The Butcher and the Beast (4 page)

The doctor wiped his flat belly with a corner of his blanket, glaring at him. “You seem to have an abundance of appetite.”

John laughed, delighted. “Indeed, Grey, indeed. However I need sustenance before I indulge myself with you again.” He winked and stood, pulling on a pair of breeches before going to the door.

Simpson, their second youngest crewman and one with whom he’d taken more than one delightful evening, waited at the door. “Breakfast for two, boy. And make it quick.”

The doctor made a try for the door—the bastard was quick. He got a hand in the beautiful curls, pulling the doctor up short and dragging him back in.

Closing the door, John slammed Grey up against it. “There’s nowhere to go, and I promise you, if you leave my cabin half dressed as you are, you’ll find my crew much rougher than I am.”

Those stormy eyes rolled, Grey’s head tossing like an unbroken stallion, nostrils flaring. It was more intoxicating than any whiskey or rum he’d ever indulged in. He could feel the slender muscles clenching, Grey struggling against him.

“One day you will beg for my attentions,” he whispered into the doctor’s ear.

“Never.” That long throat worked.

“Then you will never escape me.” He only grew bored when his captives grew complacent.

“I am not as weak as you imagine me to be.”

“On the contrary, Butcher, I am counting on your strength.”

The doctor growled low, struggling again. “Set me free.”

“And what would you do if I did?”

“Bash your skull in, steal a rowboat and head toward home.”

“And do tell me, which direction is home?” Oh, he hadn’t had prey this delightful in far, far too long.

“You have been heading due south, so I shall head north…” Oh, a flash of worry there.

“You can tell by the list of the ship, can you? Or perhaps by the swell of the waves? Did we turn while you were asleep? Perhaps we turned more than once. Maybe we’ve sailed right by your isle again and thumbed our noses at your governor.”

“The sun, you fiend. It has shone in your porthole in the mornings—”

“Well, in what you have believed to be mornings.”

There was a knock at the door and he winked at Grey before pushing the man back onto the bed. “Ruin my breakfast and you shall feed upon nothing but my seed for a week.”

He got a horrified look, legs curling under the pointed chin. “Demon.”

He chuckled, opening the door for Simpson and letting the boy set the table for them and place their food.

“Is there any ale, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring some for the butcher. He needs something filling.”

The doctor snorted, leaning his face on his knees.

John grinned. “Come and eat, Grey. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to fight me.”

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

A smart one indeed, catching on quickly. “I am.”

Grey wrapped his long arms around the ragged cloth of his trousers, and he closed his eyes.

John chuckled. “You’ll be sorry you didn’t eat later.”

The doctor did not speak, but the man’s stomach growled, snarling low.

The boy brought the ale, two large mugs full, and set them on the table. Once he’d gone, John grinned over at Grey. “I thought you were a civilized man, but you refuse to dine with me.”

“Pardon me?” The barb caught his doctor, those eyes flashing. “I haven’t a shirt and you haven’t a stitch on. This is not civilized.”

“Use your imagination. I’ll even call you Doctor for the duration.”

Grey moved, settling gingerly in the chair farthest from him, eyes flashing. “Satisfied, Demon?”

“Thank you,
Doctor
.” He bit back his grin and pushed a plate and one of the mugs of ale in front of the man.

Grey paled, but took up the bread, color returning as they ate.

John waited until Grey had eaten a goodly portion of bread and drunk some of his ale before speaking. “So tell me, Doctor. How long have you been on the fair isle?”

“Eight years. Since I was a young man.”

“Oh, I’d say you’re still pretty young, Doctor.” And a virgin to boot. How strange a thing to embrace.

“I have twenty and thee years.” The age was given as if the doctor was ancient.

“Don’t tell me you were a doctor at only fifteen years!” He wondered if the man would be surprised to learn John could do arithmetic.

“No, though I was Doctor Patterson’s apprentice and worked in the debtor’s hospital before we voyaged to Santa Maria.” Those eyes blinked slowly, a touch unfocused. Surely a half a mug of ale could not be causing that. Could it be that the doctor eschewed alcohol on top of everything else?

“And to whom is it that you are promised and why is it that you have not yet taken her?”

“Miss Lippincott, the admiral’s daughter, and because we are not wed, of course.”

“You and I are not wed, but that didn’t stop me,” John pointed out, keeping his grin to himself by taking another mouthful of bread. Grey paled and pushed away from the table, breakfast largely uneaten. “Come now, Doctor. We were having a conversation, like civilized men. How will you teach me to be civilized if you will not stay?”

“Civilized persons do
not
discuss self-abuse at the breakfast table.”

He frowned. “Self-abuse?”

“Yes. That which you did earlier. Drawing…emissions. It is most unhealthy and steals a man’s vigor.”

It took him a moment to realize the good doctor was quite serious, then he began to laugh. “I assure you, Butcher, I am in excellent health and, as you may have noticed, have an abundance of vigor.”

“If you are so healthy, sir, then you will keep your word and release me.”

“I have told you, time and again that I have need of you still. Certainly not in your capacity as a butcher—excuse me, doctor—but in your capacity as a warm-blooded, vigorous male.”

The doctor shook his head. “I cannot…attend you.”

“You have no choice.”

“All men have choices.”

“You believe you have a choice in this matter?” Oh, that was intriguing. John had already proven he could, and would, take what he wanted from Grey.

“I have free will. You cannot have me, only the base pleasure you steal from your evils.”

He waved his hand. “I have what I need of you. Your body is mine to do with as I will.”

Those gray eyes looked away, Grey’s expression distant, cool. John chuckled and finished his meal, taking his time and letting the doctor stew. Grey stood and quietly reorganized his bag, putting all the equipment to rights, then began mending the torn shirt. John would have the opportunity to rend it again—very kind of the man.

He drank the rest of his ale and the doctor’s as well before standing and stretching. He felt good. “Do you need to check my wounds, Butcher?”

“You haven’t a fever, nor are you complaining of sepsis. I dare say you are mending.”

“But I wish to feel your hands on me.” John sat on the bunk. “Change the dressings. Check your handiwork.”

After shrugging on his shirt and bringing over his bag, Grey unwrapped John’s bandages and checked his wounds, touching him as little as possible. The wounds did look healthy, well-cared for. John took hold of Grey’s arms once the man was done, pulling Grey between his legs. “You are good at what you do.”

Grey pulled from his grip. “Unhand me!”

“No.”

Oh, the doctor was absolutely wonderful. Such fun. He got a better grip and tugged Grey closer, bringing their chests together.

“I have no wish to.”

Grey stretched that slender neck, keeping their lips apart.
How lovely
. Bending, John put his lips to Grey’s neck instead, tasting the sweat of the man, the flavor beneath that of skin. Grey’s whole body trembled, fighting to pull away from his lips. He put one hand on Grey’s back, fingers splayed as he kept Grey close. He wrapped his other hand in Grey’s hair and arched him, pulling his head back, which made the lean body push into him. His tasting grew teeth.

“Stop.” Grey bit the word out, pulling quite viciously at his hair.

He hummed at the pain, and sank his teeth into Grey’s neck, sucking up a mark. The cry he received was luscious, rich—all pain and fury and passion. He moved his mouth over, made another mark beside the first.

“Let me go!” The pulling became blows, Grey beating upon his head and shoulders.

Growling, feeling the pleasure sing through his veins along with lust, John grabbed Grey’s arms and held them behind Grey’s back, bending again to his task of marking the pale neck with as many of his dark bruises as he could.

Grey’s hands moved constantly, twisting and tugging against his, the doctor refusing to yield. It made John hard, made him want to turn the doctor over his bed and take him. He wished to be whole for that, though—his wounds healed enough that they didn’t twinge with effort. Instead he lay back on the bunk, pulling Grey down on top of him and rubbing up against the writhing body. Grey slid away, trying to avoid contact with his groin. John put one hand on the lovely buttocks and insisted upon the contact, so that he could rub and get himself off.

“No. No, let me go.” Grey’s hips bucked into his touch, Grey biting at whatever part he could reach. Such will, such desire to remain chaste, to rule over his body.
Delicious.
John rubbed harder and the doctor’s teeth sank hard into his upper arm, the pain sharp.

“Yes!” John shouted, cum spurting from him as his climax rolled through him.

“Animal!” Grey’s lips were stained with blood, his eyes wild.

John growled softly for Grey, reaching up to lick away the blood from the tempting lips. The good doctor bared his teeth, vibrating. Absolutely intoxicating. John would be spending a lot of time in his cabin, he could tell.

A single bead of sweat trailed down Grey’s marked throat, the man shivering. Humming, John leaned in and licked it off, tongue following the trail back up to Grey’s jaw. “You make me need, Grey.”

“You are mad.” That long throat worked.

He threw his head back and laughed, the accusation beginning to sound familiar from Grey. “Perhaps.”

Grey pushed against him, knocking him down. “Beast. You mock me.”

He lay back against the lush coverlets, lounging as if it was where he meant to be. “You lay yourself open to it, Butcher.”

The doctor backed away, grabbing a napkin and wiping his seed from the dark trousers, the mended shirt. “I am not a butcher. I am a good doctor.”

“Yes, Grey, I’ll give you that.” He brought one leg up, exposing himself thoroughly to Grey. Those eyes went wide, then slid away, the man refusing to look. Chuckling, he wrapped his hand around his shaft, pumping lightly. “You could join me. Relieve the itch in your balls.”

Those eyes went wide, cheeks blushing dark. “I would never…”

He let his gaze rake Grey from head to foot and back up again. “A shame.”

“Pervert.”

He laughed. “Yes, my dear Grey, I am.”

“It is no wonder you are mad, abusing yourself so…”

“Do you really believe it to be abuse? I assure you that I enjoy every moment of it.” Such odd notions these ‘civilized’ men held.

“It is unhealthy. It makes men wild, blind.”

John started laughing again. He couldn’t help himself. “I might give you wild, Butcher, but I assure you that at thirty-eight years, my eyes see as well as they ever have.”

“Thirty-eight?” Grey’s gaze actually met his, surprised. “You cannot be so old.”

“As surely as I’m a scoundrel and a thief, I have thirty and eight years.”

“Perhaps it is witchcraft.”

John growled. “There are no witches aboard this ship.” He turned and spat on the floor. “’Tis evil luck to even speak of one.”

Grey gave him a surprised look, a head tilt. “Indeed?”

John nodded reluctantly—he’d just given the good doctor ammunition.

“Hmm.” The doctor arched one eyebrow. “I should have muttered incantations at your men. Perhaps they would have let me alone.”

That made John chuckle. “Perhaps they would have at that. I will have to make sure they know you are not a witch. It cannot work, so don’t bother trying it.”

Grey sighed, rolled his eyes. “Bah.”

“Eventually you will come to thank me for your time here, Butcher. And you will beg me not to send you home.” No one could resist his charms for long.

“It will never happen. Beast.”

John grinned at the doctor. “Time will tell, Butcher. Time will tell.”

Chapter Four

As the Captain slept, Stephen took a single dose of laudanum, letting it drug him into a restless sleep of his own. His dreams filled with phantasms and ghosts, Ginny staring at him with accusatory eyes.

Water. Stars. Sun. Wind. Beasts with teeth. Midnight blue eyes.

Stephen groaned, running from those things that hunted him.

A hand fell on his arm, pulling him to safety, to warmth. He relaxed, wrapping himself in the sweet heat. A low hum sounded, something warm and heavy sliding to rest atop his legs. Stephen sighed, his fears easing, and he felt safe for the first time in days.

“You see, Butcher? Already your body knows me, wants me.”

Stephen stiffened, fighting the drug, the dazed dreaminess.

“Ah, your mind vexes your body. Poor Butcher.” John slid warm fingers across Stephen’s belly and he frowned, reaching to pull his blouse around him, trying to make his eyes focus. “You are mine and safe in my arms.”

“Not…” He reached up to slap his own cheek, wake himself from his odd lethargy.

“And you accused me of self-abuse.”

“I did. You do. I mean… You are.”

“You’re the one hitting yourself, Butcher.”

“I am no butcher.” He tried to sit up, get up. Get away.

The hand around his waist and the leg over his pulled him back against the pirate captain’s heat. “Stay.”

“I…” Stephen closed his eyes again, his body relaxing.

“There you are.” The captain’s warm fingers slid across his belly again.

He sighed, confused, dazed. “Here I am?”

“Listening to your body, sliding into my arms where you belong.”

“I belong…” He couldn’t focus, floating, swaying. That hum came again, low and vibrating along his back, matching the fingers that were stroking along his belly, sliding across the tip of his shaft…