Free Her Pirate Master by Tula Neal

to understand you.” He lifted his hand and skimmed it over her flat belly. He palmed one breast then the other, noting the feel of her pebbly nipples. She closed her eyes to the stars and gave herself up to pure sensation. When he bent over her, she felt the heat of him. His kiss was as gentle as a moth’s wings, but when she opened her mouth his tongue darted in, tasting, exploring. Nothing existed for her but his kiss. Her whole being was focused on his lips, his tongue, his warm breath. He slid his hand down her stomach, through the coil of wiry hair at her crotch. His fingers found her swollen clitoris, convulsing her body. Her eyes flew open and met his. In the light of the half–moon, she wasn’t sure what she read in them: confusion, tenderness, or simple lust.
    He circled her clit lazily, the lightest of pressures, barely there. Ribbons of heat rippled through her body. Something bumped against her side. Panic hit her, and then she realized it was his erection, which stretched and pushed into her.
    “Do you like this?” he asked, wanting to hear her say it.
    “Yes,” she said, easily, simply. “Very much.” She reached up for him, sparkling droplets falling from her arms like jewels. Gripping him around his neck, she climbed onto him.
    “I want to . . . I want. . . “ She breathed in his ear, her need making her voice shake. Then in the next minute she threw herself backward, the water fountaining up around her as she flailed toward the shallows. He caught her before she reached the shore and pulled her into him.
    “Shush,” he whispered as she sobbed.
    “I . . . I want to, but I cannot.” Her words came out in heaving spurts. “My oath.”
    “I know. Hush. Hush.” He held her close, murmuring into her hair, willing himself to limpness but failing. When her sobs gave way to the occasional hiccup, he bent down, scooped up a handful of sand, and began to rub her gently down starting at her shoulders, working his way to her hands, her breasts, her stomach, her legs. After he was done, he rinsed the sand off her.
    Without a word, he picked her up and carried her higher up on the beach. He put her down, and then with a low moan he sank to his knees in front of her. Imi pushed herself up on her elbows, panting slightly, and watched him. She was so tense with excitement, she almost yelled when his warm tongue touched her clit. Pleasure stabbed through her. She opened her legs wide, as wide as she could, thrusting her hips down into his face. His hands slipped under her bottom. He lifted her up to him, licking and sucking at her folds, then swirling his tongue around her clit. Imi dug her fingers into his hair, her eyes closed, her back arched. Seleucus felt her clit jump. A second later, her come, thick and vaguely salty, flowed over his tongue. Gently, slowly, he licked up every drop.

Chapter Six
     
    Imi watched the long warehouses that ringed the harbor at Delos grow slowly more defined. They had made it. The thought was like a fierce song within her. Seleucus had been optimistic about just how long the ‘minor’ repairs, as he termed them, would take. Five days had come and gone before they were finally able to set sail. Imi never saw the mysterious old woman again, but she had kept an eye out for the Nereids and offered daily prayers to Isis for her safety and that of Seleucus and all on board his ship. Once, she thought she’d glimpsed something beneath the waves, a dark, half–human figure, but the distant gray clouds that had blotted out the rising sun never offered more than light rain. Perhaps the old woman had underestimated the wounds the divine crocodile had inflicted on his enemies. Imi hoped that the success of that skirmish between the Roman gods and the ancient gods of the United Lands boded well for her own mission and for Arsinoe’s future.
    Strong, muscular arms slipped around her waist.
    “Seleucus,” she breathed, leaning back against his now–familiar muscular length. They