The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(2)

Truly, he had tried to peel them off and send them to his men, but the women had attacked him all the harder. What else could he have done but give in? Any other man - with a fully functioning cock, that is - would have done the same.

Perhaps, after the training session, he would suggest once again that these delectable morsels find other lovers.

"I know you have to leave, but... I'm dying to touch you, Valerian." Black lashes fluttered coyly, and the raven-haired female dipped her lips into a pouty frown. She eased to her elbow, placing her lush breasts in his direct line of vision. "Don't tell me no," she beseeched, tracing a fingertip around his nipple. "You took such good care of me last night. Let me take care of you now."

On his other side, his other companions stirred.

"Mmm," the one with the fiery curls breathed. "Morning."

The other stretched like a contented kitten, uttering a low, throaty purr. As she inched into a sitting position, her disheveled golden locks tumbled onto her shoulders. When she spied him, she smiled slowly, seductively. "Good morning," she drawled, sleep clinging to her voice.

"You were amazing," the redhead said, her pale blue eyes wide with remembered satisfaction.

"As were you... sweet." Again he tried to remember her name, but couldn't. He shrugged. It wasn't important, anyway. They were all sweet to him. "Morning has arrived, and it's time for everyone to go about their duties."

"Don't send us away. Not yet," the dark-haired one said. Her warm breath fanned his ear a moment before her tongue flicked out and traced the curve of his left cheek. "Let us have another - " she kissed his jaw " - taste of - " nibbled his throat " - you."

Three sets of hands and breasts were suddenly all over him. Hot, greedy mouths sucked at him. Wet, needy female cores rubbed against him. The scent of new desire wafted from the bed, enveloping him.

"Just being near you makes me desperate to come," one gasped.

"You always know what I want even before I know," another panted. "I can't get enough of you."

"I'm addicted to you," the third breathed. "I'll die without you."

Moans and cries of pleasure echoed in his ears, the women's insatiable lust making them frantic for his touch. A fiery heat ignited in his own blood, strengthening him as only sex could. At times, when the need came upon him, he was reduced to an animalistic state, taking his lovers with a savage intensity better suited for the battlefield.

Now was one of those times.

With a growl, he opened his mouth and accepted someone's kiss, his hands tangling in hair and sweetly fragranced skin. Perhaps he'd join his men for lunch... .

CLANG. WHOOSH. CLANG.

Sweat trickled down Valerian's bare chest, riding the ropes of muscle and pooling in his navel as he swung his sword, slamming the heavy metal into his opponent's upraised weapon.

Broderick stumbled backward and fell on his ass, flinging dirt in every direction. Some of it sprinkled on Valerian's freshly polished boots.

"Get up, man," he commanded when Broderick remained prone.

"Can't," his friend panted.

Valerian frowned. That was the fourth time Broderick had hit the ground during this training session, and they'd only been practicing an hour. Usually as stalwart and powerful as Valerian himself, Broderick's weakness today was disconcerting.

The guilt he'd managed to deny earlier roared to life. He should have sent the women on their way last eve, should have resisted them more determinedly this morning. While he was stronger than ever, these battle-hardened warriors were reduced to this.

"Damn it all," Broderick muttered, his voice strained. Still he remained on the ground, head bent and held in his upraised hands, golden hair shielding his eyes. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

"What about the rest of you?" Valerian slashed his sword's tip into the sand, a tip that had been shaped and honed into the image of an elongated, lethal skull - a tip that inflicted irreparable damage. He'd aptly named it The Skull.

His gaze traveled the ranks of his army. Some were sitting on a bench, sharpening their blades, while others leaned against a silver-and-white stone wall, expressions lost, far away. Only Theophilus appeared ready for anything more than a nap. And only Theophilus paid him the least bit of notice.

Well, that was not quite true. Joachim was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, his head tilted to the side as he gazed up at Valerian with undeniable sparks of fury.

What was his cousin angry about now? "Line up," Valerian commanded the entire group. "Now." The sharpness of his tone finally snagged their attention.

Slowly they ambled into a clumsy line, only a few of them trying to appear alert. His frown deepened. They were tall and well-muscled, his men, with bronzed skin and perfectly chiseled features. The force of their beauty sometimes caused grown women to weep. But right now they sported lines of tension around their eyes and mouths, shaky grips and unsteady legs.

"I need you strong and capable, but you're as weak as babes, every one of you." At any moment Darius, King of the Dragons, would learn Valerian had taken this palace, defeating everyone inside, and attack. How quickly these warriors would fall if they were challenged today.

His hands fisted at his sides. Defeat was not something he allowed. Ever. No, he would rather die. A warrior won. Always. No exceptions.