Paid to the Pirate by Una Rohr

Chapter 14

Colt

Isaid not a word as I dragged Charlotte to my cabin. I wouldn’t give her snake-tongue the opportunity to lie her way out of what she had coming.

I’d stayed away from her all day for the same reason.

Fuck. That was a half-truth. I’d stayed away from her because I needed to clear my head and examine what had happened the night before, to review the events as they unfolded and to look for clues.

I had reviewed the events repeatedly in the privacy of my cabin, as planned. With my hands around my cock.

Unplanned.

It may have made me quicker than I’d wanted when I slammed the door behind us and moved Charlotte deeper into my cabin. I could tell my haste frightened her as I tied her wrists, tighter than necessary, to a beam above her head.

Without preamble, I grabbed the leather crop from my drawers. Meant for the hides of horses, it would do wonders on Charlotte.

“Are you going to beat me into submission each night?” she cried. “Is that your diabolical plan, captain?” Although she’d spat it with defiance, her voice caught at the end.

“Are you ready to confess?” I asked, pausing.

Say no, came an irrational voice in my head.

I shook it away. Of course I wanted her to tell me the truth. Immediately.

Yet something in my chest relaxed when she refused, a tension ebbed and made room for excitement to flow in its place.

“Please, wait, wait,” Charlotte babbled when I fisted the neck of her shirt.

Ignoring her, I tore down the middle of her garment and her breasts spilled forth. Heavy and round, nipples pert and pink. Charlotte tucked her head against her shoulder, hiding. Briefly, I debated cutting the remainder of the garment from her arms, but it hung limp on either side of her torso and wouldn’t impede my strokes.

Of which, there’d be plenty. Breasts, nipples, tight little stomach. All begging to be marked.

I could touch her right now, I thought. She was helpless to stop me. My thumb and forefinger rubbed against each other, pantomiming rolling one of those hard nipples between their grasp. My tongue snaked along the back of my teeth, eager to lick, to suck, to bite.

My desire by her design, no doubt. I could see it in the way she arched ever-so-slightly, as if she didn’t know she was doing it. Offering her breasts to me, to use as I saw fit. Her neck stretched, angling to the side. Like prey having given up, presenting its most vulnerable areas to the predator in submission.

I tilted my own head.

Or was it the opposite… Charlotte stretching to escape, to retreat?

The devil of a woman was always so hard to read.

Who cared what she thought or wanted? I glanced down, knowing what I desired.

I’d never seen her breasts after that day, that fateful day four years ago.

Breasts that weren’t as tempting as now. She’d been a skinny thing, late to fill out. The woman struggling before me now had hips soft and round, breasts curved and swollen. Woman, all fucking woman.

Stepping back before I could do something foolish, I raised the riding crop and brought it down on the top of her breast with medium force, testing. I’d never whipped her there before and didn’t know what would be too much or too little.

Charlotte threw her head back with a yelp as a little pink mark appeared.

“Noo…” she whined, so sweetly.

I shrugged. “We can stop whenever you like. Just tell me what happened.”

Charlotte’s reply was to turn her head to the other side, so I answered by applying my leather to her other breast.

Her squeal morphed into a groan.

A small part of me thought she’d start talking when I bared her breasts. A larger part thought it would be from the first kiss of the crop. Seeing as how neither had the necessary effect, I began whipping her in earnest -- licks to the underside of her breasts, lighter slaps against her stomach, cruel snaps to the area nearest her nipples.

The stubborn wench didn’t talk. She gritted her teeth and determination, if not outright defiance, blazed in her eyes when she met my stare.

Eyes blazing right back, I tapped directly the tip of one nipple, letting her know where my next stroke would fall.

“No, please, no!” She wailed and jerked as far as the ropes would allow.

Charlotte squealed when the pain registered. Her face flushed with a sheen of sweat.

“Keep screaming. I’ll have your screams or I’ll have your confession. Both delight me.”

“Nooo…” she pled, rocking her head back and forth as I aimed the leather at her other nipple.

I grinned and cocked one eyebrow. A question.

She clamped her lips. An answer.

I brought down the crop, hard.

Charlotte shrieked even louder this time, twisting and writhing in a most erotic dance of pain.

After pausing to see if she changed her mind, I shrugged and I resumed striking her vulnerable breasts, then moved on to her sides and low on her belly.

Charlotte panted and sweated… and so did I. The only difference was I controlled my labored breathing, my movements. Charlotte’s motions were erratic, guided by the sting of the crop. Guided by me. I was so transfixed with a heady sense of power that for a few moments I didn’t notice a change in her expression. When I took better stock of her face, she seemed in a daze of some kind, and I cursed myself for not paying better attention.

It was almost as if the blows didn’t hurt her as much. I paused, brow furrowed. She seemed distanced from the crop, from even the ship.

“Charlotte? Charlotte, can you hear me?”

Her only reply was the lolling of her head to one side as she moaned softly.

I gently-but-firmly grabbed her chin, the pads of my fingertips digging into her flesh to hold her head straight. I expected the usual flash of annoyance or defiance, but she barely reacted to my manhandling, save the fluttering of her eyes. Charlotte allowed herself to be guided forward, but as soon as I released her, her head fell back to the side.

Her eyes were hooded as her head tilted back. Her breasts were high, full. With desire? I shook my head. Could she fake such a reaction? How?

Frowning, I studied her. She seemed far away, as if in a state of rapture. I looked down at the menacing implement in my hands. From my crop?

It couldn’t be. Even though I’d had similar evidence from the night before, I couldn’t believe it. It had to be an act, I thought, blinking. But why, to what end? If she was playing the lady, what lady would so wantonly grind herself to orgasm before the man standing above her, belt in hand?

None of this made any sense. Her games were always… I cursed under my breath, hating to admit it. Her games were always one step ahead of me. She was always one step ahead of me.

But this didn’t feel like a game.

Testing, I touched the tip of the crop to her nipples, caressing gently.

Eyes still shut, Charlotte moaned softly and arched into the leather.

With the flick of my hand, I gave her one sharp smack directly beneath her nipple.

Throwing her head back, she cried out her pleasure.

I licked my lips. Unmistakably, that was pleasure. A rush of power and euphoria raced through my brain.

What had changed in the past two years? Red threatened the edges of my vision. Had some other man touched her? Taught her the ways of passion?

Charlotte-the-traitor I wanted to strip bare and punish before a tavern full of drunk men.

Charlotte-the-wanton stirred an almost painful desire to toss her limp body onto my bed. To make her cry out from my cock the same as she had from my crop.

I shook my head, equally entranced. I’d been so focused I barely noticed the cabin around me. I could have been standing above deck, off the ship entirely, or somewhere on a beach in the bright afternoon, and I wouldn’t have noticed anything but Charlotte.

Another emotion swelled in my chest, something like protectiveness. Whatever was happening, I had stay in control, for her sake. And for my sake, I couldn’t take her to bed.

She might gut me in my sleep.

I’d have never thought her capable but she’d proved willing to do many things I’d never before believed.

Charlotte hung from the beam, limp, head resting on one arm for support.

I could release her and restrain her to my bed.

Scratching my stubble, I questioned, but was that a part of her plan?

No, I’d already commanded it -- she needed to sleep in the brig. But not half-naked. Fumbling through a trunk, I found my softest shirt. Charlotte didn’t move. Whatever strangeness had seized her, it was as all-encompassing as the night before. I’d wager that if I dipped my hand inside her breeches, I’d find her dripping down her creamy thighs.

I adjusted the strain in my own breeches. Who was being tortured again?

The fantasy of applying ointment to her marks flashed through my mind but I dismissed it. She didn’t deserve the relief and I couldn’t handle rubbing my hands all over her breasts without throwing her onto the bed.

Damn her to hell.

Scratch that. I was the one probably headed in that direction.

I chuckled. But what would be my hell exactly? Because it looked a lot like this, right now. Charlotte, half naked, and me unable to touch her.

Watching another man touch her, came the infuriating thought.

I’d kill him, I vowed, even though Charlotte was the one I should want to murder.

Adjusting my waistcoat, I determined three things. One, I’d deposit Charlotte in the brig. Two, I’d find some rum above deck. And three, I’d drink until I passed out. A fine plan indeed.

When I cut her ropes, I braced and, sure enough, she collapsed into my arms.

“Charlotte, can you hear me?”

She moaned her reply through pink, parted lips.

“I’m going to put this shirt on you,” I explained, guiding her to the bed. “Lift your arms.”

Incapable of obeying even the slightest command, I had to hold each delicate arm aloft while I slid the garment over her battered torso. Her brow furrowed slightly in pain but smoothed once the garment lay flat.

My eyes flicked down to her breeches and I didn’t like the access they blocked. Depositing Charlotte on the bed, I rummaged through my drawers until I found an old skirt that would fit.

Hers. I’d moved it from our old ship to this one. For a time, it had smelled like her. Until the salt of the sea faded the scent, as it did most things.

With Charlotte in a daze, I slid her breeches from her legs and buttoned her into the skirt, denying myself the glimpses between her legs that I desired, because I couldn’t torture myself any more for the evening.

Realizing she couldn’t walk, I scooped her up and carried her out of my cabin, careful not to smack her head against the doorframe or the walls of the ship’s tight hallways. Throughout, Charlotte hovered in a strange state between sleep and wakefulness.

Conks was thankfully absent when I reached the brig. I didn’t want his accusing eyes and couldn’t explain what happened to Charlotte anyway. Using my foot, I slid the prison door wide.

Charlotte didn’t stir, even as I maneuvered her into the hammock. Before I could change my mind, I stripped my waistcoat, balled it into a makeshift pillow, and wedged it beneath Charlotte’s head. Her eyes had closed, leading me to believe she’d fallen asleep.

Until under her breath she murmured, “Colt.”

Captivated, I brought my fingers to her face, tracing her cheekbone and the outline of her lips. She sighed, parting her mouth like an invitation.

Without thinking, I slipped my finger inside, probing deeply. Instantly, Charlotte sucked, her tongue laving my digit. She moaned as if I rewarded her with my penetration and it went straight to my cock. It was impossible not to imagine her hot, wet mouth around it.

Quickly, I withdrew my finger and though she didn’t open her eyes, she gave a little squeal of protest. Backing away, I brought my finger to my own lips and sucked her saliva from it, picturing what it would be like to freely swipe my tongue inside that willing mouth.

I closed the cell and locked her in, frowning. That was twice now I’d resolved to punish her until she broke, and twice she’d thwarted me.

Although, she’d broken in another manner entirely; once in a way I’d never anticipated and another in which I couldn’t explain.

Had she blossomed into a temptress in my absence? Was that her game? To beguile me? Break me with lust and longing?

Maybe I’d break her with lust and longing first.

Storming above deck, I joined Conks and Johnson at the table they’d dragged from the galley. Gentle waves rocked the ship and a light wind gave us fair speed.

“Rum,” I ordered, and Johnson poured me a drink. From the corner of my eye, I caught a small nod he gave Conks.

“What you’re doing to the girl ain’t right,” Conks said, spinning his cup.

“And you think a pleasant chat will get us the answers we need?” I countered.

“But why we all gotta play along with her game?” Sedge piped up with anger from across the table. “To learn the truth or so you have an excuse to see what’s under her skirts?”

Before I could reply, Robert plopped down next to me, clapping me on the back too presumptuously. “Heard the bitch squeal, captain. Nice work. A few more nights under your hands and she’ll be singing like a bird for us.”

I grunted. Sharing a cup with my men had been a mistake. I didn’t want their opinions.

I took another deep swig of rum. But I needed them.

Charlotte’s game provided a distraction, an amusement. The trip to Nassau would take several more days and she wasn’t going to escape again anytime soon. Once we docked, I’d get each of the men a turn to crack jenny’s cup, on me. Maybe I could find a whore for myself while I was at it.

With honied hair and hazel eyes. Green by the light of the sun and brown by the moon. With an elegant neck to wring as I spent my seed inside her.

I scowled and drank deeper.

Charlotte thought I meant to beat her into submission? Then I’d unsettle her by devising more intimate punishments for her displeasure.