Page 59 of Female Fantasy
Interesting.
And above the dance floor sits a golden dais supporting a throne made almost entirely of reconstructed rare shells. Its painted edges threaten to cut anyone who dares get too close, but its alluring textures and colors simultaneously invite strangers in. And hovering above the dais are three menacing mer.
Not mer.
Sirens.
Ryke has prepared me for this, too.
In the center is Talassa, the false queen.
And on either side of her are Naia and Nix, her younger twin sister and brother.
At first glance, the three creatures are beautiful. Their skin is deeply tanned, as if they have spent their days sunning upon the shore instead of buried deep beneath its secret surfaces, their hair white as untouched sand. But upon closer examination, their eyes are vacant and bloodred, a reminder of the lives they took to gain their strength.
Above all, they feel wrong. As if their bodies have been poisoned, taken apart, then put back together.
I shudder as the sensation creeps over my skin and caresses my flesh.
“Do not look at them,” Ryke commands. “Follow me.”
The musicians are now playing a fast-paced jig that demands the mer dance as a group, divided into two clean lines. When they join forces by linking arms, they look like a blooming flower, gorgeous and organic. We approach them quietly, but the second we take our places in the lines, the music changes to something slower.
More enchanting.
Seductive.
My heart begins to race. I have never moved this way before, even in private, let alone in public. When I was married, the joining was for the sole purpose of procreating, birthing life. I have never experienced lovemaking or pleasure for pleasure’s sake. When I shared my deepest desires with my husband, admitted to the fantasies I harbored and the curiosities I allowed my mind to linger on in the dead of nightwith my hand between my thighs, he called me a whore and refused to speak to me for a week. I have never worn my sexuality on the outside before.
I do not know where to begin.
So when Ryke locks his brilliant eyes with mine, lowers his thick lashes, and starts to move to the music, I allow him to take the lead.
We circle each other like great white sharks smelling blood in the water. Ryke juts out his chin in a silent question, and I nod, granting him permission. Then his hand is on my lower back, right above the curve of my backside, the other lightly ghosting across my collarbone. I feel all the air rush out of my lungs at once. The madness around us seems to momentarily still. And when Ryke’s hardness brushes against the softness only he knows lies at the apex of my thighs, all thoughts vacate my brain.
And then he begins to move.
Slowly at first, grinding his hips against mine.
A light friction.
A tiny moan escapes my lips.
And at the sound of my desperation, Ryke growls.
His movements become feral. He holds me, practically thrusting his hips against mine to the leisurely, tantalizing beat. Our bodies join together, and we become one on the dance floor. I feel his pulse race below my fingertips, his breath lavishing my mouth. My eyes linger on his lips for a second, and his grip on my lower back tightens as if he is in pain.
“Merriah,” he whispers. “What are you doing to me?”
I dare not answer, only close my eyes and allow myself to feel him. All of him. His desire flooding my senses, making me his without ever truly claiming me. The beat, a tantric rhythm of persuasion, possessing me until I have no choice but to swerve my hips from side to side, to arch into Ryke’s touch, to tip my face up toward the moon and sigh.
And then there is a tiny pull.
It feels like an anchor in my chest, leading me somewhere I cannot see, only sense. An invisible thread in a larger tapestry, forming a picture I cannot yet comprehend.
The same tug that led me to the conch.
Fate is now hauling me toward the treasure trove, begging me to grasp the objects in my hands and give in to their magical properties.
