by May Sage
“You’re trying to kill me.”
Now they were flesh against flesh, already. Instead of plunging into her, as she’d guessed he might, he carried on grinding, his length gliding against her as they kissed, and kissed, and kissed again; not interrupting the dance of their tongues seemed more important than the next breath.
Moisture gathered between her legs, his cock was now parting the outer lips of her folds and hitting her clit at each movement; the ache, the longing was increasingly painful and her back curved, angling her just so his tip hit her entrance.
Yet, instead of finally bringing a close to this madness, he held himself in place, just there, and finally detached his lips from hers. He looked down, smiled and told her exactly what no woman wants to hear: a lie.
“You're the most beautiful thing on earth.”
Shut up, she wished she could say; instead she grabbed him by the neck and pulled his lips back where they belonged. If all they could formulate was nonsense, they were better occupied that way.
His hand went between them; she imagined he might use these delightfully rough fingers on, against, inside her, but instead, he grabbed his own shaft. Seriously? She was dying here. Being mute was a blessing, as she might otherwise have been begging for a cock.
The buildup was brutal; nothing like what she’d previously experience. She came to actually understand the term foreplay; before, the goal of her intercourse had been release. When her dates went down on her, it was to make her come there and then; she hadn’t really wanted beyond that because they hadn’t made her desperate for more.
Erik was playing her, awakening her and voluntarily failed to satisfy her. Freaking hell. He might suck at chess, but he definitely made up for it in other departments.
Indubitably proving that, he tapped the dick he held in his hand on her clit, again and again, relentlessly slapping her poor pussy, teasing her until a soundless cry fought to come out of her throat; there were no words, though.
Of course there wasn't.
The only thing that could unseal her voice was a kiss from someone she loved, and who loved her in return; she wouldn't get to speak for a while. Dane might be able to break the curse; or Sandro, perhaps. Despite everything, she was blood, and people didn’t need to like their family to love them.
At one particularly unkind hit on her poor pussy, when she was aching so hard she might have cried, if she could, she bit his lip, hard, and the next second, he was ending her torment, plunging inside her.
Interesting.
The sensations were nothing like what she’d expected; there was no pain, but the fullness was foreign, and awkward. That is, up until he withdrew from her – a teeny, tiny bit – and plunged a little bit harder. Ahhh. Ok, forget awkward. That was nice.
He did it again, leisurely; his forehead pressed against hers, and picked up a pace gradually. She gasped when it hit harder, and Erik growled, burying his head in her neck.
“I can’t hold back for long, darling,” he warned her.
That was him holding back? Shit. Was it boring for him? Monotonous? She wouldn’t have that.
Silvia tightened her legs and moved her hips with him meeting him halfway and taking him deeper. Oh, yes. The length was a direct blow from the inside, as its curved shape made it instantly hit the bundle of nerve she'd never believed existed.
He withdrew and pushed back in, hitting it again. And again. And again, frantically, wildly. She was clamping around him in no time, but he was unyielding, screwing the hell out of her through her orgasm, and bringing her to the edge a second time before she’d entirely come down from the high.
It wasn't a very long sexual experience, or a very adventurous one for that matter; yet never had she felt that sort of pleasure, so intense it made her dizzy, confused. Erik grunted a curse and emptied himself inside her as she was flying over the proverbial edge the second time.
She untangled her shaky legs and attempted to put them on the floor. Fail. The legs were as useless as her tentacles right now. Erik just laughed, before picking her up and carrying her to a shower for round two. And three.
After cleaning her, drying her, getting her very dirty and cleaning her all over again, he found her a night dress.
It hadn't been what she'd expected. There was no way the whore would have been caught dead in something as tasteful as the long pleated beige silk.
“It's my mother's,” Erik informed her, correctly interpreting her puzzlement. “This was her place; she came from Seela and during the summer, she loved to spend some weekends here, pretending she still lived in the south.”
Of course, he was half Seelian. She'd always had something for southerners, so it came as no surprise that the man was everything she'd ever fantasized about.
Everything, if one could forget the fact that he was technically attached. She couldn’t.
That made him the very worst thing she'd ever indulged in, a particularly dangerous blend of poison.
•
He could tell exactly the instant when the consequence of what they'd just done hit her; her afterglow all but vanished and the lust in her eyes turned to coldness, colored by a bit of disgust.
He deserved it. Fuck. He really was great at messing things up.
Erik should have just given Ludwig reign of all his spies, all his resources, and caught Vanessa in action before trying it with Silvia; she was worth more than this.
That way would have won him the consort he wanted next to him; hell, no. He would have had a Queen.
Whomever he – as a monarch – married was irrelevant, politically speaking, unless the people voted to have her as a second ruler; Vanessa wouldn't have stood a chance, but there was no doubt in his mind that they would have elected Silvia.
What they’d done instead gave him nothing.
Nothing but a mind-blowing fuck which would never, ever be equaled in his mind.
There had been the fact that she had been a virgin before – hell, a freaking virgin. He’d never had one of those before. It had been frightening, intimidating, but also pretty amazing. He’d never stuck himself inside anything tighter than her pussy, and beyond that, something in him had wanted to shout on rooftops, scream victory, do a massive fist-pump. He was her first; if he played his cards right, he’d be her last, too.
That being said, he could imagine that the experience would have been just as shattering, regardless. There was something about the way the woman moved that was out of this world; she was just too graceful, the hips undulated in a way that had his body screaming for mercy in no time. And somehow, her barest touch did things to him – things he couldn’t describe or understand. It affected him at a cellular level and burned from the inside out. It was just as painful as it sounded; strangely, he couldn’t get enough of it, though. Hell, even now, although she was pissed, he couldn’t stop seeking the contact of her skin.
Unwise as the intercourse had been, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. First, wow. Then, at least, now he knew the attraction really was mutual; to an extent. She was attracted to him; he was ruined by her.
The relationship side of thing did need work – an awful lot of it – but he'd get there. It wasn’t as hard as it sounded; they were friendly, already. He’d immerse himself into her life slowly, surely, until he became an essential fixture she’d grow to rely on.
Just as soon as he got rid of Vanessa.
Chapter 10: the Kings
He wasn't overly fond of redhead, but she knew her trade; she never failed to arouse him and was amongst the few who actually managed to make him come, these days.
All the others were blondes. Sex was something he'd experienced too many times to be satisfied by mere frictions of flesh; half of the journey happened in his mind.
In his mind, he fucked Silvia Undine, hence why the best substitutes were fair.
Morgan grabbed the red hair and fisted it, holding it behind her skull to pretend it wasn't there. Save for that mane, the woman was a good replacement; no
They were sirens.
The mess he found himself in was entirely his fault. Three years ago, when he'd felt the siren, he should have dug deeper, turned every stone; if he'd known what he'd learnt since, he would never have let her go.
Oceanus had created the oceans out of the rain that used to fall and evaporate without ever resting on land, at a time when only gods and dragons roamed Gaia.
He’d fathered creatures, each more powerful than the next, but amongst the monsters, there had been one woman, Amphitrite.
The tree had stopped there, there had been no direct decent; Amphitrite’s husband had a line of his own, from which Morgan hailed, but the actual goddess hadn’t reproduced, until now.
All of this meant that Silvia Undine was the most powerful sea creature born these last millenniums; and she'd been delivered to his door, handcuffed, like a present in a long ribbon. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted it.
One look and he’d mistaken her for a weak half-blood vaguely related to some sort of unknown siren, like the humanoid currently riding his cock as he sat on his throne.
Silvia didn't hold herself like the treasure she was, she didn't flaunt her value; she hadn't even made use of the powers of her voice to subdue his court.
However, since the rumors of a Witch who could call the dead back from the seas had reached him, he'd done his homework and what he'd found had shocked the hell out of him.
Amphitrite’s daughter. Fuck, he was growing considerably harder, just thinking of the possibilities. He would bring her here in Atlantis, where she belonged, and irrevocably tie her to him, sharing her powers for the rest of eternity as her mate.
Many women had tried to seduce their way to the top; he'd fucked the majority, reproduced with some – those who had been worthy – but there hadn't been anyone he could have considered wedding, up until now.
He saw he’d been waiting for this, for her. Despite what the nymphs who’d informed her of Silvia’s heritage had warned him of, there was no doubt in his mind that she'd choose him.
Every single woman he encountered desired him. It wasn't their fault; there was a slight dose of siren blood in his veins, mixed with the heritage of powerful Atlantian Kings and the most beautiful Melusines in history: he was what the kids called “hot,” these days.
The lowly siren who'd come to him to offer an alliance was proof of that. She'd confessed her attachment to the Denkerian King who had given her a son, yet that very night, he was taking her in every hole and she was begging for more.
Morgan was six foot four, with silver white long hair, a muscular, lean stature, handsome features and eyes of that dark green-blue shade the ocean took at twilight, but his charm had little to do with his actual physical appearance; it was inerrant, part of the genetic make up of his parentage. He walked by, women got wet: simple.
Silvia would be no different; he'd have her soon and the children she’d bore him would be ten, twenty, a thousand time more powerful than those he’d fathered until now.
Morgan loved his children; they were useful. He had seven daughters, all beautiful, talented and obedient, to say the least.
The last one was currently whoring herself to the Denkerian King and the majority of his advisors; she was to marry the human and own his council, thereby guaranteeing Morgan control over their coasts; when the vows were said, he planned to send another one to the Krutian monarch to do the same.
Morgan really couldn't wait to mate with Silvia. The women he was used to had practice the art of seduction, intercourse and manipulation for centuries, but Silvia was an unbroken horse. She was twenty-four, which meant that she had less than a decade of sexual experience under her belt. That was nothing. He couldn’t wait to show her every way a man could own her body.
Thinking about her tight flesh did finally initiate the orgasm the redhead had been working on for the last hour.
He forced his attention back on the woman. He liked them to come, it made him feel some degree of satisfaction. He reached down, flicking his thumb on her clit and pulled his head to her breast. He'd barely sucked when she clenched around him. Well, that was boring. The problem with being a bit too good a lover, he supposed.
At least, the redhead was well trained. He'd withdrawn from her every single time his balls had tightened since the start of their agreement; she was too weak to waste his seed on. He wouldn't even acknowledge an offspring of hers. Now, she took upon herself to fall to her knees, wrapping her greedy mouth around his shaft. Such a good slut. He was almost tempted to keep her.
Someone knocked and he invited them in, at the embarrassment of the woman at his feet; she unwisely stopped sucking, detaching her mouth just when he came, splattering semen all over her skin and hair.
He just had to laugh. Good timing.
“Daughter,” he called.
Daria stood at the door for an instant, but took in his current company and entered the chamber, ignoring the redhead. She wasn’t worth any notice.
His eldest child launched her report.
God, she was boring. Contentment of his subject, poverty rate, taxes…
He listened to the figures and mentally compared them to what it had been two centuries ago, what it still was in most countries of Europa. The King of Ferren hadn’t woken up from his hundred year nap, leaving the rule of his lands to morons. The twelve princesses of Eastly had been seen at orgies, and Jeenera was an anarchy.
Yeah, Atlantis was good.
Daria didn't see things his way, though. Perhaps it was time to send her to Krutia; it had always been the plan, in any case.
The Krutian King was old – perhaps older than Morgan. He didn’t look it either, but the appearance of the bodies was neither here nor there: what mattered was that old souls didn’t have much warmth left.
Over the years, there had been a few brides; none of them had lived longer than a year past their wedding night, although mating a Wolf should have given them a considerable longevity, so there were rumors.
How did they call him again, that blue bearded bastard? It didn't matter; he would do for Daria.
“Anything else?”
“Yes: I just came across one of the spies. Here is the report.”
Of course, she'd leave the only important detail to the end.
His eyes flew through three pages of nonsense, until reaching the end; he stopped and read the last few lines again, his fists clenching.
Morgan passed the letter down to the redhead. Ariena, was it?
“The whore! How dare she…”
That was rich, coming from a woman whose hair, face and tits were covered by the cum of a man who cared nothing for her.
But he let that one go, although the accurate question would be how dare he.
Silvia had been seen naked with the King of Denker, close to his beach house. Morgan hadn't expected to feel quite so furious about it; he never minded sharing.
However, there was a difference between sandwiching a consort with a friend, and hearing that the woman who he intended to marry was having fun with the man she’d been made for.
“We’ve talked about implanting sea blood in northern royalty for a long time, but the kings of the past were incompatible,” the nymph told him, after he’d made her compliant. Where sex didn’t work, he was quite proficient at torture. “Amphitrite volunteered to design a soul mate for Erik Gryffon after meeting the boy. Try what you will, the girl is his.”
Bullshit. No one cared about things such as fate and soul mates anymore. That woman – and that womb – was just as eligible as any other; it was a matter of earning her.
Step one was to get rid of obstacle.
Morgan hadn’t seriously been planning on openly attacking Denker, until now; it had seemed like a waste of effort, when all he needed to do was to wait until Silvia left, capture her, and seduce her. He liked simple plans.
But leaving things to chance was an error that he wouldn’t allow a second time.
If the King was playing with the siren, Vanessa had lost her hold; that meant that the one way to regain some form of control was to take him off the equation.
“May I...”
He considered the redhead’s plea. Sirens weren't allowed to disrupt the Atlantan waters, their powers were too dangerous.
But imagining the tall blonde’s curves against the Denkerian scum was seriously pissing him of, so he just nodded. At the very least, that would create a little distraction; he needed a few weeks to recall his troupes, and prepare for battle.
•
He'd have to reach out and drag her back to the bedroom if she didn't stop.
The worst thing was, she wasn't trying to seduce him, not even a little bit. What she was doing was teaching his son.
The child had been struggling with things Erik couldn't comprehend, things he couldn't help with. He'd seen him grow pale and uncomfortable in crowds, he'd occasionally heard him humming to himself, and then, stopping, apprehensive, when he’d seen water around him reacting to his voice.
At the beach, feet in the water, Silvia was signing away, giving him direction and the child sang; Erik had never heard anything so delightful.
First, she showed him how to do so without affecting the water, then she gave him directions when he wanted to use his power; it was obvious that Seb would need a few thousands of sessions to master half of what she was trying to implement, but that was it: she was trying, doing what Ariena never even bothered with.
“Sometimes, I can sense people's feelings. When they are sad, it hurts in here,” he heard Seb say, touching his chest.
That worked better than a cold shower.
What the hell? He'd never heard a word of that before. How often did it happen, was it something he suffered from, was he ill?
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