The Pirate Takes A Bride (13 page)

“Tell me to stop, Ashley,” he said, as his teeth gently scraped her sensitive skin. His thumb rolled over that taut peak and she could not stop herself from pushing it into his hands. “I don’t want recriminations tomorrow. No implications that I tricked you.”

“I’m not tricked,” she whispered. “I want you.”

He groaned softly and then rose to his full height. She wanted to protest at the removal of his mouth, but before she could speak, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the berth. It was two steps, perhaps three at most, but she’d felt as though she were precious cargo in those few moments when he cradled her. No man had ever made her feel that way. She’d felt like a commodity hundreds of times, but never as though she was something delicate and cherished, something to be carried protectively and set down with so much gentleness.

Nick leaned over her on the berth, perched on one knee. His gaze, visible in the little light they had, was adoring. Oh, how she wanted him to look at her like that forever. How she wished she did not have the ugly scar marring her leg, that scar that had made him turn away from her all those months ago.

He was not turning away from her now, and she did not want to consider why too deeply at the moment. It was dark, too dark for him to see her scar. She would stop him from touching it, but she wanted—she needed—his hands on her elsewhere.

He reached down and fingered the small bow she’d tied in her shift to hold it closed against her breasts. Ashley inhaled slowly, her breath coming in small gasps, as he pulled the bow apart. He hooked a finger in the material and drew it down, exposing her breasts. It was dark, far too dark for him to see her clearly. And it was warm, much to warm for her to shiver. But she did shiver under his gaze. She shivered and drew in a silent gasp as his mouth lowered to tease her flesh.

N
ick wished for the sunrise. He wished for a lamp. He wished for anything that would allow him to see Ashley as she lay beneath him. Twice now he’d had her almost naked beneath him, and both times he’d seen nothing of her body. And he’d made a study of her body—fully clothed, of course. He knew it was lush and ripe. He knew every curve he wanted to trace, every hollow he wanted to kiss. He wanted to see what he touched, but he could not risk lighting a lamp for such frivolous reasons. And when the sun rose, he would have to go.

So he saw her with his hands and his mouth. He drew the material of the shift apart and allowed it to fall to her abdomen. His hands roved over her, feeling the way she shivered at his touch, the way her skin warmed where his fingers grazed her. Her skin was impossibly soft. He’d grown used to the rough feel of rope and wood under his fingers, and she was as soft as the finest silk.

His hands cupped her flesh, feeling the pleasant weight of her as he lowered his mouth to kiss the slope of her breast. She smelled of strawberries or cherries and he could have buried himself in her then. She was so impossibly sweet—the way her hands came around his neck and she suppressed tiny cries of delight when he flicked a tongue over one of her straining nipples.

Everything in her seemed to strain toward him, as he did toward her. But in this moment, he had the luxury of time. Chante had the watch and most of the crew was sleeping. In the morning, he’d need to be everywhere at once. But right now he was not needed anywhere. He could take his time, and he fully intended to. He needed this and he needed her.

The future haunted him. Images of destruction and death stalked him in his sleep. There would be more destruction and death when he found Yussef and slit his throat for his treachery. He should have done it long before.

As soon as the winds picked up, they’d arrive at the island and God knew what he would find there. But right now he could push all of that away and touch his wife, kiss her soft skin, revel in her sharp intakes of breath as he stroked her. He hadn’t wanted a wife. He hadn’t wanted to drag Ashley into this life, but she was here now, and she just might save him.

Her hands moved at his waist, pulling his shirt free of his trousers. Her hands touched his skin, her fingers tracing the flesh of his abdomen and chest until the shirt was at his neck. He paused, allowed her to strip it off him, and lowered his body to hers. The feel of skin on skin almost undid him. He wanted to slide against her, slide into her, but he forced himself to go slowly. He’d waited this long for her. He could wait a few more moments. He lowered his mouth to her breast again. It fit perfectly in his hand, the weight pleasant and erotic. He licked her hot skin then teased her thick nipple with his tongue. She writhed beneath him, the roll of her hips forcing him to clench his jaw to maintain his restraint.

He moved his hand to her shift, grasping the fabric where it bunched at her legs and pulling it higher. His hand stroked the skin of her leg, and she stiffened and grabbed his hand. “No.”

He stilled immediately because her voice had carried and because he’d heard fear in the way she’d spoken.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly he had to concentrate to hear her. But the apology was for the sound of her voice, not the denial.

“You want me to stop?” he whispered. Please, God. Anything but stopping.

“No. I don’t want you to touch me…there.”

It might have been his passion-filled mind, but he was not at all certain he understood what she was saying. “Where?”

“Do not pretend you don’t know,” she hissed, her voice growing louder again. He put a finger over her lips and leaned close.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he murmured in her ear. “Just tell me.” He nibbled her ear again, and she did not stop him. She drew him closer, pressing her hips against his straining erection. “May I touch you here?” He allowed his hands to roam over her shoulders, down her arms, over her breasts.

“Yes.”

He rolled one nipple between thumb and finger, and her breath came in short gasps. “Oh, yes.”

Reluctantly, he slid his hands down her body to cup her waist then her hips through the thin shift. “Here?”

“Yes.”

He reached for the hem of the shift again, and she stiffened. “Not here?”

“Not my leg.” Her voice was strained and sounded odd. It might have been because she was whispering. It might have been her arousal. Nick did not care at the moment. He only wanted to please her—to please himself. Perhaps her legs were ticklish. There were other ways to divest her of her clothing. He could be creative. He moved back and pulled her to a sitting position.

“Take it off,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait to see if his order was obeyed. He rose and pulled his boots off then divested himself of his trousers. He felt her shift brush his hand as it landed on the floor beside his discarded garments, and he bent on one knee beside her again. He reached for her, found her chin and lowered his mouth to kiss her. Slowly, he pushed her back on the berth, covering her body with his. She’d taken the shift off. She was all heat and silk beneath him. One of his knees nudged her legs apart, and he felt her molten core when he pressed against her. She gasped into his mouth, and her hands came around to clench his back.

He arched, still kissing her, and allowed his hands to explore her body, careful not to touch her legs. When his hand curled into the vee at her thighs, he could feel her moisture. She was ready for him, and he was more than ready for her. He would not last long. Not this first time, and he did not know if there would be time for more. He cupped her, then inserted one finger. She was tight and wet, and he groaned softly. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own, guiding his hips toward her, but he would not give in to the temptation to thrust into her and satisfy himself.

“Nick…” she said on a gasp.

“Give me a moment,” he whispered. “I want you too much.”

“I want you too.” She wiggled against him, her thigh brushing his erection. She was going to be the death of him. Gritting his teeth and stroked his slick finger in and out, pushing it against the small nub he found. She gasped, and he did it again, this time swirling his finger round her.

“Nick…”

He did not mistake the wonder in her whispered word this time. He forgot, for a moment, his own need, and slid two fingers inside her, gently stroking her and then circling that sensitive nub again. Her body moved against him, seeming to know what to do, what it strained for. He kissed her as he stroked and swirled, stroked and swirled, and then he felt her tighten and he tapped his finger lightly against her until her hips arched, and he felt her entire body tense.

He caught her sound of pleasure with his mouth and moved to slide his cock inside her. He did not have to be gentle. She was no longer a virgin. He could take her hard and fast, and that was exactly how he wanted her. He pressed the tip of his erection against her as her climax waned.

“Cap’n?”

Nick stilled. He wanted to believe he’d imagined that voice, but the ship was too quiet and the speaker too near. Beneath him, Ashley stilled, and he knew she had heard it too.

“Go away,” he hissed.

“Cap’n, yer needed.”

It was Chante, his damn quartermaster. Chante, who had the watch. Chante, who had obviously seen something he thought necessary to draw to his captain’s attention. Nick clenched his jaw and swore softly. “I’ll come directly.”

Except he wouldn’t. He looked down at Ashley again, kissed her softly, and murmured. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to go.”

He rose and dressed hastily in the dark, quietly cursing Chante’s bad timing.

“Is something wrong?”

Something was very wrong when he had to leave his wife’s warm body and his own bed at such an inconvenient moment, but he didn’t want to worry her. “No.” He bent again and took her chin between two fingers. “This was perfect.
You
were perfect. It is killing me to leave you.”

“Perhaps you could return.”

He could have kissed her again. He’d keep that thought in the back of his mind. “There’s nothing I want more. Sleep now. I’ll wake you if anything is amiss.”

It was a testament to his loyalty to his ship and his crew that he walked away from her. He opened the door to the cabin and found Chante standing in the companionway with a shuttered lantern. Nick closed the door behind him and said, “Report, Mr. Chante.”

“We spotted another ship, Cap’n.”

“Damn it all to hell.” He followed Chante to the poop deck, where his first mate stood holding a spyglass. “Six points off the larboard side, Captain,” the man whispered.

Nick took the glass and looked out into the darkness. All was silent and still, and he was tempted, in his impatience, to curse the man because he didn’t see anything.

And then he saw it. A tiny pinprick of light danced through the darkness in the distance. He could not tell from this distance or in this dark whose ship it was, friend or foe. But he no longer had the luxury of waiting for the wind to pick up. He’d have to send the boats out, have the men row in search of wind. He turned to his quartermaster. “Mr. Chante, man the boats. We search for wind.”

A
shley rose, donned her shift, and then succumbed to the feeling of pleasant heaviness throughout her body. She climbed back on the berth and drowsed, her mind going over and over all of the delicious ways Nick had touched her. Her entire body still tingled from the feel of his hands and his mouth. And she could not stop herself from placing her hands over her heart because it fluttered so she thought it might easily flutter out of her chest.

She knew she was acting like a ridiculous child. She was not so new to the ways of the world as to assume because he’d made love to her he was in love with her. He’d made love to her before, and then she’d found him with another woman the next night. There was no other woman on board the
Robin Hood
. She did not think she would find him in another’s arms, but the lack of female companionship also meant that he had no one but her to turn to with his needs.

She knew something about men’s needs. When she’d heard rumors of her older brothers carousing with loose women, she’d brought the tales to her mother, who had told her she should turn a blind eye and a deaf ear because men had needs. Over the years Ashley had come to see this as the flimsy excuse it was for men to do whatever they liked and for women to sit home in loneliness and misery. It was one reason she’d decided never to marry.