Chapter Nineteen #2
How could he say no? With a grunt, he plunged forward. Her answering cry echoed through the room as he seated himself fully within her. Pleasure crashed through him, a hundred different bursts of feeling spreading along his length. So wet. So tight.
His hands moved to her hips as he pulled nearly free before burying himself again.
She stumbled forward with the force, her hands darting out to brace against the mirror.
He followed, his body pressing against hers, breath hot against her neck.
She clutched the frame of the mirror, hips tilting instinctively into each wild thrust. He groaned as her body moved with his, welcoming him deeper.
A blinding pressure began to build at his core, threatening to unleash at any moment.
She shifted against him, urging him on with soft, breathless sounds that sent fire licking through his veins.
He found a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge—dragging him right along with her.
His gaze locked on the mirror as she bucked against him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat.
All for him. The slick rhythm of their joining mingled with her gasps—a symphony that could drive him to do wild and reckless things.
With a sharp exhale, he reached one hand around her front, pressing his finger into her curls until he found the slick and quivering nub of her sex once more.
She jerked, crying out as he stroked her with deliberate, unrelenting pressure.
Each gasp she gave him, every frantic shudder, fueled the storm in his own blood as she unraveled in his arms.
Her fingers curled, her lips forming a soundless “Oh.” Her body stiffened, her head jerking back against him, as she clamped around him in delicious pressure. A moment later, a throaty scream echoed through the room.
Yes.
A savage satisfaction coiled low in his belly as she continued to writhe beneath his hand. His own climax built to a crescendo and he increased the speed of his thrusts. Her knuckles went white as she hung onto the frame of the mirror, her legs beginning to give out. One slender hand slipped.
Josephine.
Her name burned on his tongue, swelling like a shout at the back of his throat.
His body surged toward release, unstoppable, as the entire world narrowed to their joining.
And then—click. The sound, small and sharp, echoed around them.
A moment later, the entire mirror shifted, swinging out on hinges to reveal a sliver of dark space behind it.
No. No, not now.
“God above.” He ground the words out between gritted teeth, willing his release to back off, to obey him just this once.
His breath sawed from his lungs, harsh and uneven.
The pressure clawed at him, insistent and brutal, but he shoved it down with a growl of frustration.
He forced himself to think—focus—but all he could feel was her, still hot and trembling around him.
With a strangled grunt, he pulled free, every inch of his body raging at the loss. Later, he swore to himself.
Josephine still clung bonelessly to the frame, her breaths ragged.
He eased her skirts down with care, the backs of his fingers grazing the soft curve of her buttocks.
She shivered, and the small, involuntary reaction stole his breath.
He leaned forward and planted a kiss at the crown of her head as he tucked himself back into his trousers, the strain of restraint still humming through every muscle.
One breath. Two.
“Seems we have a knack for interruptions.” His voice came out low and rough-edged.
Her hands dropped as she stepped back, confusion flickering in her eyes. She tugged her blouse back into place, fastening the few buttons with slow, deliberate movements. One hand lifted to her lips, wiping gently before falling to her side. “What just happened?”
“You’ve discovered a cleverly hidden compartment.” He took hold of the mirror and slowly swung it the rest of the way open.
A single lock box sat within. He reached in and pulled it out, blowing the thin layer of dust from it. Grasping the lid, he gave it a tug. Locked.
“Your key.”
Her hand closed around the ribbon and pulled it free. With trembling hands, she slid the key in. It fit. His heart pounded in his ears as she turned it and a loud click echoed through the room.
She gave a shaky laugh. “You open it.”
Isaac hesitated a moment as something uncomfortable twisted in his belly. Once opened, whatever was inside would change his life. The certainty rang through him. But it had to be done. With one deep breath, he yanked the lid free.
Her face fell. “It’s just a bunch of papers.”
He frowned and lifted the stack, reading the top page. “Not just any papers. Naval orders.”
Confidential Directive
Naval Office, New London
Dated: August 12, 1779
He pointed to the date on the yellowed parchment. “This is from after the fire. Clever. They used the old address so no one could discover them.”
She leaned in as he flipped the paper. As his eyes scanned the page, the words seemed to betray reality.
“No.” The single syllable came out in a hoarse croak and he fell to his knees, pain splintering up his legs as he reread the faded ink, willing himself to be wrong.
You are hereby ordered to execute the removal of the subject at the Thompson residence on the evening of August 14.
Ensure the scene reflects the work of pirates—no witnesses.
Should resistance be encountered, act swiftly and decisively.
Mrs. Thompson is to be delivered to our associates offshore for further transport.
Be advised our benefactors expect the matter to be concluded with discretion.
Captain Thompson is a threat to our livelihood; his investigation into our operation must not be allowed to continue.
This mission is to furthermore remain unrecorded. Report directly to me upon completion.
He stared hard at the signature, shaking his head as his stomach threatened to empty itself.
C. Ross
“Lieutenant, what’s wrong?” Josephine’s hand settled on his shoulder.
Treason.
The word cut through him like a blade, leaving a cold chill in its wake. He stared at the papers in his hands, unable to focus. Behind it all… Ross. The very man he had tried to leave Miss Montclair with in Savannah. His gaze flicked to her.
“This changes everything.” He returned the pages to the box, his movements stiff as his thoughts raced, the implications unfolding too quickly for him to grasp all at once.
Thorne had been right all along. Pirates hadn’t killed his wife. The damn government had—and not just any government officials, but the very ones that had sailed alongside him, ones he likely had considered trusted friends.
He rose abruptly, hands clenched tight around the box as the fog around his mind cleared. “We need to get back to the ship. Now.”
A hollow emptiness settled in his gut as he swung open the door, stepping into the blinding sunlight.
He hesitated for a moment, staring out into the open street while his heart churned.
Before he could take another step, a shadow passed over him, slicing through the daylight.
He instinctively took a step back into the safety of the house. But it was too late.
Crack!