Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

him? Or at me?”
    Conn drew a short, sharp breath. He was furious at Gau and at himself, for not anticipating her danger, for not moving quickly enough to protect her. But he had no intention of debating his feelings with the entire court looking on. He was not discussing his emotions at all. His fear was too new, his need too raw.
    He gripped her arm above the elbow. “Upstairs.”
    She regarded his hand on her arms as he propelled her across the bailey toward his tower. “Did you know you only touch me when you’re hauling me somewhere?”
    She did not sound accusing. Her tone was almost wistful. It filleted him like a knife.
    His hold tightened. So did his jaw. He did not know how to touch to give comfort or reassurance. Only to fight or to mate. “I touch you. I have been inside you.”
    They were almost to his tower.
    “Sex doesn’t count,” she said.
    Temper and need erupted inside him. His control shattered. “Then it doesn’t matter if I do this.”
    He spun her through the doorway, backed her against the wall, and covered her mouth with hot, hungry urgency. The kiss was rough, almost savage. Fury and fear pumped through his blood, drummed in his head.
    She was his to claim.
    His to protect.
    His to take.
    Lucy absorbed the shock of his assault, feeling his hunger, feeding it, needing it.
    Gau had caught her in the open, unprepared. She hadn’t had time to find shelter behind the wall she’d been building her entire life.
    When the demon attacked, she’d struck back instinctively, throwing up barriers to protect herself, her defense less like building a wall and more like dumping a load of bricks on the demon’s head.

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    At least, that’s what it felt like to her. She didn’t know how it felt to the demon.
    But the alien presence in her mind was gone, extinguished like a campfire under a shovelful of dirt, leaving her empty in the rubble and the ashes, with gritty eyes and coated tongue. Her chest felt hollow. Her mind was bruised. The taint of smoke and char caught in the back of her throat and lingered in her sinuses.
    She needed Conn’s taste to wipe it out. She needed his touch to feel alive again and safe.
    She welcomed his hard, urgent mouth, his rough, claiming hands. He leaned into her, his heavily muscled body a bulwark and a refuge. She rested her hand on the back of his neck, the edge of her little finger riding that line of smooth, exposed skin, and felt his groan vibrate in the back of his throat, in the pit of her stomach.
    He could fill her. He could take her to a place where she wouldn’t have to think. His hands closed over her breasts, and she quivered in reaction and relief. She craved the warm oblivion of sex like her father craved his bottle. She wanted to feel something other than lonely. Something besides numb.
    Conn made her feel. He trapped her against the wall with his body, his breathing quick and hard. The storm inside him swirled around them, charging the air, sending lovely electric thrills sliding along her skin.
    She was squashed between the bite of stone at her back and his muscled weight all along her front, breasts, belly, thighs. His erection pulsed against her, thick with life. He bent his head, and she felt the rasp of his jaw and then the warm suction of his mouth on her throat. Her eyes slid shut.
    Dust and ashes and despair.
    She opened them again hastily and Conn was there, warm and real, hard and urgent. She threw her arms around his neck, fisted her hands in his hair. Take me. Save me.
    He growled and lifted her into his arms, plunged with her into the cool, shadowed tower, hauled her up the stairs. Round and round they climbed, darkness and light playing over his hard face, her gasps and his footsteps echoing in the enclosed space. She could feel the urgency in him, violent as an approaching storm. Her head spun. She was breathless, dizzy, drunk with anticipation.
    It was sex. Just sex.
    It was life.
    It was everything.
    She licked the hollow of his throat, savoring the taste of salt and man. He carried her to his room and dropped her on his bed. She bounced once before he came down hard on top of her, taking his weight on his elbows, caging her legs with his thighs. His mouth covered her mouth. She parted for him eagerly.
    His tongue plunged inside.
    Her hips hitched upward— there, please —seeking pressure, seeking relief. The blunt, hard ridge of his