by Plum Pascal
Everyone is paying attention now—the crew, Kassidy, and her husbands. And Kassidy and her very handsome husbands all appear to be hiding smirks. I am not certain why.
The one called Sorren has a darkly amused smile on his face. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“Blimey! Nae time for explanations!” Hook snaps, flushing still further when the others laugh. “We need to get this cargo inside before somethin’ worse turns up to stop us.”
“Oh, come on, Cap’n” Kassidy says with a broad grin. “We’d all like to know your answer to Aria and Bastion’s questions.”
But Hook promptly shakes his head. “Nae time, nae time! ‘Tis more than just bad luck that’s been impedin’ us, an’ ye know it. Do ye want to risk this shipment after everythin’ we’ve gone through?”
“No,” Kassidy says, and her grin fades a little around the edges. “You’re right. We have to get the cargo of Ambrosia inside.”
The matter is laid to rest, though I can’t fathom why Hook appears so flustered. Bastion’s question is a pertinent one, isn’t it? I’ve wondered about his and Hook’s todgers myself. Hook’s protuberance is stiff and long every time he gives me pleasure. I want to touch it again, but haven’t had the courage to ask him for the privilege. I resolve to ask him later.
I’m quickly sidetracked as we enter the courtyard, and a pang of longing twists my insides as I get a good look at the castle’s interior. It’s not as striking as Triton’s palace. Most of the walls are still made of rough basalt, but they’re at least decorated with colorful swaths of cloth in shades of blue, green, and white, mimicking the cresting pattern of a wave.
The floors are fashioned from smooth, reflective obsidian. Every now and then there’s a pillar composed of speckled gabbro, twined with a climbing green plant. With the exception of the vegetation, the place has a monochromatic feel. The furnishings are slightly different, the people milling about all human. But, for an instant, it reminds me of my days in the palace. I never had the chance to explore every shining corridor of my home, preferring to stay in my room, learning everything I could about the politics of the world above. At least, what stories I could glean from others. Those stories seem wholly inaccurate now that I’ve gotten a chance to interact with humans personally.
We’re gawked at as we’re led through the halls by a tall, thin man. He’s got knobbly arms and legs, and a hooked nose. With the graying hair, he reminds me a little of the long-legged water fowl that pick off fish near the ocean’s edge. I stand straight-backed, chin up. I have to appear assertive. Regal. Imposing. How else will the King take my proposal seriously?
“The King is currently deliberating with his counsel,” the man informs us politely. “But he has been apprised of your arrival. He’ll meet with you in the throne room in a few hours. In the meantime, we’ll have baths drawn for you and clothing provided. What style and color would the ladies prefer?”
Kassidy barks a laugh. “Do I look like the dress sort to you? Men’s clothing will do just fine.”
“Agreed,” I second. The garb human women wear exposes too much of my skin to the blistering sunlight. “I would like to wear something like Hook’s clothing.”
I run my fingers idly along the velvet surface of his frock coat, admiring the texture. It’s one of the softest things I’ve touched since climbing on land. I’d like one for myself. A petty request, to be sure. But it makes Hook smile.
“In blue, I think,” he says. “To match your eyes.”
The man mumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t argue. He leads us to our rooms and seems even more put out when I refuse a solitary chamber. Yes, the chamber is larger than the one in the hostel, but I’m irrationally afraid of parting with Hook. He’s been my anchor, protector and guide since my arrival. And I need him to help me navigate the tricky human politics that are so foreign to me.
“I’ve got her, mate,” Hook says, placing a bracing hand on the small of my back. The man looks scandalized, and splutters when Hook swings the door shut, cutting off his protest.
“Time to sponge ye off, Popsy,” he says when the servants clear out the side door. “Cannae go before the King with dirt on ye, unfortunately.” I believe he’s worried about revealing the marks that feather my face. Marks that belie my kind.
There’s a small chamber attached to the room where a basin rests, full of foamy water. It smells sweet, a floral scent I don’t recognize. When I dip an experimental finger into the stuff, I find it’s tepid, which is promising. It won’t scald my skin.
I begin stripping off layers at once, grateful to be nude. I will never get used to the clothing humans wear, nor the sheer number of garments they insist on piling on. As always, Hook’s eyes stray to me and flicker with want. His appendage strains the front of his trousers again.
“You never did tell me what the protuberance does,” I say.
Hook closes his eyes briefly. “Why do ye need to know? ‘Tis naethin’ ye have to worry aboot. An’ I’ve got nae business teachin’ it to ye.”
“Teaching me what?”
“Ye gods,” he says and expels a frustrated breath. “First of all, it’s nae called a feckin’ protuberance, lass.”
“That’s right. It’s called a todger.”
“Aye, among other things.”
“It has more than one name?” I ask and then nod. “Just like my clam.”
“Blimey,” he says and shakes his head. “Aye, like yer clam.”
“My quim,” I correct myself with a shy smile.
“Aye, Popsy.”
“What else is your todger called?”
“’Tis called a cock.”
“A cock? Like that rooster bird you pointed out? Didn’t you call that a cock?”
“Aye.” He breathes out a frustrated sigh.
“What is a cock, exactly?”
“I dinnae know what yer males have, but a cock is the sex organ humans have.”
He just looks at me and we both grow quiet. Then he takes a step closer to me, his fingers trailing from my navel down to the curve of one hip. My body quivers in response to his touch, my quim squeezing tight in anticipation of his fingers.
“Will you touch me again, Hook? I’ve been wanting to feel your fingers.”
He chuckles deeply. “Ye play upon me conscience, Popsy.”
“Your what?”
“Ye make me feel guilty.”
“Why? You’ve done nothing but protect me and help me and you make my quim feel… so good.”
“Aye,” he says and nods with a sad smile. “Ye dinnae know anythin’ aboot our world or our ways. ‘Tis like... Gods, ‘tis like I’m takin’ advantage o’ ye.”
I shake my head. I don’t like this guilt he feels. “I want your fingers there,” I point to the place I want them. “I like it when you touch me there. I like your kisses. I like it when you make me… cum, as you call it.”
He groans. “Aria, dinnae say things like that.”
“Why not?” I counter. “It’s the truth. And I’m only ignorant because you refuse to share your knowledge. What does your cock do?”
He struggles not to let his laugh become another groan. He trails his fingers lower, to quim between my legs. He slides one finger through my folds, and it comes away wet.
“Me cock goes in here, ye sweet, lovely lass. A man puts his cock here an’ thrusts inside ye over an’ over again.”
“Like you do with your fingers?”
“Aye. An’ when he’s finished with his thrustin’, he spills his seed inside.”
“His seed?”
“Aye,” he says again and nods. “’Tis similar to the liquid Bastion mentioned at the tip of his todger. Only, when a man cums, there’s much more that shoots out.” Then he stops talking and rubs his scrubby chin. “Well, some men are dribblers an’ nary anythin’ much comes out at all really. Nae me, I’m quite the shooter an’ me load is quite heavy, if I do say so meself. ‘Tis quite legendary ‘round these parts.”
He chuckles. “Nae.’Tis meant to make children, Popsy. Though a man can pull out o’ a woman’s quim to stop from makin’ wee ones, if there’s enough time.” He clears his throat. “I’m quite good at me timin’.”
My body thrums with need. I can feel my pulse in every part of me. “I want your cock, Hook.” I decide. “I want to feel you inside me, making your seed.”
Hook’s eyes smolder, sending fire searing into me. It only spurs my desire, makes the ache between my legs almost painful.
“Dinnae say that, lass.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m on the edge o’ holdin’ meself back as it is.”
“But I want it,” I insist. “Please.”
This is a perfect time to learn. Opeia told me I may have to trade my body for the favors I seek. How am I to do that if I don’t know how humans mate? I’m still at least partially a siren. There’s no way Hook can give me children, even if he spills his seed in my body.
“Ye dinnae know what ye’re askin’, for feck’s sake!”
I reach for his trousers, slide my fingers into the waistband and find his hardness. I grasp it firmly, trace the underside. There’s a vein pulsing blood into his cock. I slide my thumb across the tip, and slickness coats my fingers.
His head actually falls back and he lets out another curse, drawing the word out in a moan.
“Put your cock in me,” I coax. “Please, Hook. I want so desperately to feel it.”
Hook lunges for me then, shrugging off his jacket almost violently. My bare back hits the wall a few seconds later, and I’m only saved from a knock on the head by his hand, which quickly flies up to cup the back of my neck. His mouth presses urgently against mine, and I pull at the shirt he’s still wearing. The buttons pop off, hit the obsidian floor with soft clinks and go spinning off toward the corners of the room.
His mouth is demanding, his tongue sliding against mine, and I open my mouth obligingly. He caresses my tongue with his, coaxing me into a rhythm that draws a moan from me. Slickness coats my thighs. He rocks his hips against mine, and delicious friction brings me close to that edge his fingers tip me over every night.
Hook shoves his trousers down and his cock springs free. It’s ruddy, fully erect, and a little intimidating. That’s intended to go inside me? It doesn’t seem possible. It’s just so…. so large! Merfolk have a more sensible approach, I think. But there’s no time to worry about it.
Hook hoists me higher up the wall, slings my legs around his waist, and then lines himself up with my quim. The head slides past my folds, giving me a sense of how thick and hard he is. Then he thrusts his entire length inside me, latching onto my neck and pressing just the edge of his teeth into my skin.
“Ouch!” I say as I feel a quick pain from deep inside me.
Hook stills immediately and the pleasure bleeds from his expression. “I’m sorry, Popsy, I forgot ye are a maid,” he says as he shakes his head and stills within me.
“A maid?”
He nods. “Yer body has never had a man inside it. An’ there’s a piece of flesh that was ripped away when I pushed inside ye.”
“It hurt.”
“Aye, but the pain fades… if I continue.”
“Then continue.”
He pushes forward and is much more careful this time. It’s almost too much. As he pulls out and pushes in again, a gasp escapes me, and he stills. His bite turns into a series of soft kisses on my throat. He’s so thick and long, and he fills me completely. He’s right—there’s no longer any pain. The sense of intense satisfaction ripples through me. My nipples are painful little peaks, rubbing against his chest.
“Are ye all right?” he whispers, voice husky.
“Your cock… it’s so big,” I pant. “So much of it. Oh Gods, Hook. Please...”
His fingers can’t hold a candle to this. It feels right to have him holding me to his chest, his cock wedged between my legs, so deep inside my quim that I’m half afraid he’ll come out my mouth.
His fingers curl, nails biting into my hips, and then he draws almost completely out of me before slamming his cock into me again and again. His hips slap against mine, a motion that might be painful in any other circumstance. Not here. Not now.
I moan and I cry out and I’ve never made such sounds before. I curl my legs tighter, ankles digging into his back. I meet him on his next stroke, sliding down his length, quim clenching tight.
“Feck, Aria...”
Once he’s started, my human body knows what to do. I move in an undulating motion, as easy and inevitable as the tides, with Hook as my anchor to keep from being dragged under. He tangles his hand into my hair and it’s enough to have my vision flashing white, the hair going incandescent as I find release. There’s much Hook doesn’t know as well, like the fact that a siren’s hair is just as alive as the rest of her body, with nerve endings that react to touch. The sensation of his hands coiled tightly in my hair is so intense, I actually have to muffle a scream into his shoulder.
Hook’s strokes stutter for a moment as his eyes go wide, his teeth clenched against whatever he’s feeling.
“If ye keep doin’ that, I’m goin’ to shoot early, lass.” He rolls a strand of my hair between his fingers. I shudder, buck against him again, let out a soft, mewling cry. That’s when he notices it. “Yer hair... ‘tis never done this before when I...”
“It’s alive,” I tell him when I can finally suck in a breath. “As much as my skin, bones, and blood.”
Hook twirls the strand around his finger, and an answering curlicue of pleasure twirls down my spine to settle between my legs. I moan again.
“That’s gonna be interestin’,” he says with a sly grin. “Another time, though.”
He releases his grip on my hair, instead petting the nape of my neck and trailing kisses across my jaw as he thrusts into me, slower than before, drawing out the pleasurable torment. I feel like I might burst out of my skin with need if he continues. A fluttering sensation begins between my legs and Hook groans, then speeds up again, dragging his cock along that delicious part of my quim that makes my human toes curl. I clamp my legs around him as tightly as possible and borrow one of his favorite words.
“Oh... feck... Hook... feck… I’m going to...”
His laugh is triumphant. “Cum for me, Aria. Again. I want to see yer face light up an’ yer lovely hair glow.”
One last thrust and I dive over the edge into perfect bliss. Hook’s hips jerk one last time and he stills with a groan. A hot splash of something hits between my legs, and then he’s through.
We stay like that for a few minutes, locked together in an intimate embrace. The glow of my hair fades by degrees. It’s saddening to realize I’m going to lose this in less than two weeks.
“I want your cock in me every night,” I tell him. “For what remains of my time as a human.”
He smiles as though he’s proud of himself. He should be. “Ye dinnae have to twist me arm, Popsy. I’m yours.”
I try to stand, but my legs refuse to support me and I slide to the ground. Hook has to catch me before I fall.
“Careful, lass,” he murmurs gently. “Yer legs can be a bit wobbly afterward.”
A moment of silence passes, and then Hook clears his throat.
“So, what now?”
“Now we bathe,” I say primly, stepping toward the tub. “We’re all sticky.”
Hook barks a surprised laugh and genuine elation lights his eyes. I shiver again, despite myself. I love this man’s smile. Love the ease at which he accepts things. I think I could love him, if circumstances were different.
“Aye, that we are, lass.”
NINE
ANDRIC
The delegation has finally arrived. Thank the Gods.
We’ve been waiting on the much-needed Ambrosia for months. When the Guild’s representative, Kassidy Aurelian, had suddenly cut
off all communication months ago, we’d feared the worst. It had been a blessed relief to realize she’d merely been stymied, not killed.
She’s a pretty little thing, flanked by her new husbands, the ruling family of the werebear nation. Each of them looks like they could easily take apart three or four of my men without getting winded. It’s a relief to know she’s swayed them to our side. If Morningstar had acquired their people... well, I shudder to think what could have resulted.
“Sit, sit,” my father greets the party jovially, gesturing broadly to the vacated counsel table. “We’ll have a meal prepared shortly to celebrate your arrival, and we can discuss what’s to be done from here. You must introduce us to your... fellows. I must admit, we were not expecting quite so… many of you.”
I’ve been wondering about the number of them myself, but I’ve been too polite to give voice to the question. My father is not a cruel man, but I know better than to speak out of turn. I won’t make us appear weak and disorderly in front of our allies when we have so few.
Two of the delegation are clearly not human. Possibly even less so than the bears, who look dangerous but not overtly alien.
In my travels, I’ve seen women with deep brown skin, and I’ve seen women so pale, they could be mistaken for vampires. But I’ve never seen a woman with skin like hers. It’s got a subtle silver sheen to it that glimmers in the diffuse light of the throne room. Intricate patterns sweep from the corner of one eye down to her nose. Are they tattoos? I’ve never seen tattoos in that color before. It’s almost a soft green, sage perhaps. Could they be tribal markings? But if so, why does the man not possess them as well?
His are blue, shaped differently from hers.
Both the woman and the man are undeniably beautiful, but it’s the woman I’m particularly intrigued by. Built tall and lean, standing straight-backed and confident... from the waist up. She doesn’t seem to know where to place her feet and I don’t think the blame can be solely placed on the heeled boots she wears. She wobbles every once in a while, and the captain has to steady her. He does it with a patience that suggests he’s used to it. Perhaps she has some sort of condition?