by Mimi Riser
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Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com
Copyright ©2009 by Mimi Riser
First published in 2009
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Also By Mimi Riser
Dedication
PIRATES DO IT WITH PASSION
Mimi Riser
Amber Quill's Rewards Program
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PIRATES DO IT WITH PASSION
By
MIMI RISER
Amber Quill Press, LLC
www.amberquill.com
Also By Mimi Riser
The Adventures Of Cassie Nova, Book I: Rebel Queen
The Cowboys And The Courtesan
Cymric's Rose
Dungeons & Dirty Dreams
My Knightly Adventures, Books I—III
Playing Pirates
Return To The Burn
Romeo's Revenge
Samantha White And The Seven Dwarves
Saving Sally Savoy
Sherwood Charade
Tina Takes A Tumble
Wicked Comes The Beast
[Back to Table of Contents]
Dedication
To the memory of colonial adventurer William Augustus Bowles, a class-act pirate if ever there was one. Described as tall, handsome and charismatic, with a daring nature and deliciously devilish attitude, he helped inspire the character of Nate Hawkins. Though they fought on opposite sides during the Revolutionary War—the real life William being a Loyalist at the time, and the fictional Nate a Yankee privateer—I like to think they'd have gotten on well together if they'd ever chanced to meet (and perhaps someday, in the land of Imagi-Nation, where all things are possible, they will).
[Back to Table of Contents]
PIRATES DO IT WITH PASSION
Seth Barrow had never sucked a pirate before. He knew he wasn't sucking one now, despite crazy claims to the contrary, but he saw no reason to argue the point. The man Seth had recently picked up on the beach near the Jolly Roger Inn did rather resemble a pirate.
With long dark hair, chiseled features, and a predatory stare, the man looked a lot like the portrait of a colonial privateer that hung in the inn's lobby. The infamous Captain Nathaniel Hawkins, whose ghost was rumored to haunt the inn that had once been Hawkins's seaside mansion. Naturally, Seth had commented on the resemblance. Who wouldn't?
"Are you a descendant of Captain Hawkins?” he had asked as he and his latest conquest sat sipping icy beers and ogling each other in the inn's beachfront bar.
"No,” came the answer, underscored by a strange laugh. “You'll probably think I'm mad for admitting this, but I like you, lad, and want things honest between us, so I'll tell you the truth, impossible as it seems. I am Nate Hawkins. The original. Born in 1753, drowned 1785... And resurrected from the dead last night. Still want to fuck me?"
Didn't mince words, did he? Seth appreciated that. It meant the drug he had slipped into Nate's brew was working, loosening his tongue—and his mind, too, obviously—making him easy prey, pliable, open to kinky suggestions. Of which Seth had many. He'd responded with his sexiest smile, a real killer grin some called it.
"Just try and stop me,” he had said. And they'd finished their beers and retired to Seth's room, where the action fast hit the bed they occupied now.
"Resurrected,” my ass.
The man was a liar, a lunatic, or both. Seth didn't care. He was a liar himself, and playing a dangerous game in which seduction was only a part. Lucky for him it was a part he enjoyed. Especially when the prize—whoever the hell he was—looked and tasted this good. A full juicy meal for a greedy carnivorous appetite. Grade A prime man-steak with all the trimmings.
Including wealth. Why Nate was carrying around such a stash boggled the brain—seemed another sign he was cuckoo—but his pockets were loaded with bright shiny loot. Seth knew, having searched him while stripping him. A guy had to earn a living, after all.
However, in Seth's profession business always mixed with pleasure. He loved his work, traveling from resort to resort, consorting with the jaded jet set. He felt like Robin Hood, robbing the rich to give to the poor—himself. Seth was the real pirate, in fact, but no one ever discovered that until it was too late. And if he took, he gave red-hot sex in return.
He fisted the base of a thick shaft and squeezed, pulling a muted groan out of his captive lover. Pearly drops beaded on a swollen mushroom head. Seth licked them off, savoring creamy pre-cum while his own shaft hardened in anticipation. With his free hand, he explored a muscular torso and thighs, raked nails over smooth skin dusted with downy curls—solid and warm and ripped to kill.
Also bound and gagged for decadent delights.
Seth pushed up to admire his handiwork. He'd positioned Nate with shoulder blades braced against the bed's headboard, wrists cuffed behind his neck, and knees lashed to his elbows with red and blue silk scarves. A glittery green plastic sphere muffled his mouth. Very festive. Provocative and practical. The pose gave Seth easy access to cock, balls, and anus. The mere thought of all he could and would do shot fiery darts into his groin.
He stroked his left forefinger through a well oiled ass crack and probed a tight opening, felt satin heat and inner muscles clench in reflexive response. The rod in his right hand jerked.
Impatient, weren't we?
Seth studied Nate's reaction while firming his grip on the man's erection and pumping his finger in and out of that tempting, tight hole.
A throaty growl sounded. A stormy gaze met his—eyes like thunderclouds, the pupils dilated by narcotics and traitorous need. Nate was trying to resist, but his body betrayed him.
Seth chuckled. “Hey, you can't escape, so you may as well relax and enjoy it. The fun's just starting."
A long, luscious afternoon stretched ahead of them. They had hours to play before Seth ended the game with the ultimate orgasm. The intense thrill that always struck when he claimed another's life. Oh yeah, Nate would die, but Seth would make it good for him, suck him dry and fuck him blind first. Nate would die with an expression of ecstasy on his face.
And Seth would disappear with a fortune in stolen jewels, leaving behind another corpse to mystify the authorities. They'd caught him once, but never again, because he was too clever, too strong.
Also fireproof, able to change his shape at will, make himself invisible, and fly!
No, he'd never put any of those powers to the test, but Seth knew he could do them if he tried. Just as he knew the doctors who'd labeled him “paranoid schizophrenic with psychotic delusions” all had their heads up their butts. If they were so fucking smart why did they let him escape their shitty hospital for the incurably insane, huh?
Because he didn't belong there, that's why—and had proved it by seducing and strangling an idiot orderly, then walking out wearing the jerk's clothes and ID badge. Nate might be nuts, but Seth wasn't. Seth was a...a... He paused to listen to the whispers in his head.
Say what? Oh, right.
"I'm a devil!” he declared. A demon straight out of the bowels of hell, his voices said. “Which means I have to do stuff like this. So there."
So nothing, matey.
The poor bastard had bats in his belfry.
Nate knew he was dazed by something besides beer, but not so muddled he couldn't read Seth's gaze.
He peered into glassy hazel eyes and saw madness and murder. A pity he hadn't seen it sooner. But he'd had much on his mind and been looking for a diversion when Seth appeared and offered one.
The lovers Nate really wanted had seemed so out of reach at the time, while Seth had seemed such an attractive young fellow, so willing to ease a lonely man's aching heart with an afternoon of lusty play. Nate hated to think he might have to kill him in self-defense, yet he could and would if necessary—even drunk, even trussed up like a Christmas goose. Nate had thrashed tougher foes under worse conditions. Not for a couple of centuries, ‘twas true, but you never forgot how to fight.
Hell's bells, all he had to do was raise his knees an extra inch, lower his chin, and his manacled hands could slip right over his head and around Seth's throat. Only not now with his cock in Seth's mouth. If the madman bit down in shock or retaliation...
Nate shuddered at the mental image. Then shuddered more as the oral stimulation increased. Flames licked him along with Seth's tongue. A burning pressure built in his gut, rising heat that roasted him from the inside out—the savage scorch of carnal hunger, unthinking and unwanted but inescapable. His body didn't care that Seth was insane.
Aye, drunkenness might be heightening arousal, but Nate didn't care about that either. Rampant physical need threw reason overboard. Splash. His cock had suffered enough and demanded release.
Now, damn it.
Battling his bonds, Nate slid down the headboard, pushing his pelvis upward, straining to shove himself farther into the hot, moist cavern of a mad but talented mouth. Seth stopped instantly, the evil swine.
"Naughty, naughty.” He waggled a finger under Nate's nose. “No coming until I say so."
That did it. Nate had been thinking of killing him, anyway. Seth's smirk decided the matter. Before the crazy bastard knew what hit him, a pair of hands arched up and forward. Two heavy fists connected by a short chain slammed into Seth's face, sending him sailing. With a dull thud the young man landed on the floor in a crumpled heap.
Which left Nate on the bed, still drunk, still bound in an awkward position—not much more mobile than he'd been a moment ago, actually—and still hard as a rock.
How bloody embarrassing.
Groaning, he wriggled his spine back up the headboard to better survey his surroundings and contemplate his predicament. At least his hands were in front now so he could remove his gag. He did, then considered calling for help. But only briefly. He'd die of shame to be found in these sorry straights. And having died once before, Nate had no desire to repeat the experience any time soon.
Instead, he writhed and strained and managed to slip the bonds at his elbows and knees down to his wrists and ankles. From there it took added tricky work to wrestle his feet out of the silken loops, but finally his legs were free. Thank God his current body was as strong and limber as his original. For all intents and purposes it was his original, recreated in temporary form by a bit of spectral magic last night, then firmed into permanence by something far greater.
The power of love, dare he hope?
A miracle. Most extraordinary, and very unexpected. But Nate refused to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd hated being a ghost, damn it. Bloody boring it had been, stuck in one place for over two hundred years as naught but a vaporous mass of memories and longing. If divine mercy had granted him another chance at life, Nate intended to enjoy it.
Just as soon as he decided how.
Getting out of here seemed the first order of business. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, wobbly and wincing at the pins-and-needles sting of returning circulation. His head swam with dizzy, drunken thoughts while the rest of him still ached for physical release. Damned inconvenient. His stiff cock jutted forth from the base of his belly like a divining rod seeking water, the right spot to dig a well hole. Aye, and he'd be happy to fill a hole, too, if a hot, tight one were available.
Nate slanted a look at Seth, lying unconscious a short step away.
Hmm...
But no. He wasn't that desperate. Mind you, Seth deserved a taste of his own medicine. The bastard ought to be woken, then pinned to the floor while Nate gave him a good solid pounding, first with fists, then his cock.
But Nate had never taken anyone by force. Gold and jewels, yes. People, no. He was quite a romantic, really, but had always hidden it under a rakish exterior. When he mated, he did so to pleasure, not punish. Why else bother? Fucking felt so much better with someone you liked—and best of all with one you loved. Or two?
Ouch.
His divining rod jerked, pointing upward like an arrow. Nate's gaze shifted to the ceiling. This inn had once been his house, built with pirated gold, so he knew its design and which chamber lay above him.
More to the point, he knew the man and woman who lay in it, but they didn't know he stood below—or that he stood anywhere. They had no idea he was alive again, that they were the cause, that he'd spent two terrible, heartsick centuries waiting for their return. If they remembered any of last night's miracle they'd think it a dream, no doubt.
Hell, they didn't even know who they were...or, rather, who they had been. And Nate, for uncertain reasons, hesitated to enlighten them. He wasn't sure he had the right, or maybe he was simply afraid. In any case, he'd decided earlier, shortly before he met Seth, that if he should reveal himself to his lost loves, fate would tell him the proper time to do it.
However, his cock said the time was now.
And his mind was drunk enough to listen.
But not without his treasure in tow. He hadn't guarded it as a ghost only to give it up as a man. He glanced about the room. Where the devil had Seth put the jewels? Here?
With tipsy fervor, Nate bent over to search through a clump of clothes on a chair by the bed. The short pants he'd pilfered from the inn's laundry that morning lay on top, and the pockets still bulged with sparkling loot. Seth hadn't removed it. What wonderful luck.
Or not.
The chair crashed over, and Nate with it, as a snarling maniac landed on his back, all teeth and nails, as though changed from “devil” to wolf. Seth had revived suddenly and with a vengeance. Nate might have to kill him after all. Literally.
Hell's bells...
"What the fuck was that?” Naked, on his knees in the uppermost room of the Jolly Roger Inn, Enrico Verdi froze. Minutes earlier he'd pried up a floorboard to look beneath it—and found nothing, of course. He'd just pounded the board back into place when a crash sounded from the room below.
"Shit, sometimes I don't know my own strength.” He rose to his feet, muscles rippling, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “I hope I didn't collapse part of the ceiling down there."
Ann Hart Verdi half hoped he had. She adored her hot hunk of a husband, but his timing sucked. One moment they'd been kissing and cuddling in bed while Annie described an amazing dream she'd had the previous night, and what she thought it meant. And the next, she'd been left high and dry in a tumble of satin sheets while Rico rooted around under the floor like a pig searching for truffles.
Except he wasn't a pig, just pigheaded. Annie and Rico had grown up together and known each other for what felt like forever, but been married only a year. They were supposed to be celebrating their anniversary with a weekend of wild sex, not arguing, damn it.
She propped up on an elbow to frown at him as he walked toward her. “It would serve you right if you did break something, and the inn bills us for damages. I told you to leave well enough alone."
"You also told me there was a fortune in pirated jewels hidden under that board."
"With the emphasis on was.” The jewels had been hidden in 1785 by another young wife, Amalie MacDonnell—shortly before she hanged herself at the news of her darling's death. Annie suppressed a shiver. “I said they couldn't possibly still be here. Someone must have found them ages ago."
"If they were ever here in the first place."
The mattress dipped as Rico climbed back into bed an
d stretched out beside her, staring up at the ceiling, his dark brows knitted together in thought.
"I gotta admit, babe, I think it's more likely your dream was prompted by the power of suggestion. I mean, here we are in a place that was once a buccaneer's home. And we were drunk on champagne and playing our own game of pirates last night. It's a wonder I didn't dream about Nate Hawkins, too."
Rico's chest vibrated with what sounded like a forced laugh to Annie. She knew him so well. He had, in fact, dreamed something, but insisted he couldn't recall what. Or simply refused to. Whatever the reason, he'd awoken at dawn with a huge hard-on, way beyond his usual morning erection. They'd made good use of it, yet beneath the heat, Annie had sensed a ripple of unease. Rico's dream, remembered or not, might have aroused, but it had also unnerved him.
"Seriously, I'm trying to be open-minded about this,” he said, “but you know I've never believed in any of that weirdo stuff like reincarnation."
Neither had Annie. Until today. But she'd read a few articles on the subject and found it an interesting, if weird, possibility to ponder. Then last night she'd experienced something so vivid it had seemed more a journey into the past than a dream. Something far more powerful than champagne or suggestion. A fantasy, perhaps, but one that triggered a sudden soul-deep awareness of an existence that was once very real. Since waking, her mind had been crowded with two separate sets of memories, her own and...
Well, hell, the others were hers, too. Just not from this lifetime.
With a sigh, she snuggled up against Rico's side and rested her head on his shoulder. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, and I'll probably never be able to prove it, but somehow I also know you and I have lived before."
Loved before. Been married before.
"As Richard and Amalie MacDonnell?” Rico's sigh echoed hers. “A pirate and his ex-hooker wife?"
"Yep, you were the first mate of the schooner Mermaid, under Captain Nathaniel Hawkins, and I was a tavern wench you rescued from a life of sin on the wharves. And we were young and in love."
