NSFW - Book Chapter Sneak Peek

Friends, here is just a snippet of what I've been working on. This chapter is where Cass and Clara first have sex after finally getting their shit together.

For context, an earlier attempt at fucking around was dashed when Clara asked about a scar of Cass' and it went downhill from there. This takes place after they've robbed a Spanish merchant ship, where Cass shot a priest dead. So Clara has a lot on her mind, the poor girl.

CONTENT WARNING:

• Throughout the book there are past instances of Clara being body shamed, particularly from her mother. There is a section that touches on that in this chapter.

• There's explicit sex. But that's what you're here for.

-CHAPTER -

It might be possible that Clara would never sleep again. It seemed to be a side effect of living on this ship; insomnia oozed out of it and into her bloodstream. Not to mention her nerves were still buzzing from the attack on the merchant vessel, images flashing through her mind trying to process everything that had happened. 

Only afterwards did she think about the fact that she could have asked to go with the thoroughly humbled Spanish crew, to be let free onto a ship that was now most assuredly bound for safe harbour. But she hadn’t. After her quick spying session she’d retreated back to the shadows. She hadn’t tried to swing across to the other ship on a rope, hadn’t screamed for help. Nothing. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Perhaps there was some sort of madness infecting her along with the insomnia, because no sane person would be acting like she was right now. No sane person would be deliberating if they were really going to go knock on Cass’ door in the middle of the night. No sane person would be trying to think of a good apology for prying about a scar that was none of her business. 

Clara mustn’t be sane at all then because that was exactly what she was about to do. She rolled out of her bunk, which was never a graceful endeavor, and grabbed her little lantern to light the way. She could make a detour up onto the deck and pretend that she wasn’t heading straight for Cass’ quarters, but what would be the point? Besides she’d taken to sleeping in only her chemise and corset (her silk dress folded on the floor) and it would be far too cold up in the snapping winds. 

She stopped in her tracks, a new thought giving her the seed of another headache. The cold was what was stopping her from going up on deck in her under clothes. Not being seen. The cold. How was it that Clara knew, knew deep in her bones, that if she went up on deck like this no one would care, least of all, about her choice to sleep in a corset. Meanwhile her mother had given her nothing but grief for it. But her mother had about as much bust as a plank of wood while Clara had enough to share between four people. If she ever dared to push back with this rather sensible argument that it was simply more comfortable to be held in place a little, Mother’s go to response was that slimming down would in fact be the more sensible option. 

Usually so painfully self conscious about her appearance, Clara was now wandering about half dressed without a second thought. 

On a pirate ship. 

In the middle of the night. 

Her destination being the captain’s quarters. The captain that she’d seen shirtless. The captain who was a woman and had quite disrupted Clara’s entire understanding of the world. 

Clara got a grip of herself. She’d been standing in the doorway of the brig having a crisis about what other people might think of her wearing a corset to bed and it simply wouldn’t do. There were more important things going on and the life she’d been snatched from now looked ridiculous in the extreme as she stood here in the shadows. 

She started walking in an effort to stop thinking quite so hard. 

The belly of a ship at night was an eerie, eldritch sort of place. Cramped and claustrophobic, full to the brim with supplies and stolen goods. The men slept in various spots throughout the hull, but most were all together towards the front of the ship in hammocks hung side by side.

There was the creaking of wood and waves. The angle of shadows. It was all far more menacing in the dark. On her journey through the maze of it all Clara gave herself unnecessary chills thinking of a minotaur lumbering out of the black. Then she heard a grunt and nearly had a heart attack. Listening a little closer, though, it appeared to be two separate and human sounding sets of grunts and gasps coming from the dark and she moved on quickly leaving them well enough alone. 

Moving quicker, she ended up at Cass’ door in record time and forced herself to knock before she came to her senses. She nearly fell forward when it opened immediately. 

Cass was standing there, no boots, loose shirt untucked, quill in hand and backlit by lanterns that made her hair look aflame. She looked Clara up and down, then her eyes locked on her chest for a solid five seconds. The explanation Clara had for being there died on her lips, apology withering on her tongue. It was an odd, wordless stand off. Cass, finally finding the willpower to look her in the face again, stepped aside, a silent invitation. God help her, Clara entered and the door closed behind her. 

Ink on her fingers Cass set her quill down on the desk but didn’t sit. Clara felt the heat of disappointment; Cass usually sat with her legs spread… She looked anywhere except at the captain, who was only looking at her. 

“You’re here late,” Cass said, not even blinking.

“You’re also up late,” she said, desperately trying to drag herself out of insanity and back to sense. “What are you writing?”

There was a ledger open with handwriting as fine as spider silk in neat rows.

“Inventory.”

Clara, feeling that tactical bravery possess her the way it only did around Cass, stepped closer as if to peer at the book. She expected Cass to stop her, to slam it shut and say it was none of her business, but she took half a step back and allowed Clara to look. A dare. Well she couldn’t back down from a dare, could she?

Her neck burning with a whole cocktail of feelings, Clara scanned the pages. The crew’s names were printed out in rows and on a separate piece of paper was a list of goods and a mess of mathematics that Clara couldn’t decipher. Deportment had been the focus of her studies, not numbers. 

“Who’s Pot?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She hadn’t heard that name on board. 

Cass smiled, just a little, so different to her knife grin, as if Clara had said something funny. 

“It’s an actual pot. A portion goes into it and if anyone gets their legs blown off by a cannon then it goes to them. An insurance policy.”

That thought sobered her up, having your limbs blown off by a cannon. Getting hit with pistols or knives. Stolen goods added to an inventory. 

Criminal, Clara reminded herself. 

Thief.

Pirate. 

She looked up from the page and Cass was staring at her still, more open than she’d ever seen her, a battalion that had dropped its guard. 

“Do you sleep in a corset or was this just for me?” she said, flicking a hand at Clara’s midsection. Clara’s sobriety promptly vanished. 

“It’s more… supportive,” she mumbled. 

Cass shrugged and closed the ledger, the ink now dry. 

“I never had to worry about support much,” she said with a good-natured snort, slicing a hand in front of her chest to emphasise its flatness, and placed the ledger on a shelf bolted to the wall. Meanwhile Clara’s tongue was frozen in her mouth. 

Thief. Murderer. Criminal. 

Beautiful. Blood soaked. Star kissed. 

Scarred and tormented… that had been her excuse for coming here, an overdue apology. 

“I’m very sorry about your scar,” Clara blurted. She avoided looking at Cass’ reaction, desperate to get the words out and be done with it. “I shouldn't have pried and I apologise.”

A thousand pound weight lifted off her shoulders and she could breathe again. But Cass looked… confused. 

“You’re sorry?” she asked, as if needing clarification. 

“You were upset. When I asked about it.”

She blinked at her, like a baffled owl, and leaned a hip against her desk. “So you’re apologising?”

“Yes.”

“Because… why? Because you care about my feelings?”

“It would appear so.”

Cass looked simply bewildered. Had she never been apologised to before? Or had Clara misunderstood the whole situation and was now making a fool of herself. She could feel her face turning red in record time. 

“You’re pretty when you blush,” Cass said, voice low, watching her. 

“You keep saying I’m pretty.”

“Because you are.”

Clara took her time selecting precisely which words she wanted to use. 

“You don’t do this with men do you?” she asked. “You prefer women.”

She got a tilt of the head as confirmation. 

“Any women?”

“Pretty women,” Cass said. 

“And you think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re very pretty, Clara Mayhew.”

Words so sincere they glowed. 

“You also think I’m annoying,” Clara shot back. “Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

Cass smiled a little, a silent laugh. 

“Maybe,” she said. “I can like you and think you’re annoying at the same time.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like me? Because I’m pretty?”

“You’re not afraid of me.”

She said it as if she didn’t quite believe it was true.

“Should I be?” Clara asked. 

Cass stayed quiet, one of her non answers. Perhaps she didn’t even know the answer. Instead she was just staring at her chest again, looking starved.

“Should I leave?” Clara asked, needing a straight answer, desperately needing confirmation that she was reading this all correctly. That seemed to snap Cass into action. She moved away from the desk and practically prowled forwards, her footsteps slow and soft, as if worried she might send Clara running. It wasn’t an unfounded fear. Clara was making a conscious effort to not fidget about. Then they were facing each other and Clara was staring at that visible patch of her chest that had entranced her from the start. 

“Shall we try again?” Cass asked, breath on Clara’s face. She nodded. There was no point pretending that she hadn’t come here to try again, was there?

This wasn’t impulsive like the first kiss, no throwing caution to the wind and surging forward. Cass was careful, methodical, every bone in her thoughtful. And Clara wasn’t just swept up in it all, pulled along without really knowing what was happening. She knew what was happening. She wanted it to happen.

Cass circled around until she stood behind her, nose brushing her earlobe, fingers on her waist. She swept Clara’s hair over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck, lips lingering on the skin. Then there was the gentle tugging sensation of laces being pulled and the corset loosened around her. Then it was off and Clara was in nothing but her chemise trying to remind herself to breathe.

A hand fell gently on her shoulder, pushing her sleeve down and exposing skin that Cass peppered with kisses. 

“I’ve never really done… anything before,” Clara said, a fresh influx of panic giving her her voice back. 

“Well yes, I gathered.” It wasn’t unkind though. Clara could feel Cass’ lips form a grin on her skin. “Want me to teach you?”

“Yes,” she said with another rushed breath and Cass chuckled low in her ear. Then she was moving around again, back in front of her, lips grazing her jawline while she played with the ends of Clara’s hair. 

Clara let her eyes drift closed, leaning forward just a fraction. Cass smelt of sea salt, leather and alcohol. Eyes closed, she let her fingers wander under the hem of Cass’ shirt, feeling the skin of her stomach, tracing her belly button. There was no softness about her, only muscle, her whole body firm, like a wire pulled tight.

Meanwhile Cass seemed to have done away with treating Clara like she was glass. Her hands were roaming over her, feeling the flesh beneath her chemise. Then her hands were on Clara’s breasts, squeezing the breath right out of her. Nose to nose a soft moan fell from Cass’ mouth as Clara leaned further into the grip of her fingers. These past days there had been the confusion, then the anxiety and now the shock that she really was enjoying this. She’d heard others talking about pleasure behind fans, hands and closed doors. It was only under the calloused fingers of a woman pirate, that she understood those conversations.

The confusion was threatening to crawl back up her spine, but then Cass’ hands were on the move, tracing her neck, through her hair and over her scalp. Clara let out a moan of her own, her own hands hanging useless, mouth sealed as Cass moved her lips to hers. More moans and Clara didn’t know who they came from, not that it mattered. She still didn’t know what to do with her limbs, aware that she was standing too still while Cass seemed to ripple against her. 

“Lay down,” Cass said, the wave of her surging forwards so that all of a sudden Clara was walking backwards till she was sat on the bed, Cass standing above her.

“Lay down,” she said again, and seeing as Clara didn’t know what else to do, she obeyed. She wanted to obey, to lie down, to see what Cass would do next, even if it meant having to constantly beat back the panic. 

Cass, without a moment’s hesitation or a speck of anxiety, straddled Clara’s hips, looking down at her with eyes that never stopped moving. She took Clara’s hands, still useless, and placed them on her thighs.

“Touch what you want,” Cass said, voice still soft, if a little amused, as she tugged at the shoulders of Clara’s chemise. Clara was mildly horrified at herself as she arched her back to help as the garment was pulled down, her breasts exposed and the skin on her chest turning as pink as her face. Cass’ hands were back on her, squeezing, hips square and solid on top of her. Then Cass’ hips started moving, rocking back and forth on top of hers and Clara never wanted her to stop. The next moan was definitely from Clara’s lips, followed by a sharp gasp as Cass leaned down and took a nipple into her mouth. 

Throughout her life Clara had tried, for scientific purposes and much the same as she approached courtship in general, to imagine what went on behind the doors of a couple’s bedroom. She’d pieced together all the scraps of information she had, wanting to be prepared for all possibilities, but this had certainly not been on her checklist. She watched, transfixed, as Cass mouthed her breast, eyes closed, lost in what she was doing, able to feel spit on her skin, the graze of her teeth on her nipple. Without any conscious thought, her hips were rolling in perfect time with Cass’, that warmth growing between her legs and climbing up her body, radiating from Cass’ mouth. 

Cass opened her eyes, caught Clara staring and grinned, teeth still around her nipple.

“You look like you’re in shock,” she said, voice like a flickering candle.

“I like it,” Clara said, quiet, cautious of admitting it. But saying it seemed to stoke something in Cass, blue eyes black as her pupils expanded. Cass got off of her and for a flash Clara was bereft, utterly devastated with their hips separated, then whipped back to captivated as Cass started to undress. Her shirt came off revealing the lean muscle underneath, the scars and freckles, the wound from earlier, then her trousers dropped and Clara felt herself turn from pink to red. Cass, entirely naked, climbed back on top of her. She didn’t lower her hips this time, instead kneeling over Clara’s thighs.

“Here,” she said, moving one of Clara’s hands to between her legs. Clara could feel herself turning hotter than the sun, but she made no effort to pull away or change course. Then she was touching Cass between her legs, curls of hair so wet that Clara pulled her fingers away to investigate, her fingertips sticky. 

Cass’ amused grin broadened. “Oh you know nothing... Okay…”

She didn’t laugh though, just took Clara’s hand again and, this time, directed it between her own legs. There it was, the same wetness, and more heat as Cass ran her fingers gently over her. 

“The wet makes it… easier. Smoother, for things to enter.”

With that she pressed a finger tip into Clara gently, slowly, but firmly. Clara had quite given up trying to form a coherent thought. But she nodded, because she liked this, she knew that much at least.

Cass, eyes still black, her own skin just now starting to flush, pushed her finger inside Clara, then out, then in and again and again… Then her lips were by her ear. 

“You’ve never done this to yourself?” Cass asked, just a murmur in her ear. Clara shivered as she shook her head, focused on the sensation of Cass’ finger dragging in and out of her. 

“You’ve been missing out.”

She pulled her finger free and once again Clara was momentarily bereft, barely able to catch her breath before Cass was pressing down on a different point altogether and Clara nearly yelped with the shock of the feeling, a lightning strike up her core as Cass’ fingers started pressing firm circles into her. 

Clara felt Cass smile into her cheek. It was torture and bliss and like she was being wrung out, twisted from the inside. Then her bones unlocked. She could finally move, she had to move, and whose fingers belonged to whom ceased to be important. 

Cass ended up straddling one of Clara’s thighs, and she could feel that wetness against her skin as Cass pressed herself down onto her. Her hips were no longer gently rocking but grinding into her, her fingers still relentlessly massaging circles into Clara. 

It all built up into a frenzy that Clara couldn’t keep track of. Cass’ eyes were glazed over, half closed, mouth open as she ground herself on Clara’s thigh. She felt much the same, gasping for air, until the pressure building up in her pelvis tipped over and flung her outside of her body. Ripples up to the crown of her skull, toes clenching and teeth aching and all of it because of Cass’ fingers between her legs. 

As the tidal wave of it started to ebb, Cass folded over her, hips juddering, a broken moan falling out of her mouth until she too fell still. 

There was nothing for a while but the sound of them both trying to catch their breath. The first half coherent thought Clara had was that things would never go back to the way they were before. The second thought was that she didn’t want them to.