Chapter Six

Chaos raged through halls of The Annie. Crew members sprinted around their stations, fighting as a unit to tie up lines and clear away debris. The pounding of hurried feet thundered louder than every deafening crack of lightning streaking the gray skies outside the bridge windows. Waves rose over the bow, momentarily covering the cargo hold covers before receding back into the ocean.

James white knuckled the wheel. The sensors shrieked along the console, along with every blinking light, alerting him to the trouble in the navigational system. The backlash of the passing storm slammed into them in waves. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t dealt with before. Couldn’t be pirates without weathering bad weather. But they’d make it through. He was sure of it, so long as they remained on the clean side of the storm.

“How are we doing?”

Laimure never glanced away from the weather monitoring system, one hand pressed to the cushioned headphones strapped to his head.

“Stay the course.”

The course was a tricky one. Even along the outskirts of the storm, the high winds and turbulent waves kept forcing them in. It took them a full day off route, but it was a day James would gladly surrender to keep them from capsizing.

“How are we below deck, Michael?”

Sitting strapped to his chair a few feet away, Michael’s head popped up over his station table. His wide eyes looked enormous against the gray tinge of his complexion.

“All ... all steady, Captain.”

“Good. We’ll get out of this yet.”

“Captain!” Presley slid into the room, panting. “It’s the girl!”

“I don’t have time for this!”

Another wave slammed into their port side.

“She’s lost her mind, sir!”

Cursing, James snapped his head over his shoulder. “Someone find Nicholas!”

As if summoned by the sheer will of James’s bellow, the man in question ran into the room almost instantly. He grabbed the wheel without being asked and James sprinted after Presley down into the storage area.

Their combined footfalls down the iron grates making up the steps reverberated along the walls, muffling the screaming winds. They both hit the bottom landing simultaneously.

“What’s matter with her?” James demanded as they rounded the first bend in the hall.

“She says she wants off.”

James frowned. “Off? Off what?”

Presley shrugged. “The ship?”

The ridiculousness of that statement stopped James in his tracks. He turned to the man next to him with a sudden urge to rub at the migraine building behind his eyes.

“Does she know we’re in the middle of the fucking ocean?”

Presley nodded. “I told her, sir.”

“God help me, but I might kill her before this ends.”

Presley wisely kept his mouth shut. He followed when James started onward.

The first thing James noticed when they rounded the corner, was the resounding bangs echoing with metallic force all through the corridor. It ripped like someone drumming at the bottom of a filled tub while his head was submerged. The relentless throbbing increased the closer they came to the storage.

James motioned for Presley to open the door, and stepped back while it was done. It swung open. The banging stopped.

Cora stood on the other side, expression one of utmost terror.

“Let me off!” she snarled at him. “I want off!”

James stared at her. “Do you somehow think it’s better out there?”

She made a choking sound that he barely heard over the crash outside. Her eyelids slipped closed as if in prayer. Beads of sweat plastered bits of hair to her temples.

“I can’t stay here. We’re in a metal box in the middle of a storm in the middle of the fucking ocean!” Her voice rose. Her eyes snapped open. She glowered at him through their glossy sheen. “We’re going to die. We’re all going to die. I’m going to die because of you! You fucking asshole!”

“All right, that’s it.”

He closed the distance between them and scooped her up over one shoulder. Her screams were ignored as he turned on his heels and stomped back in the direction of his cabin. He held tight to her flailing and kicking legs the whole way.

“Enough!”

The open palm smack landed perfectly on the round curve of her ass with a satisfying thwack. The woman in his grasp cried out, but went still the rest of the way.

In his room, he kicked the door shut with the heel of his boots and dumped his package down on the bed. She hit the cot on her backside and just sat there, staring at him with a look of stunned horror.

“You hit me!”

“I spanked you,” he corrected. “You were warned.”

She looked nowhere near convinced. “You can’t spank me. I’m not five.”

“Then don’t act like it.” He folded his arms. “Now you’re going to sit there until I get back without any more outbursts.”

“I can’t sit here and be all calm and shit when this heap of rust sinks around us.”

“It’s not going to sink.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve been captain of her for ten years. I’ve been sailing for fifteen. Never lost a ship.”

Cora sputtered. “Well, now you’ve jinxed us all.”

James resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t believe in jinxes. I believe in my ship and in my crew, and in my own abilities as someone who knows what he’s doing. Now, stay here.”

If he thought that would work, he’d been mistaken. Cora leaped to her feet.

“Don’t leave me in here alone. I can’t swim.”

“I’ve seen photos of you on the beach,” he reminded her.

“On the beach. Ever seen one of me in the water?”

He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember past the strips of fabric barely covering miles of soft, tan skin dusted with sand as she reclined on a towel for the world to see. James remembered thinking how easy it would be to part those thighs, nudge aside the slip of cloth stretched over her mound and feast.

“Who the hell doesn’t know how to swim?”

“Me!” she cried. “I never thought I would need to. I don’t like to. I don’t want to. I like being on safe, dry land.”

There was nothing to do about it. Her knowledge, or lack of, wouldn’t save them if they did go under. In those conditions, even the strongest swimmer in the world wouldn’t survive. But it did make him wonder what kind of twenty-five year old had never learned, especially considering her dad owned two yachts.

“Just stay in here,” he told her at last. “I’ll come get you personally if we start to sink.”

She didn’t seem pacified, but she didn’t stop him when he headed for the door.

At the last second, James turned back.

He went to the papers on his desk and swept everything into the drawers. He locked them in and did a quick sweep for anything sharp or dangerous she might think to use as a weapon.

Finding none, he went back to the door.

“Take a nap,” he suggested. “We’ll have passed the storm by the time you wake up.”

She scoffed at the idea. “I can’t sleep through this.”

“Try.”

He left and shut the door behind him. As an afterthought, he locked it; the last thing he needed was for her to stumble around and tumble overboard.

Nicholas looked up when James returned to his position at the captain’s chair.

“Boss?”

James only shook his head, eyes fastened on the view outside the bridge. “Looks like it’s lighting up.”

Nicholas joined him. “It’s still going to be a rough night, but we’ve covered most of it.”

“Maintain course.”

“Aye, sir.”

After two nights of barely any sleep, all James wanted when he returned to his quarters at the wee hours of the morning was the comforts of his bed. Instead, he found himself staring at the woman claiming the full expanse of it with more than a mild touch of exasperation. She sprawled across the sheets in her t-shirt and his sweats, face mashed into his pillow. One would almost think she owned the damn thing.

But never in all his life had James ever abandoned his bed to anyone. He wasn’t about to start now as he discarded all, but his pants. He nudged Cora over and dropped into the warm, vacated spot on his back. One arm was tossed over his eyes as the world continued to thrash around them.

It was during a booming crack of thunder that he realized he’d dozed off, because he was jolted awake by the erratic twitch of his bedmate. Her breathing had grown labored and he could feel her entire body vibrating against his side.

He twisted towards her and gently tugged her into the confines of his arms.

“All right, sweetheart,” he murmured into the top of her head. “It’s just a little thunder.”

His companion seemed not to have heard him when another crack sent her face wedging into his collarbone. Her back heaved against his palms.

James exhaled, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling where he prayed whoever was listening would give him a break. All he wanted was a few minutes of shut eye.

An hour.

Anything.

But it didn’t seem to be in the cards when Cora’s arm snaked around his ribs and her sharp, little nails bit into his back, drawing blood.

“Christ!”

Dislodging the assault, James did the only thing he knew to distract a woman from ripping the flesh off his bones; he slipped his hand beneath her hair, tipped her face back, and kissed her.

Her mouth tasted oddly of pudding, chocolate, the thick, creamy, rich stuff upscale restaurants served in crystal bowls. It also happened to be his favorite kind, the kind that made him forget all sense of propriety and lick the bowl clean right there at the table.

That was what he wanted to do to her, to the woman opening her mouth to his like a delicious offering.

He wanted to strip her bare and run his tongue over every inch of her.

He wanted to leave her a wet, sated mess across the sheets.

One of them deepened the kiss. Tongues glided over each other in a frenzied dance older than time itself while hands roamed, pushing aside yards of fabric in search of the heated skin beneath. Springs squeaked and metal rattled as bodies writhed together in a desperate battle for conquest.

Her top vanished. He may have pulled it off, or she did, but it lay in a black puddle on the floor next to her sweats. Her lack of underwear left nothing between them, but the greedy path of his tongue working along everything he’d exposed. He didn’t stop until he’d descended past her navel to the cleanly shaven mound nestled between her thighs. He nudged them apart wide enough to accommodate his shoulders and set to work seeing for himself if she tasted as good as she looked. As good as she fucking smelled.

He inhaled her musky scent of pure, unadulterated female arousal and groaned as it struck every pleasure point in his body. He reached beneath him and adjusted the rock hard erection cutting into the zipper of his cargos. That problem would have to wait for later. All he wanted in that moment was to taste her, to bury his face between the dewy folds of her lips and taste her come apart.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled as his fingers parted her and he got his first real view of her swollen clit. The muscle glistened a perfect pink. It matched the tight, little hole nestled in the middle. “Christ, you’re fucking perfect.”

The woman didn’t say anything that her impatient wiggle didn’t say for her.

James dove in, tongue first, licking her from slit to crown. The sweet taste of her filled his mouth, a thick tang of honey and her. It flooded through him with the potency of heroin. But it was nothing to the sounds, her sounds, her unhampered, nearly pornographic sobs that were the most excruciatingly exquisite pieces of musical art he’d heard in his life. Each one rang through the room, breathy, whimpering moans broken by the dirtiest encouragements that mirrored her every gyrating wiggle. It was enough to drive any man wild. He was no exception.

“Don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop...”

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” he snarled around the twitching little bundle nipped between his teeth.

He stretched her on two fingers, both embedded as far as they would go. Her walls closed around them with a viciousness that bordered on crushing. But he had other problems.

“Wha ... what ... what are you doing ... Jesus, what the fuck...?”

James lifted his head as the kittenish mewls became frantic, baffled gasps.

Cora’s eyes were open and staring down her flushed body to where he was buried between her legs. They widened in horror that reflected the round O of her mouth.

“Would you like me to stop?”

He followed the question with the slow, even pumps of his fingers still buried knuckle deep in her pulsing core. He watched the flicker of her lashes as she fought not to let them close. Her mouth took on a different shape, one of a silent moan. Her thigh muscles quivered on either side of his head and her toes cracked as they curled into the mattress.

“I can stop,” he coaxed, returning to the slow sucking of her clit. “I can leave you like this.”

“Bastard...” Her low whine was interrupted by the arching of her spine. Her head dropped back on the pillow, exposing the column of her throat as it vibrated with her deep, guttural groan. Her fingers fisted into his hair. “Fucking hate you.”

He was fine with that. He preferred it, preferred her hatred to the possible alternative. It left his conscious clear.

Releasing the tip of her pleasure point from between his teeth, James rose over her, careful to maintain the steady thrust of his fingers as he planted one forearm next to her head on the pillow. The bedframe groaned as metal work shifted with the realignment of his weight.

Cora’s eyes flew open. They locked with his in a venomous battle of loathing and heat. Neither of them said a word, but the palpable aggression was euphoric. The roaring hatred tangled with the need to fuck permeated the air in a thick musk. It wove in delicious tendrils of undiluted addiction until he couldn’t tell what was right anymore.

He turned his fingers over inside her, rotating the tips to the roof of her vagina, and the spongy knot nestled against her slick wall. He leaned in, bringing his lips to her ear while he toyed with her trigger.

“Look at me.”

Her head turned obediently. That close, their noses touched. Their every breath twisted together. Hers were erratic pants punctured by pitiful little whimpers and the demanding pumps of her hips. He barely had to do anything at all, except keep his hand there and his fingers crooked. She bucked with the uninhabited passions of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

But this was his show. This was his game. If she wanted what he was offering, she would need to work a lot harder for it.

“Say it.” He withdrew to circle the ring of her slippery opening.

“Fuck you!” she snarled through gritted teeth.

“That’s not it.” He slipped one finger in all the way, then withdrew again. He traced up and around her clit, enjoying the violent tremors that wracked through her. “You know what I want to hear.” He braved the risk and skimmed her mouth with his. “Say it,” he coaxed, prodding the firm, unyielding defiance mashing her lips together with the tip of his tongue. “Say the magic words.”

Two fingers glided in, deliberately rubbing her pressure point. Cora’s back bowed off the mattress with a sobbing fuck that sent shivers down his spine. Her fingers curled into the sheets, the knuckles equally white.

James pulled his hand away entirely and was rewarded by her sputter of protest that he ignored. Instead, he focused on painting her nipples. He traced each hard point with his fingers slick with her juices, making them glisten in the dim light. Then he cleaned them off with a sweep of his tongue, relishing the taste of her. He sucked on the right while rolling the left one beneath the pad of his thumb before alternating. All the while, Cora writhed in her frustration. Her legs twisted and rubbed together in her desperate attempt to ease some of the pressure his absence had left behind.

“You know what you have to say,” he told her, nipping and tugging on her breasts with his teeth. “One little word, sweetheart, and I can make it stop.”

He sweetened the pot by letting his fingers skitter down the quivering planes of her belly in the direction she wanted him. Her thighs sprung open the moment he reached her crest. He allowed one finger to stroke her clit, just a kiss before retracting.

“You fucking asshole!” she snarled, frustration glimmering with unshed tears in her eyes. “Please! Okay? Please!”

James narrowed his eyes. “Try again.”

Her face crumpled into one of heart wrenching anguish. “Please! Please make it stop.”

It was a struggle not to let the satisfied grin pass his lips. He smothered it against her mouth in a dominating meshing of lips and tongue, of complying fingers resuming their job. Cora’s arms coiled around his shoulders, her fingers twisted into his hair. She gripped him to her with a possessive fury of a possessed woman.

“Yes! Yes ... there! James...”

She came with a guttural wail of his name. Her body closed around his fingers with a greedy fervor that coursed through her tense limbs. When she unraveled and slumped spent and gasping against the mattress, her pussy continued to pulse. It continued to suck him deeper inside. Her clit throbbed beneath the steady flicks of his thumb, each pang sending a new jolt of electricity through her.

“Oh my God,” she half cried, half laughed. “Oh my God.” She sucked in a wheezing breath. Her hands slipped away from his hair and dropped over her face. “Jesus Christ.”

James said nothing, content in his continued amusement with the remaining aftershocks sensitizing her sex; he loved watching her stomach convulse every time he teased her clit. But his curiosity won out and he found himself moving down her twitching body to the source of his new obsession. He took hold of her thighs and pushed them apart as far as they would go, bending them slightly towards her chest so her core was an open discovery begging for his attention.

“What are you doing?”

He ignored her breathy gasp as he kneeled in the open space he’d made between her knees and lifted her up to him, letting her legs dangle over his bent arms as he circled her around the hips. Her yelp of surprise dissolved into a croon of pleasure with the first sweep of his tongue. He circled her opening, ran the short stretch of skin to her clit, then back to push inside. He repeated until her thighs tensed and her body shuddered. She emanated a weak little whimper as a much smaller climax wracked over her.

James cleaned her of every last drop of her release. Only when he’d had his fill did he lift his gaze to her, to her hazy, just been properly handled expression. His mouth remained planted on her crux, even while he spoke, pausing in between words to nip at her clit.

“That’s a good girl.”