Ahoy, ship mates! Congratulations to Delilah and all the talented authors of this fabulous collection. It’s an honor to be among you.
One of my hubby’s favorite mantras since our dating days, “Doesn’t matter where you get your appetite as long as you eat at home,” has given me oodles of permission—over the past forty years—to openly appreciate the sex appeal of many a human male. And, of course, the consent runs both ways. Because what’s fair for the goose, and all that. Yada, yada.
That’s not to imply the randy dude hasn’t deserved a smack upside the head a time or two when the drool starts oozing from the corner of his mouth. Come on…no one said it was okay to crave a taste! Give it a break, jackass.
On a serious note, we’ve succeeded in this marriage for over three decades by following one single rule, and it’s golden. Treat each other as we’d want to be treated.
I wondered how it would feel if forced into celibacy by long absences, as so many of our military heroes and their spouses are obliged to be. As a grateful citizen, it’s something I empathize and appreciate. How sweet it must be for them when they get a chance to come home, if even for a little while. But I can only imagine the pain when it’s time to say goodbye for another extended absence.
So, in my story “My Pirate Love,” the heroine, Betsy Sue, must attend the neighborhood adult costume party without her husband after learning at the last moment he wouldn’t make it home in time to accompany her.
I thoroughly enjoyed writing this short story. Our dear host, Delilah Devlin, gave us free reign to let our imaginations soar, with only one request, that our story include a pirate. Naturally, that one word conjured up the sexiest pirate ever, one Captain Jack Sparrow.
My Pirate Love by Joyce Palmer – Barely dressed as a chambermaid, a sexually-deprived military wife attends a costume party where she finds herself shamefully aroused by the hungry gaze of a Jack Sparrow look-alike.
“My Pirate Love” excerpt…
“Hello, my lady,” said the pirate in a raspy voice as he leaned against her back.
Heat consumed her, and her heart leaped. She jumped forward and turned to face the captivating scallywag. “I’m married.” Geez, Betsy, you’re so witty. Her swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Damn,” he rasped. “Just my luck.” He leaned forward and placed his nose near her neck and kissed her behind the ear. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
For some reason, her feet remained anchored to the deck. He smelled of musky wool and fresh leather. There was something else, the subtle scent of a vaguely familiar soap. The rasp of his voice sent tingles over her nipples, and her clit gained a heartbeat of its own. Caught in his spell, she answered, “Betsy.”
“Pretty name,” he whispered. “If you’re married, where is your husband?”
Oh, God. “He’s around.” Danger emanated from the large man, and she didn’t want him to know the extent of her vulnerability. She gaged him to be an inch or so taller than Kyle, and he seemed more muscular, though she couldn’t be sure through the bulky coat. Her warrior husband sported an eight-pack every bit as impressive as her friend’s Tarzan. But this guy’s eyes, unlike Kyle’s iridescent-copper, his were cerulean in their blueness, and there was a spark of some indefinable emotion behind them. She fidgeted, her legs wobbled on the spiky heels.
Pirate man reached out and steadied her. “You don’t need to be afraid.” He ended the raspy statement with a visible swallow and a slight cough.
Betsy gave a humorless chuckle. “Right,” she responded with a note of skepticism. “What’s your name, Pirate?” Having escaped ravishment despite her licentious wardrobe, she gained a bit of boldness. After all, her friends were nearby. Not that it was much comfort, they were getting pretty drunk. You can take care of yourself; you are not helpless. Nothing could happen without her consent. A tinge of guilt brushed across the hairs on the back of her neck. If this rogue pursued something physical with her, could she resist? The determination to be a good girl faltered as she slid toward a slippery cliff, which she knew would not render her blameless.
He stepped back, took a dramatic bow. “I am Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, ma’am.”
ABOUT JOYCE PALMER
A native Floridian, Joyce Palmer loves stories of romance. She has no problem writing in her favored genre—sensual/erotic romance with wide-open bedroom doors. She finds the open honesty of the matter refreshing. She is a proud member of Romance Writers of America, Passionate Ink, and Savvy Authors. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing and English from SNHU.
For over thirty years, Joyce has been happily married to her personal hero with whom she shares a construction company. They live in southwest Florida where she writes fast-paced contemporary erotic romance with feisty heroines and alpha heroes. Joyce believes her characters are enhanced and their humanity further developed through intimate and explicit sexual detail. There is always a happily-ever-after, and all romantic relationships in her stories are heterosexual and monogamous.
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