Earlier, I’d felt the thick length of it through his breeches. But to behold it in the flesh, to feel the weight of it in my hand… My fingernails bit into my palms as bolts of liquid heat pulsed through my blood and leaked between my legs.

His breathing came faster. Mine came harsher. Moisture broke out on my forehead. More trickled down my thigh.

Impressive in size and manner, he loomed on the balcony, absorbing shadows and taking up space. The muscles in his back bunched and played with the dim light, his body smooth and hard, glinting silver like the sea in the moonlight.

Watching him, I felt too little, too delicate to accommodate all that strength and terrifying authority. But I would. I would fit him inside me and wrap myself around that broad chest, those muscular legs, that hard, hungry cock.

And if I stood here another second, I might do something embarrassing like force myself upon him.

Fisting my hands, I slowly retreated and crept back to bed. There, I lay on my side, facing the wall, and listened to him grunt, stroke, and moan his way to release.

The sound of him coming set off a mini-orgasm through my core. I shuddered and shook with my hand over my mouth, trying with all my might to calm myself.

By the time he returned, my eyes were closed, and my breathing had resumed an even tempo. But with my body still on fire, I didn’t think sleep would find me again.

Until his hand sank into my hair.

He caressed my locks in a soporific rhythm, flowing with the undercurrent that rocked the creaking ship. It was my undoing.

I fell with him, deeply, tranquilly into perfect slumber.

Over the next two nights, he repeated his erotic performance on the balcony, unaware that he had an audience. I watched from the shadows as he grunted and trembled and squirted his seed into the wind. Then I fell asleep to the soothing cadence of those cock-stroking fingers in my hair.

Sinful. Resplendent. Undeniably wrong. I could spend an eternity with him like that.

But alas, the sun rose each morning, bringing with it his severe, tedious countenance. He spent the daylight hours elsewhere, leaving me alone with my needlework and pent-up frustration. In the evenings, he avoided conversation, and I thereby escaped more spankings.

On the fourth day as his captive, I finished the gown.

At last, I could leave his cabin.

25

I woke before dawn, dressed quietly in the dining cabin, and waited for Ashley to emerge. As I tightened the laces I could reach and re-straightened pleats, my spine felt taller, my chin angling higher.