Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Deanna

A s Deanna dreamed, she found herself in a different realm, a place where the ocean roared with untamed ferocity and the wind howled like a wild beast. The deck beneath her was no longer the sleek teak of Nash's sailboat but the weathered planks of an ancient pirate ship. The sound of waves crashing against the hull filled her ears, and the salty breeze carried the scent of adventure.

In this dream, Deanna was no longer the celebrated marine biologist but a captive, a prize for the notorious pirate captain.

Her wrists were bound above her head, tied to the thick wooden posts of the captain's bed. Her long, curly brown hair cascaded over the pillow, framing her face, and her intelligent green eyes sparkled with a mixture of fear and excitement. Her curvaceous body was on full display, naked and vulnerable, the soft curves of her breasts and hips beckoning in the dimly lit cabin.

Nash, the man she had come to know and desire, was a different entity in this dream. He stood before her, his muscular physique accentuated by the flickering candlelight. His sandy hair fell over his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes smoldered with a primal intensity. Dressed as a pirate, his shirt open to reveal his chiseled chest, Nash exuded a raw, untamed masculinity.

"Ah, my beauty," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "You're a treasure I've been longing to plunder."

Deanna's heart raced as Nash approached the bed, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. She felt a rush of excitement mixed with a hint of apprehension, knowing that in this dream, she was at the mercy of this pirate captain, and he was about to claim what was rightfully his.

Without warning, Nash grabbed a handful of Deanna's hair, tilting her head back. His lips descended upon hers, claiming her mouth in a passionate, possessive kiss. Deanna moaned into his mouth, surrendering to his dominance, her body arching towards him. His kiss was fierce and demanding, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

Breaking the kiss, Nash trailed wet kisses down her neck, nipping and suckling the sensitive skin. "You're mine, Deanna," he whispered, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Every inch of you."

Deanna's nipples hardened at his words, pebbling against the cool air. Nash noticed her reaction and smiled, his eyes darkening with desire. "Look at you, already so responsive. Your body betrays your need, my sweet captive."

He traced his fingers down her body, his touch light and teasing. He grazed her breasts, causing her to squirm and arch into his touch. "So sensitive," he murmured, pinching her erect nipples between his thumb and forefinger. "These pretty pink buds are begging for attention."

Deanna gasped as Nash's mouth closed around one taut peak, suckling it hungrily. His teeth scraped gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with equal attention, his skilled tongue and lips bringing her to a state of heightened arousal.

"Please, Nash," she begged, her voice hoarse with need. "I need more."

Nash chuckled, the sound low and throaty. "Impatient, aren't you, my dear? But I aim to please."

With that, he slid down her body, his lips trailing a path of fire across her stomach. He paused at the edge of her navel, blowing gently, making her squirm with anticipation. Then, without warning, he dove between her thighs, his tongue parting her wet folds in one smooth stroke.

Deanna cried out, her body jerking at the sudden, intense sensation. Nash's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue flicking and thrusting, driving her wild. He lapped at her juices, savoring her essence, before plunging his tongue deep inside her.

"You taste so sweet," he growled between licks. "So fucking sweet, Deanna."

His fingers joined the dance, slipping inside her, stretching and filling her as his tongue continued its relentless assault. Deanna's hips bucked off the bed, seeking more of his touch, her hands tugging at her restraints in a futile attempt to get closer to the source of her pleasure.

Nash sensed her impending climax and increased his efforts, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony. He sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, while his fingers pistoned in and out of her slick heat.

"Come for me, Deanna," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire.

Deanna's body obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through her. Nash continued to lick and suck, drawing out her climax until she was a trembling, sated mess, her thighs quivering.

Nash slowly withdrew his fingers, his mouth leaving her sensitive flesh with a final, lingering kiss. He rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with satisfaction as he took in the sight of Deanna's flushed, post-orgasmic body.

"We're not done yet," he whispered, his voice thick with admiration. "I've only just begun to explore your treasures."

Deanna's heart pounded in her chest as Nash slowly began to undress, his eyes never leaving hers. He shed his pirate clothing, revealing his muscular body, every inch of him tanned and toned. His erection jutted out from his body, prominent and enticing.

"Do you want me, Deanna?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Do you want to feel me inside you?"

Deanna nodded, her eyes locked on his straining cock.

Nash grinned, his eyes glinting with triumph. He knelt between her legs and pulled her up, his hands cupping her ass as he held her hips. He positioned himself at the entrance of her glistening core. "You're so wet, my sweet captive. So ready for me."

With one smooth thrust, he filled her. Deanna gasped, her body welcoming the invasion as Nash's thick shaft stretched and filled her. He paused, allowing her to adjust to his size, before beginning a slow, relentless rhythm.

Nash's hips snapped forward, driving deep into her with each thrust. His hands slipped down to her thighs, gripping them firmly, spreading her wide, exposing her to his relentless assault. Deanna's body responded to his primal urges, her hips rising to meet his, their skin slapping together in a frenzied rhythm.

"Harder, please," she cried, her voice hoarse and desperate.

Nash obliged, his pace increasing, his thrusts becoming more forceful. The bed creaked in protest as he used her hard, his powerful body driving her towards another climax. Deanna's breasts jiggled with each impact, tempting him. He leaned down and suckled her nipple, giving it the edge of his teeth and sending sparks of pleasure through her.

"You're not innocent, are you? Sweet, naive girls don't like it rough, but you do, don't you?" he growled, his breath hot against her ear.

Deanna could only moan in response, her words reduced to nonsensical sounds as Nash's cock pounded into her, hitting all the right spots. Her body trembled on the edge of release, and she struggled in the ropes with which he'd bound her.

"Come for me, my beauty," Nash demanded, his voice thick with his own rising need. "Let me feel your cunt squeeze my cock."

His words were all it took to send Deanna over the edge. Her body convulsed around him, her inner muscles clenching and releasing his shaft as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Nash groaned, his own orgasm building as he felt her pulsing around him.

With a final, powerful thrust, Nash emptied himself into her, his hot cum filling her depths. He collapsed onto her, his chest heaving as he fought to regain his breath.

As their breathing slowed, Deanna began to wake, the dream fading, but the sensations lingered, leaving her body sated and her mind spinning with the intensity of the experience.

Deanna stirred, coming fully awake to the soft creaking of The Reverie shifting in the gentle morning breeze. The air was cooler now, the remnants of the storm having swept through, leaving the island in a fragile peace. She lay still for a moment, the light filtering through the small porthole casting warm patterns across the sheets. Her body ached with exhaustion from the previous day's events—the storm, the adrenaline, and the tension between her and Nash.

God, Nash.

The thought of him sent a ripple of emotions through her. She sat up, brushing her curls away from her face as she remembered the two versions of him that had emerged over the past twenty-four hours. Last night, he had been all command and focus, navigating through the storm with the precision and intensity of a SEAL his instincts impossible to ignore. But the man she had met in London? The one who had captivated her so effortlessly with his laid-back charm, his roguish grin, and his teasing dominance?

She couldn't reconcile them. Was he the pirate she'd flirted with, or the hardened SEAL who kept everyone at arm's length?

The smell of salt and fresh morning air wafted through the cabin, reminding her that they were anchored off the coast of an island and not out of the woods yet. She needed to clear her head. Throwing on a lightweight sweater and shorts, she padded barefoot into the galley, her movements slow and thoughtful. The galley was a chef's dream, and she wondered idly if Nash could cook or if he hired someone when he was doing a charter.

Deanna decided to start breakfast. Maybe a simple meal would cut through some of the tension still clinging between her and Nash. She busied herself with making scrambled eggs, slicing some fruit, and brewing two mugs of coffee. As the coffee brewed, the aroma filled the cabin, and she found herself smiling slightly—maybe it would help bring back that elusive, relaxed version of Nash.

Once everything was ready, she balanced the plates and mugs on a tray and made her way up the narrow steps to the deck. The moment she stepped outside, she felt it.

The tension.

Nash stood at the helm, his entire posture rigid, the relaxed nonchalance he sometimes carried gone. He was alert, scanning the shore with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of Deanna's neck stand up. She stopped in her tracks for a moment, watching him. He looked different—his body was still, but everything about him screamed alertness. His military bearing was unmistakable now, a stark reminder of the life he had lived before this one. His face was set, jaw clenched, and his sharp eyes darted across the landscape like a predator hunting for signs of danger.

Gone was the man who had shared that brief, fiery night with her in London. Gone was the casual, confident charmer who had flirted with her on their first encounter. This was Nash Maddox, the SEAL.

She swallowed, feeling a strange pull in her chest—something between fascination and apprehension. The man before her was a protector, but there was an edge to him that felt like he could spring into action at any moment. It was hard to reconcile this version of Nash with the one she had known before. He was both. Both the man she had trusted with her body in that fleeting one night and the one who seemed to hold the world at arm's length, ready to fight it if necessary.

"Nash," she called softly, carrying the tray toward him.

He turned, his eyes softening ever so slightly when he saw her, but the alertness didn't leave him. He was still scanning the horizon even as he spoke to her. "Morning."

She offered him the mug of coffee and one of the plates, giving him a small smile despite the obvious tension hanging between them. "I thought you could use something to eat. It looks like you didn't sleep much."

Nash took the mug gratefully, his fingers brushing against hers in a moment of warmth. His face eased just enough for her to see the hint of gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks. I needed this."

Deanna placed the tray down on a small table near the helm and took a seat across from him, watching as he downed the coffee with a kind of focus that matched everything else he did. She studied him quietly for a moment, wrestling with the mixture of feelings swirling inside her. The way he held himself now—the rigid control, the constant alertness—was such a contrast to the man she had first met, the man who had felt like an enigma wrapped in charm and heat. She had known, of course, that there was more to him. She just hadn't realized how much more.

"This is good," Nash said, breaking the silence as he forked a piece of scrambled egg into his mouth. His eyes met hers briefly, and for a fleeting second, there was the smallest hint of that playful grin she had seen before. But then it was gone, replaced by something harder, more serious.

"Everything okay?" Deanna asked carefully, her voice soft but probing. "You seem… tense."

Nash didn't answer right away. He finished his food, set the plate down, and wiped his hands on a nearby cloth. Then he turned to face her fully, his body still taut with the kind of energy that could snap into action at a moment's notice.

"The signs I saw on the beach last night," Nash said, his tone low, almost conversational, but there was an edge beneath the words. "Someone else has been here on this island, and not too long ago. I'm not convinced they aren't still here."

Deanna's stomach tightened. "And you think they could be watching us?"

"Could be," Nash admitted, his eyes scanning the shoreline again. "But I'm not taking any chances. Whoever they are, I want to know what we're dealing with before we set sail again."

She could see it in him—the way his mind was working, already planning, calculating the risks. It was the same way he had moved through the storm last night: focused, methodical. But there was something different in how he spoke to her now. He was sharing the information with her, not just barking orders. It felt like… respect. Like he understood she could handle it.

"What do you think we should do?" Deanna asked, folding her arms as the breeze picked up around them.

Nash hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then he leaned closer, resting one hand on the helm, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"We do a little recon before we leave. Check out the island, see if there's anything we need to worry about." His voice was steady, but there was something else there—something unspoken. "We'll move quietly. In and out."

Deanna nodded, trying to match his calm. She wasn't any kind of a SEAL, but she trusted him. More than she probably should. "Okay. When do we go?"

Nash gave her a half-smile, one that was both reassuring and maddeningly confident. "As soon as you're ready."

Deanna stood, her nerves humming with a mix of fear and anticipation. She wasn't sure what lay ahead, but one thing was clear: Nash Maddox wasn't just protecting her. He was pulling her into his world—whether she was ready for it or not.

The midday sun filtered through the dense foliage as Deanna followed closely behind Nash, her feet crunching over the uneven ground. The island was wild, untouched by human hands in so many places, but there was a quiet tension that clung to every tree, every rustle of leaves. The further they ventured, the more she could feel it—a shift in the air, like the island itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nash moved with purpose, his body tense, his senses on full alert. His eyes scanned their surroundings constantly, reading the landscape with the kind of practiced vigilance that made Deanna's stomach twist. She had never felt unsafe with him, but the way he was acting now—the way his focus had narrowed to something razor-sharp—told her that he was feeling something she couldn't quite see.

But that didn't stop her curiosity from bubbling up.

As they navigated deeper into the island, cutting through thick brush and climbing over rocks, Deanna's mind was already drifting into scientific mode. The island, remote as it was, felt like an untouched paradise, with its lush vegetation and hints of wildlife she hadn't expected. There was so much to discover here—so much life hidden beneath the surface. But that wasn't why they were here. Not today.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Nash suddenly stopped in front of her, his arm extending to block her path. His jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on something just ahead. Deanna leaned around him, trying to get a glimpse of what had caught his attention.

And then she saw it—a second, hidden cove. It opened up ahead of them, concealed by the natural curve of the island. The water in the cove was eerily still, a stark contrast to the turbulent sea they had left behind. But it wasn't the water that caught her attention—it was what lay half-submerged in it.

The wreckage of a ship.

Or what was left of it.

Deanna's breath hitched in her throat as she stepped forward, her eyes widening with surprise. The remains of the vessel were scattered across the shore, pieces of metal and wood jutted out at odd angles, as if the ship had been torn apart by the rocks. But this wasn't the typical wreckage of a ship that had met a natural end. No, there was something deliberate about it, something purposeful.

"Nash, look at this…" she murmured, her voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.

Nash didn't respond immediately. He was already moving, his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. The wreckage was fresh—too fresh. The edges of the ship's torn hull hadn't rusted yet, and the scattered debris was still sharp, not weathered by time or the elements. She could tell his instincts were telling him that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Deanna crouched near a large section of the hull, running her fingers over the metal, her scientific curiosity flaring despite the danger she sensed. "This ship wasn't destroyed naturally," she said, more to herself than to Nash. "It looks like it was deliberately sunk."

Nash's eyes darkened as he crouched beside her, his fingers brushing against the jagged edges of the wreck. "Scuttled," he echoed, his voice tight. "To hide something, maybe."

Deanna looked at him, her pulse quickening. "Hide what?"

Nash didn't answer, not right away. He stood, his gaze sweeping across the cove, searching for signs of anything—or anyone—out of place. The stillness of the scene unnerved him. Wrecked ships didn't just appear without reason. There was always a story. And usually, stories like this ended badly.

Deanna's attention had already shifted again, her mind racing with questions as she moved carefully through the debris, her eyes scanning for any clues about the ship's origins. What had happened here? Why had the ship been scuttled? And why in such a remote place? The more she thought about it, the more fascinated she became, her scientific instincts flaring.

She could tell that Nash wasn't thinking like a scientist; he was thinking like a SEAL.

Something about this place felt wrong. The ship wasn't the only thing scuttled—there was a deliberate carelessness to the wreckage, a scattering of objects and crates that seemed to have been discarded quickly. Too quickly.

Nash's unease grew with every step. "Deanna," he called out, his voice low but commanding. "Stay close."

But Deanna, caught up in her observations, had already wandered a few feet away, her eyes locked onto something partially buried beneath a pile of debris. She knelt down, brushing aside sand and broken wood to reveal a metal container. It looked old, but its surface was smooth, industrial—out of place among the natural decay of the wreck.

"Nash, come look at this," she said, her voice tinged with excitement.

Nash was at her side in an instant, his body tense as he stared down at the container. Before he could stop her, she pried the lid open with a piece of driftwood.

What she found inside made both of them freeze.

"Weapons," he whispered. Not just any weapons—advanced, military-grade hardware. Rifles, handguns, explosives—all of it stashed inside the container, hidden away amidst the wreckage.

"This wasn't some innocent shipwreck, was it?"

Nash shook his head, his voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "Deanna, step back. Now."

She blinked, her eyes widening as she realized what they had uncovered. Her fascination turned to alarm, the implications of what they had found crashing down on her like a wave. "What the hell is all this?"

Nash's face was grim as he crouched beside the container, inspecting the weapons. They were clean, well-maintained—too well-maintained for something that had been abandoned. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. "This is military-grade equipment," he said, his voice tight. "And it's not supposed to be here."

Deanna took a step back, her heart racing. "Who would leave this behind? And why?"

"Someone who didn't want to be found," Nash said darkly. He stood, his body coiled with tension as his eyes scanned the cove again. "We need to leave. Now."

Deanna's stomach twisted as she realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn't just a wrecked ship. They had stumbled onto something far more dangerous. Her scientific curiosity, which had flared so brightly just moments ago, was now overshadowed by a growing sense of dread.

Nash moved quickly, his military training taking over as he guided her back toward the tree line. His voice was calm but firm. "We're not alone here, Deanna. Whoever scuttled that ship, they'll be back. And I don't intend to be here when they return."

As they retreated from the cove, Deanna's mind raced, a thousand questions swirling in her head. But one thing was clear: whatever they had found, it had pulled them into something far more dangerous than either of them had anticipated.

And Nash, with his steely resolve and instincts sharpened by years of combat, was the only thing standing between them and whatever was coming next.