Hot Contraband. Ancient Rites, #1

A ship groans like a violated virgin in a storm, timbers shrieking, waves slamming the hull in a fuck rhythm. Down on the gun deck, the air is thick with salt and sweat. Noel stands with his cock bared, slick with Iris's spit, while the enemy freezes with swords dipping. Noel and Iris through a pirate ship in a storm, a Venetian gondola, a Hanseatic market where he guts cod with his hands wrist-deep in fish belly while she watches with a smirk, and a Songhai village where the river's rising and the mud becomes part of the sex.
She grips a leather cock-whip and marks him with his own juices, slow and deliberate. He's bound to the mast with rough hemp, and when the knot frays, what follows is primal. A tent where his fingers are slick with guts, sweat, and her wetness, and the musk of fish mixes with the hot breath of their bodies.