Guilty Pleasures Read Online Free Page B

was close now to perfection, and then he suddenly stopped.
    “I find that I am hungry,” he remarked. Reaching up, he began to free her from the restraints. “Nestor should be long finished with your maidservant. Call her, and send to your cook for a hearty meal.”
    “Finish me!” Carla begged him. “I am desperate with my longing for you!”
    “And I am desperate for some food, wench. More so than my need to fill your eager cunt with my cock,” Hawke said.
    “You are a bastard!” she practically screamed. He had aroused a fierce sexual need in her, and now was more interested in a good beefsteak than satisfying her?
    His hand flashed out, grabbing her short dark curls again. His mouth pressed cruelly against her in a punishing kiss. “You will be fucked, wench, but in my good time, not yours. Have I not satisfied you already twice?”
    “Nay! Nay! It was not enough!” Carla protested.
    “Well, it will have to be for now, wench,” he told her. “Now see to my food!”
    Ping! Ping! Ping! The Channel is now closed, the syrupy voice cooed.
    “Shite! Shite! Shite!” Carla almost shrieked as she found herself once more in her own bed, the television screen filled with snow. She was so hot to fuck right now, she was close to screaming. She got up and went to her dresser, then dug down in the bottom drawer beneath the underwear she rarely wore and pulled out her old vibrator. Its batteries were dead, and though she searched throughout the entire house, there wasn’t a D cell to be found. Flinging herself back on the bed, Carla cried with her frustration, but there was nothing for it. Aching with her need, she curled up and finally found a restless sleep.

    “You look like hell,” her friend Tiffany Pietro d’Angelo said the next afternoon when she stopped over to see if Carla needed anything from the grocery store. “What’s happened?” She plunked herself in the den’s oversized chair. “Talk to me, Carla!”
    “It’s my Channel fantasy . . . ,” Carla began.
    “Yeah?” Tiffany looked curious. She knew about Carla’s pirate fantasy.
    “All I ever wanted to do was play pirate queen,” Carla started. “I grew up watching those old Errol Flynn pirate movies on television. For years I’ve been a female version of those parts that he played while in the Channel. Gallant. Honorable. A great lover. Always eluding the authorities, yet always in the right. A couple of months ago I began to get bored with the whole scenario, but there really was no other fantasy with which I wanted to replace it. So I added something to my fantasy. A small uninhabited secluded island I named Amorata Cay.
    “I even created one of those beautiful Caribbean dwellings with open porches going around all four sides of the house. I have a small staff of bondmen and -women as servants. I didn’t want slaves. And instead of sailing the Spanish Main taking merchant ships, I’ve been going to my house on my island just to relax. But then last night he showed up claiming that Amorata Cay was his, not mine.”
    “Who is he?” Tiffany was intrigued.
    “His name is Julian Hawke, and he used to be called the king of the pirates . A couple of years ago, according to him, he inherited a dukedom back in England, so he cleaned up his act. He went home, took a wife, and sired an heir, and his duchess is expecting a second child. He came back to the Caribbean to sell Amorata Cay. Being a duke, he says, is expensive. He says he has a document to prove his claim,” Carla said.
    “Just how did you think up this island?” Tiffany wanted to know.
    “I won it in a card game in Jamaica,” Carla said. “The guy who said it was his had lost everything that night. He wagered the island in a last bet. Hawke claims the guy was his caretaker. He’s willing to take his documents to Governor Morgan to have them authenticated. Then he’s going to sell Amorata Cay to the highest bidder.”
    “So buy it,” Tiffany said in a practical tone.