Читать книгу Clockworks and Corsets - Tonia Brown - Страница 6

Chapter 1

Ship of Fools

In which we meet our heroines, our crew, and appreciate the talents of our Click.

The rules change when you put the woman in charge.

This angry thought seized Rose Madigan while she stood before her cluttered desk, staring at the mess. Dock requests and cargo forms lay stacked about the surface in small mountains of mindless formalities, while the desk drawers threatened to burst with even more scraps of paper insults. There seemed to be so much paperwork for such a small venture. Too much bureaucracy for one, small ship. She was convinced that the big shipping companies were in bed with the port authorities, creating imaginary forms exclusively for her. At times there seemed enough red tape to keep Rose’s ship, The Merry Widow, earthbound for good. Every harbor she docked at called for a new inventory log, despite the fact that every port from sea to sky knew the ship’s hull was empty. Hell, had she cargo, Rose would be first in line for any form they could throw at her, just for the chance to boast.

It was never this hard when Bill was alive. There’d never been so many papers to fill out when she was the captain’s wife, but now she was the captain so the rules had changed. Damn him. Damn them all. Rose closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The burning memories of her late husband flared, threatening to light her fuse. She didn’t want to face the crew angry, lest they think they were at fault. The girls were edgy enough as it was.

No need to grease that cog.

A cool draft spilled into the room. Seconds later, the sound of bare feet against the wooden floorboards echoed through the small chamber. Rose relaxed, pretending to ignore the whisper of shifting fabric while her lover stripped behind her. Playful fingers slid across her smooth flesh, tracing the lines of her taut muscles until they came to rest on her bare breasts. Her nipples rose to the touch of his toying caress.

She sighed. “I don’t have time for this, Click.”

Click kissed the nape of her neck, then raked his rough tongue across her shoulders until his breath was hot on her ear. “There’s always time, my captain.”

Rose savored his words. Bill had never treated her with such selflessness. Never made her feel so desirable. So wanted. In return, she wanted, no, needed Click, she just didn’t have time for him.

“No, there isn’t.” She tapped her fingers against her leg, counting seconds that ticked by. Time was never on her side, but she’d spare the moments anyway, the pooling dampness of her core wouldn’t allow her otherwise.

He ignored her, instead pushing his hips forward to pin her against the desk. She groaned as he continued to knead her breasts, worrying her stiff nipples. His rigid member pressed hard against the small of her back, poking, prodding, begging Rose for admission to her vessel. His readiness didn’t come as a surprise. The island native was perpetually aroused.

“The crew is expecting me.”

“And you’ll join them,” he purred as he flicked his thumbs across her nipples, “but not ’til I’m done with you.”

“You can’t just slip in here to take me when you want.”

“I’m only fulfilling my function, my captain.”

She lowered her eyes while he ran a hand across her belly. The bronze tone of his skin and intricate tattoos were a bold contrast against her ivory shade. His fingers disappeared between her legs. Rose gasped when he found her fortune, wet with desire. She tried to wriggle free, but Click held her in a firm embrace. He rocked behind her, sliding his cock along the cleft of her ass while he fingered her slick sex.

Her authority faded in a haze of lust. “Click, please.”

“Yes,” he said. “If you insist, I will please you.”

He pressed her forward until she lay on the desk, across the demanding forms and insulting bureaucracy. He nudged a knee between her legs, spreading her wide to welcome him. While she lay face down against the very source of her worry, she closed her eyes, yielding to his desire, her need. Click trailed a line of gentle, hot kisses down the length of her spine, across the soft curve of her rear, until he stooped between her legs. Rose trembled when she felt the heat of his breath against her ginger thatch.

“You are sodden, my lady.” He chuckled, as if it amused him to find her wet and ready for him. “Have you been thinking of me?”

Rose laughed. She rose from the desk in a quarter-turn to stare down at him with a smirk. “Yes, Click. I’ve spent all morning thinking about nothing but my cabin boy. I’m surprised you didn’t smell my need and get here sooner.”

“I spent the night with Miss Maggie.” He paused to blow against her sex, sending her into another spasm of shudders before he added, “She lets me sleep late. She must have been a wonderful wife.”

Rose smiled, always delighted to hear him speak of her crew with affection. The sentiment, however, cut into her arousal, shifting her back into control. “Really, I don’t have time for this right now.” Trying to wrench free of his grasp, she twisted.

Click lapped her puss in a soft, slow caress. With a whimper, Rose fell still. He prodded her again, stronger this time. She collapsed against the desk. Click took the cue to devour her. Stroke after glorious stroke, he tongued her with masterful precision. Moaning, she shuddered against his mouth, almost climaxing at the caress of each long, luxurious lick.

“Click,” she said between pants. “You have to get up here and give yourself to me now.”

He stood, his husky laughter filling the cabin. “I do like my women commanding. And you are the most commanding of all.”

She pushed the mound of papers to the floor, then spun around to perch on the desk. Rose spread her legs wide while she curled a finger at the island native. “Now or never. I don’t have time to argue.” Rose gasped when Click pushed forward, shoving his cock into her all at once.

Resting deep within her, sheathed to the hilt, he lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering, “Is this quick enough for you?” He clutched her by the waist, pulling his cock from her hold only to shove it deep again in one hurried movement. With two, three, four shoves, he paused to ask, “Is this what you wanted?”

“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 doing out here so early anyways?”

Gabriella nodded to the wooden panel she had spent the last hour fighting with. “I was trying to get a bearing on where we are. I haven’t gotten much practice. Jayne seems reluctant to let me near this thing.” In theory, the panel was a highly developed navigational system, created by the ship’s tinker to simplify course-plotting. In reality, Gabriella thought it was a wild collection of gears and switches that served no real purpose except to inflame the user.

“I supposed you can’t blame the girl. She put a whole lot of hours into that contraption. Like the rest of her creations, it’s one of a kind. Like the rest of them, it’s bound to blow up in our faces. Eventually.”

Gabriella giggled.

Magpie gave an impish grin. “You laugh, but you haven’t been here long enough to appreciate just why we call her Calamity Jayne.”

“The navicom seems stable enough,” Gabriella said. “In a way, it does what it’s supposed to. What could go wrong?”

“Ah, famous last words.” Magpie grinned. “I don’t understand how it works, but she says it does, so it must. I’ve known the girl long enough to trust her instincts. I just don’t trust her inventions. Know what I mean?”

“Is there a difference with her?”

“Point taken.”

Gabriella toyed with the longitude lever before she heaved an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think I’m operating this thing right.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because it says we are out in the middle of nowhere.” She paused to look overboard, at the water that roiled beneath the ship. “But we’re flying so low it suggests we’re preparing to land.”

“Well ain’t you the observant one?” Magpie laughed aloud. “Naw, girly, you’re doing it right. I’ll bet the farm your readings are good.”

“I don’t see how. What business could we have all the way out here?”

“I don’t rightly know myself. I reckon the captain will tell us when she’s good and ready.”

“I suppose so. Do you have any idea why we’re flying so close to the water?”

“Maybe that has something to do with it.” Magpie pointed over Gabriella’s shoulder. Gabriella turned once again to face the vast ocean.

To the tropical coastline moving steadily toward them.

In the excitement of the view, Gabriella forgot her homesickness. If the navicom hadn’t lied, then the coastline in the distance wasn’t just another familiar port. The land she was squinting at was someplace new. Somewhere she had never set foot on before. The thought of it was terribly, terribly exciting. After all, she hadn’t ran away from home, not to mention the altar, only to be tethered to some foul smelling port, waiting around for someone to trust the crew enough to hire them.

Yet that was just how she had spent the last six months.

When she’d first joined the Widow, the captain explained that employment was few and far between for the all female crew. Gabriella thought she’d understood. She appreciated that a freelance shipping crew had to take what work was offered, when it was offered. She imagined the crew’s downtime was filled with exciting trips to foreign countries or distant islands.

Shopping in Paris. Lunching in Madrid. Relaxing in Timbuktu.

It turned out there was no downtime. When they weren’t on a legitimate job, the girls trolled the lowest, filthiest ports of the East Coast looking for work. Gabriella felt like a common streetwalker, passing out pamphlets or hanging flyers. Even worse than that was her turn at standing watch. All day confined to the deck of the Widow just to ensure no one unwelcome boarded. Which was ridiculous because the crews of the other ships gave the Widow a wide berth with or without a guard.

“Good morning, ladies,” Jax said.

Gabriella turned away from the promise land of beach when the tall blonde joined her at the railing. “Morning, Jax. We’ve arrived. Somewhere.”

“Yes,” Jax answered. Her voice pulsed in a thick, foreign inflection of rolling consonants paired with throaty vowels. “I see that for myself. I wondered why no one showed for the breaking of the fast. I thought I was to eat alone.”

Magpie cleared her throat. “That would be my fault. The captain requested that we gather on the deck. I imagine the rest of the crew is on their way up.”

To say that Jax frowned was quite the understatement. Jax’s mouth seemed set in a permanent frown, so when she deliberately frowned, it was dramatic. Like a scowl with a healthy side of grimace and just a touch of glower.

“So you fetch rest of crew? Did you forget Jax?”

“No, no.” Magpie laughed for a moment. “Lordy, how could anyone forget about you, woman? I was just about to mosey down to the kitchen and tell you, but I got waylaid by Guppy here.”

Jax turned her scowl on Gabriella. “I am first mate. I should be given messages before fledgling recruits.”

Gabriella shrank while sky blue eyes bore down on her with burning hatred. Gabriella didn’t know much about Jax except that she was a top rate scowler and a professional sneerer. Her exotic accent placed her origin in or around Romania, yet her blond hair and blue eyes belied this. The fact that she was first mate made sense because she was shrewd, strong, and deviously clever. Her position in the kitchen, however, was a mystery. Jax was the worst cook Gabriella had ever seen in action. Maybe it was the very qualities that made her an excellent first mate that also kept folks from telling her how horrible her cooking was.

“Don’t take this out on her,” Magpie said. “I tried to raise you on the tubes, but you bang them pots and pans so loud you never hear me. Guppy here just happened to be on the way.”

“Maybe,” Jax said. She narrowed her eyes at Gabriella, switching from glare to glower in one smooth move. “Maybe I will remember this when lunch time returns. Guppy is allergic to the fish with shells? Yes?”

“Maybe,” Magpie said in a sterner voice, “you should just let it go.”

Jax turned her gaze back to Magpie. The two women locked stares. Gabriella worried her skirt between her shaking hands.

The big blonde puffed out her chest, drew herself to her full height, and put on her best sneer. “Maybe, you would like to argue with fists?”

“And maybe,” a younger woman said, “Guppy should fight her own fights.”

“Girls,” a much older woman added, “that’s enough of that.”

The first voice belonged to the ship’s tinker, Jayne Octasept. She was just a tiny slip of a girl, all freckle-faced and blue-eyed, with a surprising shock of snow-white hair. Jayne reminded Gabriella of her own father—genius, yet socially inept. Yet unlike her father, Gabriella just couldn’t seem to get along with Jayne, no matter how much she tried. Gabriella loved and missed her father more than anyone else...but that life was over. These people were her family now, and she had to make it work.

The other voice belonged to the resident medic, Dorothy Johnson, or Dot as she preferred to be addressed. The gray headed, stooped at the shoulders, porcelain doll, frail matron looked like she should have been home knitting socks for her grandchildren instead of sailing around the world playing the part of an airship’s surgeon. Dot wasn’t just the ship’s medic. She was the crew’s moral compass too. One of Dot’s severe looks would set your blood cold, forcing you to consider the difference between right, wrong, and whatever it was you thought you were going to do.

The appearance of the rest of the crew snapped the tension of the moment. Jax stepped away with a sharp snort, stalking a few feet down the railing. She turned her back, pretending to ignore the others.

“What’s up her nose?” Jayne asked.

“I’m afraid I might have offended her sensitive nature,” Magpie said.

The women paused for a moment before breaking into a wave of cackling laughter. Jax looked over her shoulder with a glare, which only pressed them to laugh harder. Gabriella grinned at the idea that a woman as stoic as Jax could have anything that resembled a sensitive side.

“I’m glad you’re in high spirits,” Captain Rose said.

“Captain on deck!” Jax shouted.

The small crew of the Widow snapped to attention, falling into a neat line.