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“Yes…no. Please.”
He already knew the answer as she got wetter, but he couldn’t help teasing.
“You have to make up your mind, darling. My fingers are waiting. Four fingers, not five, but they are all wicked. They know how to please.”
“Nine fingers. You have nine,” she shot back.
Oh, this woman.
“You are right. Nine wicked fingers…”
“I can’t think when you do that,” she moaned. “I’m trying to drink.”
“Do you want to keep not thinking?”
“I…yes. Please.”
It was the only consent he needed, and he didn’t ask anymore. There was something mindless about thrusting his fingers inside her wet heat, knowing he was relieving her of both desires. He felt pride. He felt a certain possessive streak at the idea thathewas the one making her react like this. But the ache also grew inside him, an invisible monster that became a force to be reckoned with when she started riding his fingers. He was so hard, in pain with it, but a particularly hard suck from her lips reached down his cock until it felt like she was stroking it with her bare hands.
He uttered a curse, grunted, and worked her harder. He said her name when she came in his hand, an orgasm that quivered her from head to toe as she sealed his throat wound and threw her head back. Isaiah watched her, memorizing the vision of Nicola coming and wondering if he would ever see her like this again.
Probably not. Their time was limited, and they had different goals, different lives. His goal was long and would complicate his future. He savored this, wanting it to fuel him during lonely, aching—complicated—nights.
Fuck. You are a bastard.
“Are you okay?” he asked, gathering his ruminations and trying not to act like his world hadn’t been blown away.
“Tired. I’m so tired,” she mumbled, still clinging to him. Like she trusted him now. His chest ached, but he didn’t say a word as he shifted her in his arms and tucked her in his bed, where she fell asleep promptly.
He observed her peaceful figure for a few more minutes before he marched to the shower, stood under the cold water…stroked himself to the memory of her climax. He jerked his cock off until it swelled hard enough to point up. He kept going until his seed sprayed across the wall tiles and his knees gave way, crumpling his body against the evidence of his lust. Isaiah swore one more time.
He really was a bastard.
Their world inside the ship grew back to normal as the days flowed without incident, with Maddox recovering fast—a miracle, they called it and rejoiced over it. If only they knew the truth. Maddox, to his credit, tried to act like he was still a bit weak, then focused his energy elsewhere when he found out who had healed him. Nicola doted on Ruby, too, forming a tentative friendship and making sure the woman didn’t feel uncomfortable at any point.
“I think she bewitched Nic,” Wheeler commented when the two strolled the deck one cloudy day, engaged in conversation. Maddox hulked over them. “Maddox, too.”
“Because she’s a witch?” Isaiah asked.
“Witches can’t be trusted. They know a lot of stuff and can murder us with a snap of their fingers.”
“She saved Maddox’s life,” Moon insisted, loyal from day one. But that was mostly due to Maddox.
“She could still kill us.”
“It’s been a week. She should have killed us by now.”
“She’s biding her time,” Wheeler insisted. “Have you heard the stories about Broom’s Isle, the island they live on? So many horrible ones. They are paid to do other creatures’ dirty work and they enjoy every bit of it.”
“Wheeler, you should know better than to listen to those. We don’t have the most stellar reputation based on exaggerated stories about our kind.”
“But a lot of the pirate stories are true! The Isle stories must be, too.”
“I don’t think she is of that caliber…murdering a whole ship crew, I mean,” Isaiah said, cutting into their conversation before it grew heated. “Besides, she’s not staying. She’s leaving as soon as we dock.”
“But—”
“Wheeler, if you keep running your mouth like that, she might hear you and end up sinking this ship.”
