Chapter 4

The silence that followed her sigh was heavier than any threat. A woman. The thought cut through Thomas’s fear, a clean, sharp slice that left him dizzy. The figure in the shadows was a woman. The power, the command, the terrifying authority; it was all feminine. His mind scrambled to reconfigure the world.

Before he could form a single coherent question, the woman astride him moved. Riley’s playful dominance vanished, replaced by a swift, brutal efficiency. Her knee drove into his stomach, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to steal the air from his lungs and pin him flat to the rough planks. He gasped, his head spinning. With the Captain’s gender revealed, precautions had to be taken.

“Stay,” Riley commanded, her voice a low thrum of amusement. Her hands, shockingly fast, produced two lengths of coarse rope from a hook on the wall. She looped them around his wrists with the practiced ease of a sailor tying a cleat hitch, yanking them taut and securing them to a heavy iron ring bolted to the floor. He was trussed, spread-eagle and utterly vulnerable. Married to the ship, he thought wildly.

She leaned over him, her dark hair a curtain blocking out the lantern light. Her scent, salt and jasmine, filled his nostrils. From a sheath at her hip, she drew not a knife, but a long, oil-dark strap of leather. She held it before his eyes, letting him see its worn surface, then drew it down his body. It whispered over his chest, his abdomen, a threatening caress. The sensation was a paradox; the smooth, teasing drag of the hide and the implicit promise of a stinging blow. It was pleasure and a warning, intertwined.

Riley leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. “The Captain enjoys a show. Be the show.” For the first time since this whirlpool began he thought of Nadine. Their paths had aligned paradoxically. What would she think of this pursuit? 

Riley sensed his drifting thoughts and grabbed his cheek. With that, she descended. Her mouth was now a weapon of pure sensation. It wasn’t like before. This was not a seduction but rather a preparation. Riley dutifully prepped Thomas with a relentless, focused rhythm, her sole purpose to make him more. And it was for her. For the Captain.

Just as he felt the unbearable tension coiling at the base of his spine, she stopped, pulling away gently. She left him desperate on the edge, a tool readied for its purpose. She rose and moved back into the shadows near the great desk. Thomas strained against his bonds, trying to see.

He heard the soft rustle of clothing, the quiet clink of a belt buckle, and a low, approving hum from the woman. The same mouth that had just been on him was now lavishing attention on the Captain. The air grew thick with the scent of a musky-sweet perfume.

Then, she emerged.

The Captain stepped into the flickering lantern light, and the breath caught in Thomas’s chest. She was… a vision of war and want. Her body was a map of conquest, both given and received. Slim, taut muscle corded her arms and defined her flat stomach. Small, perfect b***ts stood proud, their tips peaked and dark in the cool air. But it was the history etched into her skin that held him rapt. A faded blue tattoo coiled around her hip alongside  a stark, jagged scar cutting a white line across her ribs. She was fit, naked, and utterly unashamed.

Her eyes, now visible, were a startling pale grey, like winter mist over the sea. They held his, not with warmth, but with an appraising, hungry intensity. She was assessing her property. Her hands slid down her own body and a faint, throaty sound of approval escaped her. She was more than ready.

She moved to him with the rolling gait of a predator, her bare feet silent on the wood. She placed a knee on either side of his hips, looming over him, a goddess of the deep. Riley moved behind her, a graceful shadow, and cupped the Captain. The Captain gave a soft sigh hissing through her teeth.

Without a word, without breaking eye contact with Thomas, she reached down between them. The heat of her was astounding. A velvety, impossible heat that seemed to pull at him. Then she sank down.

It was a slow, inexorable claiming. A sharp gasp escaped him, his fingers curling into useless fists against the ropes. She was alive.

Her eyes remained locked on his, watching his every flinch, every swallowed gasp, every helpless tug against the ropes. This wasn’t his pleasure. It was hers. He was an instrument, and she was playing a symphony upon him.The Captain’s breathing grew ragged, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. 

Thomas was lost. His fear was a distant memory, burned away by the furnace of her body. He could only watch, captive, as her control began to fracture. Her perfect posture began to falter. Her head tipped back, her throat a pale arc in the lamplight. Her lips parted. The low, guttural sounds she made were not of command, but of pure, unvarnished need.

Her entire body tensed, a bowstring pulled taut. A shudder wracked her frame, violent and absolute. She cried out a raw sound of triumph that was nothing like the soft moan from the shadows. It was the full, unabashed release of a queen taking her due.

She collapsed forward, her hands splayed on his chest, her body trembling with the aftershocks. Her breath was hot and rapid against his skin. For a long moment, there was only the sound of her breathing and the relentless, dull ache of his own unsated need.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, her grey eyes meeting his. They were dark now, sated, but still sharp. A faint, ruthless smile touched her lips.

“Adequate,” she breathed, her voice husky for her small frame.