NSFW - Please check out my story on Inkitt. Of Sea and Shadow is a 30k fantasy romantic novella featuring pirates, a captive, and high spice.

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/fantasy/1337295

When Isla swipes a purse, she has no idea that her victim is the most feared pirate captain of all. She tries to flee, only to end up a captive on his ship. What will he do with her?

Excerpt:

The captain stepped back, ignoring her as he up-ended the purse into his hand. It wasn’t a jewel that fell out. It was a small black stone, a piece of polished obsidian, a single rune carved upon it. Worthless. Utterly worthless.

All this for a rock?

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding it between his finger and thumb before her face. As he did, the tattoos on his arm seemed to pulsate and writhe. But no, that must’ve been just a trick of the light.

“It’s nothing,” she said, sullenly. It was just a trinket, something a tourist would buy.

“Nothing, eh?” He smiled. “Do you know who I am?”

“I heard the men call you Captain Henrik.”

“That’s the name I use when I’m on land.” His grin returned. “But do you know who I am?”

She gave a mirthless laugh. He was a pirate. Of course that wasn’t his real name. “‘Black Beard’?” she said mockingly. She knew it wasn’t wise to anger him, but she was angry too, and the taunt slipped out. Besides, what difference did it make? She was his captive, as he’d made so abundantly clear.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” He grinned again. “Here’s a little tip. Next time you steal from someone, first be sure you know who they are.”

“Oh yes, excellent advice. ‘Excuse me, sir, could you please provide me with your name and occupation before I swipe your purse?’. I’m learning so much today.”

He flashed his grin, his eyes dancing with mirth. Then he sobered. “It’s intriguing that you can see this,” he said, moving the stone before her face. Her eyes followed it as if compelled. “You can see it, can’t you?”

“Of course I can.”

“What exactly do you see?”

She frowned. What sort of question was that? Was he trying to humiliate her? “I’m not your puppet, to dance to your tune.”

Henrik – or whoever he was – smiled again. But this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Puppet … no, I wouldn’t say that. But we’ve agreed you’re my captive. Humour me, if you’d be so kind. Tell me what you see.”

Isla leant back in her chair, her lips pressed thin as she clung to the shreds of her defiance. She refused to demean herself further by admitting she what she’d stolen was so worthless, and it had led to all of this. She hated feeling powerless, and she hated him.

His smile faded as her silence persisted, his eyes growing hard. “Answer me. You will obey me.”

She may be resigned to her fate, but she refused to let him scare her. And she’d be damned if she’d ever obey him. She didn’t obey anyone. Folding her arms across her chest, she glared up at him.

The shadows in the room seemed to darken, the light growing dim. It was as if the sun had suddenly disappeared behind thick clouds. That must be it. Yes, a storm must be coming. It couldn’t possibly be what her eyes were telling her; that the shadows were emanating from him. Deepening and lengthening, they ran across the floor, crept up the walls, and sucked away all the light. Again, the tattoo on his arm pulsed, growing darker and more stark, more pronounced against his skin. Writhing around his arm.

“Answer me,” he said again, his voice no longer playful. It was almost a growl.

Isla swallowed hard, her pulse beating thudding in her ears. She could sense his growing anger, and she realised she’d been mistaken before: he could scare her. He was scaring her. But she tightened her jaw and gripped her arms, willing herself to show none of the fear she felt.

“Have it your way,” he said. The stone seemed to disappear; one moment he’d been holding it, the next his hand was empty. It was a neat trick, but she’d seen sleight of hand before. Parlour tricks. Like the shadows, perhaps. Just because she couldn’t see how it was done, didn’t mean they were real. They couldn’t be real.

Tendrils of shadow shot out from him, wrapping around her wrists. They were darkness, they should’ve been insubstantial, but they weren’t. Her wrists were pulled up, as firmly and as inextricably as if he’d used his hands.

Oh, by the Gods, it was real. “How the fuck…”

She stared at him in shock as he drew her to her feet, then used his shadows to raise her wrists until her arms were extended above her head. Still he pulled, and she was forced onto her toes, fighting for balance, her body painfully stretched. He dragged her a few feet into the centre of the room, and she was forced to tiptoe along, or take her weight on her wrists. Her shoulders were already feeling the strain, but those shadows. They were manacles, yet chained to no wall, merely suspended in mid-air. It was impossible.

“Mind your mouth,” he said lightly, as he sat himself in the chair she’d just vacated. His smile was back, his eyes once more dancing with playfulness, his anger vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

His shadows held her wrists perfectly, with no slack or movement, no matter how she resisted. Her arms were held so high that it was difficult to find purchase on the rug with the toes of her boots. When he turned her to face him, she felt like the puppet she had denied being.

More shadowy tendrils extended toward her, hooking into the hem of her long shirt, and lifting it upward. She squeaked in fear, her eyes locked on his smug expression as the shirt passed over her head and was pulled free of her arms. It fell to the floor as if it had somehow passed through the shadows, yet how could that be when they held her so tightly?

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“You like to defy me, don’t you?”

More shadows reached for her legs, pulling off her boots one by one. She was forced to balance painfully on the toes of each foot, her weight pulling on her wrists and shoulders.

“I see a black stone!” she cried. “A small black stone, with a rune etched upon it!”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” he said, sounding happy about it.

“Who are you?” Isla gasped, as yet another tendril slid up along her spine, cool and silky, slipping easily beneath the cotton wraps binding her breasts.

“Haven’t you guessed?” he smiled. The tendril yanked back with a sound like a snip, and as one, her bindings fell loose to the floor. There were a dozen loops, each thin in their own right, but together they formed a thick, tight barrier … and he’d cut through as effortlessly as if they were nothing more than a sheet of parchment.

Her breasts fell free of their confinement, bare to his gaze. But he didn’t look at them; his eyes held hers. His stare was intense and penetrating, and she could only imagine how wild, scared, and vulnerable her own eyes must appear. For at last she understood who he was.

“Ebon Shadowbane …” The name was a breath on her lips. She didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. He was dead – if he’d ever existed at all. Just a myth, a legend, a ghost story told by drunken sailors in seedy port taverns. Yet there was no denying the shadows that had half stripped her, or those binding her wrists, holding her body suspended before him.

“Ebon,” he said with a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “Just Ebon. The ‘Shadowbane’ bit was never part of it. I don’t know where it came from. So theatrical, don’t you think? I never cared for it.”

A dozen more tendrils drifted lazily out toward her, slipping into the waistband of her breeches.

“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered. She felt her breeches being drawn down, much more slowly than he had removed her shirt. He was in complete control, and if she had thought herself helpless as his captive, it was nothing to her abject vulnerability before his shadow magic.

“I’ve told you already how we deal with stowaways.”

His earlier words echoed in her mind, far more ominous in her current predicament. “We tie them naked to the mast, give them a dozen lashes, make them swab the decks for the rest of the journey, and sell them at the next port.”

“I didn’t stowaway,” she protested, as he stripped her breeches down her legs and off her feet, leaving her in just her undergarments.

His grin returned. “I do apologise, I’d quite forgotten. Would you like to know how we deal with thieves?”

A dozen more tendrils pushed inside the last scrap of her attire, sliding against her bare skin. They felt silky, like wisps of morning mist wrapped in the finest of satin, and they were everywhere: against her ass, her hips, slipping along the sides of her groin. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, they’d solidified into steel-hard blades, pulling away as one, cutting through her last shred of protection. The tendrils dissipated, fading away like wisps of smoke, and the shreds of her last piece of clothing drifted lazily down to the thick rug of his cabin.

“Please,” she begged again, her body exposed and held helplessly. She was entirely at his mercy, but Captain Ebon wasn’t known for mercy. Cruelty, piracy, ruthlessness – not for mercy.

“Please what, my little captive? I do so enjoy hearing you beg.”

His tendrils were back, a half-dozen snake-like silken trails winding around her ankles and creeping up her legs like vines. Their touch was as silky as before. Some felt cool while others were surprisingly warm, the dichotomy sensitising her skin and awakening her body. She gasped at the sensation, helpless to stop them as they wound around her calves, up over her knees, and traced thin trails up her thighs.

“A dozen lashes will kill me.” To her shame, her voice was a whimper. But she was so very scared. His shadows rose further, caressing the insides of her thighs, grazing her ass but skirting around her mons. The coldest one pushed intrusively between the cheeks of her bottom, squirming as it slid on up to the small of her back, making her gasp again.

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” Ebon said, feigning thoughtfulness. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

The shadows climbed higher, over her stomach, along her spine, in one continuous line down to her ankles, and with each inch they climbed, the length of them caressed her skin. The sensation of the one between the cheeks of her ass was incredibly distracting, but then two more reached her breasts.

Her eyes widened at the touch. How much control did he have? One tendril was warm, the other cool, clearly deliberate. A shiver ran through her as he coiled the ends of the tendrils around her nipples, squeezing, pulling, flicking over the sensitive tips. Her back arched in reflex, and she tried to draw a breath; it came as a gasp. His touch was feather-light, like the caress of a fingertip, yet the same shadows held her wrists immobile while others had sliced through her clothing. She had no doubt they were his shadows, that he was touching her as he pleased. And he’d answered her unspoken question: his control was absolute.

“Please,” she gasped again.

“Please what, my little captive?”

“Please let me go.”

Her wrists were pulled higher until she could barely feel the floor with her toes. Her arms ached, her shoulders tight with the strain of supporting her weight.

“Let you go?” Ebon smiled. “I think not. Besides, we’re having so much fun.”

“You are,” she muttered before she could stop herself.

His smile widened into a grin. “You’re enjoying it too.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What could possibly make you—”

“Oh, I think you are. You provoked me when all others would have fallen to their knees. You stole from me when none would even dare approach.” His grin broadened. “You attacked me with my own table knife, despite knowing you had no escape. And just look at how your delicious body squirms. Yes, my little captive, I think your soul sings with its own darkness.”

“No!”

“You hunger for the thrill of life. You push as close as you can to every edge.”

“No …” Could that be true? She couldn’t think straight. His tendrils hadn’t stopped moving, and their constant caress was so distracting. Her whole body felt more alive than she could ever remember.

“You deny it, but I can feel your heart racing. You’re excited.”

Excited? “I’m scared,” Isla whispered. “Just scared.” It was true she loved the thrill of fear – the fear of being seen, of being caught, of the chase. But not fear like this. Never like this. Who could love something so dark, so twisted?

Ebon inclined his head as though conceding a point. “I know you’re afraid. I can taste it. Delicious. But is it the fear exciting you, or something else?” His tendrils brushed again across her nipples, as if making his point.

“No …”

“You respond to my darkness with your own. I can see it in your eyes.”

“No!” she said again. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

He smiled again, as though her denials amused him. Then his tendrils lifted her, as though she weighed nothing. So many of them that she felt herself fully supported, and though it was a relief on her aching wrists and shoulders, she feared what would come next.

“I warned you to obey me,” Ebon said, turning her until she was horizontal in the air, tendrils wrapped around her legs, her torso, her arms. “But you did not. Now there will be consequences.” He continued to flick thin wisps back and forth across her nipples. “And you’re not to lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You denied that this excites you, and that your darkness responds to mine. Both lies. And you just lied again.”

“You’re twisted! Let me go, dammit!” Was that fear speaking, or anger?

Ebon ignored her protests, his tendrils bringing her closer until she was laid across his lap. Shadows still bound her wrists together, her arms stretched out before her. More had looped around her ankles and gripped her legs, keeping them held. It didn’t elude her notice that while her wrists were touching, her legs were held shoulder-width apart. Her ass was raised as if in offering, perfectly central across his thighs, and she felt the leather of his breeches beneath her hips.

“No! Get off me, you bastard!”

“Such a provocative mouth. I’d gag you, but that would only rob me of the sounds you make.” His hand trailed down over her lower back, caressing the curve of her ass. “If you can’t handle your lashings, we will have to find some other way to punish you, won’t we?”

His hand cracked down across her upturned bottom, and she gasped at the shock of it. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the echo of the sound through his cabin, then the sting arrived, and the heat followed.

“Ow, Gods dammit! Let me go, you fucker!”

Ebon chuckled, the sound one of genuine amusement. “Do you see what I mean?” He caressed the cheek he had spanked with the palm of his hand, a gentle touch. “Bound naked, at my mercy, my intent now apparent to you, and how do you choose to respond?”

His hand landed again on her other cheek, a sharp blow that forced a gasp from her.

“By provoking me further,” he said, answering his own question. And again he spanked her.

Isla struggled, but her wrists and ankles moved not at all, as if they were set in stone. Her legs were similarly held, up to mid-thigh, and all her movements served only to writhe her hips across his lap.

“Mmm, that’s fun to watch.” His hand landed again, and Isla clenched her jaw to muffle the cry that wanted to escape. Her bottom was afire, both cheeks stinging.

“Nothing to say?” he asked, as he delivered another smack. “No more smart retorts?” He was alternating cheeks, his palm perfectly striking each buttock. “Are you learning your place, my little captive?”

“I hate you,” she spat through gritted teeth.

Ebon laughed. “That is an excellent place to start.”

Again and again his hand fell, until the sting gave way to warmth, warmth to heat. It seeped into her, spreading, diffusing, until it seemed to reach deep into her and stir a different kind of heat. It didn’t help that his tendrils never stopped moving; caressing, squeezing, stroking. Their touch was so delicate that, if there had been only one, she might’ve fought against it. But with so many, they stimulated her skin in a mix of warm and cool sensations, tickling and tantalising her around her thighs, beneath her belly, lightly down her spine, up between her breasts, with the lightest touch across her aching nipples.

The heat in her ass grew with each strike, each sting intensifying the spreading warmth, and always those damn silken touches as he relentlessly teased and toyed with her. He ran his palm gently over her sore bottom, and Isla couldn’t help it; her gasp turned into a moan.

No … please no. Please don’t be aroused by this.

But it was as if the thought had opened her eyes to her body’s responses. She suddenly recognised the heat for what it was, became acutely aware of the ache between her legs and the swollen sensitivity of her breasts.

And he was watching it all. The bastard knew.

Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t he made some degrading comment?

His hand landed again, pain melding with pleasure as her back arched involuntarily, but this time his touch lingered. Again his palm caressed her cheek, stroking, soothing, and another moan escaped before she could control it.

“Do you still deny your darkness?” His voice, when it came, was soft and devoid of playfulness. “Answer me.” His hand cracked down, the blow harder than before.

Isla gasped again, her thoughts in turmoil. What did he want her to say? What could she say? It was just her body betraying her. Weakness, not darkness. “I have nothing to say.”

“How unusual for you.” Ebon’s palm trailed across her bottom once more, and she bit her lip to stifle the cry threatening to escape. Instead, to her shame, she let slip a whimper. “Are you sure you don’t like this?”

“Of course I don’t fucking like this.”

Ebon chuckled, the sound rich with amusement. “Your mouth is so filthy it makes me wonder what else it’s good for.”

Isla felt her body tighten at his words and the image they conjured. She wanted to rub her hips against his leg, or even the hardness she felt pressing up against her. She longed to clench her thighs together, but the bastard was holding them open, and she knew what view that afforded him. Could he see her arousal? Please, Gods, no. She’d been writhing and squirming across his lap; it was impossible he hadn’t noticed. Her face flushed with shame, and she forced herself to remain still, again biting into her lip.

“You say you don’t like this, but I can see how you respond.” It was as if he could read her thoughts.

The shadows holding her legs slipped away, freeing her to move. “Spread your legs, my little captive.”

Isla pushed her thighs together, shaking her head. He could’ve so easily forced her, but he wanted her complicit in her own humiliation. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Spread your legs for me, show me how much your darkness likes mine.”

She knew what he would see if she obeyed, that he had already seen, for how could he have not? But he would have to force her. She would never give him the satisfaction of doing it willingly.

Ebon gave a chuckle and stood, so abruptly that she was tipped to the rug at his feet, landing on her side before she could catch herself. The shadows that had held her had vanished as if they had never been there. He stepped over her, moving through the cabin as though he hadn’t just had her writhing across his lap.

“You still haven’t learnt to obey,” he said as he went. “No matter. A spanking isn’t comparable to a lashing, and so we will do this again. Tomorrow.”

It took a moment for his words to fully sink in, for the realisation that she would have to endure this again. “No!”

He turned before the door, looking down at her. “I told you there would be consequences, that you would learn to obey me. We will do this again tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that – until the lesson sinks in.” Then he winked at her. “I would’ve been disappointed if you’d given in too soon.”

Ebon opened the door and stepped through, closing it gently behind him. Isla was left alone, nothing but his helpless captive – naked, aroused, and thoroughly spanked.