Katherine van der Poole woke up just before dawn. The sky was still dark, with the faintest tinges of gold along the horizon. Her wrists were chafed and bleeding from the ropes binding her. Her mouth was dry, her lips swollen and cracked. Her cunt was sore and damp and aching. Her entire body felt bruised.
The heat had woken her. Not from the sun or the fire, but from the heavy weight of the bear-sized man spread across her lower half, his head resting just below the bruised, bitten curves of her breasts. He had one rough hand wrapped around her thigh; the other curved beneath her back. In sleep, Killian Canavan was a less fearsome creature: the sharp lines of his face were softened and those murderous green eyes of his were hidden.
Katherine tried to wriggle out from underneath him, but she was tied too tightly to do more than twitch her shoulders. Killian's hands suddenly turned to steel and his eyes flew open. For one brief, strange second, something like embarrassment flew across his face. Before Katherine could register this, he had his usual pirate grin on, devilish and smirking and dark. "Morning, princess."
"Please, may I have some water?" Katherine croaked.
Killian rolled his eyes. "Always so demanding." He grinned a little. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were rough with stubble, making him look more boyishly handsome than fiercely so. Katherine refused to smile back.
"Ask nicely, little one."
"Please, may I have some water?" Katherine repeated, stony-faced. Her voice cracked on the last word.
"That's not what I meant," Killian chided. He untied her wrists, leaving her secured to the bed by her ankles. "Come, ask nicely."
Katherine considered refusing, turning her nose up haughtily and bearing her thirst in silence. But what would she gain from that? Pride, perhaps, but how much did she really have left after last night? If she played along with his games, maybe she'd be able to convince him to let her go. Maybe he'd let his guard down and let her escape. Blushing with the memories of the night before heavy on her soul, Katherine fixed her features into an innocent, smiling mask. She looked up at her captor through her veil of feather-duster eyelashes, letting her silver irises sparkle in a way that had captured hearts less enamored than Killian's. Carefully, she pulled herself onto her knees and crawled the few inches to where he sat. She pulled herself into his lap, locking her delicate hands behind his neck, her fingers twisted into his hair.
Killian groaned, a soft rumble deep in his chest, as she began to drop little feather-soft kisses under his jaw and down the strong line of his throat. Her warm, silky tongue darted out to taste his skin at the base of his neck, his collarbones, the top of his chest. She looked up at him with shiny, shiny silver eyes. "Please, sir," she murmured sweetly, "may I have a drink of water?"
"Better," Killian grunted, pushing her off his lap and filling a mug at the sink. Katherine put her hands out expectantly. "Hands down, little one."
He took a long drink, swallowing loudly, laughing at the pout that sprang to his captive's pretty lips. He wanted those lips on his so badly. He wanted her kiss, a real kiss—not just her submission, and not her manipulation. It irked him, somewhere deep in his ribcage, that she managed to be so defiant in her passivism.
"Come here, princess."
Katherine struggled against her bonds to come as close as possible. He stroked her milky cheek with his thumb, leaving a smudge on her fair skin. She was so lovely. In the almost-light of the early dawn, she seemed to capture every fragment of light in the room. Her skin glowed as if instead of cells, she was made of microscopic diamonds and bits of starlight. Her hair was rumpled and her lips were still cherry-colored from kissing. Her naked body was covered with marks he had made, and this brought a dark, furious joy to him. There were indigo and lilac bruises spread like dark kisses on her neck, arms, and hips, hickeys on her chest and shoulders, a bitemark just above one of her pert pink nipples. His cock was already hard for her—he was always, always hard for her—but he had the patience of a saint. (Ironic, that. Sinners can outlast saints with their patience.)
Katherine was looking up at him still, all eyelashes and cheekbones. He filled his mouth with cool water and bent down to her, grasping her chin to tilt her face to his. He pressed his lips to hers and let the liquid run from his mouth to hers. She gasped, swallowing as quickly as she could, reveling in the crisp wetness. In her haste she caught his lower lip in hers, sucking it hard by mistake. Killian's cock lurched in his pants.
"More water?" he asked coolly.
"Please," Katherine begged.
"Persuade me," he offered. She leaned out and kissed the hard muscles of his stomach, tracing the lines of his taut, bulging hip muscles with one soft hand. Her lips were damp and cool from the drink; her hands were like butterflies, so gentle, so soft. She looked up at him as if to ask, Are you persuaded? He shook his head.
"Please," Katherine said again.
"Persuade me," Killian repeated, grinning.
