Captured Ch. 09

When Katherine woke, the cabin was empty. She was sore and sticky and confused, her thighs a gluey, congealing mess, her breasts heavy and aching. Her mind and heart felt butter-smooth, as if the sun had soaked her and a gentle blade had rounded her every ragged edge. She was acutely aware of every tender nerve between her legs, at the peaks of her breasts. Had that really happened? She bit her lip, a cherry blush spreading over her cheeks as she remembered Killian watching her bring herself to climax. Killian ordering her to put her hands on the headboard as he split her in two. Stark-- Heavens help her-- spreading her wide for Killian to play with, as the others watched. She certainly wasn't her father's daughter now.

Before the kidnap-- was that even the right word, anymore?-- her life had been... difficult. Different. Stifled and fear-tinged. But unlike now, she'd never felt alive. Only caught, only miserable and stilted and lonely. Her mother had died when she was five; her father was cruel and cold, had tried to sell her off, give her away, time and time again. The day Killian had found her running in the woods, she'd been fleeing from one of those men, those buyers, a business partner of her father's who'd pinned her to the wall before she'd stomped at his feet, shoved and kicked and bit. Before she'd run. She wondered if Killian knew about that. How much he knew.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and rolled over languidly, brushing the tangle of her long, coal-dark hair out of her face. She needed a bath. Her fingers drifted over the swollen, syrupy shambles between her legs. Maybe two. She rose up slowly onto her elbows, her muscles protesting as if she'd run for miles, as if she'd been wrestling.... Well. Her blush deepened to brick, her dusky lashes fluttering down to cover her eyes, her spent, shaky body going warm and dewy-- just as she saw him. Killian, lounging in the crude wooden chair by the fireplace, an ankle crossed over his knee as he leaned forward and smirked at her. "Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty."

Katherine flushed. "Where are the others?"

Killian bent to adjust the hem of his trousers. "They're gone." He raised his gaze to hers, eyes darkening as he quirked a dark eyebrow at her. "Would you rather they were still here?"

Katherine's blush went so furiously dark that Killian burst out laughing, a rich, robust thing that made Katherine's eyes go wide. "What?"

She blinked at him. "I've never heard you laugh."

"I'd never heard a lot from you, before yesterday," he countered, crooked grin deepening.

She reddened again. "I need a bath."

"Yes," he agreed, warm gaze drifting over her. "I imagine you do." She realized then that the stove was already heating pots and kettles, that the copper tub was already steaming. He winked at her. "I had a feeling you might."

She ducked her head. "You're being awfully nice."

Killian grinned again. "Don't get used to it." She'd never seen him so relaxed, so... happy. He looked... happy. He rose to his feet and reached across the space to offer her his hand. "Come here, little princess." She gasped breathlessly as he pulled her into his arms, cradling her, the muscled arcs of his arms tensing beautifully around her. He brushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her lips, his hands sliding over the aching curves of her body. Soothing. Igniting.

She opened her eyes as his lips parted hers, taking in his strong brow, his surprisingly long lashes, the pearly white scar that arced through his left eyebrow. He was... beautiful. His tongue brushed against her lips, asking for entrance, and she sighed into his mouth as her lips parted and his tongue grazed her teeth. He deepened the kiss, sliding his lips over hers, letting his tongue flicker and fold over hers. Despite herself, despite her exhaustion, Katherine felt heat pool between her legs. Killian's green eyes flashed open and Katherine realized that the irises flared into amber and gold around his pupils. He ducked to swipe an arm under her knees, lifting her to his chest. She shrieked and he laughed again, the rumbling in his chest warm and welcome against her shoulder. He ducked his forehead to hers, surprising her again. "Into the bath with you." He lowered her into the tub gently, gratified by her long, grateful sigh as the water hit her feet, her legs, her perfect, bruised ass. "It's not too hot?"

She looked up at him with silver eyes that made him want to pull her back into his arms and kiss her. "No," she whispered shyly. "It's lovely." He brought the pots and kettles from the stove, one by one, and poured them over her. Over her matted, messy hair. Over her moonlight skin. Her graceful legs, the concave curve of her stomach, the swollen, bitten globes of her breasts. He reveled in the vision of her, the gleam of her skin, the supple deliciousness of her curves. After he emptied the last pan of water, he pulled a stool up to the head of the bath and sat. Without thinking, for once without analyzing, Killian plunged his hands into the depths of her wet hair and let them gently scrape against her scalp. To his surprise, to the satisfaction that cut him to the core, she sighed and leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, baring herself, losing herself to his touch. He combed her beautiful hair with his fingers, massaged her scalp, the delicate slopes of her neck and shoulders. She rolled her head from side to side, sighing softly. Moaning. At the plaintive, grateful sound, his cock sprang to life in his pants. He stroked her collarbones, kneaded the delicate muscles of her prettily sculpted upper back. She leaned forward to give him better access and he traced her spine, the ruts of her ribs. He angled down to lay his cheek against her damp forehead. "Katherine. You're so beautiful."

She craned her neck to look up at him, those doe eyes wide and innocent. "Really?"

His hands glided over her shoulders to cup her breasts, lifting and softly squeezing them, running his thumbs over her nipples. "You must know it."

She looked up at him, the black pools of her pupils spreading wide. Ink spills in lakes of vibrant silver. "But I mean... to you?"

"You are most beautiful to me, Katherine." His voice was low and husky, realer than she'd heard it. He scooped up palmfuls of warm water and let them waterfall down her shoulders. She sighed again-- blissful, content. He wanted to drink her peace, lap up the emananting breaths of her joyful ease. She smiled a little. The sunlight painted the lines of her face in buttery gold, illuminating the sharp curve of her jaw and the charming wells of her dimples. Killian scooped her hair up off her neck and bent to drop a kiss into the hollow above her collarbone. "Can I wash your hair?"

"Really?" Her fingers twisted in her lap.

He rose to get the final kettle from the stove. "I'm not one for jokes, little one." He watched the questions leave her face as she relaxed for him. He rubbed rosemary-scented soap into her raven hair, gratified to his core by the way she let her shoulders drop. By the way her slender legs parted beneath the water's translucent cover. It was nearly as pleasant to clean her up as it was to mess her up, he mused, as her fingers drifted lazily through the steaming currents, her breasts pebbled by the cold air against the warm water. Her peace... tasted good. He rinsed her hair in showers of warm, crystal water, watching her inky lashes flutter delightedly. He lathered soap between his calloused palms. "Will you kneel for me?"

She rose to her knees, crystalline droplets showers down from her elbows, her nipples, the subtle curve between her legs. She turned to face him, utterly bare, utterly open. And she let him run his sudsy hands over her breasts, her abdomen, her sharp hipbones. The soft, tight curves of her hips. She closed her eyes and surrendered to him, breathing slowly through wine-colored lips. She raked her hands through her clean sopping hair, sending droplets scattering down her shoulders, down her arms. She smiled up at him as he rinsed her. "Thank you," she breathed.

He let his hand stroke between her legs, feeling her tender heat, feeling the delicate muscles that stroked and squeezed him to such satisfaction. "You're clean," he told her in answer. She rose to her feet in the still-swilling steam, water running over her svelte curves-- the perfect incarnation of Venus, the divine feminine, lust personified. She raised her arms for a towel and he wrapped one around her-- his, threadbare and steeped in his scent-- and lifted her carefully out of the bath. "Are you hungry?"

Her eyes glittered. "For what?"

He laughed a third time. "For whatever you want."

"Yes, please," she answered, dipping her head in embarrassment.

He took her chin in his hand, pulling her gaze up to his. "You're safe here. I promise."

Tears welled. She shook her head, looked down, stepped away. "Food?"

He walked to the icebox, to the cedar box on the counter, and rummaged around. A few minutes later, the table was laid with cold roast beef and grainy mustard, crisp sourdough bread, a red apple cut into thick slices, a hunk of crumbly, salty cheese. "Your dinner," he bowed to Katherine in jest, made her choke on a surprised giggle.

They sat at the table together for the first time, she still draped in her towel, he unable to tear his eyes from her. They made sloppy, haphazard sandwiches on thick slices of the bread, and Killian chortled as Katherine spilled grainy mustard down her chin. Things felt... surprisingly normal. When they were finished eating, Killian buttoned Katherine into a blue, faded-to-softness shirt of his, and laid her gently on the bed. And as he hitched the shirt up over her dagger hips, he stopped. Outside the door, an unknown sound scuffed. And then, there was a knock.

Killian pulled himself up, his hand on the hilt of the dagger he always wore at his belt. He opened the door, expecting Grey, Stark, O'Hanaghan; hell, even Slade. But it was a different man who stood there, a man unknown to Katherine, a man as beautiful as Killian himself, with golden-brown hair and warm, cognac eyes, broad shoulders that disappeared under a light linen shirt. And he was smiling.

"Ronan!" Killian's crow was triumphant, as he grabbed the other man and drew him in to a fierce hug. "It's so good to see you."

The newcomer grinned rakishly as he slapped a hand to Killian's chiseled cheek. "It's good to see you, brother." His glance shot from Killian to Katherine, still drawn up on the bed, clad only in Killian's shirt. "And who's this?"

Katherine scrambled to pull the shirt down over her knees, to wipe the blush from her cheeks, to appear presentable. Her feet slapped against the floor as she shot to her feet. "I'm Katherine." Her eyes darted frantically to Killian. "I need-- a dress. I don't have-- a dress."

Killian's laughter boomed like thunder. He put a hand on Ronan's chest and pushed him back over the threshold, grinning. "Brother... a moment."

The other man choked back a laugh and he swept a graceful bow in Katherine's direction. "As you wish." And Killian slammed the door.

Katherine was covering her face, leaning against the footboard of the bed. "That's your...brother?" she queried, voice muffled by her hands.

Killian pried her fingers away from her face. "My best friend. Ronan Wylde. You're safe with him."

Katherine gestured frantically to her bare legs, the too-revealing shift of his shirt. "I can't... be seen like this."

Killian's eyes flashed, thinking of how she'd last been seen, but he bit back his laugh. He held up a pacifying finger. "My lady. A moment." He climbed the rough ladder to the loft, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippling as he did, and made a great symphony of harried sound before descending a moment later, a bundle of cloth crumpled in one hand. He tossed the wad of clothing carelessly to Katherine, who shook each piece out-- a corset, tied with rose-colored ribbons, a lacy pair of undershorts, high-cut and new-fashioned, a petticoat edged in lace, and a pale blue dress. She gaped.

He shrugged at her. "Do you want them or not?"

"Whose are they?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do you want them or not?"

"I want them!" She hauled his shirt up over her head, baring the fair expanse of her stomach, those delightful breasts, and stepped into the undershorts with a flash of her thighs, her still-rosy slit. "Can you help me?"

He took the petticoat and dropped gracefully, powerfully to his knees. "Of course, little princess." He held the waist of the undergarment wide as she stepped into it, then held her hands still at her knees as she went to pull it up. He leaned his forehead against her lower abdomen and blew a warm breath between her thighs, then tugged the waistband of her undershorts down and planted a wet, lapping kiss at her slit, his tongue sliding libidinously across her warmed, silky flesh. She clung to his shoulders, crying out softly as that warm tongue parted her folds and flicked across the most intimate parts of her. "But! Your friend!" she protested weakly.

He drew back at once, replacing the waistband of her new undergarment. "As you wish, little princess." To his delight, she whimpered softly. She helped her ease the pretty petticoat over her hips and tied it for her, helped her step into the periwinkle linen skirts of the gown. He laced the corset for her and fastened the line of delicate pearly buttons that closed the back of the dress. His fingers against her spine made her shiver. The kiss he dropped at the base of her neck made her positively shake.

"There you are," he said at last, stepping back. She looked unfathomably lovely. The dress was tight through the waist, emphasizing her slenderness, pushing up her pillowy breasts in a way the dresses she'd worn at home would have never allowed. She looked a perfect treat, all creamy skin and blushing cheeks. Killian handed her a final gift, a pair of vanilla-colored silk stockings, and dropped again to his knees to help her into them. He let his fingers roam her thighs as he pulled them up for her, making her gasp, squeezed her softly as he tied the laces around her slim, glossy things. He leaned his head against her middle, feeling her firm ass through the soft cloth of the dress. She was trembling.

"Your... your friend," she gasped out. Killian, on his knees, swore he could detect the warm, floral aroma of her arousal, emanating through the pretty layers he'd just piled upon her. He cupped her ass gently and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to her trembling mouth before stepping back.

"Right," he agreed, brushing his hands together crisply. And shot her a wink.

Katherine's core was fully molten, her new underthings already dampening with her arousal. Her fingers were shaking as she brushed them down the pretty silken folds of her skirt. And then Killian opened the door.

Ronan was leaning against the frame rakishly, his eyebrows raised insolently, as if he'd heard every gasp and tremor that had transpired when he'd been locked out. "Took you long enough," he smirked.

Killian grinned back. "Excuse us."

Ronan clapped him on the shoulder as he crossed the room to Katherine. He took her hand in his and bowed over it gracefully, brushing his full lips across her knuckles. He straightened up, meeting her metallic gaze coolly. And leaned in to kiss each of her burning cheeks. "It's a true pleasure to meet you, Miss."

"Lady," Killian corrected raffishly.

Ronan drew back in mock dismay. "Lady," he corrected grandly, bending to kiss Katherine's hand again. He drew his thumb elegantly over her fingers. "Do forgive me." And he leaned in to kiss her full on the mouth.

Katherine stepped back in alarm, his kiss warm and clinging against her lips. She put a hand to her mouth.

Killian rolled his eyes. "Don't tease her, Ro."

Ronan took Katherie's hand again, flipping it over to massage the pearly expanse of her unmarred palm. "What's a beautiful lady for, if not to tease?" And Katherine blushed.

Killian saw it, and it made his heart leap in equal parts jealousy and feral delight. "Watch it," he cautioned lightly, clapping a hand on Ronan's shoulder, chuckling as the other man turned to grin at him.

"It's been too long, Canavan."

"I know it, Wylde." Killian grinned, and Katherie could imagine them as boys together, playing Knight and Hero with twisted lengths of oak in the woods. She wondered if the image held true, hoped that it did.

"Are you hungry?" Killian was asking. "Would you like a drink?"

Ronan shucked off his jacket, tossed the leather bag he'd been carrying down on a chair. "I've eaten. I'd love a drink."

Killian reached for a jar of amber liquid on a shelf by the hulking iron stove. "Katherine? Care to join?"

She'd never been invited to such a thing before. Her fingers knotted together. "Yes, please."

Killian plunked three mismatched cups down on the table as Katherine tucked herself politely into one of the chairs. He filled each with a healthy dose of the heady, caramel-colored liquid, and passed them out across the table.

Ronan lifted his vessel-- an earthen mug-- and smiled broadly. "To old friends and new." He clinked his mug against Killian's plain glass cup and Katherine's tarnished gold goblet. They each drew a long draught, Katherine coughing delicately at the sharp, vaguely dangerous swallow. Killian's hand stroked down her spine, soothing her, and Katherine watched Ronan trace the touch with his chestnut gaze. Her stomach tightened.

"Where've you been, Wylde?" Killian asked, drinking deeply.

"Where haven't I? I just returned from the Eastern Sea. You wouldn't believe the girls there." He winked, and Katherine coughed into her glass. She raised her silvery eyes shyly, swallowed a deep gulp of her drink.

"How do you two know each other?"

The men exchanged a familiar grin. "We met as boys," Killian told her.

"I was the only kid in the village who could match him in a fight," Ronan added.

"At least for a while," Killian challenged, half-chuckling.

Ronan stood up, feigning anger. "I still could! Want to see, Miss Kat?"

"Katherine," Killian corrected, but--

"I don't mind," Katherine allowed, giggling. "And no, I'd not like to see."

Ronan threw himself back into his chair, his heels scraping against the wooden floor. "As the lady wishes."

They spent the evening laughing and talking and drinking, until Katherine's head was fuzzy and spinning, until her body felt deliciously hollow and light. "I'd better go to bed," she sighed at last, more beautiful than every in her tightly-laced dress, her lips and cheeks scarlet.

"Stay a little longer," Ronan asked, and Killian's gut went hot and roiling as she nodded a dizzy assent.

The night grew late-- the sky outside the window went violet, then navy, then black. The stars emerged, blinking into life one-by-one, like candles. Killian's chair at some point scooted closer to Katherine's, and he began to stroke his fingers over her silk-clad knee. She didn't stop him

The moon peaked out above the mountains, a slice of buttery gold, and Killian let his fingers wander under Katherine's skirt to stroke her smooth, bare thigh. If Ronan caught on, he didn't let on. Instead, he told stories of the adventures he'd had, the mischief he'd ventured into with Killian, as young men, the beautiful maidens he'd rescued and bedded and left behind. His stories made Katherine hide her pink cheeks behind her hand; all of it made Killian laugh. It was a night for the ages, a night to be remembered. The first time Katherine had felt happy, had felt comfortable, had felt home in months. In years. Ever.

Sometime after they'd finished their second bottle of Killian's whiskey, Katherine felt a new hand on her other knee-- cooler than Killian's, with longer, thinner fingers. It stroked softly, spiderlike, over her skirt. She met Ronan's eyes, warm and liquid as melting caramel. "Hi there," he grinned.