Page 63 of Stealing the Merman

A multitude of feelings blossomed in Finn. There was something Conall needed to hear. Had Finn hurt his feelings when he tried to sneak away? “I need you so much,” he whispered, pressing his body against Conall’s. It was true. What would he do without Conall? Without Darin? He’d be lost, drowning in unfulfilled desire. He had no interest in filling the void with a series of strangers, but with his impossible hunger for sex, he was too much for one man. But who’d willingly share Finn with another? No one. No one except Conall. Conall and Darin. “I need you both so much.” He snuggled closer, and mercifully, both men pushed against him, trapping him in their heat.

That’s when Finn remembered. It was now or never. He reached for the bag that lay at the head of the mat and contained his meager belongings. He pulled out two identical items. Conall, facing him, saw them first and scrunched up his brow.

In his free time, Finn had secretly made two cowrie shell necklaces. “Darin made one for me,” Finn said, tracing the band around his neck. “I thought you should have one too.”

He took a chain of cowrie shells, laid it around Conall’s neck and closed it at his nape, where his long hair trapped the heat of his skin. Conall’s face was stoic, except for a slight twitch that betrayed all his emotions. He’d never admit it, but Conall was touched.

Finn kissed him, soft and airy. Lips brushed together, and then he opened up, and Conall nudged his tongue. Finn spilled a breathy moan, causing Conall to gently probe his mouth. Their tongues slid together, and Finn whimpered, his insides flaming.

When they parted, Finn rested his forehead on Conall’s shoulder and stayed for a moment before he turned to face Darin. “You made one of these for me in Culebrita, so you were with me, whether there were a thousand miles between us or less than an inch. I want to return the favor.” He laid the second band of cowrie shells around Darin’s neck, next to the leather string holding his mother’s token.

Darin’s eyes shone, and he took both necklaces between his fingers, feeling them together as his digits ran along them.

“Thank you,” Darin said and laid his hand on the shells resting on Finn’s collarbone.

With the three of them wearing the same necklace, the invisible band that connected them had become plain for everyone to see.

Conall spooned him, wrapping his big arms around both him and Darin, who kissed Finn, long and slow and deep.

“We both need you,” Darin said when he broke away. He cupped Finn’s cheek and placed his free hand on Conall’s arms, squeezing it. “You feel like home.”

Finn didn’t know whether those last words were intended for Conall, him or both of them, but behind him, Conall stiffened. For a moment, the world stood still, then Conall extracted himself from the embrace. “Don’t become too attached to me,” he gruffed, got up and left.

Chapter Seventeen

Darin

Darin couldn’t sleep. After Conall had stormed off, he and Finn clung to each other, whispering words of reassurance. They knew whatever was going on with Conall wasn’t their fault, and yet it stung that a wrong word could chase him away.

He kissed Finn, and when their need to connect overwhelmed everything else, Darin made love to him. Finn lay on his stomach, and Darin slowly moved in him, making him come again and again. Their fingers intertwined, and then he, too, lost himself to the power of his lust and spilled deep inside Finn.

Afterward, Finn drifted off in moments, but Darin lay awake, ruminating on what about his words had set Conall off. His fingers played with his two necklaces, one from his mother, the other… Darin swallowed as his eyes pricked… from what could’ve been his found family. Like all mermen, Finn didn’t have a family, and Conall was estranged from his. It made Darin feel all the more connected to them.

It was much later when footsteps crunching the sand outside announced Conall’s return. Darin let out a quiet sigh of relief. He’d assumed Conall would return, but he hadn’t been sure.

Darin sat up as Conall stepped onto the platform. He’d left a sole oil lamp burning in the unfinished tavern, and in the faint light, Conall wore a somber expression, but the band of cowrie shells lay peaceful on his collarbone. Darin took comfort in the fact he was wearing it.

When Conall looked up, he saw Darin, who pressed a finger to his lips and nodded toward Finn’s sleeping form. A crumpled sheet lay at the foot of the mat, and Darin covered him with it before he got up to meet Conall. It was an unusually cool night, and Darin shivered as a light breeze traveled through the wall-less structure.

Conall didn’t speak, but Darin caught him eyeing a couple of pillows and a blanket that sat on the corner of the tavern’s platform. That settled it. Darin strode toward the cozy pile, far enough away from Finn as to not disrupt his sleepifhe and Conall were to talk.

Still, he was surprised when Conall followed him, part of him having assumed he didn’t want to be around him for whatever reason. But Conall picked up the blanket and wrapped it around both their shoulders as they sat. Pressed against Conall’s side, his body heat seeped into Darin, whose shoulders relaxed, tension dropping out of him. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been until Conall’s warmth permeated him.

For a long time, neither of them said anything. Then Conall took Darin’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” he said, the apology a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through Darin. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Not knowing what to say, Darin squeezed his hand in answer. Why was Conall this way? Why did he run whenever emotional intimacy flourished?

“It has nothing to do with you and Finn,” Conall said after a long pause.

“I know.” That much he understood. Darin stroked his thumb over Conall’s skin. “Can you tell me what it does have to do with?”

Conall stiffened, and Darin physically sensed him smothering his innate fight or flight reaction. “No.”

“Does Finn know?”

“No.”

It was all right, Conall didn’t have to tell him. Whatever it was, it must’ve caused deep pain—nothing else explained why he virtually flinched at the idea of opening up and letting them in. Darin turned his whole body into Conall’s, nestling to him.

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