Page 75 of Hush Darling

China rattled at his back, and he spun on Gentleman Starr, holding a tray of steaming coffee. The man nearly spilled the entire thing when James growled at him.

“What do you want?”

The entire crew would be up and moving soon, and whispers about the woman in his cabin would turn to speculation he didn’t need.

“Just bringing your morning coffee, sir.”

He hadn’t slept. Coffee was a good idea. It would help him focus on his objective. He considered how little she’d eaten last night. “Have another tray sent to?—”

“Already done, sir. Or—at least—I tried. She turned me away.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Gentleman Starr fidgeted under his moth-eaten dress coat. “I personally delivered a tray—some fruit and eggs, a little tea to soothe any soreness.” He cleared his throat. “She ordered me to take it away.”

“She ordered you?”

“Yes, sir.”

He ground his molars. “Who’s the fucking prisoner here? Take the tray back to her and command her to eat. Tell her I demand it.”

“Sir, I told her you’d be disappointed.”

“And?”

“She, uh… Well…”

“Spit it out!”

“She said, ‘good.’”

James had to laugh. The little bitch was pushing her luck.

“Go tell her if she doesn’t eat some fucking breakfast, I’m going to come down there and shove something far worse down her throat.”

Gideon’s eyes widened. “Yes, Cap’n.” He set the steaming tray aside and scuttled off to follow orders.

The longer James contemplated her defiance, the harder his cock grew. Was she hoping he’d punish her? Was that what she wanted?

This wasn’t about pleasing her, but the desire to do so was undeniable. No one should have that sort of power over him. Who was the master manipulator here, her or him?

He’d shown her too much leniency, and it was fucking with his head. She needed to learn who was in charge. Then he would send her back ruined as promised, and Peter would learn never to fuck with him or his property ever again.

His knuckles whitened, the railing groaning beneath his grip as his cold façade slid back into place. Turning abruptly, he set his thinking to selfish. She was his toy, his captive. Her feelings should not come into play.

His heavy footfalls thudded against the deck as he proceeded with absolute purpose. He planned to destroy her, and he was sticking to the plan.

The wind whipped at the black sails billowing above, reminding him exactly who he was. He was a black-hearted sea captain who relied on no one but himself. A cold, loner of the seas, perfectly content to make his own rules.

When he thought of her delicate, silky skin, he fantasized about letting his darkness rub off on her, marking her with his mouth, hands, and seed. He allowed no room for regret. Regret was a festering weakness. He only needed confidence. This was his ship, and he had complete authority over everything on board—including her.

Bursting into his quarters, he startled her back from the table, where she nibbled the fucking food he’d ordered. He slammed the door, irritated by her audacity to first send food away without knowing when her next meal might come. A show of privilege if there ever was one.

Detecting his dangerous mood, she had the good sense to scurry onto the bed. “I didn’t think?—”

“Quiet.” He wanted no words to pass between them. No chance of her softening his resolve.

“Y-you seem upset.” She darted to the far side of the bed.