Martha opened her eyes. Her head felt clammy. She was back in the cabin, on the bed, but her restraints had not been put back on.
“Welcome back,” The Captain’s voice came from across the room. Martha turned her head to look at him.
“Why?” Her voice sounded croaky to her ears, and she wondered how long she had been unconscious. “Why did you do it? Why did you make me watch? Where is he now? Is he dead?” The questions burst forth of their own accord.
“Why? – I told you why – he hurt you,” The Captain approached the bed and sat on the chest near the bed. He had sat there, she remembered, the first time she had been brought to this cabin. His voice was calm, measured. “You needed to see him punished, to know that when I tell you something will happen, it will. No-one and nothing is out of my reach, Martha. ‘The Lady Rose’ is faster than ‘The Fany’ it was a simple thing to catch her and the things that man,” his face twisted on the word, “said when we caught him he is lucky I didn’t kill him, so no, he isn’t dead. We burned the stump and returned him to ‘The Fany’. You will never see him again.” As he finished speaking he leaned towards her, his hands pressed together, and she felt safe not threatened as she expected to.
“I still don’t understand,” Martha whispered. Her throat was so dry.
“Come, drink,” The Captain held out a hand and to her surprise she reached out an took it. His hand felt rough in hers, but strong. Her hand was tiny inside his. A thrill ran through her as she remembered how his hand had felt on her behind and she blushed. A smile formed on his lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. He guided her to the table and there were several slices of bread, a pitcher of wine and some salted meats. There were two cups and plates. “pour two cups of wine,” he said pointing to the pitcher.
Frowning she did as she was bid, manners her Ma had always said cost naught, but serving The Captain seemed different. The blush returned to her face as she passed the cup to him. He seemed to watch her every move. Where his eyes moved a tingling followed. She seemed so aware of him, his presence made her heart speed up. That’s fear she argued with herself, nothing else, fear. Didn’t you just see him cut a mans hand off? Hardly a man the treacherous voice responded and he did that for you.
The Captain took a sip from the cup, Martha noticed how long his fingers were as the wrapped around the cup, and lifted it to his mouth. The way his mouth parted as he drank, her lips and mouth went dry, and she licked her lips ineffectually. Her eyes watched his throat as he swallowed, the dark stubble on his chin, and wondered how that would feel against her skin. Heat rushed to her privates and face simultaneously. A low chuckle escaped from The Captain, and she wanted desperately to hide her face, even as the sound of his soft laughter made the heat in her privates worse. It was as if he could see into her mind. As if he knew what she had been thinking. She glanced back to his face unable to help herself and he was slowly running the tip of his tongue over his lips, catching the last drops of wine. She swallowed, hard, the breath catching in her throat.
“Fix me a plate,” he gestured at the table.
“No,” the word escaped her, and instantly she regretted it. Her eyes shot to his face, and he raised an eyebrow questioningly. Martha picked up a plate and put two slices of bread on to it as well as a few pieces of meat. There was no cutlery and so she had no choice but to use her fingers. Without speaking she placed the plate in front of him.
“Eat. Drink,” he commanded. Silently she complied and lifting the cup she drank deeply. The mead tasted like that she had drunk on board ‘The Fany’ and she wondered if they had stolen it. She took a bite of the bread and it was good. Soft and fresh. A little moan of satisfaction escaped her but she was too hungry to notice. she put some meats on her plate to try. These too were lovely, especially compared to the gruel like substance that she had been forced to eat since they left port. She noticed he was stroking the palm of his left hand with the fingertips of the same hand, and wondered what he was thinking.
He watched her eat. She looked half starved, and the way she was attacking the food it was as if she hadn’t eaten in days. When she had undressed he had noticed that her clothes hung loose and he had just assumed they were not hers. Now he wondered if she had lost weight on the journey. He had noticed her looking at him earlier, her breathing had increased just a little and her lips had parted. She was aroused he knew, but her reactions, her confusion told him she did not understand her feelings. When her eyes had lingered on his face he had briefly wondered how she would taste, if he were to take her and sit her on the hammock, he could bring her sex to his lips quite easily. Would she be wet to his touch? His sex had swelled as his thoughts lingered and he chuckled at his own reaction. He was like an inexperienced young whelp near her. He could almost imagine the taste of her on his lips.
Now of course she would need another lesson. He could let her outburst pass but truth be told he wanted to feel her body over his knee again, to stroke her behind with his hand. His hand curled in, the fingertips stroking his palm, remembering the feel of her skin. How many strikes… his sex throbbed against his breaches, as he pondered. Six wasn’t enough. No-where near enough. He had to be careful though, balance, she had to need it too. Ten, ten would be enough he decided. For today at least. His sex disagreed, strongly.
