Blow Me Down (30 page)

“Granted, but I just told you both that I’ve talked to Bart, and he seems very much a computer character.”

Holder waggled a finger at me. “No. You said that you’ve talked to him a lot, but you didn’t grill him. There’s a difference between having casual intercourse with a character”—he shot Corbin a look—“
social
intercourse with a character, and trying to determine if they are a player or not.”

“But . . . don’t you guys know whether you created Bart or not?”

“Sure we do,” Corbin said. “Bart was created to be a nemesis to players—I told you that. But given Paul’s programming abilities, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to guess he’s taken over the character and is now running it himself.”

“True.” I chewed my lower lip while I mentally ran over all my conversations with Bart. “You’re right. I don’t think I ever did really ask him a pointed question. He’s always seemed so perfect for the role, I guess I never questioned that he could be anything but a computer character.”

“The prosecution rests its case,” Holder said, leaning back in the chair.

“Now, wait—just because I didn’t ask him about his childhood doesn’t mean he’s this Paul guy.” I looked from Holder to Corbin, who was looking thoughtful. “For Pete’s sake, Renata has acted much more suspicious than Bart. In addition, there must be other people in the game you haven’t tracked down yet to talk to.”

Corbin nodded. “We’ve done about ninety-five percent of the people on Mongoose, but not all of them. You said you’ve done the same?”

“No, I’ve talked to all forty-seven inhabitants of Turtle’s Back. None of them are anything but what they seem.”

“Except Bart,” Holder said, a stubborn expression on his face.

“Possibly Bart. He’s in the
possible
category, and I’m willing to bet that a couple of direct questions would clear up any doubt.”

“Right, but how are you going to ask him questions now?” Holder asked.

I frowned. He had a point.

“Ha, gotcha on that one. Running away is the surest sign of guilt,” Holder crowed.

“Not necessarily,” Corbin said, rubbing his chin. “He could be exactly what Amy says—a computer character whose actions are driven by the circumstances provided by the player data.”

“Really? Did you program computer characters to turn over their crews to players?” I asked, more confused than ever about Bart. Could I have been taken in by him?

“Actually, yes, if the data matched preset criteria, a character might well abdicate in favor of a senior player officer.”

“But I’m not an officer,” I pointed out.

“Moot point—you’re the only player in his crew, so that makes you the senior person. Something you did could well have triggered Bart’s AI into making him turn over the crew.”

“Or it could be a nefarious plan to trap us,” Holder insisted, still looking stubborn.

I rubbed my forehead, my thoughts so muddled I couldn’t seem to get them to make sense. “We’re back to where we started. It’s like we’re going in circles. We keep trying to get somewhere but don’t actually do anything.”

“You’re tired,” Corbin said, marching over to the door and opening it. He gave his first mate a very pointed look. “You need to go to bed. Everything will be clearer in the morning.”

Holder rolled his eyes as he obeyed Corbin’s unspoken command, sauntering to the door only to pause. “I’ll be the first to admit that a steamy, sweaty night of unbridled sex has many powers, but it won’t decide the problem of Paul.”

“It’s too late to do anything tonight,” Corbin said. I agreed.

Holder gave me a quick leer. “I’d wish you a good night, Amy, but I doubt you’ll need—”

Corbin pushed him through the door, slamming it behind him. As an afterthought he locked it, tossing the key onto the desk.

I crossed my arms. “Locking me in again?”

“No, sweetheart,” he said, his smile so filled with love it made me want to cry. “Locking the rest of the world out.”

“Sounds good to me. About this plan for a steamy, sweaty night of unbridled sex . . . I’m afraid there are going to be conditions.”

“Oh, really?” Corbin stood on one foot and yanked his boot off. “What sort of conditions? Something exciting? Something naughty? You want to tie me down?”

I was about to tell him that I wanted to see for myself how his wound was doing before I gave the okay to anything so strenuous as a bout of lovemaking, but the image his words presented gave me a couple of moments’ pause. “Do you want me to tie you down?”

Corbin looked thoughtful as he pulled off his other boot and started unlacing his leather jerkin. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been tied down. I generally prefer to be in the driver’s seat, but if you really wanted to go Amazon on me, I suppose we could give it a shot.”

I smiled as I walked over to the desk. “I have a better idea.”

The last thing I saw before I left him was his questioning frown. I hurried up the stairs to the quarterdeck, found Leeward Tom, and gave him my request. He looked startled, but nodded and summoned Barn and a couple of others. While that was being done, I trotted back downstairs, pausing to kiss Corbin quickly as he stood with his hands on his hips in the door to his cabin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as I headed for the stairs leading belowdecks.

“You’ll see. Back in a mo.”

It actually took longer than a moment to find something along the lines of what I wanted, but in the end I was happy with the results.

“You want to take a bath? Now?” Corbin asked when I reentered his cabin. Barn gave the big copper and wood tub one last shove so that it sat in the middle of the cabin. Several younger crewmates were hauling in seawater in large leather containers. Others were carefully carrying copper pots with heated water.

“No, you’re going to take one,” I said, waggling my eyebrows at him as I oversaw the filling of the tub. Five minutes later, the water was at a temperature and level I liked. I thanked the crewmates and shooed them out the door before closing and relocking it. “I know real stitches need to be kept dry, but I doubt if a little water will harm yours. Besides, that wound needs to be kept clean, and what better way to ensure that than to bathe all of you?”

His frown faded. “You’re going to bathe me?”

“Oh, yes. Normally I’d pass on this opportunity since most tubs just aren’t made for any extracurricular activities, but since this one is amply built, I thought we could give it a whirl.” I pulled a palm-sized bottle out of my cleavage. “And to make sure your skin is soft and supple, I’m adding a little lemon oil to the water.”

He watched with interest as I poured a dollop of the aromatic oil into the tub. The scent of tangy lemon filled the air of the cabin, making me lick my lips as I knelt next to the tub.

“Stop that,” Corbin said, his eyes flashing silver at me as he tore at the leather laces of his jerkin.

“Stop what?” I purred, swishing my hand around in the water to distribute the oil. I bit my lower lip, running my tongue along it with much deliberation.

“That! Stop licking your lips! It’s driving me wild. I want to do it.”

I stood up and tugged on the laces of my bodice. “That’s the idea, handsome.” He started toward me. I held up a hand to stop him. “You have to be naked and wet first.”

If there was a land-speed record for disrobing, I’m willing to bet Corbin came close to breaking it. One moment he was standing there dressed in his breeches, shirt, and jerkin; the next there was a lemon-scented splash as he flung himself into the tub. “Done. Now, bring those lips here, wench.”

“That’s Captain Wench to you, me bucko,” I said, shucking my striped knickers, underwear, and bodice until I was clad only in my loose linen shirt. I grabbed a sea sponge and a round ball of soap, kneeling next to the tub. Corbin reached for me again, but I put a hand on his damp chest and held him back. “Hang on, let me look at your wound.”

“It’s almost healed,” he told me as I leaned close to his belly to give the injury a long look. “No blood poisoning, as you were predicting. I think the stitches could come out, as a matter of fact.”

I gently prodded the area around the stitches. I had to admit, he was right—it was almost healed. Bless the game’s accelerated healing. “Yeah, I think you’re right about the stitches. I’ll take them out now.”

He leaned back while I gently snipped the threads with a tiny pocket knife, carefully removing them.

“You’re sure this isn’t just an excuse to ogle my manly chest?”

“Shh. Delicate work here. Your stomach moves when you talk, and I don’t want to accidently poke you by mistake.” He was silent while I picked the last of the threads off, smiling when I folded up the knife and tossed it back onto his desk. “I wish things healed this well and this fast in real life. And for the record, I never predicted blood poisoning. I was just worried about it, but this looks wonderful. It’s not giving you any pain or discomfort?”

He wrapped both arms around me and swung me over the edge of the tub. I shrieked as I landed with a splash on his slippery wet thighs. “Would I be able to do that if it was giving me pain?”

“No, I suppose not, although now my shirt is wet,” I said, looking down at myself. The thin linen was plastered to my skin, leaving every morsel of me clearly visible.

Corbin slid his hands up my stomach to cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on my hardening nipples. “I wonder if real pirates did this. The original wet T-shirt contest.”

I gasped when he leaned forward and took one of my aching breasts in his mouth, sucking it through the wet material of the shirt. His teeth scraped along my nipple, sending little streaks of molten desire through my veins, leaving me shivering even though my internal temperature seemed to have risen at least a hundred degrees.

“I’m supposed to . . . I’m supposed to . . . oh, my God, Corbin. Do that again!”

He did it again, to my eagerly awaiting second breast, then carefully peeled the wet shirt off me and threw it carelessly toward the bed. I clutched his shoulders as his fingers slid down my spread thighs, the oil in the water adding a friction that made his normally arousing touch something so erotic, I trembled on the verge of an orgasm. “You’re supposed to what, sweetheart?”

“I’m supposed to be bathing you,” I yelped as his fingers turned inward, laying open all my secrets, probing, teasing, tormenting me with little touches and circular sweeps of his thumb that just about had me bursting into song.

“You can have your turn with me in just a—” One long finger sank into me, causing muscles I didn’t know were there to go wild tightening around him. One last sweep of his thumb was all it took, and I was off flying, my body and mind and soul singing a song of happiness and completion . . . and love. My back arched as I shouted out his name, aware of nothing but how much a part of me he was.

“—minute,” he finished. I collapsed on his chest, my heart racing. He chuckled as he nuzzled my neck, nipping at my earlobe. “You’re not going to go to sleep on me, are you?”

I pushed myself back, toyed with the idea of giving him an outraged glare at such a ludicrous idea, but decided a wicked smile was much more fun. I smiled. Wickedly. “Mock me, will you, mortal man? Oh, ye of little faith. Prepare to repent such unjust thoughts.”

“I warn you, it’s going to take some serious work to make me repent,” he said, his hands heading for my breasts. The impudent little hussies thrust themselves in his hands for a moment or two, then I slid back along his legs until my chest was resting on his groin.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work. I think I’ll start by kissing your owie and making it better,” I said, deliberately moving forward so his penis—standing very much at attention—was caught between my breasts. He sucked in approximately half the roomful of air as I tightened my arms, effectively capturing him in a breasty grip. I flicked my tongue over an area to the left of his wound, not actually touching it, but licking off the lemon oil from the surrounding area.

Corbin’s eyes crossed and his head lolled back, his hands limp on the edge of the tub as I started a little back-and-forth motion that had him sliding along my breastbone. He wasn’t the only one who was affected by the erotic silk of the oil and water—the feel of his slick legs against my sensitive breasts was quickly building a familiar pressure deep inside me.

I swirled my tongue around his belly button, noting that he watched hopefully as I nipped my way over to his hip. The water reached just below his belly button, but he shifted so a good portion of his happy seven inches was above water.

I flicked the tip of it with my tongue. His knuckles turned white on the rim of the tub as I got my hands into the action.

His hips bucked as I licked a serpentine path along the length of his arousal, enjoying both the taste and feel of him as I used the oily water to find a rhythm that had him gasping in sheer delight.

“Now!” he demanded as he dragged me up his chest, spreading my legs so my knees were straddling his hips.

I gave a little wiggle. His oil-slicked length slid along all sorts of my newly discovered sensitive nerve endings. “Do you repent?”

“Yes, yes, dear God, yes! I repent! Of everything!”

I smiled as he pulled my hips forward, my body singing a hallelujah chorus as he pushed his way in. His hands slid up my slick back, one hand on the back of my neck, pulling me forward until his mouth possessed mine. He groaned into my mouth as I started moving on him, slowly at first, but soon the feeling of his body sliding along and in and around mine pushed me to a point where I was moving fast and hard on him.

His eyes turned to liquid silver as an orgasm claimed him. I had just enough presence of mind before my own consumed me to kiss him as he shouted out his love. Without thought, I whispered what was in my heart, collapsing on him, leaving us a tangle of lemon-scented, wet body parts, both of us gasping for air, our hearts racing in a similar rhythm.