Dunham

Chapter 8

8

Why not.

Elliott dragged his hand down Fury’s side, shocked by the heavy scarring, far more so than his own. She had been flogged—and severely. He allowed his fingertips to study her scars, tracing each bump and ridge, feeling himself harden in her hand. He cupped her breast in his palm and realized that it, too, was riven with scars. He flicked his thumb over the peak, but the nipple didn’t respond.

“I have no feeling there,” she whispered absently, lost in their kiss. She did not seem to find that anything out of the ordinary.

“A flogging like this would have killed a lesser man.”

“Aye, but I am not lesser nor a man.”

He grinned against her lips while slipping his hand between her legs to caress her velvety inner thigh. She gasped. “You have feeling there.”

“Aye, I do. Stand down and prepare for my boarding, Cap’n.”

She arose to her knees as he turned to lie on his back. She lifted one strong thigh and straddled him so his growing prick nestled in the crack of her arse and slid along her back. The tail of her braid brushed across his thighs.

Elliott thought he must have died and gone to paradise, as this was truly not the reception he’d anticipated, nor had he anticipated how … at ease … he would be with her and how rapidly.

She wiggled, grinding her cunt into his belly.

“Madam, you are an accomplished tease.”

“That,” she said pertly, “is what Marquess Rathbone thinks, also.”

Elliott thought to toss her off. “What ho, then?”

“Nay, not so much as that,” she said with a wry tone. “He is one of the last men on Earth I’d tumble, and not for any reason I would tell you.”

“Ah, you were speaking figuratively.”

“You are the one who wanted to discuss the blockade. I have decided to indulge you.” He groaned, and she reached behind her to wrap her hand around his cockstand. She pressed the pad of her thumb into the tip to collect the liquid there, then manipulated the rest of the head with that same very talented digit while she squeezed with just the right pressure. “I have heard no expressions of gratitude from you, Judas. Methinks you’d be more appreciative of the gaping hole Maarten and I left you to sail through.”

“My thanks, Captain,” he croaked. Surely the woman had been born for the sole purpose of driving him mad. “Your turn.”

“My thanks for your assistance, Captain,” she purred. “Enlighten me,” she continued with amusement. He could smell her arousal and wondered at her control. Then she put her hand between her legs and spread her flesh open against his skin and bore down.

“Fury, is this some new form of torture?” he gritted.

“Nay,” she said with a little gasp. One more tiny sound of pleasure slipped from between her lips, and the hand wrapped around his prick tightened. “Not for me, anyroad.”

“If I enlighten you, will you cease torturing me?”

“Aye, perhaps. If I like the answer.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I am perfectly capable of pleasuring myself, Judas.”

“But you would rather have me.” He quickly, unerringly slid two fingers up into her cunt, making her gasp in surprise. “Wouldn’t you?”