Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Ah—” She looked up at him in shock. He pinched the tip of her nipple so tight that fresh tears sprung to her eyes.
“Yes, eyes on me. Let the pain in.” His grip tightened another degree, and her breath hitched. “You can cry if it helps.”
She gasped, but for some reason, his permission dried up her tears. Pressing her trembling lips into a firm line, she held his stare defiantly. Her body adjusted to the pain, and she was soon able to push it away.
“How very brave you are, little mouse.”
He released her breast, and she sucked in a sharp breath, doubling forward when the blood flooded back into the tip of her nipple. The absence of his touch burned in ways she couldn’t explain, and some part of her wanted his touch back.
He stood. “Say thank you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She swallowed, unsure if she’d ever met such a tyrant. “Th-thank you.”
He yanked her hair back, tipping her head so she looked up at him. “Now, say it without the stammer.”
“Thank you.”
“Good girl.” He cupped her breast possessively. “You’ll thank me every time I touch you. Understand?”
“Yes.” He released her. “Thank you.”
He paused at the door and grinned, pleased by how quickly she learned. “Very good, little mouse. Your bath will be here soon. Any trouble and all promises go out to sea.”
Chapter 11
The Dance of the Depraved
Wendy’s heart pounded as the steady creak of the ship’s hull whispered through the dim cabin, each forceful beat shaking her to the core. Over the salt air, she smelled the sweet scent of pipe smoke. She tried not to panic as she waited for her bath and what might be her last meal.
Her nose pressed to the leather lapel of her jacket, the buttery scent of broken-in leather a strange comfort to her wild mind. The same smell hung in the air whenever the captain came close.
The door opened, and two crew members entered, carrying a broad copper tub. She curled her shoulders inward and crossed her legs, sheltering her body from view as much as possible. They moved as if commanded not to look at her, setting the tub in the center of the room facing the hearth. A third and fourth man entered, each carrying buckets of steaming water.
They filled the tub, taking trips to collect more water until soft tendrils of steam curled into the air. Her body ached to submerge in that balmy heat, but she feared bathing in the presence of men.
She couldn’t recall another time she suffered so many deeply conflicting desires. But she had a sense that this would not be the last. If this was her fortune in life, her future was about to become impossibly challenging. Nothing in her background remotely prepared her for what was coming.
The men left the captain’s quarters—save one. The lingering crew member looked different from the others. His moth-eaten clothes were higher quality, but dulled from sun and time. Still, she recognized the shadow of a gentleman in his stare.
He did not leer or approach her in a threatening manner. On the contrary, he moved with measured dignity, eyes downcast as he fetched a cloth and revealed a heavy, ornate key.
“I’ll spare you the indignity of bathing while bound.” His voice, though polite, carried a hint of roughness as if worn from years at sea.
Was he going to unchain her? Was that allowed? She only slightly flinched when he lifted her wrist. His gaze remained focused on the cuffs and never strayed.
The moment the heavy metal fell to the floor, she pulled her hands protectively to her chest, rubbing the chafed skin.
“I’ll turn my back while you slip into the tub, Miss.” He set the towel on her lap and looked away.
She rose on stiff legs. “Thank you.”
How strange to thank those who held her captive, yet she was inexplicably overwhelmed at the moment with gratitude for the bath and his regard for her modesty.
She moved to the tub before removing her coat and nightgown. The man kept his back turned, as promised, giving her the necessary time to test the temperature of the water and strip out of her clothes. She draped the coat over the back of a chair and paused before setting it beside the captain’s. Her brow furrowed as she noticed the same intricate stitching in the lapels, confirming that this was indeed Black Jack.
“Where did the captain buy his coat?”
The man cleared his throat but didn’t turn. “The crew makes them, miss.”
“Where did they learn the design?” The intricate work had to come from a skilled seamstress on the islands.
“The designs are the captain’s.”
Leaning forward, she sniffed the collar, finding the same soothing scent clinging to the soft leather. What did it say about her that she liked how her captor smelled? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.