Falling for the Pirate (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Nate had fought for every single thing he possessed—his ship, his wealth. His life. He knew every underhanded street trick to gain an advantage, and he was using them now with Juliana. He wanted more than a mistress. He wanted a wife, someone to travel with him, someone to stand by his side. Someone he could protect and who would protect him back.

And to get that, he would have to fight. It wasn’t enough for her to say yes now. He had to know, for sure, that she wouldn’t leave him when she knew.

His throat felt tight as he led her by instinct through the bowels of the ship, the gentle creak of wood their only accompaniment. The lamps had been left unlit, and the darkness was black as a cave. No one passed them. No rapid footfalls came from above deck.

“Where is everyone?” she whispered.

He didn’t turn around as he answered. “We sail in a week. The seamen are with their families. The younger boys, the ones who aren’t ready to sail, have gone back to a house we keep on land.”

Her hand tightened on his. “So we’re alone?”

“There’s always a skeleton crew on board, but you won’t see them unless you venture up on deck.”

“Then why are you on board?”

Doors blended into paneling. He had to navigate the space by feel alone, a ship without a star. But he had walked these decks a thousand times—paced them, run headlong into danger on them. The wood that held them in its sturdy, rough embrace had been the only love he’d known.

Before her.

He stopped walking and felt her bump into him with a soft expelled breath. “Because I have no family,” he said.

But he wanted one. For the first time in his life, he wanted that comfort and stability. Or maybe he’d always wanted it, but he could finally acknowledge it. Now that he’d met Juliana.

She put her hand on his back. Warmth seeped through his jacket, his shirt. Through his skin and straight to the hollow iron box that was his heart.

“Nate?” she said.

He still couldn’t face her, not until she accepted what he had planned. “If you come into this room with me, I won’t hold back any longer. I’ll take you as a man does a woman, and you’ll be mine. You understand what that means, don’t you?”

“I do.” Her voice was husky, and he needed to see her expression. Even with no light and his vision black, he had to face her then, and press her into the wall, and breathe in the sweet scent of her.

“You’ll marry me, then?”

She sucked in a breath. “You said you couldn’t marry me.”

“Not unless you swear to stay.”

“You don’t have to do this to keep me. I am prepared to be your mistress.”

“So you can take my money and leave me?” He nuzzled her neck, feeling like an animal who’d been given his head, wild and unruly. “No. I’m going to bind you to me so you can never go. You’ll always be near me, next to me, under me, for as long as we both shall live. No matter what.”

Her soft laugh eased him. “You are the only man who could make a marriage proposal sound like a threat.”

“Do you accept my terms?”

He heard the smile in her voice. “Yes, Captain. I surrender.”

It wasn’t enough.

He let his hands slide down her body, over the curve of her hips. God, he loved these hips. He wanted to do a hundred things to them. To hold them and bite them and use them to ride her. He wanted to kiss them every morning—only her hips, and then everywhere else.

His fingers spread over her buttocks, grasping, probing. Reaching around to the crease between until she twitched in his arms, surprised. Disgusted? No part of her would be left unknown. He kept an entire room of maps, but not a single one described the terrain of her body. He would have to roam her, explore her. He would measure her with his hands and mark her with his tongue.

With a groan, he forced himself away. He opened the door and gently propelled her inside.

“Undress and lie on the bed.”

He remained standing just outside the door. The cabin was dimly lit by the moon through the porthole. He saw the curious look she gave him before turning to obey. He couldn’t explain the lack of control shredding him inside. His lust was like knives, and he’d rather cut himself a thousand times than nick her even once.

If he watched her undress, if he pulled her clothes off himself, he would be lost. He would ravage her. Hurt her? He grimaced at the thought. No. He could borrow the finesse of Adrian or the gentility of Jordan Bradshaw for one night. If he were a true gentleman he would wait until the banns had been read and the vows had been spoken—but there was little chance of that. He was taking her tonight. The least he could do was be careful with her.

He rested his forearm on the wall and leaned his head against it, trying to ignore the whispery sounds of fabric coming from inside and the soft creak of the rope as she climbed onto the mattress. He shut his eyes, but his mind filled in the spaces. Her skin was like cream—except when it wasn’t. Other times it turned pink, when she flushed with embarrassment or arousal. And other places were a deep plum that made his mouth water to taste.

“Nate?” she called.

“I’m here.”

His gaze remained averted as he stepped inside and shut the door. While he undressed, he still could not look at her. Even so, he
felt
her, the force of her nakedness filling the air around him and warming his skin like sunlight. Though sunlight had never made his cock hard. It jutted obscenely, aching, throbbing.

Then he faced her.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Despite his order to undress, he thought she might have kept her chemise on. Perhaps he’d thought she’d lie down, straight and motionless with eyes closed, a virgin ready to be despoiled. Instead she sat in the middle of the bed, completely naked, hair tousled around her shoulders. She was a pagan offering, staked to his bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.

She tried to smile. “I don’t know how to do this part.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” He knelt on the bed and tilted her face up. “Just let me in. Trust me. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

Her eyes were wide with anticipation—and a little fear. He wanted to tell her to look away, but that wouldn’t protect her. Nothing would protect her as he knelt between her legs. Her legs started to close, an expression of profound embarrassment on her face.

“Are you going to…?” Her question trailed off, and he realized what she meant.
Are you going to use your mouth on me?
And he realized something else. That wasn’t only nervousness on her face—it was excitement. She
wanted
him to lick her again. She wanted to hump his face again, the wicked girl, and she couldn’t be more perfect.

“Yes, love. I’m going to put my tongue right here.” He trailed his fingertips over the soft petals of her sex. “And put my teeth right on this edge.” He grazed his fingertip over the hood of her clitoris, making her jerk. “And here— I’m going to put my cock here. You’ll let me do all of that, won’t you? You’ll keep yourself open to me while I spend inside you?”

Her eyes begged him before she did. “Yes. Please.”

Jesus.

He bent down and tasted her, laving the damp folds of her cunny, teasing the taut nub of her clitoris, just as he’d promised. She twisted and whimpered with every stroke, on the verge of an orgasm he refused to give her. When she was pulling at his hair and pressing up with her hips, he reared back. She whined softly, and though he hated to see her desperate and needy, she had to be this way.

“Whatever happens next,” he said through gritted teeth, “do not cry.”

She gave a half laugh that turned into a sob. “I’m going to cry if you keep teasing me.”

Yes.
He knew the feeling well. Fisting his cock, he gave it two brief pulls, trying to alleviate the ache. Of course, that only made it worse. Everything was worse around her—the pulse in his dick, the ache in his heart—and he never wanted it to stop. He placed the head of his cock to her folds and slid home.

…

Juliana gasped at the feeling of fullness. Her vision went white, the pressure blinding, before she could focus on his face and the worried look on his face.

“I’m fine,” she said, though the words came out thick. It didn’t matter though—he was already pulling out. Already leaving, and she wasn’t ready for this to end. She clasped her feet around his body and held him fast. “Don’t stop,” she gasped.

He groaned. His eyes fell shut and shudders wracked his body. “Never.”

When she loosened her legs, she realized what he meant. He slid out of her with what felt like unbearable friction, whip-quick, before pushing in again. This was the rhythm she’d used while straddling him, and with her own fingers. His rhythm. How had her body known it before he’d ever been inside her?

He braced his knees, reared up, and thrust into her—creating a new fullness, finding a spark of pleasure. Familiar, yes, but so much more.

Everything she’d done before was like a beige-toned painting, a single moment of mindless relief. But this was vibrant and real, a living thing that pulsed between their bodies, an energy that melded them together, expansive, endless.

It was supposed to hurt. She knew that from whispers at her boarding school and sly drawing room questions for a newlywed woman. This did hurt, like something had torn, like a wound was rubbed on every breach. That distracted her, but not enough she could ignore the pleasure. Sweet tension curled through her body like bliss-dipped ribbons, affecting her limbs, her chest, until she could barely move except to spread her legs wider. Her arms fell to the bed. Sumptuous. That was how it felt, a sensual feast.

He leaned down to capture her nipple in his mouth. The wetness shocked her, despite the wildness of what was happening below. The warmth of his tongue made her shiver. As if her breasts were connected to her sex, she clenched around him. He groaned, and redoubled his efforts, licking and biting her tender breasts until she cried out for mercy.

There would be none. The slight discomfort kept her from shattering, a thin cage that held her passion in check. But his nimble hands and his indomitable will would not let her rest. He reached between their bodies and fondled her until she tensed suddenly. All the breath left her body, leaving her to gasp in reckless delight.

“Nate!”

His face twisted in a mask of agony. He looked taut and in pain, with none of the pleasure she felt. But he did feel it, too. She could tell by the way he strained against her. The way his muscles bunched in desperate need.

She could tell by the way he shouted, “I’m here. Fuck.
Fuck.
I’m right here.”

He lunged at her, into her, around her. He froze above her, his eyes closing, mouth falling open on a hoarse cry. Liquid heat bathed her sheath, and she jolted, suddenly aware of just how much she’d given to him.

Not only her virginity.

The pleasure seeped from her body like warmth in winter. Her passion grew cold. This was how babies were made. In coming to her as man to woman, he had made her the most vulnerable of all. With money.

Growing up, her whole life had been mapped out for her. She’d accepted the terms, because she understood that she was fortunate. New dresses and parties. And eventually, suitors. A husband her father would choose, or at least approve of. But their ruin had taken all that away. Like a curtain falling after a play. No matter how real it had felt, it had all been an act.

This
was real.

And it wasn’t how she’d wanted her life to unfold.

Tears stung her cheeks, and she turned her face to hide them.

“What’s wrong?” Nate pulled back, his hands running over her body, lightly, as if it to check for injuries. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I— Oh, God.” Her voice broke on a sob, and there was no hiding how she felt. She could feel his horror at her reaction, but she couldn’t console him now.
It’s not because of you. It’s not because of what we did.
He patted her arm—awkwardly at first. Then he swore and pulled her into an embrace, her back against his broad chest, his thick arms around her.

She wanted to thank him for that, but all that came out was a choked sob. He tried to calm her, petting her hair and murmuring nothing words. Above all, she wished to stop crying, but the weight of her experiences came down on her.

The loss of her dreams. Her fear for the future.

And the one she had barely dared to acknowledge—the gut-wrenching betrayal she felt at her father’s abandonment.

She still couldn’t be sure what had happened in the business. It hurt to believe he might have stolen from his own company. Why? They had always had more than enough. A new carriage. A famous instructor for her piano lessons. There was so much they could have done without, and she wouldn’t have complained. Her father had made those decisions without her, but she was the one who would pay.

Most of all, it hurt that he’d chosen to leave without her. Because there was no other explanation. He had been there one night—and then not there when the constable arrived to take him into custody. When Juliana had been sternly asked to leave the premises, she’d held out hope that her father would be waiting somewhere outside, that he would come to find her.

None of that had happened, and she cried now for the aching loneliness. Grief crashed down on her, all at once, as if the carnal act had unlocked the part of her.

“Juliana,” he begged. “Tell me what I did. What happened? Let me help you.”

The last sobs shook her entire body. What must he think of her? He’d asked her one thing—not to cry. And that was what she’d done.

“You’ve done nothing but help me,” she managed.

She heard his head move against the pillow, disagreeing with her. “That doesn’t matter now. Whatever happens in the future, I’ll protect you. You believe me, don’t you?”

She shuddered, sadness and hope warring within her. God help her, she did believe him. It felt a little like cheating, as if she really were the thief he’d once accused her of being. She didn’t deserve his kindness, his acceptance. His proposal.

Maybe someday she would be able to return the favor.