A Captive of Chance (3 page)

Isabelle came to sometime later in unfamiliar surroundings. It took her clouded mind a moment to remember the pirate attack and her current predicament.

As soon as clarity returned, she tried to sit up in a rush, only to realize she was tied down to a large bed. Her arms were raised above her head and secured to the headboard. Even more startling was the realization that her dress was missing. She was clad in her corset and pantalettes, but nothing more.

“I see you have returned to us,” said an amused voice as it entered the room.

“Untie me!” she demanded.

“Tsk, tsk. Such manners,” scoffed Chance.

“Where is my dress?” asked an incensed Isabelle.

“Well, my Belle,” said Chance in a conversational tone as he sat on the edge of the bed as if they were chatting over tea. “While you are as beautiful as a rose, you did not smell like one after your time in the bilge. The worst of it being on your gown, so being an obliging gentleman, I removed it.”

Isabelle yanked on her arms as she yelled, “You scoundrel! Return my things immediately.
Quiero mi ropa!
”

A hardness crept into Chance’s eyes. “I see my rose has thorns. You had better be careful. I assure you I won’t be the one to get…
pricked
.”

At that moment, there was a discreet knock on the cabin door.

“Enter,” called out Chance, still keeping his intense gaze on his captive.

Two cabin boys entered with a large copper tub. “We have your tub and hot water, Captain.”

“Excellent.”

There was silence in the room as the cabin boys traipsed in with bucket after bucket of hot water. Finally, they left and she was once again alone with the handsome but very dangerous pirate captain.

“If you promise to behave, I will untie you.”

“I promise,” Isabelle said quickly, too quickly.

No sooner had Chance released her bonds, then she flew off the bed and across the room, desperately searching for a weapon to grab. Luckily there was a small dagger resting on this desk top. Isabelle held it in front of her with both fists.

“You stay back,” she warned.

“You disappoint me,” said Chance with a sigh. “Now I shall have to punish you for your disobedience. I was hoping my first view of your delectable ass would have been under more amiable circumstances after we had come to an understanding, but so be it.”

Isabelle let out a nervous laugh. “You are mad if you think you will be seeing my… my bottom or any other part of my body.” She refused to say the word ass.

“We’ll see,” said Chance calmly as Isabelle watched him slowly undo his belt for the second time that day.

“Stay back,” she warned as he took a step closer. Isabelle waved the dagger in front of her as she tried to think of a plan. It was to no avail.

Chance flipped the leather tongue end of the belt in her direction, effortlessly whipping it around both her wrists. With a sharp tug, she was flung against his chest, the dagger falling uselessly to the floor.

Releasing his belt, he secured both her wrists with one hand. “And now to your punishment.”

Isabelle struggled as he dragged her across the room to a small wooden stool. Sitting down, Chance pulled her squirming body over his lap. Isabelle screeched and cursed.

“I must say I am impressed,” commented an amused Chance. “I had no idea a lady of your caliber knew such low language.”

Ignoring her further outbursts, he gripped the edge of her almost sheer, white pantalettes and pulled downward, exposing her creamy, caramel skin. Running an appreciative hand over the exposed curve of her bottom, Chance said, “Luscious. Just as I thought it would be.”

Bending the thick, leather belt in half, he pushed one strong forearm down between her shoulder blades to keep her steady. Raising his arm, he brought the belt down sharply across both her bottom cheeks.

Isabelle was so startled from the impact, it didn’t even hurt, at first. Then a sharp, stinging pain spread across her backside. Before she could fully register the pain, the strap fell a second time.

Chance watched as her beautiful ass jiggled slightly from the impact of his leather belt before blossoming into a pretty pink blush with just the faintest red outline from the belt. He directed the next two blows to the tops of her thighs and the sensitive skin just below the curve of her bottom.

Isabelle fisted her hands as she tried not to cry out and beg the scoundrel to stop. She had never been physically punished in her life. She was completely unprepared for the humiliating heated pain. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, the skin becoming more sensitive and swollen with each blow. Throwing pride and principle aside, she begged.

“Please stop. I can’t take any more. Please,” she cried.

Chance gave her two more straps across the center of her bottom for good measure before putting the belt aside. Once again, he ran his hand over her smooth ass, appreciating the heat rising from her pinkened skin.

The throbbing pain made his touch feel all the more invasive to Isabelle. Not realizing he had set the belt aside, she pleaded once more, “Please don’t punish me anymore. I’ll behave.”

Covering her bottom once more with her pantalettes, Chance set her on her feet before rising to his full height. His over six-foot frame dwarfing her tiny but curvy five-foot-three. Grabbing her by the chin, he warned, “See that you do, or you will get my belt again.”

Isabelle reluctantly nodded. Satisfied, Chance took a step back before issuing his next command. “Now undress me.”

Isabelle just stood there in shocked silence, certain that the pounding in her ears from her head being topsy-turvy when she was over his lap had affected her hearing.

“Belle, my bath is getting cold,” said Chance in a warning tone.

Isabelle swallowed as she took a tentative step towards him, grimacing as the movement sent a fresh wave of soreness to her still hurting bottom. Raising hesitant hands, she worked the top buttons of his shirt. The fabric opened to reveal heavily muscled deeply tanned skin. She was surprised to see only a small amount of dark chest hair. In some strange way she would have assumed a man as beastly as him would have a thick mat of animal-like hair under his clothes. Next, she thought she would be searching for horns and a tail!

When all five buttons were released, she paused not knowing what to do. The linen shirt needed to be pulled over his head, and he was far too tall for her to accomplish the task on her own.

“Let me help you.” His husky voice broke the silence and startled her. In trying to suppress her unwanted reaction to his nearness, Isabelle had focused so hard on the sculpted chest before her that she forgot the man attached to it.

Chance pulled the scrap of linen over his head and tossed it aside, carefully watching his little captive’s reaction. Taking in her sudden gasp of breath, her slightly open lips and focused eyes, he knew she was not immune to him.

“Now the britches,” he ordered in a low voice.

Isabelle glanced down to the buttons fastening his britches closed and quickly looked away. Her cheeks flushed a deep red that would have rivaled her punished bottom. Clearly outlined against his britches was the evidence of his very aroused state.

“I… um… I,” she stammered, instinctively licking her lips.

Chance focused on those glistening pink lips and almost abandoned his much needed bath. Reining in his self-control, he grabbed her hands and placed them on the fall front. “Unbutton my britches, Belle.”

With shaking fingers, she did as he commanded. It took several tries just to get a grip on the first button. After several tense moments, the buttons slowly came loose and with each one, more skin was exposed. When the flap finally fell open, Isabelle was shocked to her innocent core. He wore no unmentionables beneath his britches!

She took a startled step back. Chance’s hand whipped out to place a strong grip on her wrist, preventing any further retreat. Locking his amused gaze with her alarmed one, he slowly pushed the flap completely open and let the britches drop to his bare feet.

Isabelle knew she should avert her gaze but she could not look away. It was almost menacing in its length and girth. Having occasionally gotten a peek at a man’s member on the local island boys after they had been bathing in the ocean, Isabelle thought she knew what to expect. She was not prepared for his.

Lost in her observation of his surging member, Isabelle gave a start at the sound of his voice.

“As much as I would love to stand here as you appreciate my cock,
ma petite
, my bath is getting cold,” chuckled Chance.

Isabelle turned her back on him in a huff, placing her hands against her burning cheeks in an effort to cool them. She could hear the soft swish of water as he stepped into the large copper tub. Gritting her teeth at his pleasurable moan the moment the soothing hot water hit his skin, that tan skin covering his heavily muscled body.
Stop it
, she silently scolded herself.

Crossing the cabin to get away from his intimidating presence, she was once again arrested at the sound of his voice.

“Not one more step, Belle.” His casual tone hid the threat under his words.

Isabelle reluctantly turned to face him.

Holding up a large sea sponge, he ordered, “Be a love and wash my back.”

When she hesitated, he added, “I could always just drag you into the tub with me, and you could use your hands to wash my body.”

Isabelle flew to the side of the tub, grabbing the sponge out of his hand, ignoring his burst of satisfied laughter. Dipping the sponge into the warm soapy water, she began to scrub his back, hard.

“Ah, it’s so nice to have the…” he broke off with a grimace as a particularly harsh swipe reddened his shoulder blade, “the
soft
touch of a woman,” he finished sardonically.

Disregarding his mocking comment, Isabelle continued to harshly scrub his back, very careful to hold the sponge so that the skin of her hand would never brush his own warm skin. Leaning back on her knees, she bit her lip as she surveyed her handiwork. His back was a deep pink and had more than one scratch from the brittle edge of the sponge.

Chance raised his right arm. For a moment, Isabelle was frightened he was going to hit her for damaging his back. Instead, he calmly said, “You are not finished. My arms need attention.” Chance then laid his head back on the rim of the tub and closed his eyes as if he hadn’t a care in the world or wasn’t torturing a captive, innocent woman with his request.

With a sigh of relief and determined to remember to rein in her stubborn temper, Isabelle slowly moved on her knees to position herself to his side, next to the tub. Reminding herself again that she was at this man’s mercy, Isabelle gingerly placed the sponge in the water, careful to avert her eyes, before she ran it along his arm, from the shoulder to wrist. Against her will, she marveled not only at the display of relaxed strength but also the artistry of his many tattoos.

Softly running the sponge over the black and gray swirls of ink, Isabelle could make out the shape of an exotic bird on his shoulder. Like a band around the large muscle of his upper arm, there were more gray swirls, but this time they took the shape of a turbulent sea. Sneaking a peek to make sure his eyes were still closed, Isabelle ran the soapy sponge over his forearm. Under the waves was the drawing of a fierce sea monster, Isabelle knew was called a kraken. The tattoo was so realistic it almost made her believe, that the tales of the heinous squid she had heard during her childhood on the island were true.

Her eyes strayed to his hand, resting against the tub rim. It was tanned and weathered with just the barest spray of dark hair. Across the large hand was a patchwork of scars, cuts and rope burns, the hand of a seaman. Still staring at the quiet power of each vein and sinew, Isabelle remembered her punishment and blushed. This was the hand that gripped the thick, leather belt that bruised and reddened her bottom, the hand of a pirate.

Deliberately shaking off her conflicting thoughts, Isabelle moved to the other side of the tub to wash his other arm. Before giving a thought to her actions, she reached out her bare hand to trace the grotesquely, beautiful tattoo that splayed over his heart and upper shoulder. It was a skull with a death sickle curved over top its head and a delicate iris blooming under its jaw. Her fingertips traced a petal of the iris.

Isabelle stole a glance upwards and was startled to find a pair of sharp, emerald green eyes staring intently at her.

Chapter Three

His Riding Crop

Crying out in alarm, Isabelle tried to pull back, but the moment her soft hand left his warm, wet skin, Chance’s own struck out to grab her by the wrist.

Keeping his intent gaze locked with hers, Chance forced her hand flat against his chest. The silky warm feel of his skin contrasted sharply with the rough feel of the hair scattered over each contour. Isabelle once again tried to pull back, not wanting to learn anymore about the feel of his body under her touch, but a quick lifting of his chin in warning stopped her.

Slowly, her hand was forced across his chest and then downward. She could feel the muscles of his stomach contract and tighten as her hand swept over them. Chance’s green eyes never left hers for a moment as Isabelle felt the soft touch of the water against the back of her hand. Realizing his intent, she tossed aside her stubborn pride and begged.

“Please,” she choked out, her own voice sounding strange to her ears. Low and deep from fear and something else she refused to define. “Don’t.”

His lips flattened in a determined line as Isabelle saw his jaw tighten. With an even more determined glint to his eyes, he thrust her hand deeper into the water, between his open legs till it brushed his cock. Loosening his grip on her wrist, enclosing her small hand with his much larger one, he compelled her stiff fingers to wrap around his girth.

Chance gritted his teeth and groaned as her untutored hand hesitantly enclosed the length of his cock. Keeping her hand in a punishing grip, Chance applied pressure on the back of her hand till she understood his intent and squeezed her fingers tighter.