Tethered (16 page)

“Your brains are already rotted. You don’t have a bit of sense in you.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, my captain. I am everything that is sensible.” Though almost to the bed, he turned away from it, and started for the desk. “I will show you the solution to your dilemma.”

“Which one?”

“Your fear of losing me.” He swept aside a map and set her down, her delectable bottom on the desk and her legs dangling over the edge. “It’s very simple.”

Her eyes narrowed with amusement. “Is it?”

“It is. Here is one solid, undeniable fact: I will never leave your side. So all you have to do is sit here, forever.” He hooked the leg of his chair with his booted foot and pulled it close. “I will be right here. You’ll see that I’m perfectly safe, and all of your fears will vanish.”

He sat in front of her. With a grin, she rested her toes on his knees and let hers fall open. The shadows in the room became his greatest enemy, preventing him from seeing any of the luscious beauty between her thighs. Ah, well. He’d wage war on those shadows with his hands and tongue, instead.

She nudged him with her foot. He dragged his gaze back to her face. “And when I leave the cabin?”

“I’d still be at your side. But the practical solution is, of course, that you would never leave.”

“Oh, so practical.”

Leaning forward, he placed his hands on her knees. Her eyelashes fell to half-mast, her lips softening, parting. Anticipation. Already hard, his cock stiffened in response. The need to taste her was almost unendurable.

So he endured it, drew it out further. “I could make it easy to stay, too—there’s a simple solution for that.”

Her voice was low and throaty. “Tell me.”

Her command almost broke his control. He pushed at her knees, widening them, making room for his shoulders.
Tell me.
God. He was a man of endless sense and restraint, yet her words sent him toppling over into mindless need. His brain stopped functioning, and his responses piled up and tumbled out, all of them ridiculous.

“I could lock the door.”

She dragged her fingertips up the inside of her thigh, into the shadows. “I have a key.”

“I could hire a guard to keep you in.”

“I’ll tear him apart.”

God help him, he had to have her. “I’ll tie you to the desk.”

Not truly, not after the terrified reaction she’d had when he’d held her wrists together, but by God he could barely think of anything else at this point. There was no other practical course but touching her, nothing would make sense but tasting her. He leaned in—then froze as sudden tension shook her legs.

That wasn’t just anticipation.

He looked up. Her jaw had set. She stared at him, her eyes glittering with an unreadable emotion. Because he’d mentioned tying her…?

“I wouldn’t restrain you.” He ran his hands the length of her legs, soothing. “I wouldn’t.”

She seemed to struggle with her reply—then finally spoke, and surprised him all over again.

“But I want you to,” she said.

*   *   *

He hadn’t expected that.

Yasmeen hadn’t either. And in truth, despite wanting him to do it, she wasn’t certain that
she
would be able to…but that only made her more determined to try.

Archimedes must have seen her doubt. “I won’t.”

“You will.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Yasmeen.” His hands stilled on her knees, his gaze holding hers. The beautiful flush of arousal still darkened his cheekbones. “If it’s instinct, that’s all there is to it.”

Wonderful man. She had nothing to prove to
him
, because he loved her so well. Proving it to herself was another matter. “I won’t be ruled by instinct.”

“Or any other tyrant?”

He knew her so well. “Yes,” she said, but when he rose and moved to the wardrobe, retrieving two of her long silk kerchiefs, she couldn’t stop the shaking that suddenly overcame her. Heart pounding, she imagined them tightening around her wrists, holding her immobile—

He paused, watching her face. “Yasmeen?”

“Just my legs.” She could bear that more easily than her hands. Even tied to the desk, she could shoot, she could throw a dagger, she could rip and tear. “This first time.”

His jaw tightened. “There won’t be another time.”

Perhaps not. He’d touched her hundreds of times, thousands—but knowing that he would tie her, it took all of her control not to push him away when he sat again and clasped her right ankle, gently drawing her foot toward the desk’s leg. Her ankle touched smooth wood. She trembled.

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth. “
Yasmeen.
”

“Do it.”

She had to gasp out the order, then hold herself still when she felt the light tug of silk. He sat back, his expression tormented.

“It’s done.”

And so loosely tied that if she pulled at the bindings even a bit, the knot would fall apart. Yasmeen stared down at the slack loop around her ankle. It was not restraining her at all; to stay bound,
she
would have to hold her leg immobile. In truth, she was restricted by nothing but her own determination to stay that way.

Perhaps that was for the best, this time. “The other leg now.”

He didn’t move. With a sigh, she slid her left leg toward the corner of the desk, scooting forward so that her ankle would reach. It wasn’t easy. The position spread her wide, stretching the inner muscles of her thighs. She paused at the soft hitch of his breath.

“Christ,” he groaned. The remaining kerchief crumpled in his fist. “Christ, Yasmeen. Look at you.”

She didn’t need to. The roughness of his voice told her, the erection straining at the front of his breeches. Silence fell, and there was only his harsh breathing, the soft vibration of the engines through the desk beneath her, the rapid thrum of her pulse in her ears.

Deliberately, she pressed her ankle to the desk leg. A shiver ran over her skin—not fear this time, though that lurked just beneath the desire.

“Tie me, Archimedes. Please.”

With another groan and trembling hands, he did—the same loose knot that forced her to keep her legs open rather than holding them open for her. His callused palm smoothed up the length of her shin, over her knee.

“Stay still, if you can,” he said. “And lie back.”

Yasmeen didn’t ask why. He’d done this difficult thing for her; she would do this easy thing for him.

As her back met the cool surface of the desk, however, she found it wasn’t so easy. Holding her legs open wasn’t a physical effort, but she’d never been this acutely aware of being exposed. So bare. Was he looking at her? She couldn’t see him to know. Lying as she was, with her head resting almost at the opposite edge of the desk, she could only see the rise of her silk-covered breasts, lifting rhythmically with each shallow breath. She fought the urge to pull free, to close her legs, to regain some sort of certainty.

She froze as a soft caress brushed her knee. His fingers? His lips?

His lips. The warmth of his mouth heated that spot as he said, “Untie your wrap.”

Leaving her more exposed, though the trepidation that accompanied that realization was being swept away by anticipation, by excitement. There
was
fear here, the need to pull her legs free, that battle against instinct, but it only served to heighten her awareness and every sensation. She yanked her wrap open and pressed her palms flat to the desk beside her hips.

Where was he? A cool whisper of breath against her heated sex told her. A shudder wracked her body and she immediately stiffened, desperately trying to remain still.

“It’s like your zombies,” she panted. That terrifying, wonderful
thrill—and she might become as addicted to this feeling as he was. “Oh, sweet lady, help me.”

“
This
is like a zombie? No. Though I will soon devour you.” His laughing reply was punctuated by a nip to the sensitive tendon at juncture of her inner thigh.

That gentle bite all but devastated her self-control. She cried out, her back bowing. The flames of need that had been licking beneath her skin erupted into a rolling fire that seared every nerve and coiled with liquid heat through her core. His hands gripped her thighs, to support her or to help her stay still, she didn’t know, but as his thumbs slid inward, she needed the assistance.

His deep, hungry groan followed the first slick caress. “
God
, Yasmeen. You’re like a furnace.”

Burning. “Now.
Now.
”

And he did. Devouring, as he’d promised, lips and tongue and fingers everywhere touching, tasting, thrusting. He feasted, eager and abandoned, his rough jaw scraping delicate flesh, his moans laden with unquenchable need, suckling her clitoris until she screamed her finish, and still licking, licking, as if he could never get enough.

She never would.

Leisurely, his mouth journeyed over her stomach, and now she saw him, his eyes glazed with violent need, his control visible in every straining muscle.

He rose over her, his hands braced beside her shoulders. “Like this, Yasmeen? Or do I untie you first?”

With her thighs still spread and her body still exposed, forced to remain almost motionless as he drove his cock into her again and again…The same trepidation reared up again—and the same thrill.

Anticipation wound her tight. “Like this.”

His face stark with arousal, he straightened and opened his breeches. He was vulnerable now, too. Exposed. Her legs trembled, instinct pushing at her to rip open the knots. If he was threatened, how quickly would she be able to move? Would it be fast enough?

Gently, he pushed at her entrance. Yasmeen sucked in a sharp breath, and the crowding questions fled. She waited in a silent frenzy of expectation, feeling only his blunt intrusion,
the stretch of her thighs, the silk around her ankles. Seeing only his love and need, the ecstasy that rolled through his lean body as he pressed forward, filling her so slowly that she was keening with frustration and agonizing pleasure when he finally sheathed his cock to the hilt.

She would not survive this. Every instinct demanded that she free herself, wrap her thighs around him and set a faster, harder pace, instead of forcing her legs to stay bound. Instead of shaking from the effort of lying still, instead of crying out on sobbing breaths when he completely withdrew his heavy shaft before starting that endless penetration again.

There was nothing else. Only Archimedes, giving everything she’d asked of him and more, his hands fastened on her hips, helping her remain tied to the desk but tethered to him.

So sweetly, so deeply, to him.

“
Yasmeen.
” His emerald gaze burned. Her name was a feral command, everything stripped away but primitive need and demand. “Clamp down on my cock now.”

Because he loved that, loved how she squeezed him, teased him. God, she did, too. Panting, she clenched her inner muscles around his thick length, and cried out as everything intensified, became sharper, tighter. So much tighter, her taut legs trembling already, and now inside, where delicious friction became luscious resistance that made him force his way deeper, deeper. His body bowed in response, every muscle standing in stark relief. His groan was harsh, fingers digging into her hips.

“So sweet.” His head fell forward, his beautiful mouth drawn in a grimace of acute pleasure. “So unbearably sweet.”

But he bore it, though his heaving chest and tortured groans told her that he wanted to let go and pound harder, harder. He held on, instead, his gaze locked on hers and slowly riding with her to the edge.

And then she was done, writhing at the end of an infinite stroke, no control left—only the mindless rocking of her hips, taking in those last thick inches over and over again, her arms around his shoulders and his mouth fused to hers in a kiss that could never last long enough. Sweat slicked his lean body; he suddenly stilled and shuddered against her, inside her. She
tasted it, tasted him, whispering words of love against his skin.

He groaned her name and collapsed over her, chest heaving. She held him until he suddenly raised his upper body away from her, bracing his arms and meeting her eyes.

“There’s only one practical solution now.” His expression was solemn. “We must buy enough desks to fill every inch of this airship.”

Her laugh lifted through her. “So very practical,” she agreed.

“Alas, I suppose it will have to wait until we return from the Eastern Ocean.”

“And hopefully that date will not be too far away,” she said, thinking of the weeks that stretched ahead.

To her surprise, she felt little dread. The tangle between Archimedes and her had been unknotted. They had a clear course of action ahead. There were still risks to her ship and crew—but so there would always be when flying over lawless seas, and she would never have it any other way.

“I must be mad, Mr. Fox. My lady has been commandeered by your bastard friend, his damned device is still a threat…and yet I think I might enjoy myself on this journey.”

He grinned and dropped a kiss to her mouth. “I know I will.”

Bilson was not enjoying himself.

On the quarterdeck, Yasmeen watched the slick bastard nod to Longcock, then stop for a moment to flirt with Miss Cheeksankum. She wasn’t at all surprised that in the three weeks since leaving Port Fallow, Bilson had charmed his way into some of the crew’s good graces; he was simply that sort. Archimedes and Yasmeen remained brief and polite, as if he weren’t different from any other passenger, so the crew had initially followed their lead. And after he’d shared the reason behind Zenobia’s kidnap—in confidence, and with only a few of the aviators, though obviously knowing that the story would spread—some of the crew’s initial outrage had faded, too.

All well and good. He could play his little games; they didn’t stop the frustration that she saw rising every time Yasmeen cut the engines and allowed her aviators—and Archimedes—time to take out the autogyros or practice their weapons drills, and passing the time by planning mock escapes from New Eden. To Bilson, this must seem a holiday for most of her aviators, a slow cruise over beautiful turquoise water in the warmth of the late southern spring.