The Butcher and the Beast (7 page)

He grabbed one of Grey’s hands again, bringing it around to his cock. Those fingers closed around his flesh, then opened, then closed again. The war within Grey was delicious and John bit at Grey’s lower lip, making a soft noise. More Grey. John wanted more from the man. The little sting caused Grey’s fingers to squeeze, touch him, feel him.

“Yes!” He pushed against Grey’s hand. “More.”

“I-I.” Grey groaned, pushing back into the kiss, hand squeezing him.

He moaned, pushing his tongue into Grey’s mouth and deepening the kiss as he slid his hips and his cock through Grey’s hand. He didn’t leave the good doctor hanging, either, wrapping one of his own hands around Grey’s cock, showing Grey what felt good.

They rocked in time with the ship, driving toward their passion, their climax. Grey was quite good at this dance, a natural once he gave into it. John couldn’t wait to see Grey’s face as he came. Grey’s eyes went wide, needy, the hunger pure and undeniable.

“That’s it, Grey. Let go. Give in to the pleasure of it.” His hand moved faster, bringing Grey ever closer to the edge.

“I… Don’t. I don’t…” Grey’s head fell back, throat working.

“But you do, Butcher. You
are
.” He latched onto Grey’s neck again, tongue delving into the little hollow where Grey’s collarbones met. The taste was so good, so male and hot, flavored by Grey’s need.

Heat sprayed over his fingers, Grey convulsing as his cry filled the air.

“Aye. Oh, yes, Grey.” The scent was magnificent and John breathed in deeply. It was sweeter somehow this time. He wrapped his hand around Grey’s on his own erection, kept it moving. Grey leaned against him, face hidden from him, fingers still squeezing his flesh. A kinder man might have left it at that, but he was a pirate—the captain of pirates—and as he felt himself draw close to finishing, he took Grey’s head in his hand and tilted it so that those pale eyes could watch his face as his seed spilled from him.

He groaned, holding Grey’s gaze as he came.

Grey stumbled back a half step, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He chuckled as Grey nearly tripped over his falling hose, but his hands were gentle as he tugged them back up and redid the clasps. “You see, Butcher? The same seed that pulses from me also finds a home in you.”

“I…” Grey shook his head, trembling visibly.

“Were magnificent, once you left your silly notions behind.” He cupped Grey’s cheeks and brought their mouths together again, pressed their bodies close so that he could feel that trembling against his skin.

Grey’s lips were sweet, parted and swollen, shock and satiation keeping them open for him. His tongue swept through, his kiss lazy, taking and tasting Grey’s mouth. He knew this trembling, pliable man in his arms would not remain so for long. Soon enough Grey would recover and his misguided notions of civility and decorum and propriety would return full force.

Still, this moment was quite delicious, near reeking of victory.

John slid his hands down to cup Grey’s ass again, enjoying the feeling of the twin globes within his hands, bringing their bodies close. Grey’s skin was hot, almost feverishly so, the trembling growing stronger as John devoured Grey’s mouth.

They settled onto the mattress, his hands smoothing over Grey’s skin, refusing to allow the man a moment’s respite, refusing to allow Grey a moment to think. He slid the breeches away once again, their bodies sliding together skin on skin from head to toe.

Grey tensed, shivering against him. “I cannot. My clothes.”

“They were in the way.” He wrapped his hand around one beautiful buttock again, tugging Grey close.

Grey closed his eyes, relaxing against him, breath slowing, bit by bit.

The butcher, sleeping in his arms. By choice. John smiled. Oh yes, he was accustomed to winning all his battles.

He gave in to his own exhaustion, the pleasure and his wounds hurrying him to sleep as well.

* * * *

Stephen had gone mad. That was, of course, the only logical solution. He had gone quite mad and possibly—no, almost definitely—the marks that bastard had left upon his skin had somehow befuddled him. Perhaps he had broken a vessel. That was it. A broken vessel. Fouling what little sense he’d had.

Stephen nodded, stitching his blouse up—yet again—while the great pirate snored. Perhaps he should bash the man’s head in, remove the problem altogether.

A knock came to the door, and the snores stopped, but it didn’t seem that the pirate woke.

“Sir?” called Tom. “I have your evening meal.”

Stephen stood and opened the door. “He’s sleeping, Tom. I was considering bashing his head in to stop the awful sounds escaping him, but your knock appeared to do the trick.”

Tom’s eyes went wide at his words, then the lad giggled, coming in to put the tray on the table. “If you rub his back, it makes him stop snoring.”

“My plan was much more entertaining, young master Tom.”

Tom giggled again. “You sound like a pirate.”

“That’s because we’ll make a pirate of him yet, Tommy.” The captain sat and stretched, muscles going tight and then relaxing.

“That is highly unlikely, Beast.”

“You can call me John, if you like. Though I must admit, I rather like Beast. It has a certain ring to it.” John’s lips twitched. The pirate was laughing at him.

Tom giggled again. “Do you want anything else, Cap’n?”

“No, we’re fine, lad. Thank you.” John’s eyes slid over Tom’s form, then Stephen’s own.

Stephen rolled his eyes, going back to his mending. Next time he would bash the man’s head in. Truthfully.

The pirate actually pulled on a pair of breeches, the material tight, outlining the generous cock. “Look at you. Stitching so carefully. I’ve a shirt that needs mending. You can do that next.”

“Balderdash. I am not your woman.”

John laughed. “Indeed, you’re very much a man. You showed me that earlier.”

Stephen felt his cheeks heat, ducked his head and fought his groan. “You have no class, sir.”

“I do. I just choose to live in a world where it matters not.” John speared a chunk of meat with his knife.

“Where did you come from? Surely you weren’t born upon the sea…”

“Perhaps I was born upon the foam like Aphrodite.”

That image caught Stephen, captured him and made him laugh, amused him to the bone.

“You should do that more often, Butcher.”

“Do what, Beast?” He cut the thread with his teeth.

“Laugh.” Leaning forward, John slid a finger along his lower lip. His lips opened, pure shock keeping him still. “Yes, that’s a nice look as well. Makes me want to take your mouth.” John pushed his finger in and out of Stephen’s mouth in a suggestive manner.

Stephen pulled away, growling, frowning at the pirate. “It is not yours to take.”

“Oh, but my dear Butcher it
is
.” John closed the distance between them again, finger pushing roughly into his mouth. He bit down, groaning, growling. Refusing to let the pirate push him too far this time. John jerked, but didn’t pull his finger away. “You remembered I like it a little rough. I’m touched.”

Stephen pulled away, scooted back, body threatening to betray him, to fill. “You are quite mad.”

“Is that your diagnosis?” John’s eyes kept wandering from his own, sliding over his skin left bare as he fixed his blouse.

“Yes.” His nipples drew up as that gaze crossed over them.

The noise John made was animalistic and went straight to Stephen’s cock. Reaching out again, John’s finger slid across his nipple this time. “So responsive. There is such passion locked inside you.”

He gasped, he couldn’t resist, could not help himself. A low hum came from John, the pirate’s eyes narrowing, heating. John’s finger slid across his nipple again, turning at the last moment and scraping the nail over his flesh.

“Don’t.” A flash of lightning pushed through Stephen, and his lips opened on a gasp.

John held his eyes, finger passing over his nipple again. “Who’s going to stop me?”

“I can.” His belly rippled, near ached.

Lips twitching, John grabbed his nipple outright and pinched. “Oh, really?”

Stephen groaned, fingers wrapping around John’s wrist, tugging at the strong hand.

“You have lovely hands. No match for mine, but I like the feeling of them on my skin.” John seemed determined to turn everything back to sex.

“You…” He was going to lose his mind.

“Yes. Me.” Leaning even further, John took his mouth, lips pressing hard to his. Stephen stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, arms windmilling as he fought for balance. John grabbed at him, arm going around his waist and pulling him up tight against the solid body. “Careful, Butcher.”

“I…” Did one thank one’s captor for catching one up?

“I’ll take a kiss for saving you a nasty fall.” There was a wicked look in John’s eye as he kept Stephen close, mouth descending upon his once again.

Stephen’s entire body arched, off-balance, breath stolen. John’s tongue pushed into him, sliding obscenely within his lips. He groaned, grabbing hold of John’s shoulders as his head spun. John slid his fingers along Stephen’s spine, squeezing Stephen’s ass hard with his other hand. The smell of the sea and water soaked wood faded, to be replaced by something male and musky.

“Do you do
nothing
but rut?” Stephen asked when he had use of his mouth again.

“I eat. I drink. I fight. I sleep. I dream of rutting.” John gave him a wink, laughing at him.

“You should pray for your eternal soul, Beast.”

The sound of John’s laugher vibrated against him where he was pressed up against the wide chest. “I’m a
pirate
, Butcher. A little rutting is the least of my eternal soul’s problems.”

“This does not bring me great comfort.”

“It wasn’t meant to.” The hand at his ass massaged his muscles, John sliding one finger along his crease, pressing the material of his breeches against his skin.

“Find another to occupy yourself.” Stephen arched away, trying to keep his groin away from John’s touch.

That arm about him was solid and he only succeeded in having John tug him closer still to the long body. “You are the one who intrigues me. I want no other.”

“I…” He shook his head, hips rubbing into John’s heat.

John hummed, gliding a thumb along his crack. “Yes, you.”

Stephen would never offer that willingly, never trust that hand not to ruin him, tear him. “Never.”

That wicked laugh sounded again, drowning out the sound of the sea, the sound of his own heartbeat. “Never will come sooner than you think.”

So tired. Stephen was so very tired of the fight, of the perpetual worry and passion and fear.

“Nothing to say?” John pressed his fingers against Stephen’s entrance, only the thin material of his breeches keeping them out of him.

“You quite exhaust me.” He squeezed his body tight, groaning in protest.

“It is you who exhaust yourself, fighting me so.” His head was tilted, another kiss taken from him. His breath was quite stolen away, his heart pounding in his chest. The kiss went on and on, John biting at his lips as it finally came to an end. “Or perhaps it is yourself you fight.”

“You know nothing of me, nothing.” Stephen’s cock was full, heavy, aching in his trousers.

John slid a hand around him, finding his shaft unerringly, fondling him through the cloth. “I know enough.”

His errant body rejoiced, bucking up into the touch, desiring it even as his mind rebelled. John’s kisses resumed, tongue pushing into his mouth like it belonged there, fingers pushing into his breeches to wrap around his shaft, skin on skin. Stephen groaned, torn between sensations, between needs. John obviously had no such qualms, the hand around his cock moved with sure purpose, pulling such pleasure from him. If only he could think, could feel something beyond the pleasure, the heat, then he might be able to… John scraped his heavy thumb across the slit of Stephen’s cock, which made him jump and gasp.

John’s kisses became harder, more intense. He could feel the demand in them, and in the hand that worked his erection. His body insisted that he move, press into the touch, into that hard, wonderful hand.

“That’s it, Butcher.” John spoke against his lips. “Take what you need.”

“Don’t. I can’t…” But he could and he did and to protest seemed foolish.

“Of course you can.” John laughed, biting at his lips, tongue pushing in between them, fucking his mouth.

Heat flooded him, his desperate noises loud and shocking in the cabin, in the air around them. John’s moans and growls joined them, John’s other hand sliding along his buttocks and pressing against his entrance as his cock was roughly stroked with the other.

“Don’t…don’t ruin me.” Shudders rocked him, his entire body caught in the storm.

“Not this time. I will not take your virginity—you will give it to me.” John’s hands kept moving, pulling on his cock and sliding along his crease. There was no cessation, no moment to breathe or think. Stephen shook his head, gasping, hips moving in random little jerks and pulses.

“Keep saying no, Butcher. I’m sure you don’t know the meaning of the word.” Stephen wasn’t even sure what the man spoke of, all he knew was the fire inside him. A fire John continued to stoke, to build until it was all consuming and there was nothing but their bodies caught within the flame. Heat poured from him, one wave of heat after another crashing over him.

“You should see your face, Grey,” murmured John, slowly sliding his hand away from Stephen’s cock. John held the same hand to Stephen’s mouth. “Taste yourself.”

“Please.” Stephen could not see which he begged for—to stop or not.

One of John’s fingers pushed into his mouth, covered in his own seed, the taste sharp, salty and bitter. He had two paths—to bite or suck, and his body chose the path of damnation for him. John’s moans surrounded him, the seed soaked fingers sliding in and out of his mouth. John’s other hand landed on his shoulder, pushing a little. “I would have your mouth, Butcher.”

“No. No, I cannot.” It was sinful, the road to madness.

“You keep saying that word, and yet, here we are with your seed on my fingers…” The hand on his shoulder continued to push, not quite forcing him down.