Page 94 of Captive of the Pirate King
Kardon laughs again. “You like being threatened?”
“I like that you’re so loyal to him.”
“Ah. Well, the boys and I each have our own stories, and none of us were pirates or sailors before we met Locke. He made us. We became men together. Ropes knotted as tightly as ours rarely loosen.”
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Locke appears moments later. My eyes and nose still feel red and puffy from crying, and he notices immediately.
He rounds on Kardon, pale eyes blazing. “Did you make her cry?”
“He didn’t,” I say quickly.
“It wasn’t me.” Kardon doesn’t back away, though Locke is taller and bigger, glowering right in his face. “Some women passed by and said things that upset her.”
“What women?” Locke spins back to me. “I’ll have them punished.”
“No, Locke. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, and usually it wouldn’t bother me, but—I thought things were different here.”
“People are the same everywhere,” says Kardon sagely.
“Thank you, professor,” Locke growls. “Be off and find someone to warm your bed, for once.”
“You know I can’t,” Kardon says in an undertone.
“You think you can’t,” Locke retorts. “Try.”
Muttering curses, Kardon whirls and storms away through the garden, his enormous coat fluttering behind him.
“You should be nicer to him,” I say. “He was kind to me.”
“Hm,” is all Locke murmurs before gathering me against him. “Now is your chance to refuse me.” His voice vibrates through his chest into my ear. “I know you may have felt pressured to say ‘yes’ out there, with everyone watching—”
“If I wanted to say no, I’d have said it.” I nuzzle between the folds of his shirt and kiss his chest.
“You know, I really believe you would.” He chuckles and tilts my face up. His mouth descends, nipping at mine, sucking my lower lip gently, then tugging with his teeth. Tired of the teasing, I give a breathless little huff of frustration and leap for his mouth, capturing it. Our lips seam together, warm delight with a flicker of wet tongue.
In the middle of the kiss, Locke picks me up, hitching my legs around his waist, and he walks through the garden, along a shadowed narrow path to a side entrance of the house. He puts me down just long enough to open the door, and then he carries me inside, up the back stairs, all the way to the room Madam Thora pointed out as his.
I don’t see much of the room as we stumble inside, because Locke is already peeling my dress off my shoulders. My general impression of the space—what I can see by the glow of the candelabra—is glossy dark wood, gleaming brass fixtures, deep green pillows and black velvet.
Locke fumbles with the laces of my gown before swearing loudly and scraping a jeweled dagger off a nearby table. He cuts through the laces with a jerk and rips my dress down, until it’s in a billowy pile around my feet. I wasn’t wearing anything under the bodice of the dress, and my breasts peak as the cool air of the room flows over my bare skin.
The last thing covering me is a lacy pair of pantalettes. Locke surveys them, predatory, prodding his beautiful lips with the tip of the knife.
“Stand very still, darling,” he says.
With the point of the blade, he nudges my chin up. Then he traces a terrifying, exquisite line down my throat with that sharp tip.
He’s fully clothed, and I’m practically naked—and the teasing of my soft flesh with the knife is turning me into a trembling river of need. Heat pulses at my core, melting and dripping through me.
The flat of the knife smacks lightly against one of my breasts, and I shudder with panicked delight.
Locke chuckles. “Naughty girl.”
He touches the dagger to my breastbone and trails it down my quivering abdomen until he reaches the band of the pantalettes. I hold myself motionless, utterly at his mercy, and utterly trusting.
A quick tug, and a snap, and the pantalettes drift away, ruined filmy scraps.
