Chapter 12 Lyx
TWELVE
Lyx
Lyx’s gaze trails up the main mast, past the ropes and ladders to the crow’s nest set against a backdrop of stars. “Funny,” she says dryly.
“You need convincing?” Cav wanders closer. “I thought the prospect of chaos would be enough, but maybe you need more incentive.” He stops at the top of the stairs, bending at the waist to meet her eyes. “I dare you to climb the crow’s nest.”
She looks toward it again. She hates how he can sense her hunger sparking like steel on flint. She’s too proud to tell him that he’s right, but she’s also too proud to turn down a challenge. Jaw clenched, she pushes past him and grasps the first rung of the rope ladder.
It digs into her palms with a satisfying sting that keeps her climbing. She’s calling Cav’s bluff. There’s no chance he truly has a plan. Once they’re in the crow’s nest, he’ll stumble over his words and be forced to admit he wasn’t prepared for her to match him. He wasn’t prepared for her.
When she’s halfway up, murmurs rise from the crowd.
She never glances back to check if Cav is behind her.
At the top, she pulls herself through the trap door and rises to her feet.
The crown’s nest is larger than she expected, a wooden bucket with the mast piercing straight through the middle.
Up here, the sound and light from the party are dim.
At the far side of the island, she can just make out the tip of Tidus’s ship, its flag flapping in the wind.
She turns her back on it and faces out toward the sea.
Her hands curl around the railing, and she inhales the beautiful sting of salt.
All she can see is the ocean, but this is only a fraction of it.
Its true size is beyond comprehension. She watches the waves roll in and rock the boat beneath her.
The water is constantly in flux, always moving, never the same, but she bets every drop would remember her. All she’d have to do is dip a toe in…
“It really is a wonder.” Cav moves to stand beside her and stares out across the waves with earnest admiration. Stars reflect in his eyes. “Constant, but uncertain. Calculable, but volatile. Intimidating. Beautiful. Powerful.”
It strikes a chord deep inside her. They are words she’s never spoken, but she recognizes their echo through the emptiness inside her.
It’s the same longing she has. When she looks at Cav, she realizes he’s staring at her, like his fondness isn’t just reserved for the ocean.
She jerks her gaze away and lifts her chin.
“You speak about the ocean like you would a lover.”
“I speak far more highly of my lovers.”
Her skin prickles, but she turns her back to the horizon. She can’t allow herself to be distracted. She can’t return to the sea. Not yet. “Why are we up here? Because I’m sure it’s not to chat.”
He watches her for another moment before he bends to seal the trapdoor. “We’re here to feed your appetites.”
Bitterly, she laughs. What does Cav know about meeting her needs? “I thought this was about your little project.”
“The project is the vehicle.” He digs into his pocket, eyeing some point further up the mast. “Your pleasure is the destination.”
Her eyes roll. “What, are you going to bend me over the railing in front of the crowd?”
Cav holds onto the mast and swings to her other side, eyes glowing in the dark. “Are you asking me to?”
She swallows. The thought alone makes her hot, but he acts like he’s hanging on her every word, ready for her answer.
When she doesn’t, he holds out something between them. “Then no. We’ll try something else.”
It’s the bundle of dark rope from the cabin. She takes it, running her fingers over its smooth surface.
“Or you could push me off.” He sits back against the railing, unafraid to tempt fate. Unafraid to tempt Lyx. “The choice is yours.”
Her fingers curl around the rope. When she steps closer, Cav doesn’t brace himself.
He just makes space for her, not a hint of arrogance in his body.
If anything, he looks like he’s made peace with the fact that this could be his final breath.
She eyes the drop below. Every pirate she’s known has believed themself invincible, like no sea or siren could fell them.
Cav, on the other hand, wears his mortality like a cloak.
Like he knows how easily Lyx could destroy him, and still, he takes the risk, dangling by a thread and handing her the knife.
That knowledge stirs inside her. She steps between his open knees, their gazes locked before she presses the rope to his chest. His balance wavers.
She could do it. She could push him. But his fingers splay across the back of her hand, like the only thing he wants is to touch her, even if it means meeting his end.
Arousal clenches deep in her gut. “Fine.”
His eyes flare, but he doesn’t reach for her. Instead, he begins to unwind the rope. “You remember the safeword?”
Her brows knit. Never has someone taken their time when she’s standing before them and offering everything. It chips away at the armor of her pride. She reaches for the rope. “Don’t need it.”
“But you remember it.” His hands close around her wrists. “Just in case.”
His calluses are stark against her smooth skin. It’s strangely appealing, like a pumice stone wearing away at her. He could use that rough touch on all of her other soft places, too: the small of her back, the inside of her cheeks, the juncture of her thighs…
He doesn’t loosen his grip. Not until she finds her voice. “Parley.”
Finally, he nods and loops the rope around her wrists.
She’s never seen a knot like this before.
It’s firm but not tight, allowing enough room for a finger to slip between the rope and her arms. He takes his time with it, and she has no choice but to look at his face hovering before her.
Scales fan out around his eyes and across his cheekbones, trailing down his jaw.
They’re smaller than the rugged scales of his hands. They feel different, too.
She remembers.
He stands suddenly, turning her toward the mast to press her chest against it. He lifts her bound hands over her head where he notches them on a hook, leaving her swaying on her toes. She tugs on the restraints. They don’t budge.
Her heart trips over itself. When’s the last time she was this helpless, hoisted up at the whims of some pirate?
Cav’s warm body presses against her back. “Is that good?”
Her fingernails dig into her palms. It’s dizzying being this high, her hands tied, Cav’s sturdy frame behind her. “Is that all you have?” She fights the urge to rock back against him. “This isn’t chaos; it’s barely disarray.”
He hums knowingly before something covers her eyes. Fabric pulls tight against her temples and blocks out all of the light. She clenches her fists to keep from shivering, but then his breath teases her ear. “What do you think of this?”
“A blindfold?” Her voice sounds foreign to her ears. Breathy. Tight. Needy.
His fist keeps the bandana in place. “I think it’s better for the chaos if you don’t know what’s coming.”
Cav’s teeth nick her earlobe before he pulls away. She leans back, trying to place him in the dark, but she can barely bite back a gasp when his mouth presses to her other ear.
“If you can’t predict it.”
Hunger coils inside her like a snake. It’s not the aching hollow that she’s used to, the one she knows from Tidus. This hunger is sharp, carnal, animal, desperate to sink in its fangs.
Cav speaks again. “I dare you to trust me.”
She shudders, trying to hide the need in her voice. “Stop asking. Just do it.”
“As you wish.” Cav knots the fabric behind her head. “I won’t ask if it’s comfortable.”
“Better than looking at you.”
His laughter sounds different when she can’t see him, a dark chuckle that makes her toes curl. The heat of his body vanishes, and she grits her teeth to keep them from chattering. It can’t all be blamed on the cold.
Far below, the party buzzes. The boat sways. Boards creak beneath her, and she knows he’s moving, circling the mast to inspect her.
Everything is heightened like this. When his fingertips brush the skin of her shoulders, she twitches and bites down on the curse in her mouth. It’s bad enough that she can’t see or free herself, but her body reacts to the slightest touch…and Cav can see all of it.
She arches and tugs on the restraints. “Why are you going so slow?”
Nothing she says spurs him on. If anything, he moves slower, dipping one finger beneath the waistband of her skirt.
“Do you ever get fixated on something?” His voice sounds dreamy, as if his mind is lost on where his hands are wandering.
“You can’t think past it. You want to spend all your time on it. Get lost in it.”
His fingers drift lower, tracing the juncture of her thigh. She fights not to roll her hips, not to admit that her thoughts of ruining Cav have been her obsession for the last two years. “I don’t have that problem.”
Cav’s touch is so light between her legs that she nearly spasms. His lips are hot on her neck. “One track mind, I guess.”
Depths, she hates him. Hates how she can’t keep herself still, how the words and his breath make her tremble.
“And the one track I’ve been stuck on…” He withdraws his hand from beneath her clothes and slides his palms down her thighs. “Is the last time we were this close.”
The scales on his shoulders drag against the bare skin of her back as he gathers the front of her skirt and tucks it into her waistband. Goosebumps spread along her thighs when they clench together. “That was years ago.” Her voice isn’t as strong as she wants it to be. “Forget it. Move on.”
“Have you forgotten it?” His tail curls pointedly around her ankle, spikes teasing up her calf. “Have you moved on?”
The question burrows under her skin. She tries to convince herself that Cav doesn’t know the truth. That he can’t see through her. That he can’t tell how she’s revisited their last hour together a thousand times. That she replays it to get her through any emotion: anger, sadness, desperation.
She can’t tell him any of that. She can hardly tell herself. Being impaired makes her venomous, a cornered creature lashing out. Her voice makes a mockery of him. “The only thing I remember is how pathetic you were. Too sick to stand. Washed ashore like a piece of driftwood.”
Her knees threaten to give when he laughs against her hair. “Do you grind yourself against every piece of driftwood you come across, or was I just special?”