Page 3 of Stealing the Merman

He broke the surface when he hit the shallows around the sandbank. Conall eyed his approach with an expression that gave nothing away. The rising tide, which would soon devour the island, lapped at his feet. When Finn lured in men with his song, it clouded their minds and made them pliable. But this man needed help, no matter how impressive his physique was. If he stayed on the sandbank, he’d drown.

Finn flopped onto the wet sand, keeping less distance than his friends would’ve liked. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Finn’s heart pounded as they took each other in. Close up, Conall was even more formidable. The bright midday sun caught his hair and steeped it in a dark golden glow. Leaning back on his arms, his biceps bulged, and his shirtless state revealed the hard lines of his abdomen. His sunburned skin exhibited numerous fresh bruises and old scars, perhaps the result of fights.

“Shipwreck?” Finn asked to start the conversation. There was no other explanation for the man to be out here alone, stranded.

Conall blinked, as if he only now realized that Finn was not an apparition. “Yes,” he said in a deep and gravelly voice and looked away.

A surge of empathy flooded Finn. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes widening in sincerity. “I’ll swim out and look for survivors.”

Conall swallowed thickly and shook his head. “No. There’s no one. Stay.”

Finn’s heart ached for the man. Before he could stop himself, he’d moved up to Conall and climbed into his lap, his fin wrapping around his leg. If Conall was surprised by the sudden physical contact, he didn’t show it. “I’m sorry,” Finn said and placed his head in the crook of Conall’s neck, giving the skin there a peck. It didn’t matter that he was a stranger Finn had met moments ago. It didn’t matter that he was a giant twice Finn’s weight, able to crush him with his hands.

“Do you want to come with me to another island? This one is rather small.” Finn knew better than to offer the hulk help directly.

“Yes.” Conall’s shoulders sagged in relief. He hadn’t shown emotion so far, but Finn’s offer of help broke his hard shell.

There was a nearby island covered in jungle. It was too far for a human to swim there, but not for a merman. With his fishtail, Finn was capable of moving them faster through the sea than Conall could’ve on his own. No matter how strong a human was, they couldn’t match the swimming speed of a merman. Not even their ships did.

They slipped into the sea, and Conall wrapped his arms around Finn, who propelled them toward safe land.

Once they arrived, Finn led him up a stream to a freshwater spring, which ran from the island’s jungle into a rock pool and then the sea. Bahama parrots chirped in the trees as Conall waded into the pool. The birds were cute with their green coats, white heads and pink throats, and three of them grouped on a branch near the water, rubbing their heads together in affection.

Conall’s movements were slow, and his arms hung limply by his sides. He was more exhausted than Finn had realized. How long had he been on that sandbank? Had it flooded earlier, and Conall had to tread water for hours until the subsiding tide granted him rest? Had that happened more than once? Conall’s strong form contrasted with his utter exhaustion suggested it. So did the severe sunburn.

Conall lowered his hands into the pool and used them to drink in greedy gulps. Finn dipped in after him. The island’s water was colder than the ocean, and Conall moaned as he sank into the cool bliss that had to be a boon on his burned body.

Finn found the rock pool surprisingly deep and full of fish. A school of striped mojarra swam past, and he snatched one with his bare hand. Mermen lived predominantly on raw fish, and knowing how to catch them without tools was a necessary skill. But this one wasn’t for him—it was for Conall. Who knew when he’d last eaten? Finn hauled the fish on land and caught a couple more.

Later, he tended to Conall’s burned skin with coconut water. Conall had been able to crack open a few coconuts on the rocks, and Finn gently treated his back with the liquid. His touch was featherlight as he was afraid to hurt the man, who let out bitten-off groans when Finn touched sore flesh.

Conall wasn’t talkative. That night, he slept on the beach, and he spent the following day resting in the shade. A fever set in. Finn brought him food and water until he recovered enough to search for fruit and firewood in the jungle while Finn caught fish for them to eat. As days passed, Conall recovered, and his energy returned. Conall’s skin turned from red to olive, and his gaze began to linger on Finn. One evening, they were sitting side by side on the beach when Finn caught Conall regarding him. The flaming light of the campfire advanced Conall’s features: those blue eyes full of determination, the classical nose, the strong, stubble-lined jaw, and that inviting, sensual mouth. Conall turned toward him, and the distance between them shrank.

Finn’s breath hitched, and his mind switched off as he leaned in for a first brush of lips. It was rougher than he’d expected. Conall’s stubble scratched him, though he didn’t mind. He wanted more. Conall kissed him hard as if this was meant to erase something else. Or perhaps that was Finn’s imagination.

Conall pushed him backward into the sand, and Finn yelped and laughed in surprise. Then Conall was straddling his chest, his powerful arms pinning him to the ground.

“You look like a dangerous animal, like a predator,” Finn said with an arched eyebrow and lips pulling up in amusement, “but you just want to play.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Conall let go, and his fingers traced the contours of Finn’s face from his temple, over his cheek to his chin and down to where his lips parted in invitation. Finn’s pulse thrummed in excitement, and he held Conall’s gaze as his tongue darted out, nudging the intruding fingertip.

The skin held a hint of salt, and Finn licked his finger pad, circling the tip. Conall’s eyes darkened. Boldly, Finn surged and sucked two of Conall’s digits into his mouth. Conall kneeled over him, clad in nothing but a pair of midnight blue breeches. His crotch was close. Too close to resist.

Finn splayed his hands on Conall’s massive thighs, his fingers pressing into the unyielding muscle underneath the garment. He sucked harder, and his eyes wandered to the impressive bulge straining against the fabric. When he looked up, he found Conall staring him down, his gaze a dark storm.

Finn should’ve been afraid. Conall could kill him with his bare hands, but there was no fear, only desire. Finn squeezed his inner muscles in desperate need. His hands ran along Conall’s thighs. He reached for the fly, and Conall seized his arms, pushing them to the sand.

Had Finn gone too far? He didn’t get time to consider because the next thing Conall said was, “Don’t move.” He ripped at his breeches, freeing his cock. No, Finn hadn’t been mistaken. Conall’s erection sprung free, long, hard and beautiful. A droplet of precum hung on the crown, and it glistened as it caught the firelight. Finn couldn’t help but lick his lips. The scent of arousal hung in the air, fogging his mind. Conall didn’t bother to take off his breeches, the fly’s opening enough to grant full access.

Lost in memory, Finn’s hands ran up and down his body as he tensed his pelvic muscles, seeking a semblance of relief. His thumbs found his nipples and flicked them, causing them to pebble and form hard nubs. His insides clenched helplessly, unable to stop, although it led nowhere.

Conall had been delicious. Hard, rippling muscles and a precum dripping cock that Finn lapped at. His erection, long, thick and veiny, had slid deep into Finn’s mouth, into his throat, like it belonged there.

Finn’s hands wandered lower, down his abdomen and to where, if he were human, he’d find his cock. Finn sighed in bitter frustration.

---