Page 97 of Drown Me Gently

“But sir, the masts—we need more men to manage⁠—!”

“I said that’s an order! Trust in your captain!”

With a roguish grin and a playful threat of the plank, he waved the men below deck, shouting exaggerated curses at any sailor brave enough to hesitate. They obeyed, as they always did. Because this was tradition now.

The storm was for the captains.

Only the captains.

As the last hatch slammed shut, Auren turned to find Ulric already watching him—his grin as wild as the waves churning below.

“Now,” Auren said, voice crackling like the wind between them, “it’s our turn.”

Ulric grabbed him without a word, hands fisting into Auren’s damp shirt, dragging him in until their mouths collided with a fury that rivaled the sky. Rain lashed against their skin, but neither pulled away. The storm roared around them, but they only kissed harder.

This—this—was when they came alive. When the sky bled into the sea, the horizon disappeared. When memory blurred, and for a breathless instant, they weren’t men at all, but gods—Kraken and Prince—echoes of myth.

Ulric’s fingers worked quickly, tugging Auren’s vest open, slipping beneath the fabric to feel hot skin against chilled rain. Auren’s hands tangled in Ulric’s hair, nails biting his scalp, their bodies pressed so tight together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Clothes off,” Ulric growled against his mouth. “Now.”

“Demanding,” Auren panted, but he obeyed, yanking the drenched cloth over his head and off his legs, just as Ulric’s teeth grazed his collarbone.

They were frenzied, half-mad as rain pelted their skin, heightening the sensation. They were clawing for each other beneath a wrathful sky when a sharp, indignant whistle cut through the chaos.

They both froze, blinking like boys caught sneaking kisses behind a chapel.

A second whistle, more insistent, echoed across the waves, followed by a trilling, unmistakable squeak.

Iska.

She surfaced beside the ship, bobbing with clear disapproval, spitting bursts of water onto the deck like a sulking child.

“She’s rather impatient,” Auren sighed, dragging rain-slicked fingers through his hair and trying not to laugh.

Ulric, of course, did laugh—low and rumbling, the sound of a storm easing its grip. “She always was the jealous type.”

He leaned in one more time, licking into Auren’s mouth like a promise, the taste of rain and lust thick on their tongues. “Go to her,” he whispered. “I’ll manage up here. But have no doubt, my prince—I will have you when you return.”

Auren stepped back, lips swollen, skin flushed with the heat only Ulric could summon.

“Well,” he said, sass curling around every word, “with how desperate you look, I should keep you waiting more often.”

Ulric narrowed his eyes. “Desperate?”

“Mhm,” Auren teased, backing toward the railing. “You’re one thunderclap away from dragging me below deck by the hair.”

Ulric lunged, grabbing him by the waist.

“Ulric—don’t you da⁠—!”

And without ceremony, Ulric hurled his naked body overboard.

Auren’s shriek split the wind as he flailed dramatically into the waves, vanishing beneath the surface with a splash. Moments later, he burst up laughing, wiping water from his eyes.

“You ass! I was going to jump anyway!”

Ulric leaned casually over the railing, arms crossed. “Then I saved you the effort, spriteling.”