(¸.•´ (¸.•` ☆☆ COMING SOON ☆☆ ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
Bound by the Pirate King (Plundered by Pirates Book 1)
by Claire Marta and Nia Farrell
Length: 57,711 words
Cover Design by Crystal Visions. Cover Reveal October 1, 2021.
Release Date November 26, 2021
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Mirabella Rousseau is on the run, sailing with her cousin from the Caribbean to France to escape an arranged marriage. Posing as Gaspard’s male servant offers a measure of protection until their ship is captured by the infamous pirate, Captain Giorgio Baretti.
When Giorgio and his first mate, Paolo Serra, learn Mirabella’s true identity, they quickly claim her for themselves, determined to make her pay for her uncle’s sins. Sworn enemies of Henri Allard, Giorgio and Paulo intend to bend his orphaned niece to their will, forcing her to share their bed whilst trying to uncover the secrets that she keeps.
Learning that Mirabella holds the key to the treasure map in Giorgio’s possession changes everything. Flung into a dangerous adventure of betrayal, passion, risk, and redemption, they must hazard all they hold dear to save themselves—including the young woman who has somehow touched their cold pirate hearts.
This swashbuckling historical ménage is written with dark humor, a murder mystery, and a dash of intrigue, replete with nods to modern pop culture. Fans of The Princess Bride will appreciate that Bound by the Pirate King began as a fictional novel in a fictional novel whose heroine had a taste for lurid literature and pirate play.
Written with heat, humor, and possible triggers for Ages 18+.
Mirabella sliced a look at the cage where her kitten was mewling, begging to be let out. “Lucky needs to eat,” she told them. “And drink. She needs tending. Played with. If you want me willing in your bed, you’ll take care of my pussy, poor thing.”
Paolo snickered. “I promise you, Mirabella, your pussy will not be neglected for long.”
“Indeed,” the captain agreed brightly. “We shall pay special attention to it, won’t we, First Mate? Together, we shall make certain it lacks for nothing.”
Lucky meowed in agreement as if it heard and understood every word they’d said.
Paolo left briefly, returning with a saucer of milk, a piece of salt pork, and a crust of bread. Freed from its cage, the kitten ate with gusto, then climbed the covers to lie in a patch of sunlight that dappled the captain’s bed.
Thankfully, Baretti allowed her to dress after her bath. Donning a chemise with a walking dress appropriated from the stores in the hold, she padded barefoot to the bed to check on her pet. Seeing her, the poor thing scurried over and began licking and nipping at her fingers as if it hadn’t just eaten.
“She was starving,” Mirabella scolded tartly. “From now on, meals are for the four of us, or I shall go hungry, too.”
Paolo arched a brow. “I think she means business, Captain.”
She straightened to her full height, well below theirs, and turned to face them. Capitaine Baretti met her gaze, filled with steely determination. Lucky was her baby. She refused to neglect her responsibility to meet its needs just to satisfy their base desires.
Excerpt 2 (PG17):
“Search the room!” the pirate boomed. Anything of value, bring on deck.”
Whoever was there laughed at the mess that Gaspard had made. “He must have had his pistols buried,” an Irish-accented voice rang out. Having grown up with an uncle in politics, Mirabella had developed an ear for languages. She spoke five fluently and could manage a casual conversation in two more.
“Nice ones, they were. I can see why he’d hide them. A pair like that would fetch a pretty penny in Nassau.”
“Paolo’s got his coin and guns,” a second man complained, Portuguese from the sounds of it. “I don’t know what he expects us to find.”
They found “Marcel Trudeau”, of course, sweating beneath a layer of Gaspard’s clothes when they searched his chest.
“Well, well!” the Irish pirate chortled. “Looks like the Frenchy keeps more in his toy box than pistols. “Out ye come, laddie. Let’s have a look at ye.”
Helpless to do aught else, Mirabella sat up, blinking her eyes in the thin light of the cabin. Grasping the edge of the chest, she pulled herself up to sit, then stand, acutely aware of the pirates’ consideration.
“Scrawny thing,” the Portuguese pirate pointed out the obvious. “Won’t be much help for crewing.”
The Irishman hummed. “He might make a decent cabin boy,” he mused. “If he’s been serving the Frenchy like I suspect, we could always put him in a dress and make him an honorary dame de voyage. I’m certain Salvatore will find him a vast improvement over a lump of straw.”
Mirabella felt a flash of fear strike like lightning in her veins. If they put a dress over her was one thing. She didn’t mind serving as a dance partner if that’s what they needed to alleviate their boredom. But there’s no way she could risk having them strip her and have her secrets exposed.
Climbing out of her hiding space, she stood back to let them finish searching. They managed to find the hidden compartment where Gaspard kept extra coins and jewelry. Satisfied that they’d discovered everything of value, they herded her down the hall and up the stairs to the main deck, where everyone else was assembled.
A throaty moan she easily recognized came from nearby. Wondering what in God’s name was happening, she craned her neck and spied the newlyweds, draped facedown over two barrels sitting side by side. Both of them were being taken like animals, used for the pirates’ pleasure.
They were sodomites…
With a sinking feeling, she realized that masquerading as Marcel Trudeau did not offer the safety that she’d hoped. Gaspard must know it, too. Finding her in the crowd, he gave her a bleak look and a wan smile.
The two pirates who’d found her took the treasures they discovered and presented them to a tall, dark, striking figure of a man whose bearing was one of command. Their report included her, she was certain, when he turned his dark brown eyes her way and pinned her in place with his gaze.
Motioning to another of his crew, the dark devil dispatched him, sending him her way. Mirabella felt her knees weaken, threatening to buckle, when the giant hulk strode to where she stood. Without warning, he thrust his meaty hand between her legs, dislodging her codpiece so that it fell down the leg of her breeches to land by her knee.
She looked helplessly at Gaspard.
Looked pleadingly at the pirate, who gave her an evil grin.
“Il Capitano was right,” Salvatore sighed with regret. “Come, wench. Time to pay the piper his due.”
“And the key?” Giorgio questioned eagerly. “Is it close?”
She hesitated for a heartbeat. “Yes,”
“In your possession? Something you or your cousin are carrying?”
“Stop! I will not tell you more!”
Growling in anger, the captain straightened. “I will have it. One way or another, you will give it to me, mademoiselle.”
Paolo watched in growing amusement as they glared at each other across the table. This was going to be entertaining. Perhaps Giorgio had finally met his match.
The captain reached down and adjusted himself. “The defiance in your eyes makes my cock hard,” Giorgio rumbled. “I think it’s time you took us both.”
Confusion swept across Mirabella’s lovely face. “I thought….”
“Oh, there are many ways to take you. You’ve only experienced one. You have a choice: yield your maidenhead to us tonight, or we shall take your tight little bum at the same time.”
Her eyes grew wide. “That is impossible! You would not fit!”
“Trust me, mademoiselle, it is more than doable. You will feel every inch of us both inside you. Now. Your maidenhead, yes or no?”
“Non!” she spat, “I will not give it to either of you willingly. If you take it, then what I know of the map will go with me to the grave.”
“Arse it is, then,” Paolo smirked. “Shall I see what oil Rosa has in the cuisine? We’re going to need it if we don’t want to rip her apart.”
Giorgio agreed. “Fetch some and meet us upstairs.”
Rosa glowered at him when he stepped into the cuisine behind the house.
Baretti’s housekeeper didn’t mind the captain adding guests to impress with her cooking, but she vehemently disapproved of how they were treating Mirabella.
If the woman knew magick, they might be in trouble.
“I need oil,” he told her. “Something good for the skin, eh? Nothing that will burn if there’s an abrasion or scratch. Mild and gentle. What do you have?”
He’d tried to cover bases. He didn’t need oils that she may have added things to. Heaven help them if she’d grated ginger into any of them.
“Here,” she snarled, shoving a bottle of something into his hand. “Da captain’s olive oil. He can eat it or use it. Remind him when he has none to dip his bread into.”
Paolo nodded. “We’ll have to get more, then,” he murmured, glad to escape her withering stare.
Hastening back to the house, he mounted the stairs and approached Giorgio’s bedroom. The captain had stripped Mirabella of her clothes and was making her wash the rouge from her breasts.
Dio. Rosa was going to be doubly pissed come laundry day.
Giorgio swiveled his head and found the bottle he carried. “Olive oil,” Paolo told him. “Use it sparingly and plan on getting more soon.”
Spanish prizes were always good for it. And if worse came to worse, they could always buy more.
Giorgio nodded, stripping off his clothes, already planning his next raid, he could tell.
Paolo presented him with the bottle to let him use it first. Mirabella’s eyes widened at the sight of Giorgio’s engorged manhood, which was fully hard for her again, its head like a ripe plum with dew clinging to the end.
He squeezed out more when he put oil in his palm and applied it, fisting his shaft and coating its length.
Mirabella was next. The captain tossed her onto the ticking and drizzled oil in her crevice, spreading it with his fingers over her anus and dipping a finger inside to lubricate her. He added a few more drops to the second finger he inserted and even more with the third. Usually, he would take her at this point, but tonight was special, trying something they’d never done before, sharing the same orifice at once.
Giorgio added a fourth finger and started pumping his arm, fucking her with his hand. “Si,” he crooned. “Do you feel that? I guarantee there is more coming your way, eh, Paolo?”