Kidnapped by the Pirate

Chapter Thirteen

Clouds had evidently made way for the moon and stars, which would soon enough give quarter to the dawn. The blackness was now broken by pale silver that revealed the shape of the desk and carved chair, the bookcase and rolled charts, melted hunks of wax in the candelabra.

Hawk’s bed was still in shadow, and he needed to leave soon. He liked to be present for the changes of watch, to be with the men, to guide them if necessary, but usually to stand apart and observe.

He needed to dress and take to the main deck and issue whatever orders were necessary as another day approached. He needed to fulfill his duties as captain of The Damned Manta.

Yet for the moment, he found himself utterly content to be a mere man. A man more than satisfied to be cocooned in the darkness with…whom, exactly?

My lover.

The traitorous words rang through him like the clang of the ship’s bell, solid and true even as he listed dangerously, his equilibrium gone.

My lover. Nathaniel.

Despite the peril, Hawk found he could no longer think of him another way. Not “Plum,” not “the boy,” not mere cargo to be ransomed. Oh, he was a prize, but of a very different sort.

Nathaniel snorted and shifted onto his back with a murmur, his hand coming to rest over Hawk’s arm across his belly. Even in sleep, Nathaniel beguiled him. The thought occurred once more that if it was all an act to gain Hawk’s favor, Nathaniel belonged on London’s stages.

Hawk could just make out his parted lips in the dim light, and wondered what it would be like to taste them, to swallow Nathaniel’s sweet moans and sighs, plunder his mouth; fuck him with his tongue as surely as he did with his prick.

Said prick swelled at the notion, pressing into Nathaniel’s hip. It had been years since Hawk had kissed. There had been a few other men after John, but only rough, quick tumbles, a means to an end. He’d found if he didn’t know the man or care a damn about him, he’d rather achieve release without any further bother.

Usually his hand was sufficient, although the first privateer ship he’d served on had had a little closet with a cock-sized hole and eager, nameless, faceless mouths on the other side of the wall. Perfect to find easy release.

Now he thought of Nathaniel on his knees for him, those pink lips stretched over his shaft, swallowing him guilelessly. This did nothing to abate his erection.

He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t fuck Nathaniel again, but that had been yesterday. He hadn’t sworn it today, which had barely begun and stretched out before them tantalizingly.

Closing his eyes, he turned his attention to the slap of waves against the hull and the swaying of the ship, much gentler now than it had been last night. They had dropped the sea anchor and only drifted slowly.

Would he miss being rocked to sleep if he did find a way to retire?

The sea had been his home now for many more years than the land, and he didn’t think he could ever leave it entirely. Yes, an island would be perfect. A house within sight of the water, a fishing boat bleaching in the sun where the sand and grass met, out of the tide’s reach.

He hadn’t fished since he was a boy, and he’d like to learn again. Maybe he’d even climb a tree or two.

Images of Nathaniel hanging from the rigging intruded, Hawk’s heart kicking up, abating his hardness. Fuck, the terror that had gripped him when Nathaniel had clambered up with no thought to the danger had been…soul-shaking.

He’d climbed amazingly fast, stunning the crew, and even Hawk for crucial moments. When Hawk had leapt to follow, Snell had hauled him back down, shouting rightly that the extra motion would be more of a danger to Nathaniel and O’Connell.

Nathaniel had seemed only a speck in the sky, far beyond reach. The moment when O’Connell had been freed from the frayed footrope and swung onto the rigging ladder was seared in Hawk’s memory.

His mind substituted a different outcome wherein O’Connell’s weight tore Nathaniel loose and they plummeted to the deck, skulls cracking like eggs, blood and brains splattering the wood while Hawk could only watch uselessly.

To have that light snuffed out, those honey eyes go distant and cold, to not have the opportunity to tell Nathaniel… What? Hawk wasn’t sure, a tumult of mixed emotions tormenting him.

How could he feel anything but contempt for Walter Bainbridge’s son? How could he want to hold him near and keep him safe? He should only care about the ransom, about revenge, yet…

Groaning, Nathaniel stretched his arms overhead. When he winced, it drove all other thoughts from Hawk’s mind. Nathaniel’s eyes popped open, shining blearily in the hint of moonlight.