Chapter 17 #2
Without the condom, he felt everything. And he hadn’t felt everything since their tryst in the gazebo, when this journey had begun. Fuck, he wouldn’t change it for anything.
“I want it hard,” she urged, wrapping her legs around his hips.
Christ, but he couldn’t resist her wants. Withdrawing almost entirely, he snapped his hips back, thrusting deep and earning a cry and a full-body shudder from Heather.
Yes, like that. The room was filled with their panting, their moaning, and the rough slapping of their bodies. And he fucking loved it.
Again and again, he pumped his hips, thrusting deep inside her, until the telltale tingling rippled down his spine and into his ballocks. With a grunt, he pulled out, rose up on his knees, and shuffled forward until he was straddling her hips.
“Please,” he begged. “Please stroke me, Heather.”
Her green gaze glinted with power and desire as she closed her hand around his girth. She watched him carefully as she stroked, faster and tighter with each pass.
“Fuck. Yes,” he hissed, fists clenching at his sides and eyelids drooping as he watched her work.
Heather bit her lip. “Will you permit me to touch your—”
“Yes,” he replied urgently, cutting her off. “You may touch me anywhere. Everywhere. Please.”
Reaching with her other hand, he anticipated a caress to his cods, but she went past them to graze the crease of his arse. He couldn’t help it. Just the thought of her willingly fucking his arse with her fingers sent him over the edge.
In a sudden burst of pleasure, his body stiffened, a hoarse shout ripped from his throat, and ropes of hot spend landed on Heather’s breasts and belly.
Percy sighed, shivered, and slumped upon the bed next to her. “You are especially beautiful with my spend all over you,” he said.
She laughed. “What a barbaric notion.”
Turning on his side, he propped his head in one hand and looked down at her. “It’s true, though. I…am growing rather addicted to being with you.”
Hell, it was true. He didn’t want to be parted from her once they reached England. Didn’t want to give up the little world they’d created for themselves in the privacy of a bedchamber—or cabin, as it were.
Was it possible for them to continue a liaison when they returned and not be married? If he were to legally wed, she would be forced to take his legal name…Butcher’s name. And he couldn’t have that. He didn’t know if Heather would be receptive to being a mistress, but…could it work?
This couldn’t be all it was for them, could it? Neither of them desired children—what a revelation!
Rising from the bed, he strode to the washbasin, wet a cloth with cool water and soap, and gave himself a cursory cleanse before bringing a fresh washcloth to Heather. He cleaned the seed from her skin, gooseflesh pebbling in the cloth’s wake.
She clasped his hand, halting his progress. “I am, too. Growing addicted to being with you.”
His heart hiccoughed, and he pressed a swift kiss to her lips before he tossed the cloth aside and lay on the bed with her. He reached for the bedclothes and covered their bodies before nestling against her with her back to his front.
It was time for sleep, but how could he? They were so near to their return journey to England…and there was so much more to say before they got there.
He pulled Heather tighter against his chest and pressed his nose into her hair.
A smile tugged at his lips as he breathed in her warm, earthy scent.
It was a marvel that she always smelled like plants, flowers, and earth, even when she’d been apart from her florae all day.
His chest gave a pang. It was delightfully endearing.
He loved hearing her talk all about the plants, their uses, and her intentions for the apothecary, even if he didn’t understand half of it.
The more her face lit up when she spoke of her passions, the more addicted he grew to hearing her.
Heather sighed and wiggled her arse against his satisfied cock, and he chuckled.
“Not ready yet, sweetheart.”
She hummed, and Percy closed his eyes, letting warmth surround him.
Shouts echoed in the street beyond their window, disturbing their peaceful bubble. A frown pinched his brows. They were in San Luis with the devil knew how many pirates; there were bound to be duels fought and fights waged among the men.
More shouts rang out, and Heather sat up.
“What is happening?” she asked.
Percy patted the bed, still warm from her body. “Ignore it. It’s likely just some men fighting about a wager or a woman.”
She frowned. “Someone is issuing orders. Are they conducting a raid, do you suppose? Would they do that on a pirate island?”
Flicking the bedclothes aside, Heather retrieved her shirt and pulled it over her head as she padded toward the room’s only window.
“There is no law here—”
She covered a gasp with both hands, dropping the window’s curtain back in place.
Alarm jolted through him, and he hurried from the bed to her side. “What is it?”
“My god,” she breathed behind her hands. “How did he find us?”
Percy peeled back the edge of the curtain with his index finger and looked down at the street below. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he uttered a low curse. The sodding Earl of Hanley had followed them to San Luis.
“What are we to do?” she asked, pacing before the foot of the bed. “Do you think he’s learned of the pilfered documents?” She turned to face him. “He’ll know that we’re here. The men in the taproom recognized you—surely one of them will speak to the earl about our presence.”
Percy nodded and reached for his breeches on the floor. “Get dressed as quickly as you can. We’ll find a way out before they reach this floor.”
With a nod, and her fingers trembling with trepidation, she found her own breeches and donned them. It took several heart-thudding moments for her to locate her belt and sheathed dirk, but she found them under the bed.
Boots, her inner voice whispered. Indeed, she could not forget those.
A commotion erupted belowstairs, the sounds of shouting voices and women’s screams echoing up the stairs and through the narrow corridors.
Heather’s heart lodged in her throat. “What do you suppose the earl’s men are doing?”
Pausing in the act of sliding his arms into his coat-sleeves, Percy frowned. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He strode to the window and pulled back the curtain. “Fuck.”
Gut swooping, Heather hurried to his side. “What is it?”
People in various states of undress ran from the building, smoke billowing in their wake.
Heather’s throat closed, and a shrill ringing began in her ears. Fire.