The Devil's Luck Ch. 02

A youthful voice from behind Edmund surprised a gasp out of him and he whirled to find the fair-haired thief from the day before leaning against the stone wall behind him.

"Found us, did you?" the boy grinned. Edmund simply blinked at him, not sure how to respond. He was not accustomed to dealing with anyone his own age, at least not very often.

"Yesterday, with that man's purse..." Edmund started, but then trailed off, not certain how he should continue.

"You want me to teach you?" the youth quirked a brow at him, so much more experienced than Edmund, despite seeming to only have a couple years on him.

"Yes," Edmund put paid to the thought that had nagged him to sleep the previous night.

"Benjamin Till," the other boy said, thrusting out his hand.

"Edmund Blackburn."

After that day the two of them were only seen apart when Edmund was needed elsewhere by his duties to his household. An unlikely pair the two of them made: the son of a wealthy man who had his learning from books, and the ward of a monastery whose education came from the streets and docks. They proved a capable team of pilferers and inseparable friends.

In the logic of Edmund's eight-year-old mind at the time, stealing seemed like a simple way to come by some coin on his own. He hadn't needed the money: his father owned one of the most productive cane plantations in Jamaica and young Edmund had wanted for nothing, save the acknowledgement of a father he was never going to get.

He'd thought, in his childlike way, that if he could show his father that he'd learnt a way to make money on his own, the man would be proud of him. Profits seemed to be the one and only thing that made Nathaniel Blackburn smile.

Edmund knew that stealing was wrong, but he rationalised, even then, that his father wasn't paying the slaves that worked his fields for their labour, and that was a sort of stealing, in its way, and so how could fault be found with theft of another sort?

He saw, of course, as he'd grown older, the reasons why that logic was not sound, but by then he'd been at his dishonest work for far too long – it was the only trade he knew, and he had little interest for much else.

Edmund and Benjamin grew from gawky boys into grown men together, stealing and conning, sharing their take and the rewards it bought them. From sweets in their youth to whores as they came of age, the two divided all their spoils into fair portions.

Unfortunately, shortly after his seventeenth birthday, Edmund had got into a scrape with a mark that was brought to the attention of his father, who after that had wanted even less to do with his illegitimate son than he ever had. Edmund's hopes for parental approval had withered to a dry husk, with little chance for renewal.

Leaving Jamaica seemed like a welcome escape after that, and the War of Succession offered an opportunity. Had he been on better terms with his father, he might have been bought a commission in the Royal Navy. Since that boon was no longer in the cards for him, and since Benjamin would be having no such hopes at all, the two of them had signed on as privateers.

The pair of friends took well to a life at sea, or as well as could be expected, considering the hardships involved. With Edmund's finer education, it had been easier for him to rise through the ranks, but Benjamin's talent for making men want to work for him had him following closely in his friend's wake.

After a few years, however, they both came to realise that, much as when they were boys, the biggest prizes were to be got via unscrupulous means.

Edmund almost preferred not to remember some of the more unsavoury deeds he'd done to first acquire The Devil's Luck, but he was pleased to recall Benjamin standing with him the day he'd watched the beginnings of his crew file aboard, and he'd named his one true friend as Quartermaster. The two of them came to find that they had just as much success with the larger scale theft at sea as they'd had when they were boys in the streets and alleys of Kingston, and in not too many years the name Black Edmund was being circulated in port cities like a dirty currency.

His chain of memories was broken, then, when he noted the ruddy quality of light filtering in through the windows at the back of his stateroom. The time must be coming near for Benjamin to free Mrs Collingwood from her bonds at the mast. The captain of The Devil's Luck would need to decide how to now proceed with his unexpected passenger.

The one thing he did know for certain, he thought, quirking the corner of his mouth up in the dimming light, was that he would do as he'd ever done whenever a prize had been taken: he would be portioning out an equal share to his quartermaster.

Hannah Collingwood likely thought him to be quite the brute, but he would dispel any such notions by showing her what a perfect gentleman he could be. Much like the formal dinners he remembered from his father's estate, guests were always served before the host, he mused, his smirk growing at the idea. Edmund would oh so politely allow the first delicious slice of Mrs Collingwood to go to his esteemed friend, Mr Benjamin Till.

* * * *



Time to recover had been somewhat necessary for the nude woman Edmund had ordered lashed to his foremast. Mrs Collingwood was wedged into a corner of his stateroom when he came back to check on her, cringing against the wood of a low cabinet with her arms clutching her knees to her chest in a futile attempt to secure herself away from him.

He'd left her with a pitcher and mug of some of the ship's precious fresh water, of which they still had a fair amount, having only just left port that morning. The amount of time she'd gone with nothing to drink had left her lightheaded and weak, and he knew she'd need to shore herself up a might further before she'd be able to endure the diversions he had in mind.

Five hours in the sun had left her pale skin a warm pink in places that had likely never spent time outside a shift or stockings exposed to the free air. Her forehead, the tip of her nose, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts, and even some portion of her thighs glowed with the angry kiss of the sun. That would be unfortunate for her, Edmund thought, considering where she'd find herself not too much longer from now.

She seemed more alert now, and tense. The water appeared to have sharpened her senses and brought her back to the former tight wariness he'd seen while he made his earlier "inspection" of her wares.

He smirked inwardly at the thought of her outraged sense of propriety. Edmund was accustomed to the casual bawdiness of prostitutes, spreading out their goods for his perusal and opening their painted mouths to thank him intimately at the first sound of coins clinking together. He'd forgotten, for a time, the amusing challenges presented by the more respectable women of society.

Hannah Collingwood was correct when she'd protested that she was no whore. But what Edmund had been intrigued by was the way his blood boiled at her scalding indignity, and even more by the discovery that, despite her vocal objections, his fingers had found her wet as the sea beneath her skirts.

Yes, it would take all of his willpower and etiquette to be polite and allow his friend to taste her first, before he tore into her with both hands like a holiday feast after nothing but weeks of bland tack. He wanted to chew on her flesh and lap up the juices.

Edmund straightened the sleeves of his coat and composed himself. He was not in the usual state of icy calm that served him so well.

The door clicked open and then closed behind him, and his quartermaster came to stand in the cabin as his side. Edmund nodded to his friend and received the same silent acknowledgement in return before the both of them turned again to take in the cowering Mrs Collingwood.

Her blue eyes were narrowed in suspicion and her lightly freckled nose had the slightest wrinkle over its bridge, hinting at her disgust for the men. The dark blonde tangle of her hair was in more of a disarray now than the neatly pinned arrangement she'd worn before he'd used her locks for a handhold to drag her onto the deck. He couldn't decide which made his cock harder: the prim Mrs Collingwood held in place by Mr Till while he groped her, or the bedraggled and exhausted Hannah, burnt by the sun before him now.

Edmund made his way around the table in the centre of the room and pulled a tall stool from under the side that faced his unlikely passenger. He removed his hat and laid it aside on the table, taking a seat on the stool and crossing his legs at the ankle, his arms over his chest in consideration. Her eyes had no trouble meeting his and he could see as she held them that she was more furious than afraid. She looked the bristling, cornered cat for certain.

He watched her gaze flick briefly to Benjamin before returning to him, and seeing her considering the presence of the two of them, he knew he was ready to begin his amusements.

"I saw that you had another spot of trouble with our surgeon, Mrs Collingwood," he began in his usual dry manner, "The man seems to be rather taken with you."

She said nothing, but her eyes broke from his and she hugged herself tighter at the mention of Graves. He didn't blame her: even a whore would be hard pressed to service that man without a grimace on her painted face.

"It was a blessing then, that Mr Till happened along when he did, yes?" He waited for her response but she still looked away from him in silence.

"Mrs Collingwood," he warned her, "'I'll be expecting answers to my questions. Now, are you not grateful to Mr Till?"

"I am," she clipped out a response in a low voice, trying to give as little to Edmund as possible. Mirth awakened in him as he thought about how much more she would be giving up in a very short amount of time.

"And have you thanked him for his timely intervention?"

"I thanked him at the mast," she confirmed, bringing her gaze back to Edmund now.

"Bah! Words, Mrs Collingwood! Do you think, my lovely, that Graves intended to molest you with words alone? No doubt that forked tongue of his would've been involved somehow, but no, I'm sure that even when Mr Till arrived he'd already taken his advances beyond a lewd suggestion or two.

"No, Mrs Collingwood, I think you owe my quartermaster here more than just a verbal token of gratitude. Don't you agree, Mr Till?" Edmund was in the habit of addressing his friend formally in front of others to retain a clear delineation of rank for his crew.

"She was grateful, Captain," Benjamin assured him, not rising to Edmund's obvious prompting just yet. The two of them had shared women many times before – why was his friend being odd today? Edmund was not deterred.

"Well I think she could be a bit more grateful. Stand up, Mrs Collingwood, and come out of that corner," he jerked a commanding nod at her. She made no move to comply.

Edmund Blackburn was no longer accustomed to being disobeyed, ever since he'd had the command of his own ship, and he frowned, popping a knuckle in irritation. He tried to remember that this woman couldn't withstand the same level of punishment as his men when they didn't jump to obey him.

"Up, Mrs Collingwood. Now. Unless you'd like another turn at the mast tomorrow morning as well? Perhaps I should lift the ban on my crew's handling of you..." he let his suggestion trail off, allowing the power of imagination to wring compliance from her.

The woman before him finally stood, the angry colour at her cheeks not from the sun, and covered herself as best she could with only the two hands at her disposal.

"Over here please," he said, extending one of his hands and waggling his fingers impatiently. Her jaw clenched in stubbornness and she took a single step closer to him. Edmund raised his brows at her, his expression showing her he did not intend to tolerate her hesitation. She rolled her eyes and made a noise of irritation in her throat, but moved forward the last steps that brought her directly before him.

His extended arm reached out and grabbed her by the wrist – it seemed he was ever required to do so if he wanted to bring her near him – and drew her with some force around to stand by his left side. With one of her hands in his now, she had only half the means to cover herself as before, and she chose to hide her sex with her free hand and leave her pretty upright breasts bare to him.

Contain yourself, man, she's not going anywhere.

Fighting down his overbearing urge to plunder her entirely, the share for his friend be damned, he set her captive hand on his thigh and held it in place with his. Her delicate fingers were warm through the fabric of his breeches and he held back a grunt of arousal.

"So, my dear lady," he began as though they were at a formal affair and she were not naked in front of two men, "You pointed out earlier that you no longer use your father's name. Where is your husband, then? Shouldn't he have come along for your protection against scoundrels such as ourselves?"

"Mr Collingwood is dead," she met his eyes with the words, her features devoid of emotion at her revelation.

Edmund should not have been happy to hear that. The loss of her husband had to have been some time ago, because she hadn't worn the black of widow's weeds, or even the grey of half mourning. He schooled his features to neutrality and made himself continue with his little designs without the pleased expression that threatened to creep onto his face.

"I'm ever so sorry for your loss, Madam. Please, allow a pair of gentlemen to 'console' you."

Catching her off guard, he took up her wrist again and hauled her bodily over his lap. She let out a noise of surprise and then hissed as the sunburnt tops of her breasts slid over the material that covered his thighs. He quickly brought her arm behind her and reached over her squirming form to capture its twin before folding her forearms at the small of her back.

"Captain! Please don't! Please!"

His indignant little widow was off balance now, without her arms to use for support, and so her full weight was teetering over his lap, her toes barely able to touch the floor because of the height of the stool.

He ran the fingertips of his free hand between her shoulder blades where their surrounding muscles came together in the centre of her back in a most pleasing series of lines. As he trailed them over her pinned arms and brought his touch to rest on the prettily upturned bottom she presented him, he felt her stiffen.

"Come now, Mrs Collingwood," he said as he smoothed his palm over the round perfect cheeks, "you haven't even properly thanked Mr Till yet, as we discussed."

Her breath had become shorter and he knew she was not far from panicking again. His next move would not help with her unease, he imagined. Bringing his stroking fingers again to the centre of her body, he slid them down into the cleft of her bottom to find her centre. She was thoroughly damp, and he let out an involuntary groan at her arousal, his already straining erection twitching again in response beneath her weight.

When his need tapped against her belly she broke out again in a bucking struggle, the reality of her predicament spurring her to resist him once again. He withdrew his probing fingers and brought his palm down in a crisp slap on her backside and a yelp shot out of her mouth as her head came up. Edmund had her attention.

"Be still for me now," he admonished her. "Haven't you learnt your lesson? Now, Mr Till," he turned his head to his friend, still stroking over the pink mark he'd left on the bare cheek, "Surely there's something here Mrs Collingwood has to offer that will serve as an adequate repayment for your saving her skin? Come 'round and take a look for yourself."

Benjamin circled the table from where he'd remained for this entire unlikely scene, and came to stand a pace or so behind the bared secrets of the woman Edmund held over his lap. He took up his toying with her once again, pushing his fingertips across her damp sex for the benefit of his friend. He grinned at his quartermaster.

"Look, now Benjamin," he said, dropping formalities, "She's already soaking wet for you. She –"

"No I'm not!" she screeched a protest, trying to crane her neck around to see what was happening behind her. A second swat on her bottom brought another indignant cry.

"Quiet please," he intoned a reminder, shifting her weight a bit over his thighs.

"When's the last time you sampled a bit of honey, my friend?" he turned his questions back to the man at his left. "Wouldn't you at least like a taste?"

"I, err..." Benjamin cleared his throat, his voice thick with lust now that he had a better view of the fleshy banquet before him, "I think I might, Sir." His friend adjusted the swelling that had stirred to life in his breeches, his eyes on Mrs Collingwood's pink prize.

"Mr Till, no! Please!" she pled directly to the man she realised would now be responsible for the majority of her treatment. "You don't have to do this!"

"Nonsense, my dear, of course he does," Edmund brushed off her protests as he continued to manipulate the damp folds between her legs. "How could you possibly resist such a gracious offer of thanks, Mr Till?"

"I don't think I can, Captain," Till admitted, thumbing his breeches open finally over the top of his erection. The Quartermaster of The Devil's Luck pulled at his cock, testing its readiness to be buried within Mrs Collingwood.

This arrangement was strangely novel for Edmund: he'd shared women with his friend before, any number of times, but usually they both took their pleasure at once. He couldn't remember ever having held one down for Benjamin to rut upon, but he found the notion to be oddly appealing now that he'd had the occasion to try it firsthand.

He moved his fingers away from her entrance now to allow his friend proper access, and Benjamin stepped forward, bringing the head of his shaft against the hot moisture the blonde in his lap was no longer able to protect from their violations.

"Oh no!" she moaned, defeat sounding in her whimpers, "No, no, no..." She knew the point of no return had come and gone for her and he could feel her breathing grow shallow in anticipation of the inevitable. Edmund throbbed with unmet need at her desperation.

Sufficiently lubricated from his sliding against her, Benjamin pushed the first of himself smoothly into Mrs Collingwood, dragging a moan from her throat that sounded to Edmund a good deal more like startled pleasure than protest. This he noted along with the fact that his friend had met with no resistance at all to his initial entry, so wet was their squirming little guest. She objected quite loudly, but her body spoke otherwise.

Once seated fully between her lovely legs, Benjamin began to work with a slow, deliberate rhythm into the now panting Hannah Collingwood. Edmund smiled inwardly at the effect the leisurely strokes were having upon his captive; his friend had always been unreasonably popular with the women who parted their thighs for him. He was not certain whether or not he might actually be jealous at the moment.

Behave, Edmund, you'll have your go, even if not tonight, he told himself. He settled for swapping out the hand that pinned her arms to her back, moving his new free palm to cup a warm handful of breast where her chest hung over his leg. Toying with her nipple brought a sharp intake of breath from the impaled female draped over his lap.

Hands gripping her hips now, Benjamin was lost to the slick feminine core surrounding him. He pumped into her with a will, green eyes unfocused, jaw tight with effort. Percussive umphs of acceptance were being pushed out of the bouncing widow in time with the thrusts, and Edmund felt another uncharacteristic boiling of envy rise in him. He realised that he wanted to be the first to claim this entrance of hers with the spilling of seed.