The Pleasure of His Bed. Donna Grant

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      The sailors glanced at each other, but then they gazed at his prisoner: Sofia stood in shackles, cuffed to his arm. She wore her gray uniform, but with her ebony hair blowing around her dusky face, wearing a dejected expression, she looked alluringly helpless. Any man would volunteer to be marooned for the favor of a single caress. A single kiss.

      “What’s to become of her, sir?” one sailor piped up.

      “She’ll be sold as a slave—for more than any of us could afford in our lifetimes, I’ll wager,” he added to stem any interest in pooling their funds. “We’ve voted to uphold the Code, and for good reason, when one considers—”

      “So where’s she sleepin’, sir?”

      Damon searched the crowd for the upstart who’d made everyone snicker. “She will be confined to my quarters,” he replied in his most commanding voice. “Who among you wants the responsibility of Sofia’s welfare? Comes a time we must fight to protect the common good, we can have no jealousy or distractions. No sense that I favored any man above the others. I alone will bear the burden of her safety, understood?”

      The sailors nodded, muttering among themselves.

      “Back to your posts, then.” Damon stood in front of Sofia to keep her from making eyes at those who favored her with a last, fond gaze as they dispersed. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he muttered over his shoulder.

      “You had other options, captain. Your quartermaster would’ve kept me a secret.”

      “And we know what sort of payment he’d expect.”

      “Is that such a high price to ensure your own gratification during this loooong voyage, sir?” Her breath teased at his ear: once again he’d invited trouble by scolding her. “And why did you relegate me to the galley? Surely leaving me at Mr. Comstock’s mercy is inviting—”

      “Jonas Comstock hasn’t pleasured a woman since a cannonball took off his leg.” Damon turned to glare sternly at her. “So don’t think you’ll tease your way out of—” Her kisses—one, two, three of them in rapid succession—left him gaping. “Have you no respect for—”

      “None whatsoever.”

      “—my position as—”

      “The position I like best,” she teased, “involves lying facedown in your cozy bed while you ride me from behind and I squeeze you inside my—”

      “Dammit, Sofia, you try my patience!”

      She smiled, triumphant. “And if you’ll try my attributes, captain, we’ll both be so much happier. Won’t we?”

      The warmth of her breath…the waves of heat coming from her lush body, which undulated shamelessly against his…the caress of her hair in the breeze made Delacroix very aware of what he could be enjoying if he disappeared with his captive. She was now officially his slave. And a woman like Sofia Martine would leave him no peace—no sanity—until he shut her up.

      His pulse quickened, and his cock nudged Sofia of its own accord. “You’re coming with me. Let there be no mistake about whose authority will be served—and who will serve.”

      Grasping her bound wrists, Damon hurried toward his quarters at a pace that made Sofia scuffle along in her leg irons. He scowled fiercely as a warning to any sailor who might smirk at them. When they came to the stairway, Damon descended ahead of her. As he opened the door to his quarters, he watched Sofia hobble unevenly down the steps in her leg chains. “Perhaps, so you’ll suffer for stowing away, I should make you navigate the longest stairways—”

      With a little shriek, Sofia pitched forward.

      Had she stumbled, or had the ship shifted? Damon rushed to catch her, again aware of her power to completely disarm him. Sofia landed against his shoulder, soft and light and voluptuous.

      And she was laughing, dammit. Not one whit of fear or apology as his arms closed around her.

      “What am I to do with you?” he muttered as he entered his cabin. He kicked the door shut behind them and set her unceremoniously on her feet. “You cannot continue to demand my attention—”

      “So give in.” She gazed pointedly at his bulging fly buttons. “Let me suck that long, lovely cock, and we’ll both be happier, captain. I’ve tried to tell you this, but you won’t listen.”

      He closed his eyes, determined not to succumb. “Who’s giving the orders on this ship, wench?”

      “Why, you, sir.”

      “Damn right. Enough of your cheeky challenges! On your knees!”

      Sofia squatted and awkwardly folded her legs beneath her. When she gazed up at him, Damon felt a thrill sizzle through his body, although her demure expression didn’t fool him anymore. “You know what to do,” he rasped.

      Sofia nipped her lip. Then she fumbled with his fly buttons as though half afraid of what might spring out at her. “I would so love to lie back, sir, spreading my thighs in invitation. But wearing these manacles limits my—”

      “Who said you were getting any pleasure? This is your punishment for defying me.”

      Her brow flickered as she scooped his member out of his pants. Demurely she licked her lips, contemplating the swollen shaft that pointed like a flushed sword. Somehow Sofia managed to look penitent, like a novitiate in a convent kneeling to pray, even as she opened her mouth to suck him. Her raven hair drifted forward as her warm lips closed around him, and Damon grasped both sides of her face.

      “Ohhhhhhhh,” he moaned. “Most women have no idea how heavenly this feels. How much a man enjoys…”

      “Mmm,” she replied. Up and back she stroked him, dragging her moist lips over his inflamed flesh. When she tipped her face slightly, Sofia appeared to be savoring this pleasure as much as he was…up and back as her tongue swirled around him.

      Damon sighed languidly and grabbed the nearest chair to keep his balance. He didn’t want anything to interrupt this fine, fine sucking…a working-over like he’d never before received, even from the most experienced trollop.

      “Oh, Sofia…don’t stop. My God, don’t you dare quit licking and—” Damon rocked forward, curbing the urge to shoot down her throat. She deserved to do without, just as he’d threatened, yet as he accelerated toward a climax, Damon could think of more satisfying ways to fulfill his need.

      “Get up,” he whispered. “Sit on the edge of the bed and rock backward.”

      “Yes, captain. Whatever you say, sir.”

      Her deference wouldn’t last, but Damon was too needy to tease her about it. The chain between her feet scraped the plank floor…such a chafing weight it must be…yet his pity remained unexpressed as Sofia followed his order.

      Down she sat, and back she fell, raising her legs so her skirts slithered around them. Once again she wore nothing for nickers. Anytime she bent over in the galley, she might expose herself to Comstock.

      The thought crazed him. Damon imagined the cook’s randy thoughts, the way old Jonas would СКАЧАТЬ