Page 33 of Kidnapped by the Pirate
He turned his attention to his tasks, going over the list of cargo to trade, and soon enough they were in Nassau. Voices rang out over the water, and Plum went to kneel by the open window, craning his neck. Hawk stood behind him, failing to keep his eyes off Plum’s firm, round arse.
There was only a glimpse of palm trees and huts, people milling around where the beach curved. “If you shout…”
Grumbling, Plum sighed. “I won’t.”
Hawk grabbed his coat and left before he was compelled to make any more promises.
Head buzzing pleasantly, Hawk left the men to their merriment in the forecastle, closing a hatch behind him in the passageway. The music and boisterous shouts faded by the stern, and the lashing wind and rain reached his ears.
With a sigh, he climbed to the main deck, soaked to the skin in moments, his coat forgotten by the barrel of rum. He made his rounds, checking on the poor sods who’d drawn the night watch, promising them extra grog tomorrow. They were safely at anchor, but it was still miserable on deck.
Carrying a small sack, he returned below, finally approaching his cabin. He nodded to Grady. “Any trouble?”
“Not a peep, Captain.”
“Dismissed. Go eat and have as much rum as you’d like.”
Grinning, Grady passed him the key and hurried away. Hawk hesitated. It was foolish to still feel guilty—or to feel guilty whatsoever—but he hated not living up to a wager, no matter with whom it was made.
He’d stayed on deck while they left Nassau and made their way to the cove, then eaten and drank too much rum with the men, Snell watching him with a raised eyebrow. He couldn’t avoid it anymore and twisted the key.
Plum was in his corner, curled on the blanket, either asleep or pretending to be. He’d lit one of the lanterns at some point, and it still flickered. Hawk was about to tiptoe inside when he caught himself and marched boldly, boots striking the floor. It’s my cabin, for fuck’s sake.
He dropped the sack on the floor by the corner. “There’s fruit. Mango, orange, and…a plum.”
Dropping any pretense, Plum sat up and opened the rough canvas. “Thank you.” He pulled out the mango and held it in his hands, peering at it curiously, then poking at the skin.
“Here.” Hawk took his dagger from his belt and handed it to him. Only once the brass handle was in Plum’s grasp did he stop to question just what the fuck he was doing. This is why I should keep to one cup of rum.
But Plum only peeled the fruit before passing the weapon back. He took a tentative bite of the mango, then moaned. Juice dripped down his fingers, and his tongue darted out, licking them clean, as if he didn’t want to waste a drop.
Hawk spun around and started tugging at his soaked clothes, commanding himself to ignore the coiling heat in his belly. He stripped them off and stretched out naked on the bed, determined to go to sleep.
It had been a long day, and he’d had to be on guard in Nassau—weighing every word, performing, wearing his cursedly hot coat, satisfied with the whispers that followed in his wake. “There goes the Sea Hawk.”
Now he could exhale and relax. Well, he would if Plum stopped making such obscene noises. Each slurp and sigh of pleasure went straight to Hawk’s prick.
To hell with it.
He took himself in hand, because why the devil shouldn’t he? It was his cabin, and he didn’t give a fuck what his prisoner thought. Even if a glance told him his prisoner was now transfixed, the rest of the fruit abandoned in his lap, eyes locked on Hawk’s stiffening rod.
With his right hand tucked behind his head, Hawk spread his legs. He licked his palm with a long, slow stroke, then spit in it a few times. Lazily, he worked himself to full hardness, Plum’s feverish gaze boring into his skin, setting him aflame.
He could only glimpse Plum’s shadow from the corner of his eye in the low, guttering light of the lantern, but was certain he watched every pass of Hawk’s hand over his shaft.
Get it done and go to sleep.
Yet he couldn’t ignore Plum’s curious hunger. Couldn’t deny himself the thrill of it, even though he knew it was madness. He’d kept himself in check for so long.
More than that, it was forever since Hawk had been desired with such pure, raw honesty. Why shouldn’t he have a taste of forbidden fruit? Just this once, if Plum wanted it.
Is it honesty, though? Or is he playing me like Mr. Cooper’s fiddle? Trying to ensure his survival?
The merry tune Cooper currently played in the forecastle as the men caroused echoed faintly through the ship beyond the din of the storm. Hawk should close his eyes, jerk himself quickly to completion, and let the distant music be his lullaby.
