Kidnapped by the Pirate

But when he tried to conjure Mr. Chisholm now—his blond hair, green eyes starting to wrinkle in the corners as he passed thirty years—there was only darkness: the pirate king in his black raiding costume shining with gold, as bold and proud as the stallion that day in the paddock.

Nathaniel shouldn’t want that. He should want a good, kind man who would be gentle. Not a monster. Yet as he touched himself, he reached up with his left hand, fingers skimming the sore bruises Hawk had left on his throat. He remembered the big, powerful hand choking him, as if it could have snapped his neck like a twig, and he moaned again.

He skimmed his fingers over his face, which stubbornly refused to grow much hair. Other hand flying on his cock, he thought of the beard around Hawk’s mouth and how rough it would feel against his skin, in complete opposition to ladies’ creamy, tender cheeks.

Images ran rampant of Hawk bending him over the rail of the ship, mounting him, mastering him—

Nathaniel cupped his hand over the end of his prick as he came, thudding his head back on the floor as he shuddered with each pulse, the hot pleasure scorching him, leaving him raw.

Leaving him empty and bitterly ashamed.

Gut churning, he searched for something on which to wipe his seed. Then he was caught in a nightmare as heavy footsteps approached and the key turned in the door.

Desperately wiping his hand on the cursed blanket, Nathaniel barely got his breeches fastened and his shirt tugged down, springing to his feet as the door opened.

And of course it wasn’t some crew member, but the devil himself. Hawk froze in the entryway, eyes narrowing. He kicked the door shut. “What the fuck are you up to?”

Nathaniel backed into the corner. “N-nothing.”

Hawk’s fierce gaze swept around the cabin, then returned to Nathaniel. “The hell you say.” He stormed over. “What have you got there?”

Too late, Nathaniel realized he’d instinctively thrust his sticky hand behind his back when Hawk entered the cabin. Now Hawk wrenched his arm out, Nathaniel wincing through the bolt of pain. He hadn’t been able to wipe all the evidence away, and he cringed.

With a derisive laugh, Hawk peered down at Nathaniel’s sticky fingers, his grasp cruel. “Thought you’d spend your time wisely, hmm?”

“There isn’t anything else to do!” Nathaniel straightened his shoulders and lifted his head, snatching back his hand, surprised when Hawk released it. “I… Well, why shouldn’t I?”

“Why indeed. Dreaming of tupping your pretty little betrothed?”

Nathaniel sputtered. “What? Who?”

A dark eyebrow arched. “Your sister said you were to be married.”

“Oh. Yes.” He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “Don’t you dare speak of her.”

Hawk crowded him against the wall, all heat and muscle, and a sconce dug into Nathaniel’s neck. “You dare tell me what to do? No. Not in my cabin. Not on my ship. Not ever. Understood?”

He managed a nod, cursing how his flushed body tightened again at Hawk’s proximity. Then Hawk turned and took a seat at the desk. He unrolled a nautical chart and opened his log, picking up the quill and dipping it in ink. For minutes, the quill scratched over paper, and Nathaniel stood against the wall, unsure what to do.

Finally he sank back to the floor, and Hawk didn’t blink, ignoring him completely. When a man came with water and rations for Nathaniel, Hawk never so much as glanced up.

Nathaniel determined he would wait until Hawk left again before eating. He hugged his knees to his chest and kept his eyes on the floorboards. Waiting. And waiting.

And waiting.

He broke down and had a sip of the tepid water, watching Hawk from the corner of his eye. Nothing. It was as if he wasn’t even there, and somehow that made Nathaniel feel lower and more despairing than he had with Hawk’s hand around his neck.

Why should he want the attention of the villain who might kill him? No, of course he didn’t.

After a time, the quartermaster arrived. He stopped short when he spotted Nathaniel, as if he’d forgotten they’d taken a prisoner. Hawk asked him a question and continued to ignore Nathaniel’s presence.

Mr. Snell eventually did too as he spoke of navigation concerns and dark clouds in the distance. Yet every so often, his eyes darted back to Nathaniel and he shifted from foot to foot where he leaned on the front of the desk, Hawk still sitting behind it.

When Snell left and Hawk went back to writing in his log as if he were alone, Nathaniel’s mind wandered, settling on the issue of his future wife. He knew the duties of a husband and would do what he must. Perhaps he and Elizabeth could be dear friends, and having children to dote on wouldn’t be unpleasant, not at all. He’d always liked little ones well enough.