15. Not So Shore of Myself #3
Then I’m sliding up and onto the desk, teetering on the edge as he tilts his head, his lips slotting against mine, his tongue nudging my lips to part.
He tastes like tobacco and salt, a hint of ale creeping along my taste buds as our tongues tangle, eliciting a harmony of moans from us both.
He presses closer, forcing me farther back, and I jump in surprise at a bite of pain along my ass.
Pulling away with a gasp, I look over my shoulder.
“What the…” I reach down and pull out a quill and hold it between us, the edge glistening red.
“Did that…?” He trails off, lips puckering with laughter.
“It stabbed me in the ass. I swear, these things will be the death of me.”
He chuckles low, and a shiver runs through me.
Raising a brow, he pulls the quill from my fingers and tosses it to the floor without a care.
He refocuses on me, his hands sliding to my thighs and squeezing as he steps between my legs, forcing them apart.
I spread my legs as far as they’ll go to allow room for him, and he inches closer until I can see nothing but him.
One of his hands slides up my thigh, his thumb scraping briefly over the crotch of my pants before skating across my hip and dropping to his desk, covering my hand as he leans forward, pinning me.
My breath comes quicker as I stare up at him.
As a tall man, I’m always the one leaning in, closing gaps, but it’s nice to be on the receiving end.
Something clatters to the floor, and when I break away to check on it, Captain Night shakes his head no and pulls me back in, his other hand diving into my hair, his nails scraping across my scalp.
This. I like this.
“You’re really special,” I say as his lips slide down.
“Am I?” He kisses just beneath my jaw, angling toward my ear, his breath skating across my skin.
My eyes flutter closed. “You care about your crew more than you let on. You make certain they’re fed and comfortable.”
“You’re one of them.” He pulls away, dark eyes dancing with mirth. “Are you fed, Laszlo? Are you comfortable?”
“I most certainly am now.”
My free hand ghosts across his stubbled chin, my nail dragging over the slim scar just beneath his lips where no hair grows as I claim them once more.
I don’t release him, running my thumb over his jaw, relishing the scruffy feel of it against my hand, and he moans into me, pressing in closer, opening his mouth wider.
What I wouldn’t give to hear him make that noise again.
The ship rocks beneath us, and he stumbles roughly into me, nearly pushing me over.
“You okay?” I ask as I steady him.
His hands are planted on either side of me now, and there is something so sensual about being surrounded by him.
I feel like I’m coming undone, like he’s untying me, knot by tiny knot.
He frowns at me as I sway forward against him, but the ship rocks again, the waves violently slashing against She Deceitful.
“Are you all right?” he asks instead, eyes narrowed as he cups my face.
Don’t think about the ocean, Laszlo. Don’t think about it. Just enjoy this, enjoy him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He tilts his head as he smooths a thumb over the bit of scruff that’s slowly peppered my face.
It’s more peach fuzz than anything, hardly noticeable, but he’s noticed.
He notices everything. When he leans forward to capture my mouth again, the kiss is softer, warmer, delectably smooth as our lips glide together, no longer fighting for more, but relishing what we have.
I wrap my legs around his hips, tucking him against me, groaning at the pressure as he nudges me backward, brushing aside things on his desk to lay me down.
But it’s not like all the other times I’ve had.
It’s not a promise of sex; it’s simply to get as close as possible, to leave as little space between us as we can, because another moment without him feels like a lifetime on my own, and I don’t want that, not anymore.
But it’s not enough.
His other hand grips the back of my neck, tugging me gently until I’m sitting up, sliding forward and off the desk. I stumble after him, my feet tripping over themselves as he guides me past his desk and to the windows.
Toward his bed.
But the ship sways again, and we both go crashing into a wall.
“Hold on,” he says gruffly. He pulls back from me and peers out the windows.
I can’t see what he sees, too focused on him and only him.
A silver hair slips out from beneath his ear, falling into his eyes as I lean forward and catch it between my fingers.
“There’s a storm coming,” he whispers. He frowns as he brushes hair from my eyes before cupping my face once more, smoothing his thumb over my cheek.
“The seas may be choppy, Laszlo. Will you be all right?”
The ship sways again, and I press a hand to the wall for balance as my stomach roils. “Yeah, like you said, it’s just a bit choppy.” I can feel it working its way up my throat, the acid building.
Stop thinking about the ocean, Laszlo. It’s fine. You’re not going to plunge into its depths.
He stares at me, worry written in the creases in his brow. “Laszlo—” he starts.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” I rush past him and shove open one of the windows as I empty out my stomach over the back of the ship.