Page 36 of Kidnapped by the Pirate
“Oh God, that’s… You’re so deep.”
Thighs flexing, he fucked himself, his tight arse like heaven. His hands lay flat on Hawk’s chest, fingers digging in for purchase as he moved in a jerky rhythm, struggling to find that spot inside him on every stroke.
He panted so prettily, sandy hair damp and curling around his forehead, honey eyes bright with discovery and lust, little whines escaping his pink mouth: “Oh, oh, yes.”
The ten points of pressure from Plum’s fingers might actually bruise, new dark spots amid the lines of his tattoo, but the hint of pain sent fire to Hawk’s balls. Plum was wild and free on top of him, eyes shut as he fucked himself fiercely.
Hawk reached up to cup his cheek, needing to see his eyes again, swallowing his own gasp when Plum looked down at him with pure pleasure and reckless abandon, fearless as he took what he wanted.
Plum was supposed to be the prisoner, yet Hawk was ensnared, powerless to deny him anything, a fishing boat caught in a frigate’s churning wake, swept up and only able to hold on.
“Oh, oh, I need…” Plum slammed down, wincing.
Hawk burned to give him that release. Plum’s dripping cock was flushed a deep red, the hood pulled back. Hawk swiped a thumb over the head, then gave it a swift, commanding stroke from root to tip. On the third pass, Plum cried out, splashing Hawk’s chest, his arse gripping so sweetly, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.
As Plum trembled, Hawk fucked up into his clinging heat with powerful thrusts, unable to contain himself a moment longer. Plum’s eyes shot open, a cry on his lips as another spurt of cream splatted on Hawk’s chest.
He clamped down, and that was all it took to unleash Hawk’s release, wildfire sweeping from bow to stern and back again as he emptied himself, their eyes locked together. Hawk barely managed to clench his jaw and choke down his shout.
“God in heaven,” Plum muttered, head dropping, his arms going slack where he still braced himself, fingers that had dug into Hawk’s flesh relaxing.
“I’d say this is more the devil’s arena,” Hawk drawled, his attempt at a joke sounding hollow. Indeed, Plum ignored it. Hawk had to pry himself free and regain his senses, but he still held Plum’s slim hips, tanned hands stark against that pale skin.
Hawk’s prick had begun to soften, resting inside Plum’s slick, well-used hole, where he’d been the first. Unlike his typical rushed encounters, he wasn’t yet ready to withdraw, instead reaching out to trace the edges of Plum’s swollen rim around him.
Chest rising and falling, Plum lifted his head. His glazed eyes met Hawk’s, then lowered. He swallowed thickly, blinking as if he was coming back to himself after a fevered dream, and Hawk dreaded seeing guilt furrow that brow once more. Why should their desires be deemed unworthy? Because England said so? To hell with England.
Hawk lifted his thumb to press over the tiny divot in Plum’s chin, wondering if he’d been born with it or acquired it on some adventure, perhaps running or climbing trees. Their skin was slick with sweat where they pressed together, and Hawk was struck by the urge to roll Plum under him and cover him from head to toe.
Plum swiped at his seed, only succeeding in making the mess worse, matting together the hair on Hawk’s chest, tracing the edges of his tattoo. “I’m sorry.” His fingers shook as he tried to clean it up.
“There’s no shame in it.” Hawk captured Plum’s wrist and drew up his hand, sucking his fingers and the musky, tangy treat laced with the lingering mango juice as Plum watched with wide eyes.
“Nathaniel.” His gaze snapped up to Hawk’s as Hawk froze. Hoarsely, he added, “My name, it’s—”
Hawk roughly lifted him off not only his cock, but then shoved him from the bed entirely, plopping him on his feet. He swayed, and Hawk held on a few moments longer before letting go. After all, it wouldn’t do to have his prize tumble over and crack his skull.
Forcing a wide yawn, he leaned over and plucked Plum’s linen drawers from where they’d been abandoned on the floor. With swift movements, he cleaned his prick and what he could of his chest, then tossed the sticky drawers at Plum, who was too dazed to catch them. The white cloth landed at his feet.
Although his heart thumped too quickly, Hawk kept his tone even. Disinterested. “There. Now you won’t die a virgin.”
He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, willing his breathing back to normal. The ship’s sway usually lulled him to sleep almost instantly on the nights he wasn’t worrying over the men, or other ships, or weather, or cargo. Or being captured by the English. Or French. Or Spanish.
