Page 46 of Bloody Black

He moves again, the slowest slide of fingertips brushing over my shoulder, then down the length of my arm. Worry rises in his wake, a ripple of sensation I don’t fight. I let it come. Let him reach the bend of my elbow. Then the inside of my forearm, where my skin feels thinner, more sensitive.

“Still alright?” His voice is steady, but I see the question burning behind his eyes. He’s watching me like I might flee.

I nod again, biting the inside of my cheek.

His hand turns inward, finding the curve of my waist. He doesn’t move quickly—he doesn’t move at all, at first. Just resting his palm against the dip in my flesh. The weight of it, the heat, makes my breath catch.

Robb travels lower. Not bold. Not greedy. Just… wandering. My stomach clenches, not from fear, but from something dangerously close to wanting.

“You’re not broken,” he tells me. “Not even close.”

The air between us grows heavier, charged. My shirt brushes against my chest with every breath, and suddenly I’m achingly aware of how tight my nipples have become. My body’s response feels natural. Expected.

Robb’s eyes flick down, then back to mine. “Is this still okay?”

I nod once. Then again, meaning it. “Yes.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath, and the tension between us hums, waiting to unfurl. Slowly, his palm cups my breast. The moment feels like a truce we’re both afraid to break, like any word may shatter it.

He doesn’t kiss me.

“My father gave me my first sword when I was three. He said I’d need it to protect our family.” His palm is warm, comforting. “How old were you when you first started training?”

He’s intentionally attempting to distract me, and I gladly take the bait. “Seven.” I shiver. “I cut my hand immediately.”

“Mmm.” His hand is still drifting between my breasts, tracing small patterns that make my heart race. Meanwhile, his wrist is well within my grip. I could easily shove him away.

“It’s… this…it’s not awful.”

“I won’t let your praise go to my head.” Even though it’s dark, and my eyes are closed, I can hear the smile in his whisper.

My eyes drift open. The white fabric of his shirt has fallen aside, exposing the muscles of his powerful chest. I glimpse a peek of one of his tattoos, a rose with a banner that says Hold Fast.

“Keep going,” I tell him.

Robb rubs a slow circle over my nipple.

I let out a small whimper, my grip tightening on his wrist. My body is close to panicking as he travels down my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my pants.

The tension inside me is so tight I feel like a spring.

Trembling, it takes everything in me to force myself to stay.

Not to say something pithy or get angry.

“Do you want me to stop?” he says.

My whisper is so small. “Not really.”

He adjusts, then his hand slips under the fabric. Into the dark hair that covers me. Robb gives a soft groan when he reaches my slick center. “Gods, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.”

He continues his light stroking, never entering. Never threatening. Slowly, at first. Teasing. Robb explores, varying his timing and pressure.

Inch by inch, my legs open wider, my body yielding to his advances. Footsteps and laughter above trickle down to us, and my heart flutters. “Robb. Someone will come.”

“I hope it’s you.” He watches my face, cataloguing my reactions. He murmurs something low, inaudible but soothing, and shifts his wrist.

“Do you like this? Tell me.” His tone is dark, commanding. Wholly different from his typical, flirty self. I can suddenly understand why he captained a three-hundred man crew.

“Um, yes, I do.” It’s true, even if I feel confused. My mind is dazed and drunk, barely my own, my breathing erratic.

“Good. Next time I’ll put my tongue inside you.”

“What about your fingers?” I ask, breathlessly.

Robb seems surprised. “You want me to?” His gaze drops to my lips, then down to my breasts. Robb bites his lower lip, a breath shuddering out of him .

This is when I realize I’m in control. Me. I don’t have a knife or a sword and I’m not threatening him; he’s held in place by only my words. His desire to please. He could easily overpower me, but he won’t do anything unless I say it’s alright.

I whisper, “I give you permission to try.”

Robb slips a single finger in.

Oh–oh, wow. It’s—surprising. The pleasure is bigger than the discomfort, and I shift my hips.

A faint sound groans out of him, but he does nothing else. Instead, he just stares at my face, as if it’s a banquet of the most exquisite food ever made. Worshiping.

We’re locked in a jail cell, but I feel bold. Brave. Feminine. Seeing that look decides me.“Show me. Show me how you want me.”

Robb flattens his hand, gripping my hip. He seizes my mouth, his tongue meeting mine. We kiss until I’m breathless and weak, and I almost forget his other hand entirely, except he begins to thrust it into me. Index finger curling. His thumb rubbing circles over me until I’m tingling.

Shame and want war inside me, and I press my forehead to his chest to hide the whimper that escapes my throat.

“You’ve got to be quiet, sweetheart. When I make you come, you can’t make a sound.”

I nod, biting my lip, pressing my nails into the muscles of his shoulder. Moment by moment, he’s unraveling me, following a map no one else has ever bothered to trace.

Robb sucks on my neck as he slides his finger into me, driving deeper.

Says my name reverently. He keeps going; I’m throbbing, my muscles clenching, resisting as best I can.

Panting against his throat as he works his hand between my legs.

He continues until my world turns white, foam and light and oblivion.

Until I’m coming, my body shuddering with the force of it, my forehead still tucked and my face hidden.

I’ve never orgasmed. Never. Not with any fantasy. Not with a man, not with my own hand, never.

I’m shocked. If he weren’t holding me in the bed, I’d likely fall out.

“I will never see The Bitter End the same way again.”

I blink up at him, flushed and boneless, and for a heartbeat I think he’s going to say something else. But he just lies there, all muscles and manliness, so hot he’s practically smoldering.

“Why are you so happy?” I ask, surprised. “I didn’t do anything.”

Eyes aglow, he says: “Let me be clear: you don’t have to give me anything. Whatever you are willing to provide, I will treasure. If that is only your pleasure, that’s plenty.” He lifts his fingers to his lips, and then, gods help me, sucks them clean.

Then he leans in, captures my mouth, and kisses me deeply. When he finally relinquishes me, I’m squirming all over again.

“So, Captain. What are you planning to do now?”

“Do?” It takes me a moment to figure out what he means. He’s so distracting, I completely forgot about Prudence, and her little mutiny.

Damn. I sit up, unsure all over again. Cursing myself for getting distracted.

Sensing my mood shift, Robb does the same. As he buttons his shirt, I stand, adjusting my pants .

“Prudence is well within her rights to mutiny, you know. She didn’t harm you. She took a vote.”

“And she didn’t have to do any of it.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. “Though you certainly helped her along, giving my crew a reason to doubt me. Making me look weak.”

Robb rebuckles his belt. “You think I make you look weak?”

Frustrated, I put my back to him. Scrub a hand through my hair. Which is precisely when I remember where we are, and how long we’ve been here. I dig in my dark strands, plucking out one of the pins.

I hold it up to draw his attention. “Are we done fighting?”

Robb rolls his shoulders in a small shrug. “Who’s fighting? I was just having a conversation.”

I start to argue, but then snap my mouth shut. He’s right. “Be that as it may… I’m leaving. You’re either coming with me, or you can stay here to rot.”