Page 68 of Kidnapped by the Pirate
Most of all, he’d become used to the touch of Hawk’s callused hands on his body. The wonderful fullness and power of his cock. How his weathered fingertips sometimes skated over Nathaniel’s skin with an impossibly soft touch.
Was Hawk now becoming familiar with Nathaniel in the same way? Did he experience a pulse of desire simply from his scent?
But the desires bottled within Nathaniel had grown too big and unwieldy. Oh, how he yearned to peel away more of Hawk’s scarred layers and wriggle into the spots where soft smiles and even laughter lived.
He wanted to hold and be held, to share wine and bread and the warmth of a hearth in winter, listening to Hawk read aloud. To create a home together.
“I really am an imbecile,” he muttered. He had no home. He couldn’t make one on Primrose Isle, no matter how much he’d miss dear Susanna. Lord, what would she think if she knew the things he’d done?
Hawk’s threat to expose Nathaniel’s true self to Walter echoed harshly in his mind, and now resentment grew. Hadn’t Hawk told him there was no dishonor in it, that Nathaniel’s desires were natural? And now he threatened to shame him for it.
Nathaniel’s skin crawled with humiliation, yet the hypocrisy galled him—infuriated him.
Whore.
He’d felt so at home in his own skin with Hawk, sucking and rutting and fucking unabashedly. When Hawk had held him down, mastered him, an odd sense of power had filled Nathaniel along with that massive cock. And now Hawk said he should feel guilty for it, that it was wrong after all?
Tears pricked his eyes, and he swiped at them angrily. No. He wouldn’t allow Hawk to strip him of the fulfillment he’d found in his soul, the harmony he’d finally achieved within himself. The knowledge that he could have the things he’d always craved, and it wasn’t a sin. It was true and proper and he wouldn’t deny himself.
Fists clenching, he sat and reached for his bowl, shoveling the food in, letting rage simmer and fuel him along with the rations. He would keep up his strength; he would not be bowed by Hawk’s bluster. He would not submit to this cruelty, no matter how strenuously and absurdly Hawk insisted on it.
“I don’t believe him,” he whispered.
Staring out at Hawk on the beach, working shoulder to shoulder with his men to clean and repair the hull, Nathaniel vacillated between anger and compassion like a ship rolling on rough seas.
He thought of the boy who’d been snatched by a press gang and forced into the navy, and yet had still wanted to serve his country. Then was branded a pirate. But he’d embraced the role, no matter what—or who—drove him to it.
Nathaniel rooted around for his dagger, which Hawk had allowed him to bring ashore with nary a blink. He trusts me.
Yet why should that fill him with warmth and satisfaction? No matter how tender he had been at times, Hawk was his captor. Nathaniel shouldn’t care about his thoughts or feelings.
He jumped to his feet and practiced his blade work, feinting and lunging for invisible opponents, sweat slicking his skin. If Hawk said he didn’t give a damn, Nathaniel should take him at his word.
Still, each time he tried to convince himself there was nothing between them, that he’d imagined it all, memories of Hawk’s gentle hands, genuine smile, or laughter rippled through him.
Gripping the dagger, he slashed at the air, no end in sight to his confusion—especially since Hawk was apparently determined to avoid him like the blackest of plagues.
The crew’s work went well beyond sunset, and Nathaniel paced the tent, dagger still in hand. It seemed there was a worse thing than being demeaned: being ignored. After a day holed up, with trees and water and that glorious beach taunting him—along with Hawk’s utter disregard—Nathaniel had had quite enough.
It was late now, many of the men asleep, others still drinking their rum around a fire. Clutching the dagger like a talisman, willing himself strength, he strode from the tent and across the beach with no hesitation.
He was past the fire when he heard the first shouts, and soon Hawk’s voice boomed. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Get back in the tent. Now.”
Heart thumping, Nathaniel spun around. Still a distance away, Hawk marched toward him, lips in a thin line, all eyes on them. Nathaniel yelled, “I’m going for a run!”
“You had your run yesterday.” In the firelight as he approached, the lines of Hawk’s face were granite, fists clenched. “I told you to stay in that tent. I will not allow this.”
Nathaniel waited until Hawk was almost in reach. “Bet you can’t catch me.”
Hawk’s curses exploded in the night as Nathaniel sprinted away, followed by his command for the men to stay put and his promise that he would indeed catch the prisoner.
