By Alex Beecroft
Love? may besides ask for the moon. yet a guy can dream… regardless of his seems to be and ambition, Midshipman Joshua Andrews hides urges that, in his international, make him an abomination. residing in worry of publicity, pointless threat is whatever he studiously avoids. as soon as he units eyes at the stylish photograph of perfection that's Peter Kenyon, even though, temptation lures him just like the siren name of the ocean. quickly to be promoted to captain, Peter is the darling of the Bermuda garrison, with a string of successes at the back of him and an appropriate bride coated as much as percentage his destiny. He turns out thoroughly out of Joshua’s achieve. Then the 2 males are pressured to serve on an extended voyage lower than a sadistic commander with a mutinous workforce. because the rigidity aboard the vessel heats up, their unforeseen friendship intensifies right into a ardour neither guy can rein in. Intimacy like theirs can merely exist within the shadow of the gallows. either males are decided their “youthful interest” needs to die sooner than it brings catastrophe down on them. but neither guy can root it from his middle. Warriors either, they suspect not anything of risking their lives for his or her nation. finally they have to come to a decision even if love, too, is worthy demise for. caution: includes a few light m/m intercourse scenes and a few picture violence.
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Extra resources for Captain's Surrender
Sweat ran down her back, down her legs, making her petticoats cling suffocatingly beneath the stiffly hooped weight of her gown. Her torso itched, the creases in her shift pressed into her skin by the tight, boned stays, and the sack dress she wore on top felt heavy as armor, so that she could hardly walk or lift her arms. How the gun crews could stand 47 Captain's Surrender by Alex Beecroft it, she couldn't imagine. At the thought, in sympathy, her joy began to wear off. These men had been awake half of the night as they trimmed and re-trimmed the sails to squeeze an extra knot of speed out of the ship, trying to make up for the time lost to the storm.
This was a comfort, and receiving comfort at this young man's hands was something of a puzzle. It was hard for Emily to reconcile the Kenyon of the cane with the Kenyon of the smile. She had almost considered asking him how he himself held the two together just as Edwards' voice croaked out behind them like the boom of a bittern. "Mr. " There had been a thawing, a change of those green eyes from ice to liquid, so slight that Emily noticed it now only when it was withdrawn, and Kenyon again became all edges— inhumanly cold.
Her father himself, unshaven and cadaverous from a fortnight without food and still an interesting shade of green, had opened his mouth to deliver a cutting retort, when one of the officers strode across the quarterdeck in three long paces and cracked the sailor such a blow across the back with a stout cane that it drove him to his knees. A second blow landed on the man's shoulder, and a third on his face, overbalancing him. Tumbling backwards over the pail, he went sprawling—his eye already swelling—into the vomit.