Page 8 of Bred By the Barge

The sun disappears as he descends a wide staircase. When my eyes adjust, I blink in confusion. The upside-down world looks nothing like what I expect.

Dim lights hum along a single, massive room. Neat rows of shipping containers, stacked three high, line each wall, leaving an aisle in the middle wide enough for another row, but instead of more metal boxes, the common area holds zones for different activities.

Halfway down the stairs, my eyes catch on the centerpiece. Painted in bright colors, an odd assortment of materials creates an area for young, boisterous children to play. Tunnels, slides, climbing bars, seesaws—it’s a child’s wonderland.

The silence is deafening.

No younglings play.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns the corner to reveal the back half of the vessel.

It’s double the size I expected. One side seems more geared toward leisure while the other looks much more industrialized. My head spins as he stalks to the first pod on the left.

Separated from both rows, the captain’s quarters sit in the very middle of the ship. I glimpse two stacks of shipping containers sitting apart from the rest, but he yanks the lever on the door and swings it open just wide enough to slip inside without scraping me against the metal.

Not knowing what to expect, I curl my fingers tighter into his waistband and use the pain to center myself.

He closes the door and lowers a bar with a solid thud, locking me away from the world. I know he doesn’t need the separation to have his way with me, but fresh terror washes over me.

He takes two steps away from the door and tugs at me, trying to pull me over his shoulder, but I can’t release his belt.

“Let go, little one.”

Blood drips into my hair from my shoulder.

I clench my damaged fingers harder and bite back a sob.

To my surprise, he lowers himself to his knees before sitting cross-legged on the floor and guiding me off his shoulder. He controls my descent and settles me on my side before brushing my hair back from my face.

I can’t stop my tears any more than I can relax my fingers.

Despite his odd position, he doesn’t demand I release him again. With the cold floor under my shoulder and cool air wafting over my breasts, I expect him to crush me at any moment, but he runs big, powerful hands over me in soothing strokes. As I cry tears of loss, pain, and fear, he rumbles a low, unobtrusive purr, letting me work through the outburst on my own, while running his fingers through my hair, trailing his fingertips over my face and arm, and petting my back and side with slow, firm sweeps of his palm.

When the worst of the storm abates, he lightens his purr and cups my shoulder.

I don’t know when I closed my eyes, but lifting my lashes seems like too much work, even when he asks me to look at him.

He skims his hand down my arm and twists to pry my fingers free of his waistband. The care he takes to not hurt me further encourages a fresh bout of sobs.

With a huff of exasperation, he gathers me in his arms and stands.

I tuck my hands in my lap and lean against him, too spent to lift my head, much less fight.

The steady beat of his heart lulls me into a state of exhausted calm. He shifts my weight to free a hand and opens a door. When no hinges squeak or walls rattle, I lift my lashes out of pure curiosity and stare in shock.

Shower heads line the ceiling and sprout from the wall on the right side of the room. Smooth rocks and pebbles create beautiful designs around the floor drains. White walls and the row of mirrors, although chipped along the edges, make the space seem bigger. The deep sink and faucet are the most intact artifacts I’ve ever seen.

A curtain runs around a toilet in the back corner. I blink. I must be dreaming.

Except, I could never dream of something so luxurious.

I swallow as the behemoth sets me on the counter, leans down, and braces his palms on either side of my hips. His eyes roam down my body. Heat prickles over my flesh and my breasts throb.

“Don’t move, little one.”

There’s no mistaking the warning in his growl. He’s as close to losing control as I was, except if he breaks, there won’t be anyone to calm him.

An image of me wrapping my legs around him and holding his face to my chest as I stroke his hair rips through me.

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