Locke inhales slowly, his eyes fixed on the tapered spot between my legs. Delicately he teases my folds with the knifepoint, the touch as light as a moth’s feathery foot.
Then, with a suddenness that makes me gasp, he flings the knife at the wall. It sticks in the paneling, vibrating with the force of his throw, and before it has time to still, Locke picks me up and tosses me onto his bed. It’s even bigger than the one in my room, and it has pillows to spare.
Naked I lie there, arching my legs up and spreading them wide. As Locke begins to disrobe, I let my fingers glide through my folds, showing him what he does to me, how much I desire him.
“Veronica,” he rumbles. “Such a good little seductress.”
He strips everything off and plunges onto the bed, crawling between my legs and moving my hand from its tantalizing work. “Look at this,” he moans. “Look at you. Gods.” A savoring lick, and I whine, trying to arch and buck, but he splays a firm hand across my abdomen. “Shh, there’s a good girl. Let me taste you.”
His tongue travels every seam, laps every delicate fold, dips into my center. Then he begins a quick, rhythmic lapping against the tiny bit that’s so exquisitely sensitive, and I squeal, breathless, desperate with the shock of how incredible it feels.
“Locke,” I half-shriek. “Locke, you have to stop—don’t stop—gods, oh gods—”
His hands grip my thighs, kneading the flesh, and his tongue increases its quivering pace. He pauses to kiss the spot he’s tending to, and suck, and then he hums against me—
My body shatters. It’s an aching, twisting, thrilling, blinding explosion, radiating from his mouth through my belly, along both my legs. A few seconds of rigid, spine-tingling ecstasy, and then I relax, panting and boneless, while his fingers soothe me through the fading pleasure.
Locke rises to his knees, arches both my legs up, and pushes inside me. My body welcomes him, clenching and sucking him deeper. With a groan he begins to move, his hips flexing, every angle and plane of his tanned body suffused with candlelight.
He takes his time, long slow strokes while I recover from my first climax and begin the ascent to another. “You feel so perfect,” he whispers. “Like velvet and wine.”
“The Pirate King is a poet,” I breathe, reaching up and pulling him down to me. He kisses my mouth and picks up his pace, growing more urgent.
“Ruen,” I murmur, tangling my fingers in his hair.
He groans deeply, pressing his forehead to mine. His huge hands grip my body whole, and he slams us together with renewed force, rushing out and ramming in, hard, deep, violent—my skin thrills all over—every bit of me clamoring, craving, climbing—
Locke circles the pad of his thumb at the apex of my core, but he’s shaking with the effort of holding himself back.
“Stop tending to me,” I bite out. “Let me have you. Ruin me.”
He slams into me again, again, again—my body hardens and tightens around him, bucks into the building pressure—and breaks, shattering, quivering, blissful.
Locke shouts, harsh and broken, and he convulses against me, into me, coming harder than he ever has before. His palms slam against the mattress and his body drapes against mine as heavy gasps surge from him.
We collapse, delirious and sated, sinking into a haze of glorious ease. There’s a light sweat coating both of us, but we cool quickly, thanks to the breeze wafting through the open windows—
The open windows?
Whistles from somewhere outside and below reach my ears. I gasp, burying my face in Locke’s chest. “They could hear us?”
He laughs, completely unperturbed. “It’s fine, love. No one cares. They’re happy for us.”
With the fading of the bliss comes the reality of what I agreed to tonight—the overwhelming responsibility of it. I quell the excited panic in my chest. There will be time for learning my role as Pirate Queen later. First, I need to focus on the next step Locke and I must take.
Confronting my brother.
75
The storm is a soaring fortress, a wall of blended darkness shot through with flickers of purple lightning. TheRaven’s Frenzybobs on the churning sea, like a tiny fragile sea-bird facing an enormous kraken.
At the prow, the mage Vesser stands with his hands outstretched, every sinew of his arms granite-hard from effort. He’s manipulating the currents, holding theRaven’s Frenzyin place so we won’t be sucked into the storm until we’re ready.
It’s likely that when we do go in, theRaven’s Frenzywill be dashed to pieces. That’s the part I’m most nervous about, because I can’t swim. But Locke has promised to see me through the danger. I’m a key piece of this plan. Without me to distract Mordan, to speak to him, Locke has no chance of overtaking my brother and tattooing him into compliance.
My brother’s powers have grown—that much is clear. His air currents have altered the natural paths of the windstreams and siphoned the currents into a sucking whirlpool. There’s a mindless rage to the spinning cloud and racing spray—a roaring torment of pain. Something has happened to my brother, something more terrible than our dark childhood.
Locke palms the railing of theRaven’s Frenzy,smoothing it gently. He’s saying goodbye to the ship that gave him freedom and an empire.
