Chapter 14: Chapter 14
The thick silence in the captain's quarters was a living thing, broken only by the groan of the ship’s timbers and the ragged sound of their breathing. Sera lay on the rumpled bed, her wrists still red from the rope that had been her tether, her body feeling both shattered and alight. Drake leaned on one elbow beside her, tracing a calloused thumb over the tender skin of her inner thigh. His expression was unreadable, a distant storm in his one good eye.
“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
She was. A fine tremor ran through her limbs, a confusing cocktail of raw pain, lingering shame, and a horrifying, undeniable thrill. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Look at me, girl.”
Reluctantly, her emerald eyes lifted. She expected fury, or cold triumph. Instead, she saw a fierce, consuming curiosity. It was almost worse.
“Last time was a punishment,” he stated, sitting up. The candlelight danced over the musculature of his back, over the scars that mapped a lifetime of violence. “It served its purpose. You don’t flinch from me now. But there is more to this than taking. There is giving. There is play.”
The word hung in the air, alien and dangerous. “Play?” she echoed, her voice small.
A wolfish grin slowly spread across his face. He swung his legs off the bed and crossed the room to a heavy sea chest banded with iron. He unlocked it, the sound sharp in the quiet. Inside, nestled among rolled charts and pouches of coin, were objects that made Sera’s breath catch: supple coils of leather, a black silk scarf, a squat bottle of amber brandy, two heavy pewter cups, and a small, strangely insulated box.
He brought the items to the bed, setting them out with a deliberate, almost ceremonial air. “You’ve known only prayer and pain,” he said, pouring a generous measure of brandy into one cup. “There is a spectrum between. Tonight, we explore it.” He handed her the cup. “Drink. It will warm you from the inside.”
She sipped, the liquor burning a path down her throat, settling in her belly like a small sun. He watched her, then took the other cup and drained it in one go. “On your knees,” he said, not unkindly, but with an authority that brooked no hesitation.
Confused, she shifted, the sheets whispering. He moved behind her. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he took her wrists, not with rope this time, but with a wide, soft strap of leather. He pulled her arms behind her back and fastened the buckle snug, but not cutting. The position arched her back thrusting her breasts forward, making her feel exposed in a way that was entirely new. A whimper escaped her lips.
“Hush,” he murmured close to her ear, his breath hot. “This is about sensation. Not submission.” He reached for the insulated box and opened it. Nestled in straw were several chunks of ice, purloined from the ship’s precious stores. He picked one up, a smooth, clear cube. “Cold,” he whispered, and touched it to the nape of her neck.
She gasped, jolting forward. The shock was electric, a bright, clean pain that instantly faded into a sharp, thrilling awareness of her own skin. He trailed the ice down her spine, tracing each vertebra, and she shuddered, her nipples tightening into hard peaks against the cool air.
“See?” he said, a low chuckle in his voice. He brought the ice around to her chest, circling one areola, then the other. The contrast was exquisite—the biting cold followed immediately by the heat of his mouth as he leaned in and licked the melted water from her skin. He took the brandy bottle, tipped it, and let a rivulet of the liquor run from her collarbone down the slope of her breast. Then his mouth was on her again, hot and hungry, lapping at the sweet, burning liquid, his tongue rough and expert on her tightening nipple.
Sera cried out, her head falling back. The leather strap bit into her wrists, anchoring her, as wave after wave of sensation crashed over her. The ice, the brandy, the scrape of his beard, the suction of his mouth—it was too much, a delicious assault that had her writhing, not to escape, but to press deeper into each touch.
“So responsive,” he growled, nipping at her flesh. “My good girl.”
He pushed her onto her back, her arms trapped beneath her. He parted her legs with his hands, his touch proprietary but not rough. He took another piece of ice. “Open for me,” he commanded, his voice thick.
Trembling, she did. He held her gaze, his scarred face severe in the flickering light, as he brought the ice to her slick, heated core. He traced her outer lips, the cold a shocking intrusion that made her hips buck. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pushed the small cube inside her.
The sensation was unimaginable. A sharp, piercing cold that made her gasp, a fullness that was foreign and intense. Then he bent his head, his black hair with its silver streaks falling across her thighs, and put his mouth on her. He licked, lapped, his tongue seeking the heart of the cold, working around the ice, drinking the meltwater mixed with her own arousal. The heat of his mouth fought the internal chill, creating a frantic, impossible friction. She was babbling, half-sobs, half-pleas, her body a taut bowstring. The ice dissolved completely under his relentless attention, and the sudden absence of cold was its own shock, leaving only the wet, hot, devastating skill of his tongue. He fucked her with it, deep and slow, then fast and shallow, until she came with a shattered cry, her vision whiting out, her back bowing off the bed.
He let her shudder through it, kissing her inner thighs before moving up her body. He produced the black silk scarf. “My turn,” he said, his eyes glittering. He placed the scarf in her bound hands. “Blindfold me.”
Her breath hitched. “You… you trust me?”
“Instinct, Sera. Let it guide you.”
With fumbling fingers, she managed to tie the scarf over his eyes. The sight of him, the formidable Captain Devil Drake, rendered vulnerable, sent a powerful, possessive thrill through her. She was still bound, but now he was in the dark. She shuffled closer, her breasts brushing his chest.
He had brought a thick beeswax candle to the bedside. She took it, her hand unsteady. The flame danced. He lay back, waiting, his body a landscape of taut muscle and old wounds. She dripped the first drop of hot wax onto the flat plane of his stomach, just above the hard line of his hip.
He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t flinch. “Again.”
Emboldened, she trailed a line of wax across his pectoral, avoiding his nipple, letting it pool in the hollow of his collarbone. She watched his body react, the clenching of his jaw, the way his abdominal muscles tightened. She dripped some on the inside of his thigh, close to the heavy, erect cock that lay against his belly. He groaned, a deep, raw sound. “You’re a natural fucking savage,” he breathed, a grin tugging at his lips.
The power was intoxicating. She peeled some of the cooled wax away, the tiny hairs pulling, and he shuddered. She set the candle aside and leaned down, taking his nipple into her mouth, biting gently, licking as he had taught her. Her bound hands were a frustrating hindrance, so she used her mouth, her teeth, her body, exploring him with a desperate, curious hunger. She kissed the scar that cut through his brow and eyelid, a gesture so tender it made his breath catch.
“Enough,” he rasped, his voice strained. He removed the blindfold, his eyes burning with a dark fire. He freed her wrists from the leather strap, the blood rushing back into her fingers with a painful prickling. “Ride me.”
He didn’t need to ask twice. She straddled him, her sore, sensitized body sinking onto him with a slow, breathless glide. He filled her completely, a stretching, familiar ache that was now home. He gripped her hips, not to guide, but simply to hold.
“Your pace,” he ground out. “Take what you need.”
And she did. She started slow, rolling her hips, learning the angle that made her see stars. Then, fueled by the brandy and the lingering buzz of her own climax, she moved faster, riding him with a fervor that felt like vengeance or worship, she couldn’t tell. Her auburn hair came loose from its braid, a fiery cascade around her shoulders. She threw her head back, her breasts bouncing, her own pleasure building again, coiling tighter and tighter.
He watched her, transfixed, his hands roaming her body, cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples. “That’s it, my little nun,” he growled, his own control fraying. “Fuck me. Use me. Show me what you’ve learned.”
His words pushed her over the edge. As her climax roared up, a wave of pure, blinding release, she bent forward, her mouth finding the strong column of his neck. She bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but with a fierce, claiming pressure as she convulsed around him.
The feel of her teeth was his undoing. With a ragged, broken shout, he came, his hips pumping up into her, his release hot and deep inside her. He shuddered violently, his strong body going limp beneath hers, completely, utterly spent.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths. The world narrowed to the sweat-slick press of their bodies, the smell of sex and wax and salt. He held her close, one hand tangled in her hair, the other splayed on her back. In the profound, vulnerable quiet that followed the storm, the words slipped out, unbidden, raw, and entirely true.
“I love you.”
The silence after was absolute. Sera went still. Then, slowly, a smile bloomed on her lips, a secret, radiant thing. She didn’t speak. She simply nestled her face into the crook of his neck, her lips brushing over the imprint of her teeth, and sighed, a contented, broken sound.
Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day and the night claimed them. Held fast in each other’s arms, the fearsome pirate captain and his convent-raised stowaway, they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the ship rocking them like a cradle in the vast, dark sea.