Chapter 17 #2
A part of Rowan thrilled at that. Yves had broken first. Rowan had won. But another part couldn’t help but remain suspicious of his husband’s intentions.
They hurried to the quarterdeck where Logan met them. “Orders, Captain?”
Rowan looked to the Kraken cutting through the waves behind them, the blue and yellow hailing flag flying like a tail tucked between a dog’s legs.
Had he reflected and managed to overcome his probable feelings of annoyance at Rowan’s brattiness?
Or were they going to argue again? Rowan considered ignoring his husband once again.
The Siren could easily outpace the Kraken, and the temptation to show Yves just what he and his little ship could do nearly tipped his hand.
But ultimately, curiosity got the better of him.
“Signal affirmative and let them catch up.”
The morning was clear and bright, perfect weather to accept a groveling apology. Rowan allowed himself to indulge in a daydream of Yves on his knees, begging forgiveness and proclaiming Rowan right for both their crews to hear.
Such indignity would never suit him, but it was fun to imagine.
The Kraken caught up in no time, and was soon pulling up alongside. Rowan tried to seem nonchalant, standing on the main deck with a relaxed posture. But his gaze flicked back and forth across the Kraken’s deck, searching for Yves.
Finally, he appeared, bloodred coat and raven hair contrasting with pale porcelain skin.
Rowan took in the sight of him like a drink of cool water.
All the while pretending not to have noticed his presence.
Yves was gorgeous beyond human comprehension or words, a fallen god among mortals.
Rowan desperately tamped down the arousal that threatened to overwhelm his anger and pride.
Why was he so pathetic? Immediately casting aside his convictions at the mere sight of his husband.
No, he must stoke his anger higher so as not to be swayed by anything less than the apology he deserved.
He thought of the way Yves had told, not asked, him to hide on Illusion.
The way he acted as if Rowan was his to command, and a dozen other little slights and annoyances that had built up over the past year of their marriage.
Stone by spiteful stone Rowan built himself a wall of anger against Yves’s beauty until it surrounded him like a tower.
But when Yves walked over to the rail and met Rowan’s gaze for the first time in two weeks, that carefully constructed wall threatened to buckle.
Despite Rowan’s eyepatch obscuring his view of the otherworldly, he could tell the demon lurked close to the surface.
If he removed his eyepatch, he was sure the shadow tentacles would be writhing angrily in the bright sun.
Rowan practically choked on the seething anger rolling off his husband in waves like a dark miasma. Beautiful and terrible.
Rowan was definitely not getting an apology today.
The two ships were drawn together by ropes, and everything stilled. Both crews waited with baited breath to see who would speak first. Yves stared down at him from the greater height of the Kraken, silent and impassive.
Trepidation stoked in Rowan’s belly. Yves had called this meeting, yet already they were at an impasse.
“You wanted to talk. So talk,” Rowan said, loud enough for every ear.
The well of Yves’s anger deepened, pulling Rowan down into its inescapable depths. He almost gasped for air.
Yves didn’t say a word. He simply stepped onto the rail of the Kraken and dropped onto the Siren’s deck with a thud much softer than his size should have allowed.
A dark god descending. Several of Rowan’s crew members drew back as if they too could feel the demonic rage roiling around the other captain.
In two strides, Yves was before him. Between Yves’s suffocating aura and overwhelming beauty, Rowan couldn’t catch his breath.
Words died in his throat. Yves was even more beautiful up close, the light catching his dark eyes like the first flush of sunrise on a stormy sea.
Under the bloodred coat, a large onyx broach sat at the hollow of his throat, as black as Yves’s demonic eyes and so shiny it reflected Rowan’s own half-stunned, half-mulish expression back at him.
A profusion of pristine white lace spilled from beneath like a waterfall, drawing Rowan’s gaze down to high-waisted trousers cinched dangerously tight, and further, his thighs—
Rowan snapped his attention back to his husband’s face. Wondering—not for the first time—if there was something demonic in the way Rowan became utterly captivated by Yves whenever he saw him.
Yves seemed to have no reaction to Rowan’s wandering eye. His lips, so pink and tempting, parted around stilted, formal words. “Ghost Hawk, would you do me the courtesy of speaking in private?”
Rowan’s breath caught. Not only at his pirate moniker, which Yves had rarely used since the first time they’d met, but at the overly polite request hiding whatever true intention Rowan could feel in this all-encompassing anger.
What game was he playing? Had he taken Rowan’s returned ring and departure as something more than Rowan intended?
Unable to form words around the walnut-sized bitterness in his throat, Rowan gestured for Yves to follow.
The crew drew back hastily to make way as the two captains retreated toward Rowan’s private quarters.
Logan opened his mouth, no doubt to ask if Rowan wanted his attendance, but Rowan shook his head.
Once they were away from prying eyes, he would demand an explanation.
But they did not make it to Rowan’s quarters.
As soon as the hall door swung shut behind them, Yves seized Rowan by the throat and shoved him against the wall so hard Rowan imagined it rocked the ship.
The eyepatch dislodged, uncovering half of Rowan’s jade eye and allowing him to see his husband’s true form.
Black eyes like a shark. Dark blue tentacles filling every corner of the hall behind him.
Rowan’s own hand moved on instinct, drawing his dagger lightning fast and pressing it to Yves’s throat just above his high collar.
Something dangerous sparked in Yves’s black eyes, and instead of shying away from the blade that could end his life once again, he leaned into it. A bright line of blood bloomed along the steel edge.
Rowan hissed, not wanting to hurt Yves yet unwilling to be defenseless. Yves’s breath wafted across his face, lips a mere moment away from capturing Rowan’s.
“Do not speak.” Yves’s voice resonated deep with the demon’s echoes.
The shadow tentacles filled the hallway like a dense fog, darkening the already dim light to near blackness.
But still, Rowan could see the way Yves’s eyes glittered with malice.
He tried to speak, but it was as if Yves’s command had siphoned away his voice.
Nothing came out but a frightened exhalation.
Yet his traitorous body reacted to Yves’s closeness.
He yearned to close the distance between their lips, to lean into Yves’s violent embrace as if it was a loving one.
For them, the lines between violence and love, aggression and lust, had been blurred since the day they met.
The two were entwined as closely as their bodies.
Dominance and submission, control and freedom, were mere toys for their passion.
A rivulet of blood, nearly black in the gloom, slipped down Yves’s skin to soak into the snow-white lace of his collar.
Saliva pooled beneath Rowan’s tongue, eager to lick it up.
To dip his tongue into the wound and draw out the words of contrition he ached for.
But Yves’s long fingers tightened on Rowan’s throat, thumb pressing to his thundering pulse.
Their eyes met, and Rowan knew in an instant Yves was thinking the same unholy thoughts as him.
Rowan surged forward, desperate to kiss those cruel lips.
But Yves held him tight to the wall. His breath was ragged as he wrenched open Rowan’s belt like the buckle and leather were no more than a knot of thread.
He unfastened Rowan’s pants as quickly as Rowan had drawn his blade.
But his lips remained just out of reach.
Torturous with their nearness. When Yves drew out Rowan’s achingly hard cock, a choking gasp escaped his mouth, still soundless.
The pressure on Rowan’s throat disappeared as Yves fell to his knees, not even flinching when the edge of Rowan’s dagger scraped up his neck like a close shave. Rowan’s arm dropped down to his side, already too delirious with lust to question what was happening.
The plush softness of Yves’s lips meeting the head of Rowan’s cock sent sparks dancing across his vision, and the dagger clattered to the floor from nerveless fingers.
Yves did not draw out the teasing. He sucked Rowan’s length into his mouth down to the base.
Rowan’s lips parted in a silent plea, still unable to make a sound despite nothing restricting him now.
He buried his hands in Yves’s onyx locks as Yves aggressively sucked him off, teeth and tongue working in torturous tandem to cause both pleasure and pain.
Rowan’s hips bucked forward into the wet heat of Yves’s mouth, abandoning any thoughts that he could hurt him.
He wanted to hurt Yves. To slake his anger on Yves’s body with no concern for the consequences.
Because this was not an apology. Yves was on his knees, but he was the one in control, still so furious that it filled every crack and corner of the hallway.