by Joey W. Hill
"Holy Mother," she breathed. Her fingers dug into his muscles. It was so hot in here now. She saw the flow of it coming off their skin, illuminating the chamber further. When she pushed impatiently against him, his lips curved in a male smile that didn't lessen the flames in his eyes. The flames gave her a surge of pleasurable anxiety even as the smile balanced it, made him familiar, a being like her. Though he was so much more.
She'd thought he was a fantasy, but she knew now she'd been wrong, for he wasn't even within the grasp of her wildest imaginings.
Part of her knew she should be holding on to a scrap of reason, something that would keep her anchored in reality in the midst of this. They were doing this to heal him, after all, not because he was wildly in love with her. But the part of her that had always hungered to rush out and truly touch, truly connect with another, to feel without words or even defined thought that the other being knew her, could want and love her, was imagining so much . . . so many possibilities and what-ifs that could never be. Dreams that goaded her as high emotionally as her body was going physically.
It didn't matter. Her soul resisted all restraint and admonitions anyway. When he discarded the battle skirt, his broad shaft caressed between her legs, against the cleft of her buttocks. His jaw was held tensely, as if he was somehow trying to restrain himself, while she strained forward. She'd never done this before, but she was a creature of water, air and earth. Even fire, at the moment. Those elementals knew where they were taking her. The power of instinct overrode fear.
"Touch me," he demanded. "Let me feel your small hands."
His long form was naked, powerful. Intimidating. Regardless, she wanted to see him. Lifting up so his sex could spear forward toward his belly, she couldn't help but draw in a breath at the breadth and length of him, for she knew enough to know where that beast was going to go. Still, she curled her hand around him, wondering, wanting to feel. He was steel and, like all of him, pure heat. His eyes closed, a shudder running through his body that jolted hers. He was reacting to her touch, sharing pleasure at it. As she tightened her grip, she was amazed when he thrust reflexively through her fingers and a fluid came from the tip. She ran her thumb over it, testing the feel of it, bringing it to her lips to taste. Salty. Like the sea, but of earth as well. What would it be like to put my mouth there, taste you . . . ?
"By the Lady, come here." Rearing up to a sitting position, he caught her waist in both hands, despite the pain she was sure it caused when she saw the tightening of his mouth, the flinch that rippled through his muscles.
"My lord--"
"Your innocence is going to incinerate me, little wanton." He overrode her concerns with his urgency. "Put your arms around my shoulders. Don't be afraid of hurting me."
She kept a cautious embrace near the severed area anyway, but lowered her face into his neck as he locked his arms around her waist and back, and shifted. The broad head of the shaft entered her sex, past the slick folds of flesh, moving slowly in. The inexorable grace of a dragon's head penetrating a hot, moist cave where the maiden waited. But she did not tremble in fear--much. He held her close and, Great Lady, he was so big. She was like a child, how easily he held her, the breadth of his shoulders under her fingers, and yet she felt like anything but a child. She felt stirred, heated, restless. She bit the firm skin of his shoulder when he rubbed her body against his arousal, for she could not bear the feel of it without a violent response. He growled, his hands on her hips taking her down. As wet and slick as she was, she was also tight and unbroken, so the sharp pain was inevitable as he took her down in one sure, long stroke.
She cried out, interrupting his groan of pleasure, and she was sorry for it, but, Neptune, it hurt. She blinked back tears, holding him, trying not to look at him. His hands slid up her back, gentle upon her but firm as he tried to pry her loose. She held more tightly, not wanting him to see her tears. She didn't want to do anything that might make him stop. For as much as she hurt, to be touched and held this way, part of his body . . . she'd never experience anything like it again.
Don't stop. Please.
He flattened his palm on her back, giving in to her. As he tangled his fingers in her hair, he let that other hand fall to the rise of her buttocks, applying slight pressure to hold her in place. Her internal muscles were quivering, not sure how to move or adjust. His breath became somewhat erratic, though his voice was quiet, deep, resonating in her ear. There was some powerful emotion in his voice she couldn't comprehend, but she didn't sense it was displeasure.
"I knew you were inexperienced, but I didn't expect . . . You're untouched."
More true than he knew. Untouchable. She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his jaw, his fall of silken hair. When her hair dried in the sun, it dried like seaweed, unless she applied oils to it, rinsed away the salt. His was now dry but as featherlike as if it were underwater. She couldn't help inhaling it, a smell of pleasurable things she didn't recognize. She imagined them to be like sky or the clouds at elevations she'd never been. Perhaps he'd even gone close to the sun, caught the rays in his hands. How close could he get without being burned? The pulsing heat of his body was setting her on fire.
When he raised his head and cradled hers in his hand a moment, bringing them eye to eye, it was as if she'd stepped inside him. Anna was sure she could feel not just what he was, but who he was. And in that moment, the heart overwhelmed awe. He was like her . . . He needed, wanted. She could feel the beat of his heart, the rush of his blood, his desire and his determination mixed. Not so different from her after all.
"You should have told me, little one."
"I said . . . I belonged to no one."
"So you did." There was a quiet, sensual amusement in his voice, but something else, too, something that made her insides quiver even more. "I suppose that means you belong to me now. At least for this moment."
May this moment never end.
She closed her eyes, knowing she shouldn't say such a thing, but she couldn't help thinking it. She wondered if he'd picked it up as a direct plea to him. However, he merely turned her face, cupping the back of her head still. She wouldn't open her eyes, but he brushed a kiss over both eyelids.
"I'm hurting you."
"No, my lord."
"Don't lie to me," he said mildly, though there was an underlying command to it that again suggested his high rank, that he was used to issuing orders. "I'll make it better. Will you trust me?"
Straightening, he held her away from him, his gaze coursing down her face and throat to her bare breasts, the pink tips that were too taut to ignore. "Don't move, little one. You will wish to do so, but do not. Hold very, very still."
"I . . . I don't know if I can, my lord. The way it makes me feel . . ."
That look in his eyes again, telling her somehow her words pleased him. He nodded, took the edges of her scarf and crossed them over her abdomen.
"Put your hands behind your back, your wrists crossed."
She swallowed, another herd of sea horses stampeding, this time down even lower, making something clench hard and fierce between her legs. When she obeyed, he took the ends of the scarf behind her, tied her wrists so they were held back there, the crisscrossing of the garment over her front holding her up straight before him, as she sat upon his loins.
He leaned forward, still holding her securely so she would not sway and fall. Nor could she move her hips, which, despite the pain, she had an unexpected desire to do. Especially when his back curved, the one wing stretching out to balance him and allow him to bring his face closer to her breasts. Flexing his grip, he arched her back. In that same movement, he put his mouth over the right nipple.
Sensation exploded through her. She bucked instantly against the restraint, making it even more intense. What was this pleasure, liquid pleasure, just rushing all through her from that one place? From the wetness of his mouth on her skin, the firm suckling of it, drawing things tight, making her want to move. Oh, she had to move; it was unbearable
not to . . . but he'd said . . .
He kept doing it, flicking her with his tongue, suckling, drawing her deep, easing up to lick, then biting again, making her cry out. When he moved to do it to the other one, she moaned, a breathy sound.
"Do not move, little one," he reminded her harshly, but she so wanted to disobey. The pain between her legs was dissolving into pure hot lava, and yet if it was possible she thought he'd gotten larger inside her. Wetness was spilling on her thighs.
"It will build inside you like the fiercest storm," he muttered against her. "The power of your desire rising over all else, until I will be just an instrument in the gale you've created, sweet little one."
Dipping lower, he gripped her buttock again. His fingers squeezed, their length making it possible to tease the cleft, which caused a shudder. She'd never imagined how sensitive the nerves were there. The throbbing pain ebbed like a fast-retreating tide as he suckled her like an infant, a curious image for such an erotic feeling, but it was as if the two images had a special power. Nourishing the man, nourishing the child . . . She hummed deep in her throat. She wanted to move in rhythm with his hands, because the pain had become something more than pain. He was doing marvelous things to her nipple, to her whole body. When he began to move her on him at last, she moaned in relief.
But it was still excruciating, a slow rise and fall, building, building, bringing an explosive heat closer and closer. Raising her, then taking her back down again, letting her feel the movement of him against her, inside and out. She was wet so deep inside now the passage was easy, even as he stretched the virgin opening, let her feel the way of it. And ah, Great Lady, the way he had her bound so she could only watch what he was doing to her, see the sway and quiver of her body and the way his eyes watched her every movement . . .
The spirals of energy closed in, reminding her there was another purpose to this. She tried to focus.
"I'll take care of it, Anna." His voice was a husky growl against her flesh. "Just let it build. I'll channel it."
Thank Goddess. She couldn't think.
The feathers of his attached wing rippled as if from a gust, fire flickering in the corners of her eyes. Lapping over the ledge, the water surged restlessly. A wavering energy crackled in the air around them, heat waves. They turned, swirled, closed in on them.
His biceps flexed, powerful and sure. That wonderful ridged head stroked inside her, to the point she was gasping in rhythm to her movements, keening low in her throat, a plea. Deep in, slow, tormenting drags out, and back in again. Visualizing the movement in her mind was as erotic and stirring as the actuality of it. Then there was the stimulation of his hands on her buttocks, the way he pressed the globes of flesh against the hard muscle of his thighs as he pushed her down, harder now. Making the flesh of her breasts wobble more freely, which seemed to arouse him further.
Taking one hand back to tangle in her hair again, he held her, controlling her movement as he began to thrust with consistent strength. But he was still holding back. She knew it because his body was quivering, every muscle drawn taut. His pain was part of their mutual pleasure.
"Don't . . . hold back, my lord," she managed over a moan. "I will be . . . all right."
"Not until you . . ." He didn't finish, instead renewing his assault on her breast with his mouth, flicking at the nipple with his tongue, firm lips moistening, drawing on her skin. Her fingers dug into the bonds around her wrists.
"What . . ."
"Let go, little one," he growled. "Trust it. Trust me."
She knew what he was referring to, even if she didn't know what it was that surged from between her legs, rippled through her body, seized her in a paroxysm of sensation that took away all her control. Her head fell to his shoulder, pressing hard against the bone. Banding his arm around her, he held her on a fixed point in the universe as everything else spun faster and shattered. She let his command sweep over her. The mental images of what they looked like doing this drove her with as much force as his body. Fire racing, water surging . . .
The sea rushed up the rock ledge, splashed against her like sun-kissed surf blown in by the wind. The energy built to a great peak around them, the wind of it beginning to sing. When he briefly raised his head, his hair blew over his lips. She kissed them desperately, feeling the texture of the strands and his mouth at once. Their flesh was the only anchor to earth as this spiraling feeling tightened all her muscles, stroked her taut in his powerful arms and set off a series of spasms throughout her body, starting at the joining point between them.
Joining Magic.
She screamed with it. When he yanked her binding free, her arms came forward to grip his shoulders. Her hips slammed down, demanding more. For the first time in her life she was free, so very free, and yet she'd handed all control over to him. It made perfect sense in this perfect moment.
Her cry was as savage as that of the first creature who'd ever walked the earth, her head tipped back, fingers raking at his skin. She rode the wave of the passion as if she could see the whole world from the crest of it, and the view was enough to destroy her. She would explode into a million pieces, become part of the stars, the drops of the ocean, and she wouldn't care, because this was the answer to the ache of loneliness. This was the answer to everything.
He growled, just as primal, responding to her fierce need. Surging into her like a battering ram, he filled her completely, tight, hard, holding her. Anna didn't care about pain. She welcomed it, wanted to bleed for him and him only. Dramatic, romantic nonsense she nevertheless meant with her whole self. He'd given her this, the greatest happiness she'd known in her short life. It didn't matter that it might give him the ability to control the worst moment of her life as well. Control no longer mattered.
The elemental reactions gathered, swirled around them. His eyes glimmered with green sparks, blue and white flame. Some red as well. As the climax took her higher, higher, she was vaguely aware of the broken wing rising, aligning with his back, the energy they'd raised cycling into smaller spirals in that area. It was roaring through her veins, making her want to soar.
Because she sensed he was somehow still cushioning her from the full effect, protecting her, she fought through her own desire. "You need . . . all of it, my lord. Do not spare me. Let me . . . help heal you."
Then the power crashed over her. The blue light of his clotted blood became flame that speared out from the wound and blinded her. When he cried out, she heard the agony mixed with the throaty response to his own release. She clung to him, working her hips on him, emulating the motions he'd taught her, stroking him, trying to take the pain away, feeling the energy rushing through them both.
It thundered and roared, tossed her loose from all her preconceived notions of what her first time coupling with a man would be like. It went much higher, high enough that there was room for only one seed of doubt to mar the moment.
The reminder that the moment was more than her offering herself to a man. This was magic. For him. For his healing.
Just magic.
Five
JONAH considered the mysterious being lying in the curve of his arm, sleeping with all the uncomplicated exhaustion and moving trust of a child. Her sensual response had likewise been a curious mixture of shy innocence and the reckless, unbridled enthusiasm of what he'd called her. A wanton.
He'd been weak. Terribly weak. He'd chosen earth magic that could be concealed from all but Lucifer's most in-depth probe, because he had a disturbing need not to be found. Even so, he might have been able to make the magic work with one powerful kiss. He'd thought about trying it that way first, but her response had compelled him to take it far beyond that. He rationalized it by telling himself he'd not even been sure if the Joining Magic they could raise would be enough to aid him, but as her pinnacle rose, it had overwhelmed him like a summer storm. It wasn't just earth magic, but far more. Air, water, fire . . . they'd all surrounded him, infused him. In the center of that surprise, there'd been the overwhelmin
g, completely unexpected response of his body to hers. Of his soul to hers, if he wanted to be honest. He'd wanted to bury more deeply into her, roll her over and take her the way he would if he was whole and there was no purpose to their Joining except their own desire. Her body beneath him, soft thighs spread, arms reaching, clinging as he drove into her. Faith, he was hardening again, just thinking of it. What was the matter with him?
He'd hurt her. He brushed fingertips over the smears of blood that remained on her thighs. He'd taken her innocence, just taken it, no matter how gentle he'd tried to be. That should have been the right of her handfast, her mate. A frown crossed his brow at the thought of that. She said she belonged to no one. She was too young to be despairing about such a thing, but he'd detected the note of it in her voice, nonetheless. Not the dramatic despair of one who'd experienced the death of puppy love and was too young to realize love would come and go at this age. No, a serious, deep despair, as if her soul was old enough to know too much truth about what love was, and what it wasn't.
Merpeople were flocking creatures with a driving need to socialize with their own kind. But only their own kind. Not only did they have a staunch, conservative aversion to mixing in the affairs of non-mermaids, they also avoided dabbling in magic.
And while mermaids accepted sex as a natural act, they didn't do it indiscriminately. She'd given him her innocence either because her heart was that noble, or because she didn't feel it was a gift with any worth except to a wounded angel who needed it as an ingredient to a healing spell.
He blew gently on her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, her eyelids crinkling. When she turned her face into his chest, an unexpected smile curved his lips. An enigma. A mermaid who could take human form, who was an exceptional channel for magic . . . who was brave beyond her years, inquisitive in a way unusual for her cautious kind. Who also appeared to be quite alone in the world.