Atlantis Rising

by Alyssa Day

  Conlan pulled back from her a little, his breathing harsh. He’d known that she tasted like warmth and sunlight and sweet, clean passion. But now she tasted like something even better.

  She tasted like she was his.

  He crushed his mouth to hers again, needing to feel her compliance. Her surrender. Her acceptance of his desire and his need. “Now,” he said, hearing the pleading in his own voice, not caring. “Please. Now.”

  “Yes,” she said, curling her arms around his neck. “Yes, please. Now.”

  He swept her up off the ground and carried her to the bed, kissing her the entire time. In seconds, he was locking the door and then back at the bed. He stripped off his shirt on the way, desperate to feel her skin on his.

  She lay there, her hair spread across the pillows, his fantasy come true. He wanted to weep from the joy of it.

  Wanted to roar out his possession to the world.

  He did neither. Simply touched her. Finally, finally, touched her.

  Riley trembled when Conlan eased his body down on the bed next to hers. Somehow his chest and shoulders seemed even bigger without his shirt. He was a wall of muscle, but she’d seen past the proud warrior exterior to the man inside.

  When he touched her, fingers gently stroking her cheek, then her neck, she noticed that she wasn’t the only one trembling.

  The realization sent her reeling that final step over the edge of any remaining inhibition. This big, tough warrior who could stand and battle vampires and shape-shifters and anything else that went bump in the night wanted her so badly his hands were shaking.

  She pulled his head down to hers and smiled. “Kiss me. Kiss me and make me feel safe again,” she whispered.

  The heat of the blue-green flame burning in his eyes scorched her nerve endings, sending warmth and wetness straight to her center. Her breasts felt fuller, tighter, as though they wanted the weight of him against them.

  She arched up against him and, before he had a chance to obey her request, she took control.

  She kissed him. Softly, gently.

  His scent surrounded her. Spicy and warm and male, and suddenly gentle was not on the agenda.

  She moaned and kissed him, lips capturing his, tongue diving into his mouth. She wrapped one leg around his legs and pulled him down to her, wanting, craving, needing to feel his hardness against her.

  Conlan thought he might possibly have died and gone to the mountain of the gods. Riley was setting him on fire, pulling him into her and kissing him like she was starving and he was dessert.

  Which gave him ideas.

  Really, really great ideas.

  He pulled away from her lips and kissed a path across her cheek and down to her neck, where he bit and suckled at her, reveling in her throaty moans. With one hand, he pushed at her shirt, moving it up to bare her warm belly, sliding his fingers further up until he cupped the underside of her breast.

  She gasped at the touch and arched into his hand. “Touch me, please touch me, Conlan.”

  He rolled over and pulled her up, yanking her shirt over her head, then kissed her again, his tongue plunging inside to claim her mouth. It was a hard kiss, a branding kiss.

  Mine. Mine. Always mine.

  The thought came from so far inside him he didn’t recognize the source. A primal urge to mark her, to claim her, to carry her off to his palace and never let her go shook his body with the force of it. He knew she could feel it, because her emotions suddenly registered shock through her empathic connection to him.

  Then she smiled beneath his lips and sent waves of acceptance to him. She was feeling strong, sure in her uniquely feminine power over him, and she let him know it.

  His body tightened at the feeling and the colors of her arousal in his body, in his brain. His cock hardened to the point of pain inside his suddenly too-tight pants. Pulling away from her mouth, he looked at the round and perfect breasts filling out the bits of lace that covered them. He wanted his mouth on them.

  With one hand, he worked at the tiny clasp, groaning in frustration when it didn’t come undone immediately. She laughed and captured his hand in her own.

  “What’s the matter? The big, bad warrior can’t figure out a simple bra clasp?” she teased, voice husky and warmth shining from her eyes, her happiness sparkling like fairy dust in his mind.

  “The big, bad warrior is going to bite it off with his teeth if you don’t help,” he replied. Then he bent down and took her nipple in his mouth, right through the fabric, and she arched up off the bed, moaning.

  With his other hand, he caressed her other breast, cupping and squeezing it. Rubbing his thumb over her nipple in rhythm with suckling its twin. Her moans grew more frantic, and she clutched at his back while her head whipped back and forth on the pillow. “Oh, please, oh, please.”

  He released her nipple from his mouth, blew warm air on it, and watched the shudder rip through her body. “Please what, Riley? Say it.”

  “Please. I need you.” She put her hands on his head and urged him up toward her mouth. But he wasn’t done yet. He moved his mouth to her other breast and replaced his thumb with his mouth. Hardened even more when her body jerked up against his and she rubbed her core against him, wordlessly pleading. He gently bit her nipple and she gasped, then moaned out his name.

  “Now, damn you, now. I need you inside me now,” she said, breathing harshly, eddies of passion and sharp, spiking desire flowing from her emotions and through him.

  “Yes,” he ground out. “Yes, I’m going to take you now.”

  Riley stared up at the man who’d driven her nearly insane with wanting, almost not recognizing him beneath the ferocious and primal need stamped on his face.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one going out of her mind, here.

  He rolled over and bent to throw off his boots and socks, then stood and stripped his pants off in one violent motion. When he stood before her, proud and tall and gloriously naked, she caught her breath. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered, reaching out to touch one muscled thigh. His erection, as big as the rest of him, strained, jerking a little, at her touch so near to it.

  She wanted to taste it.

  He laughed a little. “I am a warrior. Scarred and worn, definitely not beautiful. But you . . . you make the gods themselves weep with envy at your beauty.”

  He reached for her hands, pulled her to stand next to him. Then his fingers were at her waist, unfastening her jeans, and she was suddenly as naked as he.

  For an instant, she was shy. Then he put his hands on her, and she was frantic with need. “Touch me, Conlan. Kiss me and touch me everywhere. I want your hands on me.”

  It was his turn to groan, and he captured her head in both hands and swooped down to kiss her with such possession and fire that her heart seemed to skip a beat or two. She caught at his shoulders, trying to hold herself up on knees gone weak.

  He ran his hands down her body, lightly touching her arms, then her hips, then stroking up the plane of her back. She trembled and pushed against him, loving the feeling of his hardness against her. Wanting it inside her.

  As if he could hear her, he ran his hands down the front of her body, cupping her breasts on the way. She moaned again, wanting him to stop torturing her.

  Wanting him never to stop.

  Wanting more.

  His hands continued their path, now stroking down her belly and then, finally, one traced a path through the curls between her legs and lightly across the heat of her.

  He raised his face to look at her, fierce triumph in his smile. “You’re wet for me, Riley. You’re drenched for me.”

  “I . . . oh—” Before she could form the words to answer him, he drove two fingers inside her, and she lost the ability to speak.

  She clenched around his fingers and nearly cried out at the pleasure of it. “Oh, yes, Conlan. Yes, please, more.”

  Conlan sent a prayer of thanks to whatever gods would hear him. She was so responsive to him, so hot, so wet. As she
tightened around his fingers, he thought he might lose all control and ejaculate before he ever entered the sweet wetness of her body.

  He’d never felt passion with this crashing force before.

  Damaged goods, princeling. The hated voice whispered through him, stopping him, freezing him—but only for an instant.

  Then Riley opened her eyes and stared straight into his soul. “No. No. She’s not here—she’ll never hurt you again. Don’t let her in, Conlan.”

  She kissed him, deliberately clenched her warmth around his fingers again. “Feel me. I’m real. I’m here. Don’t let her win.”

  Something burst in his heart. “Yes, yes, mi amara. You are here for me. You are mine. She is less than nothing,” he rasped out, words fervent as a prayer.

  He withdrew his fingers, and Riley whimpered a little, but then he swept her up into his arms and dropped her on the bed. She blinked, seemed to come back from some far distance, and shook her head a little. “We . . . I . . . protection. I’m safe, but—”

  He understood instantly, since her feelings were open to him. “No, we are immune. I can’t even catch a cold from you, nor you from me, my beautiful one. And we cannot produce children without the ritual of fertility being blessed by Poseidon.”

  She nodded, feeling the truth of his words in his emotions. Then she held her arms up to him and smiled with such sensuous promise that his knees turned to water.

  As he dove down to cover her body with his own, he opened his heart to her. Threw off any remaining emotional shields, so she could feel the great gift she’d given him.

  Then he pulled her knees up on either side of his hips and drove into her all the way to the hilt in one stroke, roaring out his pleasure.

  Gasping out her name.

  Resting his forehead against hers, he labored for breath. “Mine, Riley. Say it. You’re mine.”

  She caught his face in her hands and drew him down to her mouth. “I’m yours, Conlan.”

  She kissed him with all the passion he could feel in her soul. She looked up at him, blue eyes warm and glowing, and smiled at him again. “And you’re mine, too.”

  Riley’s body arched to meet him. The emotion that washed through him and into her was a revelation. Awe . . . astonishment. Simple gratitude.

  He had never belonged to anyone. Had never been wanted just for himself since he was a child.

  His gratitude transformed into a tsunami of passion, tempered with warmth, and he shared it all with her through their bond. She shuddered underneath him, and something in him seemed to snap.

  “I’m sorry, Riley, but I don’t have any more control,” he managed, grinding out the words. “I’m going to take you now, and it’s going to be hard and fast. I promise I’ll try for finesse later, but—”

  She held a finger up to his lips and smiled, feminine power shining in her eyes. “Less talking. More action.”

  With a shout of joy, he pulled back and thrust into her again, his body catching the rhythm that was older than even Atlantis. Older than the gods themselves.

  She arched into him in time with his thrusts and he rode her, stroked her, thrust into her again and again while he felt her body tightening around him and the tension building and building inside her.

  Riley had never felt anything like it before. The heat and slick tension, the coiling electricity of his body pumping inside her, the hard muscles working under her fingers, the glow in his eyes showing her that he was loving every minute of it as much as she did.

  It was all driving her over the edge. Every nerve ending in her body sang. The pressure climbed in a starburst crescendo until she exploded, free-falling into space, fingers digging into his shoulders to keep from cartwheeling off the edge of the world.

  He tensed, muscles straining for control as she shuddered beneath him. As she came back to solid ground, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Conlan?”

  He bent to press a gentle kiss on her lips, the stark outline of the muscles in his neck and shoulders telling her how much his restraint cost him.

  “Riley, know this. As the ancient stories foretold, so it is true. I have waited for you, unknowing, all my life.”

  She stared at him, dazed by what his words and his emotions were telling her. “Are you saying—”

  “I love you, Riley. You have captured my heart.” With the words, something in his control seemed to break. He plunged into her once, twice, three times more, then drove into her with one final thrust that took him so deep she felt him against her womb. He threw his head back and yelled her name, exploding inside her. His mind, his heart, even his soul opened up to her more fully than they ever had before, and she felt herself dancing, twirling, reveling in his emotions.

  In his passion.

  And she exploded again, spiraling up and up into a place she’d never been before. Exploding again around him. Falling and falling . . .

  Into love. Somehow, incredibly, she loved this man she’d only just met. This man she’d known forever.

  Before she could catch her breath from the realization, she seamlessly wove her shields into place. It wasn’t knowledge she was quite ready to share. Not even with Conlan.

  Not yet. It was too soon. If you loved people, they left. She wasn’t ready for him to leave.

  Maybe not ever.

  Conlan collapsed on top of her, holding himself up with his arms so he didn’t crush her with his weight. The only sound in the room was panting. From both of them. After a minute or so, he stirred himself to move, rolling to the side, still holding her in his arms.

  “Forget the mountain of the gods,” he murmured. “I’d give that up for this in an instant.”

  Chapter 24

  Riley woke up, warm, content, and deliciously sore in places that hadn’t been sore in a very long time. For a moment she didn’t open her eyes, perfectly happy to just lie there with Conlan’s arms around her, her head nestled on his shoulder. Sunlight warming the room. Peace, even the illusory peace that she knew it was, warming her heart.

  “I wondered when you might wake up, sleepy one.”

  She turned a little to smile up at him. “Sleepy one? It was after four when you finally let me rest.”

  The smile on his face was smug and undeniably male. She laughed, then pinched him.

  “Hey!” He rolled over and caught her underneath him. “Do you know what the penalty is for assaulting the person of Atlantean royalty?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, poor baby. That tiny pinch? Surely the dungeon.”

  Conlan’s eyes gleamed with mischief and something decidedly lascivious. “Oh, no. No dungeon for you. The penalty is hard labor. In my bedchambers.”

  Riley giggled. She couldn’t help it. The sight of her proud warrior, for once lighthearted and teasing, simply made her happy.

  Conlan’s heart stuttered at the sound of Riley’s carefree laughter. He’d never stayed around after bedding a female. He’d always known he must avoid entanglements.

  But Riley. Riley. Laughing, cheeks flushed with happiness and the aftermath of the night’s passion. He’d felt her desire deepen—known when her emotions capitulated.

  Still, she had not admitted it.

  Not in words.

  He grinned. “Maybe we’ll have to work on that.”

  “Work on the idea of me doing hard labor? I think not,” she said, squirming in an attempt to get away.

  He lifted his arm, let her pull up on her elbows. Which put him exactly where he wanted to be, with his face level with her adorable little belly button.

  He pounced, trapping her again, and licked across her warm skin.

  “Hey! No fair,” she said, still laughing.

  “Be still,” he murmured, then slid farther down in the bed, until he was staring at an intriguing triangle of red-gold curls.

  “Conlan? What are you—”

  Her voice cut off with a gasp as he moved his hand and traced through the curls with one finger. “I think your penalty is about to begin, m
i amara. Lie still and accept your punishment.”

  He moved her thighs apart, trapping them in his hands.

  “But—”

  He swept his tongue along the path his finger had taken, and she moaned. He smiled. “I think the prisoner must behave, or the penalty will be extended.”

  Riley caught her breath as Conlan’s tongue swept across her again. Nerve endings she didn’t even know she had sizzled and flashed fire through her veins, sending an arc of electricity blasting straight from his tongue to every inch of her body.

  She moaned as he kissed and licked and suckled her, paying the same attention that he had to her breasts. Except this time, she was going to come in his mouth if he didn’t stop.

  She whipped her head back and forth on the pillow, drowning in the sensation. Surrendering to the primal heat that sparkled from him, from her, from them both. Who knew where one ended and the other began? Oh, his lips, his tongue, his mouth. She was going to explode. If only, if only . . .

  He slid one finger inside her and pressed down.

  “Conlan!” somebody—was that her?—screamed.

  He added a second finger and thrust them in and out of her wetness in time with what his tongue was doing, and she gasped, begging, pleading.

  And then he stopped.

  Her eyes flew open and she stared down at him, trying to breathe, trying to focus. He smiled up at her, pupils nearly consumed with that dancing blue-green fire. “Come for me, Riley. Let me taste your sweetness in my throat.”

  Then he bent his head again and she shattered at the first touch of his mouth. Coming and coming and coming until she thought she would pass out from the sensation.

  When he finally released her, he pulled her down beside him and touched her cheeks. “You’re crying. Did I hurt you?”

  She gazed up at him through the tears tangled in her lashes. “No. Far from it. I think . . . I think you may have healed something in me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her. “I need you inside me, Conlan. Please.”