Feral Voyeurism Lacey Savage All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2008 Lacey Savage
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Feral Voyeurism Lacey Savage The thrill of being watched… When she took a job aboard The Pirate’s Maiden cruise ship to escape the painful memories of her past, Emma Duprey didn’t expect to enjoy stripping for strangers. But that was before she met her dancing partner, a man who awoke a flurry of erotic excitement inside her with nothing more than a scorching glance from across the stage. The ecstasy of watching… A dangerous situation and a daring rescue lead Emma to witness one of her most erotic fantasies come to life. Durand and Christopher obviously love one another, so why are they so determined to draw Emma out of her voyeuristic safety and have her do more than watch? Hiding from the past has only taken Emma so far. Now it’s up to two unlikely men, both harboring secrets of their own, to teach her to open her heart and bare all…
Chapter One Round, quivering soap bubbles drifted over the stage from the smoke-filled ceiling and burst against Emma Duprey’s bare skin. She ignored the sticky wetness as she shimmied her way to the front of the platform, drawn to the audience like a moth to a flame. She viewed the men through a curtain of soap bubbles and fog, no more than indistinct shapes in the darkness. About a hundred tonight, all new to her. The Pirate’s Maiden had docked at the San Juan port to pick up a new set of passengers before departing for its eleven-day Caribbean voyage just two hours ago. In a room designed to resemble a 17th century alehouse, Emma presented the male guests the first night’s entertainment. She’d do the same the second night. And the third… and every other night after that until the passengers stumbled off the cruise ship, five pounds heavier and having consumed more than a year’s worth of alcohol. The music, a dirty tavern ditty played by a live band on stringed instruments, thrummed through her veins. The melody urged her to thrust her hip out to the side, anchor her toes into the wooden dais and pivot before thrusting her ass out toward the waiting crowd. The men went wild. Cheers, hoots and hollers filled the air, competing with the guitar and edgy base making the walls shake. Her gaze darted between her legs. From her position, bent over and clutching her ankles while she shook her hips and made the gold coin belt strapped to her waist jingle, she had a perfect view of the stage on the opposite side of the room. At least she wasn’t alone. The Pirate’s Maiden employed two other female dancers to entertain the hungry crowd, and, to most male guests’ undisguised dismay when
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they learned of it, one man who gave the Chippendales’ models a run for their gstrings. The stuffy air permeating the room smelled of sweat and beer combined with the ever-present scent of the sea. She clung to that aroma, breathed it in and languidly allowed her hands to drift over her body before turning around to face the audience once more. She’d performed the routine two dozen times now. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out the basic moves, or to familiarize herself with the sensual requirements. A scrape of a fingernail across a nipple. A pout reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe at her finest. A snap of her g-string against her hip. Really, turning on a roomful of men when they were half drunk anyway wasn’t the most difficult job she’d ever had. It was the only job she’d ever had. She knew the secret to a good performance -- pretend the audience doesn’t exist. In her mind, Emma only danced for one man, whether he was here to watch her or not. She lifted her arms and snapped her fingers, causing her gold bracelets to clink together. The multitude of coins surrounding the thick metal band tinkled and jiggled, drowning out the sound of hoots and hollers. All right, so this hadn’t been what she’d imagined herself doing when she’d applied for a position on a cruise ship. Still, the job got her far away from other werewolves. That was more than she would have had if she’d stayed on land. And it wasn’t as though the job itself was complicated. Dance two sets a night, then disappear to her cabin and the surrounding decks for the rest of the voyage. That cozy arrangement kept the guests’ hands off her and gave her plenty of time to be alone, which was exactly why she’d boarded the ship in the first place. She craved privacy in the safety of a shelter where she could be alone. Although she was forced to leave her cabin for a few hours every night, it was a small price to pay for the security this place otherwise offered.
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Out here on the open seas, there were no werewolf packs to fear. No Masters who’d found their mates to pine over. No ghosts -- real or imagined -- to haunt her steps. There was only -Him. The sound of female giggles and high-pitched whistles drowned out Emma’s audience. She shot a furtive glance from beneath her eyelashes to the opposite end of the room, where a gaggle of women crowded around a stage that mirrored hers. For a moment, Emma’s hands fisted at her sides. She couldn’t see past their wellcoiffed heads, and she wanted to scream at them to sit already. One woman in particular, a tall redhead with more hair than skirt, had already jumped on the platform and was even now attempting to peek behind the crimson velvet curtain. “Oh, for the love of God,” Emma whispered under her breath. Some burly blond guy shouted something from the edge of her stage and she started, remembering to paste on her fake smile before pressing her breasts together with her upper arms and leaning toward him. There. That should keep the oaf satisfied for a while. Her attention focused once again on the opposite stage as her feet carried her across the wooden platform. She unhooked a scrap of chiffon that clung around her hip and let it drift to the floor, baring a long strip of skin in the process. Where was Durand, anyway? Her fingers trailed between her cleavage and down the front of her body to the dip inside the small curve of her belly button. When the velvet curtain parted, her hand stilled across her abdomen, holding back the sudden thrum of butterfly wings that beat against her stomach. The music changed. The melody picked up tempo, becoming more frenzied with every strum of guitar string.
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Emma picked up her pace. Heat suffused her skin from the inside, but it had nothing to do with the mounting temperature in the room and everything to do with the man who stepped on the opposite stage. Durand Robyard was the reason women vacationed on The Pirate’s Maiden. What had begun as a veritable bachelor party on electric oars had become a mixed singles cruise thanks to him. Rumor had it he’d boarded the ship as a guest three years ago and never left. Her own contract was for only eight months, the longest they had available. Something told her typical cruise line employment laws didn’t apply to Durand. He filled the stage with his presence. No wider than four feet, the wooden platform had been built to emphasize a dancer’s body, not to distract from it with props and background decoration. Durand’s own six-foot-five frame seemed to overwhelm the small space. Yet she’d seen him dance. When he moved, he made full use of the available space, teasing, taunting, tantalizing with each button he popped and every sultry glance he darted at the audience. When the melody hit the chord that signaled the start of his routine, Emma’s pulse picked up speed. Her nipples pebbled. They’d danced together before, twice, just like this. Their boss, the cruise director, thought it would be a clever gimmick to have the top two dancers performing at the same time. They’d draw the male and female segments of the audience and convince them all to drink more than their fair share. Then they could pair up and head off to their cabins for the ultimate nightcap. The guests, that is, not Emma and Durand. No, definitely not them. Emma was here specifically to avoid entanglements of any kind. Sure, Durand appeared harmless enough. He was human, which meant he posed no threat to Emma from a mating perspective. Her heart clenched at the memory of her last two lovers. Both wolves, both magnificent in their own, heart-stopping, panty-wetting way.
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Both gone. The ship lurched, throwing Emma off-balance. The music kicked up another notch. She glanced at Durand, her heart slamming against her ribcage, her stomach clenching in anticipation. Would he -Ah! God… There it was. The air itself electrified when he looked up and met her gaze. The erotic impact nearly made her stumble again. She fumbled with the knot on her left side, letting another strip of blue, gauzy chiffon float to the floor. With the fabric gone, the only items left were her metallic-gold g-string and triangle bra. And the gold jewelry of course, but that never came off. Durand’s costume matched hers, with the exception of the stark white shirt he wore. It served no purpose, except to heighten his audience’s frenzied anticipation when he took it off. Dark blue chiffon pants --what their boss referred to as pirate pants, something Emma could never do with a straight face -- encased his powerful legs. His feet were bare, just like hers. Beneath the pants, she could make out the glint of metallic fabric. A jolt of pure, unadulterated lust washed through her veins. Despite the horrendous pants, she could clearly envision the firm, large cock he kept tucked away until the performance finale. Thick, with a beautiful round head that begged to be licked, it curved upward slightly against his flat stomach. The patch of dark pubic hair that covered his groin was neatly trimmed but not shaved altogether, giving him the masculine allure of a Greek god or an untouchable cover model. If only his face wasn’t as perfect as his body, mere mortal men might have been able to compete. But it was. Soft golden light danced across the planes of his cheekbones and square jaw. The gold highlights in his short dark hair emphasized the depth of those dark blue eyes that made Emma’s entire body throb with awareness when he turned them on her. He was clean-shaven, all the better to showcase the perfect bone structure he’d been blessed with.
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No wonder the male guests hated him. Unlike Emma’s audience, that only grew rowdier with every shimmy of her hips, the women watching Durand fell into their seats at one gesture from him, obedient to the last. Over their heads, Emma had a perfect view of him -- and he of her. A shudder of sensation skimmed through her bloodstream. A ripple, faint enough to trigger a jolt of carnal need, brought with it a wave of dizziness and a sudden attunement to everything around her. The scents in the room intensified, stinging her eyes. She searched for the smell of seawater and found it, but found something else as well -- spice and masculine heat, a fragrant aroma that smelled familiar, yet wasn’t. Durand. She caught his gaze again even as she fought to push away the abrupt tug of the full moon on her psyche. She had to contend with its strength once a month and she’d danced through its frantic demands before. Her skin thrummed with the need to shift, but she’d manage until after the performance was over. For now, she had to concentrate. On Durand, if that’s what it took. A nod, so tiny she might have imagined it if she hadn’t been watching for just that gesture, made her stop her well-practiced routine in mid-stride. Her fingers went to the straps of her bra as his closed around the top button of his shirt. Showtime.
Durand Robyard knew the turmoil roiling through Emma’s body. He knew it, because he felt the same insistent tug on his own soul. The moon, as some science-fiction writer so aptly put it, was a harsh mistress. No one knew that better than Durand. While its demands on his body started out slow, almost sensual, they quickly grew desperate. If he didn’t shift within the next hour, the pain would spread from head to foot, becoming more unbearable with every passing moment.
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It would be the same for Emma. Her elegant limbs stretched upward and her arms extended over her head. The sleek lines of her slender form called to him like no other woman’s ever had. Her body, if truth be told, was somewhat unremarkable. Long legs, a small waist, delicate arms and hands… all signs of a dancer’s physique. But it was the rest of her that drew him. Her pale blue eyes looked haunted. They never lingered on anything for long and more often than not turned downward, introspective and reserved. Her smile was clearly faked for the audience, not that the beasts who watched her with savage eyes would know any better. And then there was her jewelry. The wide gold band that encased her stomach from just beneath her belly button to the blonde thatch of fur that covered her mound was completely unlike any costume jewelry he’d ever seen. Matching armbands circled her upper arms, and another piece of metal wrapped around her neck. Her long, blonde hair reached all the way past the delicate curve of her ass. She wore it unbound, so it shimmered in the illumination cast by the pale neon overhead like a curtain of sunlight. Durand snorted and thrust his hips forward with an appreciative gasp. Curtain of sunlight? What had gotten into him? If he kept this up, next he’d wax poetic about his lover’s cock when Christopher parted his cheeks and filled him with it. Emma’s eyes were closed now, the blue depths hidden. She arched her back and slipped a bra strap off her shoulder, leaving pale skin and a soft pink indentation in its wake. Durand’s cock stirred. He wanted to rush over there and lick the tiny imperfection. She looked more like a harem girl than a tavern wench, something the ship’s management must have noticed as well, because they’d quickly created the silly chiffon costumes for both of them. He allowed the music to lead him as he half-glided, half-lunged across the stage, but it was Emma who set the tone for the performance.
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The second strap followed. Her fingers fused to the front of her bra as her eyes snapped open. The last button on Durand’s shirt stuck on the stubborn edge of the hole, so he ripped the fabric, much to the delight of his audience. “Yeah, baby! Take it off!” someone screamed. He threw his shirt at the woman, more to quiet her than because he really wanted her to have a souvenir. Emma’s lips parted. Her gaze scorched his chest as it glided from his neck to his navel and skipped a little further down. His cock leapt inside the tight constraint of the g-string. He hated the damned thing. It squeezed his balls and forced his shaft to fit between the confines of the elastic that ran around his package. It rarely ever did when Emma danced. Instead, it swelled and throbbed, doing its damned best to peek out from beneath the thin material and give the women something to really scream about. Emma flung her bra off. The men watching her howled their approval. Durand forced himself to continue dancing when all he really wanted to do was leap up on that stage and take one of her nipples between his teeth. They looked perfect for nibbling. Her areolas were light pink and puffy, but her nipples stood out in sharp contrast, their dark crinkled tips shimmying against the smoky air. A soap bubble burst on the top of one breast, leaving a slick trail all the way down to her nipple. Durand nearly groaned aloud. He’d seen her naked plenty of times, but he’d never been able to touch her. Not for lack of trying or wanting to, but because she simply… ran. Each time her performance ended, she bolted through the curtain behind her stage. She didn’t go to the dressing room provided for the dancers. Nor had he ever seen her in the mess hall for dinner. No, she ran straight to her cabin, bolted the door, and stayed inside until her next performance. Well, to hell with that. He’d had enough of pining away after her from afar. Tonight would be different.
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As if to punctuate his thought, the moon’s pull on his cells intensified. The rush zooming through his system kicked up another notch. He could smell the arousal of every woman in the place, but it was Emma’s scent that caught his interest. She smelled different than the others. Feral. He’d know the scent of a wolf in heat anywhere, whether or not she was in her human form. Her gaze caught his again. Held. she traced her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and his cock jerked along with the rest of his body. The need to shift drove every step he took. He wanted to see her pussy. Craved it the way he craved the transformation from man to animal, running free along the edges of the crew’s quarters in the middle of the night. He considered dancing his way through the crowd and joining her on her own tiny stage. Once there, he’d peel off those metallic panties, bare her beautiful pussy to his hungry gaze -- as well as that of every other man in the room -- and part her pink folds, opening her to him. She’d taste as good as she smelled. He was certain of it. His mouth would hover just below her pussy lips as he knelt before her. She’d squat slightly, opening herself a little more, giving him an intimate peek at the dewy folds baring the way to her glistening opening. Then he’d draw his tongue across her slit. Slowly, oh-so-slowly. She’d shudder in time with the music, her breasts rising and falling with the rhythm of her frenzied breathing. Oh, God, how he needed that. Desire blended with sharp, stinging lust to turn into adrenaline and fill his veins. His hips moved almost of their own accord, his cock aching to be freed. He thrust upward, picturing her beautiful face caught in the throes of pleasure. She’d open her mouth a fraction as he filled her, desperate for the feel of him, mouthing his name.
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His gaze narrowed in on Emma’s chest. It rose and fell, heaving with the force of her breathing. A blush stained her skin, creeping from the valley of her cleavage all the way into her cheeks. She wasn’t shy about baring her body. He already knew that about her. So the blush had to be coming from somewhere else, caused by something else. It was then he noticed the flexing of her stomach muscles, the way her thighs quivered as she moved. Her nipples remained taut, as though pinched by an invisible hand. When she met his gaze again, the intensity and desperate need he saw there knocked him for a loop. Her mouth opened. She murmured his name, just as he imagined she would. Something hot closed around his cock, as solid and unmistakable as if he’d buried himself inside her tight pussy to the hilt. He lost the rhythm of the music. Lost the momentum. It took all the clarity he possessed to shuck his gauzy pants, curl his fingers under the waistband of the g-string and pull. Hard. The elastic band snapped, coming apart in his hand. His cock was free. It bobbed, slapping against his stomach. The warm, slick feel of what he imagined to be Emma’s pussy clamping down on his shaft drove his balls high up in his sac. They ached even harder now than when they’d been pressed together in the fabric of the g-string. He started, leapt into the air and came down in a crouch. Emma’s legs shook. Her hands were fisted at her sides, but they quivered, too, as though she tried hard to keep from bringing them to her needy cunt. A rush of pleasure broke over her face, suffusing her features with a deeper blush. He felt like a voyeur, observing a private moment no one else in the room should be privy to. He continued to watch her, in awe of what he was witnessing, when her bliss careened into him with the speed of a moving train. The orgasm caught him unaware. One moment he still thought he was performing for the crowd, his cock in an erect but somewhat manageable state. The next
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fire raced down his spine and he was coming, giving in to the sheer bliss erupting through his veins. His world faded down to Emma. A thick stream of white cream burst from his cock. It flowed in a hot jet to spill onto the wooden platform. Droplets scattered elsewhere -- on a woman’s blouse, in a goblet of wine, against a pair of glasses. The music stopped.
Chapter Two Wow. Talk about embarrassing. Without the music blaring, Durand’s half of the room remained completely silent. The women stared with gaping abandon, some in shock, some in complete admiration. He didn’t give a damn about any of them. “’Scuse me,” he murmured as he grabbed for a white cocktail napkin sitting on the front-and-center table. “That was amazing!” The woman whose napkin he’d snatched reached for his wrist, encircling it with cold, slender fingers. “I have a cabin nearby --” “Lady, everyone here has a cabin nearby,” he snapped, yanking his hand free so he could dab at the cum dripping down his thigh. Despite the abrupt release, his erection still raged out of control. Emma’s scent clogged his throat with every breath. His body called out to her. He needed to hold her, to feel her warm skin against his, to inhale the tantalizing aroma of her hair, her throat, her pussy. The woman paled, but wouldn’t be deterred. “Yes, well… I’ll pay you.” His head snapped up. Did she just offer what he thought she offered? He growled low under his breath and leaned forward until he was certain she could hear him. Still standing on stage, he towered over her. He bent down at the waist and she tilted her head, no doubt waiting for his agreement. “Listen, lady, take my advice. Clean the cum off your cheek and go find yourself another man. Any one of those guys --” He jerked his chin in the direction of Emma’s stage. It was empty. “Fuck!” He didn’t wait for a reply from his would-be patron. Instead, he darted through the crowd, elbowing women out of the way until he reached the opposite side of the
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room. There, the men were less willing to let him through. They clustered together, grumbling about the performance being cut short. A few spoke with thick voices, as though their own erections needed some of that relief Durand had just experienced. The air whooshed out of his lungs. He’d lost her again. He knew from experience that banging on her door wouldn’t do anything. She lived among the staff, yet she wasn’t one of them. For all intents and purposes, she was as much a ghost as Christopher. “Let me go!” Durand’s muscles tightened. Every nerve ending in his body snapped to full alert. “Emma!” He forced his way through the two men closest to him and ended up with an elbow slammed into his ribs for his efforts. He ignored it, despite the feral instinct in him that demanded he slug the asshole before turning back to look for Emma. A gold metallic flash caught his eye. There, just past the stage, in the shadows. He moved with the speed of a man possessed. As he neared, he could see Emma struggling in a man’s tight grip. She tried to twist her body, but her attacker’s hold was too strong and she only succeeded in making him chuckle. “I saw you dance, slut,” the man said. “You’re not like the others.” Damn straight she wasn’t like the others, Durand thought. She was his. “Now be a good girl and take me backstage.” The man pressed his body against hers and gyrated in a way that made bile rise in the back of Durand’s throat. “You’ll like it. I promise.” Finally having reached the man’s side, Durand tapped him on the shoulder. “Looking for me?” “Piss off,” Emma’s attacker said without glancing back. “I’m busy.” “Yeah!” another man shouted. “We all are.” Durand rolled his eyes. He hadn’t noticed the fucker had an entourage with him. Five of them in total, unless he was mistaken.
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Emma gasped heavily for breath. Her eyes were wild, glossy with shock and fear. As Durand lifted his arm and prepared to deal the guy a much-needed blow to the back of the head, she did the only reasonable thing she could. She screamed at the top of her lungs. Then all hell broke loose. Her attacker snarled and backhanded her across the face. Durand reared back and smashed his fist into the asshole’s ear, the only part of him he could easily reach from his position sandwiched beside two of his buddies. A knee caught Durand in the stomach. He ignored the pain flashing through him and concentrated once more on Emma’s attacker. His hand shot out and wrapped around the man’s neck. His own knee slammed upward, catching the scumbag in the groin. The attacker stumbled, releasing his iron grip on Emma, collapsing against the far wall just as three guys in white security uniforms arrived. They took over, and suddenly, the would-be rapists were no longer Durand’s problem. Emma was. She stood in the same spot where her attacker had freed her. When he neared her, she backed up a step, hitting the wall. “You okay?” Durand asked. Concern melded with adrenaline to create wildfire in his veins. She stared at him blankly. “I need to go.” Turning toward the stage, she took a step forward, then another. Her knees buckled. Durand caught her just before she hit the floor. “Whoa, easy there.” He lifted her in his arms and pressed her close to his chest. His cock bobbed gratefully as the scent of her flushed skin hit him full-on. This wasn’t the perfume he’d smelled earlier, diluted with the scent of a hundred other bodies. This was pure Emma. An aphrodisiac like no other. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her cheek made contact with his shoulder. Their connection wasn’t sexual in any way, yet his head reeled from the closeness of her. Her entire body trembled. He held her tighter. “Durand! What the hell is the matter with you?”
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The curtain was only a few feet away. From there, he could take the backstage stairway that led to the crew’s quarters on Deck Three. “Not now, Isabelle.” “I don’t know what just happened, but you’re going to explain to me right this second how on God’s earth you let yourself do…” His boss faltered. When she spoke again, her voice came out in an accusatory hiss. “You know what you did.” He turned around. Emma’s heartbeat pounded against his chest. With all the calm he could muster, he faced down the angry cruise director. “I said, not now.” She took one look at Emma’s pale face and the blood drained from her own rosy cheeks. She nodded, somewhat reluctantly. “See that she’s okay, then meet me in my office. We need to talk about this.” Durand swore inwardly. Isabelle typically exuded all the warmth and affection of a man-eating python. The only thing she cared about was how well Durand entertained the female passengers. He wouldn’t have been surprised if, after embarking on a damage control mission, she asked him to end every performance on that same high note. He grunted something noncommittal and walked through the curtains.
*** Emma couldn’t stop shaking. Only the strong, warm feel of Durand’s body pressed against hers kept her from collapsing in a puddle of goo and sobbing like a little girl. The last twenty minutes replayed in her mind like a dream. A wonderful dream that turned into a nightmare. One moment she was soaring, caught up in the music, in Durand’s glistening body, in the pleasure streaming through her veins. The next she’d been yanked off the stage while a man with foul-smelling breath made it clear that since she enjoyed showing off her body so much, she was about to do more of it. In private. She’d frozen back there. God, she was so ashamed. After what happened to Simon all those years ago, she’d sworn she’d never be a victim again. But damn it, the moment that man’s meaty arms landed on her, the memories came flooding back. She
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stood once again at the edge of the forest, pleading for the life of her lover and her unborn child. “Hey.” Durand stroked her hair. His touch felt good. Comforting. Safe. “You’re all right now.” She shook her head. Tears stung her eyes, but they wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t let them. “It will never be all right. I should have known that.” He turned right down the corridor to her cabin. She wasn’t surprised he knew where it was. He’d come to see her a couple of times, bringing her food, offering to take her out to dance. She’d sat on the other side of the wooden door, pretending she couldn’t hear him. He was so warm. Hot, really. She wished he’d share some of that body heat with her. Maybe then she’d stop shivering. They’d stopped moving, she noticed after a while. He hadn’t said anything and she’d let her eyes close. The sway of the ship and the sensation of being carried had conspired to make her dig her fingernails into his shoulder. She held on as though for life itself. “I need your thumbprint.” He smiled, and the sight of his upturned upper lip kick-started her heart. “When you’re ready.” She made a small noise in the back of her throat. “I -- I can do it.” He nodded. She didn’t move. Another smile, this one accompanied by a low, throaty chuckle. “Like I said. When you’re ready.” A whimper broke from her chest. She twisted in his arms and caught sight of the red thumbprint panel that served as a locking mechanism for all the crew’s quarters. To reach it, she’d have to let go of his shoulder and neck. She didn’t think she could do that. So neither one moved. He stood there, solid as a rock while she wondered whether someone would find them here, years from now, collapsed against the wall and dead from starvation.
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That morbid image made her loosen her grip. He inched closer to the panel and she swiped her right thumb across it. The door slid open with a hiss. She saw his eyebrows arrow down over the bridge of his nose as he walked across the threshold and looked at the room. It was bare of all decoration, stark naked but for the furniture that came with the place. White sheets. No windows. A small, standard-issue metal desk that held a dozen books. Nothing else. It was sterile. Barren. Just like her. She cleared her throat. “Put me down.” “I don’t think you should --” “I said put me down. Now.” She wasn’t sure where the edge in her voice had come from, but there it was. Something akin to regret scraped at her chest, but there were too many feelings already warring inside her for that particular one to have any effect. He set her on her feet. To her surprise, her knees didn’t immediately give out when she tested their strength. “Please leave.” His eyes locked on hers. Unable to take the raw heat and concern she saw there, she skimmed her gaze across his torso. A bruise had started to form along the edges of his ribs. She also noticed, for the first time since he’d grabbed her, that he was still fully naked and incredibly aroused. For that matter, she was half-naked herself. Throwing an arm across her bare breasts, she gnawed on her lower lip. Her arousal might have ebbed, but it hadn’t died off altogether. She felt it stir in her veins at the sight of his engorged shaft, along with the pull of the moon. She had to shift soon. And to do that, she had to be alone. “Please,” she whispered hoarsely. He looked like he was about to protest. His nostrils flared. His wide, impossibly blue eyes seemed to see right into her soul. She couldn’t stand it, so she turned away, gripped the edges of the small desk and waited for him to do as she asked. She didn’t even exhale until she heard the door slide shut behind him.
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“Thank you,” she whispered when he was gone.
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Chapter Three Outside Emma’s cabin, beyond the walls that held her prisoner in her twelve-bytwelve wooden box, night enveloped the ship. The moon, high and full in the Caribbean sky, spoke to her even through the barrier that prevented her from answering its call. She paced the length of the cabin, her feet dragging along the floor, her hands fisted at her sides. Her entire body hummed with tension, fear and awakened lust. Three months had passed since Emma had left Victor and Ali. They’d asked her to stay, but it had been clear to her that they deserved to be alone together, in the privacy owed to new couples, without the inevitable constant questioning that came with having another woman underfoot. Especially one who loved Victor with every beat of her heart. Or… at least one who thought she did. Victor had rescued her. The only reason Emma drew breath was because of him. She owed him her life. If not for his infinite patience and his ability to heal her soul as well as her wounds, she’d have turned feral. Although without Victor to care for her, she doubted she’d even have survived the brutal attack by the Kölen pack. If by some miracle she had lived, she had no doubt she’d have permanently retreated inside her wolf form. Just one more beast living among the creatures of the night until another predator came upon her and finished what Daniel Kraus had started. Her throat clogged with tears she still couldn’t shed. She collapsed on the edge of the bed and buried her head in her hands. Memories came hard and fast, vicious in their intensity. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep them at bay, but still they came, bringing with them spears of remembered pain that buried themselves deep in her chest.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 24 -
The night hummed with the sound of violence. It buzzed around her as she ran, her feet tangling in half buried roots sticking up from the soil, her knees scraping along the ground each time she stumbled. Pain lanced her stomach. She placed a supportive hand beneath the swell of her belly. The life within her kicked once, then quieted. “Come on, baby. We need to hurry.” Simon’s voice. Tender and filled with concern even as his blood seeped from at least a dozen wounds. He’d carried her for a while, but then he’d collapsed, and she knew they’d never make it unless she eased some of his burden. This was all her fault. She deserved to carry the entire burden. Simon shouldn’t be here. Daniel should have never found out about him… about them. But God, she’d been so lonely. She’d needed the comfort of his caress on the curve of her throat, his hands cupping her face, his lips brushing hers. She knew the risk she took when she evaded the guards Daniel had posted outside her room, but she figured it only applied to her. She’d never thought -That was the real problem. She didn’t think. She acted. She craved and needed and wanted the man she loved at her side, not the one who claimed her as his own without once asking her how she felt. But no one said no to Daniel Kraus. As the head of the Kölen pack, he had complete authority to do with his wolves as he wished. Including her. Especially her. Something crashed behind them. A howl split the air, then another and another. She stumbled again. Her bare toes slammed into something, then caught on it. A toenail came loose. She wailed her pain, knowing every second she lost was one more second her pursuers gained. “Did you really think you could escape me, whore?” The blow to the back of her head caught her unaware. She sprawled along the forest floor and instinctively brought her knees up to her chest in a feeble attempt to protect the baby. Simon’s baby. A small, victorious smile touched her lips. That was one thing Daniel couldn’t take away from her.
But he had. Oh, God. He had.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 25 -
Tears fell freely now, though the soul-wracking sobs Emma had expected remained locked away in the part of her that had died along with Simon that night. She cried in silence. The room hummed and vibrated beneath her feet, the sound echoing up from the engine room blending with the crash of surf outside. She ran her hands up and down her arms. It was so cold here. She needed the warm Caribbean night air against her skin. And she had to shift, or else the intensity of the emotions swirling within her would only grow stronger. Tonight’s events wouldn’t have affected her nearly as much if she hadn’t been under the influence of the full moon. Its pull on her senses amplified all her emotions tenfold. She rose on shaky legs and wiped the tears from her face. Daniel was dead, thanks to Victor and Ali. She was safe now. An image of the man who grabbed her off the stage came unbidden to her mind and her blood turned to ice. With the next intake of breath, she saw Durand coming to her rescue and carrying her away. Her head pounded. Would she always need rescuing? Worse yet, would she always feel so grateful to the men who saved her that she’d latch on to them with all her might? The need to hold him, to bury her face in the crook of his neck and never let go, slammed into her with feral intensity. She crossed her legs and pressed them together in a desperate attempt to quell the rapid throbbing between her thighs. Gratitude. That’s all it was. What she felt for Durand wasn’t real. It never had been. Not when she’d danced alongside him on stage. Not even when he’d made her come in front of an audience by doing nothing more than watching her. She was on her feet and reaching for a shirt before she could follow that train of thought any further. After slipping it and a pair of shorts on, she opened the door and stuck her head out. To her immense relief, the hallway outside the crew quarters remained empty. She snuck around the corner and up the short flight of stairs leading to the crew deck.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 26 -
People rarely came out here. Most of the staff preferred the guest decks to those intended for the crew, and for good reason. Guests had pools, bars, even a casino and a movie theater on the topmost deck. The crew had nothing but a long wooden strip that led all the way around the ship. Toward the starboard bow, she’d found a section of the deck that spiraled around the laundry room and ended in a rounded crevice. There, she could shift without worrying that someone would find her. If anyone came out here -- which was highly unlikely -- she’d be able to pick up the human scent long before they ever turned the corner. She headed there now, rushing along the balustrade that kept the ocean at bay. Even here on Deck Three, the froth of waves crashing against the ship looked menacing, and much too close. Emma didn’t mind, though. She loved the freedom that came with being outside, the feel of salt spray in her face, the sound of the ocean murmuring its secrets in the middle of the night. Most of all, she loved the direct line-of-sight to the moon. She tilted her head up and spotted it, round as a dinner plate and just as pale, hanging low above her head. After shucking her clothes quickly and tossing them in a corner of the deck, she stretched out her arms toward the moon and allowed the shift to take over. A warm breeze sent droplets of ocean water to cling to her bare skin. She shuddered and closed her eyes, feeling her nipples pebble seconds before her muscles began to compress. Her legs shortened, her waist narrowed and her spine curved. A moment later, her front paws hit the deck. The transformation took place quickly, without fanfare. She’d been doing it since she was twelve. The discomfort that came with the shift lasted barely long enough to be noticed, and there was never any pain. She breathed in a deep gulp of fresh sea air, the potency of it making her nostrils flare. Peace floated through her, calming her frenzied nerves, soothing her fears. It wasn’t quite the same as being in Durand’s arms, but she’d take whatever she could get.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 27 -
The unexpected sound of a low, masculine chuckle caused her spine to stiffen. For a moment, as she listened to the calming whoosh of the ocean, she thought she’d imagined it. Then it came again, along with a pang of recognition. It can’t be. She’d heard that chuckle before, when Durand had held her in his arms. She’d know it anywhere now. Her heart thudded hard against her ribcage. She strained to hear it again, holding herself as still as possible so she could figure out the direction of the sound. At long last it came once more, husky and slightly rough, as though it echoed from a strained throat. She turned left, following the sound. Shaking her head, she peered at the smooth wooden wall that separated the laundry room from the deck and started forward. Durand said something. She couldn’t make out the words, but they gave her enough to go on. She hurried along the tall, solid line of the wall and gaped when she saw the break in the wooden planks. Barely large enough to allow a person through if he or she slid in sideways, it hugged the edge of the deck and tunneled through along the opposite side of the laundry room. She stepped inside and darkness closed in around her. Keeping her nose low to the ground to scent for danger, she slipped forward on silent paws. The claustrophobic tunnel gave way to a much larger opening that barreled into a dead end. The balustrade came to a pointed V, echoing the triangular shift in the wooden floor. If she had to guess, she’d say this was the exact bow of the ship. A cluster of crates and barrels took up most of the space directly in front of her. They’d been haphazardly piled on top of each other, as though to shield the entrance of the small tunnel. The vast majority of the crates had rotted away, leaving their innards - mostly fabric as rotten as the wood itself, along with a few glints of metal -- spilling out.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 28 -
“God, Chris, you sure know how to make a guy feel better about himself.” Another chuckle, just as richly male, echoed through the open space. Emma shifted along the rounded edges of the stacked barrels, trying to keep the sound of her paws as quiet as possible on the wooden floorboards. “Tell me again how you came all over those women.” Durand sucked in a breath. “Maybe you’d like me to show you instead.” Lust streamed through Emma’s body, hardening her muscles with raw, erotic tension. Her pussy throbbed, needing to be touched. She wasn’t certain yet what was going on, but she knew she had to be in human form to be able to fully appreciate and understand it. Crouching behind one of the larger crates, she shifted slowly, straightening her spine and elongating her legs beneath her. When the last tuft of fur disappeared, she dared extend her head past the relative safety of the wooden crates. She stared, open-mouthed, at the spectacle unfolding before her. Moonlight spilled over two men. The one standing she recognized instantly. Durand, as naked as he’d been when he’d carried her to her cabin. The other man, the one he’d called Chris, knelt before Durand. He wore a full pirate costume, though it looked unlike any costume Emma was familiar with. The management of The Pirate’s Maiden demanded that their staff wear ‘authentic’ pirate gear, though none of it had ever looked as realistic as the crimson jacket, tight black pants, and broad-rimmed black hat this man wore. The jacket’s elbows looked patched and re-patched, while the hem of his pants was frayed, its edges hanging past his bare feet. He wore no boots, but his belt was wide and sported a metal skull. His hat sat askew atop a mane of dark hair. A black beard framed a strong jaw goatee-style, though his cheeks were cleanshaven. His deep-set dark eyes seemed fixated on Durand’s cock, which he held tightly in his right fist. Dense, dark lashes lifted as the pirate looked up at Durand. “You shouldn’t have danced tonight.”
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 29 -
“I had to.” Durand’s voice was husky as he stared down at his lover. “I had to see her.” Emma’s pulse quickened. Desire flittered through her, hot and heavy, culminating at the apex of her thighs. She’d seen Durand’s cock before, though never like this. Held in a masculine fist, it looked even bigger, thicker somehow, as it strained to escape its confines. “She’s done a number on you, huh?” Emma’s tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip. Had she? Was he somehow just as affected by her as she was by him? And why, God, were they talking about her now, when judging by the way Chris’s mouth hovered a mere half an inch away from the tip of Durand’s cock, both men wanted nothing more than to slide that beautiful shaft into the moist cavern he offered? “You should have seen her today, Chris. The way she danced… she had every man in that room eating from the palm of her hand. Or any other part of her anatomy, should she have offered it. But there’s something about her beyond what everyone else sees. She’s…” Durand hesitated and Emma held her breath. She was what? Fragile? Naïve? Stupid? “Yours,” Chris finished for him. “Only she doesn’t know it yet.” Emma’s hands automatically came up and stifled the gasp that would have slipped out of her mouth. Darting a glance at the tunnel behind her, she scooted backward toward its relative safety. She’d heard enough. “Stay.” Her foot stilled in mid-step. Durand couldn’t have been talking to her. He had no way of knowing she was here! “I’m sorry if we frightened you, Emma.” Chris’s voice this time, though she could no longer see either man from her position behind the boxes. “You can come out if you’d like. We won’t bite… much.” She shook her head. Fuck, did he think that was funny?
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 30 -
Despite the confusion that swam through her bloodstream, her body obviously had other ideas. A tiny spasm of erotic awareness flickered to life against her clit. She held back a moan and glanced at the tunnel with longing. All she had to do was run back to her cabin. There, she could touch herself all she wanted. She could easily masturbate to climax, again and again, thinking about Durand’s cock gripped in Chris’s fist, disappearing into his mouth, sliding into his ass. A groan slipped past her lips. “It wasn’t coincidence that led you here, Emma,” Durand said. His voice was soft, floating through the salty air to reach her. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to. Stay right where you are if you’d like. Just… stay.” She hovered on the edge of indecision. Moisture coated her sex. Her palms cupped her breasts, tweaking both nipples as though of their own accord. She desperately wanted to stay. Without saying a word, she shuffled back to her spot against the edge of the crate. Her gaze took in the length of Durand’s body, skimming across all that smooth, tan skin. Her mouth watered. She wished she was someone else. Someone stronger, someone braver. Someone who could rise, walk over to the two men and kneel alongside Chris. “Good girl.” Durand cupped Chris’s cheek, but his eyes never left Emma’s. “Pretend you’re watching one of my performances on stage. Only know it’s not an act… and it’s all for you.”
If Chris didn’t do something with his cock soon, Durand’s head was going to explode. And now that he knew Emma was watching, the solid hard-on he’d had since he’d first stepped on stage tonight had only grown stiffer. He doubted coming in Chris’s mouth would quench the need roiling through his system. Nothing but burying himself to the hilt in Emma’s sweet pussy would ebb the craving clawing at his insides.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 31 -
A frown touched his mouth. It wasn’t fair to Chris. For the three years he’d been on board, the ghost of Christopher Bathurst had been a grounding force. He still remembered the day he discovered him, sitting right here on this very plank of wood, one of the few physical connections Chris still had with his former life. Anywhere else on the ship, Chris was nothing more than an incorporeal gathering of electrical synapses. But here, with his feet planted firmly on that plank or his hands resting against the stack of crates that had been part of his pirate ship, The Lonely Maiden, he came to life again. Perhaps ‘life’ wasn’t the right word for it. Chris might have been corporeal, as solid as Durand and Emma, but he wasn’t alive. He had no scent, no taste. When he came, the creamy liquid vanished before connecting with anything outside his small sphere of existence. “Take off those clothes, Chris. Let Emma get a good look at you.” Emma would like him. Who wouldn’t? From the sleek lines of his well-built torso to the narrow waist and the shaft that thrust up from a thick nest of dark pubic hair, Chris made a stunning display of male virility. It wasn’t Chris’s body Durand worried Emma wouldn’t accept. He needed to test how she’d react to the knowledge that he wasn’t one of the crewmembers who dressed like a pirate in order to comply with management’s wishes. Chris’s dark eyes glinted in the moonlight. He rose slowly, his hands skimming up Durand’s outer thighs and sending a jolt of electricity through him. Durand shivered and wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, drawing him close. Durand’s erection was trapped between them. His cock nudged Christopher’s through the fabric of his tattered clothes. The skull buckle Chris wore dug into the flesh of his stomach, but he ignored it. “Do this for me,” he whispered in Chris’s ear. “She needs to know.” Chris hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “And you? When will she learn about you?” Durand growled low under his breath. “When she’s ready.”
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 32 -
A small smile played around the edges of the pirate’s mouth. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Durand scowled. Christopher was the one who rightfully held that title, not him. Though ever since the pirate’s untimely death in 1730, no one had addressed him as such. Up until three years ago, no one had spoken to him at all. Until Durand came along, Chris had been no more than another ghost on a ship rumored to house them, but which no one had ever seen. Chris backed away a step. His hand went to his belt buckle. Durand tensed and gave him a sharp nod, his gaze straying from his lover to Emma. She watched them both with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, one corner of her lower lip squeezed tight between her teeth. The whoosh of leather being drawn through belt loops filled the air. Durand held his breath as Chris tossed it to the side, where it vanished the moment it smacked against the edge of the banister. Emma blinked. Her mouth gaped open. “The pants next,” Durand said, his heart hammering against his rib cage a mile a minute. If she couldn’t accept this, he wasn’t sure she could accept him. Someone had hurt her, badly, in the past. He’d have bet his right paw it had been another wolf. Why else hide away in the bowels of a cruise ship, surrounded by humans? For a wolf, this lifestyle was unheard of. He knew that from experience. His brothers chided him constantly for choosing to live his days at sea. Right. Like living among concrete and glass and dressing up in suits to fit in was so much more natural. At least out here, he was still surrounded by nature in all its wondrous glory, which was more than he could say for any of them. Chris slipped off his pants slowly, one leg at a time. He lifted them off the ground in his right hand, while his left slipped between his legs to curl around his balls. His cock, long and thick, thrust upward. He loosened his grip. The pants fell to the floor, where they vanished in an instant before the fabric even had a chance to pool in messy disarray. “Wha -- what are you?” Emma whispered. “A magician?”
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 33 -
Christopher chuckled. “That would be easier to explain.” Durand’s hands closed around the Christopher’s waist. He lifted the white shirt over Christopher’s head and helped him shrug out of it, before tossing it overboard. It didn’t matter where it went. It would disappear in an instant, only to reappear again when Christopher needed it. Rules were simple in the afterlife, it seemed. “Show her the rest, Chris.” After a split second of indecision, Christopher’s dark eyes flared. He stepped away from the comforting plank beneath his feet and dissolved in the blink of an eye. Emma’s eyebrows shot up. Her hair stirred in a light breeze, though not one caused by the wind. “He’s a ghost,” Durand explained. He waited, hands clenched at his sides, for Emma to either bolt or say something. She did neither. “Are you afraid?” “I’m afraid,” she said, her voice husky and raw, “that if you don’t carry through with that show you promised me, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
Chapter Four Grinning like a madman, it was all Durand could do not to whoop with joy. She’d accepted the truth of what they’d shown her. Better yet, she wanted more. Of him. Of them. That, Durand could certainly deliver. “Okay, enough revelations for one night. Chris is not the only one who has talents. Would you like to see one of mine?” Emma’s hair fell across her face as she nodded. She lifted a hand and tucked a thick strand behind her ear, eagerly peering from behind the crates so as not to miss anything. He wanted to call to her, to invite her to join them, but he knew she wouldn’t. It was too soon, and besides, she felt safe there. It was up to him to make her want to be sandwiched between them. To need it like she needed air to breathe. To need him as much as he needed her. Chris emerged from the shadows, once more standing right in front of him. Still reeling from Emma’s complete acceptance, Durand swept his hand around the back of Chris’s head, tangled his fingers in his long hair and yanked him forward. Their mouths met, clashing with lust born of familiarity and passion. Chris’s lips parted. Heat skimmed down Durand’s flesh, drawing blissful sensations to the surface. Desire engulfed him, making his cock throb. He nibbled at Chris’s lower lip briefly before delving back into his mouth, his tongue swiping across his lover’s as though attempting to devour him whole. A moan echoed through the deck, but it didn’t come from either of them. Emma. She enjoyed this as much as they.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 35 -
Emboldened, Durand’s hand slipped from Chris’s hair and swept down his back, exploring every hard line of muscle before reaching his taut ass. There, his fingernails bit into the flesh. Chris groaned, his teeth sinking down on Durand’s lip. His hips rocked, his bare cock nudging and pressing against Durand’s aching shaft. God, he needed to feel the man inside him. He wanted to be stretched and opened, wanted to feel his lover slide his fully erect cock into him and touch his inner flesh. And most of all, he wanted Emma to watch, to feel what he felt. To know that she could have this -- all of this -- if she trusted them enough.
Longing whipped through Emma, so sudden and sharp it tore a cry from her throat. Her fingers dug into the edge of a wooden crate and she leaned forward, her knees scraping across the ground. She’d witnessed something impossible tonight, and yet, it all made a perfect kind of sense. Okay, an insane kind of sense was probably more accurate. But she didn’t question it. The sight of Christopher disappearing into the night air should have startled her, shocked her, frightened her. Instead, a calm acceptance had settled over her, one she knew wasn’t fully her own. She’d felt Durand’s emotions before, while they both performed on stage. Every bit of logic she possessed warned her to deny the truth of that knowledge, but now she understood. They’d fed each other their deepest cravings, their most intimate fantasies up there on those two mirror platforms. And now, Durand had done the same. He’d accepted the truth of Christopher’s nature and he wanted her to do the same. Despite the warning bells that should have been going off in her mind, she’d trusted him enough to accept what he showed her without question, without a shred of doubt. That was the only explanation that made sense, if she didn’t consider the possibility that her earlier attack and the overwhelming lust flooding her system had dulled her senses.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 36 -
When she found herself alone again, she knew she’d be going over every second of this eerie encounter. But for now, she had other things to worry about. Like the way her pussy throbbed with wild abandon. She could hear herself panting above the roar of blood in her ears. Watching Durand and Christopher share a passionate kiss, their bodies rubbing against each other, was almost more than she could bear. Her gaze fixated on their thick, fully erect cocks grinding against one another. Durand broke the kiss first. Instead of pulling away, he grazed his lips across the other man’s jaw and down his throat, pausing at the delicate hollow just above his chest. His teeth grazed the skin as he nibbled on the sleek flesh wherever he could. All the while, his hips never stopped rocking. He thrust against the other man’s pelvis as though he was already fucking him, mimicking the act with perfect rhythm. He met resistance, but that didn’t stop him. The two men moved together perfectly, in tandem to each other’s gestures. They’d done this before. Perhaps many, many times before. That thought made Emma groan aloud. She’d seen many wonderfully erotic sights in Victor’s mansion, but he preferred women. She’d never seen him with another man, though she’d desperately wanted to. She hadn’t realized how much that fantasy aroused her until this moment. It was Durand’s turn to kneel before Christopher. Before he came down fully, Chris lifted his leg and propped it on the edge of the balustrade, spreading his legs wide for his lover. Emma’s heartbeat quickened. She had a perfect view of the man’s magnificent cock from here. His shaft thrust upward from among thick, dark curls. A blue vein traveled from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, which was red and sported a shiny bead of precum. Taut balls hung full and heavy between his legs. Instinctively, Emma’s fingers shot to her cunt. She pressed against the fevered mound and they slid across her soaked slit. She found her inner folds, parted them and accessed the deep part of her that begged to be filled with one of those incredible cocks.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 37 -
The tip of her nail circled the entrance to her channel. The raspy sensation sent a shiver down her veins, but she no longer felt cold. In fact, she felt much too hot, as though fiery need had engulfed her from head to toe while watching the two men. When Durand took the ghost pirate’s cock between his lips, it was with a display of patience Emma hadn’t thought him capable of. He moved slowly, his lips trailing soft kisses across his lover’s abdomen, before encasing the tip of his cock with his mouth. Chris made a hoarse, incoherent sound, one which Emma thought she mimicked as she slipped two fingers inside herself. She felt her eyelids begin to flutter downward and she blinked them open, loathe to miss any part of this erotic encounter. Durand’s hand moved in time with his mouth. As his lips traveled over Chris’s thick cock, Emma could make out the delicate skin encasing the other man’s shaft drawn tight across his rod. Durand could barely encircle his lover’s cock with one hand. Emma added a third finger to the two already inside her in an effort to understand what it would feel like to have such a big cock stretching her inner walls, demanding to be welcomed into her tight sheath. She shuddered as another rush of wet heat seeped from her pussy, lubricating her fingers. Excitement coiled in Emma’s stomach as she watched Chris tangle his fingers in Durand’s hair and bring his mouth closer to his groin. He held him in place but didn’t rush him or challenge the way he moved. Nor did he thrust his cock in and out of the other man’s mouth. He simply allowed Durand to take the lead while he leaned back, eyes closed, and enjoyed the delicious friction. She couldn’t know how he felt, but she could imagine the stream of sensation curling through him. An edgy kind of need pulsed through her, too, starting low in her cunt and throbbing upward to stiffen her nipples. Durand’s hands clutched Chris’s hips and he increased his rhythm, sucking harder. Ripples of tension flowed across Chris’s flat abdomen. He was close; she could see it in the way a muscle jumped in his jaw. His knuckles had turned white as he gripped Durand’s head tighter.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 38 -
A fine sheen of sweat coated Emma’s temples as well as her chest. She knew how Christopher felt. She struggled to hold back her own release, needing to come at the same time as him, to feel the same intensity of streaming abandon he felt when he finally let loose. Her thumb brushed across her clit. She cried out as she moved up and down on her fingers, impaling herself, wishing she could trust these men enough to let them do this to her. Abruptly, Durand broke away. His lips glistened with the same slick gloss as Christopher’s cock. Christopher opened his eyes. Lust swirled in their depths when he turned his gaze on her. “He wants you to join us.” She froze, her fingers coming to a sudden stop inside her. The delectable friction that had been sending frissons of sensation up and down her flesh ended in a flash, aiding with the task of putting words together. “No, thank you,” she managed to say through a dry throat. The words came out raspy and not at all certain, even to her. Disappointment flashed across Durand’s face for only a moment before he pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “When you’re ready,” he said, repeating the words he’d uttered outside her cabin. She couldn’t even nod an acknowledgement. The energy and ecstasy careening through her body caused her inner walls to clench in needy surrender. Durand gave Christopher a light shove toward the balustrade. Foamy spray drifted upward, coating the two men in a sheen of moisture that highlighted the lean lines of their strong bodies in the silvery moonlight. Christopher apparently knew just what Durand wanted. He leaned forward, spread his legs, and waited. Trickles of ocean water lurched between his shoulder blades. His ass stuck up slightly and his knees were bent. Emma had a perfect view of his large balls drawn tight.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 39 -
When Durand abandoned his lover and came toward her, Emma shrank back against the crates. A whimper escaped her throat. “Shh… it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held his palms up in the air as though that was all the proof she needed. Two crates away from where she crouched, he stopped and reached into the topmost one. He came away with a tube of lubricant in his hand, which he held out toward her. “See? That’s all I was after. I’m gonna go back now.” He arched an eyebrow and tilted his head in Christopher’s direction. “You wouldn’t let a man like that wait for long either, would you?” Before she could reply, Durand turned away and strolled toward his lover. Christopher hadn’t moved. She watched in agonized awe as Durand squeezed some of the lubricant from the tube into the palm of his hand and slicked his cock with it. He parted Christopher’s ass cheeks with his hand, slipped the tip of a finger inside the man’s tightly puckered hole and then replaced it with the head of his cock. The pirate’s back arched. His buttocks quivered in anticipation. With Durand’s hands affixed firmly to his waist, Christopher reared backward, using his body weight to impale himself on his lover’s cock. Durand’s tight grip pulled him back farther, holding him steady as the tip of his shaft disappeared inside Chris’s ass. Emma cried out as her pussy demanded more than her fingers could give her. She throbbed all over and her cunt quivered with barely restrained need. This was more than she’d ever felt on her own. The potency and fierceness of the sensations coursing through her took her breath away and made her heart hammer incessantly in her chest. Little pulses of electricity sparked along her clit. Something tight encased the tiny knot of nerves, pinched it, squeezed it. Her head reeled from the intensity of the millions of sharp tingles coursing through her. Durand moved faster, fucking Chris’s ass with short, quick strokes. Their voices warred with the roar of the ocean, sharp grunts and moans competing with the crash of the surf against the ship. Her cries joined theirs until they sang together, causing a cacophony of noise and pleasure to fill the air.
Lacey Savage
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Chris’s body quivered with each thrust of Durand’s cock inside him. His buttocks tensed and relaxed, then tensed again as Durand’s balls slapped them every time he bucked against him. Their balls hung flush together and rubbed against each other. Emma tossed back her head as far as she could without losing sight of the two men enthusiastically loving one another. She basked in the carnal display before her, refusing to allow her violent past to taint the ecstasy she witnessed. There was nothing hotter than water-slicked men fucking in the golden glow of moonlight. She moved faster, fucking her fingers, wishing she could have more. Damn it, she would have more. She deserved to be pleasured just as much as Durand and Christopher did. They could do that for her. They could bring her to climax with their skillful mouths, tongues, and fingers. She’d writhe under them, screaming out her bliss until she had no more to give. Yes. Yes, she would. “Yes!” Her inner walls clenched. Fire engulfed her clit. A moment later, rapture tore through her to culminate in a savage cry of release. The men must have heard her. Durand threw his head back and howled as his thrusts stilled. She wished she could see the thick spurt of cum jet from his cock once more as it had on stage. She pictured it now, his cock jerking upward, the head a slick deep red as his orgasm crashed through his shaft. Durand collapsed against Chris, while the pirate’s arms sprawled out over the balustrade. Durand’s cock remained embedded in his lover’s ass, their bodies rising and falling with the force of their ragged breathing. Emma recovered first. While her body slowly relaxed and loosened its grip on her fingers, she eased them out of her channel, wincing at the soreness she’d inflicted. Then, before Durand could plead with her to stay once more, she shuffled out the way she’d come.
Chapter Five “Fuck.” Durand pulled out of his lover’s body and slammed his closed fist against the edge of the balustrade. “She’s running again.” Chris lifted his head and opened his eyes to the roiling ocean below. Frothy caps slammed against the side of the ship, looking the same as they did three hundred years ago. How could everything else change so drastically while the ocean -- the only place he ever felt at home -- remained the same? He sighed and turned around, propping his bodyweight on his elbows against the balustrade. “Let her go.” Durand’s nostrils flared. Anxiety tightened his body, causing his muscles to ripple in the pale moonlight. “She shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight, not ever again.” “Be that as it may, she needs time. You said it yourself. She needs to be ready. And she will be.” Durand clenched his fists at his sides. “Oh yeah? When? Tomorrow night? The day after? Two years from now?” Chris fought back the sting of jealousy that had been creeping up into his chest since the moment Durand had first mentioned Emma. For three centuries, he’d known nothing but solitude. Meeting Durand, knowing someone else could see him, touch him, help him remember what it was like to be human… for a long time, it was like a dream. Sometimes late at night, when pleasure coursed through his veins like raging waves crashing against the shore and every nerve ending in his body screamed out for release, he thought maybe he’d finally crossed over to the other side. Yet every time he came down from the rush of the wild climax, Durand was there to catch him and remind him that he was still onboard this cursed ship.
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Somehow, with Durand at his side, being trapped here didn’t seem so bad. Three hundred years had felt like an eternity, but the last three had been peaceful. Almost… blissful. Three months ago, things changed yet again. Emma Duprey’s arrival on The Cursed Maiden -- as Chris liked to call it -- had caused a sharp and immediate rift in his relationship with Durand. Not that Chris had ever thought they’d be together forever. He was too old for such foolish notions, and he knew better than to give credence to fairy tales with happy endings. Eventually, he knew Durand would find his mate. Only he hadn’t thought it would happen so soon, or out here in the middle of nowhere. He could have Durand chase after Emma tonight and scare her away, but that would only prolong the inevitable. He might not have been privy to Durand’s inner flashes of certainty when it came to recognizing his feral mate, but he could see just by looking at the two of them that they were smitten. Which left him, as always, on the outside looking in. The plank on which he stood was a basic four by two piece of wood that had been used in the original construction of the ship, back when it symbolized something more than rowdy entertainment. Since the company that owned The Pirate’s Maiden had decided to recycle as much of the original material from the ship as possible when constructing their own floating hotel, they’d salvaged what they could. If they hadn’t, Chris would probably be haunting a lumberyard or city dump somewhere. He could walk the length of the plank and remain visible, but the moment both his feet left the sturdy wood, he vanished into thin air. Touching it with his hand, laying his head on it, kneeling -- all of that worked, too. As long as he stayed connected to his past, he remained whole. He strode to the end of the plank and reached for Durand, who continued to pace. His fingertips made contact with Durand’s skin. Soft smoothness hid steely
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muscles that caused another jolt of lust to flood his ghostly veins. “It’s not like she can leave the ship,” he pointed out reasonably. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.” The ocean spray had dampened Durand’s hair, making it stick to his forehead and temples. He pushed it out of his eyes as he glared at Chris. “Hiding in her cabin is just as bad.” “Why? Because she’s beyond your reach?” Durand gnawed at his lower hip, his eyebrows arrowed down in concentration. A spark lit his eyes as he looked up. “But she’s not beyond yours, is she?” Chris held his breath, knowing what Durand prepared to ask but not wanting to hear it. Durand closed the distance between them. He cupped Chris’s face in both broad hands and tucked a wet lock of hair behind his ear. “I need to know she’s all right.” “You don’t know anything about her!” The abrupt outburst surprised them both, but Chris wasn’t ready to back down. “She strolls onto the ship and suddenly she’s got you by the balls. Leave her alone. She’ll come to you when she’s ready. Until then, why can’t I be enough?” Durand’s body stiffened. His hands dropped to his sides. “She’s were. That alone makes her unique out here, but it’s more than that. I can feel what she feels. I can scent her aroma when a hundred people stand between us.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and when he was done, he looked haggard, run down, older than his twenty-six years. “I accepted the reality of knowing I’d never have a mate. Not out in the city, and certainly not here, on the open sea. Truth be told, I didn’t need a mate. I had you. I loved you.” Durand’s mouth tilted upward in a warm, genuine smile. Chris didn’t return it. “And now?” A sigh escaped Durand’s lips as they flattened. “Now I think that given a chance, I could love you both.”
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Every ounce of self-respect Chris possessed rebelled against that thought. He didn’t want to share or be shared. Just once, he wanted to be the only one who mattered. They stood half an inch apart, staring each other down, not touching, not speaking, not moving. After what felt to Chris like another eternity, Durand turned away. With a sigh, Chris stepped off the platform and vanished into the ocean spray.
*** Emma looked small and vulnerable as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She was weak. Fragile. Her lower lip trembled as she leaned forward and scraped her index finger beneath her right eye to wipe away a dark smudge of mascara. Chris drifted behind her, brushing against her elbow as he passed. She shivered and ran her palms quickly up and down her arms, but gave no other indication she knew he was there. He had only a small amount of leeway in the real world. He could disturb small items, but only by a fraction of an inch at a time. He could breathe on people, but his respiration held no scent and only felt like a light draft. Had he been human, she’d have seen him standing behind her in the mirror, leaning against the coin-sized black Jolly Rogers that dotted the wallpaper. She’d have noticed his stiff posture, his grim gaze, the hard line of his jaw. He didn’t even know what he was doing here. He should have listened to his own advice and let her flee in peace. Damn Durand and those impossible blue eyes of his. All the man had to do was turn them on Chris and he would agree to anything. Damn, damn, damn! He knew he was sulking, but he had every right to. This was his ship. Or it had been at one time. So what if in three centuries he hadn’t had a say regarding who came and went? He’d learned to deal with the pirate wannabes, the never-ending crowds that boarded to fulfill dreams of finding hidden treasure, drinking until they fell unconscious and fucking their way into the next stupor.
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Despite all that, things had been so much less complicated before Emma had boarded this forsaken ship. Stupid tourists he could deal with. The current captain ran a tight enough ship, at least as far as his staff was concerned. But Emma… Emma wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t here to drink herself into oblivion, nor did she seem to care about the joys of being at sea. So why was she here, other than to make his death miserable? She leaned against the counter, her hair falling into her eyes. Chris waited for her to do something -- anything -- so he could report back to Durand that she was, in fact, safe and sound. Her hand trembled as she raised it to the mirror and slid her fingertips across its surface. “You were right, Victor. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m not cut out for this.” Chris started to roll his eyes, but something in her voice stopped him. He’d expected tears and self-pity, but the edge in her words caught him by surprise. “I should have gone somewhere else instead. To New York, maybe, or L.A. Some big city where I could learn to fight. I should have signed up for martial arts lessons or Tae-Bo. Any sort of self-defense would have been better than nothing at all.” The strength and determination in her voice brought Chris up short. His spine stiffened and he moved away from the wall, gliding to her side. He watched her profile, the smooth line of her cheek, the delicate upturn of her nose, the firm set of her chin… And despite himself, he grinned. “Fuck.” She shook her head and pushed her long hair out of her eyes. “I’m talking to myself.” No, sweetheart, you’re talking to me. She turned away and marched into the tiny cabin. Her hips swayed as she strolled to the closet and yanked it open. Stretching on her tip-toes, she grabbed a cotton nightgown from the top shelf. He floated around her, his gaze searching her face. There was something in her eyes he hadn’t noticed before. Pain and fear, yes, but something else. Frustration.
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Perseverance. Even bravery, though that part of her had clearly been hidden away for far too long. Every protective instinct he’d ever had lurched up in him. He moved around her in small, tight circles, taking her in from head to toe. She was untrained, sure, but he could work with that. He came from a time when men were taught to be fierce and unyielding. When conflict and violence were a way of life. He’d seen his share of battles. He knew a thing or two about self-defense. Given time, he’d teach her to wield a sword. That mental image brought another smile. He could see her now, a curved scimitar at her hip as part of her dancer’s outfit. Her boss might have a few words to say about that, but he had a feeling Emma could be quite persistent when she needed to be. Exhaling a deep breath, Chris reached out and stroked her back. She lifted her arms and stretched, curving her spine like a cat. The movement made her breasts jut out and her nipples stiffen against the thin fabric of the button-down shirt she wore. Chris felt his body harden. He glided around her once again, his hands skimming her ribcage, cupping her breasts. She sighed and reached for the top button of her shirt. Chris drew back instinctively, though he didn’t have to. She could slide her arm right through him and he wouldn’t feel a thing. Neither, for that matter, would she. She changed her mind halfway through the second button and reached for the waistband of her bright yellow shorts. With a smooth yank, the fabric glided down her legs to pool on the cabin floor. Underneath, her skin was perfectly bare. She bent down and scooped up the fallen shorts, and in doing so gave Chris a perfect glimpse of her rounded bottom. He groaned as his cock stirred. He didn’t need a physical body to be aroused, though one was damned handy for doing something about it.
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She stood and walked to the closet, then folded the shorts and put them neatly away. The hem of her shirt reached halfway down her thighs, hiding the rest of her from view. Standing in front of the closet, she went back to work on the remaining buttons. The shirt fell away from her shoulders, gliding down her arms. Chris held his breath. He could have slipped past the doors and into the small closet to see her better, but he wanted the full effect of Emma’s body, displayed to him as he hadn’t been able to see it while she’d hid behind those crates. When she finally turned around, he couldn’t help the gasp that stuck in his throat. She was perfect in every way. From her small waist and flared hips right down to the shadowed cleft between her legs and the silky blonde hair framing her plump labia, Emma was everything he remembered as gloriously, deliciously feminine. He might not have been with a woman in three centuries, but he damn well understood the appeal. What shocked him to the core of his pirate soul, however, were the wide scars across her lower abdomen, down her arms, and around one ankle. They looked like claw marks, deep ones at that. Silvery strands of old scar tissue crisscrossed beneath her navel and ran all the way down to the top of her mound. Smaller ones wound around her upper right bicep, while a deep gash indicated a long strip of flesh had been carved out of her left ankle. Chris’s heart clenched. Memories of another woman he should have protected slashed across his field of vision. He’d only been captain for a year, and he’d sworn to his crew he’d never take a man’s life. Not while that man served on his ship, at any rate. He figured that would bind his crew to him, make them loyal and proud to serve beneath his flag. He’d been wrong. The pirate’s code only got them so far. It was a captain’s heavy hand they needed. Authority, power, and the ability to strike fear into the hearts of those who disobeyed, all rolled into one.
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He hadn’t even seen it coming. One of his men, Johan, had brought a prostitute onto the ship after one of their stops in Tortuga. Chris found her, bloodied and beaten, strapped to the man’s bed. His judgment had been swift, but the sentence not nearly brutal enough. If at any time you meet with a prudent woman, that man that offers to meddle with her, without her consent, shall suffer present death. He could still recite the words of the pirate’s code. Even now, all these years later. The only thing he couldn’t do was execute it. Instead of giving the order to have Johan hanged, he’d locked the man away in the bowels of the ship, intending to leave him behind the next time they docked on land. That night, the man escaped. He killed the woman first, then came for Chris while he slept. When Chris woke up, he was no more than a shadow. It took him a hundred and fifty years to figure out how to use the artifacts of his time to make himself visible. By that time, Johan and everyone who ever knew him were long dead. With a flick of her finger, Emma turned off the cabin lights. Chris pressed his ethereal body against hers, his hands gliding along her skin. Though he could no longer see them, his palms caressed the spider web tendrils of scar tissue. He felt every ridge, every raised hollow and lowered dip. She collapsed onto the bed without putting on her nightgown. Chris glided against her, his airy form shimmering across her soft flesh. Oh, baby. No wonder he wants to protect you. Something that sounded like a soft moan came from Emma’s throat. She couldn’t feel him on top of her, yet he was certain a part of her knew he was there. Whether she was in fact connected to Durand or not, she’d accepted the truth of Chris’s nature when he’d shown it to her. Now all she had to do was stretch her imagination a little further and she could imagine him on top of her, his legs trapped between hers, his cock positioned at the apex of her thighs.
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He cupped her mound in his palm, pressing his fingers tightly to her slit. She wriggled slightly, and he imagined it was because she wanted to come into closer contact with him, to feel all of him the way he could feel her. His teeth closed around a stiff nipple and her breath caught in her throat. She arched her back and gasped as he slipped a finger inside her pussy. Soaking wet, just as he expected. “C-Chris?” I’m here. She rocked her hips toward him. He slipped a second finger inside her tight sheath and she rewarded him with a low, echoing moan. “I’m going insane.” She couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t even feel him, most likely, but something was happening. A gossamer strand bound them together, as light and fragile as a beam of moonlight. Was it magic? He couldn’t say. He moved higher, draping his body over hers. Emma opened her mouth and he found it, covered it with his. Her tongue swept against his, her touch as delicate as that of a light breeze, yet he felt the sensation shimmer straight into his rigid cock. She nipped him, and he welcomed the small pain. It flittered through him as though he were solid, impossible and thrilling all at once. Her hands fisted in the covers. She bucked beneath him when he added a third finger alongside the first two. Her sheath felt incredibly tight, amazingly good. Moisture slicked his fingers, dripped down between his knuckles and fell onto the sheets. He tore his mouth away from hers and a small whimper filled the room. When he curled his fingertips and came into contact with a soft, tender spot inside her, she cried out sharply, her inner walls spasming around his fingers, her pussy milking and squeezing with tight, rhythmic pulses. Fierce satisfaction tore through him. Even in his ghostly form he could please her, just as Durand could make her come with no more than a smoldering glance shot from across the room.
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What did that mean for him? For them? Removing his hand from her wet cleft, he repositioned his cock at the entrance to her channel. Feel me, Emma. Feel me in you. She spread her legs farther, widening her thighs, welcoming him inside her. That was all the encouragement he needed. With a slow, precise thrust, he buried himself in her hot, waiting pussy. He was there and wasn’t, in her and out, fucking her and feeling her and claiming her with every stroke. The smooth raised skin of her scars rubbed against his abdomen. He caressed them with his own flesh, wishing he could take the pain away as easily as he could bring her pleasure. His teeth latched onto a nipple. He swirled his tongue around it, reveling in the soft sounds she made as he sucked, licked, and nibbled at the tight bud. He toyed with her, rolling the nipple between his teeth, lapping at her with his tongue, kissing her with his lips. Beneath his mouth, her breast seemed to swell into a taut, soft mound of pure needy abandon. Through it all, his cock never stopped moving. He entered her slowly and pulled out almost all the way before repeating the process. His strokes were controlled, his thrusts smooth and languid. A low, rhythmic ache settled in his balls. He needed to come, to fill this woman with his hot seed. Yet he couldn’t. Not now, when he had no cum to give. Instead, he focused on her pleasure as fire streamed across his nerve endings and pulsed in his groin. He murmured words she couldn’t hear, soft endearments and promises he knew he couldn’t keep. Sweat broke out over her chest. He could smell it as it blended with the raw scent of her arousal, which filled the room and his lungs. She cried out again and her pussy clamped down.
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He slowed his movements even more, wanting to prolong the sensation of being buried to the hilt inside her. The next time we meet, you won’t shield yourself from us. No more hiding, Emma. She bucked up against him, taking as much of him inside her as she could. She was panting now, her gasps igniting the growing need within him. The wet, tight channel that encased him was pure heaven. He wanted to lose himself in it, to slam home again and again until she screamed his name. And then he wanted to share it with the man he loved. He wasn’t sure how long he fucked her. Minutes… hours… it didn’t matter. She gave more of herself with every bit he took, urging him on with tiny spasms of her pussy muscles and small rocking motions of her hips back and forth. For the better part of the night he alternated between parting her slit with his tongue, fingers, and cock. He drove inside her channel relentlessly, filling her in every possible way. She shuddered and groaned, bucked and trembled, came and cried out, and still she asked for more. Not with words -- theirs wasn’t a two-way verbal communication -but with the way her body moved. At times, she’d reach between her legs and stroke her cunt, pinch her clit and rub the slick, matted curls against her perfect mound. She convulsed, peaked, shuddered, and crashed with soft mewling cries or sharp, savage screams. Each time she came, Chris captured the wild cry of her release with his mouth, drinking in the sound of her orgasm. It must have been close to morning when she came one last time, trembling so hard he feared she might never stop. It was then he knew he’d pushed too hard. He slipped out of her slowly, easing her pussy toward its previously empty state and collapsed on top of her, as light as a sheet across her sweat-slicked skin. Emma went still beneath him. Only her haggard breathing let him know she was still with him, exhausted but safe. He held her for several heartbeats, and then a few more after that, waiting for her ragged pants to ease. He’d leave when she fell asleep, he promised himself. His breath stirred her hair. Her breath warmed his cheek.
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The rise and fall of her chest smoothed into the calm echoes of sleep. And still he stayed, with the taste of her lingering on his tongue, and clung to her as though she was his anchor in a stormy sea.
Chapter Six Emma moved as though in a trance. Her languid, flowing dance steps shimmered through the curtain of soap bubbles that drifted onto the stage. She couldn’t see the audience beyond, couldn’t even hear the music or the men’s enthusiastic shouts above the thundering beat of her heart and the blood roaring in her ears. But she could still feel him. Chris. It had to have been him. No one else could have entered her locked room, coaxed a reluctant release out of her repeatedly and then disappeared without a trace. Not even Durand, with his ability to bring her to climax with a scorching glance, could have accomplished such a feat. Her skin tingled everywhere, from the bottom of her feet to the tips of her ears. Chris had kissed every inch of her, leaving nothing untouched, no bit of her body uncared for. Her pussy throbbed hotly with the memory of her own fingers and a shaft that didn’t -- couldn’t -- exist. Vividly, she could remember every vein and ridge of his cock filling her, stretching her. Last night had been more than a dream. Chris’s touch had ignited a fire that smoldered deep in her soul, but it had done more than bring her to the brink of ecstasy and send her toppling over the edge. It had given her strength. As impossible as it sounded, even to her, she’d awoken this morning for the first time in years without the sound of Simon’s screams echoing through her sleep-fogged mind. She’d slid from the bed without having to hold her head in her hands for fear the
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room would spin out of control around her. And when she’d walked on stage, she’d done so with her head held high, without a tinge of regret shadowing her steps. The last melodic strains of the violin leading the current tavern ditty to which she danced began to fade. Emma ripped off her bra, exposing her breasts to the cheering crowd. Normally, she jiggled a little, letting them have a good, long look at what they’d come here to see. Tonight, she had no patience left. The only thing that mattered was getting off this stage, leaving the smoky, dank interior of the room behind and embracing the fresh night air and the pull of the rising moon. Durand had the night off. She’d danced alone, feeling every labored second weigh heavily upon her. Now it was over, and she knew just where to find both men who’d awoken such a frenzy of intense emotions and unbearable need inside her. She leapt from the stage toward the nearest exit, her breasts bouncing freely as she ran. She could have gone out the back way, which would have been much less crowded, but this way was faster. A door leading to the crew’s quarters stood just beyond the front entrance to the entertainment room. Her thumbprint would open it, and then all she had to do was barrel down the stairs until she reached Deck Three. A hand wrapped around her upper arm, stopping her in mid-flight. “And where do you think you’re going, slut?” Foul breath wafted across her cheek. From the corner of eye, she had a glimpse of linebacker shoulders and blond hair. Emma’s heart stopped. Though there had to be a hundred people in the room behind them, she and her attacker stood in the doorway. Beyond them stretched the deck, where a few couples leaned against the balustrade and gazed out over the ocean. She didn’t give any thought to her actions beyond assessing her immediate surroundings. With a savage cry, she relinquished control to the turmoil of emotions rolling inside her and unleashed her feral nature.
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Her mouth elongated into a muzzle and she twisted in the man’s grasp, sinking her teeth deep into the back of his hand. At the same time, before her legs could shorten and sprout fur, she brought her knee up and lodged it hard between the man’s thighs. He yelped in pain and yanked his hand back. Her teeth left furrows across his skin. “Bitch!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Fucking whore bit me!” She didn’t stay to see what would happen. Security had heard him, most likely, as had his friends. She had maybe a few seconds’ head start, but that’s all she needed. Ducking and rolling to avoid her attacker’s lunge at her exposed back, she forced the shift to slow and reverse. Waiting the half a heartbeat it took for her fingers to return to normal so she could press one against the security panel made sweat break out across her chest. Before her assailant could reach her, the door slid open and she slipped through, flying down the metal steps two at a time. She’d only descended a deck and a half before heavy footsteps thudded behind her. Emma increased her pace, chills running down her spine. Adrenaline warred with terror to form a nauseating mix of raw energy and despair inside her. For the first time in as long as she could remember, adrenaline won. She ran like her life depended on it. Down, down, down the stairs. To the right, pushing through another metal door that opened on the crew deck. Along the edge of the balustrade, around the laundry room, inside the shadowed tunnel, past the boxes, straight into Durand’s arms. Durand pulled Emma tight against his chest. She snuggled close, her cheek pressing into the crook of his shoulder. He only hesitated for a split second, letting her relax against him before slipping his knuckles beneath her chin and lifting her mouth up to his. Her lips parted on a thought. His tongue sank into her wet, waiting mouth, exploring with a passion born of panic and relief. The faint taste of blood slipped along his tongue, bringing with it Emma’s own flavor. He gripped her harder, his palms
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skimming her bare back. God, he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her soft, warm body beneath his hands. If he’d lost her -No. He wouldn’t think that way. He’d just found her. She trusted him. She’d come to him on her own. Standing here, with his mate in his arms, thoughts of not having her pressed tightly against him echoed with an impossible finality he couldn’t let himself contemplate. His own frenzied heartbeat mirrored hers. He’d felt her fear, sinking bone-deep into him as though he was the one being attacked. Only Christopher’s fierce hold on him had held Durand back from running to her rescue. The ghost had been standing beside him on his plank of wood, as real as Durand. When Emma’s terror had slammed into Durand’s chest, Chris had lunged at him and slammed him against the balustrade. This is something she needs to do on her own. Like hell. Durand’s fist had connected with the pirate’s jaw, but it was like trying to beat a solid rock. The ghost didn’t even flinch. He gritted his teeth, though, and the pain that flashed in his brown eyes would have caused Durand to yank the other man to him for an embrace if he hadn’t been so damned frightened for Emma. She broke the kiss first and answered his unspoken question. “I’m okay.” She didn’t sound okay. Her breathing was ragged, hitching in her throat. Durand pulled back and looked into her face. Long eyelashes drifted closed, hiding her eyes. Her lips were parted, glistening wetly and slightly swollen from his kiss. A blush tinged her cheeks. His gaze flew over her beautiful body, taking in the jeweled belt, arm bands and thick ankle bracelet, lingering a little too long on her exposed breasts, her pebbled nipples and the flush that marred the porcelain skin of her chest. His cock twitched against the zipper of his jeans. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the fresh bruise just above the armband on her right upper arm. “I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch.”
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Her fragile smile sent his heart knocking against his chest. She reached up and traced her fingertips lightly across his cheek. “My hero.” Durand shook his head. “I’m no hero. But I am --” He closed his mouth with a snap. Your mate. In love with you. Anything he said would brand him a lunatic. He had to move slow. Despite the reassurance he felt when she’d flown into his arms, Emma wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say. First, she’d have to know the truth about him and his feral nature. Then… well, maybe after she accepted him, she could learn to love him. She stood on the tips of her toes and threaded her fingers through his hair. “You’re one hell of a dancer.” Her sultry voice sank deep into his body, streaming bolts of pleasure into his groin. “It takes one to know one.” He meant those words in so many ways, but he doubted she’d understand. Although the heightened senses of female werewolves helped them detect danger, they weren’t as keenly formed toward sniffing out a mate. His, on the other hand, had been attuned to her scent since she’d stepped foot onboard the ship. And she’d been driving him out of his mind ever since. She rubbed her fingers across the back of his neck, causing goose bumps to stand out across his skin. Her blue eyes darkened slightly as she took her lower lip between her teeth. When she released it, her brows furrowed. “Can they find me here?” “No one will find you here.” Chris’s voice jerked them both out of their erotic languor. Durand nodded. “He’s been here for years all alone. No one ever found this place.” “You did.” “I did.” Chris and Emma had spoken at once. Despite the slivers of anxiety that still thrummed through his system, Durand had to grin. “Yeah, all right, we both did. But that was fate.”
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With another soft kiss to Durand’s lips, Emma untangled her limbs from his tight grasp and walked toward Chris. When she reached him, she once again stood on the tips of her toes, her mouth only a breath away from Chris’s. Emma’s slender body glistened in the pale moonlight, her alabaster skin a striking contrast against Chris’s tan skin. They faced each other, both nude, both startlingly perfect in the moon’s glow. She traced a path from Chris’s throat down his abdomen, splaying her hand against the lower part of his stomach with exquisite familiarity. The pirate’s erection strained toward her fingers, less than a fraction of an inch away. “Thank you,” she whispered. Wind blew her hair out of her face. Ocean spray tangled them and sent the moist locks fluttering behind her. From his vantage point, Chris could see the deeper hint of color stealing up her chest, along her throat and into her cheeks. “For last night.” Chris’s head inched up. He glanced over her head and his gaze met Durand’s. Chris had told him everything that morning, but hearing how the pirate had spent his night in ghostly form and seeing the truth reflected on Emma’s face were two completely different things. Jealousy settled low and heavy in Durand’s gut. She was his mate. His. But Chris had been his lover for years. Until Emma had come on board, Durand had eagerly whispered heated words of ardor in Chris’s ear. He swallowed hard, searching the turbulence raging inside his soul. The promises he’d made to Chris, the slow nights of lovemaking, the endless caresses… those hadn’t been lies. Emma had changed things between them. He couldn’t deny that. But neither could he deny the truth of the emotions nudging his heart. He loved them both. And although sharing Emma tore at something primal, possessive, and exclusively alpha inside him, how could he deny either of his lovers anything they wanted? Especially if they wanted each other?
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The force of his emotions should have knocked some sense into him, but it had the opposite effect. He strode toward Emma and Christopher, stopping only when his body pressed tightly against Emma’s back. Reaching around her, he stroked Chris’s arms with a solid, possessive touch. Leaning forward a fraction, he brushed his lips against Emma’s ear. “Why have you come, Emma? Are you here to accept what we can give you, or are you using us to hide from your pursuers?” Her spine stiffened. She turned her head to look at him and swiped the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. Blood pooled in Durand’s shaft, stiffening his cock to the point of pain. He wanted that tongue swirling across the slit in his rod, enveloping him as her hot mouth encased his shaft. “Is that what you think? That I’m needy and desperate, ready to offer myself in exchange for protection?” Durand rocked his hips, grinding his cock against her spine. On the other side of her, he felt Chris do the same. “I wasn’t aware you’d made an offer.” A shiver traveled through her body. Her eyelids sank closed. “I want you. Both of you. But not… not like that. Not as warriors or protectors or defenders of my virtue.” Her dry chuckle held no humor. “I want you as…” She faltered. Her hips swayed in hungry invitation, causing her ass to rub against Durand’s thighs. “As what?” Durand prompted and took her earlobe between his teeth just as Chris dipped his head and his mouth crushed Emma’s.
She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Every time she inhaled, she scented something primal and violent in the air as it mixed with the salt of the ocean and the natural spice of Durand’s body. There was no hesitation in Chris’s kiss. His mouth demanded and she opened to him, remembering every shadowy flutter of pleasure he’d given her the previous night.
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That time, he’d been nothing more than a dream, an imagined fantasy lover she’d conjured to protect her from the horrors that lay in the night. Now he was real. As real as a ghost could be, at any rate. And he was hers. Durand’s lips trailed down her throat to the spot where her shoulder met her neck. There, he stopped and licked, swirling his tongue along the tender flesh, drawing a gasp from her throat. She’d wanted Durand since the first time she saw him on stage. It wasn’t his overly revealing costume or his lean, muscular body that had drawn her, but something else, something more animalistic and fierce. It called to her, stirring the need she’d buried deep in her soul after Simon’s death. She should have been confused. The desperate need to latch on to both of these men and let them do wonderful, pleasurable things to her squeezed the air from her lungs. Or perhaps that was Chris, whose hands cupped her face as his tongue delved inside her mouth with slow, even strokes. Her fingernails dug into the back of Chris’s neck in an effort to pull him closer. He slipped his powerful arms around her frame and, separating her from Durand, yanked her off her feet. Supporting her legs with his broad hands, he encouraged her to wrap them around his waist. She did, her ankles crossing over the base of his spine. For a second, she thought Durand would be angry at Chris’s obvious need to hold her, but before she could consider what she could do to reassure the other man, fingers brushed against her slit. Another set of large hands caressed her buttocks, squeezing them. Durand’s index and middle finger traced a delicate path across the thin fabric of her g-string, touching more of her flesh than the sorry excuse for an undergarment they made her wear on stage. He pinched one of the soft folds that had escaped the confines of the fabric and Emma cried out, the sound lost inside Chris’s mouth. Pain and pleasure intermingled as Durand soothed the ache with another nip, this one instantly recognizable as a nibble.
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Her world tilted around her as Chris’s mouth continued to pillage hers, his beard scraping across the delicate skin of her chin. She couldn’t get enough. She gave back as good as she got, thrusting her tongue alongside his, marveling at the complete lack of taste or scent. She could devour him forever. It seemed Durand had a similar idea. Slipping his fingers beneath the string of her panties, he yanked hard. The fabric snapped, tearing in his hand, allowing him free access to her pussy. His mouth fused to her slit. His tongue began to explore her folds and her knees quivered. If she hadn’t been supported by Chris’s strong arms, she would have stumbled and collapsed to the deck, boneless and weak, completely at Durand’s mercy. She was still at his mercy. Just because Chris held her up didn’t mean the other man couldn’t slip his fingers inside her soaked folds and play with the entrance to her cunt. He cupped her pussy in the palm of his hand, rubbed his middle finger across her clit, then drew it down along her slit to nudge her opening. Her nipples strained, stiff and throbbing against Chris’s chest. Chris cupped the back of her head and held her there. With a guttural groan, he abandoned her mouth and trailed soft, hungry kisses along the line of her jaw, down her throat, and lower still until his lips closed around a needy nipple. At the same time, Durand’s fingers delved inside her pussy. Two of them, much larger than her own had been. They stretched her inner walls, flooding her system with delicious friction. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut as Chris pulled, suckled and nibbled at her nipple while Durand filled her with his strong, masculine fingers. Still she wanted more. She wanted their cocks, hard and ready for her. And she wanted them both embedded deep in her body, thrusting inside her with greedy abandon until they both came in waves of hot cum while screaming her name. Ripples of sensation started in her clit and spread outward, causing her belly to tighten in instinctive reflex. Durand’s fingers curled and he pumped them inside her,
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once, twice, coming into contact with that part of her that couldn’t be denied the pleasure waiting just beyond the third thrust. Emma’s release crashed into her with the force of a raging ocean. She screamed out Durand’s name, then Chris’s, her voice echoing eerily against the sound of the surf. Her pussy strained and quivered, encouraged by the warm, wet motion of Durand’s mouth and his enthusiastic, coaxing tongue. Her body tightened, closing around Durand’s fingers, trapping him inside her. She ground her pussy against Chris’s abdomen and sank lower, making contact with the tip of his cock. Before she could understand what was happening, Durand had slipped his fingers out of her still spasming channel and Chris had thrust his hips upward, impaling her on his cock. She cried out as pleasure slammed into her again and again and again. His thrusts were rhythmic, yet wild and unexpected. Her pussy pulsed in silent gratitude, inner walls gripping and milking, clit throbbing with abandon. “Tell me, Emma,” Durand whispered in her ear. She heard him shuck his clothes quickly and drop them to the deck. His palms parted her ass cheeks. “You claimed you wanted us. I need to hear you say it. What, exactly, is it that you want?” She turned her head and gazed at him, helpless to do anything else. Chris bounced her on his cock and her breasts scraped against the other man’s chest, her highly sensitized nipples aching and tightening further with each deep stroke. “I want… I want you to be… mine,” she finished simply, not knowing how else to put what she felt into words. She couldn’t mate with anyone but a werewolf, and neither man was one. She trembled as the feral intensity in Durand’s sapphire gaze bore into hers. At least, she didn’t think Durand could be one of her kind. She’d have known it, wouldn’t she? She’d have seen him shift, or he’d have told her. Hi. I’m a werewolf.
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She snorted at that absurd thought. Right. Like she went around declaring the nature of her species to everyone who caught her eye. Her mind swam in a sea of lust and confusion. She wanted these men. Needed them, not just inside her body, but inside her heart. Despite what she’d told Durand, she wanted to be protected. Wanted to feel safe and loved and cherished. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she understood on a primal, feral level, that these men could give her that. “You trust us.” Durand hadn’t phrased the words as a question, so Emma didn’t feel the need to answer, but she nodded anyway. “Good.” He slipped two fingers along the crease between her buttocks. She hadn’t noticed him grab the tube of lubricant, but his fingers were slick with more than just her juices. Chris slowed his thrusts. Her pussy clenched around his thick cock, holding it tight inside her. “You’re not like I imagined pirates to be,” she said, barely recognizing her voice as the raspy sound that croaked out of her throat. Chris chuckled. His cock throbbed inside her, pulsing with heat. “You expected me to say things like ‘Ahoy, wench, watch me pillage yer plunder’?” Emma’s laugh died in her throat as Durand inserted a finger inside her tight anus. Her muscles cramped, protesting the sudden intrusion. She jerked her head around, watching him with wild, wary eyes. “Slow. Pplease.” Durand shared a brief, amused smile with Chris. “I’ve done this a time or two.” His fingers traveled from her ass to her pussy, where he circled Chris’s cock and groaned. “Relax.” Emma nodded. Her body tightened with the knowledge of what her men were about to do. Her men. She liked the sound of that.
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When the broad head of Durand’s cock pressed against her anus, Emma gasped and instinctively tightened her muscles as well as her hold on Chris. Her nails dug into his shoulders, hard. He didn’t seem to feel the pain she must have caused, and she took comfort in his strength. She held her breath as Durand gripped her hips, stretching her ring of muscle with a smooth, slow, insistent push. As he’d promised, he filled her with infinite patience, waiting for her inner walls to adjust, not demanding any more than she was willing to give. Coated with the slick moisture of lubricant, Durand’s thick cock slipped inside Emma’s ass with only the slightest resistance. A sliver of pain filtered through the raw bliss streaming along her skin. She welcomed it, clung to that small proof that she could feel something beyond mind-numbing pleasure, and rocked herself back against Durand’s cock. She gave the men no time to savor the feel of being inside her. She wanted them to thrust in and out of both channels, to fill her and possess her, to claim her and fuck her until the three of them became one. Chris touched his forehead to hers. His strokes were sure and even. Durand’s thrusts were wild yet restrained, as if he held back all the furious need inside him. “I won’t break,” Emma whispered. Shock careened through her as she realized she meant it. No matter how forceful her men were with her body, they’d never hurt her. She was safe here, encased tightly between strong walls of muscle. Durand growled something low in his throat. He began pumping in earnest, each thrust of his cock sending his shaft to glide alongside Chris’s. Only the thin wall of membrane inside Emma separated the two. She closed her eyes and imagined their cocks ribbing against each other without any barrier between them. The heads of their shafts would be reddened with the barely controlled need for release. Pre-cum would dot the tips of the beautiful cocks, coating the other’s rod as they touched and caressed.
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Emma’s clit rubbed against Chris’s hard abdomen. Each stroke of a cock inside her sent the small mass of nerves teetering on the edge of another orgasm. She couldn’t remember how many she’d had in the last twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter. She only wanted more. Fingers toyed with her nipples, while more fingers pinched the swollen lips of her pussy. She was surrounded on all sides, above and below, inside and outside. Her body cried out with need and whimpers slipped from her throat. “Let go, Emma,” Durand demanded. “Let go.” And she did. The release that had been building inside her since Durand’s first touch came crashing over her and she sank into the intense sensation. Every muscle in her body shook, causing her to tremble all the way down to her toes. Even her inner walls quivered, straining against the cocks that filled her passages. Chris’s dark eyes turned darker yet. His long lashes fluttered and a muscle jumped in his jaw as he gritted his teeth. She felt him come, felt his body ripple beneath her palms, felt the sheer intensity of his release… yet she couldn’t feel him where she most needed to. He made a small noise in the back of his throat, deep and primal, but the moisture soaking Emma’s pussy remained hers and hers alone. She almost sobbed until Durand’s cock jerked inside her and he thrust deep in her ass. Trapping her between them, he came, bellowing her name. His cum she felt. Hot and wet, it coated her back passage, filling it with his seed. She clenched around him, demanding every last drop. Chris’s shaft remained impossibly hard as it lodged inside her pussy, its rhythmic pulses sending aftershocks of sheer pleasure to stream through her. The scent of sex floated around Emma, causing her eyelids to droop. She let her head fall on Chris’s shoulder as Durand’s cheek pressed against her back. She couldn’t tell how long they stood there like that, their breaths mingling, their bodies still fused together by raw need.
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Nor did she know which one of them moved first. One moment she was being held tightly between two firm bodies, and the next she was lying down, trapped between Chris and Durand on the wooden deck. A shiver stole over her bare skin. She only wore the custom jewelry still encasing parts of her body and hiding her scars. The night had turned cold, more frigid than she was used to in the Caribbean. Thunderclouds gathered overhead. “I’ll take you back to your room,” Durand offered. His knuckles slid along the edge of Emma’s waist and traveled a path over the rise of her hips, down the outside of her upper thighs and back again all the way up to her breast. Behind her, Chris toyed with her hair, his breath trickling warm and odorless along the side of her neck. “Chris?” she murmured. “I’ll be there.” She heard a promise in his voice, one she couldn’t question. He’d follow them, and even though she wouldn’t be able to see him, she’d feel his presence just like she’d felt it the previous night. The bond between all three of them had been impossibly strong from the beginning, but it had only grown more potent after their erotic encounter. Emma couldn’t explain it and wasn’t sure if she wanted to even if she could. A part of her felt disloyal. To Simon, to Victor, even to Ali, who’d treated her as nothing less than a valued friend, a tender lover. And yet with Chris and Durand, she’d found something she hadn’t felt in an eternity. Peace. Having Victor as a Master had been exactly what she’d needed to move past the violence her former pack had inflicted. Yet she’d never felt fully comfortable being submissive. It was too much like being a victim, even if Victor had been gentle, kind, and caring. There was no pain with Chris and Durand. No physical pain, and no emotional ache tearing into her soul, either. She wasn’t sure how long it could last, this mad
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relationship between a werewolf, a human, and a ghost. But she was determined to savor it for as long as it did. “Come on.” Durand rose first and extended a hand to help her up. She took it, dragging herself off the cold wooden deck. He met her halfway and greeted her with an open-mouthed kiss. Soft and questioning, it was nothing like the hungry, needy kiss of earlier. This one carried with it an unspoken vow, one that lodged deep in Emma’s chest when she tried to breathe. They parted on a regretful sigh. When Emma glanced behind her, Chris was gone. Panic tugged at her throat for only a moment before she realized he was still around. A steady press of something soft against the base of her spine told her he was right there, where he promised he’d be. She slipped her hand in Durand’s. Together, they walked single-file along the break in the wall, following the gently curving tunnel around the laundry room and out the other side. Moonlight bathed the balustrade in its lustrous golden glow. Emma smiled, happiness unfurling in her chest. She never saw the fist coming. At the speed of lightning, steel knuckles slammed into her cheek and sent her head backward to crack against the edge of the wall.
Chapter Seven Chris reared back like he’d been the one to take the blow. He watched in horror as Emma’s body slid down the length of the wall, a red stain smearing the wood in her wake. Durand cried out, a low, guttural shout that sounded more like a growl than a scream. “Did you think we wouldn’t find you, whore?” The blond man shook with anger. His voice trembled, spittle stained his lips and his fist shook even as he turned it on Durand. Four other men, no doubt here to help the blond set right whatever wrong he thought Emma had done him, closed in on Durand. It took less than a heartbeat for Durand to initiate the shift. Although Chris had seen the transformation firsthand at least a hundred times, he never failed to marvel at the way his lover’s body altered with the force of the physical change. His muzzle elongated first, followed by his canines. They stuck out as he peeled back his upper lip. Fur sprouted on his shoulders and his limbs shortened. Despite losing height, he gained muscle and sinew, his lean body stretching and lengthening along with his head and paws. “What the fuck is this?” the blond hollered. His crew took a couple of steps back from the obviously irate wolf. “Hey, Jimmy… this ain’t right.” “You’re fucking with me. Both of you!” Jimmy gestured to Emma and Durand, pointing with his broad fist. Chris’s heartbeat thundered in his chest. Tension mounted. None of the men except Jimmy moved a muscle. Durand stood perfectly still, waiting for the
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transformation to complete. As soon as all his bones had finished locking into place in their wolf-bound formation, he’d lunge for the leader and likely tear his throat out. Chris floated to Emma’s side. He touched her neck. No pulse. Panic reared up in his throat, lodging there along with raw, primal fear. Behind him, he heard the crunch of bone breaking, a scream of pain, a growl of fierce animalistic anger. Somewhere between the time Chris had knelt at Emma’s side and now, Durand had attained his full abilities. Uttering a string of vile curses, Chris tore through the air and landed in the middle of the fray. The first thing he noticed was the blood. So much blood. It stained the balustrade, the deck, the walls. Crimson wetness painted Durand’s stark white fur with macabre streaks. It glistened grotesquely in the thin streaks of moonlight that peered down on them from behind black puffs of rain clouds. Two of the men were already down. Chris couldn’t tell if they were breathing, and he didn’t bother to check. Durand would do anything to protect Emma. As would he, if he’d been solid and able to do more than watch in impotent fury. The remaining two men in Jimmy’s posse turned and ran. Durand didn’t give chase, but turned and fixed his gaze on the blond heading for Emma. Durand’s growl echoed sharply against the backdrop of the pounding waves of the ocean. He leapt toward Jimmy, claws tearing their way through the air, practically aching to embed themselves in the man’s flesh. Jimmy turned abruptly, a pistol held firmly in his hand. Durand didn’t see it, couldn’t have slowed his attack even if he had. A pop of air, then another, and Durand fell to the ground, his body twitching and bucking against the wooden floor. Emma screamed. Chris turned in time to watch her body undulate as silver fur sprouted from her arms and legs. That unlikely sight caused Jimmy to pause for only a moment before turning his gun on her. “I don’t know what magic you’re wielding, bitch, but it’s time you learned your place in the world is at my feet. Dead or alive, it don’t matter.”
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He cocked the pistol and aimed it at Emma. Chris cried out, his scream as silent as death itself. Emma would need at least another ten seconds to complete her shift. She didn’t have enough time. Durand was down, hurt or worse. That left only Chris, and he was useless. Fucking useless! As useless as he’d been to the woman who’d trusted him to end the threat to her life all those centuries ago. And now it was happening all over again. Only this time he’d be forced to watch as a woman died because he couldn’t protect her. To punish him further, the death he’d witness wouldn’t be that of a nameless stranger. No, that would be too lenient a punishment for him. This time, fate had decreed he’d watch the woman he loved exhale her last breath. Fury and determination tore through him, reminding him he’d once been a battle-trained and hardened pirate. A man other pirates feared and respected. He called upon every last ounce of wrath battering his invisible form and surged at full speed toward Emma’s attacker. A shot rang out. Before Chris could determine where it hit, his ethereal body made contact with Jimmy’s. Flesh wavered, fought back and eventually eased as Chris slipped inside the man he’d wanted to attack. Jimmy clawed at his throat as Christopher took over. The pistol dropped from his hand, clattering against the blood-slicked deck. His feet stumbled backward, driven by Chris or Jimmy himself, Chris couldn’t say. He breathed through the man’s nostrils, filled his lungs with air and felt the balustrade lodge against his back. Jimmy continued to tear at his chest and throat, his nails raking furrows down his skin. His screams were soundless, as mute and impotent as Chris’s had been. Only when his body lifted from the ground and toppled over the balustrade to plunge toward the waiting ocean did a shrieking wail breach the silent sphere surrounding him.
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Chris felt the water part beneath Jimmy’s weight, knew when the ocean crashed over his head and the current pulled him under. He breathed along with the man, drew sea water into his lungs, tasted the salt and watched darkness close in. He’d experienced death once, but not at his own hands. This was different. Guilt raked his insides, but it swirled with the knowledge that he’d done the right thing. This time… he’d done the right thing.
Chapter Eight Emma had come to just as the blond shot the massive white wolf leaping through the air. She’d recognized Durand instantly. The truth of what he was --what he’d been hiding from her -- stole her breath and hurt more than bashing her skull against the wall. Rage streamed in hot waves through her body and the shift initiated without a conscious thought from her. It was instinctive; the only way Emma knew how to help her mate. She hadn’t been able to help Simon. Carrying a child in her human form had bound her to that shape for the duration of her pregnancy. But just because she hadn’t been able to help then didn’t mean she couldn’t help now. Except she hadn’t had the chance. Before her transformation could complete, her attacker had shot at her. His aim had been off by a fraction of an inch, and the bullet embedded itself in the wooden wall to the left of her ear. Then he’d dropped the gun and stumbled off the ship, head-first toward the tumultuous frothy waves below. Chris. It had to be Chris. She bolted to Durand’s side. At the exact moment she reached him, the thunderclouds split open. Rain fell in thick sheets, wiping away the sticky blood that coated the deck and matted Durand’s pristine white fur. She shuddered and waited, calling on every last ounce of patience she possessed to see her through yet another transformation. She needed to be human, to clutch him and shake him and slap him for not telling her, for scaring the hell out of her, for dying on her.
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Lightning struck the sky, a bolt of silver against a solid black backdrop. Thunder boomed a moment later overhead. The ship shook beneath Emma’s knees. It teetered, convulsing on the angry waves. Emma’s head swam. Her vision fogged as she tried to focus on Durand. A bullet had torn through his ribcage. Another through his knee. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t open his eyes to look at her despite the way she shouted his name, frantic and horrified. Not again. Oh, God, not again. A shaft of white light fell from above, like the lighting that had lit the sky earlier, only… not. It was brighter, heavier somehow. It blossomed slowly, spreading over the end of the deck with almost liquid clarity. Emma looked up through lashes heavy with tears and rain. A chill had numbed her shivering body. Her fingertips felt frozen as she raked them through Durand’s fur. A figure broke from inside the light. Emma squinted, trying to make out the features of the man who headed toward her. She expected the captain to arrive with a security crew, ready to throw her in their custody until they reached land and he could turn her over to real law enforcement. For all they knew, she’d killed everyone here and had tossed both the blond man and Durand overboard. Explaining the wolf’s presence on board might pose a few problems when they tried to piece the night’s events together, though. When the man neared and her eyes adjusted to the unexpected brightness, Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked hard and fisted her shaking hands in Durand’s fur. “Hello, Emma.” That voice. Oh, God… “Simon,” she said through chattering teeth. “You’re not here. This is impossible.” He shrugged and crossed his arms over his broad chest, giving Emma a chance to examine him from head to toe. He wore white jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his well-defined muscles. His black hair hung midway down his neck, exactly the way
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she remembered. But he bore no scars, no evidence of his last vicious battle. And he beamed at her, his broad, masculine face peaceful and serene like she’d never seen it. “I have something -- someone -- who belongs to you.” He turned and held out his hand. A second figure broke from the shaft of light, his silhouette unremarkable if not for the broad-brimmed pirate hat perched atop his head. “Christopher has spent years waiting for his chance at redemption,” Simon said. “You gave it to him, Emma. You and Durand.” Chris stepped away from the light. He looked wary, standing there with his hands in the pockets of his frayed pants, his eyes unreadable. Emma’s heart plummeted somewhere around her knees. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. She’d been shot after all and now she was hallucinating, or she was in heaven -- or in hell. Somewhere where reality blended with fantasy and nothing made sense. “And Durand?” she asked, stunning herself when her voice didn’t crack. “Right here, baby.” Warm palms closed around her shoulders. Emma started, staring down into sapphire eyes. Rain matted Durand’s hair to his forehead and wiped away every last trace of blood on his torso, stomach or legs. When he rose to his full height, pulling Emma along with him, she could tell the bullet holes she’d seen had closed over with new skin as though they’d never existed. Only the raised, dime-shaped silver scar tissue told her she hadn’t imagined the wounds. Durand slipped his hand in hers. She held on tightly, absurdly grateful for the warmth of a man who should have been dead and the existence of another who was dead. “What -- what’s going on here?” she asked at last. “Are you…” Simon closed the distance between them. His face glowed with ethereal light and when he touched her cheek with his fingertips, her skin tingled. “I’m sorry,” he said.
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She licked her lips and tasted rainwater. “For what?” “For not being able to protect you nearly as well as these men could.” He silenced her by pressing an index finger to her mouth before she could protest, and continued, “I’ve watched you, Emma, and I’ve waited. I hoped one day I could make things right by you. And now I have.” He glanced over his shoulder to Chris, then nodded to Durand. “We all have.” The tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe. She leaned forward and placed a tingling kiss to Simon’s lips before pulling back. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me.” Simon chuckled, his deep, masculine voice echoing with something silvery, like a chime or the delicate ringing of a metal bell. “I can’t stay.” He lifted his chin and jerked it in Chris’s direction. “But he can.” Emma held out her hand. Chris walked over and took it in his warm, very human palm. He felt solid and impossibly real no matter where he walked. A thought struck with alarming alacrity. “Can he leave the ship?” Simon stepped back into the shaft of light and lifted his hand in a parting wave. “He can go anywhere he pleases. He’s one hundred percent human male.” With another chuckle, he disappeared into the streaming illumination. The light faded and vanished altogether, leaving Emma standing in the dark. To her right and left, the warm bodies of her men pressed close. One naked, one fully clothed. One werewolf, one pirate. And her, right in the middle, exactly where she belonged.
Epilogue Emma tapped her pen against the paper, smearing a little drop of ink over the last word she’d written, then re-read the previous paragraph. As soon as I was safe in my cabin, Durand and Chris left to handle clean-up. I never asked what they did, and they didn’t offer to tell me. It’s probably better for all of us this way. The other two men, the ones who escaped, told the security crew bedtime stories about men turning into wolves. No one believed them, especially with no evidence to back up their story. It helped that they’d been drinking.
A soft snore came from beneath the covers stretched out over the two men entwined on her bed. She grinned at the memory of Durand and Chris worshipping her body until the early hours of the morning. Her pussy clenched and she licked her lower lip, wondering if it was too early for a repeat encounter. Chris is adjusting surprisingly well. My boss, Isabelle, took one look at him and offered him a dancer job on the spot. She didn’t even seem concerned that he didn’t have a social security number. I guess laws are different out here in international waters. He and Durand are now a two-for-one attraction. And oh, God, Victor, you should see them…
A trembling shiver broke out across her skin and a moan escaped her lips. She couldn’t dance across from them anymore. The last time she’d tried, she’d come in less than two minutes flat. Now she requested to go on stage first, so she could watch them after her set ended from behind the privacy curtain and indulge her fantasies without an audience.
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I understand from your last letter that you and Ali never took a honeymoon after your mating ceremony. May I suggest a cruise on The Pirate’s Maiden? I’ve enclosed six tickets with this letter. Please see that two go to J.C. and Eve, and the other set to Brad and Sean. You don’t have to travel together, but I’d love it if you could.
Chris stirred, his dark hair falling over his eyes. He draped an arm across Durand’s chest and pulled him closer. The covers tented across his crotch. Emma’s nipples pebbled as she took in the long length of her mate’s erection. Gripping the pen tightly, she scribbled the last couple of lines in a hurry.
I’ll leave that decision up to you. Give Ali a kiss for me. I look forward to seeing you both.
Lots of love,
Emma
She slipped the letter and the tickets into the envelope she’d already addressed, then stood up and headed for the bed. Pulling back the covers, she discovered Chris’s hand wrapped firmly around Durand’s hard shaft. He stroked it, base to tip, rolling his palm over the flushed head. A drop of pre-cum emerged from the tip. “Glad you could join us,” Chris said, grinning up at her. She slipped between the warm sheets and cupped her hand over Chris’s. Her fingertips nudged Durand’s balls. He stirred and blinked sleep out of his eyes. “You’re not starting without me, are you?” Emma gave his sac a soft squeeze and was rewarded with a low groan. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” With his free hand, Chris cupped the back of her head and pulled her to him. Their mouths met an inch above Durand’s. Her tongue delved inside, tasting the flavor of cinnamon and aroused male that was all Chris.
Lacey Savage
Feral Voyeurism
- 78 -
Need tightened in her belly. Fingers found her pussy, parted the soft flesh and delved inside her channel. Inching her right hand along Chris’s flat stomach, she gripped his cock and slipped her thumb across the slit. It came away wet. She moaned against Chris’s mouth, grateful once again for everything Simon had done for them, for werewolves who kept her safe and for ghosts who, once human, came with all the benefits of being real. Even the sticky, messy, wonderful ones.
Lacey Savage Award-winning author Lacey Savage loves to write about her dreams -- or more specifically, she loves to breathe life into her steamy fantasies (and she’s got plenty!). She pens erotic tales of true love and mythical destiny, peopled with strong alpha heroes and feisty heroines. A hopeless romantic, Lacey loves writing about the intimate, sensual side of relationships. She currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her loving husband and their mischievous cat. You can learn more about Lacey by visiting her website at www.laceysavage.com, and can reach her at
[email protected].
