The Iron Duke (40 page)

But his hands were at her lower back now, supporting her without holding her up. Her weight wasn’t enough. And she didn’t have any leverage.

She kissed his mouth, his jaw. “Help me. Help me take you in.”

“Mina.” Her name was strained, raw. His big hands covered her hips and pressed down. A wild noise broke from her. She buried her face in his throat, feeling nothing but his thick length embedded deep within, the wide stretch of her thighs, the burning knot in between. She’d die if she moved.

She’d die if she didn’t.

A shiver ran over her skin when his hands smoothed up her spine. His arm tightened around her waist. With a harsh groan, he rocked upward and the thrust pushed through her like a wave. Mina’s head fell back, her hands clutching at his shoulders, and suddenly she was moving all over, rubbing that burning knot against his ridged abdomen until his hair-roughened skin was as wet and slick as hers. She looked down between them, watching the thick slide of his cock into her—two pieces that shouldn’t have fit but worked together beautifully.

And it was ratcheting her tighter again, a need so big that it frightened, but she felt no terror this time. Just Trahaearn—
Rhys
—his strength and his relentless driving thrusts. Watching her, she knew, for any hint of fear. Holding back his need for hers, until she shuddered and cried out, her inner muscles convulsing around him.

A guttural moan tore from his chest and he stroked hard, deep—and then held utterly still. Almost sobbing with the pleasure of it, she felt the pulse of his flesh, and the answering clench of her own.

Chest heaving, Mina lay her head against his shoulder. Still inside her, Rhys laid her back on the mattress and came down over her, his weight on his elbows and knees. He rocked slowly into her, watching her face.

“Again, Mina.”

She’d thought she was done. But with each leisurely stroke she was rising, softly, gently, until the orgasm crested through her. Rhys finished her off with a kiss before leaving the bed and dragging off the sheath.

When he returned and lay down, Mina rolled against his side, feeling slightly giddy—almost drunk with triumph, with pleasure, with contentment.

“You didn’t fight me,” he said, stroking his hand over her hair.

“I didn’t need to.” Though she didn’t know why. Perhaps trust. Perhaps more.

But the thought of that “more” was too frightening to dwell on now. Heartache lay in that direction. London lay in that direction.

“You inspired me,” she said instead. “You didn’t have to fight when you destroyed the Horde. So I decided to make your tower explode.”

His stroking fingers stilled. He seemed speechless, then laughed and pulled her over to lie atop his broad chest.

And it was there that she slept.

The faint crackle of parchment invaded her slumber. Mina
stirred, squinting through heavy lids. Faint light marked the coming dawn. Still too early, and she was too content, lying on her side with Rhys behind her, in the crater his body made of the mattress. She closed her eyes again, searching for sleep, but welcomed the rough hands stroking her side, her bottom, lifting her leg up and back over a heavy thigh.

“Are you all right, Mina? Or sore?”

“
Mmmm
” was all that she could manage.

She was still only half awake when he pushed inside her.

Gasping, she opened her eyes—and was rolled onto her stomach. Rhys came over her, his knees wide between her spread legs. With an unyielding grip, he dragged her up by her hips, her bottom angled up and her weight on her knees and chest. His palms flattened in the mattress above her shoulders.

His voice was low and rough in her ear. “I was a gentleman. I only took a little.”

Not a little, though just the head of his cock was inside her; it felt like a small fist. Trembling, Mina twisted her hands in the sheets. She understood this. He’d been a gentleman before, letting her take him.

Now he was taking
her
.

“I’m waiting.” His whiskered jaw scraped her neck, was followed by a quick, sharp bite. “As soon as you’re wet . . .
God
, Mina.”

With a single deep stroke, he buried his cock to the hilt. Devastating pleasure exploded beneath her skin, and Mina screamed into the sheet. He filled her completely, his cods pushing tight up against her most sensitive flesh. She gripped his forearms, straining on either side of her head and caging her in, preventing her from jolting forward with each powerful thrust. His heavy sac buffeted her clitoris with each annihilating stroke, until she was writhing and crying out, and still he pounded into her. Then his hand moved to her sex, callused fingers stroking, and she shattered, tears hot against her cheeks. Her name tore from him in a harsh, exultant groan. He gripped her hips and slammed forward, as if stamping his mark on her flesh.

Mina shuddered again as he came, but his release didn’t let her go. No. He had her. He’d plundered, and laid waste to her every defense.

Not a gentleman, but the pirate captain, His Bastard Grace, the Iron Duke. It didn’t matter which.

He knew exactly what he was about.

 

 

Mina didn’t seem to regret being with him. When Rhys had
woken, certain that she’d try to pull away, he’d been driven by the need to take her again. But he hadn’t been able to go easy on her. After he’d fucked her so roughly, he expected hesitation, uncertainty . . . but there was none. Over breakfast, she interrogated his politics in a way that told him just as much about hers, and fascinated him with every word until he had to have her again, making a feast of her body on the small table.

He’d never needed anything as much as he needed her. Self-preservation warned him to push her away. He couldn’t stand the thought of it, only wanted to bring her in closer. But if she didn’t come to need him in return, then away or close, it wouldn’t matter—either one would destroy him.

And she didn’t regret shagging him, but he didn’t think she needed him yet, either. At least she’d come around to liking him a bit.

She sat with him in the bow, sharing a spyglass between them while they searched the sea for the
Terror
. The wind made it difficult to talk, but he didn’t mind. When she faced away from him, he liked looking at the curve of her cheek and the thin stripe of skin between her armor and her jaw. A few strands of her black hair had come loose from the severe roll at her nape and escaped the goggles’ strap, flicking against his face and neck. Last night, this morning, he’d had her hair unbound and spilling everywhere: over the backs of his hands as he’d held her waist, watching it part over her shoulders as he’d driven his cock into her. Tonight it’d be the
Terror
. He’d never had a woman in his cabin, but there was no question that she belonged with him—and when he wasn’t looking through the spyglass at the endless blue, he was imagining all of the ways he’d have her.

Not long after noon, he saw her stiffen with the telescope to her eye, no longer sweeping the horizon. Without a word, he took it from her. Hot triumph shot through him. There she was.
Marco’s Terror.
Just the masts were visible, but he knew their shape. He could have stood blindfolded on a pier, and recognized her sound when she sailed past him.

Mina watched his face, waiting for confirmation. When he nodded, she waved to Yasmeen. A bell rang behind him, but he didn’t look around, keeping the spyglass trained on the masts.

The
Terror
’s canvas was furled. In this low wind and calm water, she’d need to be under full sail to move at any speed. Had they dropped anchor? No reason to in this stretch of water, unless they were tethered to an airship.

Frowning, he searched the sky for
Josephine
. No sign of the skyrunner against the thin clouds, and they didn’t provide enough cover to hide in. He turned to Yasmeen, gestured for her to cut the engines. They’d sail in, quiet.
Lady Corsair
didn’t need the propellers to catch an anchored ship.

He saw Yasmeen’s brow furrow as she lowered the spyglass, and he shook his head when she cast him an inquiring glance. He couldn’t explain why the
Terror
wasn’t under full sail. And he didn’t want to mention them and worry Mina yet.

But soon enough, he didn’t need to say anything.
Josephine
came into view, her white balloon almost completely deflated and floating next to the Terror. She’d been tethered, and something had brought her down. Wooden wreckage floated nearby, but the bulk of the skyrunner was still under the balloon.

Mina’s mouth dropped open. “Is that the airship?”

“Yes.”

“But how . . . ?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is the
Terror
still tethered . . . and not moving.” She seemed to realize the significance of the furled sails. “Have they stopped to salvage the airship?”

Rhys shook his head. “We’d see crew.”

“Deserted.” Mina sucked in a breath, peering intently at the
Terror
’s empty deck. “Just like the Dame’s fort.”

“Including zombies,” he said. “We’ll see soon enough if they broke out of their cages. Hunt wouldn’t have kept them in the hold. He’d have wanted an eye on them all the time.”

And Hunt would like seeing their effect on his crew all the time.

“If they broke the locks, is there somewhere for the crew to go?”

“The cargo hold. The interior of the
Terror
’s hull is reinforced with steel ribs and plates.” Unlike kraken, whose tentacles damaged the timbers and could pull the ship so far off keel that she capsized, megalodons rammed their armored bodies into the hull and ripped up the rudder and wood with their massive jaws. “I added more to the entry of the hold to keep the cargo secure, too. The crew could wait there.”

“For how long? They wouldn’t have food or water.”

Not long, but that wouldn’t matter here. “At most, they’ve been down there a day.”

Nodding, she handed him the spyglass. He trained the lens on the decks.
Goddammit.
“Three cages are sitting on the foredeck. One is open.”

Mina rubbed her arms, as if a chill shivered through her. She looked to the floating wreck. “Could the zombie have gotten onto the airship?”

“It couldn’t puncture the envelope.” Steel mesh strengthened the balloon’s airtight fabric. Even someone armed with a sharp knife would have difficulty stabbing through it; a zombie’s ragged fingernails would just scrape off.

It must have been a puncture; a burn would have meant the whole thing blowing. But even a puncture wouldn’t usually cause this much damage, unless an enormous hole had been ripped through the envelope. Usually, a puncture meant a slow leak, which wouldn’t have left that wreckage. Rhys could climb up
Lady Corsair
’s balloon with a harpoon in hand, and it’d take hours before she slowly settled onto the water.

His guess was that
Josephine
had been wrecked while tethered to the
Terror
—and in the confusion on board, the zombie’s cage had taken a knock, and the lock broken. But he’d find out for certain after descending to the
Terror
’s decks.

He stood, slinging on a shoulder harness. Next to him, Mina began checking her weapons.

“Not you,” he said.

“But—”

“No. Cover me with a rifle, if you want. But you’re not heading down with us. I won’t risk it.”

Her lips firmed and jaw tightened, as if she wanted to argue. She must have realized it wouldn’t do any good. He’d have Yasmeen’s aviators lock her in
Lady Corsair
’s hold rather than let her step foot on his ship before he secured it.

Finally, she nodded. “I’ll cover you.”

When Scarsdale came up from his cabin, he was white
-faced, but fighting through the fear. Rhys knew it wouldn’t happen again, but this time was for Hunt.

He waited until the bounder shrugged into his harness. Scarsdale preferred swords over machetes, but they both backed up their weapons with guns that would finish any job. “Ready, then?”

At Scarsdale’s nod, the aviators dropped two ropes over the side to dangle above the
Terror
’s quarterdeck. Rhys kissed Mina hard and threw himself over, slowing just enough that he wouldn’t slam into the boards. Scarsdale landed lightly beside him.

He listened, holding his machetes at ready. Beneath the hisses and wild growls of the zombies in the cages, he only heard the hull creaking with the gentle rock of the waves, the slap of water against the
Terror
’s sides. All else was quiet.

God, it felt good to have these decks beneath his feet again.

“They’ve been keeping her tidy,” Scarsdale said.

For the most part. There was some recent slipshod work, but they’d been short on crew—might be even shorter now. Rhys hoped to hell they had enough men left to sail back, or they’d be making another stop at the Ivory Market.