Stolen by the Sea Lord

Hazel brushed the tattoos on Lotar’s sternum. “These have a meaning, right? What does this one mean?”
“It is the symbol of my city.”
“Atlantis?”
“My origin city. Syrenka.”
She traced the lines up. The snowflake pattern branched into geometric shapes. Smaller hashes and squares divided each square. “Where’s Syrenka?”
“North.”
The steam of the shower wrapped them in slippery fog.
She was still terrified about what accepting Lotar would mean. The fate of the mermen would rest on her small shoulders.
But she had already decided.
She’d decided when she’d brought him back to her apartment.
The door was there. She’d already opened it.
Now she just had to walk through.
Hazel lowered her hand and forced herself to look up into his deep, watchful eyes. “What happens now?”
“You accept my claim.”
“I thought I did.”
“With a kiss.”
Right. She’d gotten him naked and seen everything but still hadn’t shared a kiss.
Hazel did everything out of order.
Whatever. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she took the next step.
Her stomach filled with butterflies. She was ready. She chose this. She chose him.
Hazel closed her eyes and lifted her lips.
And…
…
Nothing.
She opened her eyes.
Lotar looked conflicted.
A dark frown slashed his brow. His worried gaze fixed on her lips and all his muscles flexed, taut, as he struggled.
When he noticed her question, he blinked as though trying to clear away his emotions, concealing an internal fight behind the quiet, impassive watchfulness.
He’d said she was his soul mate. He knew. And the next step was to kiss…
“Okay, well.” She patted his chest. “When you want to do that, let me know.”
She turned away to shut off the water.
Lotar’s hand closed over her wrist.
He pulled her back, gently but decisively.
Haha, okay, maybe she had misread him. “Oh, hey, you—”
His mouth covered hers in a kiss.
Ah.
The shower pattered on her back. The scent of vanilla and cardamom mixed with sea salt and male.
Heat streaked through her body.
Lotar.
He was all muscle, hardness and pride, strength and dominance.
His mouth opened, and his tongue sought hers.
She licked his intoxicating male flavor, lapped up every drop, teasing his mouth, delving and swirling, nibbling.
His hand at her wrist tightened and the heat of his body crossed the last inch to draw her against him. Her thigh slid against his, her belly pressed his upper hip, her breasts slid against his chest.
He pursued her mouth doggedly. She teased him, swirling and looping until he released her lips. Then she bit his sharp jaw with little nips and grazed her teeth across his rough chin.
He sucked in a breath.
Yes.
Her nipples tightened to hard pearls, and desire streaked into her center.
He was quiet but expressive. Ready but uncertain.
And that was just fine.
She kissed down the column of his neck, over the cord of the spiral shell necklace, to his collarbone. So broad, so powerful. Down his pectorals, over the swirling tattoos. Like kissing ice fields, but hot and trembling. This was as meaningful to him as it was to her. After tonight, their lives would never be the—
He caught her wrists, stopping her.
Uncertainty flashed in his eyes.
No, not uncertainty.
Fear.
He stared at her with absolute terror.
Huh?
Had she gotten it all wrong?

***

Hazel looked up at him, worry tilting her head. “Are you okay?”
He nodded.
Because he was. He was more than okay.
His soul mate opened her body to him, pressed her soft form to his, accepted, and even covered him with hungry kisses. She wanted his claim. His kiss, his caress, his touch.
It was a dream.
And yet.
His heart pounded as if a pack of angry bull sharks had scented him.
Hazel was so open. So confident in the moment of melding their bodies to create a young fry. Easy and yet serious, playful and yet passionate. She was a pure and beautiful soul.
He must protect her.
From danger, from injury.
From himself.