Red Scales

Red Scales

"So," the captain said, "My crew told me they found some strange sea creature in our nets. I have to say, you weren't what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting, exactly?" the creature asked.

"Well for one," the woman said as she walked further into her quarters, "I didn't expect you to talk."

"Any other surprises?" He leaned back on his forearms and smirked up at her.

"The tail," she looked him over, "Also a surprise."

Still tangled in her ship's nets, his brown-red tail flopped lazily on the wood floor. Her eyes followed it up to his waist, his chiseled abs, his tempting chest, and that silly tuft of black hair.

"Like what you see, my lady?" he chuckled.

It was only then that Captain Graves realized her mouth had gone open on her. With a crew of only women, it had been too long since she had seen any male form — even one with gills. And while some of her crew found comfort in each other, her own feminine needs were fickle … and largely unhelpful.

"So if I'm your prisoner," the merman said with a playful tone, "What will you do with me?"

"I don't know," she said, putting her hands on her hips, trying to look as imposing as possible. "If I was cruel, I suppose I could sell you for a pretty penny."

His eyes wavered in fear for the first time since his capture. She almost regretted sparking that fear with her words, except for reclaiming the upper hand in the situation. She knelt by his side, a lock of brown hair falling from its place tucked under her hat.

"I am not that cruel," she reassured him as she pulled the net away from his persons, "That being said, I would be a fool not to take advantage of a once in a lifetime opportunity like you in my presence."

With that, the light returned to his eyes — from this close up, they seemed to sparkle.

"I wanted to get caught," he whispered as his eyes went from her lips to her body back to her lips, "I saw you a week ago and I’ve been following your ship ever since. You stood at the helm and sunset hit you and I wanted …"

He hesitated.

"What?" The pirate queen's mouth went dry. "What did you want?”

"I wanted you. To be yours." He looked into her eyes, his own so earnest and honest and sparkling. That was all it took for her to pounce on him.

His eager mouth caught up right away, them both wrestling for control even as they embraced the moment. Breathing in through her nose, she realized that constant smell of the sea she loved so much was even stronger on his skin. She took off her hat, her hair cascading around their faces. His webbed fingers found their way down her sides and squeezed, guiding her hips with perfect pressure against him.

"Oh Mother Mary, that's good," she whispered against his mouth.

After blindly grabbing at his chest and shoulders and biceps, her left arm found reason to hook behind his neck while her right hand went to his hair, fingers combing through still wet locks – firmly securing him in place. From the growl in the back of his throat, he certainly didn’t seem to mind. Their kisses grew frantic, his hands found their way just under her blouse, and through the pulsing of her wound-too-tight body, her mind was more than ready to let the night go where it may with this impossible creature. Except—

"Wait!" she gasped, coming up for air.

"No waiting," he panted, his gills straining (How is he breathing again? she wondered) and his hands still firmly holding onto her, "I've waiting too long for you already."

"But —" she struggled to find the words, "How do we, I mean … you have a tail and I don't see a …"

The creature went silent for a moment. Samantha wondered if her meaning got across (or perhaps if she had insulted his male temperament), but then he laughed — a hearty laugh that seemed to rumble through her in the most appealing away. A relieved Captain Graves didn’t protest when her guest flipped them over so he was on top, the fin of his tail making a soft “flump” on her wood floor.

"Oh my sweet Captain," he muttered against her neck before kissing his way down to her torso, "You are not my first landgirl."

"Meaning?" she squeaked as he untucked her now damp blouse.

"Meaning that I might be a merman," he said before giving a lovebite to the curve of her belly just below her navel, "but I still have a mouth."

It was the last full sentence either said to the other the whole night.