It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 11

A Calendar of Choices

The story so far:

Kate and Jack make love in the hot pool, but Kate manages to hold her own, (so to speak). “No one steals my heart and soul,” she tells him. “Not even a pirate.” But something’s moving, out there in the jungle…

“Well, hell,” said Jack. He turned to look over his shoulder and the flex of his hips made his hardness shift deep inside Kate. She gasped.

Then she squeaked with dismay.

The fronds were parting and pirates were stepping out of the jungle, one by one, a calendar of buccaneer beefcake. In the lead was the giant Duka, the sun gleaming off the gleaming chocolate expanse of his splendid chest. The First Mate was followed by Peter, his blond hair thick and shiny, peering over the top of his spectacles like some sexy professor.

Oh yeah, mama, whispered Tess. She and Ess were sitting on a tree branch, their mouths hanging open, their wings beating the air in time with Kate’s agitated pulse.

“We was wonderin’, Cap’n,” murmured another man, a gorgeous oriental specimen, his almond eyes dark and intense over high, slashing cheekbones and a straight blade of a nose. He had a small goatee, neatly trimmed. “Where ye’d got to.”

“Aye.” Duka draped a huge arm over the man’s lean shoulders, making him stagger for an instant before he recovered. “And now we know.” The First Mate winked. “Not that we’re surprised.” He glanced at the rest of the calendar. “Are we, lads?”

All up, there was four months’ worth of magnificent male flesh, including Harley, the poster boy for bikers who preferred boats. And Jack.

Holy shit.

Hunching down, Kate tried to conceal herself behind Jack’s body, but he laughed and nuzzled her hair. “They don’t bother me, pretty Kate.” God, he’d stiffened inside her! Despite herself, she bore down on his delicious hardness, her flesh rippling.

“Pervert!” she hissed, wriggling the slightest bit.

Jack grinned, unrepentant, and her stupid heart did giddy-ups.

Kate released her death grip on his shoulders to put her hands to her burning cheeks. “Don’t you have any inhibitions at all?” she snapped.

“Not a one.” He paused and his brows drew down. “Pity though…”

“Pity? What’s a pity?”

Jack gave a theatrical sigh, his eyes dancing, which meant his chest expanded, brushing against her nipples. Kate bit her lip to keep the moan from escaping. “We need to dry you off. Dammit all to hell, you feel so hot and tight and bloody gorgeous and I’m going to have to pull out.” As he spoke, he began to ease away, his satin-steel cock slipping reluctantly over her slick tissues.

“No.” Kate grabbed his hips and clenched her thighs, shivering with sensation. “Don’t. They’ll see.” She swallowed. “See all of me.”

He throbbed inside her like a second heart. “Darlin’ girl.” He dropped a kiss on her nose, another on her panting mouth. “I told you.” Although he beamed with apparently simple pleasure and his eyes were guileless, his teeth shone very white. Sharp.

Kate had to lick her lips. Someone growled, but she couldn’t tell who. “Told me what?”

“You’re mine, sweetheart.” He rocked back into her, punctuating each word with a short thrust. “Body. Heart. And Soul.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see pirates kicking off their boots. A shirt sailed through the air and landed in a billow of white on the branch next to the Hormone Harlots. Their eyes as wide as dolls’ house dinner plates, they didn’t even flinch.

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page. Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

---

Now, in case you don’t know how it works…
You and I are participating characters in these adventures, one every month. Cool, huh? By joining my newsletter list, - http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti - you get to make the decisions about our heroine’s love life (via a Yahoo Poll), and you receive each chapter a month in advance of the website. Majority rules and our girl does what she’s told. Though I have a funny feeling about Kate…I play god(dess) which pushes all my evil-type buttons, and sometimes newsletter readers get to create characters and situations. It’s all good healthy wicked fun and occasionally, there are prizes. Oh, and lots of hot, kinky sex. Yeah!At the end of every newsletter chapter, you usually find three choices or a contest question with prizes.

---

Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun!

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Congratulations to Lyn Taylor!!

Lyn wins a signed copy of A RED HOT NEW YEAR, four sizzling stories, including my own effort, Coming on Strong. Lyn, send me your snail mail asap, so I can pop the book in the post before I leave for San Francisco - this Saturday!

To celebrate, here’s an excerpt. Coming on Strong is the second of my Kaminski Family stories, the first, Come Howling (do you discern a theme here?) is in the Ellora’s Cavemen: Seasons of Seduction 1 anthology. It was so much fun to write about the Kaminskis, who are a little…um…unusual.

There’s even a podcast and a trailer for A RED HOT NEW YEAR! So if you’re curious about what I sound like… At your own risk, okay? The hero, Sam, is a gorgeous rugged Aussie, which is why I did it, accent and all.

“I’m back!” she called, opening the door. “Do you like Chinese?”

Silence.

“Sam? Where are-”

The bathroom room door opened and Sam Jones appeared out of a billow of steam, wearing a towel knotted about his hips and nothing else. The take out hit the floor with a soggy thud, followed closely by the beer.

The view from the bedroom door had been stunning enough, but this was even more so, because now Gina received the full brunt of his personality, the intensity of the blue eyes, the flashing grin-along with a chest a mile wide, decorated with a silky mat of hair that dived happily beneath the towel.

“Nngh,” she said eloquently.

“Bugger!” Sam’s brow creased as his gaze dropped. “That’s no way to treat beer. Lucky they didn’t break. Here, let me-”

He bent to scoop up the bottles and the bag, giving her the best view possible of the fluid play of muscle and sinew, the strong knobs of his spine. Gina swallowed.

God knew how far her tongue was hanging out, but when Sam straightened, his cheekbones were stained with pink. “I’ll put these in the kitchen, shall I?”

Wordlessly, she nodded, and he edged past her, smelling of soap and shaving cream and masculinity. His bare chest grazed her arm and she had to suppress the startled twitch. Unable to help herself, she swiveled to watch his ass flex under the towel as he padded down the passageway, so that she was standing in the same place when he returned.

His composure regained, he paused when he reached her, looking down into her face, his blue eyes dark as dusk on the water. He tapped her nose with a long forefinger and Gina gurgled. “Guess I’d better dress for dinner?” She nodded. That slow smile broke over his face. “Don’t start without me, okay?” She nodded again.

Sam took two steps toward the spare room. Something near the back door made a sizzling noise and the lights went out.

“Shit!” They spoke simultaneously.

The darkness was as thick as a blanket, the cabin so isolated there were no street lights.

“It’s probably a fuse.” Sam’s voice came deep and reassuring. “Find me a torch and I’ll fix it.”

“Yes.” Gina licked her lips. “I think. Maybe there’s one in the kitchen.”

“Good-oh.”

She sensed his body heat as he took a step closer. “Sorry,” she muttered, moving to the right.

Sam grunted an acknowledgment and took a step to his left, just as she attempted to shift out of his way. In the same direction. Abruptly, they were standing breast to breast, thigh to thigh. Nudged off balance, Gina reached out in a panic, clutching at skin and chest hair.

“Ow.” Sam picked up her hand in his big one and transferred it to the smooth hard swell of his biceps. “Hang on here if you’re scared, darl. Doesn’t hurt as much.”

Oh God, she was going to die! Self-combust, right here in the dark! “I’m not scared,” she husked. But you should be. Each scale of the pattern burned individually beneath her skin and the fire flowered deep in her empty, weeping core, all the flesh there throbbing like a jungle drum in tune with the hammering of her heart.

“Don’t give me that. Gina, you’re shaking.” A big warm hand rubbed soothingly between her shoulder blades, clasped the nape of her neck. It paused. “Crikey, you’re hot! You’re not sick? Do you have a thermometer?”

“No, but I remember.” Gina had to stop and clear her throat, relax her death grip on hard biceps. “When I was ill, my Mom used to bend down and put her cheek against my forehead. Did yours do that?”

“Yeah, when I was a little fella.” His voice came softly out of the gloom. “Hold still.”

His hands slid up her arms to rest on her shoulders, pressing her into a wall of warm, hard muscle. Soft, silky hair still damp from the shower brushed her cheek and she tilted her chin. Slowly, oh so slowly, Sam bent his head until his clean-shaven cheek rested against her forehead. His skin was cool and smooth, with a hint of the underlying heat of his blood. Gina closed her eyes, luxuriating, sensing the soft whisper of his breath, blessing the complete absence of light. All she had to do was rise on tiptoes and turn her head the slightest bit to bury her nose in his neck.

“Gina, you’re burning!” She felt his throat vibrate as he spoke.

“I know,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.” Almost gladly, she stopped fighting, let the fire roar right over her, incinerating every particle of common sense she’d ever possessed. He was so wonderful, Sam Jones, so perfect. The fates had conspired to give her this man, and the concealing dark. She’d be mad to pass the opportunity by, regardless of the consequences on the morrow. There’d never be another chance like it.

“Yes, but shouldn’t we-”

She nipped the smooth skin below his ear, soothed the spot with her tongue.

Sam’s whole body went rigid against her. “Christ!”

“You can say no,” she breathed into his neck, trailing small, stinging nibbles along his jaw. God, he tasted fabulous, like salty, honeyed sin.

“No?” he croaked. One hand slid up under her hair, cradled her skull. “You think I’m crazy?”

The other palm cupped her cheek, holding her steady. Firm, cool lips traced her eyebrow, whispered over her eyelid. A thumb stroked across her lower lip, pressed gently. She scraped it with her teeth, bit. Sam made an unintelligible noise, deep in his throat, as if something had snapped inside him. His fingers tightened against her cheek and his mouth came down hard on hers.

Why on earth had she thought his lips were cool? They were furnace hot, his tongue a searing brand that slid into her mouth like a marauder, a conquering king. Her head spinning, Gina strained upward, her breasts mashed against his unyielding chest, accepting the invader, loving it, letting it do as it willed. Oh God, yes, yes! The pattern writhed, turning her universe into a soft dark space of wet and warmth in which nothing existed except the urgent dance of lips and tongues and hard desire.

It took her long, drugged moments to realize Sam was withdrawing, very slowly and gently, but nonetheless. His arms were still banded about her, one big hand splayed over her ass, pressing what felt like a long, thick bar of molten metal into her belly. From neck to knee, there wasn’t room to slip a piece of paper between their bodies, but now his lips were feather light on hers, no more than the merest brush. Instinctively, she slid her arms around his neck and raised her head, seeking, chasing more of that addictive taste, feeling the towel begin to slip. She wiggled her hips against it, delighted.

“Gina.” It was no more than a rasp in the blackness. “Love, stop.” His chest rose and fell against hers, the breath sawing out of him. He sank his fingers into her hair, tugging gently. “Stop, I said!”

He might as well have dunked her in cold, greasy washing-up water. Ah shit! Tears of humiliation welled in her eyes. Abruptly, she jerked back, very nearly succeeding in tearing herself out of his arms. Reflexively, they tightened around her. “No,” he said. “No, that’s not what I meant. Strewth, I can’t see a fucking thing!”

“I said you could say no.” Gina braced herself on the hard slabs of his pectorals and shoved backward, feeling the silky hair tickle her palms. “Let me go!”

“Nu-uh.” He stepped forward, one thigh coming up firmly between her legs, so that she rode him, the thick seam of her jeans catching her quivering clit fair and square. As he backed her into the wall, the towel slid off completely, flopping softly over her feet, and her core released a slick gush of fluid. Oh God, she could smell her own arousal! What must Sam be thinking? She moaned her distress.

“Gina, listen.” He lowered his head, his nose brushing hers and she caught the gleam of his eyes. “Don’t push me.” His voice dropped an octave, the Aussie drawl very pronounced. “I’m within a hairs-breadth of shoving you against the wall and fucking your brains out.”

She froze, allowing herself to feel the bulky throb of his cock pressing into her stomach, the way he was crowding her, looming above her, so she felt small and helpless and oh-so-female. Surging up from the depths, her spirits rose so high, so quickly, the rollercoaster of emotions made her dizzy. Digging her fingers into Sam’s shoulders, she flicked out her tongue, licking his upper lip.

He groaned, the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. “Darl, it’s darker than the devil’s armpit in here. Tell me I haven’t got it wrong.” She sensed him run a hand through his hair. “Shit, Gina, you don’t know me from a bar of soap.” He swiveled his hips against her and she whimpered. “Jesus, I reckon I’ve got two seconds left- Talk quick.”

“Suppose I…” She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t hear herself think over the pounding of her blood. Something about the dark interfered with her inhibitions, made it an erotic dream, a fantasy in which all things were possible. In which she was bold and beautiful and impossibly sexy. “Suppose I tell you what I want. Explicitly.”

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I loved writing STRONGMAN and I absolutely, flat-out adored writing the Epilogue for it. It was…um…very satisfying.

Don’t ask me what it is about two gorgeous alpha men loving each other. I dunno. More bang for your buck? *wicked chuckle*

If you didn’t know, the film, Brokeback Mountain, was the original inspiration for STRONGMAN. By the time the credits rolled up, I was in tears. I was also furious - what an appalling waste of true love! Fort is essentially Ennis, the character played by Heath Ledger. Griff turned out to be - well, Griff. He’s unique.

Elaine talked about the movie in a comment a little while ago -

Of course I couldn’t find another solution for them. In that time and in that society, they would have butted up against the brick wall of bigotry at every turn. The only solution would have been to take them to a totally different world. And that’s exactly what Strongman does. That story was responsible for helping me pull myself out of the funk caused by Brokeback Mountain. At least Fort and Griff made it. They’re happy. *sigh* There’s hope for every other couple after reading about them. Thank you Denise.

The link for the complete epilogue (two whole chapters’ worth) will be in my next newsletter - second week of July. http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti It’s my exclusive gift for the members of my newsgroup. Why? Because I love ‘em all to death for sticking with me, that’s why.

Also because I’ll be away from mid July to September, travelling in the US and Canada. And I feel bad, because my Internet access will be intermittent.

Here you go ~ BTW, the drawing is by John Singer Sargent. It encapsulates so much of what I’m trying to convey about masculinity and aggression and eroticism. And it’s beautiful.

Epilogue

The click of metal on metal sounded very loud over the sound of their panting breath, the breeze whispering in the trees. Six fucking months it had taken Griff to win a wrestling match with Fort - but now, Twister be praised, he had. First fall.

Carefully, Griff rose, backed away. Any second… One, two -

“What the fuck-?” Fort’s roar of fury shook the hidden valley. He lurched to his feet, awkward because of the wrists cuffed behind him. “You little shit, you cheated!”

Griff staggered over to a handy boulder and collapsed, his heart singing even as the breath rasped in his lungs. “No more than you did, that first time.” He shot the big man a feral grin, full of evil promise. “I wasn’t going to lose, not again.” Twisting around, he rubbed the back of his thigh. “Shit, I think I pulled something.”

“Serves you right,” said Fort sourly. “But cuffs, Griff?” They rattled as he tested them, the muscles writhing beautifully under olive skin. “Was that necessary?”

Griff straightened, brushing off the bits of grass, the crushed daisies, checking for bruises. He took his time, trying to still the internal trembling. He was naked, they both were, the daylight illuminating every muscle, every tendon and sinew, the scars on Fort’s huge body. “I didn’t think anything as flimsy as leather would hold you,” he said.

Exclusive to members of my newsletter group.

If you enjoy male/male romance, especially that written by female authors, what is it that draws you? Do you have authors to recommend? Josh Lanyon’s good, and I like Jet Mykles and Morgan Hawke when they do Yaoi.

I’m still astonished at how it pushes my buttons. Do you think that’s weird? (It’s okay if you do!)

If you don’t like it, what is it that turns you off?

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It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 9

Harlot Heaven

The story so far:

Having arrived at Sweet Sisters Isle, Kate is finding it difficult to fight the buzz of magic in her blood, let alone cope with Jack’s distracting, sexy presence or the sight of Duka mastering the Duchess. To her surprise, Jack gives her the choice as to what they do next. And she thought he only had one thing on his mind…

The path through the jungle was as lovely as everything else on Sweet Sisters Isle, deeply shaded, the deep, fine sand pleasantly cool between Kate’s bare toes. Every now and then it narrowed, and she had the guilty pleasure of watching the flex of Jack’s muscular buttocks, swinging along in front of her.

Great ass, observed the husky-voiced Harlot. Biteable.

The air shimmered at the edges of Kate’s vision, as if a large dragon-fly had just whisked out of existence. She jerked around, but there was nothing to be seen, only the feathery fronds of jungle plants-and what was that? An orchid?

Smiling, Kate reached out to stroke her fingertips over the thick, creamy petals. The lilac coloured throat emitted a low mewl of pleasure.

“Aaargh!” She jumped back, and Jack’s arms slid around her waist from behind, reassuringly strong and solid.

“Relax, Kate,” a deep voice purred in her ear. It’s just the magic.”

“But it made a noise!”

“So what? It likes you.” He nuzzled her cheek. “You’re a vortex for the magic. It’s drawn to you. I can see it swirling all over your head and shoulders. Rather like a halo.” He gave a decidedly devilish chuckle. “One I intend to tarnish, good and proper.”

Before Kate could think of a suitably scathing reply, he took her hand, lacing their fingers together, tugging her along. “C’mon, just a little further.”

A narrow path branched upward and Jack took it at a rapid pace, his hand strong in hers.

The air grew warm and steamy and the chuckle of water falling on stone filled the air. The vegetation grew positively luxuriant - rampant vines looped over silky tree trunks, flowers bloomed profusely, everywhere she looked, in every possible shade of pastel, gleaming in iridescent tones from cream to violet and back again. And it smelled - God, it smelled absolutely divine!

Despite herself, Kate’s eyes filled with tears. When she saw Jack had turned to stare, she dashed a hand across her eyes. “Don’t say it,” she snarled. “I’m a sentimental fool.”

Jack said nothing, but he bent his handsome head and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. Then he ushered her through a tumbledown arch made of honey-gold stone.

All the breath punched out of Kate’s lungs.

They stood on the lip of a pool of clear water, as green as jade. It lay like a jewel in the dappled sunlight, tendrils of steam drifting above the surface in slow arabesques. For all the world, it looked as though a team of ancient Greek sculptors had completed half the coping and then become bored and wandered off, leaving the rest to Nature. Marble steps descended into the translucent depths, and a statue of a gracefully bending maiden emptied an urn into the pool, the long stream of falling water as smooth and beautiful as the finest Venetian glass. Rather to Kate’s surprise, the maiden was decorously clad in a flowing tunic that left one stone shoulder bare.

“Do you like it?” Jack smiled at her and for a moment, Kate thought she could glimpse the boy in the man.

She could only nod, lost for words, her eyes still stinging with an emotion she didn’t understand.

A warm palm rubbed gentle circles over her spine. “You need this, pretty Kate. Think of it as the gift of the Sweet Sisters - peace, at least for a little while.”

“P-peace?”

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

---

Now, in case you don’t know how it works…
You and I are participating characters in these adventures, one every month. Cool, huh? By joining my newsletter list, - http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti - you get to make the decisions about our heroine’s love life (via a Yahoo Poll), and you receive each chapter a month in advance of the website. Majority rules and our girl does what she’s told. Though I have a funny feeling about Kate…I play god(dess) which pushes all my evil-type buttons, and sometimes newsletter readers get to create characters and situations. It’s all good healthy wicked fun and occasionally, there are prizes. Oh, and lots of hot, kinky sex. Yeah!At the end of every newsletter chapter, you usually find three choices or a contest question with prizes.

---

Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun!

---

One lucky commenter in June will win an autographed copy of A Red Hot New Year, four sizzling stories to ring in the New Year, including my contribution, Coming on Strong!

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I’ve often giggled at my mother when she misplaces her glasses. “Wait a sec,” she’ll say. “I can’t hear you without my specs.” Meaning she can’t see my face, and my lips moving.

Facial expression is an absolutely essential part of human interaction. I was reminded of this very powerfully yesterday when I watched a colleague struggle to assist a woman wearing a full burqa, complete with the veil over the eyes. Because for us humans, it’s the eyes that really carry the conversation.

Think of the big deal writers make out of the colour and/or expression of a character’s eyes. Think of how irritated you become if a character’s eyes change colour (without explanation) part of the way through the book. (Well it drives me insane, but then we all know I’m the Picky Bitch from Hell.)

There are so many ways to describe eyes, and all of them carry a subtext to which the reader responds emotionally. For example, I have light brown eyes, a shade of khaki really. Extraordinarily ordinary. Certainly not especially romantic to my mind. But think of all the heroes who have “amber” eyes. Huh? Have you ever met anyone with eyes that are actually the golden-orange of amber, or the yellow of real gold ? It’s remotely possible, I guess, but I suspect we’re talking about the romantic version of my brown-khaki eyes, which do have a yellowish cast. Sounds revolting, doesn’t it?

For example, a man with dull, black eyes can’t be the hero! (Unless he’s miserable, or ill.) There’s a sort of code I think - something to do with the length of the lashes and the unusual eye colour. Brin, from GIFT OF THE GODDESS has black eyes, but they’re not just black, you know? They’re midnight eyes!

…fathomless. Midnight eyes, framed by inky lashes. The tiny part of her mind still functioning noted slashing cheekbones, a high-bridged nose and a firm, beautiful mouth. But she couldn’t drag her stare away from his, from the cool intelligence shining there, the adamantine will.

If Trey was warm, sweet fire, this man was night. Deepest, darkest, midnight and velvet. Beautiful.

And infinitely dangerous.

And a little later -

Without releasing her from his stare, he growled, “You’re the poet, Trey. Tell her about the goddess.” His eyes were enigmatic, compelling, sucking at her soul, her self-possession. Despising herself, she squared her shoulders and fought to keep her nerve.

Even though it’s a first impression, Brin’s eyes convey to Anje, and through her, to the reader, an enormous amount about his personality. In fact, I just counted and the word “eyes” occurs seventeen times in Chapter 1! It’s astonishing how much we look at each other!

Meet Grayson, Duke of Ombra, hero of THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW (Coming 4th November) -

She’d thought his eyes must be as dark as his hair, but this close, they were a clear, limpid gray. Long-lidded eyes, full of secrets, shielded with extravagant lashes, surely the gift of some besotted goddess. His brows were strongly marked, with an upward slant at the corners. They gave him a sardonic air that went well with his lithe, self-contained grace.

He’s a very different guy, nothing like Brin at all. If you like ‘em all dark and tortured and angsty, Gray’s your man! BTW, all heroes have wonderful eyelashes, it’s obligatory. Actually, most men do, ever noticed? My son has the best eyelashes in the family and the loveliest eyes - a vivid blue-green.

So, what sort of eyes stop you in your tracks? Either in reality, or in fiction?

I love the contrast between eyes and hair and skin. The so-called “Irish” colouring of blue, blue eyes and black hair makes me breathless every time. In fact, I always find the light eyes/darker skin combo stunning - Jason Momoa, for example. We talked about him and Stargate.

What are the most unusual eyes you’ve ever seen? (Contact lenses don’t count!)

I once knew a girl with reddish-brown eyes, fox colour. She had auburn hair. I guess the best description would be sherry-brown. Fledge in TAILSPIN has her eyes, but there’s no sherry on Phoenix sadly, so I settled for calling them russet. Then there was the school friend with the palest of pale gray eyes - they were truly silvery. She was blond. Definitely a bit disconcerting and I’ve never seen anything like them, before or since.

And just to get you in the mood, here’s a pair of extraordinarily expressive eyes to enjoy - I sure did!

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 8

The Next Trembling Step

The story so far:

One kiss and Jack swears he’ll have Kate’s heart and soul as well as her delectable little body. The Brazen Hussy sails on through the magical Mist protecting Sweet Sisters Isle, home of the pirates, and Kate’s eyes open wide…

Kate gazed into the translucent blue depths, marveling. She could see all the way to the sandy bottom. Shoals of small fish nosed about the stout wooden piles of the dock where the Brazen Hussy was moored. Smiling, she watched them darting back and forth, like a cloud of living jewel-toned sweets.

A strong hand fisted in the back of the shirt she wore - Jack’s shirt. Speak of the devil… “Don’t tumble in, pretty Kate.”

Ooooh, yes, chorused the Hormone Harlots.

So masterful, sighed one.

Kate frowned. This voice was languishing and soft, ultra-feminine. The one she’d heard in the cabin had been a husky contralto. So there were two of them?

Uh-huh. They spoke together.

A spotted ray flapped past below, the tips of its wings furling up and down like a heavy tablecloth in a breeze.

“You picked a beautiful spot,” she said grudgingly.

“Aye.” The silk of Jack’s beard brushed the side of her neck. “I have excellent taste.”

“All’s shipshape, Cap’n,” rumbled Duka, looming behind them.

“Good.” Turning, Jack raised his voice. “Who’s for home, lads?”

At the chorus of enthusiastic shouts, he grinned, so like a boy that Kate’s heart did a flip-flop. Ridiculous thing.

With a rebel yell, blond Peter dived neatly over the side and stroked through the gentle swell to the shore. Spectacles clutched in one fist, he rose up out of the water like a piratical version of Mr Darcy. Kate sighed. Heavens, he was sweet! Look at those shoulders in the wet shirt. And that ass in the wet breeches, and…

“Enough,” said Jack crisply.

The world swung, then steadied as he scooped her up in his arms. Kate clutched at his shoulders. “Will you stop doing that?”

“There are other ways.” Jack glanced back over his shoulder as he started down the narrow gangplank. He reached the dock and lowered Kate until her feet hit sun-warmed wood. “Like that, for instance.”

Turning in his arms, Kate followed his gaze and gasped.

Duka had wrapped his belt around the waist of the Duchess. There was at least a foot of leather left over. He had the tongue of the belt in one huge fist so that the Duchess had to stumble along the deck behind him, almost trotting to keep up with his long stride. With a delicious little shock, Kate realised the other woman’s wrists were secured together with a length of rope.

But when the First Mate set foot on the narrow piece of timber that did duty for a gangplank, the Duchess baulked, the angry flush fading from her fair cheeks until she was pale as milk. “No,” she whispered.

Slowly, Duka turned, the plank bowing under his considerable weight. “What was that?” he enquired mildly.

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

---

Now, in case you don’t know how it works…
You and I are participating characters in these adventures, one every month. Cool, huh? By joining my newsletter list, - http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti - you get to make the decisions about our heroine’s love life (via a Yahoo Poll), and you receive each chapter a month in advance of the website. Majority rules and our girl does what she’s told. Though I have a funny feeling about Kate…I play god(dess) which pushes all my evil-type buttons, and sometimes newsletter readers get to create characters and situations. It’s all good healthy wicked fun and occasionally, there are prizes. Oh, and lots of hot, kinky sex. Yeah!At the end of every newsletter chapter, you usually find three choices or a contest question with prizes.

---

Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun!

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Note my trembling upper lip, the brave way I choke back the tears. Mr Gorgeous was pipped at the post in the Book Cover of the Year contest - by a pod of sexy orca whales! They make a truly beautiful cover. Oh woe, oh woe is me… Mr Gorgeous came second.

To see all the place-getters, pop over to Erin Aislinn’s website. Then come right back so you can hold my hand.

You’ll remember Mr Gorgeous was February Book Cover of the Month? There’s the award, on the left. All hail to Syneca, Goddess of Ellora’s Cave covers, who created it. She’s an amazing artist.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for voting. You’re all wonderful!

I decided a little excerpt would make me feel better. It’s emotionally exhausting being gracious, you know.

A gentle fist took Anje’s loins and squeezed. Holy Mother, she’d never had a man Brin’s size! Two heartbeats later, the full sense of what he’d said caught up with her and for an instant, all the strength leaked out of her knees. She stumbled and Brin steadied her.

“We?” Her voice cracked. “What do you mean, we?”

“Exactly what I said. Ah Trey. Good.” Trey laid a rough bar of soap and a clean shirt on the rock. Brin moved behind her and untied her hands. Over his shoulder, he said to the other man, “You start at her feet. I’ll meet you in the middle. And scrub!” He sounded amused. “How long since you had a bath, scout?”

“Look, you wouldn’t—” Anje lunged away in mid-sentence. Two steps later, she was sprinting. The forest was the Mother’s. It would hide her.

But before she could really hit her stride, a long arm snagged her elbow and spun her around to smack into Brin’s powerful chest. Clucking his disapproval, Trey knelt and grasped her ankles, fumbling with the laces on her boots. He was bare already, the sunlight sparkling cheerfully on the knobs of his spine, on firm, creamy flesh.

Ah, Mother help her! Anje kicked hard with her heel, putting all the strength of thigh and hip into straightening her leg and catching him viciously on the collarbone. He disappeared with a muffled curse and a splash.

Abruptly, her legs were swept out from under her. She landed in the shallows with a tremendous, smacking splash and a mountain fell on top of her.

She swore, bucking like a fellwolf in a trap, squirming against the weight of Brin’s body. He had her caged, pressing her into the soft sand, his chest spreading her breasts beneath him. His huge hands were wrapped around her throat, the fingers set firmly against her thundering pulse. The threat was clear, but the pressure was not at all uncomfortable.

“Listen to me, scout.” He trapped her legs under his, the wet leather of his trews slick and slippery on her thigh. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “I may have been a little blunt.”

“Blunt?” She glared, wondering why the heat of her rage and terror hadn’t boiled the blood in his veins.

Inky lashes swept over his eyes. When he looked up, she lost her train of thought for a second. “We won’t hurt you, I swear. We can’t. Lufra’s Law does not permit it.”

The water lapped cool over her limbs, kissed the back of her neck.

Trey’s voice came from beside her, cajoling. “Think how good it’ll be to be clean. Come on, sweeting.”

“Lufra’s Law?” she croaked, her gaze still tangled with Brin’s.

Slowly, he peeled his body away, his dark face impassive. But she thought he was well pleased with himself. “Show some sense, scout. You’re more than outnumbered and I’ve given my word we won’t hurt you.”

“Gods! How stupid do you think I am?” Her face twisted with scorn, while her heart galloped like a runaway vran. She’d never felt so small, so helpless.

So very, very female.

“For the last time, we won’t rape you!” Brin’s lips thinned. “What is it about Feolin honor you don’t understand?”

“Feolin honor…?” Words failed her. Carefully, she sat up.

“Lufra’s Law does not permit a woman to be taken against her will.” Brin showed his teeth. “Lufra is a goddess of pleasure, of love. The use of force in the act of sex is sacrilege to the Feolin.”

“But you said you were going to…” She had to drag in a breath. “…fuck me.”

The tension went out of his shoulders. He enveloped her wrist in one hand and carried it to his lips. “And we will.” His tongue drew tiny circles over the flutter of her pulse. “With great pleasure. Yours too.”

“But you said—”

“Without before within,” said Trey. He rubbed his shoulder against hers, like a temple cat.

“For the Mother’s sake, speak plainly! What do you mean?”

“Plainly? Very well,” said Brin. His voice was deep and dispassionate. “The Law of Lufra states that no man may take his pleasure inside any part of a woman’s body, unless she has offered to the Goddess first. Each time, every time. Without before within. You see?”

“Offered to the goddess?” Anje stared. “Oh.” Comprehension dawned. “You mean if I don’t come, you can’t fuck me?”

“Crudely put, but true. Lufra cares only for pleasure, freely given.” This time, he did smile—a crooked smile, true, but devastating for all that. She wondered if he knew what a lethal weapon he had. Hah! Of course he knew, the calculating bastard.

Anje looked from one grinning face to the other. The tide of her panic receded slightly, allowing her to breathe. Inside her, a sliver of dark arousal tangled with the fear and fury. Ruthlessly, she stamped it out.

The arrogance of them, the smug, unmitigated… To hold a Child of the Mother and expect her to— Men serviced her, not the other way around.

“Go to hell!” So furious she was panting, she snatched up the clean shirt.

Brin actually chuckled, a dark and wicked sound that made her belly clench. “Mind you, the Law of Lufra is not fussy as to ways and means.”

He lunged.

The scuffle was short and sharp, and she had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt when she elbowed his inner thigh, perilously high. But the end was inevitable.

“Come on, scout.” She ignored the seductive whisper. “You’re safe as long as you control your…urges. I give you my word.”

Trey scrambled closer and took her hands. “You might as well get clean, darling. We aren’t letting you go.”

Brin stood and tugged at the laces of his trews. Anje looked away, but not before she caught a glimpse of a nasty bruise, riding low on one hard hip. He chuckled.

Trey removed her boots and pulled her down until she was reclining on the sandy shelf. As he arranged her feet on his thigh, she heard splashing and Brin settled behind her. A big, muscled arm slid beneath her neck. “Lean your head back, scout.”

For an instant longer, she held firm. Ah Mother, Trey was right, it would be wonderful to bathe properly. Among the Children, a warrior’s word was her bond. Why it should be she couldn’t fathom, but instinct told her she could trust the Feolin to be no different.

She knew she couldn’t expect them not to push Lufra’s Law to its limit—and hers. Gods there wasn’t anything she’d put past them! Nonetheless, this body was hers to control. She could be strong.

And after she was clean and fed—it had been hours since she’d eaten—she’d be on her way with the precious map. They had to sleep sometime. Through half-closed eyes, she caressed Trey’s shoulders with her gaze. She might even arrange a meeting later, on her own terms, between clean sheets.

But which man? How…piquant.

Feeling confident for the first time since Brin’s hard hands had grabbed her on the hilltop, she relaxed and let herself be held.

The water felt wonderful on her scalp, Brin’s fingers unraveling her braids and swishing her hair back and forth, sifting and stroking. The soap smelt spicy, astringent, a masculine smell. She liked it.

“Good?”

Anje groaned. Trey rubbed the soles of her feet and worked lather between her toes.

She allowed herself to drift. Ah, Mother of the world, she was tired. Three months was a long, lonely time. The relaxation pulled her under, turning her limbs to honey. A warm mouth whispered over her cheek, traced her eyebrow.

So very tempting. No pressure. As long as she didn’t climax, she could relax and enjoy being pampered. The Children had no time for pampering. What utterly wicked luxury.

“What’s your name?” Brin murmured in her ear.

“Anje,” she said and groaned again, this time with disgust at her own stupidity.

Read the first chapter of Gift of the Goddess , or buy the book (print or electronic).

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

 

Chapter 7
A Wager Claimed

The story so far:
Jack’s giant First Mate, Duka, reduces the Duchess to a quivering bundle of submission with an expertly administered spanking on her bare bottom. Jack gives the order to set sail for the pirates’ island home. But where is it?

You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Kate stood, blinking, in the centre of Jack Cavanagh’s cabin on the Brazen Hussy. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a combination of luxury and order. Lord, this had to be the fruits of years of raiding. The rich patina of polished wood was everywhere, from the bunk - wide enough for two - to the magnificent antique mahogany desk beneath the porthole. Antique? What a joke! She was living in an antique dealer’s wet dream.

Wriggling her toes, she dug them into what had to be a priceless rug, all cool silk pile under her soles. It felt at least six inches thick. Above her head, hung a pair of lamps in a fretted, Moorish style. Gazing at the soft brassy lustre, she wasn’t at all sure they weren’t pure gold.

Everything was scrupulously clean and polished, the papers on the desk arranged in two tidy piles, with a sextant and conch shell to hold them down. And he had an eye for colour as well as quality, Jack Cavanagh, because he would look beautiful in this space, she just knew it. She could imagine him lounging against the jewel-toned pillows heaped on the bunk, the vibrant colours enhancing his tigerish eyes, highlighting his auburn hair. And what they would do for his naked golden skin!

Keerrrist, yes! muttered one of the Hormone Harlots. Kate shook her head, puzzled. She’d never been able to differentiate between them before. They’d always been a duet. This voice was deep and a touch husky, contralto.

“Like it?” Jack leaned against the door, smiling that dangerous smile.

Her stomach doing flip-flops, Kate glared. She swept out an arm, indicating the furnishings. “Is this your booty, pirate?”

Unperturbed, Jack grinned, sauntering closer. “Indeed it is, pretty Kate.” He stroked a finger down her bare arm and she shivered, jerking away. “And so are you.”

“I’m no one’s property.”

Jack considered that, his head to one side. “Your heart and soul, that’s your own. No one can take what you won’t give. But your sweet little body, now…” He drew her closer, firm gentle hands on her upper arms. “About the kiss you wagered…”

Kate stared, mesmerized.

“You know, sweetheart, I haven’t been so intrigued for a long, long time.” He stroked her nose with a long forefinger and she felt her eyes cross. Hissing, she batted his hand away. Jack chuckled. “There are you, you see? You’re all fire and quick wits, Kate. A challenge.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me, you thief!”

“I’m not.” Jack’s gaze grew intent. “I mean to have you, Kate, I’m going to fuck you every way I want, whenever I want and with whom I want. And more.” When she gasped, reeling, his elegant mouth quirked in the neat beard. His slid one hand up under her hair to cradle the back of her neck. “Never fear, it will be what you want too.”

Kate clenched her fists. She mustn’t hit him, she mustn’t. She couldn’t afford to antagonise the man who had such power over her. Such power, sighed the Harlots, giving her clit surreptitious tug. Kate set her teeth against the surge. “You’re very sure of yourself, Jack Cavanagh,” she said.

Jack’s eyes twinkled. “Some have called me arrogant,” he agreed. “But I never underestimate an opponent. You’re worthy of my steel, Kate.” His teeth flashed. “So to speak. In fact…that’s the whole point. I can’t be entirely sure of your heart and soul, but I can be sure of this.”

He bent his head and fitted his lips to hers.

Kate held herself rigid, not helping. Which didn’t seem to bother Jack at all. He was taking his time, drawing it out, exploring one lick and nibble at a time. Oh God, her lips were tingling and her entire traitorous body yearned to shift forward an inch, to press up against all that muscled hardness and warmth. Everywhere they touched, little fires sprang up under her skin so that she trembled with the effort of ignoring them.

Jack murmured, “That’s my girl, fight it.” His lips curved against hers. He was smiling, the bastard!

Show him, screamed the Harlots in chorus. Go on, show him how it’s done!

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

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Now, in case you don’t know how it works…
You and I are participating characters in these adventures, one every month. Cool, huh? By joining my newsletter list, - http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti - you get to make the decisions about our heroine’s love life (via a Yahoo Poll), and you receive each chapter a month in advance of the website. Majority rules and our girl does what she’s told. Though I have a funny feeling about Kate…I play god(dess) which pushes all my evil-type buttons, and sometimes newsletter readers get to create characters and situations. It’s all good healthy wicked fun and occasionally, there are prizes. Oh, and lots of hot, kinky sex. Yeah!At the end of every newsletter chapter, you usually find three choices or a contest question with prizes. Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun! http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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Doin’ the Happy Dance at Rossetti Towers.

TAILSPIN is a finalist in the 2007 Passionate Plume Contest!!! Yay!!!

It’s run by Passionate Ink, a Special Interest Chapter of Romance Writers of America for erotic romance writers.

Let me tell you, I am absolutely deelighted! To be in a final with all those fine writers is such a blast. And what’s even better - the winners in each category are announced at the PI luncheon at the RWA Conference in San Francisco and I’ll be there. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!!!

And I get this neat little logo to put on this blog and my website, so I can brag properly. heh heh

I’ll return to our normal program tomorrow with a Wordplay post, but I just had to tell you. The email came at the best time. I’ve just finished the edits for THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW and I was deep, deep in Editing Hell. Didn’t know up from down, Arthur from Martha - whether I was making the damn thing better or worse. Actually, I still don’t know, but it’s gone now - out of my hands. Whoosh! to my editor.

To celebrate, I thought we’d have an excerpt - Ah, Mirry…

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Mirry slid his palm from her shoulder to her hand, lingering over the caress. He grasped it and drew it up slowly, over his knee. Higher.“You may as well look, you know. It won’t go away while you’re touching me.” His voice was so absolutely toneless, she knew he must be amused by her naivety. But when she glanced into his face, there was nothing to be seen but calm and concentration.Nonetheless, the suspicion he was laughing at her lingered and the sting of it gave her courage.She let herself look.And made a startling discovery. “Lufra! There’s no hair on your body.”“Only feathers,” he agreed. “Except on my head.”

Something tugged her closer and she realized his tail was snugged around her waist, the feathered end of it brushing her belly. But that was a peripheral consideration. She leaned forward, enthralled, and his hips rose slightly off the bed.

She’d never cared much for testicles, though Veryl had been inordinately proud of his. They’d been big enough for manliness, she supposed—she had no grounds for comparison. But they’d been wrinkled and hairy and pendulous, not round and rosy-gold and tight like ripe gaeta fruits on the vine. Bare and smooth.

All the air in the wagon evaporated. She couldn’t suck enough of it into her lungs.

When she licked her lips, Mirry made a purring noise deep in his throat. His…his… Lufra, she had to brace herself to form the word, even in her head. His cock reared over his ridged stomach, a golden column. The broad head flushed a deep amber and a pearl of moisture glimmered on the tip, gilded by the light of the lantern. As she watched, he took it in one hand, running his thumb over the satiny skin with casual competence. His chest rose and fell, the gilded nipples fiercely erect.

Shameless, he was absolutely shameless.

“True enough.” He chuckled and her sex contracted with greed at the wicked, masculine sound. Gods, she’d spoken aloud! Either that or he’d read her mind.

“Fledge.” Plumage rustled as he tilted his head, holding her pinned with the intensity of his raptor’s gaze. Suddenly, she had an insight into the mortal terrors of small tasty creatures like bunrats. “Touch me.”

There was no room for choice in his tone, nothing but imperious demand. Fledge froze, immobilized by longing, paralyzed by fear.

The seconds stretched. Finally, Mirry sighed. The strange, tufted brows drew together. He lifted his fingers away from hers, uncoiled his tail from around her waist. Without the warmth of his flesh, a chill slithered down her spine.

He tucked his hands behind his head, revealing more russet-colored, wispy down, this time in the hollows under his arms. The sight affected her strangely, made her chest hurt.

“Please,” he said. The word seemed dragged out of him. Even as his hips lifted and his cock quivered, his sculptured lips compressed in a thin line of displeasure. Fledge knew that expression. She’d angered him. Gods. Her spine stiffened while her stomach roiled. Imperceptibly, she withdrew and Mirry sighed. The silence stretched, but he made no further move toward her and finally, she was able to raise her eyes to his.

She drowned in the topaz depths. “I’ll never see you again,” she husked. “I know that.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged and feathers whispered across her pillows. “Perhaps not.”

The moment he’d set her free, perversely, she wanted to be held. She shook her head, amazed at herself. Her brain must be disordered by such unadulterated beauty. He’d hypnotized her.

“No?” He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. A muscle at the corner of his jaw knotted. “Ah well, I’ll not force you.” He sat up with a wince, a tawny angel shining in her shabby wagon. “I’d better go.”

“No! You can’t! I mean—” She swallowed, conscious her voice had risen to an undignified squeak. “Your wings. I have to— They’re still filthy and your wound…”

“Don’t worry, little Fledge.” He trailed his knuckles across her cheek. “I’ll be fine.

He was really going. Really. Forever. All sense left her. The seconds tiptoed by, rich with the strange and varied noises of the Ten Nations Fair at night. A man whistled tunelessly in the distance. Harness jingled in a cheerful counterpoint, one of the vranee whickered.

“You could close your eyes,” she whispered.

In the warmth and the lamplight, the silence seemed endless. A night wind swept over the campground, making canvas flap and timber creak. The little wagon rocked the slightest bit.

Finally, Mirry said, “So I could.” Every movement graceful and deliberate, he took the bowl from her nerveless fingers and laid it on the floor. Then he lay back against the pillows, reached out a long arm and drew her down to his chest. He tipped up her chin with one hand, tilted his head and fitted his mouth over hers.

Her first gasp was one of surprise, her second a moan of pleasure. Ah Goddess, he kissed as though time was an irrelevance, nibbling lightly at her lower lip, running his tongue gently over the curve of it. There was no rush, no slobbering or pushing, just an ocean of gentle delight, of satin smooth and tingling texture, wet and hot and firm. As it went on and on and he showed no sign of impatience or dissatisfaction, Fledge allowed herself to relax, to sink into the intoxicating depths of it, a fraction at a time.

Mirry still held her hand in his, his long fingers laced through hers. When the other flailed about, he caught it and skimmed it over the good side of his chest, brushing her palm over the fine feathers. They were soft and cool, tickling her skin, the way she imagined the breast of a bird might do. But underneath was a wealth of smooth, warm solidity.

Shyly, she let her tongue creep out and play with his. Mirry made a humming sound of approval and drew her closer, spearing his fingers into her hair and dislodging the tie she used to keep the curls from swinging in her face. He deepened the kiss, luring her on until she was so lost in sensation, she would have crawled right inside his skin if she’d been able. His elegant fingers cradled the back of her skull, his big body was hard and furnace hot beneath hers and his tail clamped around her waist, a girdle of silk-clad muscle. Simultaneously ravished and comforted, Fledge moaned into his mouth.

He took his time, but finally, infinitely slowly, he let her surface, brushing his lips across hers, kissing her eyelids, the tip of her nose, laying a trail of nibbles along her jaw. Under her clutching fingers, his shoulders were rigid, as hard as marble, belying the tenderness of his lips. At last, he pulled back to stare into her face.

For an instant, surprise swam in his eyes, but before she could work out why that might be so, he smiled and Fledge lost her mind. It was a grin of unabashed boyish delight and it lit his face with an unholy beauty. Reeling under the impact, she gurgled, as stunned as if he’d hit her with his fist.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “So pouty and soft. Like a little cushion.” He rested the flat of his thumb on the center of her lower lip. “Just here.” His voice dropped a register. “Gods, the things I could do with your mouth…”

*sigh*

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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My newsletter has just gone out, which means it’s time for… TADAAAA!!!

Crime, Punishment and a Good Spanking

The next episode of Rackety Kate!

Chapter 6

The story so far:
Jack accepts Kate’s challenge, though she didn’t really intend to make one in the first place, but that Irish temper… The Comte betrays the Duchess and Duka, Jack’s First Mate, is mighty taken with her, though she abuses him roundly. When Jack decrees she be punished, Duka happily accepts the task of getting the haughty blonde to see the error of her ways.

You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Duka turned to Jack. “Now or later?” he enquired.

Jack pursed his lips in thought, his considering gaze fixed on the furious Duchess, squirming in Duka’s grip, still gasping threats.

Hang you, you bastard,” Kate heard her mutter. “Draw and quarter…”

“Let’s begin as we mean to go on. Punishment should always follow directly after the crime. Go ahead.”

Duka’s grin split his dark face. “Aye,” he rumbled. “My pleasure.”

Ignoring her shrill protests, he tugged the Duchess toward a barrel. Upending it, he seated himself and pulled her to stand between his spread legs. He stroked her cheek. “Can ye take it, sweetheart? Like the brave lass I know ye are?”
The Comte snickered. “She’s better at dishing it out, in my experience.”

Duka shot him a killing glare and he subsided. The black man smiled at the Duchess. “What’s your name, darling?” he crooned. “Tell me.”

“Go to hell,” snarled the Duchess.

“It’s Venetia,” said the Comte. “I told you that.”

“Aye, but I want her to give it to me with her own pretty lips. Your name, love?”

“Pig!” spat the Duchess, quivering. “Brute! Bastard!”

Duka looked pained, though his warm brown eyes twinkled. He gave a theatrical sigh that expanded his chest in a most delicious fashion, the slabs of muscle sliding under smooth mahogany skin. Acutely conscious of Jack’s big firm body pressed all along hers, Kate caught the flutter of the other woman’s lashes as she flicked a glance at Duka’s chest.

Jack bent his head and nibbled Kate’s earlobe. “What do you bet me he can make her reach her pleasure?”

“No!” gasped Kate. “Not here, in front of…” She flailed a hand in the direction of the calendar of pirates, her heart hammering with a strange dark excitement.

“Oh aye,” murmured Jack, nuzzling her hair. “That’s just it. Here, in front of everyone, the weight of their eyes, the warmth of their breath, the hardness of their cocks, knowing how much they want you, but knowing you’re safe because your man won’t let them touch you. Unless you ask, that is.”

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

---

Now, in case you don’t know how it works…You and I are participating characters in these adventures, one every month. Cool, huh?By joining my newsletter list, - http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti - you get to make the decisions about our heroine’s love life (via a Yahoo Poll), and you receive each chapter a month in advance of the website. Majority rules and our girl does what she’s told. Though I have a funny feeling about Kate…I play god(dess) which pushes all my evil-type buttons, and sometimes newsletter readers get to create characters and situations. It’s all good healthy wicked fun and occasionally, there are prizes. Oh, and lots of hot, kinky sex. Yeah!At the end of every newsletter chapter, you usually find three choices or a contest question with prizes. Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun! http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti

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Don’t forget, you can win a STRONGMAN this week by leaving a comment before midnight thursday 20th March. Plus - leave a comment and/or subscribe to this blog or a post in the month of March to be in the running for an autographed copy of A RED HOT NEW YEAR! See the Current Contest page for more details. Subscribe in a reader or Subscribe by Email