obedient virgin that hardened his cock, he would be with his betrothed. Not here with me.
I am the only man who touches you here.
He was the only one stopping himself from touching me everywhere.
Unless my feral, possessive husband showed up. Then my efforts with the commodore would be for naught.
If Priest had his way, my captivity would transfer from Ashley to him. Being Priest’s prisoner wasn’t favorable, but it was a great deal more appealing than hanging from a noose.
In an ideal world, I would escape both men, recover my compass, and live the rest of my life a free woman, commanding my beloved ship.
But there was so much that could go wrong and so little that could go right.
Those were the thoughts that chased me to sleep. When I drifted, I sank hard. And I dreamed about my mother.
A halo surrounded her, like a blurry ring of light around the sun. Was it her golden hair? Her aura? I wanted to touch it, but I didn’t have a body. I wanted to hug her, but I didn’t know if she was dead or alive.
None of this was real. Not her smile nor the cliff on which we stood nor the wings that unfurled behind her. No, wait. Those wings were real, for when she jumped, she didn’t fall.
She flew.
I woke gently, quietly, blinking into the darkness and marveling at the discrepancy in the dream. For years, I’d relived the countess falling to the rocks and always woke gasping and shaking with tears in my eyes.
But not this time.
This time I felt warm and peaceful and…
I wasn’t the only one awake.
Lying on my side, I stared at the wall. The wild mane of my hair sprawled across the mattress behind me. With a hand tangled in it.
Ashley was petting me.
I held still, measuring my breaths as he stroked the spiraled strands and smoothed out the knots.
The sensation crawled into my veins, torturing me. I didn’t know what felt true—my delirious pleasure in the affection or his ability to give it. But it felt right. He felt right. I didn’t want him to stop.
His breathing quickened, deepened, and his fingers wandered to my hip. The heat of his hand lingered there, soaking through the blanket and saturating my skin. It was the touch of a man with one thing on his mind.
My body fevered, and my pulse sped up. This was what I’d wanted. But wasn’t it too soon?
If he gave me his seed tonight, I could move forward with the pregnancy plan. But shouldn’t I try for his heart first? That ruse was easier to play out, less complicated.
If he tried to bed me now, I could deny him, give him the chase men seemed to love. It might make him want me more.
If I denied him, he might force me.
I spent thirty seconds reasoning this out before his hand disappeared.
He slid soundlessly from the bed and strode to the balcony, making the decision for me.
I simmered in frustration and cursed myself for feeling rejected again by a man I didn’t want.
But I did desire him. For reasons any woman with working eyes desired him. I could look past his pestilent personality for an hour or two if it meant putting my hands all over that flawless, godlike body.
I wasn’t usually so lustful and eager. But it had been two years since I’d lost myself on a man’s cock, and after spending two days with this one, I was feeling that abstention right where I needed him the most.
My cunt throbbed. My nipples hardened. My entire body strained to sense his movements on the balcony. Then I heard it.
A grunt. A heavy breath. More followed. Then, “Oh, God. Oh, Christ, yes.”
I froze, dazed, rendered utterly confused. Those whispered throaty words sounded nothing like his voice.
Sliding from the bed, I followed the string of muffled groans toward the balcony. The loud creaking of the ship deadened my soft steps. His gasping sounds smothered my own labored breaths.
Pausing just out of view, I peeked around the edge of the open door and choked.
Standing in the muted glow of the distant stern lantern, a broad-shouldered silhouette bent at the rail, tall, dark, and gloriously nude. With his back to me, he gripped the balustrade with one hand and stroked his shaft with the other.
My drubbing heart propelled into my throat, and I pressed a hand over my gaping mouth.
Ashley Cutler, you gorgeous, filthy pervert.
His arse was so chiseled and perfectly shaped I wanted