The Merman and the Barbarian Pirate (24 page)

"Still sure you want this?" muttered Jon.

"Please… yes."

A drum thumped in Raef's chest, his mouth dry, his body a fast-flowing channel of need. He trembled to feel the power of this beautiful man, to have Jon vanquish his every last doubt. Jon drew away and pressed what felt like a greased fingertip to his entrance. He tensed and then tried to relax, anything to get his love inside him, beyond caring if it hurt. He craved Jon too much.

"Yes, yes. Want this," demanded Raef.

"I know." Jon's grunt sounded impatient. His attentions were anything but. Slowly, he stroked Raef, whose every sinew tautened, tight springs of need coiling in his balls. Everything Jon did to him… how… why… it was all so good.

When Jon pressed the digit inside, gently opening him, Raef's thoughts unraveled. The incredible sensations unhinged him further. Jon stretched and burned him, and the torment proved exquisite. "More," he murmured. "Want."

"Oh, I'm going to give it to you, lad."

Still Jon seemed too far away, even though he was leaning over him, fingers inside him and… oh! Jon tapped a patch within Raef's channel, and stars flashed in the darkness. Sublime currents rushed through him, then intensified as Jon brushed the sweet spot again and again. Raef feared he'd reach his climax from these ministrations alone, and half wanted to, though it wasn't yet time. This was going to get even better, he knew it.

After melting Raef into a puddle of pleasure—save Raef's cock, which remained rock hard— Jon withdrew his fingers, and replaced them with the head of his shaft. Raef tensed, trepidation springing once more. He felt the brush of Jon's mouth against his eyelids, his nose, and his lips. Then Jon jerked his hips forward and nudged into Raef's tight opening.

Raef gasped, and Jon smothered him with more kisses; the burn within him seemed ten times as intense as before, almost too much. But this was it. What he'd craved. He moaned into Jon's mouth, returning the caresses of Jon's tongue. He felt his passage adjust and give, and he pressed his arse forward, impaling himself deeper.

More, please.

"Raef," rasped Jon. "So amazing. So tight."

Jon began to move, and the darkness began to spin. Pain mingled with pleasure as Raef was stretched, filled, his body saturated with a myriad of euphoric feelings. Each was beyond intense, and all of them were welcome. His skittering heart was inundated with a sense of oneness while their kisses flamed. Jon plunged deeper, striking that receptive nub inside Raef and spreading molten lava between their bodies, incinerating and all-consuming. Jon found Raef's length with his fist and slid to the pace of his thrusts.

Yes… yes!

A flood submerged Raef, arising from both their cores. They'd melded, like ripples on the water, and as Jon's waves crashed into him, Raef surged back toward him like an undertow. "Raef," murmured Jon, and it seemed his voice resounded inside Raef's head. "Never… never been like this before."

Raef wished it could go on forever, but his peak rushed upon him, an unstoppable high tide that smashed him into a scattering spray of bliss. Jon climaxed deep inside him with three powerful jolts, and then collapsed upon him, damp as dew and heavy as an anchor, while Raef floated off onto clouds of utopia.

He laughed and sighed and inhaled the strong scent of Jon's love. He'd a pirate inside him, spooned around him, and he trusted Jon with his heart.

Raef had no recollection of falling asleep; recent events had seemed like a dream anyway. But he must have slumbered, because he woke up alone, missing Jon already, and feeling like he'd slept for quite a while. Opening his eyes to pitch-blackness alarmed him for a moment. Then a scuffling noise—Jon's dagger scratching at mortar—orientated him.

They were in such trouble, yet he couldn't suppress the joyful chorus in his heart. He was wrapped in the rug, as warm and comfortable as it was possible to be in such a cheerless pit. Though Jon was too far away.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Raef." Jon was beside him in an instant, and Raef scrambled to unravel the carpet so he could snuggle inside, too. "Good day, my lover. How are you?"

"Sore." Raef answered honestly, though he smiled as he spoke. Before Jon could respond, he pressed his fingers to Jon's lips. "Sore in a good way. You certainly make love like a barbarian. Whoever they were. I'm not sure Edith answered my question properly."

"In truth, I believe they were as honorable a bunch as any," replied Jon, stretching his long body out and drawing Raef into his arms. "It was a name given to the tribes who acted outside the laws of Rome." Raef knew who the Romans were. The mer possessed some fine statues, which were found on sunken Roman ships. "I believe one bunch of barbarians sacked the great city of Rome itself. But those Romans were a greedy bunch. They probably deserved it."

"Interesting," murmured Raef. "I think you really are a barbarian, after all." Jon was rough and kind, also. He broke the law, but had instincts that leaned always toward the cause of righteousness. Raef brightened and laughed. "I think I like it."

"I'm glad." Jon traced Raef's face, his touch solicitous, yet betraying his frustration. "I'm getting sick of this bloody darkness. I haven't forgotten how beautiful you are, but I damned well miss looking at you."

Raef chuckled again, not least because Jon was tickling down the length of his nose. "You sound like one of those silly verses you like to read."

"Oh yes, those." Jon chortled self-depreciatingly. "You saw through me before I did. I've pored over those for years, and denied they were anything beyond gimcracks. I suppose they really didn't mean a jot 'til I met you. After that, reading them made me feel like I was being flogged at the tumbler. And now we're in the darkness, I can finally see the truth."

Jon found Raef's mouth, and Raef couldn't resist drawing Jon's fingers inside. He ran his tongue around the digits in a fashion that drew a ravenous groan from Jon, who replaced fingertips with a kiss. Inside, Raef was still laughing, wondering how he could be in so much danger—mayhap living his last day on earth—and reveling in a happiness that outweighed most of his fears.

"I admire you for so much more than your beauty," rasped Jon. He nipped Raef's lower lip, sending tremors of delight through him. "Treasure hunting has never been so much fun as it is with you. I still say it, Raef—you're a natural pirate. No… I don't mean that. I don't want you to be a pirate. That was the mistake I was making before. You're you. And you're a natural
merman
pirate."

"I like that idea." Raef rubbed against the bristles on Jon's chin. He'd never want to be a human pirate, but the notion of becoming a merman pirate with Jon to guide him was thrilling. He could get used to it happily, learn and grow with the identity. Making life together work really didn't seem such a challenge, now Jon had confessed his devotion. Though whether they'd have any time together at all was a matter currently hanging in the balance. Raef's worries started to hold sway. "Have you any idea how long we've been here?"

"Only a few hours," said Jon, drawing his knuckles down Raef's cheek. "Though it must be morning by now, and as much as I'd love to lie here all day, we'd best get organized. Edith could have summoned the dragoons by now—or worse, the yeomanry cavalry, who'll take us back to Haverford's castle, I'd wager."

They groped about to find their clothes, bumping heads and elbows. Raef's mirth diminished further as the reality of their situation clawed beneath his skin. Jon had spent all night trying to loosen a single stone in the wall and had made no progress at all.

"The walls of this gatehouse could be four feet thick," admitted Jon. "If Edith has entombed us here alive, we'll have to keep at it. I've a feeling, however, we'll get a visit soon, and there'll be no good in going out shooting this time. Without the element of surprise, we'll be killed like rats in a trap."

Raef was about to ask what on earth they
were
going to do when it struck him. "So we'll have to go quietly. Surrender to the lobsters or yeomanry cavalry, and wait for an opportunity to escape." He fiddled to fasten the two buttons that remained on his stolen waistcoat.

"Quite right, lad." Jon managed to catch Raef's back with an encouraging slap. "We're thinking as one now. But there's something else."

"What?"

"If either of us gets an opportunity, we must leave the other behind and escape. It might be the only chance to survive. Once one man is free, he can come back and save the other. If the other's still alive."

Raef's pulse lurched even as footfalls tapped on the floor above. "You want me to leave you behind?"

"I want you to act like a good bad pirate," said Jon, sliding his hands up Raef's body 'til he clasped Raef's shoulders. "If the chance comes, you must leave me."

"I suppose so." Raef hated himself for saying it. There had to be some better plan. Now he'd got his breeches on again, his thoughts flew back to the golden conch in his pocket. While it was no use to them here, if they were taken nearer the sea, it could prove their salvation.

And if Galyna found him and took him home, he might never see Jon again.

He must tell Jon about his secret weapon, though he'd something more pressing to ask first. "Jon, would you really leave me?"

Jon clutched him tighter, and Raef discerned a dull grinding sound. Was it Jon grating his teeth?

"It'd be damned hard," said Jon after a moment. "I'd rather gouge my own eyes out, to be honest. God, Raef, what have you done to me?"

Raef smiled, mirthless and unseen, recalling how he'd once asked himself that same question about Jon. Love didn't always make life easier.

The grinding noise came again, this time much louder. "They're moving the dresser," said Jon. "Get behind me."

"No," said Raef, resisting as Jon tried to push him back. He silently cursed that he'd not got around to telling Jon about the conch. "I want to be at your side."

Jon had no time to argue. They knelt, shoulder to shoulder, as a strip of light flashed above them and their enemies veered into view.

Fifteen

A squad of six yeomen stripped them of their weapons and marched them outside the gatehouse. Raef found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Jon once more, standing as prisoners.

He pretended to stare dazedly at the leaves and nuts that dropped from a nearby tree while Sheriff Simpson clapped Jon in chains. In truth, he'd pushed every sense onto high alert. He kept an eye on Jon particularly, in case of any signal. Raef was frightened, but he'd be damned if he'd let these scoundrels destroy the happiness he'd only just found.

"Haverford's going to take great pleasure in seeing your neck stretched from the highest tree on his lands," leered Simpson. He disappeared behind Jon to lock the shackles. The top of his three-cornered hat peeped above Jon's shoulder.

"Much like you took pleasure in attacking defenseless villagers on his behalf," growled Jon.

"Hold your tongue." Simpson paced around Jon, angry, but couldn't prevent the blistered half of his face from speaking of his guilt.

"And you," said Jon, hammering his dark gaze into Edith. She had come out to watch the show she had orchestrated, sitting in a wicker chair placed beneath the tree. The ruby ring was back on Edith's finger, making Raef want to spit. "You started this dastardly business. You
will
pay your dues."

"I said, ‘silence’." Simpson slapped Jon with a glove. Jon retaliated with a malevolent grin, which filled Raef with hope. They could best Simpson and these fools with their muskets and prancing ponies. Indeed, it seemed Sarah and Cecilia could have already escaped. There was no sign of them. On the other hand, the girls might be locked inside or have been taken away. If it came to it, Raef would rescue them, too. He could do it. After all, he'd saved Jon before.

He breathed deeply, tasting ash and moldering apples. But as a mustachioed yeoman passed Simpson more irons, his determination wavered. Maybe this
was
the end. Once he and Jon were both in shackles, their outlook would be bleak. He could glean encouragement, but no good advice from Jon's sharp, sidelong glances.