Chapter 23 Cav
TWENTY-THREE
Cav
At some point while Cav worked, Lyx disappeared.
She can’t have been gone long. Cav kept his attention on his clients, but Lyx was always in his periphery. When a burly man brushed his hand against Cav’s tail, Cav smirked toward Lyx, but she wasn’t there anymore.
Cav scans the rest of the deck, but there’s no sign of her. His chest deflates. He should have known better; it’s clear Lyx is bound and determined not to give him anything, but he thought things were shifting. He could have sworn they were this close tonight.
I want to see what it could be like. If someone let themself be captivated by you.
He tongues the wound on his lip. They were this close the night before, too, when she spit in his mouth and put her fingers down his throat until he gagged.
And Cav kept his word. He denied her. It’s almost a matter of pride, but Cav has never been attached to his ego.
Hell, he was on his knees asking Lyx to slap him.
If anything, what’s holding him back is desire.
Desire for more — to know more, to share more, to do more than fuck her through the glory hole in the wall she’s built between them.
Most would call him foolish. Lyx would call him foolish, but he enjoys the journey as much as where he wants to end up. It’s like his mind has finally been roused from a deep sleep. Every moment with Lyx is an adventure, and if nothing else comes from it, he can at least hold onto that.
He wanders past the hatchway and sees Lyx’s cabin door ajar.
Odd. Since she arrived, she’s been keeping herself sealed away behind it.
He descends and raps his knuckles against the wood, prepared for Lyx to run him off.
There’s no sound from within. After a moment, he presses against the door and opens the cabin… but there’s no Lyx.
His brow furrows. He walks down the corridor to ask the other crew members if they’ve seen her, but no one has.
That doesn’t surprise him. Lyx isn’t the type to congregate, but where could she be?
It would be less concerning if Cypher wasn’t missing, too.
Cav prays they didn’t finally come to blows, but before he can check the galley for Lyx, he’s pulled back into preparing hammocks for the newcomers to sleep.
By the time he turns in for the night, Lyx’s cabin door is shut again.
The next day is a whirlwind. They settle their guests in the next port and put out some errant embers that jumped from the stove. Cav hikes his brows toward Cypher. See? But she just tugs down her bandana to show him her tattoo is still there.
At least there’s sign of life from Lyx. Her washed clothing hangs on one of the clotheslines. Cav tries not to think about them, but his mind always circles back to the distraction. He gets halfway through three different tasks before he realizes he hasn’t finished any of them.
Exhausted, he collapses into his hammock.
The Indulgence has been at sea for hours.
The sky has long gone dark, leaving only the necessary crew on deck.
Cav lost track of time, as usual. He should be sleeping, but he’s never been good at following the cycle of the sun.
His mind keeps whirring long after the moon shows itself.
His hammock sways while he stares up at the pinpricks of stars. The symphony of the deck might lull him to sleep if he didn’t notice every single instrument. He picks them out one by one: idle chatter, sloshing waves, metal bumping against wood…
And bare feet padding across the deck.
A shadow passes over his face. He pushes up to peer over the side of the hammock and finds Lyx lingering by the railing, smoothing her hand over one of the clam inlays. She traces the details, curling her fingernails beneath it to pry it out of the wood.
Cav’s head tilts. “What are you doing?”
Surprise streaks across her face. She steps away from the taffrail, and the back of her knees collide with the hammock to send her stumbling.
She lands ass-first in Cav’s lap, her head swinging back until both of them nearly topple.
He pulls her down to keep them from falling, tangling their legs in the fabric while they curse and jostle for space.
“Why are you so jumpy?” he grunts. Her elbow digs into his ribs. “You’re allowed to be on the deck, you know. The only one keeping you confined to that room is you.”
Lyx wriggles to put distance between them, but that forces her onto her back. Her long skirt wraps around her legs, and Cav rolls onto his side to settle the swell of her hips between his knees.
When Lyx looks at him, he realizes how close her face is.
Her skin glows in the dark, casting faint bioluminescence across her cheeks.
It shines onto him too, darkening his scales in the blue light.
Now that the commotion has subsided, it’s quiet.
Only their labored breathing rises above everything else.
The hammock envelopes them both and sways gently on the waves.
Cav doesn’t want to move. This moment with Lyx feels like a butterfly has chosen him, and the slightest movement might scare her away, but he’s never been good at stillness. His fingers twitch between them, brushing the skin of her thigh. Her scales prickle, but she doesn’t pull away.
It’s tempting to follow that reaction, to see how else her body responds to him, but he tries to keep his head on straight. “Thought you wanted to watch me work.”
Her pupils are wide in the dark, so focused on the way his mouth moves that it takes a moment for her to realize he’s waiting for her response.
“Last night,” he murmurs. “You disappeared.”
The proximity must be clouding her mind, too. It’s like she can’t remember what she’s supposed to be doing, leaving her in a daze “You were watching me?”
“I’m always watching you.” For a moment, he regrets the words. A sentiment like that will make her recoil; it’s too much, too jarring, but her eyes lock onto his. It heats him from his very core, so powerful he forgets all subtlety. “What are you hiding?”
Lyx’s expression sharpens like a switchblade. It’s the same question he’s been asking since she came aboard, but her reaction is different this time. Cav has the same awareness that he did in the grotto. Lyx could kill him anytime she chooses; she is more dangerous than he lets himself believe.
None of that makes him want her any less.
In fact, walking this delicate tightrope flames his desire.
He likes knowing Lyx could destroy him, but she hasn’t.
That fuels some twisted part of him, the same part that has been pining after her for years.
A smarter person would resist, but why should Cav listen to his head?
It’s never been able to keep up with him.
His impulses may get him into trouble, but they always get him out of it, too.
Lyx shifts closer in the hammock, one strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder. “It’s almost been three days.” Her lashes lower as she drags her skirt higher on her legs. “Maybe we should have another go at your experiment.”
It’s clear her sudden interest is a diversion, but that doesn’t dampen the effect. Cav’s gaze clings to her mouth, hand wandering the cool skin of her leg. “Does this usually work?” he breathes.
She’s so close that he can feel her teeth digging into her lip, her coy fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Does what work?”
“Distraction,” he murmurs. The movement brushes his mouth against hers. “Does that usually throw people off?”
When she blushes, her cheeks glow brighter. “Yes.” She draws the word out, her eyes narrowing, but knowing he’s caught onto her doesn’t stop her ministrations. The tips of her fingers dip beneath his waistband. She sounds almost thoughtful. “You’re softer here.”
His stomach tenses as she wanders his abdomen. Beneath his navel, the patch of scales is like leather, growing smoother the lower she goes. Lyx teases with her touch, watching his face before she slips her palm against him.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat. Lyx quirks a brow, taking her time outlining the shape of each scale, lost in exploration. A shaky breath escapes him. It’s both thrilling and soothing to be under her control, like the night she had him on his knees in her cabin.
Then she takes the tip of one scale and rubs it gently between her fingers.
Cav shudders.
Her lips curl into a smile. “More sensitive, too.”
He gives a wheezing laugh, tracing the curve of her hip. He draws his thumb across the burn scar before he moves onto the smattering of her scales, teasing beneath one with the tip of his claw.
Her nails scrape his stomach.
“Like yours?” he asks.
Their eyes lock, breathing heavy, hands roaming each other. He rocks against her hand every time she tugs one of his scales. When he touches hers, she shivers, and his chest glows through his shirt.
But his hand doesn’t drift any lower. He doesn’t push further, doesn’t nestle between her legs, doesn’t move this along at all.
Eventually, she catches on. He hasn’t changed his mind. He still won’t cross that line with her. Minutes of delicious torture leave them both with wet lips and glassy eyes. When she works her hand lower, he stops her, encircling her wrist and bringing it to his face.
Her hand fits perfectly against his cheek. Of course it does; they both remember, her fingers flexing like she’s back in the cabin again. This time, there is no slapping, just the slow turn of his mouth into her palm.
She trembles when she pulls back. If she weren’t a siren, maybe he could name the emotions on her face. Frustration. Fear. Something delicate enough to break.
She pushes past whatever it was, twirling the laces of his shirt. He may be standing his ground, but so is she. Her voice maintains its sultry sheen, but he can hear the spike of irritation beneath it. “You all but fucked me in the crow’s nest already. Why bother holding back now?”