Lords of Atlantis Boxed Set 2

by Starla Night

  “I know.” She sighed and lifted her head off the steering wheel. “But if my problems were that mammoth, you’d think I’d get better at hiding, or wielding an elephant gun, or something.”

  He tilted his head. “I said no words.”

  “Huh? Oh!” She laughed. “Sorry. Sometimes I feel you disagreeing with me. I can almost hear you in my head. Not real words, but … well, anyway. I can’t let the bigness of my problems stop me from dealing with them. I need to grow bigger. Or smarter. I need to work twice as hard and solve them.”

  Her soul light strengthened.

  Optimism. Resilience. Even in the face of crushing rejection — even facing shame and loss of honor — she gathered her strength and spread hope through all around her.

  She tapped the steering wheel and got out of the car.

  He followed.

  The hot evening sun drove them through the house, opening windows and savoring the ocean breezes. He enjoyed the simple routine of settling for the night.

  She returned to the kitchen table, dropped her shoes and purse on a chair, and checked her mail. “Oh, there’s an article about you guys.” She paged through papers filled with news and read him a story about the ongoing debate in a location called “the United Nations” about whether or how to assign citizenship to the mer.

  “Today, some leaders refused to vote because they claim the mer have not yet proved they are human. ‘You cannot give citizenship to monsters,’ one outspoken representative claimed. What the heck? Monsters?” She dropped the newspaper. “Why are people so heartless?”

  He studied her.

  “It’s just, maybe your All-Council is right.” She shook her head. “Maybe humans are too dangerous and the only way to keep you safe is to run away and hide.”

  He offered his hand. “Milly.”

  “I know,” she said, again, even though he had said nothing. “My soul light. Sorry. I’ll get over it.”

  Sadness dampened her voice and her soul light.

  She passed him, crossed the doorway, entered the living room.

  His arms looped around her middle, stopping her. “You work hard.”

  “Yeah?” She sniffed and scrubbed at her cheeks. “Not hard enough.”

  “You asked for help. Many times. This is not easy.”

  “Many times?” She leaned against his chest, surrendering to his embrace. “I guess I did. And look how that turned out.”

  He supported her silently.

  Dosan had helped — and gotten injured. Vaw Vaw’s family had helped — and chastised her for not seeking their help sooner.

  “I suppose handling the consequences with grace is what I need to work on now.” She sighed. “Adulting is hard.”

  “You are doing this ‘adulting’ well.”

  “I assumed the vandalism was a harmless prank. Bashing mailboxes is such a cliché in the States. If I hadn’t been so determined to solve the whole problem myself then Vaw Vaw’s relatives might have caught the vandals in the beginning. Dosan and the little red octopus would have been spared.”

  “You speak out now.”

  She tilted her head to look up at him, sad and chagrined. “Thank you.”

  Her soft derriere pressed against his hardening cock. Her slim shoulder blades slid against his pectorals as she fit her curves into his hollows.

  Her curved neck invited his teeth.

  His cock throbbed.

  Milly was his destiny. His bride. His queen.

  But he would not move. He would not slide his hands up her sweet curves, cup her tender breasts, or taste the salt on her neck. He would maintain his control—

  “Hey, Uvim?”

  He cleared his dry throat. “Yes.”

  “I need you.”

  “I am here, Milly.”

  “You have my back.”

  “Yes.”

  She arched her back. Her soft derriere pressed against his hard cock. She rolled her shoulders. Her feminine curves rubbed across his hard-strung abdomen.

  His cock strained.

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Always.”

  “Sweep me away. Give me the strength you promised. Help me stand on my two feet.”

  “I will do this.”

  “Do it now.” She arched against him once more, filling his cock with taut heat. “Chase away these doubts. Make me believe I can someday be a queen.”

  Yes. He would do this. A thousand times yes.

  “Fill me with your passion.”

  He sucked in a breath. Had he understood her?

  She tilted her head to catch his eye over her shoulder. “I’m asking for help. Will you help me?”

  In answer, he gripped her hips and ground her soft curves against his bulging hard cock.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Milly wanted Uvim to sweep her away.

  Sweep away her doubts. Sweep away her fears. Fill her with hope.

  So she could give in to the passion she’d been running from and prove losing control wouldn’t destroy her.

  In answer, Uvim gripped her hips and ground her against his hard cock. Her cleft straddled every delicious inch.

  Magnificent.

  But she couldn’t lose control. It wasn’t responsible. She couldn’t—

  Uvim rumbled, deep in his broad chest. His pylon-thick warrior’s biceps tightened. The demanding ridge of his cock stroked her dampening feminine core. She was so wet. Milly clenched her thighs together. But that only made her slick lips rub, setting off delicious fireworks in her pussy.

  Dangerous. Too dangerous.

  “Trust in me.” He slid one hand up her trembling side and down again to grip her hip. “I will not betray you.”

  “I don’t worry about you betraying me,” she said.

  “Give in to pleasure.”

  His large palm slid up her belly and cupped her breast. Desire ached in her center.

  “Give in to desire.”

  His thumb brushed the hardened nipple.

  Pleasure made her shudder.

  “Give in to your wish.”

  He pinched and teased the pearl.

  Delicious agony swelled.

  “Give in to you.”

  His other hand slid across her belly and teased the edge of her trembling mons.

  She gasped.

  Give in to you.

  What if her worst fear — being out of control — was okay?

  What if fear was okay?

  Fear was okay. Okay. Her fear was okay.

  She could feel the fear without panic. Feel the fear and accept it. Feel the fear and forgive herself for it.

  She’d never healed. So what? She’d never “gotten over” her imprisonment. Who got over that? Her fear was her situational awareness. It was her early warning. Her safety alarm.

  Now it was okay to let go. Forgive herself. Accept her new reality.

  And yield to her desires.

  She grabbed his hand.

  He stilled. Hungry yet respectful.

  Uvim had the control to love her on her terms.

  Milly needed to trust in that. Trust in him. And, most importantly, trust in herself.

  She pulled his hand away from her mons and curled his fingers around the door jamb. “Hold here.”

  His knuckles whitened.

  She placed his other hand on the opposite door jamb, pinning him to the doorway.

  His green gaze smoldered. He was a male willingly trapped. Unable to go forward. Unwilling to go back.

  All he had was his hope. His trust. And his desire.

  His desire strained the orange swim shorts.

  “Thank you for trusting in me.” Milly rose on her tip toes to kiss his cheek.

  He swerved to capture her lips.

  She brushed his lips and swerved away, placing her kisses on his rough jaw.

  Her control. Her conditions. Her desire.

  She would make his entrapment pleasurable.

  Promise.

  He rumbled approval
deep in his chest.

  Her pussy throbbed.

  Perhaps she could do this.

  Milly forced his shirt up and off, then kissed the gorgeous corded muscle at his shoulder and traced the crinkly amethyst tattoos across his broad collar bone, over his unflinching pectorals. He closed his eyes.

  His obvious pleasure made her wet and tingly.

  She lowered her head once more, and swirled her tongue over his olive nipple.

  It contracted. He growled low. Primal.

  Her own nipples contracted.

  She moaned and kissed across his powerful ribcage, lower, over mounds of abdominal muscle. He was magnificent — and at her mercy.

  Milly knelt.

  He looked down at her, desire soaking his intense expression, his teeth gritted in anticipation.

  She curled her fingers over his waistband and tugged the swim shorts down. His dominant cock pinioned the dense fabric. She peeled back the canvas to reveal the muscles across his waist standing in sharp relief, a nestle of dark hair, and finally his long, thick cock.

  Her female sex tingled.

  She forced the shorts off and tossed them in a corner, then slid delicate fingers up his prominent thighs to the thatch of dark hair.

  His cock bobbed. The amethyst tattoos crinkled across his member like a fractal.

  Uvim’s was the first cock she’d ever unveiled. The first cock she’d ever wanted to see. And it captivated her in an aphrodisiac spell.

  She wanted him inside her.

  His breathing labored. He was reading her mind again. Her wicked, hungry thoughts.

  Was this a good idea? Could she maintain control? Or was she skimming along a path to losing herself once and for all?

  Milly no longer cared.

  She just wanted to touch Uvim. Possess his cock. Make it hers. Make him hers.

  Have him and release herself from her self-imposed cage.

  She cupped Uvim’s thick cock. He was hot and heavy and silk-smooth.

  His breath hissed between his teeth.

  Her touch gave Uvim pleasure.

  Power surged within her.

  She stroked his skin.

  He groaned.

  Holding his cock was like containing desire. If desire had a weight and shape, it would be this amethyst and olive cock.

  She nuzzled the head.

  His breath hitched. A drop of pre-cum beaded up on the tip.

  How did it taste? She darted her tongue to the slit. Salty. Masculine.

  Hers.

  Uvim trembled. “You…”

  She looked up.

  His hungry gaze warred with a troubled emotion. “I must pleasure you.”

  “I’m enjoying myself,” she reassured him. “Pleasuring you gives me pleasure.”

  “To produce a young fry, you must experience the ultimate pleasure. Not I.”

  She ran her tongue over the amethyst tattoos.

  Uvim growled. “This pleasure is … not something … I have trained for.”

  She laughed. “You trained for this, huh?”

  “No, I—”

  “For making babies. Er, young fry.”

  “Only when I pleasure you five times will we produce a young fry.”

  “Five times? You mean, have sex five times?”

  He shook his head. “Five pleasures in one joining.”

  Five orgasms each time. Heh.

  “I applaud your dedication.” She wrapped her damp fingers around his trembling cock. “But we’re not producing ‘young fry’ right now.”

  “No?”

  “We’re increasing our resonance.”

  She sucked his head into her mouth. He tasted of salt and ocean and he smelled of male musk.

  Her feminine slit grew slippery.

  He groaned.

  His heat filled her mouth.

  Her tongue stroked his cock.

  He groaned more desperately. “Milly.”

  Her sex throbbed.

  His desperation made her so hot. She wanted to touch herself but she also wanted to finish him. The two desires warred. She sucked harder, taking him deep and swirling his length, tasting him as if he were plunging into her.

  And then she lost control.

  Gripping his cock with both hands, she bucked, releasing her limits, riding the wave of desire to its utter peak and flirting with the crashing edge of wildness—

  He jerked back, ripping his cock from her mouth, and wrapped his hands around his throbbing member.

  His body convulsed. Hot liquid shot out, striping her T-shirt and capris.

  She touched the liquid. His heat lingered on her tongue.

  Success.

  She had done it. With no experience. She had brought a man — male — Uvim — to a climax. She’d lost control, and he’d lost control. They’d lost control together and yet both made it home.

  He let out his breath in a hard burst.

  Her pussy throbbed with unmet desires.

  She’d taken control of his desire. Could she control her own?

  Milly lowered her capris, dipped her hand beneath her soft cotton panties, slid her fingers over her mound and gently gripped her throbbing, wet pussy. The ache intensified.

  Oh, yes. She could finish herself off.

  Uvim focused on her buried, stroking hand. His gaze, smoldering with heat before, burned red hot. “May I?”

  Her pussy clenched with new excitement. Terror fought with desire.

  She respected her fears without letting them control her. “Not sex.”

  “Only pleasure,” he agreed.

  Her hand stilled.

  She knew how to get herself off. Fast, painless, efficient.

  He’d trained to give her five orgasms…

  The temptation to know, to have these five orgasms — or any orgasms by another person, much less a delicious warrior with iridescent tattoos — won. She took his offered hand.

  He helped her rise to her feet. She rested on her tennis shoes. He turned her to face away and planted his feet behind her. One masculine forearm arm tightened around her midsection and cupped her aching breast over her soft T-shirt.

  She sucked in a breath. Calm. Accept. Give in.

  He thumbed the nipple.

  Spicy heat twisted her sex, squeezing out liquid desire.

  She whimpered.

  His other hand slid over hers and cupped her mons.

  Her hot thrill twinged with worry. “Don’t touch under my clothes.”

  “Milly.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You are my queen.”

  He would only do what she wanted. He would stop right now if she wished. She was his queen. He wanted to worship her the way she had just worshiped him.

  She wanted him. Now. Forever.

  Milly spread her feet, opening for him.

  His chest rumbled approval.

  While one hand thumbed her throbbing breasts, his fingers slid over her cotton briefs. He respected her request to keep his hands off her skin. Through the soaked fabric, he traced the shape of her sex. Explored her plump sex lips. Captured her pleasure.

  And owned her.

  Uvim gripped her sex, teased her bud, and massaged her feminine lips.

  Delicious tingles poured into her body, healing her with sweet promises.

  She needed him. Her body throbbed on fire. She wanted his cock in her slick channel, his fingers plunging in and out of her wet heat, bringing her to the peak.

  Milly canted her hips and ground against the wall of male at her backside.

  He kissed her neck and sucked.

  She exploded. Pleasure erupted in her center. Her chest filled with bubbles of satisfaction.

  Milly sagged in Uvim’s arms. Spent, she craved his security and kindness.

  He held her close.

  She rubbed his loving forearm. How did he always know what she needed before she did? This must be their resonance. Their connection.

  Uvim kissed her slender neck.

  His hand massaged her m
ons.

  Desire twinged.

  His cock hardened against her back, ready to pleasure her again.

  And again. Times five.

  Her control against this kind of pleasure was unpracticed and weak.

  “Maybe touch just a little under my clothes,” she gasped.

  Uvim peeled off her panties, baring her slippery feminine rose to his commanding touch. He teased his fingers between her lips, learning her channel and spreading slick hunger.

  She parted her legs, opening to him.

  He circled around and knelt in front of her. “Milly?”

  He wished to worship.

  She gave in to his wish. “Yes.”

  He nuzzled her feminine sex. His tongue sought her sensitive bud. He stroked. Singular, steady, focused.

  Pleasure exploded.

  She gasped and held onto his powerful shoulders. The wild waves crashed over her again.

  He was not familiar with receiving a blow job but he was a master at pleasuring her.

  She bent over on top of him, resting her cheek on his shoulder blade.

  She wanted more.

  She wanted everything.

  But…

  If she asked, he would thrust his cock into her, fill her with more pleasure, and become her first — and only.

  But committing was her final move. It meant she gave up on other paths in life and chose Uvim forever.

  She couldn’t make that decision now. Not while she was swept away. She needed her feet under her. Her head clear. And her heart strong.

  Right now she was the opposite of strong. She was sated. Oozing with yumminess. Lazy from pleasure.

  This had to stop.

  Her thighs trembled to hold the awkward position.

  He pulled back and stood, supporting her. “We will sleep together now?”

  Well, maybe not quite yet. She leaned against the immovable warrior. “Let me show you how much fun it can be to use a shower. But don’t get water in my eyes. I’m wearing contacts.”

  “Contacts?”

  “Thin slips of plastic. Shaped to help me see farther.”

  They washed each other. She spread her foamy body wash over his hard mountains and valleys, learning his shape on the micro level. The exact pattern of one sharp amethyst fractal, the tiny scars that nicked his abdomen, thighs, buttocks. He lived a warfare-filled life. His story lay exposed on his skin. She learned it as a lover, treasuring every memory.

  He studied her with the same intensity. Curious about the birth mark beneath her left breast, the scar from tripping and whacking her head on an elementary school desk, and the way her littlest toe jutted funny from breaking it in a bike accident when she was nine.