BLURB:
Having just led his men to victory over the Persians, Greek sea commander Carpus knows the victory does not belong just to him, but also to the aquamarine he wears around his neck. The stone, originally a gift from Poseidon the sea god to Carpus' grandfather, is the most valuable item Carpus owns. But the sea god has always regretted giving away the stone, and when a storm rises from the ocean depths, Carpus knows who's behind it. Poseidon, come to steal back what he freely gave decades before.
But Carpus is wrong. It's not Poseidon who carries him from the sea and gives him more intense pleasure than he's ever felt. It's Hesiod, Poseidon's son, a merman sworn to seduce the stone away from Carpus. Or die trying.
EXCERPT:
Hesiod waited, biding his time until the mortal man’s body grew limp, signaling he had lost consciousness. Then the merman churned his mighty tail, surging upward from the black depths, catching the man in his arms and carrying him toward the surface. Hesiod broke free of the water in time to see his father, Poseidon’s, storm vanish as quickly as it had come.
As the sun pierced through the clouds, Hesiod took note that there were other Greeks in the water nearby, doing their best to swim back to their ship, but he paid them no mind. Hesiod had what he had come for, the mortal man who had somehow come into possession of the sea god’s pendant, the sacred aquamarine Poseidon had entrusted Hesiod with the task of reclaiming.
And reclaim it he would.
For the first time in his thirty-three years of life as an illegitimate son, Poseidon had given Hesiod a task to complete. A task for which he would be handsomely rewarded if he was successful. He would gain a place in his father’s realm, a stately castle beneath the waves, far from the black depths where Hesiod and his mother, the sea witch, had been banished years ago. Hesiod would finally be a favored son as his half-brother, Triton, had been since the day of his birth. He would know the respect of the other merpeople and the fear of those who had hunted his mother’s kind since the beginning of time.
And you, my lovely mortal, are the key to it all. Hesiod quickly disposed of the man’s bulky armor, then wrapped his strong arm around the mortal’s chest and squeezed, forcing the water from his lungs, then sending a rush of magical heat over his flesh.
The mortal coughed for a moment before he began to breathe air once more. Bit by bit, his skin warmed and the color returned to his flesh. With a sigh, he relaxed into Hesiod’s arms, his feet rising to float in the water as the merman pulled them toward the shore. But still, the man did not open his eyes.
Which, for the time being, was perfectly acceptable to Hesiod.
Now that the frail creature wasn’t blue with cold, he could see what a stunning specimen he had fished from the waves. The man was muscled like a young god, every inch of his tall frame hard, lean and honed for battle. Thick, honey-colored locks, now turned light brown with dampness, lay heavily on his brow. The austere structure of his handsome face left no doubt of his noble lineage, even as his full rose lips softened his visage in a way that was quite striking.
How I would like to see those lips put to their proper use. See his mouth parted over the head of my cock, preparing to suck me deep into his throat.
Hesiod felt his tail begin to split in two, becoming the legs of his more human shape. It was what always happened when his rod grew stiff, rising between his thighs, but it didn’t matter. He was a strong swimmer in both his forms and he couldn’t deny that the feel of the water streaming over his increasingly aroused length felt delightful.
Combined with his erotic thoughts and the warm, heavy weight of the man in his arms, the swirl of the salt water between his thighs soon proved too great a stimulus to one who had been so long without a lover. Strife in his mother’s kingdom had kept him too busy for pleasure, a sad state of affairs he would never endure again once he gained favor with his father.
Smiling at the thought of the many lovers who would come knocking at his door once he was accepted by Poseidon, Hesiod pulled away the mortal’s remaining garments, the swaths of soft cloth he wore under his battle uniform. Once his Greek captive was laid bare, Hesiod could see every inch of his stunning form, as well as note the fact that he had sustained a wound in the thick muscles of his shoulder.
Though not usually the sort to care one way or the other about the fate of man, Hesiod couldn’t keep from responding to the strange urge to care for the human he had plucked from the sea. Chanting the sacred words, he brought his lips to the other man’s wound, probing into it with his tongue, forcing the healing magic he had learned from his mother deep into the mortal’s flesh. The man cried out in pain at first, but the sound soon became a low moan of pleasure as the wound closed and his skin heated with the aftereffects of the healing spell.
“Gods, where…the battle…the storm,” he mumbled, tossing his head from side to side, restless in his sleep.
“You are safe. There is nothing to fear,” Hesiod whispered into the perfect shell of his ear, unable to resist teasing through the swirls there with his tongue. His father had made it clear he would have to win the mortal’s gift of the pendant, that Hesiod could not take the aquamarine from him by force.
And what better way to win a gift than by giving a gift?
