Capture an Angel Ch. 02byShadowPaetz©
From the author: Read on, but be aware that witches in an intense state of arousal, do not care who 'handles' them. Thanks for reading, and please vote and/or comment. :D
Not far away, in a room above the Burning Dragon Inn, another sea captain reclined on a bed surrounded in wisps of sheer cloth. "Do that again," he ordered.
The woman kneeling beside him shook her head. "You're incorrigible, Bearach."
Grinning, he watched her lower her head over an erection that felt at least a foot long. It wasn't, but self-delusion was one of his chief defenses against the world in general. Soft, firm fingers cupped his balls. "God, you're good at that, Lisette." He reached to the table beside the bed and took a bottle in hand. The alcohol swam in his head already, but the heated pressure on his cock kept him focused.
She nibbled, sharp teeth scraping on stretched and sensitive skin.
"Ahhh," he sighed, and slid callused fingers into raven dark hair. Gripping a handful, he pushed her head down to stop her teasing.
Instead of fighting him, she opened dark lips and slid them easily down the length of his shaft. The ring of her throat closed around the tip and her hands tightened on his balls. He hissed through his teeth and arched into her mouth. At this rate, she'd drain him in a minute or two, and he'd paid good money to keep her attention for a while.
Using his hand in her hair, he dragged her head back. "Get on your knees." His voice came out rasped and harsh with lust. Pouring another ounce of liquor into his mouth, he watched her move to the end of the bed and position herself. Swaying, full breasts hung beneath her, and her posterior pointed at him, revealing the plump lips of her cunt between silky soft thighs.
His cock gave a lurch at the sight and bobbed in time to his heightened heartbeat. He set the bottle aside and got on his knees behind her. Running one hand through the cleft in front of him, he grinned at the amount of moisture on his fingertips. He aroused her, no matter how commanding he got. She understood him, which was more than he could say about most women.
Using two fingers, he massaged her clitoris with light strokes until she moaned and canted her hips upward like a cat in heat. All the while, his cock pointed at the target like an enchanted arrow. Shifting, he moved closer, touching the head to her cunt.
He grinned and took a grip on her waist before shoving into her. The tight sheath encased him in moist heat. Slowly, he withdrew, only to sink back inside. She braced herself on one elbow and slipped her free hand between her legs, taking up where he'd left off.
"Fuck me, you animal," she moaned.
"I thought I was," he muttered, and lunged his hips forward in a massive shove that sounded like a whip cracking.
"Faster," she panted.
Who was the captain here? He grimaced and gripped her waist harder. Dragging her back and forth, he lunged with his hips as he pulled her back. A foggy breeze from the open window chilled his skin. The heavy scent of jasmine and perfumes wafted with the salt-water wind. Her body felt feverish beneath his hands. The bed rocked beneath them, a ship on dry land moving with the tide of his lust.
She shivered and her cunt gripped his cock in waves. Jabbing at the convulsive heaving within her, he hit the writhing flesh of her ass, using the flat of his hand to create reddened prints on the pale skin. She cried out, jerking her hips in tight circles as she came.
Raving with lust now, he pushed her forward on the bed and rolled her to her back. "Open your legs," he growled, shoving at them impatiently.
She put her feet on his broad shoulders, and he shoved unceremoniously inside the exposed entrance. Panting, he pushed her legs until they dangled over his shoulders, and then leaned forward. The agile length of her body doubled beneath him, pinned by his weight. Dark eyes peered up at his face, curious and intent.
No longer in the mood to grin, he lost himself in her eyes, picturing a universe of darkness sprinkled with distant stars. "I love you," he whispered helplessly, quite aware of the power he gave her with the statement. She'd never taken control of that power, although he'd said it many times before. She only smiled, and his relief had always been mixed with sadness
Lust tightened, and he felt his balls shrink up toward his plunging cock. Her hands roamed over his shoulders and rambled down the tight muscles of his arms. "Come for me," she urged. "I love to watch your face when you come."
The universe of her eyes expanded and he groaned, unable to tear his gaze away from hers. Sharp pain lanced through him, lust so strong it became unbearable. He shoved against it, trying to end it, stop it – kill himself with it if he had to.
The curiosity in her eyes swirled with renewed desire. Her hips circled beneath his and soft gasps echoed between them. Each surging thrust of his rampant prick into the receptive folds of her cunt jolted her body. Fingers gripped his arms now with a strength that would have surprised him if it was the first time he'd felt it. Sweat made her skin slick, and the crook of her knees slid down his arms.
Leaning forward, he kissed her, finally able to escape the intensity of her stare. Tongues met. Lips suckled. And still he hung on the painful edge of pleasure.
Long, sharp nails raked over the skin of his shoulders, adding more pain to the churning chaotic sensations. Wet suction pulled his cock back inside each time he withdrew, and his arms quivered with the pressure of holding himself up.
The very air seemed charged, waiting for an impending explosion. The breeze flowed in from the window, adding cool to his skin, countering the heat below. Her mouth surrounded his tongue, suckled it, lips against lips. Closing his eyes, he thrashed into the mounting explosion, feeling it build from the tight heat of his balls and into the shaft of his cock.
The pleasure-pain reached impossible levels and he pushed himself up on his hands. His prick jerked within her, pulsing with each sharp ejaculation. Like dying, it lasted an eternity, and yet took only a few seconds of reality.
He opened one eye.
Still splayed out beneath him, she gyrated her hips in taunting circles and smiled seductively. "You aren't finished."
Sinking to her breasts, he released her legs and slipped out of her, softening slowly. "For a minute or two," he murmured, taking a deep breath.
"You drink too much," she whispered, running her nails lightly over his back.
"I don't drink enough," he answered automatically.
"Get off, then," she said with a sigh. "You're heavy."
Shifting, he rolled to the side and stared up at the ceiling. "I didn't come here to ravage you, Lisette," he announced. Now that he'd allowed her to seduce him, he felt the need to state his real reason for being there.
"I didn't think you did," she answered, and he felt the shifting of the bed as she got up. "Fiachna married this afternoon."
"You should have been there." Rolling to his side, he watched her stand in front of the window. Rising from the floor almost to the ceiling, it overlooked Tiarnach Bay, and now every sailor aboard a ship could see her body highlighted by flickering candle light. He'd spotted her himself as he'd docked. The jealousy he felt he swiftly tucked away, refusing to give it reins. She was a whore; for all that she'd borne his son.
At least, he was pretty sure Fiachna was his son. She said differently, but she did lie on occasion, especially when the stakes were high enough.
"Ceallach told me." She preened in front of the window, lifting her arms so the heavy globes of her breasts were in full display. "I chose not to embarrass the boy."
"Fiachna wouldn't have been embarrassed. Ceallach is the one you protect." The jealousy scampered throughout his thoughts, fighting to get out in more than a tone of dislike.
"Your brother needs no protection." She turned, frowning at him expressively. "Unless it's from you."
"Or you." He picked up the bottle he'd discarded earlier. "You were the one who told him Fiachna was his son, not me."
She turned back to the window. "If you had the choice of a drunken pirate prince or a rich married king to name as the father of your child, who would you choose?"
"I suppose it doesn't matter what the truth is." The bottle tilted to his lips, washing down his throat in a bitter waterfall.
"Either of you could be his father, and Ceallach has the position you don't. I made the logical choice, Bearach. I won't change my mind now."
He stared at the smooth skin of her back for a long minute, and then gulped from the bottle again. The word 'whore' ran through his mind, and he stopped himself from accusing her yet again. Her profession never seemed to affect her, anyway. She'd raise a brow and nod, as if asking him to state his point.
"I don't want to fight about it," he muttered, feeling like a petulant child. Standing, he set the bottle on the table again and approached her at the window. "I'll believe what I want to believe."
"You always do."
He leaned forward to taste her shoulder, and looked out into the foggy night. Sweet skin met his lips. He spotted the familiar jutting keel of his ship, The Saoirse, barely visible through the fog. "I'm stubborn." One arm wrapped around her waist.
"I'll agree with that." She leaned back against him, allowing his hand access to the hardened tip of her breast. "So are you recovered now?"
Her laugh was soft, sultry. "Only with you, Captain."
"I suppose Ceallach prefers his women meek and submissive," he muttered, squeezing her breast harshly.
"Are you trying to make yourself angry?"
She tried to release the grip he had on her breast and he gentled his touch, reaching around her with his other hand to stroke the tender skin of her belly. "I don't have to try, Lisette." Anger always hovered in the back of his mind. The youngest son of a pirate king had nothing but his anger. He owned nothing else, not even the clothes on his back. His older brother had claimed both the kingdom of Amberlee and the child Bearach knew was his. Fury kept him alive, and the self-delusion he practiced so diligently.
Soft skin pressed back against the flaccid length of his cock. "We have an audience," she murmured.
Eyes looked up from below. A stranger had spied the naked woman in the window. He stood on the docks, near Bearach's ship. "Spread your legs, wench," Bearach ordered. "Give him a show."
Slipping her hands up and around his neck, she braced one foot up on the low window shelf. The stiff black curls between her legs met his fingers. Could the stranger see the pink interior of her cunt as Bearach held it open? He watched the man, and plunged a finger deep into the wet tunnel. Lisette sighed and swayed her hips forward.
The stranger dropped his hand and looked around the dock. Somnolent in the drifting fog, it gleamed emptily. The man seated himself on a hawser coil and looked back up.
Bearach ran a circling finger over Lisette's clitoris and she jerked forward.
The watching stranger fumbled at the front of his trousers, releasing a stiff prick.
Lisette laughed throatily. "Rub it, little man. Make yourself come from the mere sight of me."
The breeze blew her hair back, tickling it around Bearach's shoulders. He pressed his thickening cock against her skin, stroking it into a hardened battering ram. Holding the lips of her cunt wide, he flicked the small trigger and watched the man below them fondle the head of an impressive erection.
"Lean forward," he breathed in her ear. "I'll show him how to fuck a woman."
"Arrogant son of a bitch," she murmured, but complied with his order. Dropping her foot from the shelf, she braced her hands on each side of the wooden window enclosure. The man below grabbed the shaft of his prick in his hand and started pumping it.
"No matter how many men you fuck, you'll still be mine." He shoved his cock inside to the balls, earning a growl from her at his ferocity. Her breasts swayed in the chilly air.
The stranger used his other hand beneath the straining erection, tugging the front of his trousers aside to reveal a pair of hairy balls.
"I don't belong to anyone, Captain," Lisette hissed, bucking back against him. "Especially you."
Leaning forward, he shoved his fingers through the curls and ravaged her clitoris. His cock slid from her cunt and up into the crevasse of her ass. Her movements resembled struggles, but she kept her legs wide. The head of his prick found the puckered entrance of her anus and jabbed at it. She moaned.
Violence implicit in the air, he wrapped one arm around her waist and kept the other hand slipping against her clitoris. One more shove and he battered through the gate, feeling the tight ring of muscle close like a vise around his shaft.
The strident sound of her cry echoed through the open window to the ears of the watching stranger. His hand became a blur. The head of his cock could be seen swelling even from that distance.
Bearach jerked forward, impaling her ass. She braced her hands more firmly on the window frame and shoved back against him. "Animal."
"Tell me you love me." The rasp of his voice grated on his own ears. He sped the motion of his fingers on her clitoris, and ground against her from behind. "Tell me the truth for once, Lisette."
"Look at his face," she gasped, writhing on the end of Bearach's cock. "He's going to shoot."
The stranger's body stiffened. Hips rose from the hawser. The curving shaft pointed at the sky. Teeth bared in a grimace of pleasure and the purple head spurted a ropy strand of semen into the air.
Bearach retreated, pulling his swollen prick back only to thrust it deeply into her ass again. "Damn you." He thrust in and out, jealous pain immersed in pleasure. She cried out with each deep lunge. The stranger stared, still rubbing at the softening worm in his hand.
"I'm coming!" she cried, jerking her hips back and forth.
Bearach held on, still fluttering his fingers on her clit. The ring of muscle surrounding his cock tightened until it resembled pain. He moaned, holding still until her climax released him. She shuddered in his arms and tossed her head back so her hair flew in a midnight fan over her head.
"Tell me you love me," he whispered.
"Come for me," she said instead, and circled her hips around his still rampant prick.
Anger surged, swelling him inside the hot tunnel he'd ravaged. "Whore," he growled, and grabbed her hips with hardened fingers. "Cock-sucking bitch." Drain a man dry, she would, and nothing he could do about it.
"Bearach." Lisette's voice had changed, become harsh with something other than lust. "Warning fires. Go."
Still pumping within her, he looked up, out the window and far out into the fog. On the spits of land that surrounded the bay stood warning fires, and both were now lit, blazing dimly in the damp air. Cursing whatever had decided to approach at this particular time, Bearach gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and slammed in and out without pausing.
Lisette tried to pull away.
He wouldn't let her. Whatever it was out there, it could wait another minute until he finished.
The cry of warning echoed through the halls of Fiachna's home, reaching him in the bedroom. Aingeal startled, and pulled out of his arms. "Tonight?" She looked angry. "Of all nights?"
Fiachna, more than a little angry, himself, moved to the window to look out over Tiarnach Bay. The town lay to the left of his home, further down the cliff. Two spits of land enclosed the deep water bay, and atop each of them sat towers that comprised the outer Watch. Flames, high enough to be seen in spite of the fog, blazed in warning atop each tower.
A series of five towers ringed the small island nation, but only those two flamed. That meant the attack was meant to infiltrate the bay, itself. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing at his angry wife. "They must have thought we'd be unprepared due to the wedding. I have to go."
Fiachna's father, Ceallach, would be heading for the right-hand tower now, preparing to raise the magical shield that he used to guard the island. His uncle, Bearach, would also be heading for a ship to help with the defense – if he hadn't already drunk himself unconscious.
Aingeal nodded, although she still looked angry. "I know. Don't get killed."
He kissed her, and arousal lingered.
Black sails over Fiachna's head luffed with the foggy breeze, and drove his ship into the waiting arms of the enemy. Flaming arrows marked the air in a high curve. The colorful depiction of an eagle on the bow of the Cannamierian ship was dimmed in the fog, but it still made Fiachna's eyes hurt. Purple and green predominated.
Behind him, the shield sparkled to life. His father was in position, and there, to port, stood his uncle's black-sailed ship, The Saoirse. White flashed over the sails, so his uncle wasn't comatose. That was good, since the enemy had at least two ships, and possibly more hiding back in the breeze-stirred fog.
Magic sparked arousal along Fiachna's nerves. He raised a hand and narrowed his focus toward the flaming arrows heading toward him from the closest Cannamierian ship. White witchery sizzled from his fingertips in thin bolts and hit one arrow apiece. Each bolt sent an answering spark of lust through his blood to pool in his belly.
"Don't take all the arrows out. Make sure they're going to hit the sails first," Trynt spun the wheel to avoid rocks at the mouth of Tiarnach Bay.
"I'd miss some, then." More sizzles announced another barrage of arrows. By the time Fiachna had them under control, his cock began to harden. "Get those bolts going," he ordered Trynt, and attempted to think of things other than fucking.
"Aye, Cap'n." Trynt's shouted commands echoed as men repeated them below deck.
Rumbling under Fiachna's feet announced the drawing of the bows. Huge bolts, as long as his leg and tipped with burning oil, flew out from the sides of his ship. The first volley landed short, although one hit the deck of the enemy Cannamierian ship. A blanket of magical energy covered it before a fire could begin.
Fiachna's stomach hurt, and his balls began to ache. "They've got a witch aboard."
Dirty white sails blended into the fog over the enemy. Fiachna scoured the deck, looking for the triad that Cannamierian witches used. One witch, and two others to help take care of the witch's needs during a fight. Fiachna knew those needs intimately, but Tiarnach witches did not give in to lust so easily.
The crew of the Cannamierian ship wore brown leathers, and tied their long, dark hair back with rawhide strips. Tall, dark, and usually broad shouldered, the men looked out of fierce dark eyes. The witch stood out, not because of any coloring differences, or unusual clothing, but because the witch was a female.
Obviously a female.
Her breasts pushed against a leather vest, leaving her cleavage bare to the eye. If Fiachna looked closely enough, he could see the darker ring around her straining nipple at the edge of her vest.
He tried not to look that closely. It would only add more fuel to the fire of his arousal.
The male handler Fiachna expected. A female witch would need men, now, wouldn't she? But the female handler made Fiachna's cock twitch. A vision of how the female would handle the witch tried to turn Fiachna's brain to mush. At least they weren't writhing on the deck together.
"I'll keep the witch immobile," Fiachna shouted, knowing Trynt was waiting for instructions. "Take out her handlers." Without her handlers, she'd have no way to left to deal with her intense arousal. Cannamierians weren't used to denial.