Hawk actually shut his eyes after a time, and Nathaniel’s pulse fluttered at the intimacy of it. The pirate king made mortal, his stubborn blood seeping out between Nathaniel’s fingers, though slower now.
Despite his best efforts, Nathaniel’s gaze zeroed in on Hawk’s soft, reddish prick, curving flat against his belly. His substantial balls were hairy and thick. It was impossible to ignore, and he had the brief luxury to look.
Filled with blood, Hawk’s cock would be…impressive. Nathaniel wondered what it would feel like in his hand, if it would be hot to the touch. Would it be bitter, or salty like sweat on his tongue? Would his spendings taste different from Nathaniel’s when he’d shamefully licked his own seed from his hand in the past?
He swallowed thickly. What would that cock feel like shoved inside him? He wouldn’t run from it the way the mare had tried to escape the stallion. No, before he died, Nathaniel wanted to experience a man’s prick inside him, even just once. He was going to hell for his sinful desires regardless, so the journey might as well be worth it.
What if I die on this ship?
A bolt of panic caught his breath, and he had to steady his hand on Hawk’s wound, fighting the urge to scramble away. He stared down at the pirate. What if he kills me?
Would this man truly gut him if Walter didn’t pay? Perhaps if Nathaniel continued to help him—if he could ingratiate himself—Hawk would be unable to slay him or follow through on his threats against Susanna. Perhaps Nathaniel could save himself.
His gaze was drawn back to Hawk’s prick, a low beat of want resounding. Perhaps he could save himself and fulfill his cravings. He’d always imagined he had plenty of time to explore his fantasies, to meet a man he could trust with his secret.
But even if he survived the trip to Primrose Isle and the ransom exchange, how soon would he have to marry Elizabeth Davenport? Growing up, he’d known he’d have to wed eventually, but perhaps not until he was thirty. Plenty of time.
Yet now the sands tumbled through the glass relentlessly. He’d told himself he’d only need it once—to be fucked the way he’d envisioned, to satisfy his curiosity and desire. And the itch, once scratched, would be manageable, and he could marry as required and be a faithful husband.
But the risks of finding a man to trust on the unknown Primrose Isle were great. He should have done it before he’d left England, but short of polling the servants on who would be willing, he hadn’t had the opportunity.
He’d have greatly loved for Mr. Chisholm to share his desires, but the man was good and kind and devoted to his wife and young daughter. Nathaniel had known he’d be rejected. He hadn’t been able to bear the sight of disappointment—and worse, disgust—in his tutor’s eyes.
His own breathing was harsh in his ears. It was beyond sinful and improper to be stirred by Hawk’s genitals, the man’s blood all over, an open wound under Nathaniel’s hand. Had it only been, what, not even an hour since Nathaniel had cowered under the desk, certain he’d be swallowed by the sea at any moment?
The fear had left a strange desire thrumming through him. Not mere desire for the male form—that he’d felt for ages. But a yearning to reach out and take hold of life while he still could.
He could feel Hawk’s pulse through the wound, the steady drum of his defiant heart, and he wanted to touch it, taste it, revel in being alive.
At that very moment, another volley of cannonballs might be hurtling through the air, about to obliterate them. Nothing was assured, each breath its own little miracle.
He eyed Hawk, wondering what the reaction would be if he leaned over and took the pirate’s cock between his lips. Surely most men wouldn’t protest a wet, warm mouth around them, no matter whose it was.
One of the boys from a neighboring estate had been sucked by an admiral’s daughter once, and he’d described it in such ribald detail Nathaniel had stiffened in his breeches and not known of whom he should be more jealous—his friend for being serviced, or the girl for being able to take a hot prick into her mouth.
“See anything you like?”
Nathaniel jerked his head up, ripping his gaze from Hawk’s groin to find the pirate watching him. His mouth had gone dry, and he hoarsely replied, “What? No.” He busied himself changing the bandage again. “This needs to be stitched. There’s no way around it.”
“Mmm. Time will tell.”
He huffed. Why was the swine so stubborn? “I bet you it does.”
Hawk met his gaze then, blue eyes fathomless, but his lips twitching. “What will the prize be this time?”
Was it possible? Not only was the pirate king a mortal—bleeding and as vulnerable to injury as the rest of them—but he was entertaining a joke?