Page 84 of Saving Sophia

“This is incredible,” I whispered back. The crew cleared the table in the background and turned on outdoor heaters to warm the chilly sea air.

“Remember, you’re safe. If it gets scary, use your safeword.” He twirled me to the haunting melody, then pulled me back, his hand sliding down my back. “If you do, the captain goes away, and it will just be Daddy holding you.”

I tipped my head and let my body sink into his embrace, let him pull me along, following wherever he might lead. As we moved across the deck, my eyes fell on the pole playing the part of the ship’s mast, complete with iron ring and coarse rope. My heart trembled with excitement as I parted my lips and said, “I’m ready … captain.”

The glint in his eyes darkened, and he kissed me deep, crushing me to him while never missing a step in the dance, controlling me as I floated in his arms, taking everything his mouth offered. I stepped over the edge and let myself fall into the game. If this were my last night before facing the awful fate of wedded misery to the evil Lord Borthwick, my choice was easy. I was certain Ruthie would agree.

The music changed, the tempo increased, and he broke away from my kiss. “My sweet little pet,” he said in perfect pirate accent, silky and dangerous. “I warned you, more than once. A woman may not touch a weapon on my ship.” Before I could protest, his hand slipped down my leg and took my knife. So much for undetected.

“You don’t understand the fate you’re dooming me to,” I said, trying to sound plaintive.

“And you don’t understand the captain’s rules.” He spun me around, capturing my hands behind my back and marching me forward toward the mast. “They are not to be broken.”

Fear spiked down my spine, but his thumb gently stroked my palm. The deep, protective survivor response in my brain calmed with that tiny touch, and I knew I could trust him enough to let myself play, to be frightened and aroused, and know I was safe.

“Please,” I whispered, stumbling forward, letting him guide me. The crew seemed to have disappeared.

“It’s too late for pretty words, little pet.” He snaked an arm around my chest, his hand holding the butter knife in front of my eyes before he threw it across the deck. He pushed me face first against the mast, hard enough to thrill me but not enough to hurt.

“Do not move,” he growled into my ear as my cheek made contact with the rough wood.

He pulled my shirt taut, and I heard the click of a pocketknife then the rip of fabric. He slid my top off my shoulders, leaving me bare except for a white cotton bralette. The soft breeze raised goosebumps along the backs of my arms. He lifted my right hand over my head, wrapped the rope around my wrist and put the end in my hand. He did the same for my left. I was secured, but I could let go at any moment. The eerie calm in the depths of my mind tucked that away, then let my conscious mind believe I was tied.

“Please have mercy,” I begged.

“I’m a pirate,” He answered, his voice graveled and full of mirth. “We’re not known for mercy.” He pulled something from his waistband and flourished it, waiting for me to look over my shoulder at him.

A cat o’nine tails.

Fear and heat plunged down my spine and landed between my legs, but the calm, sub-conscious anchor held fast. I tugged against the ropes, keeping the ends clutched tight in my hands. “No,” I pleaded.

“Oh yes, my dear.” He dragged the whip sinuously down my back.

The fear turned into a torrent of excitement. I arched back, hungry for the whip’s caress, hungry for his touch, and struggling to remember to protest.

I looked back at him again, full of need. From the corner of my eye, I saw the table, now completely cleared, no crew members in sight. But the mirrored glass windows of the control room stared down at me like an impassive sea god. “But Sir,” I whimpered. “Your crew. They’re watching.”

He let out a dark, ominous laugh. “Sweet little pet, I’ll fuck you right here in front of my crew, and you will beg me for more.”

Those words, his body looming over me, the whip in his hand all combined in my mind and the fantasy made real undid me. I moaned and twisted my body around, the ropes pulling tighter, my back scraping against the mast. I had no coherent thought left, except that he was right. I would beg, and I didn’t care who was watching.

“Please,” I cried, pressing my chest forward, straining toward him with my hips.

He dropped the whip, and it clattered to the deck.

“Sophia,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a heated groan.

“Mine.” His hands grabbed my face, pushing back my hair, pulling me to his lips and crushing me, kissing and sucking and breathing me in, taking control of my head, leading me.

His hands raked down my body, tugging my skirt up to my waist then wrenching my panties down to my feet where I frantically kicked them away.

“Yes?” He looked into my eyes, searching for fear or doubt.

“Yes,” I panted back at him, promising there was none. There was nothing but me needing him to take me.

He grabbed at my bralette and tore it open, shredding the lace, exposing my breasts to the cool night air and anyone’s eyes who might be watching. I didn’t care. My nipples tightened, hard as buttons.

“You’re not going back,” he growled, pinning me to the mast, pressing our chests together so tight I thought our hearts might collide. “Not to Lord Borthwick.” He bit my lip playfully, then his eyes turned serious. “Not to anybody.”

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