Chapter 35 #6
Rowan had never been more grateful for Yves’s demon strength.
His fingernails dug into Yves’s perfect, bleeding skin as Yves pulled back and slammed in.
Then again, setting a savage pace. The mixture of Yves’s cum and the tentacle’s juices squelched out with every thrust, and ran down the curve of his buttcheek.
Only to be washed away by the driving rain that ran down his body in rivers.
Rowan broke the kiss, head tilting back against the groaning wood of the mast. Yves’s hot breath huffed against his throat and with every thrust, every rumble of thunder, his sanity slipped away more and more, giving way to unimaginable rapture.
Every bolt of lightning that flickered through the clouds laced his veins, and when one of the tentacles wrapped around his throbbing cock, he tumbled over the edge into a churning sea of bliss.
An agonized cry tore from him, and he clutched Yves desperately to keep himself anchored to sanity as he came across his wet stomach.
“Rowan,” Yves groaned, his mouth open and hot on Rowan’s throat. The storm reached a howling crescendo, and in a few more thrusts, Yves came for a second time.
Silence.
For a moment, Rowan thought he’d lost his hearing with the force of his orgasm. Yves sank to his knees, cradling Rowan’s limp body against the base of the mast. The tentacle uncoiled from his softening cock, becoming only shadow once again, and leaving them connected only by human flesh.
Slowly, Rowan caught his breath and, mind still hazed in afterglow, realized the rain no longer stung his skin, and the rumble of thunder grew more distant with every breath.
His eyes lifted to find orange dawn creeping across the sky, chasing the black clouds further out to sea.
Mist, pink as a maiden’s blush, hung all around their entwined bodies, soothing the rain’s sting.
Yet lightning still flickered in the glow, the accompanying rumble now as low and comforting as a heartbeat.
When his gaze found Yves, he was watching him with dark, yet human eyes.
“I love you,” Rowan said, still out of breath. Yves smiled and kissed him, and didn’t let go until Rowan was gasping and wondering if Yves would take him again in this liminal rosy mist.
All at once his body felt heavy, the hours of fighting the storm finally catching up with him. He leaned forward, resting their foreheads together as Yves combed his messy hair back from his face with his fingers.
“Are you alright, darling? Was I too rough on you?” Worry tinged his voice.
“I’m fine, just need sleep.” Now that he was safe and sated, Rowan’s eyelids drooped.
“I’ll take you to bed then.” Yves disengaged from their embrace and left him propped against the mizzenmast as he went about gathering their scattered clothing.
Rowan blinked slowly, trying to stay awake.
Further out to sea, the Kraken’s Fury rolled on unquiet waves.
Rowan pressed a hand to the Siren’s deck, silently hoping they would be able to get her back to the sea without catastrophe.
Yves returned with a bundle of Rowan’s clothes in hand. “Your trousers and a stocking got swept away in the wave.” He handed over Rowan’s coat. Once Rowan had managed to struggle into it, Yves pulled on his own shirt and helped him slowly to his feet.
The storm grew more and more distant, sharp salt and lightning replaced by the particular ozone scent of the open sea after a squall—wet wood, rope, and stone.
Was it over? Or had they sailed just close enough to the edge for a reprieve? Rowan’s mind couldn’t struggle close enough to consciousness to care. The Siren’s flag lay coiled like a discarded serpent skin on the deck. Safe.
Rowan accepted Yves’s offered arm, caring nothing for the warm dribbles of liquid that tracked down his inner thighs.
But after a few steps, his legs wavered.
Without a word, Yves bent and picked him up, cradling Rowan’s exhausted, shivering body against his chest. They descended the quarterdeck stairs and headed belowdecks.
Rowan bid them stop at Logan’s door, and made Yves set him back on his feet.
He rapped on the door, and waited to hear the stirrings of bedclothes on the other side.
“Time for your watch,” Rowan called, and heard a sleepy mumble of, “Aye, I’m up,” from the other side. In truth, it was far past time for Logan’s watch, and the others would be waking with the morning light, but someone had to keep watch over the Siren’s precarious position.
Yves didn’t wait for further confirmation of the first mate’s wakefulness. He tugged Rowan down the hall toward the captain’s quarters.
It wasn’t until they’d made it to his door, Yves’s hand already turning the knob, that Rowan remembered Fox. He tugged Yves’s arm.
“Wait, there’s something—” But the door swung open, and Yves strode over the threshold. His dark gaze sped straight to the form slumbering peacefully bundled under Rowan’s blankets.
“Who the fuck is in your bed,” Yves growled, the demon echoing in his voice. Outside, a crack of thunder boomed closer than the retreating storm.
Fox stirred, the quilt slipping from his shoulder to expose freckled skin. He must have been too exhausted to find dry clothes. Damn him. It looked like he’d simply crawled out of his wet clothes and directly into Rowan’s bed, leaving a trail of sodden garments puddling on the floor in his wake.