Atlantis Allure

by eXtasy's Collective Mind

  He raised his head and had the audacity to chuckle at my frenzy. “Patience, Eden. You must learn to delay gratification.”

  Delay, my foot. If he thought he could string me along this way…I arched my back and pushed my hips forward in a vain attempt to get more of his marauding tongue.

  He laughed, the bastard, and lowered my legs, stretching them wide. Noah positioned himself over me. His rock-hard cock touched my eager cunt. I let out a relieved moan. Finally.

  He moved inside me a fraction of an inch.

  “Ah.” The sensation was fantastic.

  He withdrew and gave me a scorching kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. By this time I wanted more than his tongue. I bucked my hips and tried to sheath his huge cock.

  “Eden.” Noah’s tone was mildly reproving.

  I gritted my teeth and gave up the fight. He would set the pace. I would follow his lead.

  He sensed my surrender and thrust into me. This time he filled me completely. The climb to orgasm started immediately. I couldn’t control the surge. It swept me up like a tornado out of control. I tilted my hips to take even more. Instinctively, I raised my legs and locked them around Noah’s thighs while my fingers tangled in his thick, dark hair.

  He deepened his thrusts. My climax was ferocious…shattering…like a volcanic eruption. I cried out at the same time Noah’s large body shuddered with the force of his own release.

  I held on for dear life. I didn’t want him to leave me. It was several long moments before I descended from that high plane. Noah stayed inside me. He moved slowly, each tiny motion sweetly reverberating like aftershocks. Then he moved onto his side and drew me with him, still intimately joined. His arms enfolded me as we lay together, sated and at peace. I’d never felt such a sense of wholeness as at that moment. He kissed me tenderly.

  “Eden, my love, we make the perfect team. You know that, don’t you?”

  Of course I did. There was no way I wanted to live without this man. “You’re so right,” I whispered, snuggling closer.

  “We’ll work out the tangles, love. If you can give up that safe, comfortable life in the big city, I’ll make you an equal partner in my dive business.”

  “Equal?” I grinned up at him.

  He chuckled. “Well, maybe a junior partner.” He nibbled my ear. “Always equal in bed, though.”

  And that was good enough for me.

  A PIRATE’S DREAM

  Amelia June

  Sand. Lots of sand.

  Christopher blinked a few times, but a blinding white light forced his eyes shut. What had happened to him? Thinking back, he could remember a fierce gale, one so strong it ripped the mainsail from the ship’s rigging and threw the boson overboard. Soon after, Captain Little was shouting orders over the roar the rain made as it pelted the deck. Past that, he could remember nothing.

  Shipwrecked! Of all the luck in the kingdom, shipwrecked just two months since going on the account. Bugger that. He spat a few times, clearing the sand from his mouth and nose. Rolling over, Chris found his head swimming with the effort of movement. Still, being on his back was better. He could breathe the clean salt air and hear the sounds of the gentle waves on the shore. The storm that had wrought his doom seemed to have passed. Thank heaven for small blessings.

  After some minutes had passed, he opened his eyes. Squinting against the midday sun, he could see nothing but ocean in every direction. No Love’s Alchemy washed up on some shore. Just ocean. He wasn’t shipwrecked, then, but thrown off. Those waisters left him for Davy Jones, and why wouldn’t they? He was only a green deck-swabber from Scotland. Captain Little probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. Nothing to be done about that now. He had to find a way off this island. No, first he had to sit up.

  Chris took stock of his body. His slops were stuck to every part of him, crusted with salt and blood. The linen shirt he had stolen only two weeks ago was torn to shreds and he only had one shoe, the stocking full of water and sand. The pain in his head throbbed dully, clouding his senses. He noted a sharp pain each time he took in air, and a heavy, dead weight set about his bones that made him slow and dizzy. All he knew for sure was that he was thirsty.

  His youth afforded him the pleasures of strength so he was able to haul himself to standing. He grabbed his side, pressing his hand over the worst of the pain as though trying to hold in his guts. Waves of nausea passed over him and his throat felt as dry as the sand beneath his feet. He scanned the meager plot of land he stood on, desperate for water. Apart from a lone palm tree and a tangle of seaweed on the leeward side, he saw nothing at all, just sand. Terror jabbed his heart into a rapid staccato beat. He was stuck there with no food, no water, nothing at all for hundreds of miles in any direction. He would surely die on that miserable little isle, with no one to take his last confession. He would die a sinful pirate and burn in hell for his troubles. Bugger.

  * * * *

  All this I observed, and intuited, from my perch on the other side of the tiny island. I watched him as he panicked, near blind with pain and desperately afraid. He blundered around, cursing everyone from his captain to his god, until his legs gave out and he collapsed in the sand once more. With no comfort to be found, he gave way to tears, head buried in his arms. His fear and sadness coursed through me and I shed a few tears myself, wiping them away absently with the back of my hand.

  My kind was blessed—though some considered it a curse—with an empathy for the sick and injured at sea. I could find an ailing sailor wherever he was, on any ocean or island in the world. We’d been charged by the Goddess to watch over her sea-faring folk, which is how I came to be spying on Chris. His sun-blond hair and reddened skin afforded him no protection from the elements, nor did his eyes which were the pale blue of the sea after a storm. He was in a world of hurt and I sensed his wounds worsening by the minute.

  I found it difficult, despite my gift, to feel sorry for him. Pirates were the most unpleasant of our charges. Most were injured by some nefarious campaign or another—some were run through by their fellow shipmates just to fight the boredom of a long journey. Usually they were drunk, unfriendly and willing to die rather than accept the terms of our contract. If it weren’t for the Goddess’s mandate, I wouldn’t have bothered with the lot of them. But Chris’s agony tore at my empathic heartstrings, and I did have a penchant for blonds. In the end, I decided to reveal myself rather than assigning another Sister to his cure.

  After a hundred years of rescue work, I had learned to make an entrance. I called up a wave to propel me from my side of the island to his. The swell of water was tall enough to block out the sun as I approached, riding with my feet on the back of my two dolphin companions. Light ocean spray fell down like rain on Chris’s little patch of sand as we grew nearer and his mouth dropped open in sheer shock to see a naked, glistening woman gliding toward him. My light green hair streamed out behind me and I waved to him in an impressive display of feminine grace, if I do say so myself. I was impressed he didn’t faint.

  “Who...what...who are you?” he stammered, pushing himself away from me as he spoke.

  I stepped off the dolphins and landed lightly on the beach, the massive wave I called up landing with a resounding crash. My skin, tinged green but no less smooth, sparkled in the sunlight. “My name is Nerina. I’m here to help you.”

  He gawped at me for several seconds before replying. “Help me? What manner of sea witch are you?”

  Sea witch, he said. What an impertinent fellow he was. “I’m no witch. But I am of the ocean. I come from Atlantis, a continent long lost to your kind, though you may have heard the tales.”

  “I’ve heard of Atlantis. A great civilization swallowed up by the ocean on God’s command. The story goes that they were evil and covetous, like Sodom and Gomorrah before them.”

  I laughed and he cringed in fear. “Male gods are myths. Grand stories to scare the girls into innocence and the boys into good behavior.”

  He shook his head, c
onfused.

  “I see you are still as uneducated as other land dwellers. Here is the story of Atlantis—the real story. Long ago, ten thousand years or more before other societies were thriving, my people lived in a rich and vibrant city. They grew fat and lazy with our riches, and yes, I suppose the Goddess was irritated with their indulgence.”

  “Goddess! That is blasphemy!”

  “A wretched pirate worrying about what his God might think? Have I been below water so long that you privateers have gone soft?”

  He squared his shoulders and frowned. “I’m not soft. I know the consequences. A lifetime of adventure in trade for my immortal soul.”

  “And how much of that adventure have you had so far, hmm? Your soul may be immortal, but your body won’t last more than a week on this scrap of land.” He mumbled something I ignored, then I continued. “The Goddess offered the elders a bargain—they could either continue their wicked ways and eventually kill themselves with laziness or they could depart the earth and spend eternity serving others. They chose the latter. Generations later, here I am.”

  “You serve others? How? And if you’re human, or were, why do you have green skin?”

  His bravery had returned, but not his strength. His face was paler than ever and the stabbing pain in my gut—an empathic reflection of his—was worsening as well.

  “I am called by pain and fear like yours, and I can remove it. I can help you, rescue you from certain death. This was our Goddess’s price for allowing us to live forever, beneath the waves. The green tinge to our skin, hair and eyes comes from centuries lived in water, with seaweed for pillows and bedding, clothing and food. We once looked as you do.”

  “So, you are going to rescue me, get me off this island and back where I belong?”

  The hope that spread across his face was like the sun coming out after a storm. He was lovely to behold, despite his bedraggled state. Strong broad shoulders and a good back for heavy lifting. His arms and legs were muscled as well and his hindquarters were nothing to ignore either. And I didn’t miss the way he stared at my own naked form, glistening in the high sun as my skin always does. The Goddess gave us beauty to help lure the charges to rescue. I’d been without a charge for a few years and I missed the gentle touch of a lover. This one would do, even if he was a bit inexperienced at life. Maybe I could turn him away from the dirty life of a pirate.

  “I...may. It isn’t as straightforward. We were given a set of gifts to use. In return for our service, we require something from our charges. Not all accept our terms.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I am a healer. If you agree to my terms I would take you home with me to Atlantis—you would see wonders such as you could not imagine. I would bring you to my chambers and perform my magick upon you. To do so, we must join as lovers do. If I give my all to you in the healing process, my body becomes little more than a useless hunk of flesh. In return for my gift, you agree to be my servant for one hundred and one nights. Your nights of service will revive my body, after which you can leave me and return to your life. Unless you chose to stay with me.” I could see him struggling with all I said. Presenting such a complicated scenario was cruel when the charges were weakened by exposure and injury, but that was how we did things.

  “So we go to your home under the sea, and we...join as lovers do...and I’ll be healed? And bound to serve you for one hundred and one nights?”

  “Yes. Do you accept my terms?”

  His eyes roamed my body freely now. His hungry gaze took in my bare breasts and the curve of my hip. They lingered on my legs and I know he was beginning to harden beneath his filthy trousers. I could feel it, too. I remained amazed at a young man’s capacity for lust even at the brink of death. Some ask what kind of service I require. Some ask if they can earn early release. Some say no, preferring to die. But most answer as he did.

  “I accept. What choice do I have?”

  “Good.” In a sudden motion, I put my arms around his waist and pulled him to me. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into my embrace. He smelled of salt and the musky odor of a man who was afraid, a scent I found intoxicating. I tightened my grip on him and breathed into his face gently. At once, his eyes unfocused and his knees buckled. Worked every time.

  “Can’t have you knowing the way, after all,” I whispered in his ear as he lost consciousness in my arms. Gifted with magickal strength, I carried him into the Atlantic with nary a muscle twitch. His weight in my arms was delicious. My breath allowed him to exist underwater as I do, so I tethered him to my dolphin Romulus. Then Remus and I swam ahead, leading the way home.

  * * * *

  When Chris came to, he gripped at his neck, his heart racing. He thrashed and rose from the bed, eyes wide and bulbous with terror. More blood flowed from his wounds and I placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

  “I’m drowning! Help me!” The words were clear and loud despite our place deep underwater. He stopped then, blinking in surprise. Taking a few deep breaths, he realized he was not drowning. “What enchantment is this?”

  “A simple one, the same one the Goddess performed on us long ago. You can breathe and you can control your buoyancy underwater—you don’t have to float around like that. Now lie back, my little pirate. You are making your wounds worse.”

  He probed his hurt places with one hand. Wincing, he nodded and lay back on my bed. He shut his eyes to the pain, his voice sinking to a whisper, “Your bed is most comfortable, my lady. I thank you.”

  “You’re weak, growing weaker still. It is time to heal you.” I saw a question, maybe a dozen questions, surface in his mind, but the promise of what lay ahead kept his mouth shut. I could sense his curiosity, and his arousal. When I was about to begin, he did speak.

  “Lady?”

  “Yes, Christopher?”

  “I...I’m not...I mean I haven’t...well I have, but—”

  “Shh,” I whispered in his ear. “Your experience in this matter is unimportant. This is magick.” He nodded, relieved. I chuckled, and that was the first time I realized Chris was more than some nasty pirate.

  I lay beside him and his body relaxed into mine. He turned toward me and nestled there, head on my breast. I pushed a bit of hair over one of his ears and kissed the spot I uncovered. He groaned softly and looked up at me. I leaned down and kissed him, releasing the smallest bit of magickal energy into the contact. The process of knitting bone, mending flesh and staving off bleeding was a delicate one, slow and careful.

  He kissed back, tentative at first, then with enthusiasm. His hands rose to my back, caressing the skin there with the softest of touches. Our hearts began to beat faster, matching rhythm to further the healing process. No matter how many times I did this, I always found the process romantic. The Goddess has a way with love.

  Our kiss deepened, tongues touching and dancing together, and our desire intensified with it. Heat swelled within me, raising the color in my cheeks until I imagined I looked almost human again. Chris’s hands continued to explore my body—where experience lacks, enthusiasm always prevails.

  One strong hand came to rest on my ample bosom and I gasped as he squeezed and caressed each breast. His touch was tentative, careful. Every square inch of the sensitive skin received attention. I ran my hands along his muscled back, tracing each line and curve, careful to release only the tiniest bit of magick in each sweep of my hand. Too much and he’d be undone by its force.

  “I need to heal your internal injuries, Chris. Turn on your back.” My voice was husky. He didn’t move, he was too focused on bringing me pleasure. I’d never had a charge so intent on my body and my enjoyment before. I lay back, allowing him to run his hands up and down my torso, my body arching for more. Every nerve lit up as he brushed his fingertips over my arms, stomach and thighs. No part of me was left unexplored, and I gasped and mewed as though it was my first healing.

  At last, I was forced to tend to my duties. I pushed him on to his back. Pu
lling off his ruined clothing, I tossed it aside. It floated until it hit a rough coral wall behind us. Chris’s body was as magnificent as I had imagined—all strong muscle and taut flesh. His body hair was so blond it was nearly colorless, gathering on his belly and leading downward to a thatch of endearing blond curls. His cock jutted out proudly, as well it should—and I’ve seen a few in my many years of life. He gazed at me and I sensed he was appreciating my body the same way—my long neck and graceful curves gifts from the Goddess to enchant men like him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, only half aware of himself.

  “As are you, my wayward pirate.” I mounted his hips and momentarily savored the feel of his cock against me. He shivered with the contact and I couldn’t help but thrust my hips against him. Once more I took a moment for selfish pleasure, running the length of him back and forth against my clit. His silky skin swept against me, bringing me mounting waves of passion that swelled like a tsunami inside me. Chris groaned and wrapped his hands tight around my hips, digging his fingers in and spurring me on as I stroked myself against him.

  I nearly forgot myself then, my sacred duty, but I could still feel his pain as my own and I had to force myself back on task. I laid my hands against his chest, where open wounds seeped blood in time with our heartbeat. As I ran my fingers over each cut, the ragged edges slowly mended. I closed my eyes and focused the magick of my arousal into him, visualizing the healing breaks and bruises. His hands found my breasts again and one slid down to caress my belly and thighs. I whimpered—his attentions were sweet and true, altogether different from the usual selfish fuck of a cutthroat.

  “What manner of pirate were you?” I had to know how such a lovely young man had wound up in such an ugly profession.