“Yes,” she growled.
He stood to his full height, his cock still embedded in her, awaiting its orders. “Then command me, my captain.”
Grinning wickedly, she wrapped her legs about his waist while resting her palms on the desk behind her, steadying herself for his attack. “Give it to me now, Click.”
Five, six, seven, eight, then the thrusts were too fast, too furious to count. Rose shuddered. Her body burned with heat, need, and lust. Click hammered home hard, lifting to his toes with every shove, slamming the desk against the cabin wall with every thrust. She humped her hips against him, commanding him to go faster, begging him to plumb deeper.
He answered her command by snaking a hand between them, below deck.
His strumming fingers pushed her over the top. She exploded in pleasure, writhing under his quick strokes while milking his cock with her seizing sex. Click was on her heels, his climax always triggered by her satisfaction. He shoved one final time, deep and hard, unloading his lust into her hold before he fell against Rose with a contented sigh. They gasped in unison, pulling ragged gulps of hot breaths while they shared the downward spiral of a nearly mutual climax.
Across the room, a speaking tube rattled with an excited voice. “Captain! Captain! Are you there?”
Rose shuddered when the ever-stiff Click withdrew. Pressing her mouth to his, she snaked her tongue over his in one quick burst before she turned her attention to the collection of tubes. She lifted the brass cap marked lookout. “What is it, Magpie? I’m a bit busy here!” The creak of bed slats filled the room while the native made himself at home. He leaned against the headboard, stroking his stiffening cock in her direction, awaiting her return. Rose bit her lip. Her pussy quivered at the gorgeous sight.
The lookout’s southern drawl echoed up the tube. “I’m sorry, sir, but you said to alert you the moment we were in sight of the island.”
Rose smirked at the sound of ‘sir.’ She could order the crew call her ma’am, or mistress, or even master if she wanted. Bill once said ‘sir’ was the privilege of a captain. He had a list as long as his arm of other things he’d claimed were captain’s privileges. Indiscretions aside, ‘sir’ was a privilege she intended to keep. “Then why are you calling?”
“We are in sight of the island, sir.”
“Assemble the girls. Take us in low. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
“Aye-aye, Captain!”
Click glowered at Rose with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
She laughed. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“I’m not done yet.” His cock twitched with his words.
Rose looked at the ceiling before she climbed onto the bed. “Click, my love, you’re never done.” She crawled to him, slid between his legs, and planted a loving kiss on his lips. “Besides,” she said, then paused to kiss his muscular chest, “if you help me lace up...” Her tongue traced a path down his tattooed stomach. “It won’t take me but a few minutes to get dressed.” Her lips fluttered over the patch of hair just above his pleasure. “So that leaves you...” Her final words were muffled by a mouthful of Click.
Click hissed while lifting his hips to meet her skillful lips. “All the time in the world, my captain. I only want all the time in the world with you.”
* * * *
Gabriella Upstairs stood on the ship’s deck in the early morning hour, staring at the dark patch that fluttered across the ocean below. The shadow of the Merry Widow skimmed along the white peaks of the waves, dipping, then rising with the ocean’s swell and ebb, all while the ship hovered several feet above the churning water. The vessel was a magnificent contraption, the flagship of a once thriving shipping company that now, for reasons Gabriella didn’t understand, sailed on its own with a nearly skeletal crew. It was also the first airship Gabriella had ever set foot on. At the time, joining an all female crew of an adventure seeking airship seemed like the best idea in the whole world.
Now she was left to wonder if she had made a mistake.
She heaved a worried sigh as she shifted her gaze across the deep, endless blue. Her skirts swirled in a flurry of fabric. The breeze picked up strands of her hair, causing wisps to fly askew in a dance that was sure to cause a tangled mess. In violent thrusts, the ocean reached high to pitch against the ship’s hull, spraying Gabriella’s face with a fine mist. Licking her damp lips, she considered the flavors she found there—the salty depth of the ocean mixed with her own bitter tears. She didn’t want to cry, but the ache in her heart betrayed her feral desires. Gabriella scolded herself for feeling homesick. She was a different person now, just barely eighteen, on the threshold of this, her new life. Once she sought freedom, and with the bridges she burned along the way, there was no going back.
Gabriella licked her lips again. She decided that freedom tasted exactly like remorse.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Gabriella jumped at the sound of the voice. She turned to see the shadowy form of Maggie Prunella, the ship’s quartermaster, lookout, and communications specialist, making her way across the groaning wooden deck. Maggie was many years older than Gabriella, her face bore the proof of a life hard lived. She also carried the coarse scent of her messenger birds, lending her a nickname that seemed to suit the big woman fine.
“Magpie, you startled me.” Gabriella heard the hitch in her own voice. God, she hoped the ocean’s spray hid her free flowing tears.
“Sorry,” Magpie said. “Didn’t mean to scare you, child.”
“It’s all right.”
“I see you still favor skirts.”
Gabriella looked down at her plain brown skirt. “I’m sorry, but after so many years of them, I can’t seem to get used to the idea of wearing anything else.” She fingered the patch sewn to the left breast of her brown blouse, tracing the tiny silver outline of the ship amongst the clouds.
“No apologies needed. The Cap wants you to know you have an option. You’re not confined to skirts anymore.” Magpie smacked the knee of her brown breeches to emphasize the point.
“I know.”
“I just wished we didn’t have to wear these corsets. I’m not the right shape for ’em.” Magpie held each side of her large bosom, jiggling the contents until she was satisfied with the fit. “I think Cap gets a kick out of the play on words. The crew of The Merry Widow, dressed in our merry widows? Eh?”
Gabriella gave a half-hearted nod. Magpie joined her at the railing. They gazed across the glittering sea. The perpetual drone of the spinning props filled the silence between them.
After a bit, Magpie drew close to ask, “How’s our newest recruit holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Gabriella whispered.
“Not out here weeping your woes into the ocean, are ya?”
“No.”
“Now, now, Guppy. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Gabriella smiled at the nickname.
“Homesickness gets the best of us,” Magpie continued. She sighed while looking out at the water again. “You know, the old sailors used to say that the ocean was our first home, our mother, and that she weeps for us eternally because we up and left her behind.”
“I’ve never heard it put like that,” Gabriella said.
“But I always think that maybe the ocean tastes so much like tears because she’s seized the sorrow of so many a sailor before us.” The pair fell quiet again for a few moments before Magpie asked, “Whatcha