Tides of Lust

By Alana Church

Lord William Suffield was sailing to America with his new wife and her maid. But when their ship is taken by a crew of all-female pirates, he finds himself their unwilling captive. Who is Captain Grace O'Leary? And what does she have planned for him? Now William, his wife Constance, and their maid Molly are all sailing on the "Tides of Lust!"

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Grace watched as a riot of emotions chased themselves across William’s face. Confusion, understanding, a bright surge of hope, an answering darkness as he shook his head.

“I am married, my lady captain,” he said, taking refuge in formality.

Damn the man! Why did he have to be so...so honorable?

She would not, would not beg, she swore to herself. “True.” She backed away and leaned against a bulkhead, crossing her arms under her breasts, using the motion to lift them slightly. Her lip twitched as she caught William noticing. “But do you wish to go to her bed, as her husband, with this hanging over your head?

“One night, William. I offer nothing more. And nothing less.

“You say she is cold to you. I am not. I am not like my sisters. I am not drawn to them. I want...” Their eyes locked suddenly, sea-gray meeting his dark blue, like the twilight sky in the last moments before true night fell. “I want a man. I want to feel him inside me. I want muscles and strong arms and legs and something long and hard I can ride.”

She watched him lift the glass to his lips, swallowing the last of the whiskey. Slowly, he rose to his feet and set the glass aside, and she despaired, sure he was about to leave.

In two long strides, he was next to her. She gasped as she felt his arms close around her, holding her tight. She felt his head nestle against her hair, and she returned his embrace, knowing without being told his need for simple human comfort.

When they parted, his eyes were shining in the lamplight. “So,” he murmured. “How do you want to do this?”

“I want to make love to you,” she answered. She held up her hand as he tried to speak. “Not with you. To you.

“Stand over there,” she said, using her chin to point at the curtained alcove where her bunk lay. “Very good,” she smiled as he obeyed her order. She followed, looking up at him, admiring his well-made body. Even as she did, she could feel her pulse begin race excitedly, her body preparing itself for love.

Seven weeks. Seven weeks since they had left port. Seven weeks since she’d had a man. Touching herself until she gained release was not nearly enough, and even if she had been like some of the other women on the ship, who did not blink at taking female lovers, doing so would have undermined her authority.

“What-“ but she cut him off.

“I am making love to you,” she repeated. She stepped closer, running her hands over the fine cloth of his shirt, feeling the strong muscles underneath. For once she was glad William was not dressed in his customary finery. He looked very well in the clothes of a lord, but getting him out of them...

That would take far too long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Nov 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370538935

Alana Church

Born and raised in Illinois, Alana attended the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, graduating with a degree in Education in 1994. She soon found out that the teaching life was not for her, and after a series of adventures has settled down in the Chicago suburbs, where she works for a telecommunications company.Alana lives alone, surrounded by books, pictures, a pile of story ideas, and a turtle named Pedro.

Book preview

Tides of Lust

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2017 Alana Church

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~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

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The ship sailed west on a freshening breeze.

The Kestrel was no man-of-war. She was a merchant ship, but still a taut vessel, trim and well-ordered, if not particularly swift. White sails billowed out from the three tall masts, and the ropes on her decks were neatly coiled. The sailors shimmied up and down the lines, and the officer of the watch paced the deck regally, confident in his skill and the might of the British Navy to keep him safe. Her prow pointed a few degrees south of due west, making good speed through the waters of the north Atlantic. The sky was fair and the waves low and rolling, with only a slight rise and dip in the planks underfoot, something the sailors adjusted to without thought.

If only his own life was as organized, William Suffield thought glumly. Four weeks ago, he had wed. Three weeks ago, he and his wife and her maid had boarded the Kestrel, bound for New York, where he was to join the Royal Fusiliers as a regimental surgeon. As the third son of a poor baron, with little expectancy of inheriting his father’s titles and lands, purchasing a captaincy in the army seemed to be one of the few opportunities for advancement. He certainly had no stomach to join the church, or practice law, or to while away his days drinking and whoring like his loutish cousin Samuel.

America was touted as a land of opportunity, where a man could rise as high as his talents could take him. Unfortunately, a pack of be-damned rebels had seen the opportunities granted by Lord North’s weakness, and had actually declared themselves independent of the crown! The very arrogance of it staggered the imagination! Who did this rabble of fishermen and farmers and stable boys think they were, to challenge the mightiest empire on earth?

Well, a dose of cold British steel would soon put things to rights, he thought. He had no doubt when the garrisons in New York and Philadelphia were properly reinforced, General Howe would march out, crush the rebellion, and stretch the necks of many a traitor from an English rope.

He turned and made his way across the deck to the tiny cabin which was given over to himself and Constance and Molly, staggering only slightly as the ship gently heaved under his feet. He had been miserably seasick for the first three days of the voyage, but had gradually recovered. Molly, who had, she said, been to sea many times on her father’s fishing boat before she entered his father’s service, hadn’t batted an eye during the entire trip.

Constance, on the other hand…

Hello, love, he said, entering the cramped cabin. He had to duck his head to clear the low doorway. Are you feeling any better?

For answer, his wife gave a piteous moan, throwing her wrist across her forehead dramatically.

Constance Suffield, born Constance Forsythe, was a lovely woman. Or she would have been, had she not been bedraggled from three weeks on a merchant ship in the north Atlantic, fighting what she claimed to be a raging case of seasickness. Blond hair, now lightly streaked with perspiration, fell in golden waves past her shoulders. Her face was pale, but her lips were delightfully pink, and her blue eyes usually sparkled with a lively wit. Her limbs were long and shapely, and her waist was attractively narrow. And there was a welcome…plumpness…to her womanly curves that, as her husband, William had been eager to explore.

Unfortunately, his newly-minted wife had begged him to spare him his attentions during the first several days of their marriage, claiming that her womanly courses were upon her. Being a gentleman, he had no option other than to accede to her wishes. And her bout of illness aboard the Kestrel was now entering its fourth week. In anyone else, he would have begun to fear for her life, as the bouts of nausea usually associated with seasickness could kill a man through sheer exhaustion.

Constance, however, was eating heartily. Her problem, so she claimed, was waves of fatigue, headache, and dizziness, which confined her to her bed almost constantly.

It’s a beautiful day, he said, trying to sound cheerful. Perhaps a turn on the deck would do you some good. The breeze is really most invigorating. From her spot at Constance’s side, Molly gave him a grateful glance.

Oh, no, Constance moaned. That sounds ghastly. All those waves, going up and down. She huddled closer in to herself on the narrow cot.

William knelt down beside her, taking one of her hands. It was ice-cold in his grip, and he frowned as she fretfully tried to pull away from him.

Come, Constance, he said, trying to make his voice firm, taking on the stern tone his father used on his younger sisters when they were being recalcitrant. If you spend the entire trip in this cabin, breathing this stale air, you’ll never begin to mend. And I’m sure that Molly would like to see more of the ship than these four bare walls, wouldn’t she?

Constance frowned, but seemed to decide to humor him. Very well, she said, sitting up. She brushed futilely at her wrinkled dress, looking at the straw-filled mattress with distaste. What a miserable place, she said. If I had known that Father would agree to let you drag me halfway across the world, I would have been quite cross with him.

William smiled, and offered her his arm, smiling ironically. Shall we, Madame?

The faintest hit of a return smile curled her lips, and she set her hand on his elbow. By all means, my lord, she said looking up at him through her lashes demurely. The sight of her pink lips made his heart stutter in his chest. Perhaps tonight I can run Molly off, and Constance and I can finally lie together as husband and wife. I-

His thoughts were cut off by a hoarse shout from above, and the sudden pounding of feet on the deck.

What on earth… he exclaimed, but his low mutter was interrupted as the door of his cabin was rudely thrust open. One of the officers stood in the doorway.

Captain Suffield. Lady Suffield, he said, giving them a courteous nod of his head. Captain’s compliments, and will you please accompany me?

What seems to be the matter, Mr. Pedloe?

We’ve sighted a ship. She isn’t flying any colors. It’s possible she might be a commerce raider or a privateer. Perhaps even a pirate.

A pirate! Constance put her hand to her mouth, and Molly went pale. Are you sure?

No, milady, he said, ushering them out of the cabin. But if we are boarded, it would be unwise to give the appearance that you were trying to hide.

Surely no ship would be so foolish as to fire on a vessel flying the king’s colors, she replied heatedly.

Your pardon, milady. But the king is…very far away. And at sea, only the law of the strong applies.

In a few moments, they had joined the captain, a stout man with dark hair growing gray, his face ruddy from a lifetime spent on the ocean.

What news, Captain Roswell?

He smiled grimly. We’re in trouble. He pointed towards the north, where the approaching ship could be easily seen by them all. Lean and with a faintly predatory look, her bow cut through the waves, throwing up sparkling sheets of spume. "She’s faster than us, and has the advantage of the wind. Even if I fly every piece of canvas I have, she’ll run us down. And if I veer