Page 41 of Bloody Black

We stand there, chest to chest, our mouths only a breath apart. I could kiss him, but perhaps he would grab me or touch me, and I can’t predict what would happen then. If the ghosts of my pasts would rear their ugly heads.

Masking my trepidation, I shove Robb backward. A bit too roughly, but he doesn’t seem to care. The backs of his knees hit the captain’s chair.

“Sit.”

It’s an order, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Robb sinks down into the seat, his legs splaying open, his white shirt still damp against tan skin.

I stand between his knees.

I untie the long red sash that wraps my waist. Then I bind him.

Crimson silk wraps around his ankles. Wrists to chair.

Wraps around his back. I cinch it tight.

Knot him until there’s no possible way he can claw free.

He can’t do anything other than take whatever I want to give.

In fact, if I chose, I could pull the dagger from my thigh and cut out his heart .

Honestly, the idea is somewhat appealing, until I get a good look at him.

His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling. His fingers twitch against the armrests. He’s rock hard, a fact that I can’t possibly miss.

“You like it when I tie you up.”

His eyes are dark, pupils blown. “You have no idea what it does to me.”

Then I’m going to do that. Often. If only because I find it so reassuring. It’s all so much easier if he cannot touch me.

My hands fumble with the topmost button of my shirt, sliding it free. A sliver of skin. A breath of air against the bargains, the swirling black brands. Another button. Another inch of bare skin.

My palm wreaths his neck. One thumb traces his Adam’s apple. “You’re not scared?”

His smile is lopsided. “If you were going to kill me you would have done it by now.”

“The past is not a good predictor of future events.”

“Perhaps I trust you.”

“Then you’re a fool.” I curve down and press my mouth to his. Not gentle. Not tentative. I kiss him like I want to; as if I were a woman without a past, or a woman without a cursed future. There is only this: body and breath and desire.

Kissing, it turns out, is easier this time. It’s fine. Better than fine. Kissing him, I can do forever. Testing my own limits, I straddle his lap. Carnal, full of wanting, and I fist his hair as I tug his head back.

His tongue meets mine, tasting and probing, demanding, urgent. His sweat smells like the sea, like salt and sun and clove .

Robb angles his head, shifting his mouth to my throat.

Breath fans across my skin, his lips pressing along where my neck meets my collarbone.

His mouth feels like fire, shivery tendrils of orange and red licking through my nerves.

Unable to help myself, I shift against him, and a groan rumbles from his throat.

My skin explodes into goosebumps. A quick stab of worry rolls through me, and my heart pounds like a rabbit caught in a snare. Will he bite me? Hurt me? But I’m on top. There’s a blade within reach. He can’t do anything.

Wanting to hear that groan again, I move. Slowly, rolling my hips. Like low tide, like early mornings with a calm sea. The most delicious pressure happens every time I shift my weight.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” His eyes are mint and green and aquamarine and gold. Like the ocean, they tug at my soul. I think about waves and shipwrecks and about how deep I’ll allow myself to sink into this abyss… Their depths fill me with nameless fear.

Which, unfortunately, he notices.

“Alright?” He licks his lips, and my gaze is glued to his tongue. Pink and wet and skilled. Instead of answering, I kiss him again.

I can do this.

This time, when he breaks the kiss and lowers his head, his mouth cruises along the line of my bodice. For some reason, I reach between us and tug the laces. Impatiently yank the rough material away. Giving him access.

Unhesitating, Robb nuzzles my breast, drawing one nipple in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. The combination of that, his mouth and the friction… Whenever I move, his hips thrust upward, driving his cock into the fabric of my pants .

“Robb.” My voice is unrecognizable, a ragged plea.

“If you want to come, keep going. Rub against me. Exactly what you’re doing. Don’t stop.”

I do it again, tentatively.

Our movements are perfectly in sync, familiar, as if we’ve done this a thousand times. Like our bodies are two stones trying to make fire. The only sounds are our breaths and the sound of the captain’s chair creaking beneath us.

Dust motes are heavy in the air, my eyelids fluttering as he grinds against my body. Despite his restraints, despite the discomfort of the chair, despite the layers of fabric between us.

“Untie me. Let me give you what you need.”

I can’t do that. Shaking my head, but unable to tear myself away, I reach between us and undo his pants. I can touch him. Maybe I even want to. Maybe…

I grasp him, then drag my fingers down his length. And through it all, I can see and feel everything. The crisp, dark brown strands of his hair. The way his whole body shudders beneath me. There’s a desperate tension in his expression as his lips part, as he looks up at me.

His forehead falls to my shoulder; his breaths come sharper, each one short of a moan.

There’s so much pleasure here. Unhurried, I explore his mouth, his body. Slowly, I rotate my hips in a spiral, enjoying the friction of rocking my pelvis against him.

“I want to claim you. I want you under me,” he whispers.

Under me .

I flinch, instinctive and sharp, my whole body going stiff. That one word— under —cracks through my armor, dragging my mind back to the docks. To the snow falling on my face. Helpless and held down. With a man’s weight burying me. Re-experiencing my misery.

If I fall for him, if I trust him, he’ll only destroy me.

Just like them.

No. Not like them. He is them. He’s one of them. And yet here I am, on his lap, asking myself if I can trust him?

How stupid can you be, Anne? How stupid can you be, believing in the possibility?

Robb has gone still, watching the emotions that parade across my face.

“This was a mistake.” I withdraw my hand from his pants, unable to look at him.

It takes him a full five seconds to speak. “If you truly believe that, you should have someone rebind me to the mast.”

“I will.” Eventually. For now, I am in a state of mild panic, trying to figure out how to extricate myself, what to say to him.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I bolt upright, nearly toppling off his lap as the door shakes under a heavy fist.

“Captain!” The voice outside is frantic. “Captain Blackbeard!”

“What is it?” I call back.

The pounding overhead continues. Urgent. Unrelenting. “Get up here now!”

It’s Teach. Something is wrong. I lurch from Robb’s lap, scrambling to rebutton my shirt .

The ship tilts. Not much. Just a slight pull, as if the ocean itself has bumped us with its shoulder.

Then I hear it: a low, melodic sound, seeping through the walls. Not quite music. Not quite words. A woman is singing. Which means we might as well be dead.