The Maid and the Cook Ch. 02

She really couldn't look at him now, though her hands moved of their own accord to grip fistfuls of his shirt in an effort to steel herself against the onslaught of unfamiliar emotions his words were bringing.

"And not only did ye smile," he continued, making her face heat up even more, "ye made his entire day bright. The minute ye fell down the stairs and I caught ye, Brigit, I was already a lost cause. And now this morning I'm ready to knock another man on his arse for his even thinking he can have ye. Because I want ye. So you'll be called 'pretty girl' and 'lass' and whatever other names I can think of, and I'll hear no more fuss over it!"

Not even half a heartbeat passed after she met his eyes again before they'd seized one another up in a furious, desperate kiss. His two hands were on either side of her face and she clutched at his shoulders, devouring in a fever the sincere want this man offered; the one thing she'd never, ever had.

Their tongues spoke silent, urgent volumes into each other.

A nip of teeth at a lower lip.

I want this.

A deep, curling sweep of a tongue, one across the other.

Do you see what this does to me?

A greedy pull of lips and a quiet groan.

I need you. Can you feel it?

Somewhere in the delirium of acceptance, his kisses had trailed down her chin and over her jaw. His mouth pulled at her ear and lapped at her throat, and she clung to him, even as his arms crushed them together at the waist.

Bone stilled his consumption of her with his face buried in her neck and merely held her to him, breath coming hot against her collar bone. She could feel his chest expanding with the labour of his lungs in the dim quiet of the pantry, and she brought her arms around his neck, fingertips stroking softly at the back of his shaven head as they stood this way, simply immersed in their shared warmth for a time.

The still hum of desire in the room and the press of their bodies was making Brigit restless now. Without thought, her hips shifted, rolling against the cook. Through her skirts and petticoats she felt him, hard as stone, and he mumbled a low curse when the firm rise of her mound nudged at him through the fabric.

When he drew back to look at her then, the raw need in his eyes fairly set the air in the room on fire. Something inside her chest felt as though it was being crushed in a tight grip. Brigit knew she wanted far more than his mouth on her today. And for more than today.

What is this? These feelings?

A delicious vibration of fear trilled up her spine, but not for anything John Bone might do to her body. No, of that she wasn't afraid at all.

Like another person entirely, Brigit shifted her bottom up onto the top of the pile of grain bags and fisted her hand into the centre of Bone's shirt, pulling him toward her even as she leaned back to support her own weight with her other arm.

She moved her knees wide apart and curled her feet around the back of his thighs as he stepped into the brazen space she'd made for him. Their eyes remained locked as Brigit plainly told him with her body how very ready she was. He leaned in to kiss her again, and some inner voice told her that there ought to be words. She needed to tell him.

"John," she spoke his name, stopping him before he could close the last of the distance to her lips.

"Brigit," he rasped, eyes on her mouth, loathe to be delayed from what they both so obviously wanted.

Liquid tension burned between her thighs, and she wanted him to know it. To hear what he'd done to her. Brigit reached back through years of living in the less desirable parts of a city, of hearing rough men speak using language she wasn't supposed to know. She found the most shocking, wanton thing she could think to say to him and said it, nearly shattering in disbelief at the sound of the words on her own tongue.

"I want you to fuck me."

The sharp intake of breath from the man was almost a gasp at hearing her say such a thing. He wedged the firm heat of his erection even more tightly between them, almost bruising the splayed flesh of her sex, even beneath the layers of skirt and shift.

"Is that what ye want, Brigit?" he asked, his tone quiet and dangerous, the question spilling hotly into her open mouth as he ground himself against her. "Ye want me to fuck ye?"

His hands were at the fabric of her skirts, gathering it up as he spoke. They were merely toying with one another now. The destination had been agreed upon long ago.

"No, I don't want it," she said, slipping nimble fingers to the fastenings of his breeches, not to be outdone, "I need it."

He sprang free with a growl at her words and she had her hand on him for the first time, just as he got the last of her hemline tucked up to her waist. The air in the pantry curled over her skin, drawing her attention to just how wet she'd become.

And him! She could hardly circle her fingers around his girth, but she stroked appreciatively at him all the same, pleased to hear him hiss through clenched teeth at the slide of a soft hand over his throbbing heat. Brigit tugged him closer and he followed her lead, moving his hips in to rest the length of his cock over the slick temptation she offered.

"What is it ye need now?" he teased, sliding himself along her entrance, nudging the plump tip against her aching little nub. It seemed he enjoyed her filthy mouth as much as she'd hoped, and now he wanted to play.

I can play.

"I need your cock inside me, John," she said, watching his jaw tighten in response to her bawdy suggestion. Brigit felt him twitch against her and she tilted her hips, working to tempt him into forfeit. "I want you to fuck me," she repeated, growing bold.

Her words proved too much for the cook and she melted in relief when she felt the blunt velvet of him burrowing into her, though only a fraction of the way, not all of him as she wanted.

"Is this what ye want, pretty girl?" He pushed shallowly in and out, stretching her entrance but never sheathing himself, and more, she didn't wince at his endearment now. The look on his face, the pain of careful restraint, told her he might actually mean what he said. It was maddening, and her feet pressed at his backside, trying to urge him forward. It appeared she would need to play along.

"Yes, John, please!" She didn't even need to feign desperation. He needed to stop toying with her and —

"Oh!"

She was full.

More than full. Stretched, overflowing.

"John!"

"Christ, Brigit!" He held himself still, thumping luxuriously into her core.

With her weight on one arm, she slid her other palm up beneath his shirt. She needed to touch him. Her fingers splayed over his chest, passing over the warm expanse of muscle there, the dusting of hair, the hard line of his collar bone. The swollen lips between her thighs kissed up against the seat of his shaft and something inside her sucked at him, begging for what she wanted.

He gave it to her.

It was slow at first. Excruciating. She felt every slick, hard inch of him draw out and then deliberately revisit each nook and ridge inside her on the tortuous way back in. Again he did this. And again. The man had the patience of a mountain and she didn't know whether to call this treatment cruel or indescribably perfect.

She found herself writhing under him, urging him to end the torment and take her, to let go and assault her with his cock the way she wanted. The whining noises she was making brought a low chuckle from the man between her legs and he buried himself to the hilt in response, stopping his movement entirely.

"Oh please!" she whimpered, squirming.

How can he be so calm?

His hand came up and with a few sharp tugs like he'd done the night before, he'd brought the sleeves of her dress away from her shoulders and the stiff wrap of her stays lower around her ribs. Her breasts jutted free now, pressed upward by the bones of the garment, nipples tight and dark, as eager as the rest of her for John Bone's attention.

Back arched and still completely within her, he brought his face to his new prize and took one of the tense little buds reverently into his mouth. He suckled at her, slow and sweet, as though he meant to heal a wound with the pull of his mouth and her head lolled back as she gave over to whatever he wanted to do.

Moments or hours later, she didn't know which, he shifted over to the neglected tip on the other side, and with that began to move his hips again. Brigit nearly fell apart.

Her hand was on the back of his neck, cradling his head as he bent to his task, and her heels were pressing into the small of his back, as if she needed to make it any clearer what she wanted from him. Somewhere in the lusty haze of tangling limbs, one of her slippers had fallen off.

He was pushing into her now at a more satisfying pace, some of his earlier restraint wearing away. Brigit arched into his movements, leaning back further to take in more of him. Her breast bounced away from his mouth in a wet pop once she'd stretched beyond his reach, and with that distraction ended he stood up straighter and brought his hands to her hips. Thumbs pressing deliciously into the crease where her widely parted thighs met her hips, Bone found leverage and began to truly do what she'd asked. He began to fuck her.

She watched him bite at his lower lip in concentration as the working muscles of his thighs and backside slapped his body wetly against her greedy pussy. More, she delighted in his eyes on her tits as they bounced happily with the rhythm of his thrusts. She brought her own hands up and cupped them, tugging at the nipples, squeezing them high and together for his enjoyment. The strained groan she got in response told her she'd guessed correctly what a man would like to see.

His pumping had taken on a measure of ferocity now, and she had no idea how he was managing to keep up such a forceful pace with his leg as it was. There was no time for thoughts like those, however. Brigit felt her own bottom flexing as she pushed herself back against the driving of his cock, working up a promising friction between her most sensitive pearl of flesh and the curling nest of hair at the base of his shaft.

Oh yes, this was good. Spinning flashes of pleasure began to jar up from the place he grazed at her, bursting like flowers of lightning over her belly. If only she could just tilt herself so —

"John, I'm — aughhh!"

Brigit came around him with a wild cry before she could even tell him what was happening, though there was no doubt he knew. Her walls spasmed and clutched at the driving length of him and the building tightness in her loins exploded and danced around the rigid flesh of what she realised might be her first real lover.

The pulses of release wouldn't stop, and when he angled his hips to spear at her from an even shallower angle, the head of his cock found some new node of pleasure to kiss at the bottom of each thrust. Her delight shifted into another key altogether.

She began to laugh as the fluttering surged out around him again, and nearly wept when the release went on and on. A new rush of moisture spilled from her body and she felt him tense and begin to drive furiously into her, the signal given that he could now have his pleasure as well.

He brought himself inside with deep, vicious strokes, and her thighs parted wide, welcoming his final push for satisfaction.

Brigit felt him grow impossibly hard and his movements jerky and erratic for a wild disconnected moment and then his hips flew back leaving her suddenly vacant, humming.

The cook growled out a curse and she looked down in time to see the fat pink head of his cock being pushed through his fist. His body seized up and a jet of white, hot completion arced over her lips to splatter and pool above her mound. A second spurt followed and then a third, which didn't quite make it onto her swollen pussy, and these were accompanied by further satisfied bits of profanity.

She lay there limp and sated, and Bone steadied himself with one palm on the bulkhead above her, his chest heaving, and throat moving to wet itself again. What this said of her she didn't know, but Brigit had never felt more accomplished in all her life.

When his eyes opened again and found hers she couldn't keep a smile from splitting her face. He grinned back and let out a short rumbling laugh as they both worked to catch their breath.

Several more weeks to Nassau? I don't know if that will be enough time at all.

Brigit held her skirts up out of the way and teased her new lover with a knowing smirk.

"I think we've a bit of a mess on our hands, Mr Bone."

"I think we do," he answered with a serious nod but a tone that shared her jest.

Oh yes, several weeks would be just a tease. She wanted this pirate for much longer than that.

* * * *

The second night she shared his bed came earlier than the first. Once evening meal was served and the galley tidied for the next day, they were both far too weary on their feet to do anything else. The afternoon's exertions at the back of the pantry proved enough to send them to his bunk early. That meant no sneaking in while the bulk of the crew was already asleep.

He still had his back to the open space of the hold, but after a day of Platt's tongue-wagging — as he'd directed, to be sure — quite a few of the men who made their way in to find their hammocks had lewd taunts for John and his new bed mate.

"Has he let ye see where he stores the meat then, girl?"

"What o' those tits? Will there be fresh milk for breakfast?"

"You shown her you still have two good legs, Bone?"

Brigit lay facing him tonight and her hand went to cover her open mouth at the jabs of the sailors. Her wide eyes told him she was stifling laughter, though. He shook his head and rolled his eyes with a smirk. This was how men spoke, and the appearance of one young maid wasn't likely to change it. At least she wasn't scowling.

He took the hand she held to her lips and caught the pads of her fingers up between his teeth, nipping lightly at her. She wriggled closer to him in the dim light and he stole an arm around her waist.

For some unbelievable amount of time they simply stared at each other. John felt like some fool boy who'd never been hip to hip with a woman. As though it were still 1696 and he'd explode after a few quick thrusts or turn all red and flustered after seeing a pair of tits.

Brigit's fingertips flirted over his mouth and the side of his face, moved to tug playfully at the braids of his beard. He couldn't help but smile at her. She said nothing but her hand moved over his shoulder, and then down to squeeze at his arm, as though confirming for herself that he was real.

The light touches were somehow waking his cock back up, if it could be believed after its wild spending earlier. It throbbed to show its readiness again as she leaned in to brush a light kiss over his lips. There was no tongue, it wasn't fiery or demanding, just a display of her newfound comfort with him. Yes, all sorts of dormant notions had been flickering back to life since this girl had been flung into his care yesterday.

John circled his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand down between them, settling it on his hardness and learning a new way to raise her brows higher and make her take a sharp breath.

"Do ye see what ye do to me, lass?" he whispered, low enough that he should not be overheard by any of the settling men in the hold.

She chewed at her lip and gripped him through his breeches, tucking herself closer against his body. Her slight nod and the question on her face drove a low chuckle out of him, though.

She wants to know if ye expect her to do anything about it. Can ye imagine? Here in the hold, half the crew milling around?

"No, no," he assured her with a smile, barely audible. Pulling her hand back to his waist, he shifted more to his comfort. "Sleep, lass."

With a final kiss she relaxed against him, tucking her head under his chin. The maid smelled far better than a cabin full of men and he concentrated on telling his prick to go to sleep, as well.

John mused to himself that he might just be able to convince her to remain with him after Nassau, if he were allowed a few more days like today. The question was, would Captain Blackburn allow either of the two new women to remain aboard? The good thing about being cook, though, was that a body heard all of a ship's gossip. He'd simply keep his ears open and see which way the wind blew. If the captain wanted to put the widow ashore, perhaps John could make a case for keeping Brigit on as help.

She made some small sound and nuzzled her face into his throat. Yes. It seemed there was far more work to be done around the galley of The Devil's Luck of late. Not a man could be spared. Or woman. A young one. From Cork.

He slept.

* * * *