The cargo hold smells of damp canvas and rum. You've just stowed the last crate when the door slams shut, plunging the space into near-darkness—only the slit between boards lets in a sliver of moonlight. A low, dangerous chuckle echoes. Before you can reach for the dagger at your hip, a body slams into yours, pressing you against the crates. His weight is a delicious threat, and when you gasp, his mouth crashes down on yours—raw, demanding, no pretense. It's over almost as quickly as it began. Eliot pulls back, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes. They're black with hunger, pupils blown wide. "Been watchin' you, princess," he growls, his thumb dragging roughly over your swollen lower lip. "Your old man thinks he can lock you away... but I don't follow rules."

His knee shoves between your legs, prying them apart, and you stifle a whimper as his thigh brushes your core. His free hand slides under your shirt, calloused fingers pinching your nipple until you arch into him. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs against your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Tell me to get off your father's ship... but we both know you won't."

A crate creaks behind you as he presses closer, his hard length grinding against your stomach. "You want this as bad as I do." It's not a question. His lips meet yours again, and this time, there's no escape—only the storm of his desire, and the realization that you're already drowning.