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“Again!” Sandokan shouted as he brought the dulled blade of his scimitar to the side of Marianne’s neck.
Marianne puffed out a breath of frustration, pushing the blade away from her neck and stumbling backwards.
“Sandokan we’ve been at this for hours,” she let her sword arm fall, the tip of her blade dragging against the dirt of the cliff. The weapon had been much heavier than she’d anticipated. “I’m not getting any better!”
She truly wasn’t. Her form had improved since two days ago and her defensive parry’s were more promising than yesterday, but Sandokan was still much quicker and stronger than she was—and he wasn’t even trying to best her.
Marianne ran the back of her hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat from her brow. The mid afternoon sun had been beating against the tops of her shoulders for the better part of an hour; Sambigliong would likely scold them for letting her get burnt.
“Can we take a break please?” she asked petulantly.
“Do you think Brooke’s men will let you take a break before they slit your throat?”
“Sandokan,” Marianne rolled her eyes.
“Again.”
Marianne sighed. After spending over three weeks sailing and pillaging with the crew, Marianne now firmly knew when not to challenge Sandokan. The first time she’d done so in front of the others had earned her an immediate dragging into the captain’s quarters followed by a screaming match which somehow resulted in them stripping one another naked.
But if Marianne was to be a pirate, she needed to learn how to defend herself. The whole crew was in agreement on the matter, and thus they had careened the prahu on a secluded little island to regroup supplies and allow her to train.
Yanez had taught her how to re-load and clean a pistol; Sakar had taught her how to defend herself with her fists; Sambigliong had tried to teach her how to smash things—Marianne wasn’t quite strong enough on that front, but she enjoyed spending time with him regardless; and it turns out Emilio was quite good with a sharp pencil in close combat. All that was left was the sword. And despite Murray offering, Sandokan refused to let anyone else teach her.
Sandokan crouched low like a tiger, resuming his stance before nodding at Marianne, indicating he was ready for her to make the first move.
Marianne placed her left hand behind her back to maintain her centre of gravity. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, allowing the sounds of the crashing waves and screeching sea birds to calm her down. She lunged forward, but Sandokan cleanly deflected the attack, forcing her to perform a quick double parry.
Sword fighting was no different than dancing: precision footwork and a keen awareness of your partner being prerequisites. Marianne loved dancing with Sandokan—it was what made her feel most connected to her freedom. He was confident and nimble, and she could allow herself to follow, to trust—to feel joy.
“Ouch!” Marianne protested, her distraction resulting in Sandokan swatting the flat plain of his blade against the back of her hand, her scimitar falling with a thunk to the ground.
“You’re still falling behind. You're watching my eyes or my sword, but the attack is born from the wrist.” Sandokan lightly tapped on his wrist before brushing his hair over his shoulder. “Again.”
Marianne spared a quick moment to blow cool air against her stinging hand. When it began to hurt lest she adjusted her hair, which was knotted at the top of her head, before she bent down and picked up her sword.
“Right,” she encouraged herself.
With her eyes fixed permanently at his wrist she waited for Sandokan to make the first move. She observed how the twist at his wrist informed where the blade was destined, parrying each of his thrusts. But as their blades continued to clash Marianne felt her gaze wandering from his wrist, to the length of his bare forearm, to the way sweat was pooling in the dip of his clavicle and sticking to his chest hair. She admired his muscles—he had forgone a shirt during their lessons—and felt the impact of them in the weight of his thrusts.
Her mind had begun to wander to other more pleasurable activities. She snapped her gaze up to meet the dark rim of Sandokan’s, realizing her mistake. But she was too late. She quickly felt the blade land on top of her shoulder, a breath away from the side of her neck…again.
“Dammit!” Marianne cursed, a habit she had embraced from her fellow pirates.
“Again!”
Determined this time, Marianne groaned. There would be no distractions, only a superior display of swordsmanship that might finally put an end to this lesson.
She lunged forward, forcing Sandokan to parry each of her thrusts. But he was stronger, and one quick riposte on his part had shifted the power dynamics. He now surged forwards, forcing Marianne to maintain her footing as she walked backwards, watching his wrist and defending each movement. The world began to drown out, only the sounds of her own breath and the sharp ricochet of steel ringing in her ears. Digging her foot firmly into the ground Marianne riposted Sandokan’s next thrust—it was the first time she had successfully done so and her eyes went right to his, her pleasure at the accomplishment overriding her focus. Sandokan’s smile was filled with pride, but he began to lean more of his weight into the sword, forcing Marianne to concentrate. She parried the next three attacks, holding her footwork and even securing a second riposte.
Sandokan tested her further, performing a quick feint which Marianne hadn’t anticipated. In defence she performed a strike, causing her to swing to the left and create an opening on her right hand side.
It had happened too quickly for Marianne to comprehend. Sandokan had twisted behind her and he now had one hand over her shoulder, pressing her back up against his bare chest as his blade was held threateningly at her throat.
“That was better.” He whispered in her ear, and she felt the tickle of his breath against the back of her bare neck. He pressed the blade firmer against her flesh, daring Marianne to make a move as she squirmed against his body.
“Enough of this!” Marianne pushed her throat against the blade, knowing it was blunt; the movement, out of fear that he might hurt her, forced Sandokan’s hold to slacken and Marianne managed to step out of his grip. Her feet kicked up dirt as she turned and pushed at his chest in retribution. He stumbled back. “You aren’t listening to me!”
Sandokan’s eyes widened as he detected the small nick on her neck. Glancing to his wrist, from whence the attack was born, Marianne noticed that his hand was shaking slightly. He dropped his sword.
Marianne hadn’t been this enraged since the sultan had tortured him. Her small frame charged towards him and she was immensely rewarded when Sandokan started to retreat. “It’s hot,” she pushed against his left pectoral but this time Sandokan was prepared and he barely moved. “I’m rubbish,” she tried to shove him again, “and I’m tired!” Before she could assault him a third time he grabbed her wrists and pulled her back flush against his chest.
“Enough!” he scolded.
“Let go of me!” she struggled, putting up more of a fight than she had when she was his hostage.
“Enough Marianne!”
“Let me go you beast!” her legs flailed off the ground.
“Not a chance!”
“Marianne—” Sandokan released a gust of air as her elbow impailed his stomach, forcing him to let her go. Before Marianne could run too far, Sandokan lunged forward and grabbed her by the hips. “No you don’t!”
Marianne let out a shriek as Sandokan pulled her towards him. The force of the action was too strong and his footing too unsteady, causing them to both topple over. She felt the wind knock out her lungs as she landed on the solid mass of Sandokan’s chest. He grunted immediately, his body breaking their fall. Marianne heard a distinct thump which was likely Sandokan’s head hitting the ground.
Marianne took advantage of his diminished defenses and turned over, mounting his hips, her knees bracketing either side of his body. She reached for the nearby scimitar and held the blade up to his throat.
“How dare you touch me like that!” Her gaze traveled from his eyes, to his lips, to the sweat dripping over his Adam’s apple and landing obscenely on the face of her blade.
Their chests were heaving, adrenaline coursing through their bodies and Marianne made the fatal error of looking back down at his lips.
“You don’t want me to touch you?” Sandokan rose a cocky brow.
With the blade still at his throat Marianne surged forwards and captured Sandokan’s lips with her own. She felt his tongue slip into her mouth and his hands cling to her waist.
They were dancing. The rough suck to her lower lip, the thrust of his tongue against her own, the tilt of his head as he fought for a different angle, the taste, and the warmth. When she felt him bite down on her lower lip Marianne pushed the blade against his throat, firmer than she ever had before and began to draw blood.
Sandokan raised his hands from her waist, surrendering control to her.
“Take off your trousers.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Marianne rose, watching as Sandokan struggled to pull down his pants, his legs kicking against the sparse patches of grass as his hard cock sprang free. He truly did look like a beast: covered in sweat, chest rising with lust, lying on the ground waiting for her to mount him.
Marrianne stepped out of her own trousers—abdsentmindedly longing over the sexual practicality of a skirt. She didn’t give it much thought before reaching down for Sandokan’s cock and lining it up to her centre. In one swift motion she was seated to the hilt, welcoming that stinging burn as he breached her body.
There was no foreplay needed as her wetness worked in tandem with her pulsing channel to accommodate him. She started to rock, prepared to use him for her pleasure when Sandokan let out a possessive growl at her audacity. He lifted her up by the hips as if she were weightless before slamming her body back down on his cock, thrusting his hips upwards simultaneously with smacking force.
Marianne quickly faltered, although she was on top, Sandokan’s strength meant she was willingly at his mercy. She was happy to let him lead this dance.
“Is this your strategy?” Sandokan’s eyes burned with fury. “You can’t win in a fair fight so you’ll fuck your enemy?”
“Shut up you bastard!” she clenched her core around his invading cock.
Sandokan surged forward, sitting up as he continued to thrust into Marianne. He brought a hand to her back and pulled her breasts against his chest, tightening his hold to an almost painful degree. He continued his thrusts, his teeth bared to her.
Marianne began to feel warmth spreading throughout her entire body. Just as she closed her eyes, almost ready for bliss she felt his hand clamp lightly at her throat, his thumb tenderly tracing her cut. Startled, Marianne opened her eyes, feeling dizzy from the rush of blood to her head, or lack of oxygen, she wasn’t sure which, and frankly didn’t care.
“Call me a bastard again.”
“Bastard.”
His lips devoured her own in an angry possessive clash, leaving no space for breath, no space for escape, only the feel of him hard and full and desperate.
“I’m close Sandokan,” she pleaded against his lips, hoping he wouldn’t be so stubborn now, hoping he wouldn’t deny her.
He pulled back from her and pressed his forehead against her own. His eyes locked to her gaze, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked almost black.
“I’m so proud of you,” he exhaled and Marianne almost snapped. “You’re training so hard, you improve every day. You’re so fearless and brave, and you…and you take my cock so well!”
“Oh god!” Marianne shattered, the orgasm rippling through her body.
She felt him remove the pin from her hair, felt the strands dangle over her burnt shoulders as she shuddered through her release. His hands began to tug and the sting made her reciprocate, tangling her fingers in his scalp as he used her body. His kisses moved to the cut at her neck, licking at the sticky sweat.
“Get off Marianne,” his voice was gruff as he tapped the side of her hip, but didn’t—couldn’t—stop his thrusts. “I’m going to come. Please, Marianne,” his pace faltered, his eyes closing as his brows drew together, as he drew closer. “I can’t finish inside you.”
Marianne couldn’t tell whether he was holding her body more firmly against him or trying to rip her off his cock, but that ceased to matter the moment she felt the shocking burst of heat inside of her. Marianne rose, his semen dripping out of her as his cock continued to twitch and soil his stomach with ropes of come.
She felt his seed trickle down her thighs, but Sandokan was too overcome by his orgasm to notice. He fell backwards, lying on the ground. She admired his mouth as it parted, exhaling warm breath as he collected himself from the pleasure their bodies had shared. Marianne laid down beside him, letting him tuck her into his embrace. She stared at the passing clouds and inhaled the salty air.
“You’re never going to learn how to fight if we keep doing this.”
Marianne laughed before looking down at the pool of come on Sandokan’s body. “Just think of it as building up my staminah.” She ran a finger through the sticky liquid and clenched her own thighs. “I’ll be able to fight for hours and hours.”
“Dear god woman.” Sandokan swatted away her hand and reached for his trousers, attempting to wipe up the mess on himself. He glanced at Marianne's thighs and then her neck. “Are you okay? We were a bit rough.” He brought his thump to trace over the little red cut.
“I think I was a good match for my opponent.”
Sandokan smiled as she traced the mirrored cut on his own neck. “Yes, you’re a perfect match.”