2 comments/ 5462 views/ 1 favorites Capture an Angel Ch. 01 By: ShadowPaetz From the author: feedback, comments, etc, are all appreciated, even suggestions on how to improve, what is lacking, and the readers feelings about the story, good or bad. Chapter Two will be forthcoming. Thanks for reading! Shadow Each weave of moonlight distorted vision in the night fog. Laughter and loud music echoed from open doors far off to Fiachna's right, deadened and unreal. Dark demons of lust cavorted in his soul. He thrust his fingers into the long tresses of the woman kneeling before him and locked her head in a vise. Cold lust, heartless and cruel, siphoned passion from his soul until all that could possibly remain was mindless excess. His low, sepulchral voice insinuated itself into the fog. "Take it, wench. All of it." She opened her lips, and he lunged forward. Dangerous teeth scraped tortuously over his distended flesh. He withdrew, only to thrust further inside her throat, choking her. She brought her hands up to stop him, and finally forced him from her lips to spew his seed to the ground. His stomach clenched with each spasm. The last jolt rumbled through his loins, and he let go of her hair. The cold wrap of her hand retreated and he tucked the softening shaft back into his trousers. "Damn it, Fia." The soft voice had a tight edge that forced its way through the fog. Lust and anger mingled in the tone. Fiachna looked up at the pale-eyed man who stepped from the shadows, and smiled slightly. "Trynt." "You have a new wife waiting for you." "And now I won't jump on her like some ravening animal," Fiachna answered calmly. "If I recall, you were the one who told me not to hurt her." Silence, but he could still feel that pale glare, so familiar he felt comforted. The woman at his feet spoke softly. "May I leave, Sir?" She kept her eyes on the ground. "Stand up," Fiachna ordered. "Trynt, meet..." Frowning, he stared at her down turned face. "Just what is your name, anyway?" She stood, but kept her eyes down. "Mairead, Sir." "Meet Mairead." He tilted her head up with a finger. "Trynt will take care of you. I have other things to do." "It's terribly nice of you to arrange my night." The comment was soft, but had a bite to it that turned Fiachna toward Trynt. "I don't want you lurking around my bedroom door all night waiting to save the terrified little virgin. If I find you there we'll have a fight. Do I make myself clear?" "Aye, Cap'n, Sir. Transparently clear." Fiachna eyed his first mate for a long minute, glanced down pointedly, and then gave him a shove toward the woman. "You look like you could use a little relief, yourself. Take advantage of it." Trynt's glare also contained guilt, but Fiachna ignored it. Instead, he turned, and with an unerring sense of direction even in the fog, he made his way toward the open doors of his home. Inside, the wedding celebration was well on its way toward complete inebriation. A pack of pirates made for a noisy time of it, and half his crew was singing the bawdiest songs they could remember. Fiachna winced. Off-key singing made his head hurt, but he didn't stop them. Instead, he poured a drink of whatever smelled the strongest, and tried to pass the time until he could go upstairs to his – now his wife and his – bedroom. His cock told him the interlude with Mairead hadn't made much of a difference. * Spun gold fell around Aingeal's shoulders; a halo. White lace dripped from her nightdress, as full as the wedding dress she'd been wearing earlier. Blue eyes the color of an endless summer sky contemplated Fiachna as he entered the room. Bathed in fire light, she waited for him to speak, and he stood, transfixed by the soft appearance of his new wife. She was an angel, everything about her reflected innocence and a purity that set his soul on edge. God had placed her on earth, minus only the wings that would have alerted the world to her true nature. My God, what was she doing, marrying a man such as he? His hands were trembled, buried deep in the pockets of a blue robe. The fear he had exorcised with the wench returned as he looked into the guileless blue eyes of the woman he loved. Should he turn and run? Sail away on a ship made of fantasy and lies? Save her from a fate he wasn't certain existed except in his lack of restraint? The bound demon of lust in his soul struggled at its bindings, writhing in uncontrolled lechery. Pure, lascivious arousal, formed from the thought of a deed long denied, kept him within the room. Tiny, naked feet peeked out from the hem of Aingeal's nightdress as she stepped toward him. Her body was bare beneath the frill and froth of lace, not a hint of her pale skin showing, all the more arousing as her trusting and loving gaze searched his face. He could have wept with the force of passion sweeping through his soul. Her approach forced even the bound demon to pause in its writhing, awed by the soft light of her gaze. "I love you," he whispered, a child admitting secrets. Her smile washed over his soul; removed the trembling need for escape. The soft comfort of her arms draped over his shoulders and the demon writhed once again as he lowered his lips to hers. Fists unclenched, pulling from his pockets to cradle her face in hands that were callused and toughened and yet so gentle his touch was a whisper over her skin. Pliant, supple, her lips molded to his, forming into an exquisite sensation of indulgence. Long whips of desire uncoiled. The bindings of the demon loosened to allow his hands to trail over her throat, move around her shoulders, and draw her against the hard muscles of his chest. The tender distraction of her fingers winding through his hair enhanced the feel of her body stretching to fit against him. Still lost in the innocent seduction of her kiss, he loosened the top tie binding her nightdress at the back, running his hand over the skin this revealed. Silky, it warmed beneath his fingers, the tension of tender muscle shifting as she wound her hands over his head. He loosened the second tie, moving further down her back, small shocks of electric desire sparking with each precarious caress. The third tie unraveled beneath his clever fingers, opening the nightdress to the gentle swell of her hips, only her raised arms keeping it from falling to her feet. The kiss continued as if she hadn't noticed. The caress of her body against his was muted only by the soft folds of clothing between them. He drew back, watching her eyes open, the golden lashes parting to reveal blue wonder as her hands slid over his shoulders to his chest. "Tell me what to do," she said, the soft resonance of her voice full of trust, her absolute faith in him chaining his demon with delicate silver strands of responsibility. Nervous, as if his experience had fallen away to leave him as innocent as she, he touched the pale skin of her shoulder. It was warm, soothing his nerves until he could look into her eyes again. Any instruction he might have given would sound gauche, irreverent. "Just love me," he whispered, sliding lace down her shoulder. Her arms dropped to her sides, a cloud of lacy white floating to settle lovingly at her feet. There was no shame in her eyes, no darting glance filled with fear, only the look of a child seeking approval. To give it to her would make her smile, bring the soft look of happiness to her face, and so he moved his eyes slowly over the deep rose of her lips, the petal soft skin of her shoulders and lower still. Milk-white breasts, tipped with the palest pink rose, an echo of the deeper color of her lips, caused him to catch his breath. Rounded, they invited a touch; invited a kiss and he was unable to resist the offer. Reverently, he touched the soft nipple with a single fingertip, the contact tightening the skin, pulling the nipple up to greet him. Cupping his hand, he cradled the firm globe, caressing it with his lips, moving to the other side before straightening again. Below her breasts, her belly was rounded slightly with a woman's soft curves. Tracing it delicately, his gaze moved lower. The golden curls between her thighs hid the flower of her sex, protecting, camouflaging, as if in fear of the demon still writhing in its chains. Raising his gaze, noting the small pearls of her teeth tug at her lower lip, he slid his hand around her waist, leaning in to kiss her again. "You're beautiful," he whispered against her lips. Bending, he caressed the smooth skin of her thighs before lifting her into his arms. Her fingers curled around the back of his head as he walked toward the bed, gazing into her eyes, the lust-filled demon aware of the curve of her flesh cradled against him. The scent of wild heather surrounded him, heated in the warmth of her skin, retreating as he stepped away after placing her gently on the mattress. She reclined on her side, still looking into his face. Her thighs pressed together to keep herself hidden from the demon. The golden strands of her hair curled delicately on the pillow, and every line of her form was fragile. His robe slid from his shoulders. Never before had he been so aware of his own body. It was dark compared to hers; dark and threatening. The jut of his sex seemed obscene. The hard angularity of his frame was harsh, jarring senses that had been consumed with her innocent fragility. The demon howled. Struggling fiendishly at its bindings, it screamed, ordering him to rip away her innocence; to plunge into her with no regard for her sanctity. It howled at him to spread her thighs and sunder the barrier forever; drown her in lust and make her one with the demon. Her eyes flickered downward, widened slightly, then settled back on his face as if searching for reassurance. Lowering himself to the bed, he slid an arm beneath her shoulders and pulled her close. "I love you," he murmured, the contact of her skin soothing the deafening noise of the demon. "I love you, too," she answered, kissing his shoulder as she settled beside him. Her small hand circled his chest, fingers running through the fine black curls until he shivered and turned toward her. Without thought, his hand caressed her breast, lingering on the small bud of each nipple until she closed her eyes. The golden thatch between her thighs was soft when he touched it. Cupping her in his hand, he heard a soft sigh as the juncture widened, inviting access. Her trust was complete and undeserved. Marveling, he pressed inward with his fingers, a faint slide of moisture easing the motion. The muscle of her thigh quivered against the hard distention of his sex. The demon twisted, arching insanely, the chains almost forgotten in its lecherous madness. Breathing deeply, Fiachna reached behind him, dipping his fingers into the jar that had been set precisely on the bedside stand. No more waiting or the demon would win. Golden curls parted, his oiled fingers sliding over skin, finding each fold to soothe and caress. Her lips parted over small teeth, the tip of her tongue swiping delicately at the skin of her upper lip. Reaching back again, he brought the oil to himself, and wrapped his hand around the shaft. Heat penetrated the bones of his fingers as he felt the rhythmic pulsation of his heart beneath the oil. When he looked up again she was staring at his face, her eyes wide and summer-blue. "It's all right," she said as if she understood his fear. Her hand caressed his shoulder. Wordless, unable to express the mix of lust and fear that drove him, he kissed her again, capturing her lips in a caress that was both demanding and apologetic. His body moved over hers. The silky feel of her inner thighs surrounded him, arching the demon within his soul into paroxysms of carnal thrusts. The oiled length of his shaft parted the folds of her sex, sliding into position for the final breach. Holding her head in his hands, cradling her shoulders in the crook of his arms, he moved slowly, sliding against her flesh, caressing her lips with his. He felt liquid, melted in the furnace the demon had created. Small hands curled over his shoulders, fluttering over the white tracings of old scars. The flat of her palms ran down to press firmly against his lower back as her hips gravitated upward. The movement startled him, and the demon's maniacal howling renewed. The head of his sex pierced her; shallow, stretching the entrance. She retreated, a soft sound of surprise breathing past her lips. Gritting his teeth, he kept to the slow slide, rubbing the shaft over the most sensitive places. "Relax, Aingeal," he breathed against her cheek, moving slightly downward and pressing inward with each slow thrust. The warm, liquid kiss of her inner passage was placed on the tip of his shaft before he withdrew again. An indrawn breath expanded her ribs beneath his chest, let out with his slow movements. Again, he pierced her, drawing closer to the barrier that marked her innocence, withdrawing before he reached it. Rocking her, sliding over and within the slickening flesh of her sex, he kept the demon at bay with a passion that was as strong as the lust that had created the beast. Easing his way forward, he came against the thin barrier of her maidenhead and pushed against it, stretching it slowly until it gave. She gasped, stiffening slightly beneath him, her hands clenching over the muscles of his back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, tears rising to his eyes. He had hurt her, no matter how much he tried not to. Locked inside by lust and motionless in guilt, he lowered his face to bury it in the soft warmth of her hair, the scent of wild heather both soothing and aggravating him. The demon screamed for release. "I'm all right," Aingeal whispered, running her fingers up to his shoulders. "It didn't hurt that badly." She held him, all his power having run into her small hands, cradling him in gentle forgiveness. When he raised his head she smiled and brushed the tears from his cheeks. "I love you." He kissed her, thankful, repentant. The upward cant of her hips against his encased him fully, buried him within her until he could do nothing but finish what he had begun. Wonder took the place of guilt, an awestruck sense of beauty that left him amazed, brought tears back to his eyes even as he withdrew to continue the slow plunging ascent to the finish. With any other woman he would have waited, would have been able to pace himself enough to allow her a release of her own, but the demon was insistent, demanding, and even pleading now. Sliding easily, the countering motion of her hips aiding the demon, he held fast as long as he could, gasping endearments into her ear without thought or conscious volition. The demon was more vocal, hissing obscene suggestions that Fiachna understood far too well. Thrusting deeply, he hid his face in her hair and moaned, the tightness gathering his entire body in a coil that felt like dying. Holding her, praying for death if that was the only release, he buried himself inside his wife. The spasms were sharp, barbed ends of the coil whipping him as it sprang open, jerking him, punishing him for a lust he was helpless to abate. And she held him, cushioned the blows, soothed the pain until it was pleasure once more, easing into the soft afterglow as he slid from her. "Fiachna?" she asked, a small line of concern on her brow as he tumbled to the sheets beside her. "My God, I love you," he said, pulling her against him, kissing her a little fiercely now that it was over. "I thought you were..." She stopped, the paleness of her skin blushing in the firelight. "I mean ... did I...?" Placing a finger on her lips, he couldn't help but smile. She was asking approval again. After everything he'd done wrong, she was still seeking to please him. "You are perfect," he said, watching the blush fade, her eyes begin to sparkle. "I'd have to become a poet to find all the right words to describe you." "I love you, too," she answered quietly, the sparkle in her eyes bright and joyful. Settling her head on his shoulder, she relaxed against him. * The water closet was down the hall. Swirling through the door, giving her beloved Fiachna one last glance as he sprawled lazily on the bed, Aingeal padded on bare feet past closed doors, the white dressing gown shining in the dim hall light. Noise still echoed up from the celebration downstairs, making her smile in pleasure. Her ablutions complete, she started back down the hallway, pausing outside Trynt's door. He was probably here, lying sleepless and still worrying about her, the silly goose. She didn't think he would be downstairs, still drinking. It just wasn't like him. She might as well poke her head inside and reassure him. A woman's voice sounded, masking the creak of the door as she inched it open. Stopping in surprise, she glanced inside. Trynt was here, but it didn't look as if he was worrying overmuch. Lying on a chaise lounge near the fire, his tanned skin looked honeyed. The fire cast red highlights over the white-gold of his hair as he leaned his head back. The woman perched between his thighs was plump and ripe, her naked body pale in contrast to his, one hand wrapped around the obvious protrusion of his phallus. Newly awaked desire, not completely sated, coiled within the recent virgin at the door. The space between her thighs grew warm, the picture of her best friend's lust riveting her gaze. The woman's hand moved upward, drawing out the length of his sex before retreating downward. Aingeal shuddered, knowing she should leave, close the door, grant Trynt the privacy he deserved; but still she stood, staring like a child. He was beautiful, she thought absently, the long, straight arrow of his phallus lengthening with each stroke of the woman's hand. Dark hair swirled, tossed back as the woman bent her spine, leaning over his thighs to touch the tip of a pointed tongue to the ripened head between her fingers. Sharp desire clenched Aingeal's thighs as Trynt opened his eyes and looked down at the woman's face. His fingers touched her cheek, eyes silvering with a lust that struck a corresponding chord in the woman behind his door. Aingeal stared intently as the woman's lips moved over the shaft in a deep kiss that she thought should have disgusted her. But, no, the woman seemed to swallow the tumescent rod, the expression in her eyes seductive and desirous. Trynt's eyes closed again as he leaned back, raising his face to the ceiling with a soft moan that shivered through Aingeal's belly. The muscles in his thighs flexed as he raised his hips. The woman's hands roamed over his stomach, reaching between his legs as she pulled back, circling over his thighs to cup his buttocks to draw him closer as she swept down on him again. Again and again, she repeated the motion until Aingeal thought the look on Trynt's face resembled a silent scream. Then the woman raised her head to smile wickedly at him. "I want you inside me," she said in a voice that made Aingeal blush. "Do what you like," Trynt answered, his eyes still closed, his tone as low as Aingeal had ever heard it. "I'm not about to object to anything." The woman, tossing her dark hair about her dimpled shoulders, moved to straddle his lean form, lowering herself onto the shining prod below her. Fascinated now, Aingeal took note of each small motion, each slight adjustment until the entire length of his phallus was engulfed within the flower of her sex. The heavy sigh the woman gave out as she came to rest her weight on his thighs made Aingeal smile in sympathy. It hadn't been so long that she had felt that herself. The smile faded as the woman began to move. Up and down, ascending, descending -- and Trynt rose against her, matching the movement, his hands gripping her hips. Capture an Angel Ch. 01 "Tell me when you're ready," the woman panted. "I do not wish a child." "I'll not be silent," he muttered, his breathing coming out in soft gasps. Riding Trynt like a trotting horse, her hand moved between her thighs, fingers circling, panting cries escaping her lips as her plump breasts bounced. She was touching herself -- wanton, uninhibited. Biting her lower lip, Aingeal marveled at the woman's courage. She, herself, feared that her partner would have been disgusted at such a vulgar display. But Trynt didn't seem to notice, let alone mind. He writhed beneath her, soft encouragement escaping his lips in low moans. The woman riding him cried out, her hips jerking forward, her shoulders slumping, her face turning downward. Curling into herself, her denouement was brief, the spasms reflected in her closed expression. Straightening, she leaned forward and put her hands on the back of the lounge, a wicked expression curling the soft bow of her lips. "My God," Trynt murmured. Rising to meet her with each increasingly brutal heave, he finally opened his eyes. Silver, glinting with lust, they focused on her face. "Now," he gasped. Rising swiftly, leaving him shining in the fire light, she sank down on his thighs and took the rigid arrow in her hands. Her face was intent, the small pink tip of her tongue protruding to touch the curve of her lower lip. Below her, Trynt stiffened, arching his back as far as her weight on top of his legs would let him. A strangled cry announced the contracting jerk of his sex. Thick semen, reminding Aingeal of warm tallow, coated the woman's hands. Staring, unable to look away, Aingeal shivered as the woman smiled and raised a hand to her lips, touching her tongue to them with a sigh of pleasure. Trynt's answering grin sent her away from the door, leaving it open the scant few inches in her haste. Blushing, the feel of her own body unfamiliar and tingling, she entered the room she was sharing with Fiachna and closed the door. "Are you all right?" That was Fiachna's voice from the other side of the room, concerned. His footsteps moved toward her. "Yes," she answered swiftly. "You were gone a while. Are you sure I didn't hurt you?" His hand on her shoulder turned her to face him. How could she explain the rush of desire she'd felt while watching Trynt make love to a woman she didn't know? How could she explain without Fiachna's jealous reaction taking things all out of proportion? No, he would never understand, and he would probably be disgusted that it had aroused her at all. "I'm fine," she whispered, moving forward into his arms, the soft material of his robe caressing her cheek. "I got lost in thought." The smile in his voice reassured her. "As long as you keep finding your way back." Nodding, she tightened her arms around his waist, holding him close. Capture an Angel Ch. 02 From the author: Read on, but be aware that witches in an intense state of arousal, do not care who 'handles' them. Thanks for reading, and please vote and/or comment. :D Shadow Not far away, in a room above the Burning Dragon Inn, another sea captain reclined on a bed surrounded in wisps of sheer cloth. "Do that again," he ordered. The woman kneeling beside him shook her head. "You're incorrigible, Bearach." Grinning, he watched her lower her head over an erection that felt at least a foot long. It wasn't, but self-delusion was one of his chief defenses against the world in general. Soft, firm fingers cupped his balls. "God, you're good at that, Lisette." He reached to the table beside the bed and took a bottle in hand. The alcohol swam in his head already, but the heated pressure on his cock kept him focused. She nibbled, sharp teeth scraping on stretched and sensitive skin. "Ahhh," he sighed, and slid callused fingers into raven dark hair. Gripping a handful, he pushed her head down to stop her teasing. Instead of fighting him, she opened dark lips and slid them easily down the length of his shaft. The ring of her throat closed around the tip and her hands tightened on his balls. He hissed through his teeth and arched into her mouth. At this rate, she'd drain him in a minute or two, and he'd paid good money to keep her attention for a while. Using his hand in her hair, he dragged her head back. "Get on your knees." His voice came out rasped and harsh with lust. Pouring another ounce of liquor into his mouth, he watched her move to the end of the bed and position herself. Swaying, full breasts hung beneath her, and her posterior pointed at him, revealing the plump lips of her cunt between silky soft thighs. His cock gave a lurch at the sight and bobbed in time to his heightened heartbeat. He set the bottle aside and got on his knees behind her. Running one hand through the cleft in front of him, he grinned at the amount of moisture on his fingertips. He aroused her, no matter how commanding he got. She understood him, which was more than he could say about most women. Using two fingers, he massaged her clitoris with light strokes until she moaned and canted her hips upward like a cat in heat. All the while, his cock pointed at the target like an enchanted arrow. Shifting, he moved closer, touching the head to her cunt. She growled. He grinned and took a grip on her waist before shoving into her. The tight sheath encased him in moist heat. Slowly, he withdrew, only to sink back inside. She braced herself on one elbow and slipped her free hand between her legs, taking up where he'd left off. "Fuck me, you animal," she moaned. "I thought I was," he muttered, and lunged his hips forward in a massive shove that sounded like a whip cracking. "Faster," she panted. Who was the captain here? He grimaced and gripped her waist harder. Dragging her back and forth, he lunged with his hips as he pulled her back. A foggy breeze from the open window chilled his skin. The heavy scent of jasmine and perfumes wafted with the salt-water wind. Her body felt feverish beneath his hands. The bed rocked beneath them, a ship on dry land moving with the tide of his lust. She shivered and her cunt gripped his cock in waves. Jabbing at the convulsive heaving within her, he hit the writhing flesh of her ass, using the flat of his hand to create reddened prints on the pale skin. She cried out, jerking her hips in tight circles as she came. Raving with lust now, he pushed her forward on the bed and rolled her to her back. "Open your legs," he growled, shoving at them impatiently. She put her feet on his broad shoulders, and he shoved unceremoniously inside the exposed entrance. Panting, he pushed her legs until they dangled over his shoulders, and then leaned forward. The agile length of her body doubled beneath him, pinned by his weight. Dark eyes peered up at his face, curious and intent. No longer in the mood to grin, he lost himself in her eyes, picturing a universe of darkness sprinkled with distant stars. "I love you," he whispered helplessly, quite aware of the power he gave her with the statement. She'd never taken control of that power, although he'd said it many times before. She only smiled, and his relief had always been mixed with sadness Lust tightened, and he felt his balls shrink up toward his plunging cock. Her hands roamed over his shoulders and rambled down the tight muscles of his arms. "Come for me," she urged. "I love to watch your face when you come." The universe of her eyes expanded and he groaned, unable to tear his gaze away from hers. Sharp pain lanced through him, lust so strong it became unbearable. He shoved against it, trying to end it, stop it – kill himself with it if he had to. The curiosity in her eyes swirled with renewed desire. Her hips circled beneath his and soft gasps echoed between them. Each surging thrust of his rampant prick into the receptive folds of her cunt jolted her body. Fingers gripped his arms now with a strength that would have surprised him if it was the first time he'd felt it. Sweat made her skin slick, and the crook of her knees slid down his arms. Leaning forward, he kissed her, finally able to escape the intensity of her stare. Tongues met. Lips suckled. And still he hung on the painful edge of pleasure. Long, sharp nails raked over the skin of his shoulders, adding more pain to the churning chaotic sensations. Wet suction pulled his cock back inside each time he withdrew, and his arms quivered with the pressure of holding himself up. The very air seemed charged, waiting for an impending explosion. The breeze flowed in from the window, adding cool to his skin, countering the heat below. Her mouth surrounded his tongue, suckled it, lips against lips. Closing his eyes, he thrashed into the mounting explosion, feeling it build from the tight heat of his balls and into the shaft of his cock. The pleasure-pain reached impossible levels and he pushed himself up on his hands. His prick jerked within her, pulsing with each sharp ejaculation. Like dying, it lasted an eternity, and yet took only a few seconds of reality. He opened one eye. Still splayed out beneath him, she gyrated her hips in taunting circles and smiled seductively. "You aren't finished." Sinking to her breasts, he released her legs and slipped out of her, softening slowly. "For a minute or two," he murmured, taking a deep breath. "You drink too much," she whispered, running her nails lightly over his back. "I don't drink enough," he answered automatically. "Get off, then," she said with a sigh. "You're heavy." Shifting, he rolled to the side and stared up at the ceiling. "I didn't come here to ravage you, Lisette," he announced. Now that he'd allowed her to seduce him, he felt the need to state his real reason for being there. "I didn't think you did," she answered, and he felt the shifting of the bed as she got up. "Fiachna married this afternoon." "You should have been there." Rolling to his side, he watched her stand in front of the window. Rising from the floor almost to the ceiling, it overlooked Tiarnach Bay, and now every sailor aboard a ship could see her body highlighted by flickering candle light. He'd spotted her himself as he'd docked. The jealousy he felt he swiftly tucked away, refusing to give it reins. She was a whore; for all that she'd borne his son. At least, he was pretty sure Fiachna was his son. She said differently, but she did lie on occasion, especially when the stakes were high enough. "Ceallach told me." She preened in front of the window, lifting her arms so the heavy globes of her breasts were in full display. "I chose not to embarrass the boy." "Fiachna wouldn't have been embarrassed. Ceallach is the one you protect." The jealousy scampered throughout his thoughts, fighting to get out in more than a tone of dislike. "Your brother needs no protection." She turned, frowning at him expressively. "Unless it's from you." "Or you." He picked up the bottle he'd discarded earlier. "You were the one who told him Fiachna was his son, not me." She turned back to the window. "If you had the choice of a drunken pirate prince or a rich married king to name as the father of your child, who would you choose?" "I suppose it doesn't matter what the truth is." The bottle tilted to his lips, washing down his throat in a bitter waterfall. "Either of you could be his father, and Ceallach has the position you don't. I made the logical choice, Bearach. I won't change my mind now." He stared at the smooth skin of her back for a long minute, and then gulped from the bottle again. The word 'whore' ran through his mind, and he stopped himself from accusing her yet again. Her profession never seemed to affect her, anyway. She'd raise a brow and nod, as if asking him to state his point. "I don't want to fight about it," he muttered, feeling like a petulant child. Standing, he set the bottle on the table again and approached her at the window. "I'll believe what I want to believe." "You always do." He leaned forward to taste her shoulder, and looked out into the foggy night. Sweet skin met his lips. He spotted the familiar jutting keel of his ship, The Saoirse, barely visible through the fog. "I'm stubborn." One arm wrapped around her waist. "I'll agree with that." She leaned back against him, allowing his hand access to the hardened tip of her breast. "So are you recovered now?" "Demanding bitch." Her laugh was soft, sultry. "Only with you, Captain." "I suppose Ceallach prefers his women meek and submissive," he muttered, squeezing her breast harshly. "Are you trying to make yourself angry?" She tried to release the grip he had on her breast and he gentled his touch, reaching around her with his other hand to stroke the tender skin of her belly. "I don't have to try, Lisette." Anger always hovered in the back of his mind. The youngest son of a pirate king had nothing but his anger. He owned nothing else, not even the clothes on his back. His older brother had claimed both the kingdom of Amberlee and the child Bearach knew was his. Fury kept him alive, and the self-delusion he practiced so diligently. Soft skin pressed back against the flaccid length of his cock. "We have an audience," she murmured. Eyes looked up from below. A stranger had spied the naked woman in the window. He stood on the docks, near Bearach's ship. "Spread your legs, wench," Bearach ordered. "Give him a show." Slipping her hands up and around his neck, she braced one foot up on the low window shelf. The stiff black curls between her legs met his fingers. Could the stranger see the pink interior of her cunt as Bearach held it open? He watched the man, and plunged a finger deep into the wet tunnel. Lisette sighed and swayed her hips forward. The stranger dropped his hand and looked around the dock. Somnolent in the drifting fog, it gleamed emptily. The man seated himself on a hawser coil and looked back up. Bearach ran a circling finger over Lisette's clitoris and she jerked forward. The watching stranger fumbled at the front of his trousers, releasing a stiff prick. Lisette laughed throatily. "Rub it, little man. Make yourself come from the mere sight of me." The breeze blew her hair back, tickling it around Bearach's shoulders. He pressed his thickening cock against her skin, stroking it into a hardened battering ram. Holding the lips of her cunt wide, he flicked the small trigger and watched the man below them fondle the head of an impressive erection. "Lean forward," he breathed in her ear. "I'll show him how to fuck a woman." "Arrogant son of a bitch," she murmured, but complied with his order. Dropping her foot from the shelf, she braced her hands on each side of the wooden window enclosure. The man below grabbed the shaft of his prick in his hand and started pumping it. "No matter how many men you fuck, you'll still be mine." He shoved his cock inside to the balls, earning a growl from her at his ferocity. Her breasts swayed in the chilly air. The stranger used his other hand beneath the straining erection, tugging the front of his trousers aside to reveal a pair of hairy balls. "I don't belong to anyone, Captain," Lisette hissed, bucking back against him. "Especially you." Leaning forward, he shoved his fingers through the curls and ravaged her clitoris. His cock slid from her cunt and up into the crevasse of her ass. Her movements resembled struggles, but she kept her legs wide. The head of his prick found the puckered entrance of her anus and jabbed at it. She moaned. Violence implicit in the air, he wrapped one arm around her waist and kept the other hand slipping against her clitoris. One more shove and he battered through the gate, feeling the tight ring of muscle close like a vise around his shaft. The strident sound of her cry echoed through the open window to the ears of the watching stranger. His hand became a blur. The head of his cock could be seen swelling even from that distance. Bearach jerked forward, impaling her ass. She braced her hands more firmly on the window frame and shoved back against him. "Animal." "Tell me you love me." The rasp of his voice grated on his own ears. He sped the motion of his fingers on her clitoris, and ground against her from behind. "Tell me the truth for once, Lisette." "Look at his face," she gasped, writhing on the end of Bearach's cock. "He's going to shoot." The stranger's body stiffened. Hips rose from the hawser. The curving shaft pointed at the sky. Teeth bared in a grimace of pleasure and the purple head spurted a ropy strand of semen into the air. Bearach retreated, pulling his swollen prick back only to thrust it deeply into her ass again. "Damn you." He thrust in and out, jealous pain immersed in pleasure. She cried out with each deep lunge. The stranger stared, still rubbing at the softening worm in his hand. "I'm coming!" she cried, jerking her hips back and forth. Bearach held on, still fluttering his fingers on her clit. The ring of muscle surrounding his cock tightened until it resembled pain. He moaned, holding still until her climax released him. She shuddered in his arms and tossed her head back so her hair flew in a midnight fan over her head. "Tell me you love me," he whispered. "Come for me," she said instead, and circled her hips around his still rampant prick. Anger surged, swelling him inside the hot tunnel he'd ravaged. "Whore," he growled, and grabbed her hips with hardened fingers. "Cock-sucking bitch." Drain a man dry, she would, and nothing he could do about it. "Bearach." Lisette's voice had changed, become harsh with something other than lust. "Warning fires. Go." Still pumping within her, he looked up, out the window and far out into the fog. On the spits of land that surrounded the bay stood warning fires, and both were now lit, blazing dimly in the damp air. Cursing whatever had decided to approach at this particular time, Bearach gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and slammed in and out without pausing. Lisette tried to pull away. He wouldn't let her. Whatever it was out there, it could wait another minute until he finished. * The cry of warning echoed through the halls of Fiachna's home, reaching him in the bedroom. Aingeal startled, and pulled out of his arms. "Tonight?" She looked angry. "Of all nights?" Fiachna, more than a little angry, himself, moved to the window to look out over Tiarnach Bay. The town lay to the left of his home, further down the cliff. Two spits of land enclosed the deep water bay, and atop each of them sat towers that comprised the outer Watch. Flames, high enough to be seen in spite of the fog, blazed in warning atop each tower. A series of five towers ringed the small island nation, but only those two flamed. That meant the attack was meant to infiltrate the bay, itself. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing at his angry wife. "They must have thought we'd be unprepared due to the wedding. I have to go." Fiachna's father, Ceallach, would be heading for the right-hand tower now, preparing to raise the magical shield that he used to guard the island. His uncle, Bearach, would also be heading for a ship to help with the defense – if he hadn't already drunk himself unconscious. Aingeal nodded, although she still looked angry. "I know. Don't get killed." He kissed her, and arousal lingered. * Black sails over Fiachna's head luffed with the foggy breeze, and drove his ship into the waiting arms of the enemy. Flaming arrows marked the air in a high curve. The colorful depiction of an eagle on the bow of the Cannamierian ship was dimmed in the fog, but it still made Fiachna's eyes hurt. Purple and green predominated. Behind him, the shield sparkled to life. His father was in position, and there, to port, stood his uncle's black-sailed ship, The Saoirse. White flashed over the sails, so his uncle wasn't comatose. That was good, since the enemy had at least two ships, and possibly more hiding back in the breeze-stirred fog. Magic sparked arousal along Fiachna's nerves. He raised a hand and narrowed his focus toward the flaming arrows heading toward him from the closest Cannamierian ship. White witchery sizzled from his fingertips in thin bolts and hit one arrow apiece. Each bolt sent an answering spark of lust through his blood to pool in his belly. "Don't take all the arrows out. Make sure they're going to hit the sails first," Trynt spun the wheel to avoid rocks at the mouth of Tiarnach Bay. "I'd miss some, then." More sizzles announced another barrage of arrows. By the time Fiachna had them under control, his cock began to harden. "Get those bolts going," he ordered Trynt, and attempted to think of things other than fucking. "Aye, Cap'n." Trynt's shouted commands echoed as men repeated them below deck. Rumbling under Fiachna's feet announced the drawing of the bows. Huge bolts, as long as his leg and tipped with burning oil, flew out from the sides of his ship. The first volley landed short, although one hit the deck of the enemy Cannamierian ship. A blanket of magical energy covered it before a fire could begin. Fiachna's stomach hurt, and his balls began to ache. "They've got a witch aboard." Dirty white sails blended into the fog over the enemy. Fiachna scoured the deck, looking for the triad that Cannamierian witches used. One witch, and two others to help take care of the witch's needs during a fight. Fiachna knew those needs intimately, but Tiarnach witches did not give in to lust so easily. The crew of the Cannamierian ship wore brown leathers, and tied their long, dark hair back with rawhide strips. Tall, dark, and usually broad shouldered, the men looked out of fierce dark eyes. The witch stood out, not because of any coloring differences, or unusual clothing, but because the witch was a female. Obviously a female. Her breasts pushed against a leather vest, leaving her cleavage bare to the eye. If Fiachna looked closely enough, he could see the darker ring around her straining nipple at the edge of her vest. He tried not to look that closely. It would only add more fuel to the fire of his arousal. The male handler Fiachna expected. A female witch would need men, now, wouldn't she? But the female handler made Fiachna's cock twitch. A vision of how the female would handle the witch tried to turn Fiachna's brain to mush. At least they weren't writhing on the deck together. Yet. "I'll keep the witch immobile," Fiachna shouted, knowing Trynt was waiting for instructions. "Take out her handlers." Without her handlers, she'd have no way to left to deal with her intense arousal. Cannamierians weren't used to denial. Capture an Angel Ch. 02 "Aye, Cap'n." Another volley of fire-tipped bolts headed for the enemy ship, and an answering rain of flaming arrows arched toward Fiachna. This was going to be difficult, then. Gritting his teeth, Fiachna used more magic to create a shield over his ship to stop all the arrows. Arousal writhed, and his internal demon pushed at its bindings. He turned his attention back to the witch. She flashed white magic from her hands toward several bolts, and then Fiachna's mind found hers. External vision faded out. Lust assaulted him as he connected. A Cannamierian had no sexual repressions, and this one had a lewd imagination. Images – breasts, cocks, tongues – moved through her mind and into his, along with amusement, probably at his more repressed reaction. Her amusement didn't last. Fiachna burrowed his mind deeper, and found the connection between her body and mind. He severed it, pushing his magic between the two until he had control of her body. He held her completely immobile with an effort that made his cock ache and his legs feel like jelly. A string of Cannamierian curses streamed through her mind. Fiachna ignored them and tightened his hold. Blinding images crashed into his brain. A spewing cock. A twitching cunt – hairless, which, at another time and place, might have made him wonder. Two women locked in an impassioned kiss. That almost did it, and his mind flicked toward the image. He forced it away and regained the small amount of control it had taken. But the witch had noticed, and more images slithered around his defenses. The women turned. Tongues and cunts intertwined in a perversion that made Fiachna salivate. He had only one defense. Aingeal. He pictured his fiancé in all her purity and innocent love. He pictured her smiling, and touching his cheek. Fiachna pushed his feelings of reverence and protection toward the witch, and felt the soft escalation of resulting arousal. Love won out over perversion, and Fiachna kept grim hold of the combined magic. "Hold on, Fia. We've got one down now." Trynt's voice faded into Fiachna's senses. Dismay and loss overcame lust for a brief moment as the witch realized one of her handlers had an arrow through his throat. Lust and fury pushed the less effective emotions out of the way, and she struggled to use her magic. Fiachna held her offenses at bay. His cock pushed at the seam of his trousers in an offensive display of need. "Hurry up," he growled aloud. "Working on it." Trynt's hand gripped his shoulder. Was that laughter in his tone? "You find this amusing?" Fiachna asked in a voice that sounded like thunder. It rumbled through his senses until he wished he hadn't asked. "No, but I think the aftermath might be." A pause, and then Trynt spoke again. The amusement was gone, replaced by irony. "The girl is down, too. I suppose you want the witch taken prisoner?" "Aye." The fight hadn't gone out of her, though. The death of her last handler sent fury racing toward Fiachna. He winced, but she had no magic to use on him. He controlled it all. "Board as soon as you can. I'll hold her until then." And he kept the shield up over his ship to stop the arrows from flaming his sails. The dual use of magic made his stomach as hard as his cock. "Just hurry it up." The sounds of battle faded. Everything focused on his magic, his lust, and the woman he held prisoner in her own mind. Her fury, lust, and fear added to his, and he kept hold of her through sheer will power. He forced her knees to buckle, until she kneeled as if begging for mercy. Far from it, though. The dismemberment of his groin flashed through her mind amid blood and rage. He winced in spite of knowing it wasn't real. "Drop the shield, Cap'n. Not needed now." Trynt's voice sounded far away and too concerned. "Damn it, Fia, I said drop the shield!" Fiachna let the shield go, but the lessening of his magic use did no good this far into it. His nerve endings ached with the need to fuck something. Too aware of his body, he forced his hands not to try to take care of the problem. He stood as immobile as if a cold wind froze him to the deck. The fury emanating from the woman changed to fear, and he knew she saw his men fighting their way toward her. Still, her lust outweighed both the fear and fury, and he had to focus in order to keep control. Hurry up, damn it. He couldn't keep this up much longer. More images, and this time she borrowed a figure from his mind. His Aingeal, his fiancé, kneeled over the woman's face, head tossed back in a moan of ecstasy. It wasn't real. He knew that, and calmed slightly. Aingeal would never act so wantonly. She was a lady, not a whore. The soul of purity and innocence, she'd be disgusted if she knew how the witch portrayed her image. The image faded amid a sharp prick of pain that shot from the witch's mind to Fiachna's. His men had reached her and jabbed her with the needle that administered the drug. Her magic faded rapidly, although her lust would remain even longer due to the lack of connection with her magic. Fiachna withdrew his mind. The swift withdrawal made him dizzy. He swayed. Trynt's arm wrapped around his waist. "Get to your cabin, Cap'n, before you made a fool of yourself in front of the crew." Trynt's voice still sounded too far away, although the concern had melded into amusement again. Fiachna opened his eyes. The world righted itself, although he hadn't realized it was askew. His thighs felt numb. Most of the crew was on the other ship. Grappling hooks attached the two together. The witch lay on the deck, unmoving. Her exposed breast made Fiachna salivate. He pulled his gaze away from her. "Bring the witch to my cabin." Turning was difficult, but he shrugged off Trynt's helping hand and headed for his cabin. The grind of the seam of his pants against his cock hurt. To port, his uncle's ship seemed to have the situation under control. The shield held in shivering witch-light, so Ceallach needed no help from his son. All Fiachna had to do was get over his intense need to fuck something. The wind blew Fiachna's hair back in a clammy caress. Arousal had become a stone in his belly. His thighs trembled as he walked inside his claustrophobic cabin. "You all right, Fia?" Trynt's hand gripped Fiachna's shoulder and turned him. Pale blue eyes studied his face. Fiachna ignored Trynt's disapproving look. The quartermaster stood outside the door. The unconscious witch lay over his shoulder like a bag of grain. "Where do you want her?" Fiachna indicated the bed. "Toss her there. I'll question her as soon as she wakes. And then get a damage report. I want it within the hour." "Aye, Cap'n." The quartermaster let the woman fall to the bed, where she landed in a boneless fashion. Her breast jiggled. "Let us know if you need some help with the whore." His grin said he had an idea of what Fiachna was going to do with the witch. "You have your orders, Mr. Halifax." "Aye. Damage report within the hour, Cap'n." He left, shutting the door behind him. "Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?" Trynt put his hand back on Fiachna's shoulder. "You cannot rape the wench, Fia. She's not even awake." Fiachna's cock said it just didn't care. A thrill of guilt went through Fiachna's soul, however. "Shut up, Trynt." He approached the woman. Her exposed breast drew his eye. The hard nipple and wrinkled areola surrounding it looked more inviting than a feast. The slack look of her face failed to impress itself. Trynt's hand tightened. "I won't let you do this." "Go away." Fiachna attempted to shake off the hand and move toward the bed. Trynt turned him, and pushed him against the wall beside his desk. Fiachna's head hit the wall with the force of the shove. "I said I won't let you do this." Trynt's eyes, pale and narrowed, pulled Fiachna's attention from the woman. "And I said go away, Mate. I won't tell you again." "You think too much with your dick after a fight, Fia." Trynt grabbed the bulge of Fiachna's cock. "There are other ways to solve the problem and you know it." A sudden rush of need made Fiachna swallow reflexively. His hips moved forward with the pressure on his cock. Trynt's mouth, hard and unyielding, drew his attention. Dimly, he realized how perverted his needs were. "You'd best leave." The gravel in his throat tried to stop him from talking. Trynt shook his head, unbuttoned the front of Fiachna's trousers, and kneeled in one complicated movement. He freed Fiachna's cock, and his white-blond head moved forward. Warmth, incredibly soothing, covered the head of Fiachna's cock. Fiachna closed his eyes. "Damn it, Trynt." A slurp sounded too loud. The warmth descended. Fiachna tried to pull Trynt away, and failed. A distant noise was his voice babbling something containing the word, 'no', or 'stop'. He wasn't sure what he said, but it did no good. And the end was too close for him to worry about it now. Swift gathering pulsed through his balls and headed toward the end of his cock. A vague thought occurred of warning Trynt. No time. Fiachna jerked forward, and shot into Trynt's mouth. Trynt, somehow gentle, cupped Fiachna's balls. He stroked and suckled until Fiachna finished, and then tucked Fiachna's cock back into his pants. Trynt stood up. Fiachna got his breathing under control and glared into Trynt's pale eyes. "I told you to stop." "Was that what you said?" Trynt shrugged. "Now you won't rape that poor girl. It was worth it." "Not if someone finds out." Fiachna glanced at the door. "Men have been castrated for less." "Relax, Fia. No one is here, except the girl, and she's out of it." "She's no girl." The face was of a woman perhaps in her late twenties, angular, with a generous mouth and sharp cheekbones. Fiachna avoided looking at her exposed breast. His cock didn't need any more ideas. "You're married now, you know. Aingeal might have something to say." "Are you trying to threaten me?" Turning, he felt more tired than angry, but he couldn't let Trynt get one up on him. Not now, and not ever. "Just warning you. I won't tell her. It'd hurt her too much." Trynt tossed a blanket over the comatose witch. It covered her breast. But Fiachna could still see the breast in his mind's eye. One sharp orgasm was only enough to take the edge off.