Free Humbled by Renee Rose

knocking him into a deep slumber. By morning the other sailor had stood and staggered out and the medic was also long gone. She investigated the medicine options and found a liniment. Moistening the cloth with it, she lifted his shirt, gently swabbing the yellow-green bruises on his ribs. Noticing dried blood and a hole on his trousers over his upper thigh, she debated whether she ought to investigate. To do so would require the shameful act of lowering his pants, but Jean-Claude was in too deep a sleep to notice.
    She swallowed, fumbling with the waistband. Pulling them down was more difficult than she expected, but she managed to roll his hips to the side to slide the fabric below his manhood and investigate. Averting her eyes from his sex, she discovered a shallow gash with bits of wood, as if a splinter from the deck had impaled his leg. She picked the slivers out with her fingernails and cleaned the wound.
    When he opened his eyes, blinking at her, her heart slammed against her ribs as she prayed the opiate would keep him from realizing she had his pants down.
    “Corinne?” he murmured, his manhood lengthening and standing on end.
    She froze, staring at his length. His eyes closed and she exhaled, yanking up his trousers and covering him with a blanket. Settling beside him on the cot, she rested her palm over the hard muscle of his chest.
    His hand tangled in her hair. “Corinne,” he murmured again, but his breath deepened as he drifted back to his drug-induced dreams.
    She dozed a few hours beside him. She woke, thinking of his manhood. Had it stood erect because he understood she saw it? Or was it a reflex to being out? She tugged the blanket off him, peering in the direction of his trousers. Perhaps she should have bandaged his wound after she cleaned it. She had been hasty in restoring his clothing.
    She slid her hand over his bare chest and down the taut muscles of his belly. Yes, the bulge in his pants grew taller, tenting his trousers. And yet he slept. Tucking her fingers inside the waistband of his trousers once more, she gently tugged them below the bulge. His manhood sprang out, as if eager to be free. She stared, fascinated. She had seen drawings before, but examining a man’s anatomy up close was a different matter. Just looking made her breasts ached, a slow pulse between her legs bringing her awareness to the moisture building there. Remembering some of the bawdy stories she had read, she gripped it at the base and marveled at the way his skin slid over the enormous muscle. Jean-Claude gave a loud groan, his eyes flying open.
    “What are you doing?” he whispered, still looking feverish.
    She ignored his question and continued her exploration, pleased when a drop of clear liquid appeared from the slit as she knew it to be a sign of his satisfaction.
    In a flash, he pulled her down on top of him, his lips taking hers, his tongue demanding entrance. He licked into her mouth and her hips bucked in response, rubbing over his hardened shaft. His hands cupped her bottom, kneading her curves, encouraging her movement over his erection.
    “Lift up your skirts,” he commanded. She raised her torso, trembling with desire, but hesitating from shame. He tugged the fabric of her skirt for her, positioning his cock at the entrance to her sex. When he rubbed the head over her slit, shocks of pleasure shot through her. She lifted her pelvis and impaled herself on his mast, pushing hard to get past the pain of his entry.
    “ Oh God ,” he groaned. “Corinne…”
    He gripped her hips, moving her slowly at first until she relaxed into the pleasure of it, then picking up speed. Jean-Claude wrapped his fists in her skirts, using them to leverage her closer each time she rocked forward.
    “God,” he groaned again. “So sweet…”
    She stopped, uncertain at the pain in his expression. “Am I hurting you?”
    “No,” he roared, yanking her in again.
    She grinned as he resumed their pace, pulling her over his