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I can’t help the smile. I love that I can do this to him, that I have this effect. Perhaps this tickles the seductive Syren part of me, but it’s different, because it’s not my pleasure I’m after right now, I’m after his. I want to watch him with his cock in my mouth, watch him give himself over to me, so that he’s as vulnerable as I feel.
“Why don’t you feed from me?” I ask him, running my palms over his stiff length, enjoying the hot velvet feel of him.
“Cearban, it looks like you’ll be feeding from me,” he says, his voice husky as I continue to stroke him.
“I mean it,” I tell him, holding out my wrist as an offering. “Why not take my blood right now? You never know when you’re going to need it,” I add, thinking of what Nerissa said about our grim destiny.
“Because you’re going to need both hands while you work me,” he says, his eyes pinching shut as I squeeze him near his glistening tip.
I dip my head and lick the moisture off of him and he jerks, his hands gripping the edge of the chair, letting out a deep moan that seems to fill the room. “Christ, woman, you’re going to make me come already.”
I just lick him again, tentative passes of my tongue over his swollen dark head, enjoying the salty flavor of his essence.
“If you like the taste of that then you better start sucking me, luv,” he says through a groan. “Let me fuck your mouth until I coat your throat with my seed. I know you can take me, even if you choke on it.”
I know I can too. I open my mouth wide enough to fit his girth and with a tight grip I slide him in through my wetted lips. He cries out and thrusts his hips so that his shaft goes straight to the back of my throat and he’s right, I am choking on him.
But then he pulls back and when he tries to pump inside my lips again, I have control of his length, sucking him in at my own pace, my tongue swirling around all the hot ridges. His cock feels warmer now, like fire barely contained.
“Maren,” he grunts, his accent growing thicker. “Fuck. Maren. I lose it with ya, I fucking lose it with ya.”
I try to tell him to orgasm but I can’t when he’s taking up all of my mouth. Instead I push him over the edge, keeping tight control with my fist while letting him pound into my mouth, the tip of his cock sliding along the roof of my mouth, my tongue sucking him deep.
“Christ!” he bellows, “I’m coming. I’m coming, luv. God, your throat is just as tight as your cunt, darling. I’m going to fill you until it’s spilling on the floor.”
I nearly choke as he says that and then his hips are bucking and his cock spasms and I feel wet heat shoot through my mouth, landing on the back of my tongue and down my throat. I swallow it quickly. Despite what he said, I don’t want any of that on my floor.
Finally, when he seems to still, his breath ragged and quick, I pull him out of my mouth, a trail of spit between my lips and his spent head, and I look up at him shyly.
“I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight,” he says, his sated gaze pinned on me. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before, my luv.”
I delicately wipe my lips and fold my hands in my lap, like a lady.
“Captain!” someone outside of the door yells.
He straightens up, shaking his head and tucks his cock back in the flap. He clears his throat as I quickly get to my feet and head to the door, opening it when I see Ramsay is decent.
Cruz’s tall frame fills the other side of the door.
“Captain, we’ve spotted a ship. You’re going to want to see this.”
CHAPTER33
Ramsay
From the apprehensiveway Cruz is looking at me, not even paying attention to the thick tension in the air and the way I’m sitting, I know that this is important.
I quickly get to my feet, adjusting my worn-out cock, which Cruz pretends not to see, and then we leave Maren’s quarters. She follows me, which I don’t mind. I’d like it if she were at my side for all of the day and the night, even though there’s an uneasiness in my belly about this ship they’ve spotted.
Up on the top deck everyone is gathered at the forecastle and when I approach Thane looks grim.
“It’s the Royal Navy,” he says, handing me the spyglass. “She’s heading right to us.” A beat, his eyes flash bright amber. “It’s Ed Smith’s.”
My heart stills, lodged somewhere in my throat, and I look through the spyglass. I let out a harsh breath of air. There she is. There is thePembroke, a 60-gun ship that flies under the flag of Great Britain, and is currently commanded by Captain Edward Smith. Someone who is a member of the Brethren but definitely not of our crew.
“There should be other ships,” Thane mutters. “Where are the other ships of the line?”
I bring the spyglass along the horizon but there’s nothing, not even a hint of a mast. There is only thePembrokeand she’s sailing dead for us.
