Author's Note: Holy crap, an update!

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He kissed her hungrily, drinking in her moans and whimpers. She cried out in protest as he withdrew his hand from between her legs.

"I have chosen our next altar, my Goddess," Hook said, scooping Swan up from her place on the floor.

"Have you?" she asked, her brow rising with curiosity. His body had been unready a moment before. And her mother had explained that men need time between couplings to regain their strength.

"Aye," he growled, stalking directly toward the braided ropes suspended from the ceiling. He deposited her into the hammock and then began arranging her limbs, spreading her legs wide and slipping them between the gaps in the net-like mesh of the Altar of Winds.

Swan sagged against the ropes. They were rough against her naked skin, but there were many cords, so her weight was distributed among them. No individual strand cut into her flesh.

Hook wound her legs in ropes, binding them in position. Then he similarly threaded her arms between the woven cords, leaving her restrained with her arms and legs cast wide. When she was completely bound, she looked at him, finding his sword still lying between his thighs, soft and sated. She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow at him in silent question, knowing she should not speak when on the altar.

"May the winds bring fortune," Hook growled and his hungry eyes roved over her.

"May the winds come gently," Swan recited back in mild confusion.

But then Hook dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs, his tongue darting out to taste her secret spot.

She cried out wordlessly then clamped her mouth shut, swallowing the words she wished to say.

Defiant Swan had overheard village women discussing this act, but she'd not thought it would occur this night. Drinking from the chalice could produce no offspring, so it was not required in the fertility rite. And yet the Sun Sword knelt before her, eagerly lapping, and she felt more like a goddess than she had on any of the other altars.

She reached for him, to clutch his hair, but her arms were bound. She whined in frustration and writhed, but He-Who-Wields-the-Flashing-Hook was skilled with nets. She knew she could free her arms if she devoted her attention to that task, but she had no true ambition to that purpose. Instead, she threw her head back against the cords and moaned through clenched teeth, knowing she could give no words to the pleasure he bestowed upon her.

The attention was maddening. After a few moments, Swan grew certain that Hook was playing with her. She lifted her head to look down at him and found him looking up through thick lashes. His mouth curved into a grin as he met her eyes. He flicked his tongue again and then withdrew, rising to his feet. She whimpered in protest until she caught sight of his cock, hard and ready. She threw her head back again, wriggling against the ropes. She wanted to shout for him to come closer, but he took his time, delicately running his fingers over her and drawing out her inarticulate pleas until he finally, finally closed the distance and sheathed himself fully. They both cried out, tender and desperate.

Hook used the hammock to his advantage, pulling her to him and letting the ropes take her weight. The angle made the act completely different, which surprised Swan. She'd assumed each coupling would feel the same, but she was wrong. She pulled against her restraints again, wishing to pursue her sensual release. She whimpered when she yet again realized she was deliciously trapped. She whined, catching Hook's eye, and then deliberately cast her gaze down to where they were joined. She looked up again and pleaded silently for him to understand.

He did, and he brought his hand between them. She let him know with sighs and moans when he'd found her secret spot. Once he was rubbing her firmly, she threw her head back again and reveled in the strange joy of being helpless to him ministrations.

She knew it was an illusion. She could free herself. She could tell him to stop. He'd listen. But the fantasy that she was truly bound and his to take made her giddy.

When she crashed over the edge, she screamed her ecstasy, and he followed with a shout of his own. He sagged against her, and the hammock took their combined weight for a moment, the cords finally cutting into her flesh. She winced, and he immediately withdrew, dropping to his knees again and laying his cheek to her belly. He kissed her navel and then murmured into the curls at her chalice:

"The winds blow favorably."

"The winds blow favorably," she echoed in a thick voice.

He rested against her for a long moment, and Swan almost found sleep. She stirred when he rose and began unbinding her. She looked up at him as he lifted her from the hammock and carried her gently back to the lounging corner. She fell bonelessly to the cushions, letting her eyes drift closed again. She listened as he sipped from his glass of wine, and then she hummed appreciatively as he lay beside her.

"I've dreamed of catching you in my nets," he murmured into her ear before he nipped the lobe of it.

"You have me ensnared, Hook," she replied breathlessly, rolling into his side. She gazed at him for a moment, and his expression was expectant. She smiled an amused smile before she asked: "How many altars?"

"At least four, my goddess," he replied in a heavy, sleepy voice. "At least four."