A | B | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

---

PART I

---

MARCH, 1780
ATLANTIC OCEAN, TRADE ROUTE

THE RISING SUN CREPT under Celia’s eyelids and she stirred against the big, warm male beside her. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see Judas there, lying on his stomach angled away from her, one arm under his cheek and the other dropped over the side of the bunk. His hair, black and silver, mixed with her sun-bleached strands and fanned out across the pillows.

He was snoring.

That he trusted Celia enough to sleep that soundly, alone on what might have been an enemy ship for all he knew, pleased her more than it should have.

… that’s a greeting I didn’t expect.

Not for a heartbeat did she believe his claim that he knew her men would not kill him before he got to her, yet he had taken the risk. From stealing a kiss to stealing her figurehead to stealing into her bed, he had more than demonstrated that he wanted her and would do whatever he had to do to have her.

Rafael had taken advantage of her youth and impressionability, then proceeded to take her love and loyalty for granted. Celia’s husband had nursed an infatuation from afar and feared her rejection of him so much he had had to be coaxed to meet her.

But this man …

She smiled sleepily and turned until she lay half atop him, inserting her knee between his legs and raising it so it just brushed his soft sac. She caressed one dark, brawny shoulder and kissed the other.

An almost-purr began to vibrate from deep inside Judas’s chest when she stroked his scarred ribs, but otherwise he did not move, leaving her to marvel at what a powerful man he was, both physically and as a commander.

The Silver Shilling was a British ship of the line, with a roster at least four hundred men strong, of whom a third would be marines. There were no pirate vessels of that size. Ships such as his were built for war, not speed or stealth; the number of men needed to sail and defend one was not conducive to cohesion or loyalty; and the number of prizes they could expect to take would not be enough to feed and pay that many people.

I doonna know where ye’ve been in the last year that ye’ve’na crossed paths with Judas …

His actions during the blockade spoke to his long experience as a commander, because he could not have gained it in one year of pirating on a ketch, much less a ship of the line.

Judas was, in fact, not a pirate and everything about him betrayed it. He was a well-educated and well-seasoned British officer bent on the destruction of the very navy that had trained him. Moreover, she thought he might be from somewhere near Yorkshire, though his accent was far more refined than any she’d heard, and was overlaid with a heavy Oxford polish.

Celia could not fathom commanding four hundred men under any circumstances, nor could she imagine any pirate or privateer commanding such a large contingent, much less leading them into a one-man war against the most powerful nation on Earth. That there were four hundred men who would follow him into that war spoke volumes of his leadership.

She would wager her last farthing he was from landed gentry or a wealthy merchant family. The possibility that he was of noble lineage was too slight, given that the repercussions for such would destroy not only him, but his entire family and the title.

Mrow.

Dindi arose from her place at the head of the bunk and sought to nuzzle her way between them, butting and pushing at Celia’s face and shoulder. Celia shooed the cat away (though not without many protesting meows), but the animal would only obey so far as to hop up on Celia, walk down her body, and perch at the foot of the bunk in a huff.

Judas was still offering up his version of a purr when she opened her mouth against his shoulder … and bit.

“Hell’s bells, woman!” he croaked and shifted until he could look at her over his shoulder. “What was that for?”

She made to answer, but had no good reason to give. “I—” she began, but stopped, suddenly and thoroughly bemused by her act. “I thought you looked rather … delicious. I have never done that before.”

His eyelids lowered. “Do it again,” he growled.

Celia blinked at the request, but fulfilled it, sinking her teeth into that big muscle, licking his skin, still salty, and tasting something that was just him.

“Harder,” he whispered.

In sudden understanding, Celia smiled against his flesh even as she swept her hand down his back to cup his tight arse cheek.

His back arched away from her when she dug her teeth and nails into him at once. “God almighty,” he rasped.

“Mmm,” Celia hummed when she released him to lick at the small wound she had made, tasting the bitter copper. Her fingernails were sticky with his blood, which she smeared over his arse, then slapped him.

Hard.

He groaned.

“I’ve heard about men like you. More?”

In answer, he moved so that she fell back on the bunk. He flopped to his back, grasped his turgid cock, and scowled at her. “This, you do not bite.”

She grinned and arose over him, slid down his body, situated herself between his bent knees, and took him in her mouth. Clean from her ministrations a scant two hours before, she tasted him, Judas, with a hint of soap. She ran her tongue ’round the head, down the underside length, pressed her nose and mouth into the crease between his cock and bollocks.

“Fury,” he croaked, his hand in her hair.

Her quim was wet and empty, the cool air kissing her, tormenting her. She wanted so much for him to fill her again—

Celia screeched when she was jerked upright, one great arm around her waist, lifting her, spinning her round until he slammed her face-first against the bulkhead. She gasped when he spread her legs and speared her.

If any other man had had the audacity to accost her thusly, Celia would have fought her way free, and then she would have slaughtered him.

He grasped her wrists and raised them, pinning them together with one big hand against the wood above their heads.

“Judas,” she panted, feeling him in her, still, stretching her.

“Now I have you where I want you,” he gritted in her ear.

She should have expected this.

She had no desire to stop it.

“Well, get on with it,” she said as calmly as she could. “In, out. There’s a good pirate.”

He barked a surprised laugh and withdrew until his cock was barely brushing her.

“Back in, now, Judas. You know what to do.”

The force of his thrust made her grunt with some pain that melted into pleasure with every hard shift of the warm, velvety skin of his lower belly against her unscarred and oversensitive buttocks.

“Do you— imagine— someone else—” Celia grunted between his violent strokes, “—now that— you’re fucking me— from behind?”

“Nay,” he growled in her ear. “I imagine you. Completely at my mercy. The way I should’ve taken you in Oranjestad, bent over a table in front of the entire tavern.”

“God, yes,” Celia whispered in appalled ecstasy, her face against the wall as he pounded into her, his cock sliding in and out, his bollocks slapping against her button. “Harder.”

Hinges squeaked and the door flew open. “Oh, Captain Fury, please forgive—” A shocked gasp and choke. George, late for her newly assigned duties as Celia’s cabin girl.

“Get—out!” Judas snarled without once breaking his rhythm.

The door slammed and they were alone once again, Judas’s chest to her back, her fingers clutching wood and his fingers clutching hers. Celia couldn’t be bothered to care about the poor girl’s shocked sensibilities.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing and licking with the rhythm of his hips. Nibbling.

“If you bite me,” she panted, “I’ll kill you.”

Neither his lips nor his tongue left her skin, but she no longer felt his teeth.

He thrust deep inside her and stilled suddenly, sliding his hand down her leg. He was not taking his release, so …

She knew what he was about when he grasped her knee and pulled it back to wrap her foot around his hip. Her thigh burned with the stretch and her quim felt a new kiss of air. Still, she assisted him when he repeated it with her other leg, being very precise about where he placed her feet.

His hips moved, resumed the punishing pace and force.

“Judasjudasjudas,” she panted with every step to ecstasy she took. He kissed, sucked, licked her neck as he went harder and faster.

He was fucking her now the way his ship was fucking her figurehead, her feet curled around him the way her figurehead’s feet wrapped the rails of his ship. She was impaled upon Judas’s cock, his upper body keeping her utterly immobile.

The way his prow impaled her figurehead.

Her climax welled up in her cunt and her belly and her chest and finally she broke with the wail of an animal.

He opened his mouth against the nape of her neck, his teeth barely scraping her skin before he seemed to think better of it. He pressed her harder against the wall, kept her that way, growling and grunting into her skin, until his hips jerked upward once, twice, three times with such force it hurt her.

He stilled on the last and most painful thrust.

His cock twitched within her, forcing a nervous giggle out of her.

“That, Madam,” he growled against her neck, “is how my ship fucks your figurehead. All the goddamn day and night.”

“Not so,” she whispered. “She is on top.”

He continued to lick at her, the flat of his tongue rough and soothing her bruised skin where he had sucked at her.

“I’ve never … That was unlike anything I have ever known.”

“I don’t believe that,” he muttered. “You’re not an innocent.” He was still licking her. Still inside her. Still pressing her hard into the bulkhead, his hand now cupping her mound.

After the moment they spent catching their breath, she felt him shrink and slide out of her with a sweet pop. With it, all his juices ran down between her thighs. She sighed, vaguely aroused at the feel of him, the feel of his possession of her, his taking of her.

She had not been taken like that since she was an adolescent, when Rafael had begun to add variety to her education—and she had never allowed him to do it again.

She did not like being taken any more than she liked being bitten.

Until now.

By the biggest—strongest—man she had ever tumbled.

Finally, she admitted, “I have never tolerated such violence from my bed partners.”

“That surprises me.”

“I prefer to be on top, the one in control.”

Judas’s chest suddenly rumbled with a chuckle. “Ah, not so surprising, then. But you tolerated it from me.”

She had no response, no way to explain that to herself, much less him, so she pried them both away from the bulkhead. “I must tend myself, Judas,” she murmured.

He complied slowly, his large hands wrapping around her arms with some tenderness and pulled her back against his chest. He eased her feet from around his hips and helped her straighten them.

She moaned in pain, but instead of garnering his sympathy or contrition, she merited only chuckles. Once she had waddled to her private head, she heard him wandering about her cabin. Every creak of every plank was unique and let her know exactly where he was and, most likely, what had attracted his attention.

What had she done, allowing this man such liberties?

What had she done, admitting she wanted him to take them?

’Twas thoroughly shocking. Nay, ’twas horrifying. It made her question everything she knew about herself.

Yet he hadn’t bitten her.

Nothing would have compelled his obedience had he a mind to disregard her wishes, thus he had complied out of respect for her. In the midst of his show of dominance, he had yet bent to her will.

She pressed her fist to her breast and bowed her head, breathing deeply in an attempt to gather herself.

When she emerged from the head enrobed in red silk, he gave her a cocky grin and took his turn. She noted a pair of damp breeches half hanging out of her stern window, then sat at her table. She was nearly finished grinding the herbs for her elixir when he emerged. She glanced up to see his nude body glistening with water droplets, his cock peaceful against his sac.

He gestured to her mortar and pestle. “Might as well prepare a large batch, Madam, as I intend to avail myself of your charms as often as possible.”

She could not help the pleased smile she directed at the table. “That was my intent. Find me an empty rum bottle. We finished the one last night, did we not?”

“Aye,” he grunted and swept it up off the floor, thumping it on her table with a flourish before heading to her liquor cabinet and sitting on his haunches in front of it. “You, Madam,” he mumbled as he ran his fingers over the bottles, surveying its contents, “are a connoisseur.” He picked out a bottle of a fine Italian wine. “This will do.”

Celia cleared her throat. “Do you care to cover yourself, I shall call my girl back to bring breakfast. Hopefully you have not driven her to cast herself overboard.”

He laughed and dropped himself back on the mattress, uncorked the bottle, and took a long draught.

“What is that you are wearing? I have never seen such.”

“’Tis called a kimono,” she murmured. “From Japan.”

“Japan?” he asked sharply.

She slid him a glance, wondering at his tone. “Aye,” she drawled. “Do you not care for it?”

He paused. “I was simply curious,” he murmured slowly. “From the rumors, I gather you are far more well travelled than I.”

“This was given me on my seventeenth birthday. I have not been that far east nor have I met any Japanese.” She watched him examine the worn gold embroidery and spots where the silk had thinned, an enigmatic smile curling his mouth. He looked up to find her staring at him, which he held for a long while until his smile faded.

“What are you thinking?”

She bit her lip and tried to find words. “That—” She gestured toward the bulkhead. “What you did to me. It was … wonderful.”

“Says she who decries violence in bed but awoke me with a bite and drew first blood.”

“It was a … whimsy. I cannot think of another explanation. But then you asked for more. Why?”

He shrugged. “I like it. Why should I not ask my lover for what I want if I have reason to believe she will grant me the favor?”

She was his lover now?

No passing bedsport was he, to be paid (or not) and left behind without a second thought when it was time for her to return to her work. This man demanded a place in her thoughts. She suspected he would continue to long after their association ended.

When she didn’t answer him, his expression hardened and she caught her breath.

“Madam, I will have you know that you are magnificent.”

Celia’s heart swelled so large she thought her body would burst. “And you,” she whispered. It was true: His arms were enormous, his legs long and his thighs strong, his arse tight. His shoulders wide, his belly flat with vague lines around his muscles, his cock of average length but thick and heavy.

She looked up, into his face. It, too, was strong. His nose was straight and aristocratic. His cheekbones were high. His skin was darkly tanned and lined from sun and laughter. His eyes … Oh, God, his eyes.

The silver streaks in his black hair made him look—

“How many years have you?” she asked abruptly.

“Eight and thirty.”

—older than that. He had had a hard life, though the laugh lines belied it.

“You are twenty-five or thereabouts?”

She barked a laugh. “Thereabouts! Next month, I am one year shy of thirty.”

“’Tis not usual for a sailor to look younger than his age.”

“My age is writ large across my breasts and back, Judas.”

“Ah.”

“Are you married?”

“Nay.” He paused, then continued on slowly as if suddenly remembering some troubling thing. “If I were, would that curtail any willingness you might have to engage in an affaire?”

“Aye,” she said matter-of-factly. “I will be no man’s second.”

“Even if he didn’t love his wife?”

Celia stilled and looked at him, but his expression was carefully blank. Too careful. She tilted her head. “Why would anyone not wed for love?”

He shrugged. “’Tis done all the time.”

Celia’s eyebrow rose. “Commoners have the luxury of marrying for love.” She rushed on before she could think too deeply on it. “Is there some reason you might feel compelled to wed a woman you did not love?” Ah, there. The slightest tightening of his mouth. She went on before he could answer. “Politics? Land, wealth, family expectations? All those reasons bespeak power and the building or continuation of dynasties.”

“That is enough, Madam.”

Celia was torn between glee that she had found some clue to his identity and sadness that if he were in such a position, she would not be an acceptable candidate for a wife—and not because of her social status.

Candidate.

Rafael had wanted her, so he had seduced her immediately. Talaat had been overjoyed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Candidate.

It was enraging, that her femininity—her self—could be reduced to candidacy.

“Do you know what is rare amongst commoners?” she went on without allowing her growing bitterness to leach into her voice. “Commands. I am not wholly familiar with the intricacies of the British Navy, Sir, but is it not true that one can purchase a commission if one is wealthy or high-placed enough? That would thereby grant him a far greater opportunity to rise to captain. And is it not also true that aristocrats are deemed better leaders because they are of the ruling class and therefore inherently superior in knowledge and wisdom? From what I have seen, you have been a commander a very long time.”

His warning scowl was unmistakable. “Cease that line of reasoning, Madam.”

“Pirating only a year, eh? On a ship of the line? A full complement of sailors and marines? Do you know: A quarter of my crew is comprised of second and third sons of wealthy merchants, landed gentry, and nobility—every one of them running from their fathers.”

His jaw ground, but Celia had ever dared where she should not. “I am reasonably certain of the conclusions I am drawing, I’ll have you know.”

“Madam, shall I stuff your mouth with my prick to get you to cease?”

Her vanity still wounded, she feigned amusement. “Do you not remember I bite, my lord?”

His jaw ground, but Celia stood and went to her bunk where he half-lay, propped against the hull, one arm behind his head and a blanket tossed carelessly over his midsection.

In this time and place, however, she was not a candidate for anything: Judas had also wanted her enough to take her. The question was: Would he cast off his obligations to keep her should she wish to be kept?

She sat, her hip against his, and reached a hand out to trace some of the lines around his mouth. “You like to laugh.”

His mouth turned up in a reluctant smile and the lines around his ice blue eyes—good Lord, those eyes!—deepened. “Aye,” he murmured. “I’m not one to brood. I should be furious with you.”

She leaned in to kiss him softly, closing her eyes and opening her mouth. Judas threaded his fingers through her hair and closed them into a fist to hold her close whilst they kissed.

“I shall make a point to lie back and love you gently,” he murmured finally when she pulled away, “if that is what you prefer.”

His respect for her and her preferences warmed her to her soul, but it was a simple enough task. His preferences, however … “Alas, I cannot reciprocate, for I know nothing about administering pain for pleasure.”

He smiled slowly, sensuously. “I will be more than happy to teach you.”

---

If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.

Pirates!