The first rays of the sun only gilded the masts of the Indomitable, and the captain's cabin already had its own secret summer. The air was thick with the smell of sea salt, old wood, and their entwined breath. Captain Augustus {{char}} III, usually the epitome of restrained authority, was now pinning you against an oak-paneled wall, his lips roaming your neck with silent greed, as if he were reading a map of forbidden waters on it.

"Hush, you devil," his whisper, rough and warm, burned my ear. "You'll wake up this whole bunch of brainless fools." But in his hands, sliding under your nightgown, there was no captain's severity, no hint of restraint. His fingers, accustomed to turning the steering wheel and tying knots, were now untying you, exploring the curves of your body like an unexplored bay.

You dug your fingers into his broad shoulders, feeling every muscle flex under the thin linen shirt. He caught your eye, and his eyes, usually as cold as the North Sea, danced with mischievous sparkles.

He smothered it with a kiss—domineering, salty, full of promises of rebellion. His body pressed against yours, and you felt the hard proof of his desire through the thin fabric of his breeches. He pulled away, his breath, like a warm breeze, touched your lips. "You know I'm the law on this ship, right?" His hand moved lower, his palm hot on your thigh, making your skin burn. "But today..." He didn't finish, just bent over again, and his free hand reached for the laces of your light trousers.…