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26. Zayan

26

Zayan

“ T he only person I ever want to fuck is you.”

Her words echo in my mind, over and over. How long did I wait to hear anything close to this? How many nights wasted wondering if she’s got some other fool toying with her behind everyone’s backs, just to scratch that itch for a thrill?

Too many, that’s for sure.

But now she’s standing in front of me, cheeks flushed and eyes just crinkled at the corners, gazing at me like there’s no one else in this world. And damn if that look doesn’t slice through every wall I’ve put up, tearing down every bit of bravado I’ve ever worn like armor. I’m standing here bare, and she doesn’t even have to lift a finger to do it.

“Care to act on it, then?” I murmur, feeling that familiar heat kick through me. Just the thought of having her naked beneath me makes me rigid. We’ve had sex many times, yet I know it’ll never be enough. Every time we’re through, I’m only left craving the next.

And this time? It’s different. It’s not just two people filling the empty spaces in the dead of night. This time, it’s real.

“Fuck, yes.. Just… stop looking at me like that,” she breathes out, voice breaking just slightly. My heart stutters—Gypsy Flint, the toughest, most ruthless woman I know, is feeling shy?

“Like what?” I ask, letting a smile pull at my mouth.

Her gaze drops, her voice a whisper. “Like I’m something… precious.” She says it like the word leaves a bad taste on her tongue. “It makes me feel powerless.”

Powerless? She’s got all of me in her hands, and she doesn’t even see it. I’d throw myself to the depths for her, dance with the devil himself if she asked me to. She doesn’t know it, but she’s got every bit of power over me she’ll ever need.

Still, I understand. Vulnerability doesn’t come easy—not for her, not for me. When you live by the sword, you build walls thick as a ship’s hull. And this? This is as dangerous as any fight I’ve ever walked into, because it’s not bullets or blades cutting deep. It’s her touch, her damn gaze.

I lift her chin, coaxing her to look at me, baring enough to let her see we’re both in this, stripped bare together.

“I can’t help it, love,” I tell her, voice rough. She hesitates, then lets out a shaky laugh, fingers resting against my chest.

“Should I make you regret it, then?” she murmurs, a challenge in her eyes.

I smirk, leaning in. “You can try.”

She traces her fingers up my chest, and I catch the faintest tremor in her hands.

“Only try?” she asks. “Think I won’t succeed?”

“I know you won’t,” I murmur, dropping my tone low. “Because you already own every damn piece of me.” It’s as close to a confession as she’ll get from me.

Love? Hell, I don’t even know what that is. When Silverbeard asked if I love her, I couldn’t answer. But I’d walk into fire for her without a second thought, no regrets. That’s all I need to know.

“Fuck, you’re not making this easy for me,” she mutters, pressing against my chest, her touch sparking through me.

But her eyes tell a different story. I’ve waited lifetimes for her to look at me like that—like we could burn the world to cinders and laugh in the ashes, as long as we’re together. She wants to be here with me. I can see it.

“How about you command me, then?” My words slide out, casual as you please, though my pulse thunders against my ribs. “All you’ve got to do is tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

I’ve never been the kind of man to kneel, not even to her. I’m Zayan Cagney—the one Roche trusted to lead, the one no one could touch. That’s always been my armor, the power I’d never let slip. Even back when she and I were barely more than secrets in the dark, it mattered how she saw me. Who I was to her.

But now? Hell, I’d let go of every scrap of pride just to keep this going. To keep her close.

“Oh?” she murmurs. “I give the orders, and you’ll fall in line, Zayan?”

I smirk deeper. “You’re the captain here, remember? I’m just here to obey… every single command you’ve got in mind. Unless, of course, you’d rather I disobey.”

I see it then—the shift in her eyes, the flicker of that old fire coming back. Her embarrassment fades, and there she is—unfiltered, fierce, raw.

And hell if that doesn’t make me shudder.

Her fingers brush along my jaw, tracing a path that’s pure heat, and I lean into her touch, hungry for more.

“Funny,” she purrs, her thumb dragging slow across my bottom lip. “I seem to remember you aren’t one for following orders.”

God, I want to catch that thumb between my teeth, drag her in close until every word I haven’t said spills out in the heat between us. But I don’t. Tension pulls tighter, hotter, coils deep. Her fingers graze lower, slipping under my collar, tugging me in like she’s testing the leash.

She tightens her grip, close enough that her lips hover over mine, her fingers just skimming beneath my shirt. “Maybe I just need the right captain to keep me in line,” I murmur, my voice a rough edge, nearly breaking from the restraint it takes not to close the distance between us.

She laughs, low and wicked, lips barely brushing the corner of my mouth. “I’ve imagined it, you know… commanding you like this.” Her hand drifts down, fingers teasing along my chest. “For once, with you giving up the fight.”

Fuck, she’s impossible.

My hand slips to her waist, fingers digging in, needing to feel the firmness of her under my grasp, to anchor myself.

“Do it then,” I exhale. “Tell me what you want.”

Her fingers slide lower, tracing just over my pants, and I feel my restraint slip another notch. She tilts her head, breath feathering against my cheek, and my lips find her jaw, trailing down to her neck, tasting the salt on her skin.

I’d taste her forever if I could. I’d make her dance on my tongue until she’s shaking just as much as I am. Then, I’d draw the moment out and stretch it. All, just to see how every last ounce of that fire in her eyes is burning just for me alone.

“I’m feeling… sentimental,” she whispers finally, and my hand tightens on her waist. “Remember the first time? On Medusa’s Gaze?”

The memory hits hard—her shallow breaths against my lips, the tension of sneaking away, the bite of knowing any second we could get caught. I don’t bother with words. Instead, I drop to my knees, my gaze locked on hers as her hands slide into my hair.

I’ll give her exactly what she needs.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. Her fingers tighten in my hair, enough to sting. “So eager… and so damn obedient.”

A rough laugh escapes me, hands sliding up her calves, slow, deliberate. “Only for you,” I murmur, daring to let my fingers drift higher, waiting for the invitation I know is coming.

Her lips curve in that dangerous way of hers. “Do you remember how I wanted it back then?” Her voice is a soft rasp that sends a shiver through me.

“Oh, I remember,” I reply, voice thick. “You wanted it slow… my tongue flat against you.”

I was reckless back then. Sneaking onto the Serpents’ ship for the thrill. Nearly gave myself away too—my dagger slipped, and she caught it before it clattered to the floor. She could have sounded the alarm, called her crew. But she didn’t. Instead, she gave me an ultimatum: her orgasm for my life. And I’d taken the deal without a second thought.

Her hand guides me now, just like that night, and I follow, pressing my lips to the inside of her thigh, feeling the warmth of her through her clothes. She sighs, soft and breathy, just enough to drive me wild.

“Slow,” she breathes, echoing that first night. “Just like back then.”

So I do just what she asks. I trail my lips deliberately up her thigh, savoring each inch as her body responds, her breaths growing more uneven. Reaching the waistband of her breeches, I take the fabric between my teeth and pull, sliding the other side with the help of my hands.

I want her to feel it, to see it in my eyes. I’m here for her, with her, every inch. Whatever pace she wants, I’ll match it. Her pupils are blown, her eyes darker than night. She looks beautiful standing above me.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, licking her lips. “Look into my eyes, just like that. You look so pretty on your knees.”

A smirk tugs at my mouth. For someone who hates showing weakness, she sure revels in bringing it out of me. My fingers hook around her breeches, pulling them down slow enough to drive her mad. I tilt my head up, still watching her.

“But you’ll let me look at your pussy, won’t you? I’m a man starving here, love.”

Her cheeks flush, lashes flickering just enough to tell me she’s teetering on the edge. She nods, barely there, but it’s all I need. My eyes drink her in—paler skin than on the rest of her body, soft mound of flesh shaped in a luscious V, and swollen pussy that already glistens from her arousal.

Fucking breathtaking.

Gypsy’s fingers tighten in my hair, demanding I get closer. Like I’d hesitate.

I take my time, starting at the inside of her thigh, tasting her skin, letting the heat build with each inch closer. She’s addictive, the kind of pull that makes a man feel invincible. My tongue traces higher, and her breathing shifts, each little gasp fueling me to push her just a bit more.

She wants control—wants me to take my time. Fine. I can do patience, but only just. The urge to devour her is so sharp it’s a miracle I don’t.

Her hips tilt, guiding me up, and I finally settle between her thighs, pressing my tongue flat against her clit. I move it just so, letting my tongue drag over her in a way I know she likes—from the top, to the very bottom, gathering every single bit of wetness and drinking it in.

Every flick, every swirl is calculated, each sound she makes pulling me deeper into this damn madness she’s got me in. When she moans my name, soft and breathy, it’s like a shot of rum to the gut, and I almost lose it right there.

“Zayan,” she breathes, and that’s it—that’s the fuel. My name on her lips, her body shivering under my touch.

I’m going to make her feel it all, make her know just how much she’s taken me apart and remade me. I’d tear down walls, throw every last prayer at her feet, if that’s what it takes. Hell, I’d build her a whole damn temple and be its most devout believer, just to keep this fire burning.

“Zayan,” she gasps, a command threaded into that one word. “Don’t stop.”

Like hell I would. Stopping’s the last thing I’d do, not when she’s right here, and I’m already neck-deep in the madness of her. Every nerve, every muscle—I’d burn them out if it meant seeing her come undone like this.

“Oh, gods…” she trembles, voice breaking. “I wanted you like this… so fucking bad…”

I grin, half breathless myself, because I know. I know just how much she wanted me. I wanted her just as much.

A grin pulls at my lips, half-breathless, half-triumphant, because I already knew. I knew the whole time. And every night on that cursed schooner, lying next to her with nothing but a thin wall of tension between us, I’d find myself gripping the ropes in silence. She hated me back then. But she wanted me, too.

I could tell her that I’d see her in my dreams every night, like some haunting ghost. That her scent would follow me wherever I went, lingering, impossible to shake. But words? They’re useless now, when I know exactly where my tongue belongs.

“Zayan…” she whispers. “You’re… licking me… so well…”

I close my eyes, savoring her praise, letting it wash over me like a benediction. My hands slide up to grip her hips, holding her steady as I press in harder, rolling my tongue against her clit with a rhythm that leaves her breath hitching to match me.

Her back arches, a low, desperate moan spilling from her lips, and I feel it in my very cock. A sound like that? Makes me lose any scrap of restraint. I want more of her, need her so bad it’s almost a curse, each twitch of my dick brushing against the fabric of my pants already painful.

I keep one hand on her calf, thumb tracing lazy circles, while the other slips down between us, just a tease, circling her entrance. I press against her entrance, slowly, feeling her tense, before pushing inside, and she gasps, head falling back, neck bared.

“Yes, Zayan,” she breathes, voice breaking like she’s barely holding on.

I curl my fingers inside, finding that spot that makes her shudder, my mouth never letting up, relentless, until her moans grow louder, raw and wild.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect…” she murmurs.

“Yeah?” I mutter, mouth never leaving her as I flick my tongue, feeling her grip my hand, hips rolling against me. “Tell me, love… just how perfect?”

I add another finger, coaxing her open, stretching her with a rhythm that has her body moving like she’s got no choice but to follow. Her hands clutch at me.

“Zayan, don’t stop—please,” she gasps, voice raw, desperate. “Don’t even think about stopping, or I’ll—“

A low growl escapes me. I will never stop and I want her to know that. She’s wrapped around me, tangled up in my hands, my mouth, my head. I’m lost in the taste of her, the feel of her body breaking under my touch, the way she says my name like it’s the only thing holding her together.

I thrust my fingers deeper, moving them just like I do my tongue—like we have all the time in the world. Her body tenses, her muscles coiling tight as a bowstring. And then breaks in my hands with a cry, her whole body surrendering to the pleasure.

She’s drenched, her release soaking my fingers, my mouth, and I take it all in, savoring every moment, every shiver. I keep going, dragging her through wave after wave, not stopping until she’s trembling, breathless, and clinging to me. Only when her grip in my hair loosens, her body finally easing, do I slow down, letting her catch her breath.

She glances down at me, eyes glazed, a lazy smirk playing at her lips. “Get up here,” she murmurs, voice low and satisfied.

I rise to my feet, my legs unsteady. Every brush of my pants against my erection is a torture, but my thumb swipes along my lips, catching the last of her taste, and I meet her gaze, letting a slow grin spread across my face.

“You’re a menace, Gypsy Flint,” I say, voice low. “And yet, I want nothing but more.”

She hooks her fingers into my belt, pulling me close and claims my mouth in a kiss that shreds the last of my restraint.

“Lose the clothes,” she whispers, breaking away, a challenge glinting in her eyes. “And get your ass on that bed.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I flash her a smile, fingers already unfastening belts and buckles, clothes hitting the floor like they’re nothing but dead weight. Her gaze follows every move, lingering here and there, and by the time I’m down to nothing, her challenge has a new edge.

My cock is rock hard and ready for her, the tip glistening in the dim light.

“Enjoying the view, are we?” I tease her, licking my lips. Her eyes narrow, and she jerks her head toward the bed, that no-nonsense glint in her gaze daring me to make another quip. I let her have the win, lying back on the bed, propped on one elbow so I can watch her.

And damn, what a sight. She’s got that lethal grace, like a predator closing in. Her fingers tug at the last clasps of her outfit, letting each piece slip to the floor with a thud.

Goosebumps trail along her skin, her nipples tight under the faint sheen of sweat that catches the light. Her hair, wild and tangled, frames her like some warrior’s crown. She’s fierce, raw, and so unapologetically glorious that my mouth goes dry.

But that ink—the Serpents’ mark—is the thing that gets me every time. She might say she’s done with that crew, with all of them, but it’s part of her now, threaded into every line of that tattoo. She’d probably lose her mind if she knew how many times it’s found its way into my dreams.

Then, without a word, she climbs onto the bed, moving over me with a confidence that’s almost brutal. She straddles my hips, her skin slick and hot, fingers wrapping around my cock like she owns it. She lifts herself, drawing out the moment just long enough to drive me mad, before sinking down in one slow, agonizing glide.

And I’m lost.

My thoughts scatter, my breath catching as she settles in. I mutter a curse, rough and broken, barely holding it together.

Every inch of her is like molten velvet. It’s like being dragged under a warm wave, stars blurring above me, wrapped in heat and chaos.

Her moan—a low, dangerous thing—vibrates through my chest as her hands splay across me, her body tightening, pulling me in deeper. I fist the sheets, forcing myself not to take control, not to ruin the rhythm she’s claiming.

“Damn it, love,” I groan, voice rough, barely holding on. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

And what a fucking way to go. It beats any other.

Each rise and fall of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure through me, my breath coming in ragged gasps. She sets a rhythm, faster than what I did to her, but slow nonetheless. It’s driving me mad.

“Arms above your head, Zayan,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

I comply, gripping the headboard with white-knuckled restraint, the grin on her face making me want to turn the tables. But she leans in, her breath hot against my ear.

“Look at you,” she purrs, satisfaction lacing her voice. “So obedient. So lovely... I’d reward you, but… not until you’re begging for it.”

Hell.

The old me would’ve been dead set on making her swallow every word—might’ve even made her choke on my dick just to show her who’s in charge. But that bastard didn’t know the way her body feels when she tightens up like that.

Power does things to her—makes her come alive, and therefore it does things to me, too. I’ll be whatever she wants, play whatever role gets her to feel that way again.

Her hips start to move faster, her rhythm taking over. The slick sounds of our bodies moving together fill the room, mingling with our ragged breaths. The bed creaks in protest, the waves hammer the hull, but none of it matters. All I hear, all I feel, is her.

She cries out, raw and wild, like a damn siren bent on wrecking me, her voice filling every corner of the cabin and carving its way straight into my chest.

“Beg for it, Zayan,” she gasps, need laced through every word. “I want to hear you beg.”

I don’t even think. Words tumble out, raw and unguarded. “Gypsy, please—let me come. Let me come in that sweet pussy of yours.”

And damn, she loves it.

Her eyes flash with a wild satisfaction, the kind that makes her eyebrows pinch together and her moans pitch a little higher.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, bouncing on me faster.

But I don’t know how much longer I can take it. My entire body is taut with the effort of holding back. I can feel her tightening around me, pulsating and squeezing. It’s as much of a bliss as it is torture.

“Gypsy…” I groan, almost guttural. “I can’t… damn it, I can’t hold it.”

She grins, pace quickening, eyes fierce. “Then don’t,” she orders, her gaze locked onto mine, a dark command. “Come for me, Zayan. Come with me.”

And that’s it. The last fraying thread snaps. Pleasure surges through me, a fierce, unstoppable wave. Her body pulls me in, and I shudder, muscles coiling, everything unraveling, her name on my lips. I spill myself inside her, finding her body with my hands and gripping her hips.

She breaks right there with me, her whole body shuddering, gasping like she’s forgotten how to breathe.

Finally, she collapses against me, her heartbeat hammering like a drum against my chest. I catch my breath, pulling her close, letting my fingers tangle in her hair.

“That,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple, “felt like tasting the sunrise.”

She laughs, soft and breathless, glancing up at me with a sly smile.

“Think you could taste it again?”

And there it is—the same damned thought that’s haunted me since the moment I laid eyes on her. This time, I let it slip.

“Gypsy Flint, you’re going to be the death of me.”

All she does is laugh.

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