“Now let us see what we have here.” He undid the top bottom of Dae’s ebon vest.
“Don’t you dare!” Dae dealt his hand a stinging swat and refastened the silver button.
Sealing his mouth with a long kiss, Blake undid the same button. Again he slapped his hand. He laughed, his amber gaze kindling as it moved over him. “You do it then.”
“I will not!”
Dae struggled to sit up, but he held him fast beside him. Caressing his chest letting those calloused bronzed digits toy with the porcelain flesh beneath him. With his other hand, he tilted Dae’s face towards his.
“Unspeakable cur! Detestable bastard!” He tasted his plush lips even as he sputtered outrages at him.
“You miserable, horrible--”
“--pigeon-livered hound,” Blake added. “Where did you learn such language, mon ange? On the docks?”
Blake took his mouth easily, lazily, kissing the corners, gently exploring the sweet cavern with his tongue, and all the while kneading his chest, stroking his hair, tracing the delicate lines of his exquisitely carved ears and his long, lovely throat.
He was delicious. He tasted and smelled and felt just as he known he would, and by the by Dae no longer trembled. Fast, hot gasps of his sweet breath warmed Blake’s face and throat. When he kicked Blake’s shin suddenly with the toe of his leather boot, Blake was neither surprised nor perturbed. Dae was spirited and unpredictable, qualities he admired.
Not interrupting his probing of his mouth and lips, nor stilling his roaming hands, Blake threw one heavy leg over his. He continued to take his sweet time kissing him, savoring his sweet, soft mouth and the way his body arched under his gentle stroking. He wanted him, no doubt about it. He was ready to yield. He trailed succulent kisses down to the soft hollow at the base of his throat, then raised his head.
“Unbutton your vest and take it off.”
He gasped. “I refuse.”
Fine. If he wanted to fight to the last instant, that was all right with him. He pressed his mouth to one hard nipple peaked against the fabric of ebon of his vest and circled in sensuously with his tongue. He nipped it, suckled on it.
Dae whimpered, his body writhing of its own volition beneath his mouth as a scalding wave of pleasure swept through him. The bastard! He was doing things to him that no man has ever dared to do, making him feel things he had never felt for another male before, and he hated him for it. He stiffened, steeling himself against such dangerous sensations.
Blake laughed at the mutinous look on his beautiful face.
“Why pretend you don’t like it when you do? I can see you do. Come, Cearo, take off you vest.” He uttered gracing his pink mouth with one dark finger. “Take everything off.”
“I will not!” It had taken a great deal of effort not to bite his finger. “And I am not Cearo. Do not call me that.”
“What would you prefer I call you?”
“I would prefer to be a thousand miles from here!”
Blake released him. Enough was enough. He rose abruptly, wordlessly, and strode to a chair where he removed his boots and breeches. He stood naked, gazing down at him, his amber eyes hooded and dangerous.
Entangled in waist length ebon tresses, Dae managed to a sitting position, his back to the wall. Now he glared at him, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes flashing green fire. He would fight him. He would fight until he would fight no more, no matter how furious or abusive Jade became. He would punch, scratch and kick and yes, bite and--His head swam as the full impact of his nakedness struck him.
How tall he was. And how long, hard, and strong his tanned arm and legs. And those wide shoulders and his hard muscled chest; amber eyes blazing with hunger, no tenderness in them; his thrusting member...
Dae trembled. But it was not the sight of his nakedness or the obvious lust that frightened him; it was the shocking response of his own body, the stream of fire rushing through his veins and consuming him. What was happening to him? He must fight him and fight this passion flaming within him...
“Take off your clothing or I will take them off for you,” Jade said softly,” and I won’t bother with buttons...”
“I will not!” He exclaimed, but he knew he was going to obey him.
With shaking porcelain digits, he undid the three silver buttons of his vest, coolly submitting when Blake slipped it down over his shoulders, then stripped him off his breeches, letting Dae‘s boots fall against the wooden floor. Dae’s face burned with shame even as his body was enflamed with desire at the touch of his bronzed hands. When nothing remained to cover his nakedness from his hot gaze but the liquid soft velvet-black hair veiling his shoulders, he lifted the silken tresses so that they fell down his back. He lowered his head and took one nipple in his mouth. Dae moaned. Heat seared his nipples, his entire body, though he told himself that he hated the way he felt, and hated him. Hated his body for betraying him.
Blake was more than ready, and by the looks of the wretch, so was he, eyes glazed and hooded, lips parted, nipples taut, breath coming in little pants. Blake’s own breathing was short and ragged. He touched his shaft to him, positioning it, feasting his eyes on him.
He thought that he was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. But more important, his father was his enemy. Holding that dark thought in his mind, savoring it, Blake smoothed his liquid ebon hair and kissed him once more and then, as gently as his raging passion would allow, he took him.
Until that moment, Dae had been winning his battle against those sinful succulent sensations forced upon him. Struggling to think of other things, he had fought the fire fed by Jade’s searing lips, his hands that branded his flesh, his hot shaft teasing, and titillating him as he gently searched for entry.
When at last he thrust within him, Dae gave a cry that was half astonishment, half pain, and saw the disbelief in Jade’s eyes. Then fury leapt within him. Fury at himself for yielding so easily and the fury at him for hurting him so. Why had he not fought him harder? Oh, he despised him. He could kill him! Instinctively, Dae lashed out, his nails leaving four ugly gashes on the pirate’s left cheek. It did not deter him. Dae’s crystalline tears mingled with his kisses as he pinned Dae’s hands above his head and began moving heavily, rhythmically, pushing ever more deeply within him.
He had conquered him, Dae thought bitterly, but he would pay for it. He was going to be caught and hanged. Either that or his father would kill him--or he himself would be glad to do the deed. Dae laid like a board beneath him, an unresponsive hate-filled aching board, his mouth and face stiff, not even aware that the pain had faded until a strange, invading warmth began seeping into his consciousness one that he had never felt with one of his paramours.
At first one small burning bud or sweetness, it was soon flowering and swelling, filling his whole body with its nectar as he was carried along by the man above him to a place, a height so wondrous that he could scarcely bare it. In the end, there was such wild release, such an ecstatic explosion, that he was left limp and weeping. But almost instantly, the stark reality of what had happened overwhelmed him. His honor was gone, his pride was tattered, as was his future with Angela, all gone, stolen from him because this criminal could not control his animal lust.
Crystalline tears of
bitterness replaced his tears of release. In addition to his shame, he
was frightened and confused. What was this terrible passion that had caused
him to yield when he vowed to fight? Even now, he was glowing from head
to toe in its aftermath. Oh, it was hideous. Never in his worst nightmares
had he dreamt that such a thing could be. He continued to weep, his face
buried in the wet pillow as Jade rose from the bed, silently clothed himself,
and just as silently exited the cabin.
· · · · · · · ·
Blake’s mood was dangerous as he strode onto the pitching deck of the Emerald Temptress. He had done as he had intended to, easily and thoroughly seducing his captive until he became warm and submissive, but damn it all to hell, now he felt consumed with guilt. He was not all what he had expected. His thoughts tossed, whirled, a morass of confusion and regret with only one thing clear: his hatred for his enemy had blinded him to the truth. Cearo was not like his father, he didn’t have the dark sadistic qualities his father possessed.
He angrily dabbed his bloodied cheek with his sash before knotting it around his head to tame his hair. He ground his teeth in helpless fury. He had softened and yielded, yes, but what else in bloody hell could he have done? Doubtless he thought he would give him to his crew or beat or kill him if he refused. Blake was six feet two inches of powerful male whereas he was only soft, slender, a frail dove trying desperately not to show his terror. And he had taken him. Now he had to get his damned face cleaned up, the blood stanched so his crew would not smirk behind his back. He gave a disgusted feral growl. They would see the scratches anyway, and he would deserve their derision.
“Sir”--it was Adrian-- “there is a slight wind from the northwest but little change in current.” Not once did his gray eyes stray to Blake’s cheek, where the bloody stripes were stinging like fire.
“Good, lieutenant. Keep her steady as she is.”
“Aye, sir. Ah, here are Sky at the lads.”
Blake’s temper went from hot to sizzling. Why didn’t the whole damned crew parade by before he could sponge off the blood?
“Sir, whatever, happint ta your poor cheek?” Danny exclaimed. “ ‘Tis a right wicked-lookin’ wound ye have. Almost like ye’d been clawed by some beast.” His brown eyes were wide and sympathetic. “Ye’d best warsh it off good so’s not to get the putred fever, sir.”
Blake ignored him and gave Sky a black scowl.
“Well, mister, what is it? I’m in a hurry.”
“The lad is right, sir,” Sky drawled, his hazel eyes resting in languid curiosity on his friend’s face.
“Ye’d best slather some o’ my special ointment on it. Cleanse it first with the fever wash. They’re both in my cabinet in my--”
“I know where they are,” Blake snapped.
Sky blinked after him as Blake strode off to his cabin, found the wash and ointment, then he strained to see what damage had been done to him. Sky’s mirror was as bad as his own, but it was clear the wretch had done some damage. He sponged the deep scratches with the fever wash, cringed when it was stung, then used the ointment sparingly.
But it was his fault there was no way he could make it up to him. What was done was done. He could still see the shock in his emerald eyes when he took him. Great God almighty, what devil had ever possessed him to bring him aboard in the first place? He shook his head, disgusted with himself.
He was weary beyond
words, and Sky’s bunk was a temptation he could not resist. From what he
had just seen, Sky was going to be busy for a while anyway. He would stretch
out and close his eyes just for a minute.
· · · · · · · ·
“Blake, wake up, man!”
Adrian was shaking his arms. Sky, too was there, his face grim. It took Blake only an instant to spring to his feet.
“Trouble?”
“Aye.”
He headed for the
deck. “How long?”
“It just started.”
“Withdraw cannons and close all ports.”
“Aye.”
On deck, Blake looked out upon sullen, oily swells and a rapidly darkening skies. He immediately noted the change in wind. It was from the north now, not the northwest, and even as he reckoned the situation, the tide turned against them and a squall came screaming over the horizon, bringing heavy mist and churning the water to thick white froth. Almost instantly, the traitorous seas grew mountainous and the air cold. Blake sent men up on the yard to try and control the main topsail, but the bolt rope broke.
“She’s goin’!” Adrian cried. “God in heaven, she’s splittin’ to ribbons already.”
“Blake, the yard’s sprung!” Sky shouted.
Blake’s eyes narrowed against the stinging wind-driven sleet, studied the splintered spar. There was no way it could be lowered for repair and a new sail bent now, and he dared not lose his ability to maneuver his vessel. His mind clicked rapidly over various solutions and settled on the best.
“Trim the yards and sheets to get the wind abeam, and then I want men in the shrouds,” he shouted to Adrian above the howling wind.
“The shrouds!” Sky goggled at him.
“Man, you are crazy!” Adrian yelled.
“We’ve got to act as a wind vane to keep her head off the wind,” he yelled. “damn it to hell, move!”
“We’re with you, lad,” agreed Sky.
As his order were followed, Blake himself made for the shrouds and rapidly ascended the mast, whose ropes converged on the bowsprit.
As the wind blew more ferociously than ever and shredded the split mainsail to threads, the startled crew was ordered to follow Blake’s lead. Soon, twenty-four men, Sky and Adrian among them, were clinging to the shrouds, those ropes and wires which held steady the long, graceful snout of the Emerald temptress’ bowsprit. Beneath them nothing but empty space and snarling wind and frothing seas.
Blake clung to the topmost rigging, his body taking the full force of the wind and icy rain. His hands gripping the taut rope and wires, seemed frozen already. But if he was right, and he had seen many such capricious squalls before, this one would die as quickly as it was born.
Suddenly, far below on the gleaming wave-washed deck, he saw a small figure with flying ebon hair. It flitted to the rail and clung there, swaying. Cearo! Blake’s heart gave a terrible thump, stopped, and then roared in his ears. At any moment he could be swept overboard and swallowed by the hungry sea. He knew terror at the thought, and sadness. Never to hold his sweet, soft body in his arms again; never to say he was sorry. God, the fool, could he not see his life was in terrible danger? He shouted down at him, knowing he could not hear him above the storm’s fury.
“Go back! Back!”
He looked up, and he made a desperate gesture toward the cabin. He stared wide-eyed for just an instant and then obeyed. Blake held his breath as he made his way to safety and the door closed after him. Blake was weak with relief, his near-frozen arms and hands aching as if they had been laid to fire, but he had to hold on a little longer...
Dae had cried himself to sleep and been awakened when he was tumbled out of bed onto the floor by the storm. Deathly afraid of being tapped in the cabin of the sinking ship, he had stumbled on deck. Now he was back on his bunk trembling, the awful memory of what he had just seen impressed on his mind: bare spars, reefed sails, a suffocating wall of ghostly mist and spray enveloping the ship as the bow plunged and rose. The mainsail nothing but strings, and the seas were so black and steep and raging he knew the Emerald Temptress would go to the bottom if a wave hit them broadside. But the most frightening thing of all, above the bowsprit and the hanging onto the shrouds, had been Jade and his men.
Dae did not understand why he--why any of them--should be in such a precarious place. He only knew that Jade could fall into the sea and be gone in an instant. And if he did fall, if Jade’s strong arms faltered, they would all be lost...