Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

The rest of the day dragged unbearably for Callista, despite her efforts to keep herself distracted. And the last hour between nine and ten seemed to take forever. She dithered about what to wear. The girlish part of her wanted to drag out her only gown and wear it for him, but she resisted, determined not to make this more than it was. A hot fuck with a man she desired.

She was in control of this encounter and would remain so. The man was hot for her and she for him, there was no reason not to indulge their passion, but discretion was required. He was experienced with women and knew this was just sex, the same as she did, there were no emotions involved on either side and that was all to the good. She couldn’t afford the distraction of an emotional connection, not with Perez to deal with.

So, resisting the urge to don the blue silk gown, a gift from her father on her twenty-first birthday–she had scarcely worn it– she put the thing back in her locker and made do with a clean shirt and her best breeches. She washed in her meagre allotment of water, using the precious sliver of rose petal soap she had for special occasions. She planted the rum-soaked sponge to guard against pregnancy and brushed out her hair.

Dressed only in her shirt and breeches, she padded about the cabin unable to relax. Eventually she got out the whisky and had a fingerful to calm her nerves. She could not remember being this excited to bed a man before. She was wet just thinking about it. God, I’m worked up! If he was as bad, and she had every reason to think he was, their first encounter wouldn’t last long.

She smiled sipping the whisky, she hoped he was prepared for a repeat performance, she didn’t plan on letting him out of her bed until just before dawn.

When the knock she had been waiting for finally arrived her voice came out so croaky she had to clear her throat and try again.

“Come!” she said more forcefully, having scrambled to the chair and assumed a nonchalant position with her feet on the desk, whisky glass in hand. She’d poured him one, and it sat on the polished mahogany surface. The candlelight played with the amber liquid as it moved sinuously in the glass with the gentle heave of the ship.

The door opened and the Irishman slipped in, closing it softly behind him. He, like her, was wearing only shirt and breeches, and his shirt was open to mid-chest showing a generous sprinkling of dark hair. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair brushed and tied back in an old-fashioned queue on the nape of his neck.

She smiled and raised her glass to him as he crossed the room towards her. His eyes were molten blue, dark as the sea tonight. He’d shaved, and as he got closer, she caught a whiff of his scent, he’d not only washed but found something nice and spicy to douse himself with. Must have found it in the stores. She should reprimand him for stealing, but she hadn’t the heart, he smelled too delicious.

He ignored the glass she’d put out for him and taking hers from her hand drank that instead, before putting it on the desk and pulling her up into his arms.

“The longest day of my life,” he murmured wrapping an arm round her waist and finding her lips with his.

“Me too,” she murmured and surrendered to his kiss. Melting into his embrace she let herself be swept away with the tingling pleasure of his mouth on hers and the seductive probing of his tongue. He tasted of her whisky, and she ate him hungrily, wanting to savage him with her pent-up passion. She raised a leg to get closer to the hardness in his breeches and get him to sooth the ache between her legs with that pole she had been dying to see, feel and touch.

He obligingly planted a hand on her arse and pushed her against him, grinding on her with savage force.

“God Irish!” she panted, her fingers scrabbling at the fall of his breeches. “Let’s just do this quick and then we can take it slow the second time, alright?”

His chest heaved for breath, and he nodded, his eyes so dark she couldn’t see the blue now. He reached for her breeches flicked open the buttons with practised fingers and ripped them down her legs. She kicked them off, and he moved her backwards against the wall as she worked his buttons loose and got her hand on his rigid, hot shaft.

“Fuck!” he muttered. “Careful lass I’ll go off like a blunderbuss, I’m that primed.”

“Me too, uggh!” she groaned as his fingers speared her wet flesh. He pushed her against the wall and kissed her savagely, sliding his fingers through her wet, swollen flesh. She lifted a leg eager for him to be inside her. Getting the message, he hefted her up with his hands under her bottom, and she wrapped her legs round his waist as his cock probed her aching entrance and slid inside with a hard thrust. He groaned and she moaned with relief, clinging to him as he began a hard rapid pace that banged her against the wall.

“Yes!” she groaned in his ear as he fucked her brutally. Never had it felt this good before. He was big and long, he filled her to perfection. She squirmed on him to get the pressure she needed, and he tipped her up a bit to get a better angle lifting her knees higher with his arms under them.

“Good?” he panted.

She nodded, her breath coming in desperate gasps as her body clenched with rising pleasure.

“Touch yerself if you need for fucks sake, I’m not going to last much longer!” his voice was husky and strained, his expression feral.

She gasped on a laugh and moved her hips in a sinuous wave, “Ahh!” She reached down between them to stroke and bring herself to the pinnacle just out of reach. She rubbed frantically, unable to slow and savour, her body craving immediate release. Her eyes closed as the wave of pleasure broke and shuddered through her body, making her clench on him tightly and shake with the force of her climax.

A loud groan escaped her lips as her body convulsed and fractured, scattering pleasure all along her nerve endings. So good, so good...

“Callista...” his voice cracked, he went to pull out of her, and she clamped her legs round him tightly to keep him in place, deep inside her. “Callista!” he moaned, and she felt the jerk and rush of heat that heralded his own release. His face twisted with desire, his head flung back as he pushed deep inside her and his body shook with the force of it. He groaned and grunted as he crested the rise and dropped hard on the other side, with several jerks and shudders in the aftermath. He staggered, pressing her against the wall, his hips pushing into her tightly, keeping him deep.

He gasped for breath, his forehead pressed against the wall beside her head, his breath hot on her ear. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m shattered.”

“Mm,” she echoed the sentiment. She loosened her legs round his waist, as he eased his hands from her bottom, letting her legs down so that she could take her own weight.

“Fuck!” He said again with a groan, keeping his knees bent to maintain their connection. “Sorry I couldn’t stop myself, I meant to pull out-”

“It’s alright. I used a sponge, no harm done.”

“Thank fuck for that.” The relief in his voice made her smile. He caught her eyes with his and huffed a laugh. “That was incredible.”

“Yep,” she said with a smug smile. “You’re one hell of a stallion Irish, just what I wanted.”

The rushof heat in his chest at her words of praise took him by surprise. In fact, the whole encounter had surprised him. He had expected to take the lead and seduce her, instead she’d taken full control, he was unprepared for how rapidly things had progressed.

They were still joined, and he stirred his hips, pushing her up on her toes, while he nuzzled her neck. He hadn’t had enough of her. It wouldn’t take long to be ready for a second round.

He withdrew carefully, letting her down onto her heels and did up his breeches. Hers were on the floor. Her shirt came to the tops of her thighs and the sight was enticing. Now he had the leisure to admire her appearance, he took in the full glory of her hair falling in golden waves round her shoulders and down her back. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark turquoise green, sparkled. Her soft lips, full and smiling. She had the look of a woman well satisfied.

Impulsively he cupped her face and kissed her lips. “God yer beautiful!” he murmured, kissing her jaw and her neck. “As wild and beautiful as the sea itself.”

She laughed and flushed, pulling away and then ducking under his arm to pick up the whisky glass she’d poured him, and he hadn’t drunk.

“You’re a poet Irish.”

He followed her to the desk and pulled her back against him. “All Irishmen are poets, didn’t you know? It’s in our blood. Our Bards were the greatest poets who ever lived. We’re a romantic lot.”

She looked up at him and sipped the whisky. He took the glass from her and took a mouthful; it was a damned fine drop. Pity it wasn’t Irish whisky though.

He gave her back the glass and ran his hands over her belly and breasts through the shirt, cupping a breast in each hand and squeezing gently, he was about to suggest she remove the shirt when a thunderous knock on the door jerked them apart.

“Captain!” It was Chen.

“Shit!” muttered Callista, putting down the glass and retrieving her breeches. Hopping on one foot, while she pulled on one leg she called out, “Just a moment Chen,”

She hissed at him. “In the relief room!” She waved him towards a small door in the aft wall. He dived for it and closed the door just as she moved to open the outer door to Chen.

“Sorry to disturb Captain but it’s Mr Harper.”

“Fuck! Drunk again?” came Callista’s reply.

“Aye and he’s climbed the rigging and won’t come down.”

“I’ll be there in a moment Chen.” He heard the door shut and came out of the water closet.

“What’s to do?”

She sighed pulling on her boots and jacket. “It’s Mick, he goes on these benders every now and then. He can be right as rain for months then suddenly he starts drinking. He must have broken into the grog store. Go back to your cabin and then join us on the deck in few minutes. Try to look like you’ve just woken up.”

“Aye,” he nodded and followed her to the door. She checked the hallway outside was empty and ducked out, he followed her and dived into his own cabin closing the door. He listened for the sounds of her going up on deck.

His release had been spectacularly good, very intense, sharply pleasurable, but he was looking forward to a more thorough and leisurely foray next. He’d not had a chance to see, kiss or touch her body yet. They had gone straight to the main course and skipped the appetisers. He felt a bit cheated.

He hadn’t had the opportunity to demonstrate his skill in pleasuring a woman. If his plan was to work, and he was to get her to fall in love with him, he needed to be able to make her melt and beg, to make her feel everything a woman should feel in the throes of passion, in the arms of a man she loved. He needed to make her feel loved, spoiled, cared for...

Judging it had been long enough, he took his hair out of its queue and mussed it a bit, pulled on his boots and jacket and headed up on deck.

The moon was up and giving good light, supplemented by the several lanterns strung along the rails. Callista stood below the main mast looking up into the rigging.

“Mick stop being a bloody idiot and come down!” she said, hands on hips.

A figure clung to the rigging halfway to the tops’l. He was dressed only in breeches and shirt. The whiteness of his shirt stood out like a beacon, the wind flattening it to his thin body.

“She left me Cal!” came the mournful voice from above. “My Catherine left me!”

“Yes Mick, she left you twenty years ago,” said Callista in a voice that said she had heard this a million times before.

“You don’t understand Cal, you’ve never been in love!” the pain in the man’s voice made Connor wince. His tone was ragged, wretched.

“You’re right Mick, I don’t understand. But I do understand this. I need you Mick. I need you back on deck and sober so you can do your job. Do I need to come up there and bring Poesie?” She flicked the wicked silver dagger in her fingers.

Mick laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “What use are my balls to me without my Catherine?”

Callista sighed and paced away from the mast, seeing Connor she said, “any suggestions as to how to get him down?”

Connor nodded, “let me have ago.”

He approached the mast and put his foot on the lowest of the rat lines, looking up he addressed the man above him.

“Tell me about Catherine.”

Harper hooked one arm in a ratline and grabbed the flask hanging from his belt. He took a swig and stared out at the dark waters around them.

“Catherine was the most beautiful, sweet creature God ever created.” his voice was hoarse, and Connor had to strain to catch his words as the wind tried to snatch them away.

Conner pulled himself up the lines. “What happened to her?”

“Catherine Wells. She married Henry Calverleigh and died of consumption at twenty-two. Too young too sweet, too good for this world.” Was the mournful reply.

Connor continued to climb, ignoring the sway of the ropes that still made him uneasy, concentrating on the words of the man above him, whose pain was evident in the anguished tone.

“That is a sad tale Harper, the world is a cruel place.” he said. His hand reached to just below where Harper’s foot was hooked into a rat line.

“Aye ‘tis,” slurred Harper, drinking more from the flask. It was rum by the smell and straight, not diluted with water as it was usually served to the men. “Should a been me!” He added in an aggrieved tone.

“Aye?” Connor took another step. Up one more rung, and he’d be on a level with Harper.

“Should a been me she married, not Calverleigh the rotter! But her father made her take him. He had more money, better prospects.” He gulped and Connor could see the tears running down his cheeks now he was close enough. “She died of a broken heart poor sweet thing, driven to her grave by that cursed devil’s cruelty to her.”

Connor drew level with the man and hung beside him. “What good are ye doing her up here, man? She’s in a better place now.”

“Aye she is.” He sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I miss her. I want to be with her. I’m weary of this life.”

“Ye’ve the soul of an Irishman, Harper.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The Irish love deep and fiercely for life, once we meet our fated love. I understand yer pain man. Ye know how we deal with it?”

“Drink? You’re a sodden lot!”

Connor couldn’t deny that the Irish were famous for their hard heads, he had one himself. “Aye, the drink might dull the pain for a bit, but it always comes back. Nae the Irish exorcise their pain through song. We’re all bloody poets ye know.”

“Hnh,” Harper took another swig from his flask. The wind and the cresting ship made the sails flap and the rigging sway, causing Connor to tighten his hold on the ropes, and try to ignore the flush of sweaty terror on his skin, turning to ice in the cool night air.

“I’ll teach you an Irish song if you like. It’s called the Last Rose of Summer. Me mam used to sing to me as a babe.”

“Go on then.”

Connor cleared his throat and began to sing.

‘Tisthe last rose of summer

Left blooming all alone,

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone.

No flower of her kindred,

No rose bud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

And give sigh for sigh.

Below on the deck,looking up at the two men suspended in the rigging and listening to Connor’s clear tenor, Callista’s skin goose bumped. His voice was liquid fire in her blood, and she closed her eyes to appreciate it all the more. The Irishman could surely sing!

“Now do it with me,” said Connor repeating the first lines and encouraging Mick to sing with him. After a few false starts, Mick picked up the melody and the words and the two of them serenaded the sea with the lilting, melancholy words.

I’ll not leave thee,thou lone one,

To pine on the stem.

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go sleep now with them.

Thus,kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o’er the bed

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon mayI follow

When friendships decay,

And from loves shining circle

The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie withered

And fond ones are flown

Oh! Who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

Callista opened her eyes,sensing the others creeping up onto the deck to listen, coaxed from their beds by the haunting notes of Connor’s voice. The deck was crowded by the time they’d finished and Callista didn’t catch the conversation between the two men that followed, but soon after that the two of them began to descend. When Mick’s foot touched the deck, Callista grabbed him and hugged him.

“You curst fool, don’t do that to me!” She had tears on her cheeks from the song and the whole strain of the long moments of having a man she cared about threatening to throw himself into the sea.

“Sorry Cal,” mumbled Mick, staggering a bit.

“And stay out of the bloody rum or I’ll have to lock you in the brig!” She said sharply. “In fact, I will have to, if any of the other crew broke into the supplies and drank the rum they’d be incarcerated, so you will be too. Don’t make me add the lash to that Mick.” She held out her hand for the flask and Mick unclipped it from his belt and handed it to her.

Mick nodded, wiping his eyes. “Aye I’m sorry Cal, do what you must.” He turned, listing a bit with the swell of the deck. “Thank you Irish, you’ve a fine set of pipes on you.”

He then allowed the women to take him to the brig.

She turned to Connor and resisted the urge to fling herself into his arms and thank him for what he had just done. She couldn’t do that in front of the crew, and it might not be wise in private either.

Instead, she crossed her arms under her breasts and said, “you’ve been holding out on us Irish, didn’t know you could sing.”

Connor shrugged modestly. “Nobody asked.”

Callista looked around the deck and clapped her hands. “Back to bed; everyone except the nightshift. The entertainment’s over.”