decisions a good portion of the time.

  “Secondly, the Little Captain does not get dressed. He is not some paper doll to be fitted with clothing, Madame. Rather, this item prevents pregnancy. Once this goes on, um, nothing comes out. Brilliant, no?

  She stared first at him and then at the capote anglais.

  He tried to hand it to her, but she grabbed her tunic and held it over her breasts, shook her head. “No, I...I can’t put it on...you. I...can’t touch you...there.” She wouldn’t look at him. It was too embarrassing.

  He sighed, and she thought he was disappointed. Yet when he spoke, it was with humor. “Ah, afraid of the mighty sea serpent, are we, mon ange? No worries. Lay yourself down while I ready the powerful creature and we will resume where left off.

  She lay down upon the blanket, and soon he crawled over her, nudging her legs wider with a knee and settling between her legs. She looked into his face so close above hers. “Now, where were we, ma doux rossignol? I think it was right—about—here.

  Their mouths met, and his tongue touched the seam of her lips. She opened for him, and their tongues tangled together, entwining much like their bodies. Mon dieu, he tasted so good. He was setting the rest of her body aflame.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers burrowing into his thick, unbound hair. Her breasts swelled against his chest, and little mewling sounds erupted from her throat.

  He released her lips, meandered to her ear, kissing the soft, delicate skin behind it before roaming to her neck, sucking like the most erotic vampire. He nibbled farther down her throat, and she tightened her hold. The air stalled in her chest. She felt as if she was suffocating, but it would be a most sensual passing, here in his arms, under his lips.

  When his mouth finally reached her breasts, he sipped at one with gentle intensity. She arched her back on a keening moan. Her hands fisted within his hair, pressing his head closer. She wanted to be devoured. To be taken.

  He seemed to know what she wanted, for his lips moved to the other breast with the same concentration. She raised her head to plant feverish, open-mouthed pecks on any skin she could reach—his neck, his shoulders. He was driving her insane with his slowness.

  He shifted, placed himself at her entrance and then, inch by inch, slid into her. She stilled beneath him, accustoming herself to his size, the feel of him snug within her, connected to her. At her hesitation, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “I will not harm you, ma chérie. You know that now. I am not him. I will never be him."

  He started to rock in a slow rhythm. She lifted her hips to meet his gentle thrusts, ran her hands over his back. She whispered into his mouth, “I know that. Even when I’m angry, I know somehow you will never cause me harm.”

  Her breath caught as he responded to her words by pushing deeper into her, then retreating. He captured her lips in a searing kiss that never seemed to end. Her stomach somersaulted, her skin quivered, and she began to move as if she’d been mating with him for years.

  He quickened the pace and she matched him, eager to achieve that mutual culmination, that glowing, growing spark just out of reach. In seconds, they reached the center of the firestorm. Now one with the embers, they were engulfed in the conflagration of white-hot heat fanning from their cores.

  Fireworks burst behind her eyelids as the pressure exploded within her, a painful pleasure she couldn’t hold inside. She threw back her head and screamed as the shudders coursed through her, wave upon wave of excruciating ecstasy pulsing, throbbing. At the same moment, her pirate husband, for that was how she thought of him, gave one more powerful thrust and came buried deep inside her, his guttural shout joining hers in the afternoon sunlight.

  He collapsed upon her limp, spent body, face hidden in the tangle of her damp hair. As the words “I love you” curled up from her heart, she made her decision about her future. She fell asleep, content at last.

  ~*~

  “No, no. I can’t swim. Really, I can’t—” Sophie shrieked as her naked husband picked her up like a bag of straw. He ignored her plea and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her toward the waterfall.

  It was much later in the day, after a sheltering nap wrapped in each other’s arms. Andre had awakened Sophie with teasing kisses along her shoulders, at the nape of her neck. He’d started that familiar burn deep in her belly, and then had grabbed her up in his arms.

  With her head hanging down his back, she squirmed against him while trying not to giggle. She froze when she felt his lips on her upended backside. Instant desire unfurled. He covered her bottom
with quick, little pecks from his lips while his free hand stroked one of her flanks.

  She managed to strangle out, “Please, put me down to do this right. My head is going to explode.” As would the rest of her if he didn’t quit these naughty caresses. Never in a million years had she guessed what men and women did together could ever feel so...so... magnificent, so...freeing, while at the same time binding them together.

  From now on whenever she looked at Andre, she would remember the expression on his face above hers as he gained his release. The concentration, the intensity, the caring for her he couldn’t disguise as they reached that pinnacle together. The compassion, the humor he showed outside the bedroom, as well. Every moment of the day was enjoyable, as long as she was with him. She realized she was tumbling head-over-heels for him, and could only hope he felt the same. It was a vulnerable position to be placed.

  “Well, we can’t have your head exploding now can we, ma bichette?" Without warning, he took her with both hands and flung into the pool near waterfall. All glowing thoughts vanished as she squealed through air landed a splash, water closing over head.

  She fought her way to the surface, arms flailing, head shaking. “I can’t swim, please, Andre. I’ll drown. Please.”

  To her relief he waded in, grabbed one of her swinging arms. “Then stand up, ma fille sotte. You can see the bottom when you are not thrashing about.”

  She did as he said, and was relieved when her feet touched the sandy base. Indeed, the water only came to the undersides of her breasts. She wiped away the water from her eyes with both hands, blinking up into his amused face. That did it.

  “What did you think you were doing, throwing me in like that? How did you know there wasn’t some giant hole in the middle where I could sink into an abyss? You could have—wait. Where are you going? I’m not finished yet—” She spluttered to a halt as he, with an exasperated jerk of his head, dove into the water beside her, feet the last thing to submerge as he disappeared beneath the water’s surface.