‌I woke before dawn, dressed quietly in the dining cabin, and waited for Ashley to emerge. As I tightened the laces I could reach and re-straightened pleats, my spine felt taller, my chin angling higher.‌

The alteration of Ashley’s frocks was the best idea I’d hatched since boarding this ship. Extravagant, brocaded fabric covered my frame from breasts to feet. Practical, sturdy material. Yet so elegant in detail. And something I hadn’t noticed until now… The dazzling blue threads matched the color of his eyes.

I couldn’t wait to see his reaction, to watch his gaze devour the gold- embroidered whorls that edged the deep-cut bosom, the dramatic tuck where my waist greeted my hips, and the skirt full of turnings and windings that accentuated my curves.

I loathed constricting garments, but this morning, I felt fashionably feminine. Sensual. Better than ordinary.

The reflection in the window caught my eye, and for a poignant moment, I saw the image of Lady Abigail Leighton. Golden hair blazing in the sunrise, huge cerulean blue eyes, regal features, delicate lines… Was that really me? It couldn’t be. My mother had been such a gorgeous woman.

Doubt swarmed in, heavy and sticky, clinging to my skin.

Graceful garb, tamed curls, and proper posture didn’t change what I was.

Pirate whore.

His mockery didn’t hurt me. I was, by my own will, a pirate. And by aristocratic standards, a ruined whore to boot. I owned that.

What had injured me with Ashley had been his timing. He’d told me I was beautiful, touched me with interested fingers, melted me with heated looks, coaxed tendrils of my trust, and… Rejection. He’d hit me right when he knew it would hurt me the most.

Movement sounded in the sleeping chamber.

The prick hath risen.

I breathed in slowly and remained out of view in the fore cabin, listening to him urinate off the balcony. Just thinking about his cock in his hand brought to mind other things I’d heard and seen him doing at that rail.

It still scrambled my mind. For a man who was annoyingly strict, over- precise, and more strait-laced than a preacher at Sunday service, he sure did have a lot of pollution to release at the end of the day.

Had he stroked himself to completion every night before he’d met me?

Or was this a new habit inspired by my charming personality?

One evening, in the very near future, I would join him on that balcony and take matters into my own hands. In the literal sense.

I hated him, and at the same time, I longed to pleasure him in ways a refined lady wouldn’t begin to consider.

He was commodore of HMS Blitz, the only one-hundred-gun ship of the line on the sea. But with me, he would be a man, mortal and made of flesh that hardened with the hunger to sink into my velvety sheath and live there until death and beyond.

Or so thought my ego.

As he moved through the aft cabin, grooming and donning clothes, the exterior door to the dining cabin opened. The young soldier who delivered the meals—George was the name I’d pried from him yesterday—stepped in carrying a silver tray. And stopped.

His eyes flitted to me, where I stood beside a chair. They widened, blinked, and darted away. Then he hurried to the table.

“If you have something to say, Georgie, by all means…” I rested a fist on my cocked hip. “Let’s hear it.”

“Madam, y-y-you look…” The platter of dishes rattled as he set it down, losing his grip and poise. “You’re radiant.” His gaze snapped toward the day cabin, and his chin dropped to his cravat. “I mean to say, uh— My apologies, my lord.”

Without another glance in my direction, George swept out of the cabin.

“And that’s how you clear a room.” I started to turn toward the reason for his sudden departure. “Your presence seems to have that effect…”

My voice lost sound as I met Ashley’s gaze.

Hypnotic, shiver-inducing eyes. How unfair for a man to have eyes like that, with lashes so long and silky they cast crescent-shaped shadows on his cheeks. The black fringes made those ocean blue depths dominate his face and everything around him.

My attention lowered to a perfectly proportioned male chest encased in a red waistcoat of the shiniest silk. He was decked in clothing suited to royalty—an immaculately tailored blue frock, thigh-hugging breeches, and gold-buckled shoes. His white hose, made of woven wool, looked as though they’d been melted onto his defined calves.

I didn’t have to stretch my imagination to remember those legs, nude and flexing, as he chased his release.

He openly returned my assessment, his focus caressing my appearance at a leisurely crawl, his expression flat. Empty.

My nerves twisted. As his feet started moving toward me, I stood straighter, preparing for the worst. When he reached my side, his hand went to my hair, his fingers immediately catching on a knot I’d missed.

“I searched for a hairbrush and pins.” My cheeks heated. “I couldn’t find anything to tame—”

“Be silent while I look at you.” “The laces on the back of my—” “Quiet, woman.”

He paced a circuit around me, touching my body with only his gaze. Examining. Breathing. Driving me out of my skin. I felt like a target in a spyglass, waiting for the lit match to lower to the touchhole and drop thirty- two pounds of red-hot iron on my arse.

If I could only be so lucky.

After a full circle, he paused before me and stepped close. So close the buttons on his coat snagged on the gown’s embroidery. My heart stuttered as I stared straight ahead, where his cravat tucked into his shirt.

Lifting a hand, his fingers met the taut cords of my neck. Firm pressure guided my head back, exposing the length of my throat. I swallowed, watching him over the tip of my nose.

His eyes lingered on mine then lowered. His head followed, putting his mouth a hairsbreadth above the hollow between my collarbones, fanning

warm breaths across my shuddering skin. He hovered there for the longest minute of my life, tarrying on the edge between impulse and restraint.

My heart worked itself to exhaustion, waiting for him to do something more than just…smell me. But I didn’t dare move or speak in fear of breaking the spell.

Incrementally, his hot, wet breaths grew hotter and wetter. The sensation confused me until I realized what I felt was the swirl of his tongue.

With a hand still holding back my head, he licked the ridge of my collarbone. A featherlight tickle. A taunt. Wicked to the extreme.

The torment continued lower, his lips ghosting oh-so softly across the exposed swell of my breast. The barely-there sensation brought my lungs to an abrupt halt, and I gulped, inadvertently causing my trussed-up flesh to rise toward his mouth.

His free hand gripped my waist, and he licked again, hunting for hidden curves beneath the edge of the bodice.

I whimpered, and a groan vibrated in his chest, one I knew he hadn’t meant to give.

The invisible wall between us shuddered and bowed.

His mouth slipped to my other breast, followed by a scratch of canines. Everything inside me foundered, spiraling into felicity, into burning, sinful bliss.

As if he sensed my internal combustion, he bit harder, sinking teeth into skin, hard enough to leave an imprint.

Arousal surged, and I trembled for breath, needing, fearing, hoping he would close in for the kill. Lick me, bite me, suck me. I wanted to drown in his pleasure.

I wanted to grip his stern face, crush my mouth against his, and render him stupid. But if I initiated a kiss, it would give him another opportunity to reject me.

No, he had to start this, lead it, and control every step thereafter. It was the only way a man like him functioned.

So I kept my hands to myself, and consciously doing so made me realize I’d never touched him outside of self-defense. What did the texture of his hair feel like? Would his muscled torso heat and flex beneath my palms? How quickly would his cock grow in my grip?

Those answers, his tongue on my breast, and the sounds of his gasps slowly invited me beneath the mask and into the secret realm of Lord

Ashley Cutler.

He lifted his head and allowed mine to lower. His gaze fell upon my mouth, traced the line of my jaw to my hair, and landed on my eyes. Momentarily unguarded, he showed me everything in those volatile depths

—the conflict raging in him, the sweet agitation of potential, the masculine need demanding to be satisfied. It left me thunderstruck.

Curling his fingers beneath the top edge of my bodice, he fished out the laces of my stays and cinched them until they were straight and tied.

With his rigid jawline so close, I couldn’t detect a single whisker. His ebony hair combed back in modest waves, his face aglow from washing. Dear lord, he had gorgeous skin, the color of moonlight glinting off pristine sand.

At age thirty-four, he’d been blessed with the beauty of man in his early twenties and the confident carriage of a king at the acme of his reign. I yearned to strip him of his shields, his armor, and his clothes and to do to him what he did to me. I wanted to make him ache.

“Turn around.” His voice, winded and rough, affirmed that I wasn’t the only one affected.

I gave him my back.

He gathered my hair with unhesitant hands, as though he knew how to handle a thick, heavy mane such as mine. Draping the mass over my shoulder, he tackled the laces on my bodice.

Sharp, distinct tugs wrung air from my lungs. Yank. Exhale. Yank. Wheeze. Like a slow burst of gunfire, he mercilessly set the pace of my gasps.

When he finished, my relief was short-lived. He didn’t step away, didn’t move his hands from the gown. Instead, he went exploring.

Fingers drifted around my hips, finding and caressing my curves through the folds of fabric. His touch echoed everywhere at once, a harmony of sensation rippling beneath my skin and thrumming through my veins.

I wiggled against him, awash in desire. It simmered in me like molten sweet cream, but it didn’t suffice. Was he dangling pleasure within reach only to rip it away and frustrate my expectation in the end?

Tantalizing bastard. If he were one of my crewmates, I would punish him for being such a tease.

“We should eat now,” I said.

“No.” He spoke against my neck, his mouth hot upon my skin, burning me up. “I’m not finished.”

Standing behind me, he slid a hand across my chest. The other meandered over my abdomen and sank into the voluminous skirts between my legs. With a firm grip on my nether regions, he pulled my backside tight against his groin.

I hissed as bruised muscles shuddered and clenched in pain.

“You still feel my punishment.” He trailed his nose along my shoulder. “Shall I retrieve the salve?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

But I wasn’t. Wrapped in his powerful arms, held against the marble slab of his chest, with his finger directly on my clitoris, despite all the pleats in the skirt, I didn’t trust my own judgment.

If he took, I would give. He wanted me, no mistake. I couldn’t feel his hardness through our clothing, but I didn’t need to. I heard his want in the consonance of our panting, felt it in the union of our sizzling energy, and saw it tremble in the fingers that now twisted in my curls.

With his grip in my hair, he spun us both until we stood face to face, eyes locked. Barely a sliver of space separated us.

His mouth lowered. Mine lifted. Straining to meet, our lips parted, floated closer, closer, and paused just before making contact.

Our chests rose in unison. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Deeper than a lick, more divine than a kiss, we became breaths. Nothing but trembling, heating, mating breaths.

It was a magical, instinctual attraction. I pulled, and he came with me. He leaned back, and I followed. We were joined by sparks that coalesced into one entity, drawn together like magnets, bound by an invisible force.

The fire that burned inside me, deep in the heart of my innermost being, roared into a conflagration, demanding fuel, seeking him. I wanted his mouth to fan the flames. And his hands. His heavy cock.

With his gaze fixed upon my lips, he held me prisoner, a willing captive to his attention. Now he just needed to erase that last inch. It had to be him.

Then he did. He pulled me tight against his hard body. But instead of raiding my mouth, he seized my neck. Licking. Kissing. Vibrating, bone- penetrating kisses that made my heart and blood hum with satisfaction.

My fingers clutched his waistcoat and shirt, clinging to his strength. It was a miracle that my legs remained beneath me. His potency washed

unbearable longing through me, rousing a craving I’d held at bay for four days. And he wasn’t finished.

Tilting my face up, he put his sculpted mouth at my ear. “You are so gratifying to the senses. So clear and absolute.” A kiss at my hairline. “Unrestricted. Unconditional.” His lips brushed across my cheek. “Ripe with temptation. Fit for eating.” He touched his forehead to mine, breathing heavily. “You’re so damn stunning it hurts.”

I closed my eyes, shivering at the mercy of desire. Heat gathered between my legs, pulsing, liquefying. If he could do this to me with only his words, what else could his tongue do?

“Ashley—” “Silence.”

“Kiss me, then. Kiss me until I can’t speak.”

He went motionless, wooden, all signs of lust rapidly evaporating. His arms fell away, and he retreated a step.

My eyes widened, tapered, and glared. “Don’t give me that look, Goldilocks.” “You’re attracted to me.”

So was my wretched, cheating husband, and look what that got me.

Remember the pain, Bennett? You still feel it.

But Ashley was different. He wouldn’t betray me like that.

“Apples…” He plucked one off the breakfast tray. “They’re a rare treat during long voyages at sea. When I see one, it attracts me, makes me crave that which I don’t need. If there are several available, I always select the prettiest one. I can eat it. Or I can simply appreciate its beauty and toss it back.” He dropped the fruit onto the platter. “Because I know I can live without it.”

My nostrils widened with the seething rush of my anger. “You’re comparing me to a goddamn apple?”

“Was it not an apple that influenced Adam’s fall and introduced evil into human nature? Adam’s apple is…” He pulled down his cravat and ran a finger over the bulge in the front of his throat. “Man’s swelling.”

Forbidden fruit and temptation led to sin. And erections. Understood. “Point made.” My cheeks rose mischievously. “Challenge accepted.”