CHAPTER 7
Rooster presses his lips to mine, his beard tickling my chin. But he doesn’t slip his tongue between my teeth, leaving our mouths merging in a frantic dance of breath and heat as he connects us with the slow and sultry movement of his hips. It’s a very “Rooster” movement, a rotation that none of the others do, and it massages me in a circle, shifting slightly deeper when I use my ankle to tug myself closer.
He pauses, but the fingers on my n****e—Cue’s fingers—keep pinching, tugging flicking. “If ye don’t want to let me lead, lass, I’m going to have to tie ye up.”
The words ratchet my heart into my throat. “Promise?” But I don’t think we brought rope. We packed light, just enough to get us across the ocean, and I’m not sure anyone considered mid-sail b*****e when we were racin
