The King Triton

by Sheyla Drymon

  Upon discovering that they used it for copulation, he wanted to find out more by renting movies, which he entertained himself with for days until the stinging he felt when he touched himself far outweighed the pleasure it gave him. Now he knew all about sex. A very different way of mating from his breed, but it was a pleasant change and very satisfying. But never before had it increased in size without him first playing with his cock; it was the first time a female human had managed to excite him in that way and leave him tense, yearning to plunge inside her to pump hard until he spilled his whitish seed.

  “Ah, fuck,” he exclaimed stroking himself hard, running his hand up and down his thick cock that was beginning to leak pre-seminal fluid. I can't be doing this. It's humiliating. And all because of that, ah, ah, human female.

  His mind could no longer blame himself for jerking off as he remembered how the water slid down the woman's golden body. Or how her heart was pounding, its beats echoing in his ears. Much less did he think of the sweet smell the girl gave off as she was sexually attracted to him. His mind snapped, breaking into a thousand pieces as his body convulsed before he ejaculated on the floor.

  “You are dangerous. But you will not divert me from my purpose. I will get that diary you have and put an end to the usurpers to the throne. I swear it on the honor of my family and our pact with the god of the seas.”

  He had already managed to sneak into the motel with the excuse of the flood he himself had caused in his house. His revenge was getting closer and closer. He could almost touch her. But first, he would have to subdue that female and not lose in the attempt.

  CHAPTER 7

  Mireilla did not leave the room until late at night, when her guts roared loudly as she could no longer bear the hunger she felt. She had been shut up in those four walls all day reading the ancient diary, or at least trying to, for every time she read a paragraph, the stranger's tense, burning face came to her mind. Then she would raise her head, putting the paper aside and staring at the door, inwardly contradicting herself. On the one hand, she would daydream of him entering the bedroom and grabbing her, branding her with his fiery gaze. But when she saw herself dreaming that atrocity, she insulted herself out loud and continued reading, paying full attention to the strange words written there.

  After three hours in which she barely managed to read three pages coherently, she put the book down and walked around the room, waiting for dinner time, struggling with the desire to go downstairs to eat something in the main room of the motel where the manager told her that he had dinner there and that if she was hungry, she could join him. The cost of the meals was not included in the lodging, but he would make an exception for her and invited her to eat as many times as she wanted.

  The internal struggle she went through was long and hard, and finally, she gave up going down for dinner that day. She did not want to meet him.

  She screamed to herself that she was stupid to let him upset her like that, but feelings sometimes could not be beaten.

  She held on as best she could until her body couldn't take it anymore and gruntingly demanded something to eat. So she dressed in a summery, brown short-sleeved suit and comfortable ballerinas. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and without once looking at herself in the mirror at the entrance to the room, she left the bedroom, keeping a close eye on her surroundings.

  She was in the dark, for when she switched on the light bulbs in the hallway, they flickered for a few seconds and then went out completely.

  Very carefully, so as not to trip over everything, but also so as not to alert anyone as it was close to midnight, she went downstairs and headed for the kitchens. She only hoped that the motel manager wouldn't get angry with her for cooking for herself. After cooking an omelet, she would clean everything up so he wouldn't notice that she had used it without his consent. And if he found out, she would just apologize and offer to pay for the food.

  With that idea in mind, she entered the silent kitchen and went to the light switch. She understood that the manager, being blind, didn't need the lights, but now she understood from seeing the sorry condition of the entire motel why it had almost no clientele. Who in their right mind would go to a motel that didn't have lights at night? No one. Unless it was someone like her, who hadn't anticipated that the island was having a festival.

  Luckily, the kitchen lamp did stay on.

  Whistling for joy, she searched the shelves for a pan in which to fry the omelet. She found it on one of the shelves at floor level. She examined it before lighting the fire on one of the burners. It was not dirty. It was completely clean with no scratch marks from the scouring pad, no burn marks on the bottom of the pan.

  It was brand new.

  Good for her. Now she would be in no danger of getting food poisoning from the dirt.

  She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the butter and a couple of eggs. She cracked them on a plate being careful not to let any bits of shell fall into the dish and beat them vigorously, until the yolk was completely joined with the white.

  When she had everything ready, with the frying pan on the fire and the butter melted, a voice startled her, causing her to drop the contents of the dish on the floor, creating a big mess when the glass broke and scattering the orange liquid on her feet.

  “What are you doing here at this time of night?” Nathaniel asked.

  Mireilla gasped in shock before answering.

  “What are you doing at the motel?” she replied.

  “You're not asking me what I'm doing in the kitchen?”

  Mireilla bent down and began to pick up pieces of the plate before mopping the floor in an attempt to clean it all up.

  “Spying on me. But you still haven't answered my first question, what are you doing at the motel?”

  Nathaniel laughed. This human was funny. They still hadn't introduced themselves properly; he didn't even know her name, and all she was asking him was why he was staying at the motel.

  “I heard a clatter and came downstairs to investigate.”

  “I didn't ask you that. Who are you, and what are you doing following me?”

  Nathaniel put on his best innocent face, and asked in a neutral voice.

  “What makes you think I'm following you?”

  Mireilla stood up and threw the pieces of the plate into the trash can.

  “Will you always answer my questions with other questions?”

  “Maybe.” Before she could answer with another witty reply, Nathaniel continued, “Tell me your name, and I will introduce myself.”

  Mireilla tried not to smile, but the man's smile was contagious, captivating, and she reciprocated.

  “How rude of me not to tell my name to a man who came into my room when I had just got out of the shower. For that, I can't be forgiven!”

  Nathaniel laughed again, enjoying the woman's acid humor.

  “I’m touched!” Nathaniel sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning against the back of the chair. “Nathaniel Klaider at your service, princess.”

  Mireilla hid her smile by turning her back to him, looking in the fridge for a couple of eggs to make the French omelet.

  When she turned around, she faced him. She was not going to allow him to be so confident.

  “I'm not your princess, Mr. Klaider. So don't ever call me that again.”

  “All right, beautiful,” he retorted, using another of the nicknames he heard from the human males in the bar. “What would you like me to call you?”

  “By my name.”

  “And that is?”

  For a second, Mireilla questioned whether to tell him her real name or make one up, but then she remembered that the man would be at the motel, and she could hear the old manager calling her.

  So it was best to go with the truth first.

  “Mireilla Smither.”

  Nathaniel leaned his elbows on the table.

  Mireilla, he thought, Strange name but beautiful.

  “Nice to meet you, Mireilla. Oh, and bef
ore you protest, can you call me by my name? If you address me by my last name, you make me feel old.”

  She nodded, dropping the contents of the new plate she had picked up and beat two eggs in the pan. The mixture sizzled as the metal of the frying pan was very hot and slowly began to set.

  Without looking at him, as she was concentrating on turning the omelet, she questioned him again.

  “What are you doing at the motel? You're not from the island?”

  “What makes you assume I'm from here?” he asked, squinting his eyes. He was enjoying watching her cook. When the woman was concentrating, a crinkle appeared around her eyes. She was adorable. For a human.

  Mireilla overlooked that he had again answered her with another question and replied.

  “You were participating in the parade, wearing a pirate costume. Only the inhabitants of the island can participate in the celebration.”

  Nathaniel repeated in his mind the woman's phrase, only the inhabitants of the island.

  He had been living in exile for so many years and now living between the two worlds that he no longer remembered what it was like to feel at home, free from the discomfort that arose every time he thought of his home, the Atleintais.

  Now that woman was telling him he was from the island, maybe he was beginning to think of it as his home, and that terrified him.

  “Are you all right?”

  Nathaniel looked up to find the woman's worried blue eyes looking at him intently. She was very close to him, so close that he broke through the inches that separated them and kissed her, pressing his lips against hers, tasting them.

  Mireilla froze as she felt him on top of her, but after a few seconds of internal struggle, she let herself be carried away by the warmth that invaded her.

  She closed her eyes and half-opened her lips as she felt the man's tongue grope her lips.

  She kept thinking that it was crazy, that after all the internal struggle she had gone through, she was now letting herself be conquered in that way, but when their tongues danced together, all doubts vanished from her mind, and she only felt pleasure. Intense. Pure.

  The kiss became wild, needy, fighting with their tongues for control, emptying their minds to accept only the intense pleasure they felt. Nathaniel took her in his arms without stopping the kiss, sitting her on his lap. Mireilla moaned when she noticed the bulge caressing her buttocks as she found herself sitting on him. For a second, her mind screamed in surprise, thinking he was big, very big, and hard. But she pushed the strange thought from her mind, considering he was devouring her with his lips and expert tongue, sitting more comfortably on his lap by draping her arms around his neck.

  After the first kiss, in which he showed the intensity of his feelings and the need to quell them, Nathaniel broke away from the woman and licked her plump, rosy lips, memorizing every corner of her face. The woman was breathing heavily and still remained with her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed. He embraced her, pressing her to his chest. He wanted her. He could not deny it. This little human would be his undoing.

  He longed to dive inside her, to lose himself in her body and touch the sky next to her, bursting like the bubbles in the sea when the waves crashed against the rocks of the shore.

  I can do it, what's stopping me? As long as I remain on these lands, I could take her as my female.

  At that moment, the woman opened her eyes and looked at him.

  Nathaniel gasped hoarsely as he saw her blue eyes shining brightly, lost in the pleasure of feeling desired. He was mesmerized by her beauty, bringing his face close to hers to take her again and make her his, not caring that they were in a dirt-filled kitchen on the first floor of a motel.

  Before their lips could meet again, a voice interrupted them.

  “Fire! There's a fire in my motel! What am I going to do?!”

  Mireilla jumped up, startled to hear that.

  Fire? she thought, looking around. So engrossed was she in enjoying the kiss that she didn't notice that she left the frying pan on the lit stove, and it had caught fire, smoking up the whole kitchen.

  Oh, my God. I almost burned down the motel and all for a kiss.

  He beat her to the stove after lifting her off his lap as if she weighed nothing. Without wasting any time, he took the frying pan off the stove and set it in the sink and then turned off the fire.

  When he turned around after checking that everything was now in order, he noted that the smoke left in the room was going into the motel's main room through the little windows near the ceiling connecting the two rooms. That was one of the reasons they did not smell the smoke, but the motel manager did. They were safe from poisoning by being close to the floor.

  “I had heard that there are kisses that are hot; well, that's apparently true, that strange expression.”

  Mireilla laughed, partly out of nervousness that she was about to burn down the kitchen, but also at how funny his joke was.

  “I just hope this doesn't happen again. I don't want to burn to death.”

  Nathaniel stepped in front of her, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her a few inches off the ground. Mireilla found herself in the air, lifted smoothly as if she weighed nothing, as if the pounds her sisters said she had to spare were nothing to the man.

  “I won't allow it, woman. You are mine. Nothing bad will happen to you by my side.”

  Mireilla did not know how to answer. It seemed as if she was living an act of an old play. She was his? She doubted it very much. He was just a man she was attracted to, nothing more.

  She tried to free herself, repeating the scene of their first encounter.

  “Let go of me!” she said, raising her voice and kicking but without hitting him.

  Nathaniel held her arms and brought his face close to hers. Their breath touched, and their gazes were connected. Time seemed to stand still. In that moment, he broke the rule he made for himself when he first came to the human world.

  Never to touch human female. Not to stoop to their level.

  For her, for Mireilla, he would burn himself.

  “You are mine, and you know it. Can you not feel it?”

  “No, I don't belong to you…” Her protest was interrupted. He was kissing her again, marking her as his.

  Through their minds crossed one and the same question.

  What am I doing?

  But their bodies silenced them.

  The desire they felt when their gazes connected was magical, a chemistry neither had ever experienced before.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ethan Vergel was startled awake by the smell of smoke. With the experience he had gained from years of visual impairment, he got up from his bed and ran to the first floor, following the trail of smoke.

  As soon as he reached the main floor of the motel, he located the source of the fire.

  The kitchen.

  At first he didn't understand why the kitchen was on fire, but thanks to his acute hearing, he heard the murmurs of two people.

  “Fire!” he shouted as he opened the foyer windows so the smoke wouldn't suffocate them all. “There's a fire in my motel! What am I going to do?!” he shouted, leaning exhausted against the table in the lobby where he served the few customers.

  The instant he yelled fire, there was a commotion in the kitchen, and the smoke stopped.

  Ethan sighed in relief.

  It was those two.

  His only two guests were cooking something, and for a reason he could only imagine, they had forgotten either a pan or a pot on the stove.

  After a few minutes in which he tried to catch his breath, he was no longer in a hurry; at sixty-seven years old, he could not run around the motel after waking up so abruptly in fear. The people who had caused the scare came out of the kitchen. For a blind man, there was no worse nightmare than to find himself in a house on fire; with the smoke, he could have lost his orientation and could be burned alive as he would be unable to leave his home.

  “What were you doing in my kitch
en? You almost burned down the motel!”

  Mireilla felt guilty. The wall on the stove side of the kitchen was blackened; it would take a good coat of paint to erase the traces of her carelessness. She thought she had put out the fire because she was so nervous about being alone with Nathaniel, but evidently she had not.

  “I'm so sorry. I was hungry. I was making an omelet and…”

  “You should have been down for dinner at nine o'clock. In this motel, you have dinner at that time, not at dawn!”

  Nathaniel saw the woman tremble and lower her gaze, and he answered the old man self-consciously.

  “Don't ever address my woman like that again.”

  Ethan blinked in surprise. This could not be the same Nathaniel that everyone in town knew. The man always kept his cool, showing a bit of character when talking to his friend and business partner. But now he was defending a woman.

  A woman?! exclaimed Ethan in his mind, rubbing his hands together as he was the one who was going to win the bet that was in Nathaniel's name. Practically the whole town had bet that they would discover the type of woman that would attract the surly man.

  He was going to win!

  The woman who had trapped him into losing his temper like that was staying at his motel and had her picture with a photocopy of her passport when he asked for it, to formalize the contract for two months' lodging.

  Ethan was ecstatic.

  If the money from the bet went into his pockets, he could fix up the motel just as he wished, to fulfill his wife's dream.

  To open the best motel on the island and show the wonders they had on that inhabited, rocky island to visitors. To spread some of the love of his land to strangers who were attracted by the shadow of Blackbeard.