Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

a warrior who had lived through her past. Perhaps they had been destined to meet.
    This time the bitter laugh escaped. He was the bastard son of destiny; now would he turn hypocrite and bless the very fates that he‟d spent centuries cursing?
    “What would I surrender for you, Keely?” he murmured. “My honor? My bitterness? Perhaps even part of my soul? What is it about you that has caught me like this?”
    She sighed a little in her sleep, and the sound was like a torch to lantern oil, racing through him and igniting a burning trail of fierce, almost animalistic hunger. He wanted her so suddenly and so desperately that the wanting was a physical pain.
    No, he needed her. They needed her, and they would not be denied.
    Stop! He shouted the word in the silence of his own mind. You cannot conquer me, although you are part of my very being .
    A voice, his but not his, whispered icy menace inside him. You are wrong, Atlantean captor to my imprisoned self. I will conquer you, because you are weak. And when I gain control of our mind entirely, the woman will be mine .
    The Nereid—although it was part of Justice, it was Other, and he didn‟t know how else to think of that part of his soul—flashed images through Justice‟s mind. A boiling torrent of sensual images, each more explicit than the one before:
    Keely, naked and kneeling before him in submission, those lovely tanned hands circling his cock.
    Keely‟s pale limbs intertwined with his own as he pounded into her.
    Keely, sprawled on silken pillows, her legs over his shoulders as he tasted her.
    Keely, bent forward over his bed, as he held her lovely round breasts in his hands and drove into her from behind.
    Keely, writhing in ecstasy, screaming his name as she shattered with pleasure in his arms, her slick, hot cream bathing his cock with its sweetness.
    Keely. Keely. Keely.
    The visions burned through him, over and over, faster and faster, until his cock hardened so painfully that he felt he must wake her and take her and make her understand how desperately he needed to be buried to the hilt in the warm, wet center of her. His hand reached out, almost against his own volition, to rip the covering from her.
    Then he saw it.
    The silvery tracks of the tearstains on her face. She‟d been crying. Even in the hypnotically induced sleep, some part of her had known she was in danger, and she had been afraid.
    She thought him a monster, and with good cause. He flung himself back and away from her, shuddering in self-loathing. He was a monster, but he would never touch her unless invited.
    He‟d kill himself first.
    You cannot win, he told the Nereid, or perhaps merely the greedy, lusting side of his own nature. I will defeat you, or I will die trying. But I will never let you harm a single hair on her head.
    Mocking laughter rang faintly throughout the cavern, or else it only existed inside Justice‟s brain. He was almost unable to distinguish any difference between the two.
    A single hair on her head? You like her hair, too?
    As Justice ran toward the pool to immerse himself in its steamy waters and wash the erotic images from his mind, the Nereid flashed a final image: Keely wrapping the long strands of her hair around the base of his cock as she pulled him into her mouth.
    He dropped his sword on the ground and stumbled as he entered the water, wondering as he fell if perhaps a warrior of Atlantis who was half Nereid would dare, for the first time in his life, to ask the Nereid goddess—or even Poseidon himself—for assistance.
    He was very much afraid that his sanity might depend on the answer.
     
    An eerie sense of apprehension curled around Keely‟s dreams, tingeing them with shades of charcoal gray and burnt umber. She swam through darkened currents, battered and buffeted by oddities: a fat, wooden apple the size of a donkey, a poodle-sized wooden carving of a horse that turned and smiled at her as it swam by. A child‟s wooden wagon, buoyed by the waves, floated serenely beside her, keeping pace with the speed of her swimming in spite of the flotsam that jostled it. She felt a strong compulsion to reach for the toy, but was afraid that if she lost the tempo of her strokes, she would drown.
    She knew she was dreaming—was almost sure of it—but had lost any sense of reality outside of the watery dreamscape. Her only purpose was to reach the opposite shore, where she knew salvation waited.
    But she didn‟t know how, or why, or what it might be.