When my wife suggested that we write an erotica serial together, I was both excited and a little nervous. I shouldn’t need to explain why I was excited to you…unless you missed the part where I said ‘write erotica with my wife’. Nervous, however, came from a few sources: new genre, a serial, historical…and writing with my wife. Luckily, it’s all turned out great. She does most of the heavy erotic lifting (by that, I mean she writes the sex scenes)–taking the nervousness of writing a new, unfamiliar genre away–and does some fantastic writing and editing; the historical element is set in the mid-17th century with pirates (and I’ve long maintained that I was actually a pirate in a previous life), so that’s fun; and writing a serial hasn’t been as challenging as I thought (as long as we keep ahead of the deadlines).
The result is a historical erotic romance adventure that will provide enough thrills in and out of bed to delight any reader.
Ladies and gentlemen, may we present: The Invitation (The Lady Corsairs Part 1)
Anna is beautiful, fearless, and sometimes a bit reckless. Margot admires these attributes—they are part of what makes her feel things for the marquess she has never felt for another woman—but she never expected to live that way herself.
And the last thing she expected to do was dine with the most notorious pirate in the Mediterranean.
Captain William Bonney is handsome and dangerous, an adventure waiting to happen. Innocent Margot thinks the corsair’s invitation is merely for a friendly dinner, but with wanton Anna and lusty Billy the Bone at the table, could there be more than dinner on the menu?
Excerpt from Chapter one of The Invitation (The Lady Corsairs Part 1)
“Margot, be a dear and wash my back for me.” Anna leaned forward and looked at the handmaid, eyes gleaming as she held the dripping cloth out for her. “I have such trouble reaching.”
Margot padded across the elaborate rug covering the stone floor and kneeled beside the tub where she took the cloth from her mistress’ hand.
“Call me Anna, at least when my husband is not around. There is no need for such formalities when the marquis is not in the room.”
Anna pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned forward, the hot water sloshing against the sides of the tub. She pulled her long, black hair away from her back and over her shoulder and allowed her head to bob forward as she closed her eyes. Margot dipped the cloth in the water, watching her mistress’ face and taking in the glistening sheen of perspiration on her top lip, the curve of her elegant lashes, the way her lips parted ever so slightly in anticipation of the water touching her back. Margot didn’t hesitate to give her mistress what she desired; she drew the cloth out of the water and, without wringing it out, held it up and squeezed it over the nape of Anna’s neck. The water ran down the marquess’ back like gentle fingers touching, tickling, and Anna giggled at the feel of it.
“It is all right?” Margot asked.
“Oh, yes. Please, don’t stop.”
Kneeling beside the tub, the freshness of the steam and the heady smell of the herbs floating in the bath filled Margot’s head, tingled along her nerves. Anna leaned forward, stretching her arms and extending her hands past her knees under the water, then she relaxed and remained hunched forward. Margot rubbed the washcloth down her back, felt the shape of her ribs and muscle, the hard ridge of scar along her shoulder blade. She opened her mouth to ask about it again—the third time? Fourth?—more to hear what story the marquess would create this time than to find out how she actually acquired the mark, but her mistress spoke again before she could.
“Perfect, Margot,” she sighed.
A shiver trembled along Anna’s spine and Margot smiled to herself. She was grateful to be employed and able to send money to her mother back home, but she also truly liked her mistress, enjoyed pleasing her. She pulled her sleeve up and dipped the cloth in the water to refresh it, swirling it around under the surface so it caressed the small of the marquess’ back, the top of her behind. The water lapped around the middle of her forearm, hot against her skin, almost too hot to bear, and she wondered how Anna could stand it. Margot pulled the cloth out and stroked it down the marquess’ back, humming a tune to herself the name of which she didn’t know—she’d heard it played by a string quartet at a party thrown by the marquis’ bank, and it stayed with her ever since.
Water splashed and dripped delicate rhythms in the tub, sending gentle ripples across its surface. Beneath her hand, Margot felt Anna’s ribs expand with a deep breath, contract as she exhaled. Another breath, then another, shorter, shallower. The handmaid refreshed the cloth and noticed a mint leaf stuck to the marquess’ back, the dark green of the herb a startling contrast against the woman’s pale skin. Before she continued washing, she plucked the leaf away, the pads of her fingertips brushing Anna’s bare flesh. The marquess let out a gentle sighing moan and Margot brought the cloth up once more.
“Oh, Margot.” Anna turned abruptly; water slopped over the side of the tub, splashed Margot’s skirt. “You have such a soothing touch. You have to wash the rest of me. Will you do that?”
She gazed into the handmaid’s eyes, water glistening on her cheeks, an excited smile on her lips. Margot hesitated a second, an inexplicable excitement springing to life in her chest. As the marquess’ handmaid, she had no choice but to do as her mistress wished, though Anna rarely treated her like a servant—except perhaps when the marquis was in the room. Truthfully, she would have agreed even if she didn’t have to. Margot nodded; Anna clapped her hands and stood.
Water cascaded down the marquess’ torso, the light of the oil lamps shimmering on her wet skin, making it appear silver in spots. Margot looked up at her from her knees and her mouth dropped open. She’d seen her mistress unclothed many times—they met in a bath house, she helped her dress, she assisted her in her bathing—but the light shining on the curve of her hip, the summer night air teasing goose bumps onto her arms and the top of her chest, threatened to steal Margot’s breath from her chest.
Anna turned around, water sloshing around her knees.
“Finish my back first,” she said peering over her shoulder, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Make sure I am as clean as clean can be.”
Tiny waves rippled across the surface of the water, setting mint leaves and sprigs of rosemary rocking back and forth as Margot dipped the wash cloth again. She looked up at her mistress, at her long black hair plastered against her back, the water running out of it, down the gentle crescent at the small of her back, over the curve of her buttocks. The handmaid wrung out the cloth distractedly, mesmerized by the tempting waterfall following the cleft between her cheeks and disappearing between her legs to drip from her secret spot.
Want more? Pick up your copy today! The Invitation (The Lady Corsairs Part 1)
Rosie Bitts is a burlesque diva, chanteuse, impresario and sex in heels. When you’re known as the “Libido of Burlesque”, writing erotica is the next logical step.
Rosie is a performer, producer, keynote speaker, and writer of her multiple award-winning one woman play, “The Fabulous Miss Rosie Bitts”. She was named a “Notable Canadian Woman” by the National Post, and award-winning author Cherie Priest called her “…the real deal and the whole package.” She has performed all over North America, is the founder of Best Bitts Productions, and is excited to be sharing her sexy with the world through literature.
Mr. Bitts is the pseudonym of best-selling fantasy author Bruce Blake. His Khirro’s Journey epic fantasy trilogy was awarded the Life Changing Read Award by author and reviewer Ella Medler, and his first novel, urban fantasy On Unfaithful Wings, was a semi-finalist for the Kindle Book Review’s Best Indie Book of 2012. Life as the trophy husband of a burlesque diva has led Bruce to many places he never expected to go, so it wasn’t a surprise when Rosie wanted to team up to write historical erotica, and the Lady Corsairs were born.