The Slave, the Snake, and the Sinner Pt. 02

On that first morning after she was freed from the hold, he made a point of leering at her naked belly for a long time, until Cass became curious and looked down at herself. Only then did she notice the whitish splotches of dried semen painting her lower abdomen. Ghan gleefully sloshed a dirty washcloth over her stomach and down between her legs while Cassia tried not to feel anything. Finding that impossible, she tried swaddling her hurt in anger, instead, which worked much better.

She glared at Sinner when Ghan returned her to his quarters, but he never even glanced up from his laptop. The first mate chained her to the bunk again, taking the opportunity to do a quick cavity search. Neither cavity was moist enough to withstand the probing, and Cassia emitted an involuntary screech. That was good enough for Ghanbar, who withdrew, still wearing that same sadistic grin. From the speed of his departure, Cassia thought maybe he was apprehensive about the captain's reaction, but no protest was forthcoming. Of fucking course.

Assholes.

Cassia rolled to her side, determined to sleep.

—o—

Later in the afternoon, Sinner came to get her, but again he handed her over to Ghan for a trip to the head. Ghan must have been given some visual command when she was returned to the cabin, because he pushed her down on the couch in the outer office and shackled her ankle to the base. She refused to make eye contact with the captain after Ghan departed, staring at her thumbs in stubborn silence and ignoring her ongoing nudity, which she didn't think she'd ever become accustomed to, not in this situation.

Sinter sighed quietly, careful not to let his prisoner know that her petulant mood affected him. Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers together and rested them on his ribcage, studying her in the light.

What was it about Cassia Pendergast which made his eyes ache to look at her whenever they shared space? Sinter usually preferred leggier women, closer to his own height, but he found Cassia's compact form feminine and alluring. Though currently mottled with aging bruises, her breasts were a perfect handful—for a smaller man than he, Sinter smirked, eyeing the luscious little mounds. They were topped with pale, coral-colored nipples, larger than he'd expect for her size. Sinter shivered when he remembered licking them last night, jerking his eyes away from that particular temptation. Her arms were athletic, he noted, her shoulders slim but topped with curvacious pads of deltoid muscle that raised questions in his mind. Did she go to the gym, or were those arms the byproduct of some sport like rock-climbing or archery? His eyes drifted lower. Maybe her abdomen had the same kind of muscle—he hadn't noticed last night—but she wasn't thin enough for him to tell. That told him something too, though he wasn't sure what . . . either she lacked vanity or she liked to eat. He didn't remember her being especially curvy or well-padded when she got here, though surely she'd lost some weight in the hold? Hmm . . . he'd have to go back over the tapes and see . . . and that was the thought which snapped him out of his ridiculous, romantic perusal . . . going back over the tapes . . . which showed her in the cell where he had kept her confined.

Cassia Pendergast was his prisoner, Sinter reminded himself forcefully, an involuntary captive, which rendered any apparent consent moot. What he'd done the night before was as bad as what Snake had done to her down in the hold, maybe worse, because Sinter had used Cassia's natural sensuality against her. He hadn't bothered to ask for consent before chaining her to the bunk, before licking her nipples, or before going down on her; he'd only requested her consent when he was sure to get it, after softening her wit and willpower with the easy salve of sexual bliss.

Sinter glowered at the girl across the room, seeing only his own failure. How the hell was he going to fix this mess?

With no simple solution, Sinter wiped the angry expression from his face, rose, and joined his captive on the couch.

—o—

Cassia wouldn't look at him.

Deeply entrenched in dreams of retribution, Cass hadn't noticed the captain crossing the room to her, but she managed to stay the jolt of surprise when he plunked down on the couch beside her. Her eyes stayed on her own thumbs, pressed together atop the fists in her lap. She wondered if harem slaves were entitled to manicures.

She was determined not to respond to anything he did or said. If he thought he'd get another chance to fuck with her feelings, he was crazy. She wouldn't say a goddamn word to him.

She heard the deep breath he took before he spoke. "Cassia—"

She leapt to her feet and spun to face him, seething. "Don't you fucking dare!" she shouted at him. "You aren't allowed to use my name, you arrogant prick!"

The wide-eyed shock which greeted her wrath melted almost instantly into a fury all his own. Cassia fought the urge to cringe when he rose to tower over her. Her fists stayed at her sides, shaking now with trepidation, while her body remembered the whipping Ghan had given her. Sinner glared down at her, his jaw twitching the way it had in the moments before he banished her to the hold, sentencing her to Snake's intrusive care. Cassia trembled.

You moron! she chastised herself. You should be simpering and propping up his ego, not shrieking insults at the man! Her lips parted as her breathing became shallow, and the tremble turned to a constant quiver in the pit of her belly.

From frightened round eyes, Sinter's gaze fell to her open mouth, and the overpowering rage he'd felt faded as quickly as it had risen. In the wake of anger, another kind of passion rose. It didn't even occur to him to fight what he was feeling, and consent was a distant, hollow memory. Burying one hand in her hair and yanking her full-length against his hardening body with the other, Sinter bent his head. When their lips were a scant millimeter apart, he came to his senses. He pulled her hair instead, forcing her neck to curve and baring the soft skin below her ear to his ministrations. His groan became a breath that sounded suspiciously like "Cassia."

She murmured an incoherent sound and lifted her arms to embrace him, forgetting he wasn't allowed to say her name.

Sinter kissed her neck until every hint of Cassia's rebellion had been stripped from her body and his mind. When she was limp and pliant, he spun her to face the ugly mustard-yellow sofa. A hand on her belly and one on her shoulders convinced her to bend. Her palms landed on the gritty white wall, and Sinter's fingers slid slowly downward.

Cassia whimpered her defeat. He hadn't even touched her yet, but her clit was throbbing painfully, her pussy clamoring for his penetration. Her head fell forward, but not in shame: she wanted to watch his hands as he fondled her body.

His left arm was wrapped around her torso, holding her spine against his navel, while his left palm curved around her right breast. Caressing it gently, he cupped and lifted, alternately testing the weight of her silken flesh and releasing it, only to let his callused palm scrape tantalizing circles over the diamond-hard nipple. More gentle cupping, his hand hardly touching her this time, but leaving a whisper of electric sensation behind. He circled and stroked until he reached the peak. There he stopped to cup and tug, cup and tug, pulling and tweaking her heaving breast. Cassia ached with it. She'd never felt anything remotely like what he was doing to her now. And his right hand . . . .

"S-s-sinner," she moaned helplessly as his teasing fingers finally settled in to stroke the cleft between her lower lips. She was wet already, ready for him after only a few short moments of his attention, and the firm touch of his work-hardened fingers told her his intent. She surrendered herself, mind and body, to her captain's ministrations.

Sinter felt the change, sensed her concession, and murmured her name into the hair at the nape of her neck. The name she'd denied him. He growled under his breath, feeling his chest vibrate against Cassia's ribcage. His urgency returned. In seconds, he'd rid himself of the cloth between them, and he was standing tall, watching his dark, swollen cock disappear, inch by aching, delicious inch, into the wet heaven between her thighs.

With her palms still propping her upper body against the wall, Cassia moaned and wiggled, pushing her ass back at him. He didn't have to ease up for her sake this time, but he did, withdrawing until only the head of his cock remained in her vagina, just so he could admire the shine of her juices coating his shaft.

Sinter held his breath and arched, yanking Cassia's hips back and sheathing himself completely in her warmth. He moaned, and for a moment, their voices melded in a harmony as beautiful as the sight before him. His hands on her hips, Sinter held them both motionless for a few long heartbeats, feeling the thundering of blood in his veins echoed in the throbbing of her cunt as it once more adjusted to his size.

Slowly, he pulled out, watching the way the wet pink skin of her pussy clung to his cock, then he plunged again. After only a few strokes, his balls were tight and tingling. Choking back a groan, Sinter closed his eyes and leaned forward, embracing Cassia and tending to her needs before his own took control. Three fingers feathered sideways, pushing her wet folds to and fro, circling, stroking, dancing from the base of his cock all the way to the tiny, hard bud at the top of her slit. His other hand plucked at her nipples, alternating sides, his grip becoming firmer as Cassia's desire became more insistent.

She was up on her tiptoes, as far away from the wall as her arms would reach, straining to impale herself on his cock, but he held her tightly against him, refusing to heed her wordless instructions. When her moans became pleas, he acceded and began fucking her again, never letting his fingers lay idle. Cassia screamed as she came, and would have fallen if he hadn't been there. Her clit pulsed wildly beneath his fingers, but Sinter didn't stop. He couldn't. He pounded into her with all the force of his desire, each blow of his hips forcing another gasp or moan from the woman below him. In only moments, his body was beyond the point of no return. Sinter was a whisper of willpower away from disaster when he tore himself from the ecstasy of her embrace. His hand was still slick with Cassia's juices when he wrapped it around his cock, and a single stroke later, his shaft swelled and jerked, spraying pearly strings of cum over Cassia's lovely bottom. Moaning through three violent pulsations, one, two, the third receding, and then the last . . . few . . . weak—

Cassia wrenched her body sideways, and Sinter's final spurt of semen dribbled onto the floor as she straightened, free of his embrace and screeching. "You fucking ASSHOLE!"

And they were off again.

Sinter didn't know why she was so upset, and after his initial shock, he didn't really care. He thought pulling out was doing them both a favor; it was what he'd done the night before. He put his cock away and left, driven from his own goddamn quarters by a woman who should be grateful to him, not just for risking his job to rescue her, but for making sure she got hers first, last, and in the middle, all while fucking her six ways to Sunday.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

—o—

Other than the fact it gave Ghan and the guards yet another opportunity to humiliate her, at first Cassia herself wasn't altogether certain what enraged her so much about Sinner coming on her body instead of in it, and she used that thought to distract herself when Ghanbar came for her again.

Superficially, she understood the captain's rationale, but the implications of his act were much more complicated from her point of view. Besides, couldn't they simply have discussed the matter? "Are you on birth control?" What was so fucking hard about that?

The answer appeared as quickly as the question popped into Cassia's mind. No, Sinner wouldn't discuss it with her: her opinion didn't count. Being splattered with semen made her feel like a second-rate porn actress, but the truth was even worse: Cassia was property now. She was a receptacle for lust, not even good enough for his precious sperm. Well, fuck him.

Despite her staunch determination to think only angry thoughts, some of what she was feeling must have shown on Cassia's face, because Ghan's taunts were right on target that afternoon. He laughed as they dragged her through miles of cold, echoing hallways. "Whatsamata, kitten? Captain Sinter more man than you're used to? No hugs and kisses after fucking your hot little snatch? No little love poems?"

Shocked, Cassia lowered her head to hide behind the curtain of her uncombed hair, shoving aside both anger and sadness while she fought to find an appropriate, no, an effective response. If she showed too much interest, Ghan probably wouldn't give her an answer.

The other guard, a stout, pasty-skinned man who might or might not be Russian, took his turn abusing Cass, calling her horrible names while he soaped her up, worming his middle finger around while he "cleaned" inside her. When he pulled it out, Cassia had the feeling he was about to add another finger, but Ghan grunted at him, and that portion of her torment ended. Surprised, she flicked an eye at the first mate as she was shoved under the drizzling shower. He was leering just like always, though, nothing new in that expression.

"Turn her around, Nevo."

"Bend over, cuva." God only knew what he saw, but again his jabs were disgustingly accurate. "Ooo. Cap didn't fuck your ass yet, princesza? I bet you'll like that . . . Sinter's dick stretching that tight little asshole, dumping a nice hot load way up in there..."

Nope, there was nothing new about Ghanbar.

Cassia had been so diligent in walling off her emotions that she struggled with letting her distress appear. She hoped his inherent sadism would prevent him from paying close attention to her questions. "Sinter? Not Sinner?" she squeaked out.

It worked. Ghan's eyes caressed her pained expression. "Da. Sinter," he murmured, his voice flat but his eyes gleaming with abhorrent satisfaction.

Cassia covered her little victory with a wince and a whimper as the crewman prodded her anus, earning another laugh from her captors.

Happily, learning the captain's real surname provided the distraction she needed to coast through what would otherwise have been another humiliating trek back to his cabin. She barely noticed the men peering through doorways and portholes, and their aggressive stares never penetrated her reverie.

Her other discovery was less entertaining, but Cass tried hard to write it off as insignificant. She hadn't even really noticed until Ghan's taunts brought it to her attention: how important could it be? But the undeniable fact lingered in the back of her mind, an insidious whisper pointing out her place in the universe. Sinter hadn't kissed her.

—o—

Sinter knew better than to get involved with a captive. How the hell had he let this happen? He knew better!

Marcus berated himself at length, questioning everything he'd done since the beginning of the voyage, which wasn't at all like him. He knew he'd done the right thing by throwing her in the hold: he couldn't do the job with her underfoot, watching and listening to everything he did. Plus there was his first mate, who was an evil bastard, but not stupid. Sinter rarely kept a slave in his quarters: it was the first step on the slippery slope to a soft-hearted attitude which was ill-suited for the captain of a slaving ship. If he let his emotions get control, he'd never finish what he started, so Sinter kept his distance from the human victims of his trade.

Stopping Ghan's whip-hand had been easy enough—you don't mark up the merchandise—but keeping the young woman wrapped in silk and cotton batting was impossible. Snake was the best he could do. The plug was inhumane, but that too was the best he could do. That and having Snake hosed down a couple of times, again using the almighty dollar as justification. He hoped the creature wasn't harboring an STD, but figured Snake's condition made previous partners unlikely. His fumbling, fascinated exploration of Cassia's body seemed to bear that out. Again, it was the best he could do.

Despite this rationale and his impromptu provisions, Marcus slept even less than usual while Cassia was onboard. He could blame his behavior on sleep deprivation and any doctor would sign off on it, but Marcus wasn't letting himself off the hook that easily. He knew better than to get involved with a captive. That became Mantra Number Two in the list he repeated almost hourly for the remainder of his voyage, Number One being "What the hell am I doing?"

But nothing stopped him from coveting Cassia Pendergast, and the final seventy-six hours of the trip became an endless repeating loop of the previous seventeen.

They fucked, they fought, they fucked, they ate, they slept, and then they fucked some more. Sinter fucked Cassandra Pendergast because he was supposed to, he fucked her because he could, and he fucked her because she prodded him into fury every fifteen fucking minutes of every goddamned day. It was either fuck her until he couldn't see straight, or drop her over the railing in a life raft.

Sinter wasn't stupid; he could see the betrayal in her expression every time Ghan appeared. He recognized some of what she must be going through. Only duty and determination stopped him from begging her forgiveness and promising her the world. Which would be supremely stupid, since (Mantra Three) there was no chance any of this would ever work out the way he'd like.

On the other hand, there was no way she was completely free of responsibility, either, not now, not when it came to the sex. He knew damn well she stirred him up on purpose sometimes. After the first time he took her against the bulkhead in his office, she had Sinter's number. She knew damn well he wouldn't beat her, and barring that, his options for "punishing" Cassia were severely limited.

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