Chapter 8

Emma sat on her bunk with the door closed, fighting the urge to bang her head repeatedly against the wall. She should not have kissed the captain. This was a dangerous game she was playing with a dangerous man, but she hadn't been able to help herself. She had just been so grateful that he had offered his assistance rather than turning her in.

He had stood so close, smelling of salt and gunpowder, rum and musk. His hand had cradled her face so gently, but he had kissed her hard, the coarse bristles of his beard scraping into the skin around her lips. She could still feel him – still taste him – on her mouth. She felt her chest flush beneath the buttons of her shirt.

When he'd gone above, she'd fled to her tiny cabin, afraid to let anyone see her flustered. She knew her lips and cheeks were reddened, and her breath came only in sharp pants. She threw her hat down on the mattress beside her. She would have to remain below, hidden from curious eyes for as long as the ship stayed tied to the dock. She had changed her appearance, yes, but she still wouldn't risk being witnessed by anyone who had seen the posters. She'd completed her chores up above, anyway. No one was likely to need her until the galley began to prepare the evening meal.

Until then, her mind was free to repeatedly replay the exchange she'd just had with the captain. Why did the queen want her so badly? She could guess that the servants of the crown had figured out that she was the culprit when she'd disappeared. Hopefully Robin had not tried to cover her tracks. She didn't want him or his son to get caught in the crossfire. She would never forgive herself if either of them had to suffer the consequences of her mistake, though it was an easy one to have made. The captain had agreed that the purse was small – too small for the price on her head.

The captain.

He lit such a fire in her belly. She'd been with men before, but none of them were able to turn her inside out with a single caress the way the captain did. Her life was in his hands now, and the thought made her quiver. Her fate was at the mercy of a merciless man. She had seen his blood lust when they had taken the Blushing Maiden. He was a man she would want fighting on her side. She couldn't afford to lose his protection. She was flirting with flames. It was frightening, but enticing at the same time.

She remembered how warm his skin had felt beneath her palm and she shuddered.

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No one ever came to call her into the galley to help cook as usual. Her small chambers boasted no porthole, so she was unable to see the position of the sun from where she stayed tucked away. Once she realized that too much time had probably passed, she hesitantly got to her feet and exited the room. She saw no one as she made her way to the ship's kitchen, which was unusual. Crewman were typically scrambling over one another in the narrow passages below deck.

When she reached the galley, she was confused. It was empty as well. There was no bustle of preparation for the evening meal. There was no heat or steam from recent cooking, either. She hadn't missed it. Instead, there was a single tray arranged with bread and cheese, along with dried, smoked meat. It was the tray she used to carry supper to the captain's quarters. She was unsure why no one had informed her it was ready for him, but she dutifully wrapped her hands around its handles and brought it out the door.

The captain was not in his chambers. Emma set the tray down on his table. Against her better judgment, she climbed the ladder and out the hatch onto the deck. Though she didn't encounter anyone, she knew that the crew would never completely desert the ship and leave it unguarded. Someone still had to be around.

Finally, she found him standing on the bowsprit, his hand holding loosely to the rigging, and the wind ruffling through his dark hair. She came to a halt, standing quietly while he gazed off toward the horizon. There was a peace on his face that she would not have expected from him.

He did not turn to look at her, but he was aware of her presence. "You know the stars can take you anywhere if you know how to read them."

"Captain?" She asked once her breath had returned.

"We're alone, Emma." He told her. "I want you to call me Killian."

"Killian?" She drew as close as she dared, not trusting her balance up where he stood.

He seemed to notice her apprehension and approached her, jumping down to the deck before her. "Killian Jones, my lady." He bowed deeply, his hand swinging out to the side.

Emma blushed at the title. She was far from a highborn lady. "I don't understand. I thought your name was-?"

"Hook is just a moniker, love." He resumed his full height. "Simply something to inspire fear." He raised his hook in front of his face, turning it this way and that, as though he were examining it. "I find it apt. What do you think?"

At that, she smiled. "It seems to do the trick. So, you're really Captain Jones?"

His expression darkened as his hook returned to his side. "No. That honor went to my brother Liam back when we were both navy men."

"I didn't know that–"

"Few do." He stared off again, past the end of the stone jetty toward the open ocean.

She wasn't sure why he was telling her all of this. Was it possible that there was another side to the fearsome pirate? She decided to try exploring further. "What happened to him?"

The lines of his face creased into a menacing frown, and Emma was glad that the look was not directed at her. She would have been cowering. "He died."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that." She stammered. "Were you close?"

"Aye," he whispered, more to the night than to her.

When at length he didn't continue, she decided to take the cautious course of action and change the subject. "I brought food to your quarters, Captain."

"Killian," he corrected. "Now, is that so? Perhaps we should eat." He gestured for her to follow him aft and down. He took her hand as she reached to bottom rung of the ladder, and she stepped toward his chest.

Idly fidgeting with the collar of his coat, she got around to asking the question she had been wondering. "Where is the rest of the crew?"

His brows climbed upward as he grinned. "I sent them all into town. Told them I'd have a pretty girl on board and we weren't to be disturbed." When she looked at him with astonishment, he laughed. "Come, sit with me," he invited. He kept her hand in his as he backed toward the table. She thought he was leading her toward the chair she usually sat in when he'd asked her to dine with him, but instead he seated himself and pulled her toward him. She lowered herself down onto his lap, and his hooked arm stretched around her waist. "You can get comfortable, love." He murmured. "It's only the two of us here."

Blushing, Emma tugged the hem of her shirt from her waistband and reached her arm up to the back of the bindings on her chest. It was an awkward position, and she struggled with the knot.

"Allow me," Killian offered, his hand untangling from hers. With his five dexterous fingers, he found the tie and loosened it easily. The linen strips fell down around her waist, and her breasts bounced free. Emma took a gasping breath, and Killian smiled wickedly. "Now, isn't that better?"

"Much," Emma exhaled, her eyes drifting shut. When they opened again, he was still looking at her with that devilish grin, his hand still on her back beneath her shirt. "Thank you," she breathed before she leaned down to kiss him.

His lips were soft, but his kiss was hard as he claimed her mouth with his. Her hands found their way to the underside of his jaw. His fingertips pressed firmly into her back as he urged her even closer to him. Her palms slid down his neck, under the collar of his coat, and pushed it off of his shoulders. Killian's left forearm moved down under her hips as he hoisted her up, carrying her toward his bunk.

"Emma, love," he muttered between kisses. "I have wanted you since I saw you that night in the tavern."

"Well, sailor," she panted as he placed her down on the mattress. "That makes two of us."

His mouth left a trail of kisses over her cheek and under her ear, down to her collarbone as he settled himself on top of her. "You avoided me all that night, if I remember correctly."

Emma couldn't help but laugh as her fingers clawed at the lacing of his vest. "I knew you were trouble the second you walked in that door."

Killian pulled her shirt off over her head, and she tugged both his vest and shirt free. He pressed her down onto the bed with another rough kiss. She moaned as his chest dragged against her sensitive nipples. She could feel the ridge of him bulging through his pants between her thighs, and she gasped his name.

"Emma," he groaned. "Emma, love."

She was aching for him. A hungry ember had flared to life low in her core, and she needed him to sate it. Desperately, she reached down to tear free the laces of his pants while he kicked his boots off. His hand cupped the underside of her breast, drawing the peak of her nipple into his mouth. He teased it with his tongue before nibbling it gently. His palm stroked down her side to her hip, his thumb dipping beneath the waistband of her breeches.

In another blink, they were both completely unclothed and breathless. She whined as he pulled away from her. He settled above her, leaning on his elbow, looking down into her eyes, his hand rested on her hipbone. "You want this?" He asked her earnestly, concern registering on his features.

"Yes," Emma gasped out. "I want this." She was so wet and ready that she felt a true throbbing in her center.

He took himself in hand and, ever so gradually, sheathed himself inside of her. Emma let out a soft little cry as he filled her completely, burying himself up to the very hilt. He let out the breath he had been holding. "Say my name, Emma." He demanded.

"Killian," she sighed. "Killian."

Slowly, he began to move within her with long and dirty strokes. Her nails raked into his sweating back as she moaned. Grunting, he bit down on her shoulder. "Is this what you wanted, love? Tell me what you need." He began to quicken his pace.

"Yes, Killian," Emma cried out. "I need you."

He hoisted her leg up around his waist, then snaked his arm beneath her hips, raising them to him. Another cry peeled from Emma's throat as white-hot pleasure coursed through her veins and exploded beneath her skin. With just a few more hard, quick thrusts, she felt Killian tense and then pulse inside her.

He collapsed onto her, his head tucked between her neck and shoulder, satisfied and at a loss for air, as was she. Emma found her hand wrapped in the hair at the nape of his neck as his hot breath whispered beneath the lobe her ear. Softening, Killian rolled off of her. With his thumb, he turned her chin toward him until their eyes met. For a moment, he examined her, saying nothing.

Then, he kissed her gently, languidly, his tongue rolling lazy circles around hers. When they broke apart, Emma lay her head down on the muscle of his chest, happily inhaling his scent. She had never drifted off to sleep so easily or so contentedly.