Warriors of Poseidon 04 - Atlantis Unmasked

Berkley Sensation!
     
    Rome, 202 B.C.
     
    Brennan fell against the stone wall of the tavern, laughing uproariously. “Another round for the house!” He fumbled in his pouch for a fistful of gold coins and tossed them on the serving wench‟s tray. Her dark eyes widened until he could see white all the way around her irises.
     
    “But this is far too much,” she protested, her gaze darting furtively toward the fat innkeeper. “He will cheat you, you know,” she whispered.
     
    He took the tray out of her hands and dropped it on a table, uncaring that the mugs and coins flew in all directions, then pulled her close in a drunken embrace. The generosity of ample breasts, overflowing the bodice of her gown, distracted him from his pursuit of ale for a moment. Her right nipple was barely covered by dingy lace, and he experimented with tightening his embrace to see if it would pop out entirely.
     
    Sadly, his brilliant ploy didn‟t work. He inhaled a deep breath of the roasted meat and ale scent of the tavern and immediately wished he hadn‟t, as his head started spinning.
     
    Atlantis Unmasked - Warriors of Poseidon 04
    Page 307 of 314
    “So, my lovely one, is there some place more private we might go and I can give you a chance to earn even more of that gold?” He grabbed a fistful of her lovely round arse and squeezed, grinning.
     
    But her face wore an expression of utter confusion. “I‟m sorry, I don‟t know any foreign language,” she said, almost cringing as if he would beat her for her failure. She sidled away from him and scrambled for the scattered coins, slapping the hands of greedy bar patrons trying to help themselves to either coins or free mugs of ale.
     
    Brennan blinked, befuddled, but then he realized he must have been speaking in Atlantean, which he had a tendency to fall back on in times of stress or extreme drunkenness.
     
    He spoke Atlantean a lot these days.
     
    He felt the rumble coming up from his belly and managed to considerately turn his head to avoid belching in her face. “An—Another place? Private?” he managed, this time in her native tongue instead of his.
     
    “Oh!” Her face cleared as she understood instantly. He probably was not the first, or even the tenth, of her customers to seek out a dark and private place with the buxom wench during the past several days. The thought momentarily sent a shudder of distaste through him, but as he released her and downed the bottom half of his mug of ale any misgivings vanished in a sea of effervescent intoxication.
     
    Catching his hand, she dragged him through the cheering crowd of revelers, all raising a toast to their benefactor. He bowed sloppily, nearly tripping over the unfamiliar sandals, but the determined woman, almost certainly more enchanted with the contents of his pouch than with him, righted him with a steadying arm and herded him toward a doorway in the back of the tavern.
     
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    “Give her a good one, Brennan,” one of his most regular drinking buddies, a Centurion called Sergius, called. “She likes it if you squeeze her tits while you tup her.”
     
    Brennan stumbled again, a disquieting sense of wrongness pervading his sodden mind.
    Why was he here? He was one of Poseidon‟s finest, finally called to service in the sea god‟s chosen elite, and he was rotting out his brains and his gut with second-rate women and third-rate ale.
     
    The wench shoved the wooden door shut behind him and grabbed his cock through the heavy folds of his toga, and his doubts disappeared in a spike of lust.
     
    “Now let‟s be seeing what coin you have for a poor innocent girl,” she cooed, leering at him with pursed lips and with narrowed eyes that had not seen innocent in years. Then she squeezed his cock again, harder.
     
    He roared out a great whooping noise and grasped her melon-sized tits with both hands. “Now that‟s the idea,” he said. “Why don‟t you lift that skirt and let me see what you‟ve got under there?”
     
    As he bent his head to hers, the wench‟s eyes widened again and then went blank, almost fish-eyed, as they glazed over and then closed. Her head fell back and her plump body went limp, oversetting his already precarious balance so they both went crashing to the filthy floor. Some remnant of courtesy stirred Brennan to flip them as they went down so he landed on the bottom of the heap, cushioning her unconscious body from