The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five) (5 page)

Angered that she’d caught him with his emotions so nakedly revealed, he turned away and shouted at his men, but his loins ached with a white heat that wouldn’t be tamped down. More than ever, he longed for port when he might put more distance between him and his prisoner. Or was that what he really wanted to do? He’d told her he would take her as his own, but he hadn’t meant it. Or had he? He thought of the past months when the image of her nude body had flooded his dreams and nagged his every waking hour. She’d awakened a need within him that no other woman could fulfill. And he had tried many women.

“Pah!” he exclaimed and stalked away.

She was just another beautiful woman. She possessed no special powers over him, only those ties that he allowed her, and he could easily cut them.

Still, standing in the prow of the ship with the soft, evening light dancing off the waves, he saw her face illuminated in his mind’s eye and knew he must possess her. When he’d taken her prisoner, he’d thought she was just one more of his brother’s possessions, which he would take and hold as ransom as he fought for the return of his throne. Now a thought came to him. She was not Mohan’s betrothed. His brother had never been informed of the outcome. When Rajak had returned to India, he’d found his father dead and his brother sitting on the throne. Rajak had had to flee for his life so there was no exchange of information.

Azara was his. He had taken her and she belonged to him. He would claim his prize this very night. He summoned one of his men and sent a message to the princess, asking that she join him for super in his cabin then crossed to the outdoor shower facilities and washed himself. In his cabin, he dressed in his best clothes, ordered a meal suitable for a princess then sat down to wait. Impatiently, he waited well beyond the appointed hour and when she didn’t appear, he sent a note to her room requesting her presence immediately. Soon, a gentle knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” Rajak said imperiously, annoyed that she’d kept him waiting. The door opened and Oma stood bowing in the entrance.

“Princess Azara declines your invitation,” Oma said without meeting his gaze.

“What do you mean she declines my invitation?” Rajak demanded. “Go tell your princess it wasn’t an invitation, rather a summons and I wish her to join me, at once.”

Oma was silent for a long time as if warring within herself.

“She will not come,” she finally said. “She has already retired for the night.”

The sheer impudence of her actions left Rajak furious. Did she think because he no longer claimed his throne that he was to be dismissed in such a disdainful manner? Heat stained his neck, and he gritted his teeth as he brushed past the serving woman. Oma scurried out of his way, her eyes wide and frightened looking. Rajak took no time to notice her further. He stalked down the deck to the cabin that held Azara and, without a knock, threw the door open and entered. Women in various stages of undress screamed and scurried to cover themselves.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

With trembling fingers, they pointed to a silk screen, which had been erected at the other end of the room. Rajak tore aside the silk panels and stomped to the bed where Azara lay. At once, she sat up and glared at him.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“Madam, I have summoned you to my cabin and you have chosen not to come, thus I have come to you.” Rajak glared at her, forcing himself to ignore her beauty.

“Leave my room immediately,” she said, delicate nostrils flaring, eyes dark with outrage.

“I intend to do just that,” he declared and before she could react, he bent over and gathered her in his arms.

She shrieked and struggled, nearly slipping out of his grasp, so he slung her over his shoulder, swatted her on her soft rounded behind and walked toward the door. Amid squeals and much fluttering of hands, her serving maids scrambled out of his way.

“How dare you?” Azara cried. “Let me go, at once.”

She struggled, trying to throw herself to the ground, but he landed another slap, harder than the last, on her rump and she went silent and limp against his shoulder. She was, no doubt, planning some other strategy, he surmised, but he gave her no chance to put it into play. He carried her to his cabin, kicked open the door, entered and turned to lock it, before tossing her on his bed. She came up all flustered and furious amidst a tangle of silk sheets. Her bed dress, he saw, was flimsy so he caught glimpses of soft breasts with nipples dark and inviting as ripe fruit, rounded hips and long tapering legs that sprawled open revealing a glossy nest of pubic hair. Her perfume came to him, exotic and arousing. His penis grew heavy against his thigh.

“So, Prince Rajak of the Peacock Throne,” she said, spitting out the words, “is this how you treat a princess, with honor and respect? No wonder you have lost your throne.”

He had meant to be gentle, to woo her. She was of royal blood and he’d been assured when negotiating a wife for his brother, that she was virginal, but her words angered him, so he ripped aside the silk coverlets then the thin silk gown. She slapped at him like a wild cat, rolling away from him, but he held her down until every vestige of clothing was stripped from her body then he sat back on his heels and stared at her.

She took his breath away. Her body was perfect, slim and delicate and plump and round in all the right places. The feel of her beneath his hands was as soft and smooth as warm silk. He wanted to taste her full pouty lips and part her legs and taste her there as well. He wanted to feel her slim legs wrapped around him while he buried himself deep inside her. He wanted—

He read the desire in her eyes, desire she tried to hide. Though she continued to struggle against him, obviously she fought against her own feelings. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took, and she kept her gaze fixed on his as if she couldn’t look away. Perfect, small white teeth caught her bottom rose-colored lip. A flush brightened her cheeks.

Lust filled him, but he wouldn’t take her against her will.

Slumping on the bed, he stared at her.

“Do not fear, Azara, I will not take you unless you want me too.”

“How can I trust that is true? You have already violated me by bringing me to your cabin unchaperoned,” she cried, her voice deep with anger.

Yet he heard the quiver of uncertainty, a quiver of desire perhaps.

“I am sorry. I would not have us begin this way. You must remember that I am in command, first as a prince and second as the captain of this ship. I can’t allow you to question my authority and not react. Otherwise, I would lose face with my men.”

“And you must remember that I am a princess and not accustomed to obeying the demands of a lawless pirate,” she returned and sat up on the bed to face him.

She made no move to cover herself, but her long, black hair fell over both shoulders, covering her breasts with satiny curls. Rajak licked his lips and looked away from her breasts.

“I’m not a lawless pirate,” he said. “I am the rightful heir to the most powerful throne in the world. My brother took it by murdering my father. He has even imprisoned his own sons and a daughter to rid himself of any claims to the thrown. I would be dead, too, if I hadn’t managed to escape with the help of friends.”

She was silent for a long moment and when she spoke, her voice was softer.

“I sympathize with your plight,” she said hesitantly. “But I can do nothing to help you. I must think of myself. If I allow you to take me, I will be killed for infidelity though it would not be my fault. That is how our laws are made. I belong to your brother.”

“You belong to me!” Rajak said forcefully. “I am the one who signed the marriage papers and had them returned to your father.”

“You?” Azara stared at him in consternation.

“When I saw what my brother had done, I was determined to take something of his. I thought to have you for myself.”

Azara’s eyes widened. “I am small consolation for your throne,” she said. “Will you always remain a pirate, and am I to be a pirate’s whore?”

“Only if you wish to see yourself that way,” he replied, capturing her gaze meaningfully. “One day, you will be the wife of the rightful ruler of the throne of India.”

“You seem very sure,” she said.

“I am.” He waited for her to assimilate all he’d said.

He saw her taking in all the possibilities, but he saw more than that. He saw a regal princess who was little more than a girl, yet possessing the wisdom of a woman. She had been carefully reared as was proper for her, but she’d retained her own independence of thought and reaction. And she was intelligent. He was more pleased by this than he had thought, remembering how her body had fired his passion. But if she was to be his wife, she must be intelligent and wise beyond her years to handle the intrigue and corruption of any royal house.

He saw when her acceptance came. Where her gaze had been thoughtful, it now turned to him with curiosity and something more, something that had been there in the air between them, in the flares of temper and denial.

“I don’t like your brother very much,” she said softly. “A man who would kill his own father to gain his throne is not a man to be trusted. Perhaps one day he would choose to kill me as well.”

Rajak remained silent, letting her come to this decision by herself.

“If I give myself to you, will you protect me from your brother?”

“With my very life,” he answered fervently. “You are pleasing to me, and I would have chosen you for myself if I hadn’t been given the duty on my brother’s behalf. You are more lovely than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

He saw how his words pleased her, and he held out his hand to her. Her gaze moved over his face then her features relaxed and she took his hand. Her smile was tremulous, but he saw in her gaze an acceptance of him and all he’d said.

He pulled her toward him, and she came willingly, soft and yielding, her hands settling on his chest. His hand skimmed over her beautiful body, measuring the curves and dips, feeling the warmth. He cupped one breast and felt the heat of her nipple in his palm. She sighed softly. He tightened his fingers on the smooth roundness and her eyelids flickered.

He dipped his head and kissed her full mouth, gently at first, a mere brushing of lips against lips then deeper, tasting her, invading her with his tongue. Immediately, desire whirled through him and he kissed her thoroughly, his hand kneading her breast. She moaned against his mouth, returning his kisses, touching his tongue lightly with her own, letting him dip deep into the sweetness, her body softening in his embrace, becoming liquid, giving. He broke from the kiss and lowered his head to take the dark nipple into his mouth to suckle.

He heard her intake of breath and her moan of desire like a siren’s song to his ear. He eased her back on the silken bed, covering her body with his, his mouth going from one breast to the other, while with one hand he found the black curls at her crotch, which he separated gently and sought out the nub of her clitoris. Once again, she gasped and reached for his hand as if to halt his progress, but he’d already begun to move his finger against her and she sighed, her knees falling open in surrender, her hands urging him onward. With her heels dug into the mattress, she lifted her hips, opening herself to his caresses even more. At last, he released her nipple and rose above her. She opened passion-glazed eyes to gaze at him in anticipation.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered in protest as he took a different position.

“I won’t,” he said and chuckled at her eagerness.

That she was a virgin, he had no doubt, but her willingness in the game of love pleased him. He raised her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, so she was exposed to him then lifted her hips to give him even better access. He felt her body tighten momentarily but when he lowered his head and placed his mouth against her clitoris, she cried out, her body jerking before she held herself still for him. He suckled her clitoris until she whimpered then laved it with his tongue before delving deep into her honeyed channel. She tasted like ambrosia, heady and sweet.

She cried out with pleasure, making no words just sounds and moans of abandonment. He brought her to a culmination so she twisted against him, clamping her thighs against his head in a paroxysm of completion. When the moment had passed and she lay quiet, he lowered her hips and legs, rose from the bed and stripped away his clothes and took his place between her thighs.

“No more,” she whimpered. “I can bear no more.”

“One final thing, princess,” he said. “You are ready for this now and so am I.” He slid to the opening of her channel where her maidenhead waited for his thrust then he was inside the hot, liquid core of her, into her slick channel where her muscles were still tight from her earlier climax. Though she’d cried out, she now remained stiff while she held her breath.