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The Captain’s Quarters

Three months after the Battle of the Teeth

The knock on the cabin door came just past midnight.

Selena looked up from the maps spread across the desk, knowing who it was before the bond confirmed it.

She always knew. Three months of sharing a soul had made Rourke’s presence as familiar as her own heartbeat.

“Come in.”

He entered carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses, his violet eyes gleaming in the lantern light.

He’d been on deck all evening, negotiating with a Corsair captain who’d arrived with promises of ships and information.

She’d felt his exhaustion through the bond, his frustration, his desperate need to be done with politics and alone with her.

“The negotiations?” she asked.

“Finished. She’s agreed to join us.” He set the wine on the desk, began pouring. “Three more ships, forty crew, and a route through Imperial waters that even the Navy doesn’t know.”

“That’s good news.”

“It is.” He handed her a glass, then raised his own. “To small victories.”

“To small victories.”

They drank. The wine was good—plundered from an Imperial merchant ship two weeks prior, aged and rich.

Selena felt its warmth spread through her, mingling with the ever-present awareness of Rourke at the edge of her consciousness.

“You’re tired,” she said.

“Exhausted.”

“You should sleep.”

“I should.” He set his glass down, moved around the desk to stand behind her.

His hands found her shoulders, began working at the knots there.

“But I find I’m not interested in sleep just now.”

Through the bond, she felt his intention—the slow-burning desire he’d been holding back all evening, the need that had nothing to do with politics or war.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.” His thumbs pressed into the muscles at the base of her neck, drawing a groan from her. “I’ve been thinking about you all night. During the negotiations, during the toasts, during the endless posturing.”

His lips brushed her ear. “Do you know what it’s like, trying to discuss fleet movements while I can feel exactly how much you want me?”

Selena’s breath caught. It was true—she’d been projecting through the bond without meaning to, her desire leaking through while she studied maps and pretended to be productive.

“I wasn’t trying to distract you.”

“Yes, you were.” His hands slid down her arms, then up again, skimming the sides of her breasts through her shirt. “And it worked. I’ve been hard for the last three hours.”

She turned in her chair, looked up at him. His face was half-shadowed, his eyes bright with want.

Through the bond, she felt the truth of his words—the aching need that had been building all evening, held in check by duty and diplomacy.

“Poor captain,” she murmured. “Perhaps I should apologize.”

“Perhaps you should.”

She reached for him, cupped him through his trousers. He was hard already, straining against the fabric, and the sound he made when she touched him sent a bolt of heat through her core.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Let me make it up to you.”

She freed him from his trousers, wrapped her hand around his length.

He groaned, his head falling back, his hips pushing into her grip.

Through the bond, she felt what she was doing to him—the exquisite pressure of her fingers, the relief of finally being touched.

“Selena—”

“Shh.” She stroked him slowly, learning his rhythms, feeling his pleasure echo through her own body. “Let me.”

She leaned forward and took him in her mouth.

His reaction was immediate—a sharp gasp, his hands fisting in her hair, his whole body going rigid.

She tasted salt and musk, felt the weight of him on her tongue, heard the sounds he couldn’t suppress.

“Gods,” he breathed. “Your mouth—I can feel what it’s like for you. Feeling me inside you. It’s—”

She hummed in response, and he shuddered. The bond carried everything: his pleasure, her satisfaction, the building urgency that drove them both higher.

She worked him with lips and tongue and hand, drawing him toward the edge, feeling herself grow wet in response to his need.

“Stop,” he gasped suddenly. “Stop, or I’ll—”

She didn’t stop. She took him deeper, sucked harder, felt him lose control. His hands tightened in her hair; his hips bucked; and then he was coming, pulsing against her tongue, his release flooding the bond with sensation so intense she moaned around him.

She swallowed everything he gave her.

When she finally pulled back, he was trembling, his eyes glazed.

“That was—” He shook his head. “I wanted to be inside you.”

“You will be.” She stood, began unfastening her shirt. “But first, you’re going to return the favor.”

His eyes sharpened. Through the bond, she felt his hunger returning—not sated by his release, only whetted.

“On the desk,” he said.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

She cleared the maps with a sweep of her arm, sent them fluttering to the floor.

Then she sat on the edge of the desk and spread her legs.

Rourke knelt before her.

He was reverent in his attention—kissing her inner thighs, her hipbones, the soft curve of her belly.

His fingers hooked into her waistband, drew her trousers down with agonizing slowness.

When she was finally bare before him, he simply looked at her for a long moment.

“Beautiful,” he said softly. “Every time. I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this.”

“Then stop seeing and start tasting.”

He laughed—low and dark—and then his mouth was on her.

Selena cried out, her back arching, her hands finding his hair.

He licked into her with single-minded focus, finding the places that made her shake, the rhythms that made her gasp.

Through the bond, she felt his pleasure in her pleasure—the satisfaction of unraveling her, the hunger for more.

“Right there,” she breathed. “Don’t stop—”

He didn’t stop. He worked her with his tongue, added his fingers, drove her higher and higher until the pleasure crested and broke.

She came with his name on her lips, her thighs clamping around his head, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

He didn’t let her come down.

Before the aftershocks had faded, he was on his feet, lifting her, positioning himself at her entrance.

“I need to be inside you,” he said roughly. “Need to feel you around me.”

“Yes—”

He thrust home.

They both gasped. The bond carried every sensation—her fullness, his tightness, the perfect friction of their joining.

He began to move, hard and deep, each stroke driving them both toward another peak.

“I love you,” he said against her throat. “I love you, I love you, I—”

“I know.” She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him deeper. “I feel it. Always.”

“Good.” He increased his pace, his hips snapping against hers. “I want you to feel this too. Feel how much I need you. How good you feel around me. How I’d die without you.”

“You won’t die.” She was close again, the pleasure building faster this time. “You’re stuck with me. Bound forever.”

“Forever,” he agreed. “Forever isn’t long enough.”

He shifted his angle, hit a spot that made her see stars.

She keened, her nails raking down his back, her body tightening around him.

“Come with me,” she gasped. “Together—”

“Always together.”

The climax hit them simultaneously—a wave of sensation that crashed through the bond, doubled and redoubled until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.

Selena screamed; Rourke roared; and for one endless moment, they were truly one being, merged completely, lost in each other.

When it was over, they collapsed together on the desk, breathing hard.

“I love you,” Selena said when she could speak again.

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips. “I love you too.”

They stayed there for a long time, tangled together, feeling each other’s heartbeats through the bond.

Outside, the sea whispered against the hull. Somewhere in the Empire, enemies plotted and armies gathered.

But here, in this moment, there was only them.

The King of Tides and his Queen.

Bound forever.

Complete.

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