Blow Me Down (22 page)

Then I woke up to find out it wasn’t a dream.

“What the—” A hand clapped over my mouth before I could scream.

“Shhh! It’s just me. Don’t yell or you’ll wake everyone up.”

I glared up at the dark shape that loomed over me. “They’ll be awake until it’s morning, and what the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re my wife. It’s traditional to sleep with one’s wife. Since you refused my bed, I’ve come to yours.” Corbin slid to the side on the narrow bed, pulling me up tight against him so I could feel how aroused he was. My body hummed a happy little tune of expectation, one I did my best to squelch until I knew exactly what was going on.

“I didn’t refuse your bed; you refused to take me home.”

“Your home is with me now,” he said, his voice tired.

“That wasn’t our agreement. Why are you here?”

“I told you—we’re married. I want to sleep with you.”

I peered up at the dark blob that was his face. “You sailed four hours just so we could sleep together?”

“Yes,” he said, rather grumpily to my mind. My anger melted away in a warm rush of a much softer emotion. I slid my hand up his belly, tracing a line over to his ribs. He sucked in his breath.

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No,” he answered, his body tightening as I gently pushed him over onto his back, bending my head to swirl my tongue around his pectoral muscle.

“How did you get here without being seen?” I asked his nipple, giving it a little lick. He twitched beneath me. “Bas and I ran into a half dozen people on the way home.”

“I designed the island, remember?”

I smiled at the suddenly rough note in his voice. My dream had given me a clear vision of what I wanted to do, and since Corbin had gone to so much trouble just so we could spend a few hours together, I would be a fool to deny both of us. “Yes, I remember. Ooh, a second nipple.”

“There’s a hidden cave that reaches a secret tunnel through the emerald mine. I came up through that without anyone knowing I was on the island. Oh, dear God in heaven. Do that again.”

I scraped my teeth gently on his nipple at the same time I dragged my fingernails up the inside of his thigh. His hips bucked upwards as he groaned.

“Clever man. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about the blockade?”

“No,” he said, stiffening. “Amy, if you think you can change my mind with lovemaking—”

“I don’t,” I interrupted, kissing my way down his chest toward his cute little stomach. I swirled my tongue around his belly button a couple of times. “I just wanted to know whether I should do the superdeluxe tongue bath, or the economy version. I guess you’re going for economy.”

He propped himself up on one elbow to glare at me. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but I knew the disgruntled expression that would be there. I grinned at it. “Oh, all right, superdeluxe it is. But you have to lie there until I’m through with you.”

There was a distinct note of interest in his voice. “What does the superdeluxe tongue bath entail?”

I bent over his hip and bit it. Not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force that he sucked in his breath again. “Biting. I’m in the mood to nibble you to death. You up for it?”

He grabbed my hand and brought it around proof that he was up for it. “What do you think?”

I nipped my way across his stomach, following each love bite with a little tongue swirling. By the time I worked my way down to his party zone, inspiration (and a rumble in my stomach) hit me.

“Don’t move,” I said, sliding off the bed. I snatched up my skirt and shirt, ignoring his whispered demands that I return to bed. “I’ll be right back. Just stay there.”

Miraculously, he was still on the bed when I returned with my hands full. He’d lit a candle, though, so I could see the unhappy look on his face.

“Where have you been? What do you have?” he asked.

I smiled and set down the three bowls I was carefully balancing, quickly removing my clothing before taking one of the bowls and sitting next to where Corbin lay. “This is fygey. It’s an almond and fig pudding.”

“I know what it is. I researched all the food used here,” he said, frowning as he watched me swirl my finger around the still warm pudding. “You’re going to eat
now
? I have the commute from hell, Amy. I don’t have a lot of time before I have to leave.”

I gave him my best leer. “Oh, yes. I’m going to eat now.”

Without waiting for him to respond, I tipped the bowl so a bit of the pudding slopped onto his belly. With much gusto, I licked and sucked the pudding up, licking my lips at the taste of Corbin-flavored dessert.

“That was good, but you know, I think we can make it better.” His eyes got big as I turned to look at that part of him that was expressing its approval of my change in dining habits.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure we can make it better,” he said, grabbing handfuls of bedding as I tipped the bowl again, slathering his penis with the sweet pudding. “Oh my God, Amy. You’re not . . . dear Lord!”

His eyes all but rolled back in his head as I licked up the pudding, leaving him hot and hard and clearly wanting more.

As did I. “Hmm. Good start, but a little unsatisfying,” I said, licking the last little bit of pudding from him. His chest sheened in the candlelight, his face flushed as he struggled to keep from grabbing me. I smiled. “Such good manners should be rewarded. I have here some treacle tart.”

“I love treacle tart,” he said, his chest heaving.

“Do you? I’ve never tried it, but you know, it looks awfully sticky and gooey.” I dipped my fingers into the open-faced tart, smearing the thick filling along the length of his shaft. He twitched. “It looks so thick, in fact, that mere licking isn’t going to take it off.”

“No?” he asked hopefully.

“Nope. This is going to take some serious sucking to get every last morsel of goodness.”

“Thank God,” he moaned, his head falling back on the pillow as I flicked my tongue across his treacly parts.

“Mmm. Tasty. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I know I am,” he said, but it was the last coherent thing he said for a while as I consumed the treacle tart in a manner that had both of us keyed up to point where I thought one—or both—of us might explode.

When he warned me that to continue would be folly, I looked sadly at the last bowl. “But I still have the apple cream custard.”

“No problem,” he said, suddenly lunging up. Before I knew it, he had flipped me onto my back and was nudging my knees apart, the bowl of custard in his hand. “I happen to love apple cream. If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”

I didn’t even hesitate. “It’s all yours,” I said.

He smiled at the double entendre, but instead of dabbing me with bits of custard, as I expected, he poured the whole thing over me, starting at my crotch and ending at my chest.

“Corbin!” I shouted in surprise. His hand clapped over my mouth.

“Quiet,” he warned.

I nodded my head but said when he removed his hand, “Ew! You got it everywhere! Now I’m all sticky.”

“Sweetheart, you’re going to be a hell of a lot more sticky by the time I’m through with you,” he said.

And he was right. By the time he’d licked off the custard bedecking my groin, he’d sent me spinning to heaven twice. My pleasure had pushed him farther than he’d imagined, but neither of us complained when he abandoned the cleanup job to thrust hard into me. The custard acted as a lubricant on my torso, causing our bodies to slide together in the most erotic sensation of flesh rubbing on flesh that I’d ever felt, the feeling of his custard-dampened chest hair brushing against my sensitive breasts almost more than I could stand.

I came again, hard, my legs locked around his hips in my attempt to pull him deeper into me, triggering his own release. I caught his groan in my mouth as he pumped, his hips straining as he poured himself into me.

“I love you, Amy. God help me, I love you,” he panted into my ear, following that declaration with a wet kiss.

I kissed his neck, smoothing my hands down his back, wondering if he really meant it, wondering how we were going to resolve the problems facing us, and most of all, wondering why I suddenly didn’t give a damn about anything but the man who lay in my arms.

—Ibid, Act I

“You can’t be serious about leaving.”

Corbin pulled on his pants and boots, pausing to look around for the black shirt he’d worn in order to avoid being seen. “You can’t be serious about staying,” he countered, having found the shirt.

I watched him don it, giving myself a moment or two to admire the play of muscles in his shoulders and back as he did so. He might not be a blond bodybuilder, he might not be handsome enough to drop a woman at twenty paces, but he sent my blood boiling every time I saw him. “Me staying does not entail a four-hour sail in the wee small hours of the morning. Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes.” He stood and looked down at where I lay on the bed, crumpled and exhausted and extremely sated. My limbs felt boneless. “You look like a woman who has been well loved.”

I gave him a long, slow smile. “I am a woman who has been well loved. So well loved that I think you turned my legs to jelly. Corbin . . . gah. I want to beg you not to leave, but I don’t want you to stay, either. Bart would gut you the instant he saw you.”

“We’ve been over this twice in the last half hour, sweetheart.” He bent to give me another of those kisses that made my toes curl with delight. “The blockade has to go forward. You, however, don’t have to be a part of it.”

“And for the third time, I’m going to be with my crew, bringing the blockade to a swift and successful end,” I pointed out, propping myself up on an elbow. “Corbin, what if you talked to Bart? Would it be possible for him to cancel the whole thing?”

“Not if it’s part of the scenario, and I don’t see how it can be anything but integral to it. Too much is at stake,” he said, giving me another kiss before swinging a leg over the windowsill. “I’ve got to go, love. The sun will be up in a few hours, and I need to make it to my ship without anyone seeing me.”

“Hang on, Corbin—I never got to ask you about how I go about getting supplies through the blockade.”

He gave me an unreadable look. “You’ll need to go to one of the supply ships and requisition what you need.”

“Okay.”

“You are aware that you will only be able to get the most basic of supplies? If you think you’ll negate the purpose of the blockade, you’re in for a disappointment.”

“I understand,” I said evenly. “I know it bothers you that I’m going to be supplying the people you’re trying to starve out, but I’m not going to let you hurt them, Corbin.”

He sighed. “I’m not trying to harm the people of Turtle, Amy. As far as the game goes, I’m trying to help them.”

I fought an eye roll at that ridiculous statement. Corbin swung his second leg out the window.

“Wait,” I said, sliding out of bed despite the fact that I was naked. “What should I do about Renata?”

He paused, cocking an eyebrow at me. “What about her?”

“I told you I thought she’d been reading my letter from you, and she searched my room. And also she . . . well, she feels different from the others, if you know what I mean. She’s said some things that, now that I think about it, are kind of odd.”

“Hmm.” His brows pulled together for a moment. “Renata is the mentor for Turtle’s Back. I put one on each island—mentors are put into the program to help the newbies, guiding them to crews, jobs, that sort of thing. Mentors can flip back and forth between colloquial language and modern language, depending on the situation.”

“Oh,” I said, a tiny bit disappointed. I liked Renata and was very grateful for everything she’d done for me, but the idea that she could be the mysterious Paul who had trapped us here was very tempting.

“However . . .” He frowned again, shaking his head a little. “She shouldn’t be inquisitive enough to search your things. That’s outside the programming. It’s not out of the question that Paul has corrupted her file, however, and is using her character. Keep an eye on her, Amy. Make a note of anything she does or says that doesn’t ring true. If the situation warrants it, we’ll take a harder look at her.”

He jumped out of the window when voices from the square could be heard, giving me a heated look before disappearing into the blackness. My heart twisted at the sight of his shadow blending into those of the trees, the faint remaining moonlight casting an odd silvery tint to everything.

I stayed at the window for a while, resting my cheek against the cool wood of the window frame while I tried to sort out my tangled thoughts. The fact that I
had
tangled thoughts annoyed me—I was a methodical, organized person, and I expected my brain to follow suit. But ever since I’d woken up to find myself in this pirate world, control had slipped from my fingers, and I seemed to be unable to regain it.

“Stop making such a big deal about it, brain,” I lectured myself as I got washed up and dressed. “There are just two points that should be concerning you—finding Paul and ending the blockade quickly. Well, all right, there’s finding a home for Bas once we do find a way out, so that’s three. And I really want to make sure that the retirement fund for Renata’s ladies is going to work, not to mention I need to inventory and reorganize Tara’s shop so it’s more profitable . . . gah. Too many things. All that really matters is getting out of here, and standing around talking to yourself isn’t going to help, Amy, so get a move on.”

Renata and the ladies never rose before early afternoon, so Bas and I were usually on our own in the mornings. I found him sitting at the scarred table in the common room, morosely eating a bowl of porridge, which was the only thing he knew how to fix.