Mariel feared she would be consumed by the heat of Trystan’s body as his bulk pressed her into the soft mattress, and the hot iron of his sex seared her flesh. Hands bound to the bed, she couldn’t fight him, even if she had a will to do so. The sensual lethargy she’d learned in his temple was overtaking her again.
Leisurely, Trystan aroused her traitorous body with his wicked kisses.
She cried out in surprise when Trystan circled her waist with his big hands and held her hips still. He moved lower, trailing his lips between her breasts and down her belly, taking away the dangerous sword of his manhood with which he threatened her, replacing it with the seductive softness of his mouth. He had both his knees between her thighs, opening her, before she realized it. The vulnerability of this position aroused as much as terrified. He’d rendered her helpless to push him away.
Before she could protest in fear, his tongue swept her sex, and she was lost.
“No-o-o-oo,” she cried, when she meant yes.
His tongue understood and dipped deeper.
“Please,” she called in surrender, desperate to tangle her hands in his hair but unable to touch him. She writhed, tossing her head back and forth, frantically lifting her hips to take his tongue deeper. “Please,” she whimpered.
He obliged, stroking and teasing until a knot coiled and tightened inside her, and she felt as if she would fly to pieces if he did not release it. She would accept anything he wished, if only he would save her from this pleasurable torture.
She wept with the wonder of the sensations to which he introduced her. Her womb cried with emptiness, and she opened wider to accept the coupling that would fill it. She wanted what a man—this man—could do so much that she willingly raised up so Trystan could lift her to his mouth and drink of the elixir there. His knowing fingers cupped her bottom and spread her cheeks at the same time he dipped his tongue.
The knot almost came unraveled then, but he pulled back, waiting, and Mariel screamed her frustration. “Now,” she cried. “Make it happen. Make it stop. Please!”
“Say the words, Mariel,” he insisted in an urgent voice raw with need. “Tell me you are mine forever. Tell me I may take you.”
His, forever. The words were terrifying if she thought about them, but she could not think. Or speak. Need consumed her, and she was as mindless as she had been earlier in the bath. Only, instead of aiding survival, her sole instinct was to couple with this golden god who claimed her.
The lamp cast flickering shadow and light across the tangled gold of his hair and the bronzed planes of his chest. Pirate or god, he was magnificent. And he could be hers.
He lowered her hips to the bed when the words froze on her tongue. He raised up, kneeling between her legs to look down on her with eyes misty gray in disappointment. She was tied to the bed. He could take her easily. She wanted him to take her, to take away all responsibility for this act that seemed so important to him and so dangerous to her.
She wanted him to take away the ache, dissolve the knot that tightened just looking at him, watching his sex grow.
Her mother had not warned her about the price she must pay for the services of a god.
The lamplight silhouetted Trystan’s breadth, the tight muscles of his abdomen, and illuminated the dark river of hair leading down to the maleness that would impregnate her, sooner or later.
And her womb cried for his child. She understood the knot now. Somehow, he’d already possessed her, and the craving for release became something more, a need to surrender to her natural self and become one with this man. The altar had induced some magic that took away their individual wills, replacing them with desperate desire. He was as chained to her as she was to him. Her hips rose of their own accord, begging with words her voice refused to speak. That a man of his stature and character didn’t seem to resent the connection—that he actually wanted this union with someone as freakish as her—added another layer of exhilaration.
His searing gaze drifted from her breasts downward to the sexual solace she offered, and Mariel could feel her entrance swell to take him.
He’d saved her life. She must give him hers.
It was as if she’d been struck with a branch of the tree of knowledge. He was right. This union was inevitable.
The fire inside her melted her will. “I am yours forever,” she whispered. “Take me, please.”
Mariel did not understand his reply, but Trystan’s voice was thick with gratitude as he propped his hands on either side of her head and leaned over to kiss her. She tasted herself on his lips, drank greedily of the saltiness as he angled his hips between her legs.
The knotted sheet fell loose from the headboard, and she grabbed his arms just as this stranger she scarcely knew thrust inside her, violating the sanctity of her body. A mournful cry broke past her lips as Trystan shattered her virginity in a single stroke, taking possession and laying claim to what had once been hers alone. Despite her cry of protest, her inner muscles stretched and rippled with pleasure at the intrusion, as if they would never let go.
With a rough laugh of relief, Trystan rubbed his stubbled cheek against her tears. “Our first time, Mariel. Remember it well.”
She throbbed with need, felt liquid with desire, and taut with hunger. She wasn’t likely to ever forget the moment he withdrew to plunge deeper. Tension undulated through her womb as his masculine hardness seared soft tissues. At her cry, he drove higher, repeatedly, stretching her, until her body finally understood and succumbed to his rhythm. Until at last, he struck the internal knot that held them bound.
“Let go, Mariel. Trust me. Let me take you higher,” he murmured, licking her breasts until they peaked into aching buds.
Closing her eyes, she let sensation replace thought and terror. If she could be as one with the sea, she could become one with the man who claimed her. Sensing her capitulation, Trystan eased his rhythm, driving slower and deeper, until he seemed to reach her heart.
Releasing her fears, Mariel clung to his arms and surrendered her body into his custody—and miraculously, that surrender released the shackles of denial. The knot came unbound, and she soared free with this man who’d known what she needed more than she had.
And as he promised, he flew her to a peak far beyond her imagination, one that invoked the towering volcano of his home. And once there, their bodies erupted with such forceful pleasure that they merged in a vapor of fire and water, joined as one, settling gently back to earth as the tremors ceased.
“Pax,” Trystan whispered against her ear, cuddling her in the arms that had sheltered her through the tempest.
“I don’t believe ‘peace’ is the word for what we just did,” she replied, and wished again she didn’t hear the echo of her mother’s prophesies while her body still vibrated with joy.
***
Trystan woke the next morning to the notes of a woodwind drifting from the courtyard. A stringed instrument followed. He seldom had a chance to enjoy music, and he would have liked to lie in the cozy draped bed with the warm woman at his side and make leisurely love.
That he’d completed his half of the vow that bound him physically for life, caused him to break out in a cold sweat, but glancing at Mariel’s peaceful features sleeping on the pillow reassured him that his decision was the right one.
Trystan kissed her awake, then covered her warm, lithe body, fully prepared to service her again. Once would never be enough with a woman as responsive as this mermaid who was maid no longer, but his for all time.
He would endure no passive mating with Mariel. She had participated last evening with such wild abandon that just recalling it had his seed pounding for instant release.
He smiled wickedly when her eyes grew round at the sight of him mounted and ready. Her thighs slackened beneath him, eager to part, and he felt the tie tightening between them.
“This time, there will be no sheath,” he warned her, separating her knees with his.
“No,” she whispered in sudden alarm, staring at his erection. “No children. We have settled nothing. We must hurry and buy back the chalice. Nick is waiting.”
Primed to dive into deep waters, Trystan cursed this delay. He should never have agreed to the sheath. Remaining where he was, he met her gaze defiantly, then stroked her sex. She was moist and ready for him.
“I could take you now,” he asserted, “and there would be no repercussions. You gave your consent. You are my mermaiden now, to do with as I please.” He’d explained that. Imperfectly, perhaps, but she’d seemed to comprehend.
For his kind, the anticipation of children meant even more than the physical joining. Children were crucial to their existence. He would not use the sheath again. That was for whores, and she was his amacara, mother of his children. “This is our future,” he reminded her.
Even more alarmed, she attempted to scoot out from under him, backing up against the headboard. “Forever,” she repeated in a voice of terror. “I agreed to forever, didn’t I?”
“Not one of your better impulses, I assume?” he asked mockingly.
She looked so upset that he hid his disappointment and swung from the bed. He would not force an unwilling woman, even if she was his. Besides, if they waited until they returned to Aelynn, she could confirm her vow and the gods would grant him a child who would be heir to his abilities. Another day or two of waiting was worth the reward and would not kill him. Quite.
“This isn’t a marriage,” she protested, tugging the sheet to her chin and wrapping it around her as she sat up. “We weren’t in church. We merely suffered the heat of passion. And we can’t indulge ourselves now.”
“The gods forbid that we enjoy what they have given us,” he said bitterly. Gritting his teeth, he sat down in the cold bath water to douse his ardor. “I waited all my life for a woman who would enjoy my attentions, and I gain one who prefers suffering. What is it you want of me?” he asked out of curiosity. “I have no wealth without my ship or my home.”
“I don’t want anything of you,” she said proudly, dipping a cloth into the water to wash away the evidence of what they had done. “Perhaps the pleasure,” she reluctantly admitted, “but I’m not ready yet for the results of pleasure. I want this task done first.”
His need unassuaged, Trystan rose dripping from the water, and reached for a sheet to dry himself. “Fine. We will fetch the chalice and meet Nick. I cannot take you into Paris if you sicken without the sea, so I cannot obtain your brother-in-law’s permission for a wedding. What is the protocol under such circumstances?”
“Protocol?” She had donned her undergarments and was staring in dismay at the bodice laces he’d undone last night.
It laced in back, where she could not reach, he realized. The hooks in front were there so she could fasten the garment without aid. Her complicated clothing was a nuisance. “For taking vows in your church, so you will feel comfortable with what is between us,” he explained.
Her church meant nothing on Aelynn, but if her ceremony made her happy and willing to take his vows, then he could say hers.
He grabbed the bodice and held it up so she could place her arms in the sleeves. He would prefer to see her in the simple togas and saris of his home, clothing that opened easily when he wished to make love to her. But if she meant to make him wait, perhaps burying her in acres of cloth was wise. “I made promises last night. You do not really think I will forget them?”
“Men usually do,” she said without anger. “I wanted to experience what we did last night, but I don’t really expect you to return once you have your chalice.”
Trystan tugged her laces and tried not to strangle her. “I did not realize that vows were so easily forsworn in your world. Our cultures differ in ways that will cause us trouble if we don’t learn from our mistakes. I assume you did not understand that our pledge was serious, or you might have been less impulsive about taking it.”
“We made a mistake,” she agreed. “We rushed into something neither of us is prepared for. We scarcely know each other.”
“It is too late to regret what we did. Under Aelynn’s laws, a verbal promise is binding. I cannot take another as amacara.” Knotting the lace, Trystan whirled her around and glared down at her.
“You are sore from last night,” he decided, “and that reduces desire, giving you strength to deny me. But it is not likely to happen again. The bond tightens even as I speak. Your breasts swell with need. I can feel it, here, inside me.” He punched his midsection, where the hunger burned.
Her eyes reflected the molten gold of lust, so he knew she felt it, too, no matter how much she shook her lovely curls in brave denial.
She was afraid of the joining between them. No one had ever explained to her what it meant to bear the blood of Aelynn.
Softening toward her as he would a child who does not comprehend, Trystan placed his hand on Mariel’s delicate jaw and pressed a kiss to her wide brow. “This is all new to you. I will try to be patient, if you will be patient with me. I have waited a long time to have an amacara, and it is hard for me to accept that you do not want the same.”
“I want it,” she whispered with all honesty, “I just cannot have it. Your world is not mine, and it never will be.”
A cold chill shot down his spine as he recognized the kernel of truth in her declaration. As the Guardian, he could not abandon Aelynn. He was key to the island’s survival. His children must inherit his abilities.
Without children, the island would die. What disaster was this if she would not have his children?