Captain Bjorn (Tales from The Compass Book 1) (8 page)

“It’s not him I want to chase after,” I murmured.

Jack touched my shoulder. “Serrin said you’ll want to go home first.”

I stiffened. “What has he done?”

“Something that will benefit him, no doubt,” Jack murmured.

A gust blew, and I sprinted with it all the way home, unlatched the gate, and froze midway up the path. Like the last six months never happened, there was Father in his navy coat, snipping a rose from the bush.

Over the small tree, he looked up and cried out. “Aaron!”

I bolted toward him and into a fierce hug. “Does mother . . . does Marc know . . .”

“Not yet, I just arrived. Told to wait outside until morning.” He lifted the rose and petals touched my nose. “The man told me you’d come by, but wouldn’t stay.”

“Serrin said that?”

“I don’t know his name, but the fellow carried a rather unusual staff. Said my home and family are safe. Said it’s thanks to our nasty landlord that I could be roused from sleep.”

Sir Walter’s crystal! Serrin had taken it from him? I waited for a rush of guilt, but all that came was shattering relief. I choked out a cry and hugged Father again.

“What was that for?” Father asked.

I missed you. I’ll
miss
you . . .

“He was right, wasn’t he?” Father handed me the rose, and I took it, the stalk warm. He slipped out of his coat. “You’re not going to stay.”

“I . . . want to.”

“I’ve slept long. Too long, Aaron.” He sighed and wrapped the coat around my shoulders. “But I still know when you are lying.”

I bowed my head, feeling the warmth of his coat like the hug we’d just shared.

Father glanced toward the gate and nodded to Jack standing there. Jack. Bjorn’s brother.
Bjorn.
Shoulders straightened, I handed back the red rose with trembling fingers. “Pick more flowers. Some white roses for Marc.”

* * *

This time, I didn’t wait for an answer to my knock. I pushed the captain’s blue door open and entered.

Slumped in the desk chair, Bjorn stared over the untouched cards and rum on his desk to the bed.

When I strolled in, his eyes flickered my way and he stilled, chest puffed out as if he held his breath. He grabbed the cards, defaulting to that innate confidence of his. “Nice coat. Come for that game after all?”

“Not just the game.”

“Not just?”

I beckoned behind me, and Jack stepped into the cabin, cocking a large smile.

“Jack!” Cards flew in all directions as he came out of his seat. The brothers smacked into an embrace, cries and laughs ripping from them. “You’re back—but Serrin . . . you—”

“Can I steal you for a moment, Bjorn?” Jack said glancing my way.

Hint received, I moved to give them privacy but Bjorn held out a hand. “Jack, we can go below deck.” Then to me, “Stay, please. We . . . still have a game to play.”

With a swallow and a nod, I took off my coat, hung it, and perched on the edge of his desk. Only then did Bjorn relax. He looked over his shoulder as he left with his brother, a promise in his eyes. He’d return soon.

Cards littered the cabin, and I straightened them, and then paced the room, stomach fluttering. Long minutes passed, and I itched to flee, except I couldn’t bring myself to open the door. Cursing, I resumed my pacing. “Serrin was right,” I muttered. “Anticipation is the worst.”

The cabin door clicked, and I spun around. Bjorn calmly moved to his desk and picked up the tidied cards.

“Jack?” I asked.

“The crew are all over him. They’re down in the galley.” He touched the top card on the pile closest to him and paused. “Draw a card. Highest one asks a question.”

The boat rocked and I stumbled toward the desk. Bjorn reached out and steadied me, fingers warm through my sleeves. “Ace high,” I said and drew.

Bjorn pulled an ace, beating my ten, and my heart thumped in my chest as light sparked in the captain’s eye.

“How can I ever repay you?” he said, glancing toward the door where he’d reunited with his brother.

“That wasn’t me,” I said. “That was Serrin.”

“Believe me, you had something to do with it.”

“You won’t win every round,” I said and flipped another card. A queen.

Bjorn drew a three and fixed his gaze on me. “I’ll win the rounds that count.”

“Which ones are they?”

“Is that your question?”

I swallowed as he rounded the side of his desk and closed the narrow gap between us, his thigh slipping between my legs. With twitching lips, he hooked a finger in my shirt and undid the first button. Knuckles scraped over my chest.

“I’ll win the ones that bare you.” He dipped his head, and a spark jumped between us, his lips almost brushing mine. His hand dropped to the next button, and undid it slowly. Warm fingers slid the shirt off my shoulders. “Inside and out.”

“Then . . . let’s flip,” I said as shivers raced over my naked torso to my crotch, collecting and building there. We each grabbed a card—his nine beat my four, and my breath hitched. I touched the four to the middle of his shirt, then let it flutter to the floor. With trembling fingers, I worked his buttons. “Ask.”

“What’s been holding you back?”

The soft linen of his shirt crumpled in my tightening grip, and then I peeled the shirt off him, careful of the dressing at his shoulder. I fingered the skin around the gash. “Does it hurt?”

A tender hand cupped the side of my face. “Answer me.”

The floor, and then the desk, and then the cabin windows begged my attention.

“Aaron—?”

“—You see through me.”

The ship lifted on a swell and when it dropped, it seemed to unravel me right to the bottom of the ocean. Bjorn drew my face back to him and spoke soft and slow. “I like what I see.”

I fought back the sting in my eyes. “I came here before to tell you to get out of my head.”

Bjorn’s words danced over my bottom lip. “The storm had died, Aaron. You knew it wouldn’t be long before I left. Why did you really come?”

“Because . . . because . . .”

At my ear, he poised his lips. “Please. Say it.”

I turned into his whisper and kissed him.

For a moment, it was only my lips moving against his, and I pulled back, heat searing to my cheeks, heart hammering—“I didn’t mean—”

Bjorn growled and gripped my hips, kissing me hard again, tongue twisting against mine, confident, demanding. “Yes you did,” he said, when we broke to breathe. Bjorn placed a softer kiss to the corner of my mouth, then bumped his nose against mine. “Tell me why you came earlier.”

“I came because . . . you didn’t say goodbye.”

He froze. “Is that what this is?”

“Well
this . . .
” The grin died on my lips when he frowned. “How is it you steal all my laughs?”

“Not all of them,” he said. “Just the fake ones.”

The shivers mounted, and I ached inside and out. “That’s what I mean,” I said, lips trailing down the side of his neck. “You see right through me.”

“I want to see more. Everything.” Bjorn feathered a kiss against the crystal at my throat. I felt his quickening heartbeat under my fingertips as if it was my own, and my hardened cock throbbed in time with it. His palm smoothed over my chest and stomach, dipping to my arousal. I bit down on a moan, but it strangled out of me—

“Bare yourself to me, Bjorn. Let me see you too.” I pushed back a step, kicked off my boots, and yanked at my remaining clothes. Bjorn mirrored me for every piece I removed, until we stood naked. Almost but not quite touching, our hard cocks straining to make contact.

In the warm lamplight, the eastern arrow shone on our forearms. His looked bolder with the black inked star above it, and I wanted that strength around me, gripping, jerking, thrusting until he pulled every one of those shivers he’d given out of me—

We grabbed each other. His arm stole around my waist and pulled me against his warm, toned body; my hands squeezed his neck and skated down his spine to press his chest and crotch tighter against mine. More fiery kisses rippled desire over my skin, and I gasped as he clasped my ass and rutted against my hard length. I thrust into the sensations, and Bjorn let out a groan into the hollow of my throat. “Aaron.”

He stepped his toes over mine and traced the inner length of my foot. “I’ve never . . .” I started.

“We don’t have to.”

His fingers drifted off the curve of my ass and I palmed his hand back there. “Don’t promise to show me how to fly and then stop me jumping.”

A smooth and sweet laugh touched my lips. “Tell me again it was just a dance,” he said.

I pushed him to the bed, where he folded at my whim with a laugh. I sank to my knees on the wooden floor.

“Are you—”

I ran my hands up his thighs and parted them, leaned forward and licked the weeping tip of his cock. The broken sound of the captain’s breathing made me smile.

Bjorn murmured something and dropped a pillow between us. I shoved it under my knees and thanked him by sliding my mouth over his cock. Bjorn’s thighs clenched, and he cursed, throwing his head back.

He pulsed between my lips, salty like the sea—like the promise of adventure. I sucked, hand shaking as I pumped him. My cock throbbed at every grunt and groan, at the hold on my hair, the friction of my tip against his leg.

“I’ll stop you from falling,” he gasped. “But I’ll never stop you from jumping—”

Drawing me off, he pulled me on top of him, swiveling us onto the length of the bed. He touched my cheek and smiled into a kiss, his warmth and hard need leeching into me. I rocked against him, making the timber walls groan around us. “Your shoulder?”

“Don’t feel anything but you.”

The ship lurched and again my stomach dropped to my toes. Bjorn’s fingers drew over my back, tingling—the shape of a star, like the one on his arm. I moaned against his neck. “Make me see the Lights.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

He rolled us over; his heavy weight settled on mine and I arched into it, cock throbbing as I circled Bjorn’s nipples with my thumbs.

“I like that,” he said, and I tasted one nipple as he reached for something behind me. He leaned into my sucking, groaning.

A popping sound, like a rum bottle being uncorked sounded above my head and I kissed Bjorn’s chest. “What was that?”

He drew back until we were face to face again, and then he slipped a hand between us—

I swore at the cool, slippery touch of oil as Bjorn stroked me. “More.” I bit down on his good shoulder, and the strokes quickened for the barest moment, then stopped.

Bjorn gripped my hips and twisted us once more so he lay on the bed under me, gaze darker than I’d ever seen. “Tonight, like this.”

Tonight.
I liked the way it fell, urgently, from his lips. I dug my fingers into his upper arms, thrusting, fighting back the rising urge to spill. Bjorn shifted, angled his hips, and hooked one leg over me. Eyes darker than I’d seen them yet. Lost to everything but . . . desire. Need. He squeezed my length and positioned me against his puckered opening.

“Ever since you apologized, I’ve been dreaming”—His heel ground against my ass, and my tip nudged against the yielding ring of muscle—“of your lips murmuring my name.”

He pushed, urging me into him. I sank to the hilt, gripped tightly, a hundred waves lifting and dropping me. His length rubbed wetly against my stomach.

I moved—
we
moved. Bjorn gripped me so tight, and the shivers I’d been collecting since I’d first met him rose to the surface, danced over every inch of my skin, sang louder and louder—

I rocked into him, expecting release, except—

“Oh, Lights! Bjorn!” The shivers grew, thickening, intensifying.

—“This is not goodbye,” he murmured. “Not goodbye.”

I slowed, drawing almost all the way out of him, and slowly pushed through the hundred shivers. Bjorn’s fingers drew over my back and braced my neck, pressing me down to meet a tender kiss.

“
Bjorn
.”

I couldn’t keep still, and Bjorn angled his hips. “Let go.”

I did, hard and fast, chasing after that urgent release. Our bodies slapped together, the bed grunting with us, the air stirring over our sides and whispering over my back, tasting of sweat and sea.

His hard length rubbed at my stomach and I wrapped a clumsy fist around him, reveling in the way Bjorn’s body bucked into my touch. His ass clenched, wringing me of every last shiver—

I cried out, swept off my feet in the last steps of the dance. Bjorn clutched me into a moaned kiss as he spilled over my belly and chest. I collapsed on him, and his arms tightened around me. “Not goodbye,” he said at the base of my ear.

I sucked in the warm, spicy scent of him. “Lights above, if this were a game . . .” I propped myself on my arms and looked into his eyes, dark and fringed with hope.
I’ll win the ones that bare you, inside and out.
Let go.
“You’ve won.”