Page 34 of Paid to the Pirate

Who had won this round?

Charlotte’s shoulders rose and fell gently as she breathed in sleep, beside me. I couldn’t make myself seize those shoulders, to shake her awake and demand to know the truth. Funny how such a lying vixen could look so innocent in slumber. Her long legs splayed, free from her skirts. Her full breasts pushed at the thin cloth of her shirt. Her hair tumbled in all directions. Plump, pink lips parted to breathe -- an echo of other plump lips, gently parted. She looked as if she was begging to be ravished. A Goddess, a temptress, a siren of the sea washed ashore.

A far cry from the half-starved girl I once knew.

What had I done to deserve such torment?

Nevermind. I knew.

It didn’t stop me from hurrying to the laces on my breeches, eyes pinned to Charlotte’s sleeping form. Standing above her, I moaned as I grasped my throbbing cock and pumped. If I’d had to wager, I didn’t believe I would receive much resistance if I yanked her shirt out of my way and buried myself inside her. I’d tell her there was nothing to be ashamed of. I’d make her enjoy it.

I groaned at the fantasy, pumping faster.

Why should it be a fantasy? I had every right to take her after what she’d done. I could force my way into her wet sheath and spill my seed into her ready womb.

My right,I repeated in my head as I neared my release.My Charlotte. My cunt. Mine, mine.

I came into my waiting hand like a boy ashamed at his actions. Instant rage rose within me as I realized I was hiding it fromher.

Why should I care? She was mine to mark.

Running my semen-covered hands up her legs, I coated her soft skin.Would she realize it on the morn,I wondered,or would the stickiness just blend with the ever-present salt air aboard a ship at sea?

Charlotte did not stir. Her breathing was even and her face relaxed, oblivious to my soiling her pristine skin.

With the final drops, I brought my fingers to her lips and traced them, leaving another coating of my seed around her mouth. When she still didn’t awaken, I dared further, inserting my thumb and depositing a dollop on her soft tongue.

Mine.

Chapter 19

Charlotte

Iawoke alone in Colt’s cabin. Bolting upright in the bed, I quickly scanned the room to ensure I was, in fact, left to my own devices.

My heart leapt at finding the room to be utterly empty and I crept from the bed, rubbing my curiously sticky lips with the back of my hand.

Where was Colt? Had he slept beside me or taken a chair or perhaps he’d gone to drink with his men without returning to his cabin at all?

What I most needed was to find something that would help me learn the truth of my past, but second best would be access to the ship’s schedule, if they kept one. A man as fastidious as Colt must have some general plans noting whereThe Dread Nightintended to dock after my “check in” back with Mrs. Penningham. I suspected they’d sail north to Charles Town to restock supplies our small outpost lacked. If I could confirm and get word to Daniel, I could convey what I’d learned: how many men aboard, how they fought, who to fear. We could quickly work between our settlements to set up an immediate ambush.

At the very least, I could copy any schedule I might find and relay it to those in larger settlements with more men and arms at their disposal. They might have time to prepare a defense or to set a trap, thus ending the piracy of Colt the Cruel once and for all.

I smiled to myself at the same time my foot hit a squeaky floorboard and I froze. The sound echoed throughout the cabin and sure enough, the door swung wide, revealing a grinning Conks in the doorway.

“Glad to see you’re up and about,” he announced.

There was no point in pretending he didn’t know what I was up to.

“I’m famished,” I grumbled, smoothing my skirts and acting indifferent. “I’m going to get breakfast with Miguel.”

“I’ll join you,” Conks said, patting his stomach.

#

The hours passed uneventfully. Still unallowed to socialize with most of the crew, I spent half the day reading one of the captain’s books and the other half helping Miguel pluck a recently-slaughtered chicken. Conks kept a watchful eye and regaled us throughout with stories of his pirating youth.

I’d initially wanted to balk at the request to touch the dead bird, but curiosity got the better of me. Though I’d never handled a chicken in such a state at the tavern, the lowly act of plucking fowl felt oddly familiar. Almost… therapeutic.

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