Too Great a Temptation (13 page)

When Damian’s fingers moved to unfasten the buttons of her trousers, she dragged in a deep breath and held it for a moment.

Slowly he undid one button at a time, kissing each newly exposed patch of skin.

She finally had to breathe, and let out a noisy exhale, her next breath just as deep and ragged.

Damian peeled back the folds of the trousers. “I want you so much, Belle,” he whispered hoarsely, warm bursts of air tickling and rousing the fine hairs on her skin.

“Then take me.” It was a quiet request. She wondered if Damian had even heard her, for she hadn’t the strength to utter the plea in a louder voice. But the groan that soon followed told her plain enough he had heard her clearly—and was keen to do that very thing.

A good thing, too, for she didn’t think she could take much more of his slow and deliberate seduction.

Damian pushed the trousers off her hips, slipping them down her thighs, her calves, and finally discarding the garment altogether.

His hands went between her thighs, burning her skin. He parted her legs, made her take a step in both directions.

“Lift your leg,” he bade, voice rough and turbulent, the strain in it evident.

Without a thought, she did as he commanded. Damian hooked her leg over his shoulder, raising it high. The flesh tingling between her legs was exposed to him—and he took eager advantage of that.

His fingers parting the curls at her junction, Damian lowered his head.

She stiffened in shock at his hot, slick tongue lapping the sensitive area. Her hands hit the wall behind her to support herself. She let out a deep and guttural groan, as surprise gave way to intense, soul-wringing pleasure.

He kissed the dewy folds of flesh, softly, almost reverently, then flicked the tip of his tongue over a most delicate spot, causing that sob she’d been holding back to bubble forth.

“Oh, Damian,” she gasped.

His lips moved over her flesh in deft and fluid strokes, stirring a welter of emotions in her belly, causing her entire body to shake in unrestrained longing.

He broke away from the kiss.

No,” she whimpered. “Don’t you dare stop now.”

“I have no intention of stopping,” was his gruff retort.

He was back on his feet. She met his stormy blue eyes, so dark and smoldering that she shivered at the intensity reflected in the deep pools.

In one easy swoop, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

The power surging through his muscles made her almost giddy. She wanted him so badly, it hurt. Ached deep inside her belly.

He placed her on the bed. Her legs parted in instinct, allowing him space to settle on top of her, and it was then she noticed the turgid flesh, throbbing and swollen red with blood.

Giddiness was swiftly replaced with panic. As much as she loved his lips and his hands on her, she didn’t think she’d like
that
part of him inside her.

Damian slipped a finger into her wet passage first. “You’re too tight,” he breathed. “Relax, Belle.”

Easy for him to say.
He
wouldn’t be feeling the pain in a moment’s time.

But the finger inside her, thrusting in and out, had the most disarming effect on her, easing the tightness in her muscles and joints, evoking first a heavy sigh, then a low, whimpering moan from her.

When he slipped another finger inside to join the first, the pleasure intensified, and she thought:
This isn’t so bad
.

“That’s it, Belle,” he coaxed, voice rough. “Let me give you more pleasure.”

She looked into his eyes then, so dark and passionate and soulful. The fear and panic ebbed away.

“Yes, Damian, show me more.”

The tip of his shaft pierced her slick passage. She arched her hips forward, her neck back. He slipped inside her all the way.

Mirabelle stiffened.
Okay, this is bad,
she thought.

Damian’s eyes widened. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

She swooshed her head back and forth in denial, the discomfort slicing through her making it too hard to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growled.

Before she could think to answer, his fingers were between her legs, softly stroking the sensitive bud of nerves at her apex. He was still embedded inside her, but he didn’t stir, and the more he stroked, the more the tension withered from her limbs.

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered against her neck, kissing her cheek, “you should have told me.”

But had she confessed she was a virgin, he might have turned her away. And Mirabelle didn’t think she could have handled a rejection from him after everything she’d already been through.

“Forget about it, Damian,” she said, the pain inside her dissolving. “Just finish it.”

He cocked a sable brow. “Finish it?” A wicked gleam sparkled in his burning indigo eyes. “I don’t think so.”

Fingers still rubbing between her legs, Damian bent down to kiss her neck, her shoulders, planting his lips on every bare patch of skin he could reach.

Mirabelle closed her eyes, taking in the newfound comfort of his tender kisses and caresses, but when he stirred inside her, all thoughts of tenderness went out the cabin window.

He withdrew slightly, then dipped back into her. Slow at first, he eased himself from her sheath, then pushed back inside.

Mirabelle felt like cooing, a whole new sensation brewing deep between her thighs. Her hands went to Damian’s back, gripping his shoulders. He thrust into her over and over again, adjusting his tempo, each thrust deeper, quicker than the last.

She moaned in ecstasy.

Damian offered her a seductive look. “Do you still want me to ‘just finish it’?”

“No,” she breathed weakly. “You can take all the…”

She was going to say, “all the time you need,” for she didn’t want the glorious feelings inside her to come to a stop, but she was too preoccupied with
feeling
those feelings to finish her thought.

Damian chuckled softly by her ear. “As you wish, Belle.”

He pumped harder into her. Steady plunges, each more thrilling than the last. The swift and piercing strokes whipped her insides into a whirling fit.

Mirabelle clamped her arms around his neck, holding him close. His skin was hot and wet. There was so much of him to explore, she thought, but the tight and thrumming need within her ranted for satisfaction. There would be time to explore later, she assured herself. Now was the time for other, more primal things.

Blood pounding through her veins, she gasped for breath. His body rocked against hers in urgent strokes, the undulations swift and rhythmic, the knot at her junction tightening and tightening…and then a burst of satisfaction wracked her limbs. A quake of pure pleasure rushed through her, releasing all the tension stored in her flexing muscles.

She buried her face in Damian’s shoulder and cried out in gratification. He thrust hard into her, then withdrew, giving a guttural cry of his own, as a warm and sticky fluid spread out along her belly.

As the climactic moment passed, her heartbeat dwindled to a more steady pace. “Why did you do that?” she asked weakly.

Damian sighed, still on top of her, their limbs intertwined. “So I wouldn’t get you with child.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

Mirabelle cherished the brief repose, so soothing after such a soul-wringing experience.

Breathing more evenly, Damian locked his arms around her and rolled onto his back, perching her across the great expanse of his chest.

They both rested for a time. Neither said a word to the other. Mirabelle only stroked the rough curls of his chest hair with her fingertips, getting better acquainted with his physique without the distraction of unsatisfied lust obstructing her enjoyment.

She liked being with Damian. She liked that he had been the first one to show her the true meaning of passion. If she ever got to serve aboard the
Bonny Meg
, there would be no more opportunities to experience such pleasure. It would have been a mighty shame if she had gone her whole life without ever knowing desire. And despite the risk she had taken to be with Damian, she realized then, it had been worth it.

“Are you sated?” she whispered in his ear.

He moved his head to the side to meet her gaze. “Belle?”

“I want to feel all of you.” She snuggled against him and licked his neck. “You won’t deny me this, Damian.”

He buried his face in her mussed hair, the low timbre of his voice almost aching in response. “I could never deny you anything, Belle.”

Such heartfelt words. She definitely liked the sound of them. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Propping her weight on an elbow, she let her eyes—and hands—roam over him in a thorough assessment, taking in the hard contours of his chest muscles, the robust swell of his arm, the flat ridge of his abdomen, the flesh between his legs…

“That’s enough, Belle.” He gripped her wrist. “Or you won’t be leaving this cabin until dawn.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. “I should be going before James comes looking for me again.”

But first she dipped her head down and took his nipple in her mouth as she had longed to do since the night he’d first kissed her.

Damian inhaled sharply, gripped her hair, and she moved her lips…her teeth…her tongue over the hardened nub for a while more.

When he started to moan, she smiled and stopped. She didn’t want to get him too aroused. She would never get out of the cabin otherwise.

Crawling overtop of him, she treaded toward her discarded clothes and slipped back into them.

As soon as she turned around, she found Damian standing above her. He kissed her. A hard, quick kiss. Then he stroked his knuckle across her cheek in mesmerizing tenderness.

“Little witch,” he murmured.

He was scolding her for the wanton way she’d sucked his nipple, and she purred, “You didn’t like that?”

He grunted as though to say,
Of course, I did. That’s the problem
.

“You never did tell me why you came in here, Belle.”

But she didn’t want to tell him her sorrow. She didn’t want to taint the experience they had just shared with a somber tale. “I just wanted to be with you.”

He lifted a brow in disbelief, but didn’t press the issue further. “We can’t do this again,” he said, a rueful note to his voice. “We’ll both lose our heads if anyone catches us.”

“I know.”

But it was a lie. Deep down, they both knew neither would be able to stay away from the other—not now, anyway.

“W
ake up, Belle.”

Mirabelle groaned and rubbed her eyes, burning from lack of sleep. She looked up to find James hovering above her and murmured, “What time is it?”

“Time for your punishment.”

Her punishment. Right. How could she forget? On second thought, after the wonderful night she had shared with Damian, it was easy to understand how the repugnant thought of a reprimand could be forgotten.

Tingles of warmth spread through her just from thinking about the navigator. He was the one man on the ship to whom she could go and not be cast aside. Odd, considering their tumultuous past.

“All right.” Mirabelle sighed, still drowsy. “What will it be?”

“You’re to spend the rest of the day stitching all the torn canvas that was damaged during the storm.”

“What?”

His burly arms crossed over his chest. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I most certainly do.” She rolled out of the hammock and grimaced a bit at the stiffness in her nether region. But she quickly recovered to demand, “What kind of a half-wit punishment is that?”

James flushed. “What did you expect? A flogging?”

“I expect something more appropriate.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Any other sailor would get the brig for the day. Why not me?”

“Because…”

“Because I’m your sister, right?” When he didn’t say anything in rebuttal, she made a noise of frustration. “Damn it, James, I deserve a chance to redeem myself in front of the crew. If you give me the lackluster task of sewing canvas, the men will resent me. I’ll be considered the captain’s pet.”

“Deal with it, Belle.”

Her black mood was back. “I
want
the same punishment as any other tar.”

A dark brow lifted. “You want to be locked in the brig?”

“If I deserve it, then yes. I need the respect of the men, James.”

It was his turn to grumble in frustration. “I’ll have a bloody mutiny on my ship thanks to you, Belle.”

She snorted. “Don’t be absurd.”

“The men don’t
like
having you here.”

“The men will get used to me, James. More so if you treat me like an ordinary tar.”

“But you’re not an ordinary tar, damn it! Can’t you see that?
I
can’t treat you like one of the men. You’re my sister and I’ll never consider you a sailor. I can’t change how I feel.”

“You mean you won’t change how you feel. You don’t want to give me a chance, admit it.”

He walked away from her then, moved to the cabin window at the far side of the room. “You’re my weakness, Belle. I’ll never be at peace so long as you ride the waves. I’ll always be looking out for you, worrying about you. The ship, the men, the missions will all suffer so long as you’re on board. And it will always be that way.”

Blast the man! Did he have to sound so sincere? Mirabelle was beginning to feel what little was left of her hope crumble before her.

“You want to stay in the brig?” James confronted her again. “Fine. You can spend the rest of the day there. And maybe then you can think about what I said.”

In two brisk strides, he reached her. “Come on, Belle.” He cupped her elbow. Out in the corridor, James handed her over to a passing Quincy. “Lock her in the brig, Quincy.”

The boy’s eyes rounded in obvious disbelief. “Are you craz—”

“You heard me,” James cut in sharply. “She goes to the brig. Now!”

The captain then stalked away. Mirabelle was left alone in the gallery with a baffled Quincy, her heart ready to shatter.

“What the hell is going on?” Quincy demanded.

“Just do as the captain ordered,” she said quietly.

Flustered, Quincy raked his fingers through his ebony mane. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He then took her by the wrist and escorted her to the brig, a small nook of the ship partitioned by iron bars.

“Belle, what’s going on?”

Mirabelle stepped inside the cell. “It’s my punishment for falling asleep during the watch.”

“But to lock
you
away?”

“It’s just for the rest of the day, Quincy. I’ll live.”

But she wasn’t so sure of that. Like James, Quincy was confounded by the notion of
her
being imprisoned. The captain had been right. No one thought of her as an ordinary tar. No one could look past her sex or her kinship. And that meant her chance of becoming a seafarer might just have fizzled away in front of her.

If she couldn’t sail the
Bonny Meg
, what would she do for the rest of her days?

Later that night, Damian prowled the infirmary. His headaches plagued him less and less. He felt strong enough to return to his regular duties, but the captain had ordered him to rest for a few more days. Damian didn’t think he could last that long, though, cooped up in the cabin with nothing but erotic thoughts of Mirabelle to keep him engaged.

He slumped against the wall and raked his fingers through his hair. “Oh, Belle,” he groaned, and closed his eyes, sweet thoughts of last night spiraling through his mind.

How he’d missed being with a woman. After such a lengthy sexual lapse, it had been a thrill to inhale the heady musk of feminine skin, to caress a smooth and plump breast, to hear the cry of wanton satisfaction.

No. That wasn’t entirely true. It was not the years of celibacy that had made last night so wonderful—it was Belle. She and she alone invigorated his spirit. It was the touch of
her
creamy flesh, the scent of
her
sweaty skin, the sound of
her
husky voice that had made the experience so memorable. No other woman would have incited similar feelings, he was sure. Only Belle stirred the deepest and darkest parts of his soul. And that was frightening.

It was also bewildering to realize she had been a virgin. His sassy siren, so provocative in her tight leather breeches,
had
been an innocent maid, after all. And she had gifted him with her first time.

Primal gratification coursed through him. He had been the only man to ever touch her. He liked the thought of that. Somehow it made her his. He liked the thought of that even more.

The soft squeak of iron hinges captured Damian’s attention. He glanced up, his heart pounding with awakened vigor. “What are you doing in here?”

Mirabelle slipped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. “Looking for you.”

Her woebegone expression, her golden eyes so doleful, had him entreating, “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she said weakly, her lips trembling. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. All day today I was locked…”

He moved away from the wall and folded her in his arms, his fingers twisting in her long and flowing hair. “Tell me.”

She embraced his waist. “Kiss me.”

“Is that your solution to every trouble?”

“For now.”

He grunted in defeat. Her lips so rosy and tempting parted before him, and he dipped his head to capture her mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Damian’s spirit came to life, thrummed with renewed energy at the sweet taste of her. It had been a day since their coupling. One whole day. Yet the randy enthusiasm storming his breast would augur it had been a year.

He hankered for Belle with startling intensity. His lust overshadowed any threat of discovery, as he quickly went to work on the laces of her shirt. He even tore at the fabric in his haste to divest her of the obtrusive garment.

Her breeches were next, stripped in a rush. Neither one of them had any intention of a deliberate coupling. It was apparent in their anxious groping, their hasty breathing. And to move the encounter along, Damian tore off his own trousers.

Naked, their bodies flush and grinding, the couple practically stumbled toward the bed and collapsed.

Belle was clutching him so hard, he had to ease her arms off his neck. On his knees, Damian swiveled her around until her rump was pressed against his throbbing erection.

“What are you doing?” she said breathlessly.

“Trust me,” he murmured into her ear, then sucked at the nape of her neck, his palm caressing a swollen breast in slow, methodic ministrations, soothing her skittishness. When she let out a deep and primitive moan, he braced his hands on her shapely hips and gave her a push forward. “Bend over.”

She didn’t protest. Her hands came forward, gripping the mattress for support, as she thrust her smooth arse into the air.

What a heavenly sight! Damian positioned himself between her splayed legs. “Are you ready for me, Belle?” And to make sure that she was, he slipped a finger amid the dewy folds of her feminine flesh.

She was hot and wet, and he groaned in ecstasy. Removing his finger, he pushed into her in one swift stroke.

Mirabelle moaned again and dropped her head down, her long hair spilling over her shoulders.

Damian maintained a firm hold of her hips as he thrust into her. Quick and steady plunges. He rocked her with a burning desire that consumed all his senses.

It was better than he had dreamed, taking Mirabelle from behind. The euphoria was palpable as it invaded his blood and rushed through his veins. Such energy, such potent life.

He struggled to control his orgasm, clenched his muscles to keep from spilling into her. It was too soon. She needed more time. He wanted her to experience the ecstasy of their coupling, to cry out in fulfillment.

And she was definitely feeling it. He sensed her climax approach. Each moan grew louder. She was so wet inside. Before the spasms erupted, though, he withdrew from her warm sheath.

“Damian!”

He was breathing hard, had barely enough control to keep his own climax in check, so he didn’t respond to her outrage in words. Instead he hoisted her back on her knees and turned her about.

Her breathing ragged, she was a wanton sight. Lips flush, breasts swollen with blood, eyes sensually slanted in unquenched desire.

He quickly drew her into his lap until she straddled his thighs. “I want to see your face while I make love to you.” Guiding her hips, he brought her down on him.

Mirabelle groaned and grabbed his shoulders. She bowed her head forward. Their brows touched. Their eyes met, reflecting such passionate need.

“That’s it, Belle,” he encouraged, voice rough and strained, as she took control, moving over him in haste. “Ride me as fast and as hard as you’d like.”

She kissed him then. A deep and soulful kiss that made his heart hurt. How he adored her. She brought him peace and passion and made him feel so alive. He could stay in this moment with her forever, he thought. It was true bliss. True rapture.

Mirabelle’s climax was quick to come. Her muscles shuddered around him in spastic pulses, blanketing him in warmth and satisfaction. Soon he sensed his own climax about to spill forth and he lifted her off him, spilling his seed with a great growl of gratification.

He had never cared about such delicacies before, thinking only of his own pleasure and fulfillment, but with Belle, he wouldn’t risk her becoming enceinte with no husband and four brutish brothers to confront.

When it was over, she draped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

Damian cradled her in his lap, gently stroking the ridges of her spine, wet with sweat. Closing his eyes, he just held her, touched her, committed her to memory.

Breathing more mellow, he eased Belle back onto the bed. He kissed her brow and brushed the wet and straggling strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Now will you tell me what happened?”

She didn’t say anything for a while. Then, softly, “I don’t think James will ever let me be a sailor.”

“He told you so?”

“He always tells me so.” She made a moue, then sighed. “But this time was different…this time I believe him.”

He stroked her flowing golden hair in tender regard. “Why do you believe him now?”

“He made a rather convincing point today. And I had a lot of time to think about it while locked away in the brig.”

Damian’s hand stopped mid stroke. “The brig?”

“Aye, I spent the day in there. Quincy let me out a while ago, but I had to wait till James was asleep before I could come to you.”

He liked the thought of her coming to him in need. It evoked his most primitive instinct to protect her. But he did not like the thought of her imprisoned like a convict.

Slowly he hoisted himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. “What the hell were you doing in the brig?”

“It was my punishment.”

“For what?”

She blushed. “I fell asleep during my evening watch.”

“So the captain put you in the brig? But you’re his sister.”

“That’s the trouble,” she grumbled. “I want to be a sailor, but James won’t treat me like one.”

“He put you in the bloody brig. I’d say he treats you
just
like one.”

“Only because I badgered him into doing it.”

He cocked a brow. “You did?”

“Well, I deserved to be punished like any other tar.”

He flopped back onto the bed. “Belle—”

“Don’t say it, Damian. I know you’re tickled to hear I won’t be a sailor. You were against the idea from the moment you heard it, but I—”

He squeezed her tight, curtailed the breath from her lungs. “I was going to say I’m sorry, Belle. I know how much this dream meant to you.”

He kissed her then. Slowly. Deeply. Never mind that he
was
tickled to hear that she wouldn’t be sailing the
Bonny Meg
, that she wouldn’t be risking her neck at sea. He just didn’t want to fight with her right then.

Damian slipped his tongue between her lips, drinking in her essence. She snuggled even closer to him, wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hold. Her body felt so good against him, so warm and comforting. He didn’t want to let her go—ever.

Damian moved his lips to the line of her jaw. He then licked her neck, tracing the regal contours from her collar to her chin. She moaned softly, digging and twisting her fingers into his hair.

Her breasts were next, the magnificent mounds neglected for far too long. Dipping his head, he cupped a plump breast in his eager palm, and brought the rosy tip to his parted lips.