Lyon. Elizabeth Amber
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bones of ribs and hip, then lower. As her body dried, a shallow furrow was forming along the central length of her, from groin to tailfin. The flat of his fingers traced over it, slicking away the droplets of seawater that had pooled in the depression.
“How long?” he growled, as desire rose hotter in him.
Seawater eyes brimming with sexual promise caught his. “Soon, my sweet.”
Sweet? It was obvious from her tone that she enjoyed the fact that he was suffering for want of her.
His finger found the tip of a luminous breast amid the tangle of rubies, pearls, and other less exotic stones encircling her neck. Hooking an inexpensive strand from amid the more costly necklaces, he lifted it for closer study.
“Where did you come by all this?” he asked, nodding toward the bounty.
She snatched it from him and carefully patted it back into place. “From here and there. My most recent finds were from the hold of a vessel. A sunken one littered with dead Spaniards who were so kind as to leave a trunk full of gems at my disposal. However grateful I was for their gifts, they proved quite a trial.” Her eyes were cunning as she slid her hand lower between them. “For their flaccid organs provided little in the way of entertainment.”
He caught her hand, thwarting it from finding him. “Do you think to make me jealous with your talk of other men?”
“No. Of course not.” She shook off his restraint and he let her. “It’s only that your carnal exploits are the stuff of legend and I wish to assure you that as a woman of experience, I’m your match in such matters.”
Her hand found his cock then, and her voice turned intimate. “And I find myself hungry tonight for a more lively joining with a far greater treasure than limp Spaniards.”
Clawed fingertips pricked through his trousers, fondling his tumescent shaft.
Hissing inwardly between his teeth, Lyon gave her a warning squeeze. “If you want my ‘treasure’ so badly, I suggest you exercise care not to damage it before it can perform as you like.”
She looked ready to speak, but then something beyond him caught her eye. Abruptly, she rose on an elbow to glower menacingly over his shoulder. Slithering on their bellies across the grass, the others of her kind had trailed them and had drawn too near to suit her.
Reminded of Sibela’s wrath, they halted a distance away combing their hair with their fingers and eyeing him.
With mechanical expertise, his fingers continued to caress, deepening the trench along Sibela’s tail. But his mind worked apart from his hands. “How is it that King Feydon’s third daughter comes from the river instead of land?”
“My secrets are not yours to hear until we’ve grown closer,” she crooned, all cloying again as her attention returned to him. Her bony, translucent fingers made quick work of the fastenings of his trousers. Freed, his cock surged from the gape of fabric and she reached for it.
“Careful,” he reminded softly.
She nodded and stroked him once. Twice. “You seem sufficiently roused for the task ahead.”
Then her hand covered his where it massaged the furrow forming directly along the center of her tail. What had been one long, solid form from hip to tip was beginning to remodel itself into two distinct limbs. A true separation had already begun at her groin and this was where she led his touch.
“So am I,” she whispered. “I’m open for you! Feel me?”
Under their combined touch, the tender slit at her groin deepened. It would take some time for the separation to continue along thighs, knees, calves, and ankles. And longer still for it to form webbed-toed feet from angled fins. But he needn’t wait any longer, and she wouldn’t require him to.
Bracing his hands in the grass on either side of her, he slung himself over her and replaced their fingers with the crown of his cock. He flexed his hips, beginning his push.
“Are you ready for me?” His voice was gruff, trembling with need.
She flattened her palms against his chest, staying him. “You understand my price?”
Their eyes caught and his jaw hardened. “I’m more than willing to meet it—if you’re truly King Feydon’s daughter.” He had little choice. The third fey child was destined to be his for all eternity whether he cared for her or not. It was what his brothers expected. Cleaving himself to her was his duty and would protect both her and the gate on Satyr land that stood as the only barrier between two disparate worlds.
“You will wed me in the Human way?” she asked, demanding a clearer agreement. “Take me to your lands where the Arno flows?”
Everything in him—except his cock—rebelled at the idea. “Yes,” he told her.
She smiled slowly. Releasing him, she threw her arms wide on the grass to tangle in the hair that fanned around her.
“Then come into me, husband,” she breathed.
His tip dipped farther into her, widening and stretching her small gap. Her milky readiness coated his crown and stirred every nerve ending he possessed.
“Gods, yes,” he breathed.
“I know,” she crooned. “I know you need me, darling. And I’m yours.”
He drew back and pressed forward again. And again, in an erotic dance that teased her entrance wider and lodged him farther inside her each time. He lowered his head to her, nuzzling the hair along her temple. “Yesss.”
Her crooning turned louder and more harmonious, becoming a vibrant hum. “Fuck me, fuck me!” she chanted.
With a vigorous shove of his hips, he penetrated her, tunneling hard and deep. Sheathed inside the newly formed gelatinous core of the woman he would marry, he shivered, recalling yet another reason he’d always shrunk from fornicating with Nereids. Sibela was cold—inside and out.
“Welcome home,” she lilted at his ear. “I am meant for you.”
Finding himself at a loss for a convincingly ardent reply, he kissed her instead. And to make up for his lack of affection, he then proceeded to rut her with all the considerable skill he’d acquired over the past decade. Gripping the soft-scaled rounds of her buttocks, he drove himself into her, then pulled away, reveling in the feel of her inner muscles sucking at him. He slammed home again and again, beginning to lose himself in the animal act.
Whap! Her tail swept upward to slap his rear, and the twin tips of her caudal fin pierced his skin.
“Gods!” Lyon jerked at the pain and shifted his leg so it weighted her tail. Shoving fingers tight in her hair, he spoke to her nose to nose. “There’s something about me you’ll want to remember. Rough, I like.” At the beginning and finish of each sentence, he bucked her in emphatic slams. “Violent, I don’t.”
Her channel undulated, squeezing him in a way that urged him toward orgasm but let him know she intended to be the one who’d decide when he’d attain it.
A hoarse, carnal groan escaped him, and she smiled knowingly.
“You will grow used to my ways in time,” she told him.
A part of him reveled in the frank coarseness of her. But something in him craved variety, and she would always demand that his lovemaking be an assault. The Nereid considered pain and aggression an inalienable part of this act. For them, every mating was a test of their partner’s worthiness. It was not her fault, he reminded himself. She was who she was.
So he fucked her, rough and aggressive, ruthlessly taking what he needed and giving her what she wanted. She licked the strong column of his neck and then nipped him there and he let her. Her necklaces bit into his chest and her claws raked up and down his back and ripped at his clothing as she pelted his ears with raw pleas.
“Fuck! Ram it! Give it to me!”
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