The Duke & the Pirate Queen

by Victoria Janssen

  Never had she been so grateful for conversation. “Nearly a dozen,” she said.

  “Were any of them suitable?”

  “They were all…very monied. Very eager to marry into the family of Admiral Leung. She chose them, though my father had final say.”

  Maxime moved to her other calf. “They were eager to join with her family, but not with you? They object to your father?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You told me about him, remember? I know he was a foreign captive.”

  She’d forgotten that drunken evening, which he’d referred to as her interview for a position as his trusted captain. “Did I tell you what else that means?”

  “You can’t inherit a position in the imperial navy,” he said in a detached tone. “Nor can your children. They can’t work for the imperium, at least not for payment, though their children’s children will be allowed to do so, so long as they pass the appropriate examinations. And provided all their other ancestry is imperial. You are, however, permitted to work as a privateer, risking death for the imperium’s glory.” As he spoke, he stood and dropped the cloth in the bucket. His hands closed over her tight shoulders and massaged.

  Despite the bitter truth of his words, Imena drooped forward, sighing with pleasure. His thumbs were digging unerringly into the worst knot, just at the base of her neck. She hadn’t realized how much her head was aching until the gnarled muscle released. As if he knew, Maxime smoothed his palm over her scalp before returning to the massage. He said, “So what is the advantage, if you marry one of these men?”

  Imena considered, though it was hard to think while his hands squeezed the tension from her shoulders and neck. “Position,” she said. “I’d be absorbed into his family, and would thus be considered trustworthy, at least to a certain extent. My husband would be responsible for me.” She tried to keep the anger from her tone, but couldn’t manage it.

  “You’re not going to do that.”

  “I might have to.” She slumped on the bench as his hands traveled down either side of her spine, pressing out tension as they went. “I’d have money of my own, to dispose of as I wanted. I would have to give up Seaflower, though. The wives of wealthy men don’t go to sea.”

  He said, “It won’t come to that, if you’d accept sanctuary in the duchy.”

  She smiled. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think King Julien would be happy to have the daughter of an imperial admiral living in his kingdom.”

  “What if you married someone here? Your loyalty would be assumed more readily, and your children could do whatever they wished.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’ve…considered it.”

  “Have you?” Maxime clapped his hand against her shoulder. “Let’s have that soak.”

  Imena chose cool water to douse herself and disperse her arousal before she slid into one of the smaller pools, across from Maxime. The stone bench beneath the water was slippery, and she had to brace herself with her toes. A moment later, she realized she’d braced herself against Maxime’s leg. “I am sorry!” she said, splashing as she hitched herself higher on the bench.

  Maxime laughed. He reached out and snagged her arm, drawing her to sit next to him. “If you sit here, you can see the new sculptures.”

  Imena eyed him and tried not to grin. “Your Grace, are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Only a little,” he said, and slung his arm over her shoulders. “Have pity,” he said. “I’ve had a difficult day, too.” He leered in a patently false way, and she laughed. Perhaps it would be all right. She could indulge, just a little, and harm nothing.

  “Just this once, I will sit with you,” she said, and settled back against him. A velvety thrill chased over her skin as their bodies met. She shifted so their shoulders overlapped. His muscular bulk was as solid and comforting as it looked; the hair on his chest was softer than she’d expected. She wanted to rub herself against him, all over, just for the sensual pleasure of it, a reaction she didn’t even have to Sanji.

  Such a pity Maxime was a duke, a pity for her and for him. She, at least, could flee the men her parents had chosen for her. She didn’t think Maxime would elude his king’s choices for very long. His arm tightened around her shoulders. It was more difficult to fight her body’s desire when she was this close to him. She slid lower in the water and rested her cheek on his firm pectoral, her nose tantalizingly close to his nipple. He smelled of cedar-scented soap. She could lick him with no effort at all, if she wanted.

  Maxime said, “You’re not dozing off, are you? You haven’t admired the sculptures. Over there, in the grotto.”

  Imena looked. The grotto had been hollowed out of the bathing chamber’s far corner to reveal stalactites; they’d been embedded with crystals that glowed softly in the lamplight. The new sculptures were small glass octopuses in every color of the rainbow, attached in different positions as if they swam among a forest of stone.

  “They’re lovely,” she said.

  “I’m glad you like them,” he said. He rubbed his hand over her upper arm. “Captain Leung, what if you married me?”

  Imena laughed. “That’s the worst possible solution to both our problems. I would be a terrible liability to you.”

  “Not necessarily,” Maxime said. He leaned a fraction to the side and kissed her ear, then the bare sensitive skin above it; the touch resonated down to her toes. Imena shivered and thought about edging away, but her body didn’t want to move. His nearness sang along her nerves. He said, “You have many valuable qualities. I also have many admirable traits that I would like you to consider.”

  “Such as?” He was nuzzling behind her ear now, and at the back of her neck, and she really ought to stop him, but just those small touches felt amazingly sweet. She reached out to steady herself and found she’d grabbed his thigh.

  “I would make your mother angry,” he suggested. His fingers trailed along her forearm, more gently than she would have expected. “You didn’t say you wanted that, exactly, but—”

  “You’re entirely too good at this,” Imena said. Still she didn’t move away from him. She should do it. She should. But his touch felt so good, and she felt…close to him. Close from their talking, not from his body against hers. She wanted more closeness, however she could get it. Just a little. A little while longer.

  She could be casual with him. She could keep her emotions under control. She was in no danger from him, nor he from her. She always worried too much. Perhaps she should give that up, and just once take what she wanted when she wanted it.

  He said, “I’m too good at enticing you, or at guessing what you want?”

  “Either. Both. I don’t know.” His breath was warm on her skin. It was making her flush more than the heat of the water. What if he kissed her? What could it hurt if she kissed him? She’d hardly be the first and would certainly not be the last.

  “If you married me, you’d be a citizen of this duchy, and your children would even have diplomatic protection if they wanted to visit their grandparents.”

  She said, “I never said I wanted children.” Maxime kissed the nape of her neck and, retaliating, Imena squeezed his thigh.

  “You wouldn’t have to give up your ship.”

  “Stop it,” she said. She twisted around, grabbed his hair and said, “If you’re trying to seduce me, I’d rather you didn’t talk about impossibilities.” She kissed him, firmly, and had to take a sharp breath at the taste of him.

  “Your seduction has worked. You don’t have to discuss this anymore.”

  “But what if I want to—”

  Imena kissed him again. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I have had a very trying few weeks. Do you want to fuck, or not?”

  “An interesting question.” Maxime slid off the bench and stood in the pool before her. “I’ve tried that, in these pools, and it really wasn’t as exciting as you’d think. Inconveniently placed lumps of stone, for example, and of course there’s the mineral residue. But if you would just lean b
ack and relax—” He smoothed his hands over her arms, then cupped her breasts. He could cover each one entirely with a hand; she felt her nipples tighten and press into his palms. “Stop scowling.”

  His touch felt wonderful, but wasn’t distracting her from her problems. “I’m not scowling.”

  “You think this is a bad idea.”

  “Not entirely,” she admitted. “I do want you.”

  “I suppose my being a cure for a terrible mood is better than some of the alternatives. I won’t be offended if you refuse me. Do you want me to stop?” When she shook her head, Maxime smiled and touched her face. His thumb brushed her cheek like a kiss. “Then perhaps if you come screaming a few times, it will help.”

  Startled at his bluntness, Imena laughed. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue searching. She grasped his shoulders, then tangled her fingers in his hair. Wet, it dragged between her fingers. She burrowed down to his scalp and scratched. He moaned into her mouth and pulled back.

  “No, no, you’re the one who’s supposed to be moaning,” he said. He rubbed his palms over her bare scalp, sending tingles down her torso. He didn’t stop, and she shuddered, arching up toward his body. “I wonder if I could make you come like this? You just shaved it, didn’t you? Your skin is so smooth. It feels like honey looks.” He leaned forward and licked. “You taste better than honey,” he said, his voice lowering.

  He bent and suckled her nipples, one after the other, just enough to tantalize, not enough to satisfy. “Round and firm as grapes,” he murmured, and pressed them with the flat of his tongue, as a tongue might press her clitoris. She spread her knees, using her thighs to grab his hips; he made a needy sound and nestled between her legs. His cock thumped against her belly, enormous and hard and hot as the water, and she squeezed his length with her hand while he rubbed against her. His cock filled her palm, heavy and growing heavier. She wanted to put her mouth on it.

  “That feels exquisite,” he murmured in her ear. “Stop, stop. You’ve got to stop that, or I won’t be able to—here.”

  He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her out of the water, planting her firmly on the pool’s edge. “Strong,” she gasped. She caressed his shoulders, his skin satiny from its recent scrubbing, his muscles like carved jade beneath.

  Maxime rubbed her thighs, then pressed her legs apart and teased her cunt with his forefinger, sliding down the seam of her outer lips, leaving heat in his wake. She stopped breathing. He said, “You’re all gorgeous muscle with this glorious softness in the center. Have you ever sucked the sweetness from an orange? I’m going to peel you open, hold you captive against my mouth and suck your flesh until your juice runs down my chin.”

  Imena grabbed his head and tugged him forward. She saw his teeth glint in a grin before he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, on her octopus tattoo, his damp beard rasping softly against her skin as he nuzzled the line where her torso met her thigh. “Your skin is like silk, soft as water, soft as water on my skin,” he murmured. One cheek brushed her cunt, his beard tangling in her hair, pulling with a thousand tiny flashes of pleasure. She dragged his head to her cunt and growled wordlessly, knowing he would allow it, sensing he would even like her forcefulness.

  Maxime’s breath steamed over her flesh. Delicately, he opened her lower lips with his thumbs. “Did you know all women look different inside? But you’re all so tender, and slick, and you smell so delicious—” He rubbed her with his nose, then pressed his tongue to her flesh, a sensation soft and wet above and faintly rasping with beard below. “You taste like the ocean.”

  Imena panted and dug her fingers into his hair. She might be hurting him. She tried to relax her grip, but couldn’t manage it at first. When she did, she couldn’t drag her hands away from his head, couldn’t stop stroking his hair.

  He was suckling at her now, and teasing inside her with a fingertip. She wound tighter, tighter, then shuddered in a brief climax. “More?” he said. He scraped her clit with his teeth, soothed with his tongue, then did it again, and again until she gasped and writhed up against his mouth. Still he continued with the sequence of hard and soft until all at once she came forcefully, for a few moments losing control of her limbs.

  Maxime brushed her softly with his tongue as ripples of feeling passed through her, easing her down. When she’d caught her breath again, she released her grip on his hair. Her arms felt loose and relaxed now, at least more so than they had been; she still wanted to bury her fingers in his hair, stroke his scalp and tickle her fingers with his beard. Perhaps it was the way he smiled at her, openly delighted that he’d made her come.

  Her chest tightened at the sight, tightened enough to hurt. For long moments, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away from his eyes, creased at the corners with his smile. He was sweet, as sweet as Sanji. She hadn’t expected that. She wanted to curl up against him and lie quietly for a time; she wanted to close her eyes so the sight of his smile wouldn’t hurt her anymore. Instead, she said, “My thanks.”

  “You didn’t scream,” he said, stroking her thighs. Her muscles were still trembling, just on the edge of perception. “I think you need another or three.”

  He rose higher on his knees and kissed her; she tasted the sea on his lips, and belatedly realized she was tasting herself. She shuddered, deep in her belly, and Maxime caught her to him with one arm. Her breasts rubbed his chest and she abruptly wanted to be lying down, with his weight pinning her. Wanted to hook her thighs around his hips and burrow her heels into his muscular buttocks. Another few moments and her desire would be fulfilled.

  She couldn’t do this. It would hurt too much.

  She couldn’t make the tide with her employer. She shouldn’t even have glimpsed the merest flicker of a possibility of fucking her employer. Who was a duke. It was a terrible idea, and she’d even warned herself against it before arriving here. It didn’t matter that Maxime was a trustworthy man whom she liked. She had learned her lesson about mixing business with pleasure years ago. She should never have taken her clothes off in the first place.

  “Thank you,” she said again. “That was lovely. I’ll send the manifests over as soon as I’ve received them from the harbormaster. Goodbye, Your Grace.”

  She was nearly out the door before he called to her. She whirled; he’d scrambled out of the pool and stood dripping on the floor. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. “It was fun. Thank you. I’ll see you later on—”

  He glanced down at the floor. “You might want to put on a robe first,” he said. “No, why don’t I leave? You can stay here, and have your soak. I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “You didn’t.” Useless words, when he could see her knees trembling.

  Maxime grimaced. “Of course not. If you need me, I’ll be in my rooms.” Imena barely remembered to move out of the doorway so he could leave. He snagged a robe from a hook, wrapped it around himself and exited.

  Imena stared around the empty bathing chamber. “That went well,” she muttered.

  She ought to have stayed at sea.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE WALK BACK TO HIS QUARTERS DID NOTHING to ease Maxime’s agitation. He hadn’t been so maladroit since he was a boy. Imena had enjoyed his seduction, it was clear, but it was also clear to him he’d misjudged how to ease her mind about marriage. Or misjudged something else entirely. Or—

  He stopped in the middle of the staircase and glared down at his erection until it subsided somewhat. He might have done better to remain distant, but such a thing was impossible when he was faced with her. He had never wanted anyone so much in his entire life. At least not since he’d been a young man ruled entirely by his genitals.

  Resuming his climb, he muttered, “I seem to be ruled by them even now.” Next time—if there was a next time—he would plan. He would make sure to take himself in hand before he saw her, to be able to ignore his own desires for long enough to convince her of his sincerity. Even if he had to take himself
in hand several times.

  He flung open the door to his rooms, strode in and stopped. Sylvie, a trusted courier of the adjacent duchy, sat cross-legged on a padded hassock, idly selecting from a tray of grapes and other dainties. Her blond hair hung loose to her waist, contrast to the snug riding leathers and matching jacket she wore, which clung to every sleek curve of her body; that lushness balanced nicely with her sharp features and the sarcastic intensity of her expression. He wondered if she was about to cut another swath through his staff. Her visits usually resulted in a string of besotted glances.

  Sylvie never had problems with her unending stream of lovers. He should take a lesson from her, and not let a physical act affect his emotions in this way.

  “The reports are on your desk, Your Grace,” she said, looking up at his entrance. She popped a marzipan starfish into her mouth. After she’d swallowed, she added, in a more formal tone, “Her Grace the Duchess Camille and her consort, Henri, send greetings.” She took a sip of wine. “Henri said Aimée sends her greetings, as well, though I think this is unlikely, since the child doesn’t yet speak intelligibly, and I doubt she remembers you at all. It has been so many months since any of us have seen you. If you recall, she fell asleep during the ceremony when you were made duke.”

  “Have you done putting me in my place?” Maxime asked. “Was there anything specific Camille wished from me, that you couldn’t leave with my aunt or one of the secretaries?” Camille was enough his friend—they’d once been lovers—that she likely would have sent him a detailed document if she’d needed anything from him personally. And Sylvie would have told him before now if she’d carried any queries that could not be committed to paper.

  Sylvie sampled a few aniseed comfits, uncurled and rose effortlessly to her feet. “I think you have a sea urchin shoved in a delicate place,” she said. “Has the exquisite captain refused you?”