Her blood rushed into him. Her taste was not like Anna's, a sun-dappled forest floor, nor Liv's, a sharp, exhilarating winter storm. Her blood was the ocean itself. Ancient, deep, and impossibly vast.
Then came her emotions. A tidal wave of affection so powerful it nearly buckled him. He saw flashes: The crushing pressure of the deep sea, a childhood in a palace of pearls where laughter was a foreign language, the echo of voices calling her ditzy, and the bone-shaking loneliness that had driven her to a small-town.
And the magic. Water.
He pulled back, gasping, the taste of the sea still on his tongue, a profound sense of having been drowned and reborn in the same second.
"So?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Alya looked at him, her pink eyes wide, shimmering with a hope so fragile it hurt to witness.
"Did you feel it? Did it... work?"
He had to choose between a terrible, beautiful lie and the truth that might shatter her completely.
"No."
His voice was barely a whisper.
The hope in her eyes didn't waver. If anything, it intensified, burning hotter against the rising tide of despair. She was a shipwreck survivor clinging to a single, splintered piece of plank in a storm.
"You're honest so when that little spark of love ignites inside you, it'll be real."
She started removing her shirt, her movements a clumsy mix of seduction and frantic desperation. A simple lace bra, the color of coral, was revealed.
"Aly-"
Her finger pressed against his lips. Her touch was soft. The sheer force of her will was a tidal wave crashing against his willpower.
"Don't stop me."
Then she took off her skirt, letting it fall at her feet, leaving her standing in just her underwear and the faint scent of vulnerability. Her skin was flushed a pale pink.
"I want you," she took a step towards him, "And I know you want me."
She was right. The sight before him was arousing.
He took hungry possesion of her mouth. She moaned in response.
Her kiss was clumsy and eager. Her tongue was like a curious fish darting into uncharted waters. He led her, tasting her.
Alya's hands roamed under his shirt, her nails scraping gently across his chest, sending shivers down his spine.
She slurped on his tongue, pulling him towards the king-sized bed by the belt loops of his pants.
"Are you sure?" he gave her one last out. His body was already agreeing but he needed her consent, he needed her to be certain of what she was doing.
Alya nodded, her eyes begging.
She didn't want love. Not yet. She wanted acceptance, a way to bind him to her that was stronger than words, than promises, than the bite mark he had just given her.
They fell onto the bed. She laid on top of him, her small boobs pressing against his chest.
He reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. A sigh escaped from him when he finally got it.
Alya had a perfect set of small perky breasts topped with soft pink nipples.
Cupping one in his palm he watched her arch her back with a gasp.
Using his other hand he rolled the other nipple between his finger and thumb. He played with them for a bit. Each touch made her let out a small sound, like a soft gasp, a contented sigh.
She squirmed, grinding her hips against the hard bulge in his pants.
"Let me," she whispered.
Ryker lifted himself slightly and watched as her shaky fingers found the button of his jeans. She slowly pulled down his pants.
Then her hand was inside his boxers, stroking his girth and exploring his length with a naive reverence, like a cartographer charting a new, thrilling territory. His hips bucked involuntarily.
It wasn't long until she stopped.
"Let's take these off."
Her fingers hooked under the waistband.
In a swift motion, she pulled them down. The fabric pooled around his ankles as he kicked them away. His erection jutted out, a silent demand.
Staring at his bare form with wide eyes, her breath hitched. It was a mix of arousal and wonder.
Slowly she brought her mouth towards the head, her pink tongue tentatively darting out to taste the drop of pre-cum that had beaded at the tip.
He watched in disbelief as she took him into her mouth.
The sensation was overwhelming. Her mouth was hot, her tongue clumsy but enthusiastic. He tangled his fingers in her hair, not guiding, just holding on as she took him deeper, a soft, watery hum of approval vibrating around him.
This was too much.
With a gentleness that surprised himself, he lifted her face from his lap.
"Lay back," he murmured.
She obeyed, her back against the pillows, her body a canvas of pale skin tinged red with the blush of anticipation.
He hovered over her, taking a moment to appreciate the sight. Then he opened her thighs with his knees. The core of her glistening with dew, was a sight that made him ache. He bent down and tasted her.
Her gasp was sharp and loud.
The salty-sweet taste of her flooded his senses. Her flower bloomed for him. She was sensitive, every flick of his tongue sending a jolt through her, her hands gripping the sheets, her back arching.
"Enough," she pleaded after a few minutes, pulling him up by his hair.
Her lips were wet when he kissed her again.
His member was touching her entrance, rubbing her labia, making her squirm in impatience.
"Ready?"
In response, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, an unequivocal invitation.
The tightness that greeted him made him suck in a breath.
A sharp intake of her own answered him. Her fingernails scored his back as he pushed deeper. He didn't stop until he was fully inside.
"You're big," she breathed.
The sheer bliss of being inside her was almost paralyzing. Her walls contracted around him, slick and hot. He began to move, his instincts taking over.
It was a rhythm as old as the ocean tides. She matched him, her hips rising to meet his every thrust, a silent conversation spoken in the language of their bodies.
"Aaaah! Ryyyyyyyyyker," she moaned, as his pace quickened. He reached a place inside her that made her tremble.
Her cries filled the room, each one a stroke on the canvas of his ego, a symphony of pleasure that he was conducting.
"More," she pleaded, her pink eyes glazed over with lust.
He pounded into her.
The sounds of their bodies slapping together mixed with her whimpers of pleasure.
Her legs, which had been wrapped around him, tightened like a python, her entire body going rigid. She felt him getting bigger inside her. The pressure inside him had peaked.
Kissing her, holding her hands, he shuddered as he spilled inside of her. A primal, possessive act of claiming her as completely as she was trying to claim him.
Breathing ragged, she rested her head on the pillow.
He fell onto the bed next to her.
Silence.
The heavy scent of sex lingered. Glancing at her, he saw her rubbing her belly where he had came inside of her.
"It feels warm," she giggled. A post-coital bliss so innocent it made Ryker's chest ache.
Her smile was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
For the first time since the colosseum, the noise in his head went quiet. The shame, the anger, the desperate need to prove himself. It all melted away.
"Alya, I-" he started, unsure what he was even going to say, "I don't want you to leave."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she closed her eyes, completely trusting him.
For one moment he thought this could be something. This fragile thing between them. A relationship.
Suddenly she raised her legs straight up towards the ceiling. Then she wiggled them.
"What are you doing?"
A blush colored her cheeks, "It's an old mermaid tradition. To increase the chance of getting pregnant."
He sat bolt upright. A spike of pure terror. Gently grabbing her legs he brought them down and put the duvet over them.
She was staring at him lovingly, her head cocked, her eyes gleaming with a terrifying, joy. She thought this was progress. A step closer to her fantasy.
"Little Alya's are running in my head," she giggled. A bubble of a dream.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair.