Under Her Brass Corset (8 page)

She nodded in agreement and they returned to the upper deck.

Eric’s ship was closing in on them.

“How can he move so fast?” Abigail knelt next to Jasper as he loaded the gun.

“His clipper is lighter in weight than this brigantine relic.” He had heard about Eric’s mechanical abilities, and it worried him to see the adjustments in action. “Plus, he has apparently made improvements with the addition of a steam engine.”

“Drop your sails!” Eric’s voice thundered through a megaphone.

Jasper ran to the rigging and kicked the lever to hoist his final sail. “Drop my sails, he says.” He hurried to the quarterdeck and turned the wheel.

Abigail joined him. “What are you doing?”

“Pull.” He grabbed her hand and put it on one of the handles. “I’ll show him a thing or two about pirating.”

Together they forced the rudder to turn sharp. His ship came around just as he expected, sending the stern in a collision course with Eric’s bow.

“We’re going to crash.” Abigail gasped, letting go.

“That’s the idea.” He reached around and made her take hold again. “That’s his disadvantage with the newer vessel. We’ll do more damage to his ship than to mine. Pirates don’t always get to sail up along another ship and jump aboard. Sometimes we had to do a little maneuvering to keep them from fleeing.”

“And if that didn’t work?”

The ship jolted upon impact. A
thud
, a crack of wood, but the crash didn’t work as planned. Jasper looked over at Eric, half infuriated the man had had the sense to reinforce his hull and half intrigued by the forethought.

“It worked most times, but if not, then we blew them to smithereens with our cannons,” he answered.

“Is that what we’re going to do now?”

“Oh, if only I had me but one cannon and some chain shot. I’d make splinters of his ship’s broadside. However, I have nary a single cannon onboard. I haven’t had need of one for a long time.”

“When and why would you have had one of those?”

“We’ll talk of that another time.”

“You fool,” Eric shouted, flinging his megaphone away.

“What is he doing?” Abigail asked.

Jasper locked the wheel in place. “He’s getting ready to open fire.”

“But he’s…Is he taking his hand off?”

“He lost his arm up to the elbow near the end of the American Civil War,” Jasper said, recalling the day well when he went to Eric’s rescue at the urging of Eric’s grandfather. “A sword fight.”

“He couldn’t have been very old.”

“I think seventeen, maybe twenty, I don’t know for sure. He’s always been an overconfident brat.” Jasper put a hand to her shoulder. “Eric killed the man that did that to him.”

“That must have been very traumatizing.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him, Abigail. He’s not here to be your friend.” Jasper watched Eric lift a Gatling similar to his.

“What’s he doing now?” She moved to the bulkhead.

Eric’s arm rose and leveled with Abigail. A single shot pierced the air. Jasper rushed forward, seeing Abigail fall back. Then a blaze of bullets peppered the side of his ship as he dragged Abigail to the far side of the helm. His heart pounded. Fearing he had lost her, before knowing her the way he wished, he bent over and shielded her from any more harm.

“Abigail?” He ran his fingers along her collarbone, looking for the wound.

She swished her hand in front of him as if to wave him away. Then she grabbed his forearm. Her eyes wide with shock, she struggled to sit up.

“He shot me! That son of a bitch tried to kill me.”

“Stay down.” Jasper forced her to lie back. He turned her head, checking her shoulders. “Where are you hurt?”

“Here.” She pulled his hand down the front of her body to the dent in the brass corset.

“No hole,” he said with a relieved sigh. “It ricocheted.”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “But it still hurts like bloody hell.”

He bowed closer. With his eyes shut, he put his forehead against hers. For one thankful second, his thoughts formed into words. “You’re all right.”

“I am,” she answered with a comforting stroke along the length of his arm.

He didn’t want to draw back from her, but Eric’s cease-fire forced him to rise.

“I want that map, Blackthorn.” Eric’s voice boomed without the aid of a megaphone.

“I destroyed it,” Jasper growled loudly.

“Liar!” Eric aimed his gun arm again.

Jasper ducked and made his way toward the steps. “I want you to get belowdecks. It’s the safest place for you,” he told Abigail.

He moved quickly to where the Gatling lay and picked it up. Then he lifted and swung it toward Eric’s ship. Silencer tubes kept the shots quiet pops as he cranked the handle. Eric shot back. His gun, having special modifications, not only let him shoot while attached to his arm, but with a rapid succession like a repeater rifle.

From the heat of his constant firing, Jasper’s sound suppressors deteriorated within minutes. The noise became deafening and the temperature of the metal too much to handle. He cast it aside, mentally taking note to make adjustments to the weapon in the future. Eric also discarded his weapon and reattached his artificial hand. He shouted orders to his crew for cannon fire.

“Go now.” Jasper motioned for Abigail to get below.

The first cannonball hit the deck. He watched Abigail scuttle back from the splintering floorboards, and he rushed to push her down into the passageway.

She refused to go. “No, I can help.”

Eric continued lobbing explosives at them.

Jasper glanced at the gauge on the steam engine for the sails. “I think we have the wind,” he told her. And then a sharp, painful sting in his chest silenced him.

He staggered back, reeling from the impact of a small-caliber bullet. He saw the pistol in Eric’s hand, and his gloating smirk as if the shot was a show of his marksmanship.
Damn him.

“Captain!” Abigail’s cry immediately alarmed him.

Had she too become a victim of Eric’s gunfire? One look at her crawling forward told him she had only observed his calamity.

“Stay down,” he demanded. Dying from a gunshot wound wasn’t possible for him, but Abigail didn’t know that. He wished he could tell her.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be all right. Just turn the handle on the wing hinge,” he instructed, unable to move to get it himself until his wound healed more.

“But Captain, you’ve been shot.” She came to him instead of the device.

“You have to get the sails unlocked. Go crank the small handle.” He nodded toward the one he meant. “Then push the plunger to divert the pressure of the steam into the engine.”

“What if…I can’t handle this ship myself. Not on the water and especially not in the air.”

He shook her hand off his arm. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Abigail. Now go before Eric destroys too much of the ship and we sink.”

After an initial look of surprise, she scampered away. With a hand to his chest, he took a deep breath. The healing of a major wound was a much slower process than a scratch and he didn’t have time to lounge about waiting. Over the minute it took Abigail to finish what he asked, he regained most of his strength. Then he picked himself up from the deck. He stumbled toward the mast, flipped the lever and cranked the mainsail. The ship moved forward and lifted off the sea. They were airborne—they were safe. Yet a sharp cramp in his mending ribs bent him over in pain.

“Let me help you.” Abigail stood at his side, her arm wrapping around his waist as if her petite frame had enough strength to hold him up.

“I’m all right.” He moved toward the starboard side and looked down at Eric waving a fist at him.

Another volley of cannonballs exploded. Though they never touched his vessel, the percussion disturbed the flow of air. The shift in the currents beneath them rocked the ship violently.

“They didn’t reach!” Abigail’s squeal of triumph made him forget there was the danger of them nose-diving back into the sea. “What a bastard he is for trying to kill us like that.”

Still wobbly from the pain of the wound battering his ribs, Jasper collapsed to the deck.

“Captain.” Abigail knelt down to him. “Are you badly hurt? Let me see.” She tugged his shirt open.

“I’m fine.”

She slid a warm hand over his chest, stirring the hairs around his nipples.

“You were shot. I saw it hit you.” Her face crinkled in puzzlement. “But all I see is a small red mark here.”

Her innocence drove him crazy with desire. He grasped her hand, pulling her fingers from the gentle caress. Her concern for him weakened his resolve. He turned her palm up and kissed the center.

“This is going to be hard for you to understand, but I’m—” He mentally fished around for the right words to tell her about the healing powers of his body—how a bullet couldn’t kill him.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” She leaned down and hugged him. “I don’t know what I would have done if you were killed.”

About to confess his secret, Jasper went pensive. Abigail’s statement highlighted the hole in his plans. His immortality came with some bad aspects. Someday she would die while he lived forever. Compared to the four hundred years he had survived, the longevity of their relationship would be nothing. The prospect of watching her die pulled him from everything wonderful he had been letting himself think of doing with her.

Then her other hand made the same sweeping inspection of his torso. He cupped her face and felt himself losing his mind to a forbidden love. Everything he had ever dreamed of having lay under her brass corset. From infant, to child, to woman, Abigail had grown into a valuable treasure the pirate in him coveted and the man appreciated. He wanted her, body and soul—to love and to cherish. How did he deny the fulfillment to his deepest wishes for the sake of her happiness and his sanity?

“Abigail, I—” He tried to reject her affection. But her inspection turned into an arousing taunt to his stamina. Her featherlight exam of his abdomen moved low along the waistband of his breeches. His hand floated up as if it had a mind of its own. He ran his fingers over the brass corset, following the curve around her breast, remembering when he spent a month hammering the metal into the perfect shape of a woman. No model other than the vision of her in his head was his guide. How did he know it would fit her shape like another layer of skin?

“I should check the sails, and the fuel, and the coordinates and—”

“I’m so glad you’re not injured…Jasper.” She purred his name, hugging him again, threatening to shatter his willpower.

He got up from the deck and helped Abigail to her feet. Then he let go immediately to avoid changing his mind about telling her of his almost unending existence. He had to stay strong and protect himself from falling in love.

Abigail had watched the captain come within an inch of kissing her. Lust had glowed from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. His arms around her had tightened so briefly, she wondered if she had imagined it before he hurried off to the sputtering sounds of his steam engine.

She looked over the ship’s side at the remnants of wispy gray smoke from the cannon blasts. The stench of gunpowder permeated the air and clung to the smashed wood on Captain Blackthorn’s ship.

“The mainsail is torn,” the captain called, lowering it. “I’ll keep us in the air as long as possible. We’re not far enough away from Eric. He can still catch up to us on the open sea. But we’ll have to land. If you would go below, Miss Thatch, and see if we have any hull damage, that would be most helpful. Especially check the windows in our cabin for cracks. The water pressure can make them burst in if they’ve been weakened.”

Miss Thatch?
She moved to the passageway opening and looked back at the captain throwing debris over the side. Had she done something wrong? The formality of his tone almost overpowered the rush of goose bumps up and down her arms. She tried to stay focused on the way he said
our cabin
.

After her ill-fated affair with Randolph she had reason to scoff at people who claimed love at first sight. Now she wondered if it was possible to meet someone and feel as if he were made just for her.

Abigail checked the cabins on the first level down. She found nothing wrong with the walls. In the lower cabin, she examined each pane of glass in the hull.

“All well here.” She sighed. Then remembering the cat, she started looking around. She checked under the desk and behind. “Here, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty. Where are you?”

A sound drew her to the upper bunk. She stepped up on the lower mattress to get higher and found the feline curled up in a ball on the pillow.

“You don’t look very disturbed by all this.” She ran her hand over the cat’s silky white fur. “Does the captain get into these predicaments very often? I imagine he does. He seems to lead that sort of life.”

“Are we water sturdy?” the captain yelled down to her.

Abigail hurried up the stairs, getting closer before calling back to him, “I think so.”

Her stomach grumbled and she peered into the galley with all the pots and cooking utensils.

“Food.” She sighed, and hunted the cupboards only to find a stale loaf of bread.

She broke off a piece and took a bite. A strong sour smell assailed her nose and she tried holding her breath as she chewed.

“Good, you’ve thought of getting something to eat.” The captain entered the small kitchenlike area. “I should have fed you before now. Cat nibbles and whiskey is hardly a proper feast. Although I can’t say I know exactly what makes for a decent meal these days.”

She watched him open a barrel while she gnawed on the dry bread.

Her family had led simple lives. They’d never lacked for food so she never thought about fancy meals. Randolph had higher standards. He liked expensive wine, restaurants that required reservations and exotic foods. She didn’t give it much thought, but in hindsight she saw how more and more they weren’t suited for one another.

“An apple?” the captain asked, his words garbled but understandable as he bent down inside the barrel.

“Yes, please,” she answered, happy to have anything.

He looked back at her with a frown. “I’m sorry, I thought there were some in here. What about some strawberries or grapes, or maybe a peach?” He lifted the lid off a crate next to her.

Abigail glanced inside the empty container.

“Hmm.” The captain rubbed his jaw. “I see I should have considered stocking up again.”

She thought it odd he searched for foods he mentioned but came up with nothing. It didn’t seem logical that he didn’t know what he had when it was just him alone on the ship.

“This is enough.” She held up the hard loaf. “I can make do with just about anything.”

“I don’t want you to have to make do. As soon as we get to the first port, I shall buy you a scrumptious meal, a supper you can feast upon to your heart’s content.”

“And should we happen to arrive in the morning?” She smiled.

“Then it will be the biggest breakfast you can down. Shall we take your, um…meal to my cabin?”

She liked it better when he called it
our cabin
. “I should get washed up first.” She glanced at the soot on the backs of her hands.

“By all means, feel free to use the shower closet, or better yet, how about a bath?” He plucked a tin plate from the rack on the wall and held it out.

She sat her bread on the plate. “That would be wonderful.”

He took her hand and led her across to the storage room. She watched him crank the handle that opened a valve over the tub. Water flowed from one pipe at the top. “Aren’t the other pipes working?”

“Those are for air.” He took her to the opposite side of the tub. “Once you’re in, pull this brass handle back. It will release the air. You push the handle to stop it. All right?”

She nodded, not understanding why she needed to know anything other than how to shut off the water.

The captain left her alone in the cabin. While the idea of intimacy with him appealed to her more with each passing minute, she didn’t want him walking in on her bathing. At least she didn’t think she did. Some of her mother’s sense of decency lived on in her. While not always a good thing, it was still a comfort.

She removed her boots and unfastened the brass corset. Careful not to drop it, she laid it on top of a crate. She checked the door for a lock and found none. “Of course, he’d have no use to barricade himself in a cabin on his own ship,” she grumbled, and then her belly did as well.

When the tub had filled three-quarters of the way, she turned off the spigots and went to fetch her plate with the bread. She stepped into the passageway and stopped when she heard a distinctive grunt from a cabin to her left. She crept up on the unlatched door and peered through the gap.

The captain stood in the corner with his shirt off and his back to her. In each hand, raised higher than his shoulders, he held fat wooden dowels tied to the ends of ropes. He pulled them down, held them steady for a second and then raised his arms. She watched the ropes glide over pulleys fastened to the ceiling. Heavy bell-shaped steel blocks were attached to the other end of each line.

She listened to him grunt as he tugged down on the ropes again. Every muscle in his back bulged and tensed as he lifted the weights. A fine layer of perspiration emerged on his shoulders. She imagined running her tongue along the contours, learning the texture, tasting the flavor. After a dozen repetitions, he let go of the handles and the weights banged hard on the floor.

Then the captain stretched out one arm and rubbed his shoulder. He twisted and did the same limbering move with his other arm. She wet her lips and remembered the delicious sight of him entirely naked. He had stunned her then with his casualness. Now she wished she had taken the opportunity to do more than stare.

“This is my chance,” she murmured under her breath.

Then the door creaked open. Instead of barging in, Abigail stepped back out of the way so as not to be caught spying. She yanked her skirt up and glanced down at the tickle of softness brushing her ankle.
Merlin.
With her forwardness to approach the captain squelched by the surprise of the cat, she hurried back to the storage room and gently closed the door.

“Oh, my bread,” she groaned as her belly made another annoying gurgle.

As much as she wanted to get the food, she didn’t want the captain to see her. He had to have heard the door and she didn’t want him knowing she had watched him. If he said anything later, she’d remind him he did have a cat that wandered freely.

Abigail finished undressing and then climbed over the side of the tub, postponing her meal of stale bread. She slinked down into the water and tipped her head back to enjoy the liquid warmth. A wire rack she hadn’t noticed before hung on the back of the tub. In it were soaps, sponges and rags. She chose the sponge and lathered it with soap, and then she rubbed at the black smudges on her arms. Without a mirror, she scrubbed her face extra hard and twice as long as usual, hoping not to miss any spots. She wiped tenderly over the red welt on her stomach where the bullet had struck her brass corset. Once she felt every part of her was clean, she sat back to enjoy the soak until the water cooled.

A sudden movement sat her up straight.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she said, seeing the cat. “You almost got me caught. What would he have thought of me then, peering through the crack in the door? He infuriates me, yet I can’t help feeling so drawn to him.”

The cat sat on a chair and began licking his sleek white coat.

“So, you’ve come to bathe too? Would you like to get in here with me?”

The cat stared at her for a second and then resumed cleaning himself.

“All right, I get it. You already know how to clean yourself. You really don’t know what you’re missing, though.” She glanced at the handle the captain had told her to pull. She reached over and grabbed it.

“Oh my!” she gasped.

Water jettisoned around the tub, whirling fast, vibrating against her belly and legs. With the initial surprise over, she settled back again and soaked up the glorious sensations from the contraption. She played with moving her limbs around, letting the water pulsate in different areas. It was wonderful to have the water massaging some of her aching muscles. She hadn’t experienced a day as strenuous in all her life.

As she repositioned, the pounding water hit between her legs. She sucked in a deep breath and lifted her limbs higher, propping her feet on the rim of the tub. It took precision to align the crux of her body with one shooting stream of water. When it hit dead center of her fanned legs, she froze.

“Oh God,” she moaned, feeling the torrent flutter into her.

Ever since her breakup with Randolph, she had relied on masturbation, both with her fingers and with inanimate objects. Her favorite was the smooth handle of her hairbrush. Nothing compared to this shooting water in the captain’s tub.

The warm water reached deeper. She imagined the captain on her and tried thrusting, but each shift of her bottom moved her out of the direct stream. Her breath came heavier and her shudders quicker as she visualized his smooth, tanned back tensing as he made his moves. Not wanting to lose the momentum, she slid closer to one outlet. The pressure intensified, as did the imaginary moans of the captain as she let her mind recreate them from memory. Her uncontrollable, strident whimpers faintly began worrying her. What if the captain came to investigate? How embarrassing that would be. She focused on the cat, but Merlin made her uneasy as he stood and stared. To dull her grunts echoing around the cabin, she grabbed the sponge and stuffed it in her mouth, working with some efficiency at muffling her stuttering shrill cry.

Her climax peaked and her vagina twitched violently. She grabbed the sponge and pressed it tighter to her teeth. In frustration, she ripped it away. A piece tore off and she spit it to the floor.

“Oh-my-Lord.” She huffed and puffed, dragging her bottom back, relieving her quivering insides of any more of the glorious torture.

While her body struggled to overcome the shuddering effects of her orgasm, she took slow, soothingly deep breaths. She leaned back and dropped the rest of the sponge. The experience was gratifying and yet, disappointing. If she had taken her time, she might have built up a whole fantasy involving the captain. As it was, the stimulation had brought her quickly to the acute conclusion that she wanted sex with the man.

It took a while for Abigail to recover from her bath. She vowed to make it a point to use the tub at least once more before they reached their destination. After drying, she dressed in a new outfit, less daring but more ostentatious. Fitting in with the captain’s surroundings might relax him enough to give her just what she sought in the way of physical pleasure.

“Try to ignore the chemistry between us now, Captain Blackthorn,” she said to herself and twirled around in front of the mirror, inspecting how shapely the brass corset made her look. She glanced down at the cat brushing back and forth against her legs.

Satisfied that she’d have the captain’s complete attention, she picked up the cat. She made her way down to the captain’s cabin. He stood in front of one of the windows watching a large, very dangerous-looking fish.

“That’s a shark, isn’t it?” She readjusted her hold on the cat as he licked her jaw and then her chest.

The Captain turned toward her. His charming smile with the boyish overtones attracted her.

“Merlin!” His angry tone followed the banished grin. He marched forward and pulled the cat from her arms. “This naughty cat has no manners.”

The captain’s apparent embarrassment surprised her.

“He was just being a cat,” she said.

“A cad is more like it.” He tossed the animal to the floor.

Merlin trotted off behind the desk.

“From the glow on your face, I’d say you enjoyed the tub.” The captain moved to his writing table where he had set her plate with the bread and pulled out the chair.

“I did.” She walked over.

His hands on her shoulders stopped her from sitting. She tipped her head to the side to allow the brush of his fingers against the pulse in her neck. His strokes crossed her shoulder, easing her sleeve aside.

Still tingling from the excitement she experienced in the bath, she remained patient.

“I want to take this off you.” He traced the top edge of the brass, tickling her back.

She dared not believe he wanted to seduce her. “I told you I’m not hurt. Not seriously.”

He touched the corset, his caress gliding across the dent. She imagined the feel of his fingers sliding over her without the hindrance of clothing. His gentleness, unrushed and explorative, had the potential to fill a void in her life. She glanced at the bed and thought of them together on the mattress, intimately embraced, making love.

“I want to touch you as you’ve never had a man touch you before,” he said, answering her silent desires.