In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (27 page)

She had only a blink of an eye to think of covering herself before his hands did it for her, before the callouses of his palms grazed her nipples. They beaded beneath his touch, begging, as she nearly did, for more. His heat surrounded her, cupped her. Sent a bolt of it straight to her soul. There was no room for shyness or modesty and if there were, Sarah would have ignored it.

Settling her hands over his she said, “Show me more.”

His smile was slow. Knowing. “It will be my absolute pleasure.”

He scooped her up as though she were weightless and carried her to the bed, where he set her gently. Then suddenly he was serious.

“When I told you I was a slave on the plantation?”

“Yes?” Why was he bringing this up now? She pulled the sheet to cover her breasts. It felt wrong to have a conversation when she was half naked.

“I was whipped. I’m not ashamed of it as I had no say in it happening but neither do I flaunt the scars. If you’d prefer, I can keep my shirt on.”

Her heart simply filled. At every turn she found something more to like about him. Admire him for. She released her hold on the sheet; let it fall to her waist. “I’ll see all of you, Aidan, as you’ll see all of me.”

With his molten gaze on hers, Aidan loosened the ties and tossed his shirt over his shoulder.

“Oh, Aidan.”

The only man’s chest she’d ever seen had been in art books or paintings. They didn’t hold a candle to Aidan. Clearly, he hadn’t lied about not parading about without a shirt, as his torso was shades lighter than his neck and forearms. And still she’d never seen anything as beautiful. Arms and shoulders corded with muscle. A thin dusting of blond hair darkened as it narrowed down to his belly and the waist of his trousers. His stomach muscles were so well defined it was as though they’d been painted there.

“May I?” she asked, her fingers hovering over his chest.

“As much as you like,” he answered and sat next to her on the bed.

“What’s this from?” she asked of the scar on the front of his shoulder.

“Pistol.”

“You’ve been shot as well!” She gasped.

He touched her cheek. “It was a long time ago.”

She traced the puckered wound, slid her hands around the curve of his shoulders and over the ridges of the scars marring his back. She explored every part of his back and torso savoring the power of muscle, the softness of his chest hair. The pounding of his heart.

She’d never felt powerful in her life, but here, with this man’s eyes on hers, with his heart beating fast for her, she felt as though she were queen.

“You’re like a statue, perfectly sculpted.”

He grabbed her wrist and stilled her hand from going any lower down his chest. “Trust me, Sarah. I’m no statue.”

Then his weight was on her, pressing her into the mattress. She wrapped her arms around him, held tight as her head spun with the taste of him, with the feel of his naked chest against her bare breasts. The longer he kissed her, the less control she had over her body. Her nipples hardened to aching peaks. Blood beat a strange and exciting rhythm between her legs. Restless, she squirmed against him.

Aidan hissed, thrust his hips hard against hers.

Sarah gasped. She knew precious little about the male body and lovemaking. But whatever he’d just done, she wanted him to do again.

“More,” she begged, raising her hips to his.

“Not yet,” he murmured and began another assault on her body.

He traced her collarbone, danced his fingers over her belly, licked his way up her chest. Like the gunpowder he’d used to start the fire, each touch, caress added fuel to the flames heating her body, increased the pressure and need building at her core. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, pleaded, though she had no idea what she was pleading for.

Aidan did. His mouth closed over one breast while his hand took the other. He laved, suckled, drove her to madness. First one breast, then the next. His mouth was hot, wet, demanding. His hands were—

“Oh!” Sarah’s body bowed. The world went white.

*

Aidan had never
seen anything so beautiful in his life as Sarah letting go, trusting him to be there for her when she returned. It filled him, warmed a part of him he hadn’t realized was cold until now. It made him want to give her more. Everything.

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, then hers. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t deny him though he saw the unanswered questions in her eyes. The uncertainty when she looked at him, naked.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

“I know.”

He kissed her palm, pressed it to his cheek. What had he done to deserve such a treasure?

Intending to keep to his word, Aidan once again set out to seduce, to build her need until she was as lost to the power of it as he was. Kiss after lingering kiss until her hands once again clung to him, until her hips reached for his. She tasted of everything sweet and pure and he couldn’t get enough. His own desires hammered him, one pounding wave after another. He trembled with the effort to contain them.

When she was writhing beneath him, when he knew the storm was upon her, he took her hands, laced their fingers.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She did and he lost himself in the beauty of her as he joined their bodies, watched the wonder fill her eyes. Lord, but she was perfect, the way she took him, looked at him. Trusted him. He hated to even give her a moment of pain but he couldn’t hold back any longer. Going by the stories he’d heard, he took her mouth, distracted her with his kiss, with his hand on her breast then thrust deep, taking her innocence.

Sarah stiffened beneath him.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her forehead. “I know I promised not to hurt you but the first time can’t be helped.”

She frowned. “It’s done, then?”

He smiled at her disappointment. “Princess,” he drawled before kissing her thoroughly, “we’ve barely begun.”

*

Sarah wasn’t sure
what more there could be. All she knew is she much preferred—

“Oh.” She moaned as he began to move within her. As her body once again came alive.

“Just like that,” he whispered as her hips rose to meet his. He dragged their joined hands over her head, stroked her from the inside. Long and slow then faster, harder.

Every nerve felt exposed. He surrounded her, claimed her until there was nothing but him, but them, and the glorious pressure building between her legs.

He slid his hand down the sensitive flesh of her inner arm, grazed the side of her breast with his thumb. He caressed her hip, her thigh. Her—

“Aidan!”

Her body bowed, then flooded with pleasure. Amid the exquisite sensations she felt Aidan push deep, hold, then shudder as he gathered her close.

*

“It must have
been terrible for you,” Sarah sympathized.

When his brain had once again started to function and he’d realized he must be crushing her, Aidan had rolled to his side, taking her with him. She remained wrapped in his arms, her breath tickling his chest. Her fingers fluttered over the healed lacerations, which crisscrossed his back from his shoulders to his waist.

“Did my father do this, as well?”

He hated that she carried guilt for the bastard. Roche’s sins were his own, damn it. “Not directly. It happened on the plantation. Mr. Grant was a bit too friendly with the whip.”

“Even on young boys?”

“Especially on young boys.” Grant had died trying to kill Samantha. He’d shot at Luke but in the end his own black heart had failed him. It gave Aidan great satisfaction envisioning Grant in hell, being treated as badly as he’d treated others. He could hardly wait to send Roche there as well.

Sarah pushed up onto her elbow, fury boiled in her eyes. “What kind of monster does such a thing? What if he’s never been stopped all these years? What if, even now, he’s doing to others what he’d done to you?”

“Are your first thoughts always of others?” he asked, kissing her nose. “Mr. Grant is dead; he’s no longer hurting anybody.”

“Oh.” Her anger dissipated in a rush of hot air that whispered seductively against his neck. His body stirred and he drew her back onto his chest.

Much as he’d like to, there wasn’t time to make love again. Equally as regretting was the fact he couldn’t simply continue to hold her in his arms, the outside world forgotten. He’d never been completely naked with a woman before. It was as he’d told Sarah, the scars didn’t embarrass him; he simply never shared that part of his life with most people, especially the strumpets he bedded. Sarah knew everything about him and he’d never felt more comfortable, more at ease.

Every Captain Steele has fallen in love on board the
Revenge.

No, no, no, it wasn’t the same; he hastened to reassure himself even as his heart began to race. Samantha had been older; she’d been twenty-two when she’d met Luke.

You’re twenty; it’s only two years.

Sam hadn’t wanted piracy any longer. She’d been ready to leave the sea and Luke needed family. Aidan wasn’t ready to leave the sea and he already had a family.

Nate wasn’t looking for a family when he found Claire.

Aidan set his teeth. Nate and Claire had known each other for years and he’d never stopped loving her. It was different.

Cale certainly wasn’t looking to fall in love and still it happened.

Oh, for the love of—

Aidan took a calming breath. Cale needed Grace. He needed her to remind him there was more to life than being a pirate. Cale was a family man at heart and—

“Time to go,” Aidan announced.

He slid out from underneath Sarah, grabbed his trousers, and shoved them on. He searched for his shirt, found it on the floor near the table and yanked it over his head. Dressed, with some distance between them, Aidan felt less panicked.

Distance was the key. As long as he kept enough between them, there wouldn’t be a problem. And given the tasks ahead of him—finding his ship or another, possibly another crew, beating Roche to their destination—he’d be lucky to have time to eat, let alone time with Sarah. Nobody was falling in love. He breathed. Nope. Nobody indeed.

“Is something wrong?”

His hands stilled over the laces on his shirt. Despite what he was feeling, Sarah deserved better than to be treated like a harlot. Hell, he’d all but tossed her a coin as he’d scurried from the bed without a backward glance.

He glanced now and felt panic once again rise in his throat. She sat, the shiny length of her hair draped over one naked shoulder. The sheet hid her breasts but not the memory of them. Want coiled through him. He was able to tame it easily when he looked at her face. Her cheeks were red from his whiskers, her lips plump from their kisses. But her eyes held questions, uncertainty. And to his shame, hurt.

Aidan swallowed his own feelings and hastened to reassure her. He’d brought her here and, despite her asking, he’d bedded her when he should have been man enough to refuse her. Though he doubted there was a man alive who could resist those eyes.

He grabbed her shirt from the table and perched on the edge of the bed. Her scent, the smell of sex, was an explosive combination. God, he wanted to kiss her mouth, lay her back, and make love to her again. His whole body tightened with lust. Only lust, God dammit.