She tightened her inner muscles on him and tweaked his nipples. His sac grew tight, his seed rising, heating. Bloody hell, he was ready to spend himself and she had just begun.
“Of course, love,” he groaned, willing to give her anything she asked. “There’s no rush . . . for me to depart. I’ll stay . . . as long as you . . . think is best. Just do that again . . . oh, yes . . . again . . .”
Olivia’s smile was triumphant as she rested her palms flat on his chest and began to ride him in earnest, lifting and falling in a pounding rhythm, moaning in a way that drove him insane. The part of his brain that still functioned realized she’d managed him to her liking with the use of her body, but the part of him presently being milked inside her didn’t care. She loved his cock—loved to ride it, kiss it, suck on it—and he loved to give it to her. He was mad for her, mad for her pleasure, mad for her touch.
As her body spasmed around him and she cried out his name, Sebastian found he didn’t mind being managed at all. He clutched her hips in his hands, holding her still while he thrust upward into her, prolonging her pleasure. Only when her head fell forward in exhaustion did he allow his own release, spurting his seed in endless bursts against her womb, his body wracked with a pleasure so piercing it robbed him of all thoughts but one: she wanted to keep him with her.
“What in hell are you doing?” Olivia cried as she stepped into the cabin.
The knife in her husband’s hand clattered into the bowl of water on the vanity, creating a fine mess. Sebastian stood in front of her cherry-framed mirror, naked from the waist up and impossibly gorgeous. As always, her heart skipped a beat just looking at him.
In the last few weeks, he’d shared daily living with her in every way a man would share his life with his wife. He’d observed her in the bath, watched her eat, and assisted her toilette. In return, she’d become fascinated with watching his masculine ablutions. She relished brushing his hair and mending tears in his clothing. She adored taking care of him and giving him the affection he’d gone so long without. Sebastian absorbed every drop with an awed appreciation that tugged at her heart.
“Damnation,” he groused, brushing the splattered water off his torso with a towel. “You are like to scare the wits from me, woman!”
“I’ll be scaring more than your wits if I ever find you attempting that again!”
He took a deep, slow breath. Olivia set her arms akimbo and tapped her foot indignantly.
“You said it was unfashionably long,” he explained, still holding his hair in his hand.
“So it is.”
“Well, we’re docking in a few hours.”
“I’m aware of that.” And she hated it, hated that soon they would lose the wondrous intimacy of their long sea voyage and endless days of pleasure in their bed. Within hours, she would be simpering and smiling at the vultures of Society, the very ones who had picked her flesh to the bone only a year ago. And she would have to share her darling husband with them, a man who bore wounds that still festered. The thought made her stomach turn.
“Therefore I’m cutting it,” he said curtly.
“No, you are not.”
His blue eyes met hers, capped with a frown. “Make sense, Olivia, and hurry up about it!”
She released her breath and stepped toward him, not stopping until her body was pressed against his. She wrapped her arms around his lean waist. “I like your hair the way it is.”
Disbelief etched his handsome features.
“I like running my fingers through it when you are sitting down and I’m standing at your shoulder. I like seeing strands of it left on my pillow. I like it swaying around my shoulders when you are thrusting deep inside of me.” With gentle fingers, she pried his hair from his tense grasp and rubbed her face in it.
“I was cutting it for you,” he said hoarsely.
“Keep it for me,” she whispered, meeting his intense gaze. “When we stand in crowded ballrooms, I will see your queue and know that you are mine. I will be reminded of how wild you are, how you struggle against the bonds that hold you, and I will think to myself, ‘He chose the bonds that bound him to me.’ And I will be happy.”
Her hands stroked up the rippled expanse of his torso and came to rest over his heart. It beat beneath her palm in a panicked rhythm.
“God, Olivia,” he breathed in a strangled whisper. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Stepping backward, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bed. “We have a few hours left. Why don’t you show me?”
Sebastian looked out over the smelly, sooty mess that was the London wharf and, despite his best efforts, felt his stomach tie up in knots. He’d fled England the day after Edmund died and had never returned, had never wanted to, still didn’t.
He sighed, taking comfort in Olivia. He would not be alone in this. His wife was thoroughly consummate in the social arts.
“Good God!” she cried from behind him.
Frowning, he spun on his heel. “What is it, love?”
Olivia stood just outside the stairway, resplendent in a blue silk damask gown with lace-edged bodice and sleeves. A shiver of awareness flowed through him, bright and insistent.
Her hand was pressed to her heart. “You . . . good grief . . .” She shook her head slowly. “Damn, you stopped my heart for a moment.”
“Don’t swear,” he admonished with a roll of his eyes.
His wife had spent far too many days at sea with foul-mouthed sailors, which was understandable considering her father’s trade. While he admonished her regularly, in truth he found her colorful speech rather charming. The small foible made her seem less perfect and more real, more his. After all, he was a man of overwhelmingly numerous faults.
He waited patiently for her to explain the cause of her distress. Then Sebastian noted the feminine appreciation that lit her eyes and the smile that curved her lush mouth. In fact, now that he was paying attention, he had to admit she looked completely besotted. With him. He grinned. “I take it you approve of my attire.”
Olivia glided toward him, all graceful elegance and luscious woman. “You look quite dashing. Magnificent, actually.”
She pressed herself against him, heedless of the sailors who swarmed the deck and the pedestrians who moved along the crowded wharf. Her hands slid along the lapels of his fine wool coat, down the intricately embroidered silk of his waistcoat, over the bulge of his cock in his snug breeches, and around to the curve of his ass. Thankfully, her wandering touch was hidden from view by his long coat.
“You, my gorgeous pirate, polish up beautifully.” With a firm grip on his hips, she tugged herself toward him, smiling wickedly. “Your cock is hard. Do you never tire of bedsport, Captain Phoenix?”