Chapter Forty-Six Ris
chapter forty-six
ris
The ship hasn’t flooded, and we’re all still here, a little worse for wear.
Since the encounter with the kraken and the enemy ship, Finlyr and I have been slowly cataloguing and repairing the damage.
I’m clearing the last of the debris when I feel cold steel against my skin.
I look up to see my dagger, out of its sheath and aimed squarely at my heart.
‘Enough cleaning, time for swordplay.’
Finlyr passes me a sword, and I unsheathe it. ‘How gallant of you to offer me the sword this time.’
‘I thought you might want the advantage,’ he says with a smirk.
‘I don’t need the advantage,’ I retort, parrying his attack.
‘At least you know which end is which. You’ve come on leaps.’
He turns about. It seems almost unfair that he’s defending from a sword with a dagger, but I’m sure he likes the challenge.
Finlyr’s giving good this time. I worried he was being soft on me, trying to build my confidence.
I hate that. He moves like water, anticipating my movements before I’ve even started making them.
It’s like he’s in my head. I must have some tell, some giveaway in my expression.
He’s not as fast as Isagani, but compared to me, he is like the air.
He leads me in a dance around the repaired mast and catches me on the other side, pinning me with his arm and pointing the dagger just above the loose lacing of my shirt and below the moon talisman.
Finlyr follows my gaze and then meets my eyes. ‘I’ve always wondered why the Paranishian symbol of union is the moon. She’s inconstant, ever-shifting.’
I’d rather him kiss my steel than pin blame on a witness to my husband’s folly. It’s not his fault. There are no more secrets between us, and I feel a lightness now.
We’re breathing hard, cheeks flushed. My pommel catches his hand, and he drops the dagger, bringing his fingers up to his mouth.
‘Are you bleeding?’ I ask.
‘No, thankfully.’
He bends to grab the dagger, but I kick it with the toe of my boot. It spins across the deck and under a crate.
‘Ris!’ he says, frustrated.
I wouldn’t rile him up if it weren’t so entertaining.
‘Fine.’ He stands, seeing my impish look. ‘Then I will simply disarm you.’
‘I’d like to see you try.’
Then he’s charging at me. He tackles me, a little cautiously, for the blade in my hand.
I push Finlyr hard in the chest. He looks taken aback, his hands flying to the place on his skin where his shirt hangs loose, as if my touch has shocked him.
He rounds on me, and I stagger back. Finlyr pushes me roughly against the wall.
The wood buckles beneath the force of it.
I drop the sword, and it clatters to the deck.
His hands are still on my shoulders, and we stare at each other, his eyes moving to the rise and fall of my chest. The sword and the fight are forgotten.
I watch a bead of sweat roll down his neck and become trapped in his clavicle.
It holds there for a moment before travelling down his chest. There’s a mark I’d never noticed before, a line tattoo of a cresting wave and a sword.
Our eyes meet again, and the moment pulls taut like a rope against a sail.
His look is so open and vulnerable, as if he’s showing me all of him.
His expression teeters on the knife-edge of my decision.
‘Come here.’ These words undo him.
His arms slacken, and he pulls forward, closing the gap between our bodies.
The pressure of him knocks the wind out of me.
I gasp for air as he kisses me, his mouth desperate as it comes for my lips, my tongue, my neck.
His stubble sends shivers dancing across my skin.
And then his hands show no mercy. He holds me fast, pushing me desperately against the wall, pinning me there.
I grab at his shirt and pull, ripping the arm.
He stops, snapped out of his frenzy. He looks down at the torn fabric and then gives a wicked grin.
He lunges at me and paws at my own shirt, letting out a whimper when my breasts are revealed.
He takes my nipple in his mouth, cupping me with his hands.
He looks at me, and I buckle. He fumbles with my skirts, his fingers snaking through the fabric to find me.
I’m slick and his fingers sink into me smoothly, parting the damp fur between my legs.
Sea spray laps at the boat’s edges and drenches us.
The boat rocks and Finlyr’s arms tense, bracing me against the wall.
I hoist my legs up and wrap them around him.
Finlyr raises me up and holds my weight, and then I push at him, forcing him to tumble onto his back, taking me with him.
I crawl on hands and knees until I’m above him, tugging at his belt and breeches.
He reaches for me between my legs again.
I slap him away. I grip his arse while I stroke him until he howls.
He looks to do something desperate, clutching at me, forcing me close.
But I won’t give in, not yet. I move up so my knees are either side of his head and lower myself onto him as he squeezes my arse. I would come, or he would die.
He goes to the task with frantic vigour, with an eagerness that makes me wonder how many other cunts he’s devoured.
I barely have time to think before I come all over the decks, knees shuddering, threatening to crush his skull.
I slowly release him, and he tries to sit up, to reach for me.
I slam him down again, pinning his arms above his head.
I take a loose rope and wrap it around his wrists.
My fingers fumble as I unwrap the sheath from my pocket and slide it onto him.
He gives out a cry as I mount him. I hold him down as I sway and rock my hips, rolling and bucking slowly at first and then speeding up until he screams and cries out for me.
‘Don’t you dare give up on me,’ I tell him as I hold his gaze, riding him hard.
I fuck him so hard I think he’s concussed himself on the wood.
I hold him then, rolling my hips back and forth slow and deep.
He dives for me, kissing and biting my mouth and breasts.
He tastes salt-swept and pushes himself deeper inside me.
I let go of the rope then and his hands come loose.
We grip each other like weathering a storm.
I come hard as he bites down on my nipple.
I shudder, muscles seizing up. I feel him inside me as I tighten, and he gives a sound of surprise and pleasure.
There’s a moment of stillness where I don’t want to dismount him, to feel the emptiness where he’s just been. I breathe hard in his ear and then bite the lobe. He gasps, and I get up, letting my skirts fall. Warmth drips down between my thighs. He looks at his shirt, ripped beyond repair.
‘Well, that’s done for.’ Finlyr laughs.
I offer a hand and Finlyr stands. He removes the sheath and cleans up, tucking himself back into his breeches. My heart leaps into my mouth as I hear the crash of a door opening, followed by the unmistakable sound of one of the undead, broken ribs knocking against each other.
Finlyr rushes over to the door, holding up his breeches, and flings his full body weight against it.
‘A bit of privacy for the lady, please.’
He takes off his torn shirt, offering it to me as a towel. Suddenly I feel shy and turn around to clean up under my skirts. There’s so much of his skin on show. He brings me towards him, placing his lips tenderly on the bare skin of my shoulder.
‘Looks like we needed to work it out physically,’ Finlyr says with a grin.
I punch him on the arm. ‘Is that how you work out all your conflicts?’
‘Only with the prettiest opponents,’ he says.
I shake my head and try to hide my smile. He takes my hand and interlocks our fingers.
‘You like someone who pushes back,’ he says, pushing against my palm. I meet him with equal resistance. Eventually he breaks the grip. Something has softened between us.
‘Looks like we’re both disarmed now.’