The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(11)

Her eyes narrowed. His ethereal, beautiful face formed in her mind. Fuck-me eyes, f*ck-me lips. I'll-f*ck-you body. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. How did he wield such a heady, seductive power? Even now, she sizzled and ached and yearned.

An obviously gay wedding guest dressed in a pink sequined top and black velvet pants approached the warrior in front of her. Without asking permission, the man wrapped his lithe arms around the warrior's middle and kissed his sun-bronzed shoulder.

The warrior stiffened, and his mouth pulled into a scowl. "I told you to stop. Do. Not. Touch. Me. You are a man. Act like one!"

Shaye didn't hang around to hear the rest of the conversation. She leapt around her would-be captor, closing the rest of the distance between herself and her mom. "Come on, we have to get out of here," she said at the same time Tamara said, "If you don't let me go, Conner, I'll stab you while you're sleeping and cut out your heart!"

Lines of strain bracketed the groom's too-thin lips. Concern and fear gleamed in his eyes. "What should I do?" he asked, looking to Shaye.

Urgency pounded through her. "Just throw her over your shoulder fireman-style and get the hell out of here. Before it's too late."

"It is too late," she heard behind her.

The familiar, husky voice made her shiver. Made her muscles clench, ready for sublime satisfaction. She melted. No, she stiffened. One of the leader's hands slid around her bare stomach, tanned and hard against her pale softness. Goose bumps broke over her skin. His other hand glided down her shoulder, along her collarbone and anchored on her seashell-covered breast. Both arms tugged her gently backward and locked her against him, muscled chest to welcoming back. That delicious scent of virility and dark, moonlit nights wafted to her.

She should protest. At the very least scold him for such daring. The words refused to leave her mouth, however, and she counted her blessings that she didn't lean her head against his shoulder.

"No more fighting." His warm breath kissed the hollow of her ear, shooting dangerous sparks across her nerve endings. "My nose still hurts," he added sulkily, "as does my co - manhood. Perhaps the first thing I need to teach you is how to properly treat the aforementioned manhood."

Oh, God. Sinking... sinking... deeper under his spell. If it hadn't been for the shell barrier of her bra, his fingers would have surrounded her nipple, probably pinched and rolled it. Her knees almost crumbled. Ohmygod, ohmygod, oh... my... exquisite. Absolutely exquisite. The long, hard length of his erection pressed into the crevice of her lower back, and he rubbed it against her.

Her eyes drifted closed in surrender, a strange weakness invading her limbs. She'd always thought herself immune to lust. On all the dates she'd been on, no one had ever affected her like this. Not even the ones that ended in a kiss. Those seemed paltry now, utterly unexciting.

Men annoyed her, she reminded herself, and this one annoyed her more than any other. Keep thinking it and maybe you'll believe it.

To her horror - cough, total enjoyment, cough - he brought his other hand into play, cupping her other breast. "Paradise," he whispered. "Are you sure you do not smell me?"

Why did he want her to smell him so badly? "I'm sure."

Pause. Then, "Imagine when I have you naked, how intense the sensations will be."

Yes, he annoyed her. And she wanted to be annoyed for the rest of her life. "Please," she managed to gasp out. Sadly, she didn't know exactly what she was begging for. Freedom? Or more of him?

"Please what?" Showing her no mercy, he purred the words straight into her ear. His soft lips brushed the outer edge; his tongue darted inside, only to quickly retreat and leave her shaking for more. "Please take you to my home? Please give you untold pleasure? Say the words, and I will do it."

Oh, God.

Around her, excited twitters and breathy moans of passion reigned as other couples stole a moment to embrace. No matter that no one paid her the slightest bit of attention. These people could see her, could see where her captor had his hands positioned.

If she didn't stop him soon, he would slide his fingers past her skirt and into the very heat of her. She knew it, felt it in the taut strain of his hold. "Please. Let us go. Just leave us alone."

"I'm afraid that's the one thing I cannot do for you." He squeezed her breasts. "I need to be inside you too badly."

She gulped. Don't think about his words, don't think about his words. "I'll give you nothing but trouble. I'm mean and cranky, and most people can't stand to be around me."

"Soon I'll have you so well sated all you'll be able to do is smile."

"Sate me," her mom said, finally ripping free of Conner's clasp. She curled herself around the warrior's ankles, kissing his feet. "Sate me, I beg you."

"Get up," Shaye demanded. Seeing her newly married mother humble herself snapped her out of the sensual spell. "Run. Escape!"

He ignored Tamara, saying, "What's your name, swee - love?" The question emerged as calmly as if it were an everyday occurrence to have someone slobbering all over his boots.

"I'm Tamara," her mom answered before Shaye could speak, "but you can call me anything you want."

Sighing, he bent down, lifted Tamara up with one hand, and thrust her at Conner. His hold on Shaye never loosened. "What is your name?" he repeated, having to speak over Tamara's sudden sobs.