Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
“So then do it and quit talking about it,” I retort.
He growls at that, nipping at my neck, just enough to draw blood.
I moan louder. I adore it when he feeds from me. He won’t do it often, in fact he’ll only do it when he’s put in chains so that he won’t get carried away with his bloodlust. But everyone now and then his teeth will pierce me and he’ll take a little taste, especially if we’re about to head into potentially violent situations like raiding a Spanish galleon.
“Suck me back,” I tell him, encouraging him to take a bigger drink. “You get so much bigger when you do.”
He lets out a low, guttural sound of want, biting harder now, drinking me down and I feel his cock swell inside of me to the point where I might break in two. Then the swift pass of his fingers takes me over the edge.
My orgasm sweeps through me, making my knees buckle, claws coming out and digging into the wood of the railing to keep myself up, and he climaxes even harder, removing his fangs from my neck and letting out a long bellow that I’m sure will be heard throughout the whole ship. Perhaps they’ll think it’s his battle cry, though by now they’re all used to the noises coming out of his quarters at all hours of the day.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks once he’s calmed down, his breath still heavy as he pulls out of me.
“From your palm or from your teeth?” I ask, straightening up and pulling down my dress as I lean back against the railing. “Neither but how does it look?” I tilt my head, baring my ravaged neck to him.
“Just two puncture wounds,” he says with an apologetic smile. “I am getting better at this.”
“Yes, you are.” My gaze drops down to his half-hard cock, his purely masculine body on perfect display in the bright daylight. If we didn’t have some adventuring to do, I’d be tempted for another round.
“Bones!” Cruz yells impatiently from somewhere on the deck. “You’re needed up top, Captain!”
We get going, Ramsay pulling on his wide breeches and black shirt and I help him strap on his holster, slipping the pistols and cutlass in them. Then we run out the door and up to the deck where the crew has gathered at the forecastle. In the distance, near the shore, is a lone galleon.
“She’s a sitting duck,” Ramsay says, rubbing his hands together with glee.
We go right over to Thane who is barking out orders to everyone. He gives us both a disappointed look at our approach.
“Taking your time, Captain?” Thane notes. “It’s only your ship.”
“It’s our ship, brother. And as quartermaster, you know exactly what to do in my absence.”
Thane mumbles something under his breath. I didn’t catch it, but Ramsay did with his superior sense of hearing, giving his brother an obscene gesture with his hands in reply.
Thane bursts out laughing at that, probably the first time I’ve heard him laugh since Sam died. Then he turns to the rest of the ship, his expression quickly sobering.
“Alright lads, we want this to be our treasure ship before we cross the mighty sea, so let’s make this one count.”
“Let’s take what’s ours!” Drakos shouts, the rest of the crew cheering.
“Give no quarter!” Thane yells, raising his cutlass.
I lance the quartermaster with a sharp look. “We’ll be giving some quarter, if you please,” I tell him. “The days of ruthlessly murdering everyone on board are over.”
Thane glares at me then looks to Ramsay, utterly befuddled. “What the devil is she going on about?”
This is the first Thane’s hearing about this. Over the last few months, since I officially joined the crew as Ramsay’s lady, I’ve had a lot of time to think about my life and what I wanted from it. Though I will follow love to the ends of the earth, Agency is still a god to me and one that I will always revere. I want to live a life, a product of my own free will, where I can not only be free from the restraints of society but have a good conscience too. I know what I am, I know what Ramsay is and the rest of the Brethren: we’re monsters. That’s something that will not change and I will never feel shame for harboring a dark, monstrous side.
But monsters do not need to be tethered to their impulses. I don’t want to be a puppet to my rage. I tend to my anger like a garden, I keep it pruned and watered so it’s healthy, so it gives to me instead of taking. And because of that, I know I have what it takes to separate right from wrong, to flirt between moral and immoral, saint and sinner, princess and pirate.