Rischa and the Red Jack

"This is tip top rum, love. I complement your taste," she says, flicking her eyes over the top of the decanter at him. She swigs, covering her desire. She'll to him again, but not in any great hurry.

"Mmm." The sheet slithers away from him as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. She picks up a glass and pours the amber liquid in, trying not to look at him. "Yes, so I've been told."

As he approaches, she thrusts the cup out towards him, halting his slow movement towards her body. She smirks, pressing the cup against his chest. He stares at her for a moment, and then takes the cup, a half-smile on his face.

"Cheers. To theRaptor, hmm?" He lifts his glass, and she lifts the bottle, clinking them together. Tossing back the rum, he throws the cup to the side, placing his hand flat on her stomach. "To the Raptor, and to her new captain."

"I'll drink to that." She tilts her head back beneath the bottle, letting the drink pour into her mouth. His hand curves up across her stomach, around her side. He leans into her, running his lips lightly across her neck. In spite of herself her breath catches.

The bottle falls out of her hand and clatters to the floor.

His hand slides up her torso along the inside of the jacket, his lips playing on her neck and jaw. He traces light circles along her breast, a spiral from the outside of it into her nipple. His fingers toy with the small brown-pink aureole, and it is not long before it is tight and pointed, her breath coming deeper than before. Her back arches into every breath, pushing her breast forward into his hand.

He grabs the back of her neck, his hand strong and firm, and pulls her to him for a kiss. She opens her mouth against his, sucks on his bottom lip and nips, then is lost to a moan as he kisses down her slender neck to her breasts. With his lips he plays lightly across them, rubbing one nipple in one hand. Then he licks the other, rolling it across his tongue, sucking and nibbling upon it. She leans forward, still on the table but with her legs to either side of him, her fingers raking through his hair.

"I thought I'd have to chase you through the rigging again," he murmurs against her throat. She laughs softly. The soft expanse of her skin feels anxious for his warmth. She feels like a lodestar craving north. Her fingertip skates the lines of his face, not a handsome face but a dashing one. The tattooed ink around his eye still bright red.

He slides his hands under her ass, and she tightens her legs around him. For a minute she lets herself think:nice to be lifted. Nice to be cared for.

That sort of thinking will get you killed or enslaved. But nice, just for a minute, to feel him support you.

He carries her back towards the bed and flings her down on the mattress. She bounces into the sheets and laughs. "Shall I play that I'm ravished?"

"You won't have to." He crawls across her on the bed, his eyes hard on her, dark blue now, and nuzzles against her neck. The contact, his lips on her throat, so soft she shivers. She runs her hands over his back and down to his ass.

He is setting the pace, she realizes, and it surprises her. They lie for several minutes, kissing soft and running hands across skin. His hands move under the jacket, over her hips and sides. He kisses her breasts. She explores the lines of his shoulders and arms with her fingers, runs her hands over his bottom and his legs. She watches him, trying to read him. His eyes are very dark, his face tilted towards her intently as if he's trying to memorize her features. It makes her a little sad in spite of herself.

He rolls to his back, pulls her on top again. But then instead of pulling her hips to his, he slithers down to press his face between her thighs. His tongue rests on her clitoris for a moment before he starts rolling it, slowly, leisurely, in wide circles.

Her back stiffens, then shudders, her thighs taut beneath her. They are both still, except for his tongue and his hands soft on her thighs. For the first time she is aware of the ship's slow rocking. The water all around licking gently at the wood. The ship's own whisper of wood on wood, its desire to be cut loose from port to drift.

Back and forth rocks theRaptor. With every to and fro the waves press him slightly, gently up against her, and then away. Their rhythms sink down into the rhythms of sea and ship. The ocean buoys him up to her clit, then carries him down away. Round and round in languorous circles.

An alley-cat moan grips her throat. She opens herself toward him, her cunt moist against his face. He slides his fingers up inside her, three fingers, and gestures again and again inside her:come here. His tongue firm on her clit now, almost as if chasing it, chasing that furtive feeling of being untied, that elusive orgasm.

When she comes, her hips push wildly against him. Her spine feels as if it flies to pieces. She feels like she's going to fly from the bed. He cups her ass, holds her against him and doesn't let her buck away. He keeps his tongue on her until she stops moving.

She throws herself off him and lies on her back. Her lungs try desperately to catch up with her, pumping air frantically. The jacket lies, rumpled, around her shoulders.

"Where do you think you're going?"

His voice is low and just a little commanding. And it's her ship, so she doesn't have to follow commands. Not if she doesn't want to.

But she lets him kiss her, his face still moist and pungent with her slick fluids. And then she lets him roll her over, and she pushes herself up on her knees.

Because she wants to. She's the captain. She can do as she likes.

Her mind works madly, trying to figure out the score, trying to tally the points. Just who is in charge here? He is on his knees behind her, his cock in his hand, running its tip across her buttocks and her thighs. She pushes down into a pillow, moaning as he presses himself into her. Deep. It's so deep. It hits up against her insides, some internal wall. Her cunt aches nicely, gripping around his cock and squeezing. He starts slowly but then begins thrusting quicker and harder, deeper into her. She didn't know there was deeper to go. It fills her up and she's just exhausted, she's still shaking from the orgasm she had onher ship, he takes her from behind like he's a king, but she lets him pleasure her like she's the captain, and just what just what just who is...

"Oh my girl, my girl," he groans. She feels him spasming inside her, his hips pressed to her ass. "Rischa. My dear girl." That phrase again.

After a long moment, he pulls out from her. She rolls onto her back and looks up at him. His brown curls and grey eyes. His lithe young body. There is something odd in his face but she can't put her finger on what it is. He lays his head against her chest, eyes heavy, his leg slung over her thigh.

Beneath them, the sea pulls at the ship, and it's hard to tell if it's angry or heartbroken.