The Selkie

by Rosanna Leo

  Maggie wandered, not quite sure where to begin. Should she attack the piles Dewey Decimal style, or just close her eyes and point? She felt guilty even being there. This was breaking and entering, even though all they wanted to take was a sealskin that didn’t belong there. How many years could you get on Orkney for grand theft selkie?

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she shouted to him in the back room. “God, I’ve always been the good girl, the one who’s never pilfered so much as a paper clip or pen from work.”

  He poked his head out of the back room and glared at her. “Relax.”

  Lost in her memories, she continued babbling. “I’ve only stolen once in my life. When I was eight. I was trying to buy a fifty-cent chocolate from the convenience store. The clerk ignored me because I was a child. I got so indignant I just slipped the candy bar off the shelf and into my pocket.” She grimaced. “The guilt haunted me for two whole years. I never stole again.”

  “You won’t go to hell for it,” he called. “I assure you.”

  And now, here she was, repeating her sordid past. Calan Kirk was a bad influence. Somehow she’d guessed as much as soon as she first saw him.

  Telling herself she wouldn’t touch anything she didn’t need to, she spied a couple of storage boxes near the cash counter. She bent over and began to quietly rummage through one of the boxes.

  A couple of seconds into her search, she heard the creak of the front door behind her. Shoot! Hadn’t Calan locked up behind them? Hadn’t she? She couldn’t remember. Fearing the old proprietor had returned, Maggie slowly lifted her head, ready to confess to her plethora of sins, including the long-digested chocolate from the convenience store.

  A shot rang out somewhere over her head. She froze. She’d watched enough Law & Order reruns to know the shot came from a gun.

  Maggie flattened herself on the floor, swearing and praying at the same time. Either that old man was really protective of his shop, or someone was trying to kill her!

  She waited for another shot to ring out, but all she heard was the door creaking again. Had he left, or was he toying with her?

  Trust no one.

  Once again, Gran’s words echoed in her brain.

  There was a shout from the back room, and she heard Calan’s frantic steps pounding their way back to her. She didn’t move a muscle, just lay crushed against the box on the floor.

  “Stay,” she hissed to him. “He has a gun!”

  Apparently unperturbed about his own safety, Calan dove behind the counter to join her. He crouched next to her, his hands all over her body, but not in a sexual way. Even in her haze, she knew what he was doing. He was checking for entry wounds, or God help her, exit wounds.

  Oh, help.

  Someone had tried to shoot her! Why?

  Calan gently lifted her from her prostrate position and cradled her in his arms right there on the floor. “Are you hurt, Maggie? Please tell me if you’re hurt. Can you speak?”

  She nodded, numb. And then she shook her head.

  “Sit tight for a moment. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

  As if she could do anything else. Someone had tried to off her! As if she were a narc in a crack house, or Al freaking Capone!

  She stared, unable to move, as Calan ran to the shop door, slowly poked his head out and took a cautious look around. The whole time, she prayed the shooter wouldn’t try for a little selkie target practice with Calan’s head.

  “It’s such a beautiful head,” she mumbled, her eyes wide.

  “What was that?” he asked upon returning to her.

  “Nothing.” She stared up at him. “Calan, why?”

  He let out big puff of air. “It’s the bloody skin, Maggie. It’s apparent we’re not the only ones who want it. Our friend the burglar must be trying his luck again.” He slowly took in every detail of her appearance and she knew she must look a sight. Her hair was disheveled from her time on the floor. She felt so cold she knew she must be pale. And her damned lip couldn’t stop trembling. “Look. It’s a small back room. No space to hide an animal skin. I don’t think it’s here. We should go. I want you out of here. Let’s go out the back door.”

  “Where do we go now? The police?”

  He ran a ridiculously steady hand over his forehead. “I don’t think the police will take kindly to the fact that we entered the bookshop under unusual circumstances. I was thinking a crowded pub might be a good option right now.”

  A pub. Crowded with people? She knew they had to check out The Deacon’s Bench, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face people yet. She felt so cold and guessed her face was as white as marble, surely a dead giveaway that something bad had happened. Maggie didn’t think she could trust herself to keep it together.

  Suddenly, she just wanted to go home. With Calan. And have a lengthy cuddle.

  Once again, he seemed to read her mind. He put a hand to her cheek, his eyes brimming with an emotion she couldn’t quite discern. Even though she couldn’t make it out, it still made her heart palpitate a little to see it etched into his face.

  “I can’t take you to your home yet, Maggie, but I can give you that cuddle.”

  And before her sensible head could launch a revolt on her thumping heart, she nodded.

  They carefully left the shop, making sure no one was following them. And this time, as she climbed on his motorcycle, Maggie had no trouble holding Calan tightly around

  the waist. She inhaled the delicious scent of man under leather and held on for dear life, petrified that someone was following them.

  * * * *

  It occurred to Maggie as they once again crossed the threshold into Calan’s cottage that it felt oddly like coming home. It shouldn’t. But she couldn’t deny that everything in Orkney was starting to feel homey. Gran’s house. The beach. And even Calan’s house.

  That was strangest of all.

  She’d been in the cottage for all of five minutes and yet was having trouble remembering what her own apartment in Toronto looked like. Somehow, Calan’s home had overridden any images she had of her own home.

  Must be stress. Someone shot at you. No wonder you’re loopy.

  Thank Heavens the shooter had had abysmal aim. Or had he just been warning them away?

  She watched as Calan locked the door and slowly turned back to her, as if afraid of what he’d find written on her face. As if he, too, was experiencing a tide of emotions that seemed to come out of nowhere, but that were swelling with each moment in each other’s company. Threatening to overtake them.

  She wanted to ask for that cuddle, but couldn’t. Because she knew, she just knew in the deepest part of her heart, that it wouldn’t stop at a platonic hug. And so they just stared at one another.

  His eyes seemed to grow blacker with each passing second. His fists were clenched. His lips were pressed tight. And she felt as sturdy as a horse with a broken leg. Ready to collapse against him, into him.

  All over him.

  “Lass,” he finally breathed, his voice ragged from want, “come to me.”

  “Why?” she whispered, knowing she was supposed to fight this. Wasn’t she?

  Clearly he understood she was terrified of submitting to her wildest, most urgent need, Calan prowled over to her. He leaned over and grazed his lips against hers, drinking her in as if her scent was a soft, intoxicating perfume. “No more games, Maggie, no more excuses. I’m finally going to do what I was sent here for. It’s time you had your selkie-man.”

  “But … we’re so not right for each other.”

  “Never mind that,” he uttered. He pulled her to him, and she didn’t resist.

  As a satisfied grin spread across his face, she knew he could feel her knees knocking. He held her against his chest with one arm, and cradled her face with his other hand, seeming to revel in the feel of her skin. He moved the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip, causing her mouth to open. As he stroked her there, Maggie brushed the tip of her tongue against his thumb.
/>   God help her. She couldn’t help herself.

  That intimate caress seemed to destroy any resistance Calan had left. He brought his lips down upon hers in a kiss that surprised her, and seemed to surprise him as well, with its force. He nipped, licked, and suckled at her lips, running his tongue along her teeth and her own tongue until they were both breathless. It took all her power not to rip her clothing off her body. The only thing that stopped her was the fervent need to have him rip it all off for her.

  “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you, lass.”

  “This feels crazy.” She giggled nervously as he began to work on her shirtfront. She reached up to the leather tie that was securing his ponytail. “May I?”

  He nodded in response, his eyes fairly blazing with want. She tugged, and his glorious mane came loose, falling over both their shoulders. “Oh my,” she whimpered, finally allowing herself to run her hands through his hair. “It’s like chocolate silk.”

  He laughed in a naughty, low rumble that made her pussy hungry. Calan then tore the blouse over her head, having tired of her buttons. “Take the rest of your clothes off, woman. I want to taste your skin.”

  She bit her lip so she wouldn’t moan again. No man had ever spoken to her in that way, with such hunger. With no hesitation at all, she removed her jeans, woolly socks, and then slipped out of her red satin bra and panties. She shivered under his gaze, from sweet anticipation.

  Calan slid slowly out of his own clothing, as if putting on a show. As he yanked off his leather boots, she noticed his feet were also webbed. Maggie wondered that she hadn’t noticed the webbing before, but didn’t care. He then, with his gaze on her the whole time, dropped his jeans and stepped out of them. He wore no underwear. Surprise, surprise. His appreciation for her was evident. His shaft was thick and seemed to be reaching for her. The sight made her mouth water. She clamped her lips shut. Heavens to Betsy! She was pretty sure she was drooling.

  He stood still for a moment, just raking his gaze over her body, as if trying to memorize every curve and freckle. Then Calan clutched her to him, letting one of his hands slide down her belly. He played with her pubic hairs, giving them a frisky tug, as he kissed her left earlobe. With a sigh, Maggie threw herself against him, locking her hands around his neck.

  Calan reached behind her to grasp her derriere, and then hoisted her up onto his waist. He carried her over to his plush bed, kissing her the whole time. He lay her down, leaned over and used his knee to spread her legs. As he lay on top of her, she wrapped herself around him, as she had done on the beach. Only now, skin against skin, it was luscious, hotter than hot.

  He turned his attention to her lips again, and her mouth opened automatically to him. As his tongue slid against hers, Maggie thought she’d never tasted anything so good. Salty and sweet, like her favorite salted-caramel lattes. He nibbled, suckled, and her lips felt swollen from his touch, alive with sensitivity. He pulled away from her for a moment to gaze into her eyes, and she felt an exquisite head rush. She stared up at him in awe. “What are you really?”

  He brushed two fingers against her cheek, his gaze more affectionate than any she’d ever seen. “I’m what you need, love.”

  “You’re what I need,” she repeated, dazed.

  With a grin, he lowered himself on her body, letting his teasing tongue dart along her every curve. As it rested on her taut right nipple, he gently suckled until she was writhing below him. He moved from one soft mound to the other, nibbling on her nipples and running his fingers along the undersides of her breasts, as ribbons of exquisite pleasure unraveled all through her body.

  When he began to creep lower toward her belly, Maggie tensed, wondering if she could bear it. Without thinking, she tried to clamp her legs together.

  “Relax, beauty,” he whispered. “Let me pleasure you.”

  Slowly, he eased her legs apart, dancing his fingers along the insides of her thighs. And then, he didn’t move. He just stared at her sex as if it were the most enticing sight in the world. “You’re prettier than any picture, Maggie. Lovelier than any of my dreams.”

  Then he did something she’d never have expected. He sniffed her, breathed in her heated scent. Embarrassed beyond measure, she wriggled beneath him. No man she knew would ever do anything so intimate, so animalistic. She tried to pull away, but Calan held her still. “You smell so sweet. I’ve been breathing in your scent since the first dream, but have longed to have you naked so I could do it properly.”

  God, did I even spray any perfume down there? “Calan,” she cried, her voice almost frantic. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Oh,” he murmured, bringing his face closer to her moist folds, “I want to.”

  He didn’t touch her. For what had to be several tortuous minutes, he just continued to breathe in her scent while she writhed under his heated gaze. “Calan, please.”

  Ignoring her, he ran a finger up her thigh. He let it rest near, just not near enough, her pussy. His eyes were dark and distracted. “They say, among my people, that each selkie has a perfect match. Someone whose scent calls only to them. That scent, that heavenly perfume, acts as a brand. The strongest of bonds. I always thought it was an old wives’ tale. Rubbish.” He glanced up at her, his face changed by a new affection. Perhaps the start of a new realization. “Rubbish or not, no scent has ever called to me like yours has.”

  Maggie wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him it was garbage. That he was confusing her with someone else, one of his other women perhaps. But then his face changed again. His lips curved into a ravenous grin. And while she was still wiggling in embarrassment, he leaned down and ran his tongue through her wet cleft.

  “Oh God,” she cried, her body arching.

  He laughed quietly against her sensitive skin, and then used his tongue to seek out the swollen little nub between her lips. Eagerly, he suckled there, his fingers moving along the length of her lips, caressing each fold. Then, boldly, he slid his fingers into her, letting them curl against her insides. He sought out the delicate ridge inside her, and rubbed it as his tongue laved her clit.

  Time stopped for Maggie. All she knew was the feel of the most eager tongue she’d ever known. Calan wouldn’t let her out from under him for the longest time, lapping at her as an animal would, not shying away from a single inch of her throbbing skin. It could have been an hour; it could have been days. Either way, she had no recourse but to lie there and accept ecstasy as it claimed her.

  A pressure that was shockingly potent, and shockingly emotional, began to build deep inside her writhing body. Maggie didn’t know where to look. Her head flailed from side to side, and she clutched at the sheets, as Calan reduced her even further to mush with his agile tongue. He drove his fingers deeper into her, swirling his tongue around her pearl, almost with fury. Maggie suddenly had a fleeting vision of the waves she’d seen crashing onto shore on the beach. She saw his face, staring out at her from those same waves, strangely morphing with the face of the seal. Then she shuddered as Calan wrought wave after heady wave of unrelenting sensation upon her helpless body.

  Only then, did he release her, and begin to climb back up her body. The most delicious smile graced his wet lips. As he leaned in to kiss her, Maggie saw the seal’s brown eyes reflected in his.

  And then, as stunning comprehension tried to launch an assault on her brain, she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 8

  When she came to, he was lying at her side, propped up on one elbow. Still grinning that come-hither grin. “This is the second time you’ve fainted on me. It’s getting to be a habit,” he purred, brushing his fingertips across her stomach under the covers. “Should we check your blood sugar?”

  Maggie just stared back, not in fear of him, but of what was happening to her.

  Calan’s brow furrowed when he saw the look on her face, and he passed a gentle hand over her hair. “Are you quite well, love?”

  She sat up, not even bothering to cover herself whe
n the blanket fell from her breasts. She noted how his gaze dipped to her chest, how he struggled to fight his ever-present hunger. Once again, that ripple of tension shivered through his neck and shoulders, as he clearly sought to control the beast inside.

  The one that hadn’t finished ravishing her.

  Once his eyes met hers again, she spoke through a dry, but steady, voice. “Tell me the truth, Calan. Who are you? I don’t care if you’re a crook or some kind of con man. I just want to know.”

  “You know what I am.” His response shook with a throaty, frustrated growl. “I know you’re confused, but surely you can trust your own senses.”

  “It’s not possible.”

  He sat up, the flirty, insatiable expression gone from his face. “And is it possible that I’d know you envisioned my selkie face as I rained down the most earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever had?”

  “You really do read minds,” she replied, her voice hushed, goose bumps raised on her bare arms.

  “Maybe a little. Call it instinct.” His serious face crumpled with the merest hint of the smile that brought her to her knees. “Look, I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know, lass. I’m Calan of Kirkwall, shortened to Calan Kirk, in keeping with modern practice. I am of the selkie folk, and if I can’t have you, I believe I might die.” He reached out a hand to cup her breast, caressing it with great longing.

  “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument you are selkie. Do you have a family?” she asked, trying to ignore how he brought her nipple to immediate, tortuous hardness under his thumb.

  “Aye. Rather a large one. And I’m the baby, the spoiled one according to my six brothers.”

  Her mind spun a little. Six brothers. That sounded challenging enough for a human family! Never mind … whatever he was.

  “How old are you?” She tried to brush his hand from her breast but it wouldn’t be moved.