Her Pirate Master Read Online Free Page A

sought to bribe the pirate, but he’d turned her down flat.
    Imi scanned the faces of the pirate crew, seeking a sympathetic face, even perhaps a countryman who could be persuaded to help her. But most of the men who busied themselves about her had the olive skin and fierce, hawk–like features of their captain. They were Cilicians like him, and Cilicians were the traditional enemies of Imi’s people. There was no reason any of them should help her, not when they risked the displeasure of their captain. The rest of the crew had the long hair of the Parthians, a race of which she knew little and who could thus not be counted on for help. The Hittite had manhandled her. She would not ask him for anything. She had to come up with another idea.
    Imi sought a quiet corner of the deck to think. She was about to crouch down behind a great coil of rope when the Hittite came up to her.
    “Are you wanting anything?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she snapped. “My freedom. Land. My friend Lucius. My home. Food. My own bed.”
    The man grinned. “A long list. And beyond such as me to grant. But, if you did thirst, I have wine.” He held up a jug.
    Imi frowned.
    “I would have water or nothing. Thank you.”
    “Water, then. I will bring it directly.”
    He was as good as his word, returning minutes later with a gold, ruby studded goblet in one hand and another jug in the other. He handed her the goblet.
    “From your recent raid?” Imi asked, unable to prevent the sneer in her voice.
    “A fine treasure. We have no complaints.”
    Imi bet they didn’t, but she kept the thought to herself.
    The water was clear and refreshing, and she gulped it down thirstily.
    “Thank you.” She handed back the goblet.
    “Perhaps now you will grant me a favor.” His eyes glittered.
    Oh, no, Imi thought, here it comes. She should have known better than to think the man’s kindness sprung purely from the goodness of his heart.
    “You are a priestess of Isis, are you not? Do not dissemble,” he said, when she started to deny it. Her! A priestess! “We know who you are.” His face grew avid. “We know also that the priestesses of Isis know all the myriad ways in which to please a man. You are taught the tricks of the East, is it not so?”
    Shocked beyond words, Imi shook her head.
    “No,” she said. Would these rumors persist through eternity? Only in a few temples did those who served the goddess offer themselves to her worshippers, and only at certain times of the year, but everywhere she went, the ignorant believed it a common practice. “In any case, I am not a priestess.”
    “I don’t believe you.” The man’s small eyes narrowed. “I want . . . “ His voice hoarsened. “I want you to . . . “ He reached out to grab at her breast. Whatever else he was going to say was lost as she raked her nails down his cheek and spun away from him.
    “By the castrated balls of Attis, catch her,” he shouted to his shipmates. Imi ducked under a sail and jumped nimbly over a crate, evading the grasping hands of the leering men who laughed and shouted to each other. It was a game to them—and she had become their plaything—but when they caught her, and Imi had no doubt they would, things would turn serious and she would have nowhere to turn, no way to evade the intent she could hear in their voices. They cornered her near the other captives.
    “Me, first,” said the Hittite. She spit on him. The gob landed on his cheek, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He spun her around, pinning her right arm to her back. His cock pushed against her bottom. Imi twisted and turned, but he was too big and powerful. He bent her forward and pulled up her tunic to the cheers of the men behind him. He ripped her undergarment away and threw it into the sea.
    “Hold, Sahman.” A voice cut through the ribaldry like a dagger through silk. “Hold, I say.” The captain strode through the suddenly silent knot of men. Imi squirmed, embarrassed that he should