His hands were becoming more insistent now, trailing down her svelte midsection. She trembled beneath his touch and goosebumps rose to caramel flesh. She smiled up at him, that same quiet smile as always. She was like a porcelain doll, so beautiful, so demure, so fragile.

She was a strange woman, who rode aboard the back of a giant tortoise and refused to give him her name.

Ace liked strange women.

She lost her top within minutes; her skirt soon followed suit. Nimble fingers plucked buttons loose from their bindings. Pearly teeth tugged down stubborn zippers.

Ebony strands fell across her neck and over jutted shoulderblades. She raised a hand to his face, deft fingertips tugging on long dark locks. She gasped, her back arched, and she fell back to the mattress.

He fell asleep next to her that night, his sinewy arm curled around her slender frame. How long had it been since he shared a bed with another? He couldn't remember.

He resolved to ask her name again in the morning. He would request that she accompany him on his mission. Whitebeard would welcome a woman so acute, so brilliant, so clever aboard his ship.

He was sure.

But when he woke, Ace was alone again.

In the morning, she was gone.