He lifted his head and allowed mine to lower. His gaze fell upon my mouth, traced the line of my jaw to my hair, and landed on my eyes. Momentarily unguarded, he showed me everything in those volatile depths—the conflict raging in him, the sweet agitation of potential, the masculine need demanding to be satisfied. It left me thunderstruck.

Curling his fingers beneath the top edge of my bodice, he fished out the laces of my stays and cinched them until they were straight and tied.

With his rigid jawline so close, I couldn’t detect a single whisker. His ebony hair combed back in modest waves, his face aglow from washing. Dear lord, he had gorgeous skin, the color of moonlight glinting off pristine sand.

At age thirty-four, he’d been blessed with the beauty of man in his early twenties and the confident carriage of a king at the acme of his reign. I yearned to strip him of his shields, his armor, and his clothes and to do to him what he did to me. I wanted to make him ache.

“Turn around.” His voice, winded and rough, affirmed that I wasn’t the only one affected.

I gave him my back.

He gathered my hair with unhesitant hands, as though he knew how to handle a thick, heavy mane such as mine. Draping the mass over my shoulder, he tackled the laces on my bodice.

Sharp, distinct tugs wrung air from my lungs. Yank. Exhale. Yank. Wheeze. Like a slow burst of gunfire, he mercilessly set the pace of my gasps.

When he finished, my relief was short-lived. He didn’t step away, didn’t move his hands from the gown. Instead, he went exploring.

Fingers drifted around my hips, finding and caressing my curves through the folds of fabric. His touch echoed everywhere at once, a harmony of sensation rippling beneath my skin and thrumming through my veins.

I wiggled against him, awash in desire. It simmered in me like molten sweet cream, but it didn’t suffice. Was he dangling pleasure within reach only to rip it away and frustrate my expectation in the end?

Tantalizing bastard. If he were one of my crewmates, I would punish him for being such a tease.

“We should eat now,” I said.

“No.” He spoke against my neck, his mouth hot upon my skin, burning me up. “I’m not finished.”

Standing behind me, he slid a hand across my chest. The other meandered over my abdomen and sank into the voluminous skirts between my legs. With a firm grip on my nether regions, he pulled my backside tight against his groin.

I hissed as bruised muscles shuddered and clenched in pain.

“You still feel my punishment.” He trailed his nose along my shoulder. “Shall I retrieve the salve?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”