The days of a trans-Atlantic voyage are long and empty, even on a ship that requires constant tending, and so he and Anne really have done more than simply fuck one another endlessly. They've spoken, as well, and so now he knows her story and, despite his natural reticence to open up, Anne knows his. And while the slavery of his youth was more literal and harsher, they're both very much cut from the same cloth.

Once Anne topples over, Charles doesn't let up until he can feel her body sinking back down to Earth. He leans back, at last giving her swollen clit some respite, but his fingers remain inside her heat, stroking slowly, keeping the embers glowing.

"One," he announces firmly.