The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) (7 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

There were moments
in life upon which he could look back, when he reached the crossroads of fate, and he realized a single choice dictated the course of unforeseeable events for future years.  Jean Marc suspected that evening was one of those occasions, because he made a decision where the delectable Lady Madalene was concerned.

As she situated plates and utensils with care, atop the table in his cabin, she hummed
Plaisir d’amour
, evoking fond memories, not that it would do her much good.  To his amazement, she wounded him when he did not think she possessed the capacity to hurt him, yet he suffered some strange affliction he could not identify, and she would pay in coin of the flesh, after his noble efforts.

On the night he taught her to swim, he could have taken her.  He could have been on her and stolen her bride’s prize before she knew what happened and voiced a protest, but he altered his tack out of some misplaced sense of chivalry inspired by her pretty words, and he hated himself for it.  Now, she would appease the beast raging inside him, and he would dump her at Port Royal, used and abused, just as he originally planned.

“I am rather new to sea fare, Jean Marc.”  The evening’s entertainment gazed on him and smiled.  How charming she was in her contrition.  “And you know I have never claimed expertise in the kitchen or the galley, as it were.  But Mr. Tyne told me you favor plum-duff, so I had Mr. Allen show me how to prepare the dish, just for you.  I hope you are hungry.”

“In truth,
Mon Chou
, my appetite has waned.”  Averting his stare, he sighed, as he knew just how to play her.  “But you should enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, but you must eat.”  In a flurry, she ran to his side and knelt.  Leaning on the armrest of his chair, she swept the hair from his forehead.  “After your lovely bath, will a hot dish not be the perfect ending to the day?”  When he remained silent, she emitted a half-smothered sob.  “Please, I beg you.  Just a taste, and it will inspire you to dine.  I filled the bags, myself, and I used extra currants, as Mr. Allen said you prefer the dish double-shotted, as he called it.  Does that not entice you?”

Ah, his routine greatly improved in the face of her remorse.  That afternoon, when she scrubbed his back with nary a pointed cavil, he also bade her wash his chest, that he might spread his legs and draw her razor-sharp scrutiny to his wicked erection, and his scheme worked beautifully.

An unusual mix of comeliness and intelligence, Maddie presented the ultimate challenge for a rogue of his caliber, and he sincerely anticipated her downfall, as he caught her attention, trapped it, and fed her innate curiosity.  Indeed, she said nothing when he took himself in hand and fired his cannon.  But she watched him.  She never took her eyes off him, as his seed burst forth beneath the surface of the water.  Instead, she pretended not to notice, but the little pulse beating at the base of her throat declared otherwise.

Indeed, he had her right where he wanted her.

“I shall try, Maddie.”  He patted her brown curls.

“Wonderful.”  Her expression brightened, as she leaped to her feet.  “I will return with our dinner.”  At the door, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.  “And I should warn you not to overindulge, as I have something very special planned for dessert.”

“All right.”  Jean Marc nodded, as so did he.

The meal passed in relative quiet, as Madalene tried to engage him in conversation, and he resisted her endeavors.  As he predicted, she increased her efforts, wheedling and cajoling, at once feeding him healthy morsels, which he met with unimpaired aplomb.

Afterward, she stacked the dishes.  “Now you wait here, as I collect our treat.”

Adopting the same dreary countenance, he answered with a shrug of his shoulders.  Alone, he smiled, as she remained oblivious to his licentious aim.  When she returned, he erased all trace of emotion and pushed his chair from the table.

“You are not retiring, are you?”  Crestfallen, she set down a covered bowl.  “Because I borrowed on my sewing skills to secure the primary ingredient for our sumptuous dessert, and I do so wish to please you.”

Intrigued, he inclined his head.  “What is it?”

“Chocolate mousse.”  She lifted the lid, revealing an appealing confection.  “Did you know Mr. Tyne possesses a horrid sweet tooth and hoards candy?”

“I did.”  Another notion formed in his brain, one that would benefit his strategy and launch his seduction.

“Shall I feed you?”  She dragged her chair closer to his.

“Yes.”  He slapped his thighs.  “But you will do so from my lap.”

Maddie stood stock-still, her spine almost as stiff as his cock, and then she blinked.  “Of course, Jean Marc.  Whatever you require.”

After scooting the dish to the edge of the table, she stepped about his legs and then settled herself, gasping when he cupped her bottom.  Whereas before he had avoided her prying gaze, now he met her stare as she brought a heaping spoon to his lips.  When he trailed his tongue across his flesh, she studied his mouth and returned to look him in the eye, and only then did he take what she offered.

And so commenced the dance.

With each successive portion, her breath quickened, and a sheen of perspiration formed on her brow.  To ignite the flames of passion, he alternated bites, taking turns serving her, and a faint blush colored her cheeks, as she shifted her hips and pretended not to notice his rock-hard erection.  Tugging at the bodice of her unremarkable yellow frock, she tensed her buttocks, re-deposited the bowl on the table, framed his face, and kissed him.

For the umpteenth time, Maddie shocked him.

It would have been so easy to direct her unschooled movements, but something about the way she touched held him in check.  Her teeth grazed his lips, and her glittering blue gaze flared with unmistakable awareness, as she all but demanded his surrender, but he resisted the urge.

Instead, he reveled in her sweet attack, in her untutored and clumsy caresses, as she tried to rouse him, but he clenched his fists at his sides, else the exchange would be over in a matter of minutes, and he would draw out the tender assault.  Madalene reached for him with every part of her body, arching her back, pressing herself against him, twining her arms about his neck, spearing her fingers in his hair, and yanking off his leather patch.  In opposition to her characteristic elegant mannerisms, she was far from gentle, but he wanted no benevolence from her, and he remained complacent in the face of her aggression, until telltale quivering shook her frame.

Only then did Jean Marc invite her into his mouth with a flick of his tongue, and she responded in kind.  It was as if her sails caught wind, as she lurched and bolted, deepening her invasion, licking, suckling, and nipping, signaling her growing ache with a whimper, beckoning with a strangled cry.  And that was when he rested a palm to her calf, but she conveyed no notice.

So he traced tiny circles along the sensitive inner surface of her legs.  At her knee, he delayed, he lingered, he took his time with her, and still she displayed no acknowledgement of his salacious advance, so he proceeded.

At last, he grazed the delicate little curls that surrounded the entrance to paradise, and she gasped, but he swallowed it.  Now he unleashed his hunger, let it envelop her, lead her, and drive her.  Given her lack of protest, he touched and parted her most intimate flesh, and it was then Maddie broke their kiss.

“Do you want me to stop?”  Hovering at the point of no return, his voice came to him as if through a dense fog, and he scarcely recognized his tone.  On the verge of triumph, he hesitated, and it took everything inside him, every ounce of strength to deny the enticing glory she manifested.  Desire sparked, flared, and spread beneath his skin, as an unquenchable flame, and he longed to brand her as his.  But despite his base urges, despite the overwhelming craving, he turned his attention to her and an approval he never imagined pursuing.

Shaking her head, she whispered, “
No
.”

In that instant, Jean Marc plunged and took his lady with him.  As he took the helm and steered them into the storm, he seized her lips.  With his tongue teasing and darting, he lured, caressed and inflamed, while he worked magic with his fingers at the apex of her thighs.  He journeyed beyond the confines of time and space, soaring into a world all their own.

Too soon, Maddie twisted and turned, stretched long, and went rigid in his arms.  Jerking free from his kiss, she met his questioning gaze with a wide-eyed stare, and in her blue depths he spied the wonderment of virgin completion, as she serenaded him with a series of precious yelps and sobs, before collapsing, relaxed, spent, and vulnerable in his embrace.

And that was the time to act, to push her onto her belly, on the mattress, and take her bottom.  Awash with insatiable lust and gritting his teeth, he thrust her to her feet, unhooked his breeches, freed his length, grabbed a napkin from the table, and shot his seed into the square of linen.

#

It was late, and Madalene tossed and turned in Jean Marc’s bunk, given his insistence that she avail herself of his hospitality, while he occupied the hammock.  She knew what kept her awake, what held her in thrall, but she understood it not.  In the dark, and beneath the covers, she revisited the strange series of events that led to the heated exchange after dinner and wondered how the buccaneer took command of her body so completely.  How he uncovered and connected with something new and exciting she never knew existed within her.

Beneath the sheet, she slid her hand down to the place he wreaked havoc and touched herself, but nothing happened.  At last, she sat upright.

“Jean Marc, are you awake?”  Unseeing, she held her breath.

“Of course.  How could anyone sleep with all that noise you make?”  He snorted.  “What is wrong,
Mon Chou
?”

“What did you do to me, earlier?”  Just posing the question gave her a shiver of delight, and she elaborated no more, as she suspected he knew exactly what she referenced.

“I pleasured you.”  He chuckled.  “I set you free, Maddie.  Why do you ask?”

“You cannot be serious.”  She kicked loose from the blanket.  “Can you explain it?”

“I gather you have never encountered anything like it.”  Did he have to use that arrogant tone?

“Did we make love?”  Folding her arms in front of her, she pondered the consequences of her behavior.  “Am I spoiled?”

“No, we did not make love.”  Given his response, she sighed in relief.  “There are many different ways to achieve completion without the deflowering, and what I did with you is but one.  No one need ever know of our games, unless you tell them.”

His reply, simple in its affirmation, sent her reeling, as she wanted to know more of his
many different ways
.  “So I retain that which is owed to my future husband?”

“Indeed, you remain intact.”  At his rejoinder, she collapsed into her pillow.

“And can you expound upon what you did to yourself?”  That was what she wanted to know most.  “As a particular part of your anatomy does not always appear so…angry.  But it perks up when I wash your back, and I know not what to make of what I witnessed this evening, but I must confess you fascinate me far more than you shock me.  Are you surprised, and do you think me a low woman?”

“I could never think ill of you, Maddie.”  She was so glad he said that.  “What you express is a natural, human desire, and there is no shame in your curiosity.  Indeed, our bodies were made for pleasure, and what I did for you I did for myself.  But there is nothing wrong in sexual fulfillment, and never let anyone tell you otherwise, because such desire often is fleeting.  It is to be treasured, thus you should celebrate what you experienced.”

Oh, she was, in silence.

“And what if I wish to partake of more?”  She prayed he would not make her provide specifics.

Several seconds ticked past, and Madalene, wound tight as a clock spring, feared she might explode.  Stretching her legs, she ached in that spot at the apex of her thighs, and she longed to savor his touch, but she lacked the courage to invite him to her bed.  But the hunger spiked and speared through her veins, charging every nerve, spreading, fanning the flames of desire.

“There is something we could try, but you must be certain,
Mon Chou
.”  How could he maintain a calm demeanor, when she wanted to scream?

Threshing and flailing with newfound passion, she clenched her jaw.  “Believe me, I have never been more certain, Jean Marc.”

“If I indulge you, I must have your word that you will stop me, if you become frightened or wish to cease the activity for any reason.”  He had to be joking.

“Know that you have it.”  She imagined his fingers between her legs, playing her as a finely tuned fiddle.

“Then we will begin your instruction, tomorrow.” 
Tomorrow
?  But she needed him now.

After a few minutes, a soft snore emanated from the hammock, and she expelled a rush of breath in frustration.  With her fist, she punched her pillow, rolled onto her side, and she doubted she would sleep a wink.