On A Lee Shore Page 25

  He was reminded of that thought when he awoke a little before midnight. The cabin was dark—the lantern must have burned out—lit only by starlight reflected off the water and very quiet. He stretched, burying his face in his arms and the pillow, sighing with satisfaction at the cool freshness of the air on his shoulders and the warmth of the rest of his body.

  The sigh was echoed, and he opened his eyes, began to turn over, but a cool hand pressed him back down again. From the corner of his eye he saw Griffin stooping over him. “What hour is it?” Kit murmured, his voice scratchy with sleep. “Is it my watch?”

  “Not yet,” Griffin said. His shirt was bunched in his free hand, and as Kit watched he let it fall. There was just enough light for Kit to see the gleam of his skin uninterrupted from shoulder to thigh as he stooped to draw back the covers. Cool air washed down Kit’s side followed by the pressure of a stroking palm. “Are you rested?” Griffin asked. “And are you awake?”

  “Yes,” Kit said, tensing as Griffin’s hand moved again.

  “Good,” Griffin murmured and stooped still farther to kiss Kit between his shoulder blades. “I should hate,” he added, “for this to be wasted.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The feeling of Griffin’s breath, the brush of his beard against Kit’s shoulder made him shiver, and he drew breath to speak.

  “Hush.” Griffin’s voice was soft but firm. “Move over.” His knee nudged Kit’s thigh as he climbed up onto the cot, but his mouth didn’t lose contact with Kit’s spine. He stroked the hair away from Kit’s nape and kissed him there as he lowered himself down to lie alongside him. With a deep sigh Griffin laid his head on Kit’s shoulder. His skin was slightly damp. So was his hair. It dripped against Kit’s lips, and he tasted the sea.

  “Protheroe is on the wheel, with a true heading,” Griffin murmured, his voice felt as much as heard. “Detorres is asleep in the sick bay. Denny is in his berth in the fo’c’sle. There’s nobody on board apart from you and me who cares whether I sleep with you or on the floor. I promised myself that if I won free from that island I would do this. I want you, Kit. I think you want me.”

  Kit drew a long breath. It was time for honesty, but he didn’t have the words—especially as he could feel the sharp edge of Griffin’s teeth against the top of his shoulder where the muscle was thickest, the rapid beat of a heart against his ribs, the warmth of another body marked by a greater heat against his hip. How could he say what he knew he must?

  I don’t think I should do this. I know I must leave you. Please don’t make it even more difficult than it already is.

  “Nothing to say, Kit?” Griffin whispered, as he had once before. “Nothing at all.” He stroked down Kit’s side again, fingers curling around his hip to touch a place that Kit hitherto had not thought was sensitive.

  “Griffin,” Kit began. “I don’t think—”

  “Best not to,” Griffin interrupted. His hand moved again, no longer cool. Kit’s skin tingled as fingers trailed around Kit’s waist and down to cup the cheek of his arse.

  Griffin grunted. “Kit—it’s hot as Hades in here and you’re wearing drawers in bed. Damn me, boy, you’re an inconvenient soul.”

  He ended the complaint with a sharp slap that stung a little, but the aggrieved tone of his voice made Kit laugh. Cold doubt fled, driven away by the heat of Griffin’s body and his heady scent, which made Kit’s senses spin.

  “Why make things easy?” he demanded. “Life’s a challenge.”

  “True.” Griffin kissed Kit’s shoulder again. “Come lad, I promise you’ll take no harm from me. If you’re scared of being hurt…”

  “I’m not scared,” Kit protested and hitched himself round to glare at Griffin.

  Griffin smiled. “Then take those absurd things off and prove it!”

  Kit might have replied, but his mouth was stopped by Griffin’s kiss. Their legs fitted neatly together, Griffin’s thigh between Kit’s and vice versa. Kit groaned into Griffin’s mouth as Griffin’s hands pulled him into the tightest embrace he had ever felt. Kit clung to him as they kissed, his own hands beginning to rove. The sinewy strength of Griffin’s arms around him, the beat of his heart against Kit’s chest, the brush of hair against his nipples—who could have guessed how good that felt—and not least, the pressure of another cock alongside his own, hot even through the thin layer of his linen drawers.

  Griffin was right. They were ridiculous garments and he should be rid of them.

  “A moment,” he said and tried to turn on his back. The cot lurched as his shoulder hit the bulkhead and swung away from the wall. Kit began to slip into the narrow gap between the bulkhead and Griffin’s prized thirty-two pounder, but Griffin grabbed him by the waistband of his drawers and hauled him back again.

  “Nearly lost you there.” Griffin chuckled, his breath brandy scented. “I’d have had to hook you out from behind the gun like a lost sock. We need sea room, Kit. It’s a tricky business until you know what you’re about.”

  As he spoke Griffin got up, taking the covers with him. Kit wasn’t sure whether it was the change in temperature or the loss of contact, but he felt cold and uncertain again until Griffin stepped back beside the little window.

  “Here,” Griffin said, throwing down the blanket, and offered Kit both his hands.

  Kit sat up. Griffin had felt magnificent, but the sight of him—side lit by the stars—made Kit’s breath catch. Broad shoulders, deep chest, flat belly hollowing a little as he breathed, and that cock, long and proud, with soft skin pursed like a kiss around a glint of moisture at the tip. Kit stumbled from the cot, dragging the rest of the bedding, which he tossed down at Griffin’s feet before grabbing him by the shoulders and crushing their mouths together. As they kissed he felt Griffin’s hands busy at his waist then the slither of fabric around his thighs. He shifted, working the drawers down around his ankles, and stepped out of them, kicking them aside. Griffin grunted his approval and took a double-handed grip on his arse, pulling him close. Kit groaned against Griffin’s mouth. Through linen he had felt good, skin-to-skin he felt even better.

  They broke off the kiss, both sucking in a breath, and Griffin stepped back a pace. “I want to see you properly,” he muttered, his voice thick. “Light the lantern, Kit, you know where the strike-a-light is kept, and I’ll make our bed.”

  Table drawer, tinderbox, flint and steel. Kit’s hands flew to wake spark from stone, blew on the tinder until it glowed, and used it to light a sulphur spill. He cupped his hand around the little yellow flicker until the candle stump caught, a long smoky orange flame flaring up with a whiff of tallow. “There,” he said and turned. Griffin was on his knees, looking up at him. His smile made Kit’s heart race.

  “There,” Griffin repeated and put his hands on Kit’s hips, drawing him a pace closer. Kit’s cock bobbed a jaunty welcome, and he felt his heart sink as Griffin laughed. Kit knew that comparisons were odious, but in this case he couldn’t resist a glance down, just to reassure himself. Not perhaps as impressive in length as Griffin’s but perhaps a little wider and of generally pleasing aspect, his cock rose in salute.

  Griffin laughed again. “Oh Kit,” he said, “that’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact…” He studied it for a moment before stroking across Kit’s belly to run his thumb up the underside of it.

  “Dear God in heaven,” Kit whispered. Already tense, just that touch was almost enough to make him explode.

  “What, Kit?” Griffin stroked him again, this time with the backs of his fingers, before taking him in a firm grasp. “Don’t tell me that nobody has ever done this before. Or this?” And he kissed it—kissed it—openmouthed.

  Kit shouted with the shock of it, his head going back so that he almost cracked his head on the lantern. The heat of Griffin’s mouth, the rasp of his mustache on the tenderest skin, the movement of his tongue—too much. Kit brought his head forward, opening his eyes. The smile in Griffin’s eyes turned sly as he let Kit feel the slightest pressure of h
is teeth, oh too much, and Kit shouted again—no, yelped, his voice embarrassingly shrill—as stabs of pleasure almost sharp enough to be pain began to tear through him.

  “Kit?” As he shouted, Griffin drew away and looked up, his expression concerned. He didn’t turn his head away quite fast enough. “Damnation!”

  “No! Oh God.” Quivering with the aftershocks of pleasure, Kit stared at Griffin’s bespattered face and chest and swallowed a gulp of apprehension. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I—I didn’t mean for that to…”

  “No, I don’t suppose you did.” Griffin was scrubbing at his left eye with the back of his wrist. “Goddamn it. It’s as bad as powder smoke. You might have warned me.”

  Kit opened his mouth to apologize again, to explain that he hadn’t expected it to happen that fast, that it never had before, but Griffin growled, “Dammit Kit, do you want to see me wearing an eye patch?” and Kit found he was stifling a chuckle instead.

  “You’re the captain,” he faltered, voice shaking. “You can do what you like. You could wear two?”

  Griffin glared until Kit was unable to hold in his laughter any longer, then he snorted and hooked Kit behind the knee, pulling him off balance. Toppling into his captain’s arms, Kit continued to laugh until his mouth was stopped by Griffin’s kiss. He sighed at the drift of a hand down his side, the hot pressure of Griffin’s cock against his belly.

  “Insubordinate,” Griffin murmured against his cheek. “And insubordinate lieutenants had better mind their Ps and Qs. I’m your captain, and I can do what I like and what I like is this.”

  Kit caught his breath as Griffin ran his fingers through the mess on his chest and slathered it on the inside of Kit’s thigh. He hoped he didn’t look scared or mistrustful, but Griffin must have felt he needed reassuring because he smiled. “You’ve read your Aristophanes, haven’t you? Sometimes the old ways are the best.”

  Griffin turned them until Kit lay on his back, Griffin’s knees outside his own, holding his legs tight together, the hot bar of flesh that was Griffin’s cock caught between them.

  “All right?” Griffin asked, touching Kit’s chin. He moved, the warm pressure against Kit’s cods awaking another spark of pleasure.

  “Oh yes,” Kit murmured and raised his head to kiss him again.

  * * *

  “Kit,” Griffin sighed. “You taste of the sea. I like that.”

  “You mean of fish, tar, and bilges?” Kit asked. His head was in the crook of Griffin’s arm, and he had almost got his breath back for the second time. Everything had been most satisfactory, from the exciting weight of Griffin’s body moving over him to the gentleness with which Griffin had taken him in his hand to bring him to bliss once again. Kit was only just now beginning to feel the hardness of the planking under the blankets, the discomfort as one of the ringbolts for the guns dug into his side, and the sticky chill on his belly and thighs.

  “No.” Griffin snorted. “That would have been me on the island otherwise I might have made a grab for you then. One side of the island had lethal currents. The other was lousy with sharks. One came and gave me the eye when I was in the shallows digging for clams, so I decided I would prefer to keep all my limbs, even if they were dirty.”

  “We saw them when we rowed in,” Kit admitted. “The sharks. Vile creatures.”

  “Don’t be so harsh,” Griffin said. “They make their living as best they can, just as we do—the Brethren of the Coast.” He stroked behind Kit’s ear and Kit realized he was handling the earring. “This has healed well. It looks good there.”

  Kit turned his head to press his mouth to Griffin’s throat, breathing in the warm, sweaty musk of him. “Does it?”

  “It does. Is there any brandy?”

  “No.” Kit smiled and pushed himself up on his elbow. He laid his other hand on Griffin’s chest, combing his fingers through the thick hair and enjoying the unhurried beat of his heart under his palm. “I will fetch you water, if you wish. It must be close to dawn, and I should get to my post.”

  Griffin’s arm tightened around him. “Your post is here,” he murmured, his eyes half closed. “But someone should check our heading, and I am so tired. The ship is yours, Mr. Penrose.” But he drew Kit down for another kiss.

  Kit left Griffin settling in the remade cot and made his way forward to the heads to make himself comfortable. A bucket of seawater sluiced away most of the stickiness and another washed out the shirt that had been pressed into service as a mop. It was Griffin’s shirt. Kit inspected it, decided it would do, then pulled it on, shivering at the chill.

  When he approached the helmsman, Protheroe gave him such a knowing look that Kit couldn’t prevent himself from chuckling.

  “Oh, be quiet,” he said.

  “Me, is it? I’m quiet as the grave. Unlike some I could mention.” Protheroe grinned again. “Anyhow—the weather seems fair. Wind a point or two north of nor’east. Lewis has gone to fetch Davy and a couple of the Spaniards then I’ll turn in too.”

  Kit leaned to look at the binnacle and gave a nod of approval. “Thank you,” he said. “Any signs of life?”

  “Nothing.” Protheroe stifled a yawn. “Peaceful and calm—boring.”

  Kit snorted and went to fetch the octant. By the time he returned, Davy was at the whipstaff, rubbing his eyes open with his free hand while Protheroe swaggered away arm in arm with Lewis. Lewis was laughing—Kit felt he could guess why but realized he didn’t mind. He tugged his earring and smiled. Being one of the Brethren of the Coast had its advantages.

  “Kit?” Davy’s voice was anxious. “I see a light.”

  “One moment.” Kit leveled the octant at the pole star, made his calculations, and noted them down. They seemed to be on course, as far as he could tell. He put the octant back in its bag and went to Davy’s side. “So, where’s this light?”

  Davy pointed. “It’ll be behind us on our next tack. Do you think it could be the treasure ship?”

  “I don’t know.” Kit took up the glass and peered out at the tiny speck. “Keep an eye on it, Davy. We’ll see what we’ll see when the sun comes up. For now I’ll stay on this course. We have the sea room.”

  When dawn came there was nothing to be seen but the cloudy hills of Grenada on the horizon.

  “Could have been a fishing boat,” Davy said, his elbow crooked around a stay as he peered through the glass. “Though I thought from the lights and where they were that maybe…” He lowered the glass and rubbed both lenses on his shirt. “Sun’s in my eyes, but I think there’s something in the water. Look—there’s gulls picking at it. And more.”

  “A shoal of fish?” Kit asked, watching the distant white specks rise and fall.

  Davy raised the glass again, leveling it carefully. “No,” he murmured then took a sharp breath. “No, by God! There’s wreckage. There’s a body in the water.”

  Kit groaned and lay the tiller over to bring them more closely to the wind. An hour later they could see other pieces of wreckage in the water, and quite some time after that Davy let out a halloo and pointed.

  “I can see a survivor. There—on that spar!”

  The halloo must have roused Griffin because he came on deck yawning, then shot Kit a grin and raised his hand to rub his eye. That little gesture caused Kit’s heart to skip a beat, and he smiled as he explained the situation.

  “We’ll pick him up,” Griffin said. “The ship might have gone down for some reason other than Jago but…”

  The survivor came aboard the Africa in a scrambling rush and flung himself down on the deck.

  “Jesus Christ and all his saints,” he gasped. “If I never see another shark it’ll be too soon. There were four of us when the sun come up. I’m the only one left.”

  “Give the man some rum,” Griffin ordered. Once the mug was in his hand and his back was firmly against the mast, the survivor felt more able to talk.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “A brigantine and a girt big galleon and us in a prize—a little French
bark. We didn’t stand a chance, and they seemed reasonable enough so we heaved to. Then they saw our little lieutenant’s jacket, poor lad, and that was it. Bastard pirates.” He shuddered and drank off his tot at a gulp. “Gutted him they did, and he was a decent child too, unlike our hangin’ bastard of a captain. The ship went down around near dawn. They must’ve opened the cocks. We pumped while we could, but there weren’t enough of us left to make a difference.” He held out his mug for more rum.

  “What happened to the captain?” Kit asked.

  “Nothing. Least ways, he took the crew off the bark in irons and set us to sail her back to Nevis. Miranda carried on south.”

  “The Miranda.” Griffin’s tone was bleak, and the sailor looked up, alarmed.

  “Aye,” he said. “Bad luck to her and the devil that commands her.”

  “Indeed,” Griffin agreed and offered the man his hand to bring him to his feet. “We can’t have any passengers. As of now you’re part of the crew. What’s your name?”

  “Runyon,” the man replied.

  “Runyon.” Griffin nodded. “Then you’ll be in Penrose’s watch. Any concerns bring them to him first, or to me or Valliere.”

  “Penrose?” Runyon stared from Griffin to Kit. “I heard that name before. Gentleman on Nevis was asking us to look out for you. Said you’d been taken by bastard pirates.”

  “Sir George!” Kit said. “So the Hypatia made it then. Thank God. How was Sir George? Was he unharmed?”

  Griffin grunted. “Kit—find Runyon a place to sleep and a meal.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You can catch up on your news while you do it. Yes, Runyon, we are bastard pirates too. Get below.”

  “So, out of the frying pan, eh?” Runyon asked as Kit led him to the fo’c’sle.

  “Yes,” Kit said with a grin. “But a lot better than swimming with the sharks.”

  “Or sailing under Wells’s command. Let me tell you—”

  “Wells?” Kit stared at him.

  “Oh aye,” Runyon snorted. “Know him do you? Then I pity you, I really do.”