The only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing.
~ Socrates ~
Guilty pleasure. Perfect Sin.
New Orleans gets in your blood. Like sweet chocolate or a decadent bite. Ancient mysteries hide behind hidden doorways, and messy love happens in the dim bar lights of the French Quarter. Follow us through nine tales of love found through need, pain, desire, and inhuman temptations. Contemporary, paranormal, menage, or gender bending, we've got it all, in one perfect package. Just like the city itself.
9 Erotic Romance Tales in the Big Easy
CREOLE CORSAIR, by Wren Michaels
“You have a fine vessel, Captain, but you seem to be lacking in attire. Did another set of pirates abscond with your effects?” Sabine stepped to the side, out of the way of other boarding guests and his eyes followed her every move.
“Worry not, fair maiden. There are no scallywags here tonight. You're safe in my hands.” He slid his fingers underneath her hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing soft lips on her skin.
She narrowed her eyes. “I'm afraid the same cannot be said for you. I make no guarantees about your safety in mine. If left to their own devices”—she wiggled her fingers in front of him—“there's no telling what may happen.”
Sabine caught herself in the throes of flirting and shook herself from her thoughts. She needed to get away fast. The longer she stayed in his presence the chances improved of him figuring out who she was.
“Well, do me the pleasure of sharing your name, so I can be sure to tell my next of kin who I have fallen prey to. I feel, however the end may come for me, it shall be with a smile on my face if in your company.” His attention dropped from her eyes and bee-lined to her chest.
The flutter in her heart nearly jolted her forward as she swallowed back a gasp. Surely he couldn't be talking about her. Jasper Carrington saying such things about her seemed surreal. Straight out of one of her high school fantasies about him. Of course it was more than likely just a part of the show he put on for the night, luring guests aboard and primping them for their donations with flirtatious ego padding.
A nervous chuckle squeaked from her throat. Thinking on the fly, Sabine had to come up with a clever cover. “I'm the Creole Corsair. And you, Captain Carrington, should be more careful about who you keep company with.” She flicked her wrist and handed him back the money clip she lifted from his back pocket. Proving once again, charm and a set of tits worked more magic than Houdini.
His sexy lips evened out into a slick grin. “Keep that up and I'll have to tie you up below deck.”
“Promises. Promises.” Sabine spun on her heel and gave him a quick wave as she sauntered across the ship. If she stayed and talked to him any longer she'd never make it around the ship in time to scope out the location of the sextant before the auctioneers got to it. From her studies of the Carrington parties in the past, the items up for bid were all stored below deck with a standing guard on duty until the auctioneers retrieved them and brought them to the top deck for the auction. It was her only chance.
The scent of his crisp cologne still lingered in the air, sending a flutter to her stomach. He smelled of new money, dreams, and sex.