I’m finished waiting.
Back between her legs, I push her thighs open harder than is strictly necessary and notch myself to her swollen opening.
Lean forward.
Drive myself home.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Her eyelashes flutter, and she makes a little whine against the gag, but it turns into a desperate moan at the back of her throat. More color races to her cheeks with every thrust. I brace a hand on the bedpost, where she can see it, and fuck her without consideration, without mercy.
Ashley’s cunt likes this very much.
It doesn’t want to let my cock go.
Not even a little.
From this position, she has no leverage, but her pussy creates it with another orgasm. There’s nothing sweeter than the ragged noises she’s making. Than the shame in her cheeks. Her body clings to the pleasure, keeping it trapped between her legs for as long as she can. Her hips roll with it, again and again and again, an endless wheel, like the waves.
I lean down and kiss the side of her mouth. Her gag is soaking through, what with all the noise, but I don’t take it out. I’m not going to until I’m finished fucking her. Maybe longer. “This part,” I say into her ear, as if I’m not being dragged down into her body. I cannot swim parallel to this tide. I want her to drown me. “This part is for me. So I can describe your hot little cunt to the buyers. So I can tell them what they’ll be getting for their money. It would be wrong…” I punctuate this with a vicious thrust and she tosses her head back against the bed, showing me her throat. “It would be wrong to sell something I wouldn’t personally recommend.”
I’m wound tight enough to break. To shatter. To get hit by a wave and dissolve into seafoam. I dig my teeth into her and give myself over to this primal, animal urge.
And finally, finally, my mind lets go of all the pain and anger. It throws itself into deep water.
I saw in and out of her for another long series of thrusts while my balls draw themselves up, while my cock gets tighter, while it reaches its limit and goes past.
My release hits when I’m balls-deep in her, grinding my hips to get in another inch. The hot splash of me against her sweetness soothes the rough edges of me. So does the way she’s trying to fuck me back through her tears. Her hips rise to meet me. They rise and rise and rise until Ashley comes again with a quiet cry and the last of her droplets gathering on her eyelashes.
I make her stay there in the gag and the belt while I go for a washcloth.
I make her wait while I pull my own pants on. And then I climb back on the bed and draw the cloth over her thighs and pussy. I don’t clean all the evidence of me away. Let her sleep with it.
The gag comes out first, but she doesn’t say anything while I undo the belt and help her up. She blinks, her eyes puffy, cheeks flushed. Ashley crawls to the pillows without another look at me and curls up on her side.
I turn out the lights.
She doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Because.
I can’t.
Or I don’t want to.
Or the pull to her is so strong, so intense, that it’s like the sea.
Fuck pants. I shuck them off and crawl into the bed behind her. I’m not going to touch her. I don’t touch her. Not until the moment she presses her hips back toward me, needing.
I’m on her in the dark. “He never gave you enough, did he? He never gave you anything.”
She shakes her head, speechless.
One hand goes over her mouth, my other hand between her legs. She’s wet there, wanting, and she folds forward over my hand as a last sob shakes her body. How fucking awful to need this after I finished with her.
I stroke between her legs, gathering her juices up and over her clit, and rub hard. It’s too much. I know it by the way she opens her mouth and cries out against my palm the whole time it’s happening. The whole time her hips jerk against my hand. The whole time I twist her up with rough fingers and make her come in another burst that runs hot on the inside of her thighs.
When she’s done riding it out, I take my hand off her mouth and stay close. Not because I think she wants me there. Because sleep is closing in fast, in a way that it never, ever does. The sea rocks the ship, rocks both of us in it, and for once in my life, I let it have its way.
16
Ashley
Thudding footsteps in the hall yank me out of an exhausted sleep.
The blankets feel too heavy, holding me down to the bed, but it’s otherwise empty, and I throw them off and scramble out. Soreness from last night follows. The new clothes have spilled onto the floor and I dig through them with both hands. Whatever’s happening involves another set of shoes running heavily down the hall, and the shouting—it’s above me, on the deck, and it doesn’t sound good. The ship turns, faster than I’m used to, and I have to grab the bedpost to stay upright. It’s the one Poseidon used to trap my wrists. My arms ache from the position.
Panties. A tank top. A tunic the color of the ocean. Leggings. Soft shoes. I throw open the door and climb the stairs, my heart sprinting ahead of me.
I’m expecting chaos, and the deck is all noise and thunder. Men run from one end to the other, and there are guns. I haven’t seen guns here before, but I’ve been naïve. I watched Robbie get shot in the head, and I thought it was an anomaly. One of the men by the railing ducks, and a glint sails through the air.
They’re shooting at us.
I don’t know who they are or what happened, and my first instinct is to back up against the wall. Press myself flat. I can feel a distant panic low in my belly, but there’s not much room for it here and now. There are bullets in the air, and more people than I have ever seen up on deck. All this time, I have been surrounded by a crew that’s really a small army. No wonder Poseidon kept me in his own room.
He turns the corner, a round, metal sphere in his hands, and when he sees me, dark clouds roll through his eyes. Instantly, his body is in front of mine. Instantly, I can’t see anything but his perfect face, his deep-water eyes, his fall of dark hair. The angry set of his jaw. And underneath all of this, excitement. Part of him needs this. “Get below and fucking stay there.”
“Okay,” I lie. “Okay.”
Poseidon growls in pure frustration and wrenches himself away from me. He’s out of sight before I can lie to him again.
I’m not going back downstairs.
More bullets skim over the top of the ship, and I brace myself for death. For the inevitability of seeing another man die in a spray of blood and screams. But no one does. It’s almost as if the other people are firing warning shots. Trying to intimidate Poseidon and his crew. Who would try to do that?
Someone who knew about them.
Maybe someone who knows about me.
I peel myself off the wall and go left until I get to a shipping container up against the railing. It covers me long enough to see the other ship.
And when I do, I have to clap a hand over my mouth to keep myself from shrieking. With joy or relief or sadness or all of it.
It’s a Greenpeace ship. I recognize the white bird from one of the recruitment tables at college. These people care about saving the world. They’d have to care about a hostage too. They’d have to care about me. If I had the chance to explain, they would help me.