***Slight switch, dear readers. This chapter is told from Niklaus’s perspective and there is smut. Gentler readers may wish to avert your eyes, although I cannot imagine why gentler hearts are reading anything I write.***
The tension is a palpable entity in this room as the ship rolls gently with the waves lapping against its side. I loosen my grip slightly on Bekah’s fragile wrist when I see the subtle wince she quickly tries to cover with an arrogant lift of her chin, as if nothing ever fazes her. It is damn intriguing to see such bravery in one of these pampered prisses, while the plump lips still damp from where she had unconsciously run her tongue only adds to my desire to see just how brave she is. There is a strength of iron running through this soft body now pressed against my entire length. Lush curves pronounced even under layers of frustrating fabric. I can only imagine what it would feel like to have those same curves against me with no hinderance, only skin brushing against skin as we move together.
Would she fight me off with the abject terror of her attacker from the other night or would the fight be more of a first act in a play repeated too often in this restrictive society, to allow for cover when she gives in to me. I blink at my inner thoughts and wonder when I became no better than the savage seaman I had tossed from the ship after he dared to touch what was mine. Mine, as in my prisoner of course. Not some nebulous meaning of mine as in that I wish to dominate or conquer in some way; make that scornful mouth round in low coos of arousal and gaining in volume until she is screaming my name, none other to ever grace that tongue.
All of these roiling thoughts are fighting for supremacy in my brain and are immediately drowned out by the urge to kiss Bekah senseless when her eyes flutter shut and she begins to lean into me. She wants this, damn it, and I’m going to give it to her. Give her everything those powdered fops could not possibly have ever given her in their restrained encounters. There would be no restraint with me. I begin to lower my head as well, allowing the thought of a single sweet kiss before I devour her whole, my breath mingling with her own as I near.
“M’lady, the cap’n told me to bring ye a bath this morn. Are ye decent for me ta bring ye yur tub?”
I am up and off the bed as if yanked by invisible wires, those wires being named “good sense” and “what the hell were you thinking Niklaus”. I storm over to the door and jerk it open to reveal the plump scullery maid, one of the few women allowed aboard the ship. Bertie would kick the arse of any man who tried to paw her and made the best meals from meager sea rations. The single raised-eyebrow bespeaks of her surprise at finding me ensconced in the prisoner’s quarters this morning and she can be no more surprised than I at what almost transpired in here.
“Come in, Bertie. I was just discussing with Miss Mikaelson her new surroundings and the error of attempting another midnight flight to freedom. Or flight into another of our not so civilized crewmen, as it were. Bring up her bath.”
I don’t look back to see the confusion painted on Bekah’s face. I don’t need to as that same confusion is etched across each line of my own. What the hell had I been thinking? I hadn’t been thinking and was caught off guard by a siren who knew her effect on men. That’s it! The little minx had been trying her seductive powers on me. There is no other explanation for why I could have lost hold of my legendary control. I was cool in even the most perilous of circumstances as it was necessary for one often faced with life or death decisions.
Damn her.
I pace furiously back and forth in my own quarters, knowing there is only a wall separating me from the seductress as I try to work out this excess energy I have suddenly been saddled with. Even now I bet she was charming Bertie. Turning her to Bekah’s side with her doe eyes and pouting lips, appearing to belong to the face of an angel but truly that of the most sinful of creatures. Would she convince Bertie to help her in some scheme that would lead to even more danger? I needed to keep a close eye on every encounter between Rebekah and anyone in my employ.
With this thought, my head whips around and I face the wall between our rooms and the oil painting hung so unobtrusively in the center. I tell myself I am only doing this to ensure Bekah comes to no harm from her own plotting and not because I am inextricably drawn to her. I remove the painting from the wall to reveal the small hole drilled for me to observe the goings on in my ocean prison. What I see is enough to take away not only any ire I had previously been stewing in, but also my very breath.
Bertie had worked with swiftness, and probably several assistant hands, to place the tub in the center of the room and fill it with steaming water heated on the coal stove. Rebekah has been left alone to her bath and was slipping the lace chemise, the last of those wretched layers I cursed earlier, down off her shoulders to drop in a puddle on the floor. My evil angel stands bathed in lamplight, a celestial aura glimmering even more brightly off the golden hair now flowing down her gently sloped back nearly to the pert buttocks. In the past I would be ironically amused at the fact I am now as engrossed by the dimples placed at the top of those firm cheeks as Bekah was by mine in a less scandalous area.
She is beautiful and I am in hell.
She steps into the bath and lowers herself slowly until just the tips of her erect nipples can be seen poking through the placid surface of the bath. They appear like sweet berries atop the creamy slope of her perfect breasts. As her arms drape upon the rim of the bath, I can see the bruises placed by the mate who I would gladly kill if he were before me right now for marring that precious skin. As it is, he better hope I never stumble upon him or the bruises I would throttle into his neck would never have time to come to fruition. Breaking his neck would be a joy.
Her hands find the soap and languidly runs it over the curves I earlier felt pressed against me. I feel envy for that inanimate object allowed to worship her every inch. Her sigh of relaxation makes my already raging erection twitch and push angrily against constraining material of my breeches and I spin away from the peephole to angrily swipe the various items from my nearby desk. My hands run through my hair in frustration and I am somewhat bemused when I realize there is only one way I will be able to rid myself of this tension which is plucking my every nerve.
I trudge over to my bed and collapse backwards onto it and try to remember the last time I needed to take my own pleasure into hand. Normally I can abstain between ports and I pride myself on on not giving in to my baser instincts, but that beguiling mermaid had ruined any grip I had on rationality and the only grip which could bring me back to earth was my own on my straining cock.
With a sigh of resignation, I undo the fixings to my breeches and set myself free, groaning in relief to no longer be confined. There is no point in prolonging this as I just want to get it, get her, out of my system. I attempt to envision the last married society women I used to assuage my urges in an attempt to wipe Bekah from my mind, but all I see is that bowed mouth and all I can think about is it wrapped around my straining member.
I run my thumb over the beads of pre-cum that are seeping from my head, imagining it is Bekah’s tongue making the first innocent forays into a new carnal knowledge. Had the other men she’d been with ever enjoyed her in this way? I forced that thought from my head angrily, not wanting to imagine any man ever having touched her pristine body. I would kill them all, anyone who had ever dared broach the sanctity of my newfound haven.
My hand gripped my length more firmly as I began to stroke, each motion akin in my mind to a pass by her warm mouth and inquisitive tongue. Would I taste like desire to her? Would she need to relieve her own cravings at the same time as she pleased me, one dainty hand helping me along as the other slid between her pink lower lips. God, how I wished to give her my own tongue to replace those nimble fingers. She would be like honey and salvation on my lips, sanctifying me as I made her see heaven.
My pace quickens as I bring my other hand over to massage my aching balls, imagining it is her soft little palm rolling across them and not my more calloused one. I can feel them tightening to signal an imminent release, any other time being ashamed at how quickly a woman has brought me to my knees. It isn't even an actual woman, but the thought of one that has me taking a final pass before spilling onto my bare stomach that which I have a desperate need to spill into her hand...her mouth...her sweet cunt. Only her name is spoken as an absolution for my sins.
“Rebekah!”
The tension is a palpable entity in this room as the ship rolls gently with the waves lapping against its side. I loosen my grip slightly on Bekah’s fragile wrist when I see the subtle wince she quickly tries to cover with an arrogant lift of her chin, as if nothing ever fazes her. It is damn intriguing to see such bravery in one of these pampered prisses, while the plump lips still damp from where she had unconsciously run her tongue only adds to my desire to see just how brave she is. There is a strength of iron running through this soft body now pressed against my entire length. Lush curves pronounced even under layers of frustrating fabric. I can only imagine what it would feel like to have those same curves against me with no hinderance, only skin brushing against skin as we move together.
Would she fight me off with the abject terror of her attacker from the other night or would the fight be more of a first act in a play repeated too often in this restrictive society, to allow for cover when she gives in to me. I blink at my inner thoughts and wonder when I became no better than the savage seaman I had tossed from the ship after he dared to touch what was mine. Mine, as in my prisoner of course. Not some nebulous meaning of mine as in that I wish to dominate or conquer in some way; make that scornful mouth round in low coos of arousal and gaining in volume until she is screaming my name, none other to ever grace that tongue.
All of these roiling thoughts are fighting for supremacy in my brain and are immediately drowned out by the urge to kiss Bekah senseless when her eyes flutter shut and she begins to lean into me. She wants this, damn it, and I’m going to give it to her. Give her everything those powdered fops could not possibly have ever given her in their restrained encounters. There would be no restraint with me. I begin to lower my head as well, allowing the thought of a single sweet kiss before I devour her whole, my breath mingling with her own as I near.
“M’lady, the cap’n told me to bring ye a bath this morn. Are ye decent for me ta bring ye yur tub?”
I am up and off the bed as if yanked by invisible wires, those wires being named “good sense” and “what the hell were you thinking Niklaus”. I storm over to the door and jerk it open to reveal the plump scullery maid, one of the few women allowed aboard the ship. Bertie would kick the arse of any man who tried to paw her and made the best meals from meager sea rations. The single raised-eyebrow bespeaks of her surprise at finding me ensconced in the prisoner’s quarters this morning and she can be no more surprised than I at what almost transpired in here.
“Come in, Bertie. I was just discussing with Miss Mikaelson her new surroundings and the error of attempting another midnight flight to freedom. Or flight into another of our not so civilized crewmen, as it were. Bring up her bath.”
I don’t look back to see the confusion painted on Bekah’s face. I don’t need to as that same confusion is etched across each line of my own. What the hell had I been thinking? I hadn’t been thinking and was caught off guard by a siren who knew her effect on men. That’s it! The little minx had been trying her seductive powers on me. There is no other explanation for why I could have lost hold of my legendary control. I was cool in even the most perilous of circumstances as it was necessary for one often faced with life or death decisions.
Damn her.
I pace furiously back and forth in my own quarters, knowing there is only a wall separating me from the seductress as I try to work out this excess energy I have suddenly been saddled with. Even now I bet she was charming Bertie. Turning her to Bekah’s side with her doe eyes and pouting lips, appearing to belong to the face of an angel but truly that of the most sinful of creatures. Would she convince Bertie to help her in some scheme that would lead to even more danger? I needed to keep a close eye on every encounter between Rebekah and anyone in my employ.
With this thought, my head whips around and I face the wall between our rooms and the oil painting hung so unobtrusively in the center. I tell myself I am only doing this to ensure Bekah comes to no harm from her own plotting and not because I am inextricably drawn to her. I remove the painting from the wall to reveal the small hole drilled for me to observe the goings on in my ocean prison. What I see is enough to take away not only any ire I had previously been stewing in, but also my very breath.
Bertie had worked with swiftness, and probably several assistant hands, to place the tub in the center of the room and fill it with steaming water heated on the coal stove. Rebekah has been left alone to her bath and was slipping the lace chemise, the last of those wretched layers I cursed earlier, down off her shoulders to drop in a puddle on the floor. My evil angel stands bathed in lamplight, a celestial aura glimmering even more brightly off the golden hair now flowing down her gently sloped back nearly to the pert buttocks. In the past I would be ironically amused at the fact I am now as engrossed by the dimples placed at the top of those firm cheeks as Bekah was by mine in a less scandalous area.
She is beautiful and I am in hell.
She steps into the bath and lowers herself slowly until just the tips of her erect nipples can be seen poking through the placid surface of the bath. They appear like sweet berries atop the creamy slope of her perfect breasts. As her arms drape upon the rim of the bath, I can see the bruises placed by the mate who I would gladly kill if he were before me right now for marring that precious skin. As it is, he better hope I never stumble upon him or the bruises I would throttle into his neck would never have time to come to fruition. Breaking his neck would be a joy.
Her hands find the soap and languidly runs it over the curves I earlier felt pressed against me. I feel envy for that inanimate object allowed to worship her every inch. Her sigh of relaxation makes my already raging erection twitch and push angrily against constraining material of my breeches and I spin away from the peephole to angrily swipe the various items from my nearby desk. My hands run through my hair in frustration and I am somewhat bemused when I realize there is only one way I will be able to rid myself of this tension which is plucking my every nerve.
I trudge over to my bed and collapse backwards onto it and try to remember the last time I needed to take my own pleasure into hand. Normally I can abstain between ports and I pride myself on on not giving in to my baser instincts, but that beguiling mermaid had ruined any grip I had on rationality and the only grip which could bring me back to earth was my own on my straining cock.
With a sigh of resignation, I undo the fixings to my breeches and set myself free, groaning in relief to no longer be confined. There is no point in prolonging this as I just want to get it, get her, out of my system. I attempt to envision the last married society women I used to assuage my urges in an attempt to wipe Bekah from my mind, but all I see is that bowed mouth and all I can think about is it wrapped around my straining member.
I run my thumb over the beads of pre-cum that are seeping from my head, imagining it is Bekah’s tongue making the first innocent forays into a new carnal knowledge. Had the other men she’d been with ever enjoyed her in this way? I forced that thought from my head angrily, not wanting to imagine any man ever having touched her pristine body. I would kill them all, anyone who had ever dared broach the sanctity of my newfound haven.
My hand gripped my length more firmly as I began to stroke, each motion akin in my mind to a pass by her warm mouth and inquisitive tongue. Would I taste like desire to her? Would she need to relieve her own cravings at the same time as she pleased me, one dainty hand helping me along as the other slid between her pink lower lips. God, how I wished to give her my own tongue to replace those nimble fingers. She would be like honey and salvation on my lips, sanctifying me as I made her see heaven.
My pace quickens as I bring my other hand over to massage my aching balls, imagining it is her soft little palm rolling across them and not my more calloused one. I can feel them tightening to signal an imminent release, any other time being ashamed at how quickly a woman has brought me to my knees. It isn't even an actual woman, but the thought of one that has me taking a final pass before spilling onto my bare stomach that which I have a desperate need to spill into her hand...her mouth...her sweet cunt. Only her name is spoken as an absolution for my sins.
“Rebekah!”