Warriors of Poseidon 01 - Atlantis Rising

honesty with my own. I am chief among the Warriors of Poseidon, sworn to safeguard humankind."
     
    Grasping the edge of his shirt, he pulled it aside to show the mark of Poseidon he bore.
    High on the right side of his chest, where the sea god himself had burned the symbol of the Warriors of Poseidon into Conlan's flesh.
     
    The circle representing all the peoples of the world, intersected by the pyramid of knowledge deeded to them by the ancients. The silhouette of Poseidon's Trident bisecting them both.
     
    "This mark I wear offers testimony to my vow. And yet, from what I hear between the words in your retelling, this night you deserve to wear it more than do I."
     
    She lifted her hand, almost as if to trace the symbol with her fingertips. Then she pulled her hand back and grinned. "You're doing that formal talking thing again," she said.
    "Somehow, it reminds me of my mother, yelling for me when I was in trouble. Riley Elisabeth Dawson meant I was in big trouble."
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    "Riley Elisabeth," he repeated, savoring the sound of it. "It fits you. Strong and feminine, both."
     
    Somehow, unknowing, he'd moved closer to her. The heat of her, the seduction in the curves of her body, in the line of her neck, drew him in. She looked up at him, flickers of alarm changing to awareness in her eyes.
     
    He could still feel her inside him. Her thoughts, her emotions.
     
    He wanted to feel himself inside her.
     
    Conlan lifted his hands to her arms, pulling her forward. Slowly. Gently. Giving her time to deny him.
     
    Praying she wouldn't.
     
    He stepped forward to meet her halfway. Drinking in her scent. Wanting to bury his face in the silky hair that tumbled past her shoulders.
     
    Wanting to bury his body in her heat.
     
    By Poseidon's balls, he needed to touch her again. Needed to kiss her again. "Riley," he groaned. "Please."
     
    She knew exactly what he meant. He could see it as the awareness in her eyes changed to expectation.
     
    Anticipation.
     
    She lifted her face and touched her lips gently to his. And he was lost.
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    Lost in the sensation, in the colors sparkling in her mind—in his mind—in their minds together. Lost in the feel of her softness pressed against his hardness. The kiss deepened.
     
    He deepened it. He swept his tongue inside of her warmth, her sweet, welcoming mouth, and his knees nearly buckled when she put her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer to her.
     
    Heat, colors, and a torrent of need. Caught in a maelstrom, a cyclone, a full-on, balls-to-the-wall ocean gale of wanting, he tightened his arms around her and lifted her until her feet were off the floor. Her breasts rubbed against his bare chest. He groaned deep in his throat, in her throat, in the space trapped between their mouths.
     
    She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, wiggling to gain purchase on his body, and the heat between her legs was suddenly right up against his cock.
    Impossibly, he hardened even further, sure he was going to split his pants—rip her shirt open—tear her jeans off. Find out if the colors in his head would intensify into a starburst when he drove into her.
     
    The passion swallowing his senses rocketed through him with a bang.
     
    Or no, damnit. That was the door slamming open.
     
    Conlan whirled around to face the threat, snarling, pushing Riley down and behind him as he did so.
     
    Mine. Mine to protect. Mine!
     
    Ven stood at the door, mouth hanging open for the second time that night. "Er, yeah.
    Well. Ah, sorry to interrupt, but Alaric figures you need your rest and you're, well, you're Atlantis Rising – Warriors of Poseidon 01
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    broadcasting a sex vibe that is so slamming loud you're making every man in the house horn—ah, uncomfortable."
     
    From behind him, Riley made a choked sound. Conlan felt the waves of embarrassment pulsing from her. He fought for rationality, sucking in a deep breath.
     
    Ven. My brother. Not a threat.
     
    "I—yeah. Rest." He took another deep, steadying breath. Alaric. The Trident. "Has he been able to scry the location of the Trident?"
     
    Ven shook his head, amusement stamped on his face. "No, he needs to recuperate from the healing. But he used a few unflattering words to describe how you're, ah, keeping him from his rest."
     
    Conlan could imagine how his brother was editing