The Duke and the Pirate Queen. Victoria Janssen
mind snapped back to the present when Sylvie said, “I don’t think you normally walk about your castle clad only in a robe. And the lady Gisele told me Captain Leung had gone to speak with you. Are your bollocks still in a clench over her?”
He grabbed his own diplomatic pouch and thrust it into Sylvie’s hands. “I am going to marry her.”
“Madame tells me the king says different.”
“Julien can go and suck a splintery arse-dildo,” Maxime snarled.
Sylvie laughed. She tossed the diplomatic pouch onto a latticed chair. “The exquisite captain is a fool, refusing both me and you.”
“She has no interest in women,” Maxime said. “She’s interested in me. I know it.”
Sylvie stepped closer, and closer still. She laid her small hands inside the open neck of Maxime’s robe. “Quiet,” she said.
“I’m running out of time,” Maxime said. He hadn’t intended to say it, but her soft touch had bypassed his control.
Sylvie slid her hands down, parting his robe as they went. “This will help,” she said. “You needn’t fear. I do this merely as a favor given out of pity for your sad state, and will have forgotten it by tomorrow. Let me help.”
“I can—”
“Oh, be quiet. It will help me, at least. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on your cock.” True to her words, she grasped him firmly in both hands. She pricked him briefly with her nails, and he gasped. “Pay attention.”
He’d been aroused for a considerable time already, and her touch had made his painful erection rigid again. He closed his eyes as her hands stroked him firmly. “Sylvie, you really don’t have to—”
“I have never heard any man protest as much as you! Not even Henri!” Her grip changed, and when he looked, she’d dropped to her knees in front of him. Thoughtfully, she said, “You have the biggest cock I have ever seen.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Maxime said glumly. “I’ve thought of giving it its own title and lands, a signet cock ring, maybe commissioning a special song from the ducal musicians.”
She wasn’t listening to his attempt at humor. She said, her tone still speculative, “I’m sure I can swallow it.”
“Sylvie!” Maxime tried to step back, but gently, afraid she wouldn’t loosen her grip. Or perhaps afraid she would loosen it. “Don’t you have business elsewhere?”
“You look very uncomfortable. Do you want me to suck your cock?”
Her touch felt wonderful. She wasn’t Imena, but. “Yes?”
Keeping a firm grip on him, one hand over the other, Sylvie licked the ridge beneath his cock, end to end. “I need a better answer than that,” she prompted. She licked him again.
“All right! Go on!”
“That’s the answer I wanted,” she noted approvingly, and nestled her mouth over his cock’s head. Her tongue dipped into the slit and he grasped her slender shoulders, leather crumpling softly beneath his fingers. Sylvie smelled overwhelmingly of leather, with hints of aniseed and marzipan. Nothing like Imena.
If she’d only given him another chance, it might be Imena’s mouth on him now, her full lips grasping and pulling at his cock’s head, her soft tongue swirling beneath his foreskin. She’d liked it when he’d caressed her scalp. He would do that for her, caress her with palms and hard fingertips and the gentlest of scratches.
Sylvie. This was Sylvie, not Imena. He was letting Sylvie suck his cock because it was less lonely than bringing himself off, alone in his rooms. He needed to tell her how much he appreciated this, but she was so skilled it was difficult for him to form words. A groan fell from his lips, and she rubbed his hip approvingly.
“Sylvie—” he said.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
She nibbled at his foreskin, fondling him with both hands. This wasn’t as encompassing as her steady suction, and he breathed easier. He said, “I’ll never be able to watch you eat anything again without remembering this.”
“I know.” She reached around and slapped his buttock. “I think you would like this to be fast and hard.”
“I would prefer that, yes.” Fast and hard would blank his mind, stop him yearning for the woman he could not have.
Sylvie let go of his erection and dug her fingers into his buttocks. “You are pathetically in love with her, aren’t you?”
“Just get on with it, Sylvie. Are you going to swallow that or not?”
Sylvie pinched him sharply, an exquisite thrill down the length of his cock, and sucked him into her mouth, unmercifully torturing his tenderest spots. Seconds later, all his thoughts were gone, whited out with rapidly climbing, painful need.
He came hard, his spine unkinking with each spasm. Gasping for breath, he threw out a hand and caught himself on the desk. Warmth shuddered over his skin, leaving relaxation in its wake, but also burgeoning despair. “Thank you,” he said to Sylvie, who still crouched on the carpet. She was smirking with arrogant satisfaction. At least she had enjoyed herself. “And you?” he asked.
Sylvie rose to her feet, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “You’re already wishing you hadn’t let me, aren’t you?”
“Of course not!” Maxime said. “You’re amazing, Sylvie. What would you like from me? The same? Or would you like to take your pleasure with me otherwise?”
She laughed. “Pah! I can see it in your eyes. Guilt. You don’t want me right now. The captain hasn’t given you anything, and still you feel loyalty to her.” She dug a handkerchief from the pocket of her jacket and wiped Maxime’s softened cock, a little more roughly than he would have liked. “You are like a girl in the first throes of infatuation.” She tugged him down to her and kissed his mouth, quick and hard. “I already had to endure endless sighs of longing from Henri and Madame as they discovered romance. From you, it is even more pitiful.”
Wonderful. He couldn’t even manage an uncomplicated fuck to console himself. “I see. I’m dismissed, am I?”
“You are, Your Grace,” Sylvie said. She patted his hip. “If you will excuse me, a pair of your largest footmen await me in my chambers. And the little one, too, Volker. The one who does the thing with his tongue.”
Maxime winced. “I’d prefer not to know what you’re doing to my staff.”
Sylvie poked out her tongue at him. “You may come to me again when the delicious captain abandons you barefoot on the docks of a foreign port, and I will consider—consider only—tying you to a bed for my pleasure.”
CHAPTER FOUR
IMENA WASN’T ABLE TO ENJOY HER SOAK IN THE baths. As soon as she was sure Maxime had truly departed, she dried herself, dressed and returned to Seaflower, heaving a sigh of relief as soon as she felt the deck shifting beneath her feet. Chetri was gone, as was half of her crew, all of them no doubt carousing throughout the town’s shops, brothels and bathhouses, having perfectly licentious shore leave. She would do the same. She stormed into her cabin and swiftly divested herself of her turquoise finery, tossing it onto her wide bunk.
“No, sir! You’ll crush it!”
Imena’s cabin girl, Norris, darted into the cabin, hands outthrust as if to prevent wrinkles by force of will. She darted beneath Imena’s arm and seized the jacket and trousers to her flat chest. Small and slim-hipped, she wore her long ginger hair pinned up with myriad lacquered clips, and her face made up with a careful selection of cosmetics. Though she was, in fact, male, she had dressed as a girl since a young age, and as a result was usually better turned out than her captain. Her tailored green jacket and loose trousers were considerably more