More Than a Fantasy Read online

  More Than a Fantasy

  A short story

  By

  Bernadette Gardner

  Published by: Bernadette Gardner

  copyright 2012, Bernadette Gardner

  Cover art by LFD Designs for Authors

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, brands, media and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Kindle Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Chapter One

  As she shrugged out of her bikini top and thigh-high denim cutoffs, Mara Zander felt the intoxicating weight of a masculine gaze on her body. Or at least, she imagined she did.

  At dusk on the secluded beach of the Zander family prison—or “compound,” as her father preferred to call it—Mara once again found herself with nothing to do but indulge her fantasies on a sultry Aegean night.

  Tonight she conjured a dark, dangerous man with eyes the color of the sea, coal-black hair and big, rough hands that ached to caress her sun-kissed skin.

  While she made her way down the white sand, tossing her top and shorts behind her, she imagined him watching her from the far side of the tumble of volcanic rocks that kept the alcove secluded from the rest of the island. Her nipples hardened at the thought, and she swayed her hips for her imaginary hero, enticing him to make use of the hot, hard erection he had for her.

  “Come on, baby. Come and get it…” she taunted her sexy phantom, imagining him climbing over the rocks and stalking toward her when she knelt at the water’s edge.

  She dipped her fingers in the cool surf and spread white foam on her shoulders. She arched her back for her fantasy lover, her breasts jutting into the warm night air for his eager touch. Her skin tingled in the salty breeze, and her curvy shadow stretched out beside her, waiting for an equally incorporeal mate.

  She sighed and squeezed her thighs together against the rising ache in the sensitive flesh that longed for the touch of a real man.

  Since her father had fled the embattled and short-lived city/state of Corcoran as a political pariah, she hadn’t even seen a man who wasn’t a bodyguard or a local fisherman. The bodyguards might have provided her with some diversion during the long, hot nights, but none of them dared touch her, let alone fuck her. The seven burly men all answered to her father. Not one of them would tempt his wrath no matter what she did to entice them. As for the fishermen…none of them seemed to be under seventy.

  If things didn’t change soon, so she could get back to her life, her job and her various boyfriends in New York, she’d go stark-raving insane.

  “Come on! Come and take it!” She rose then ran into the water, daring her fantasy stud to follow. As she stroked out a few yards, naked in the crystalline waves, she pictured her dark Adonis coming after her, splashing into the surf and overtaking her. She would try to avoid him, pretend to put up a fight. A little bit of resistance made the prize sweeter. But he’d catch up quickly, loop one thickly muscled arm around her waist and drag her against his tattooed chest. The thought of surrendering her body to a powerful man after a playful battle of wills made her so hot, the water around her practically steamed.

  Mara stretched and undulated, her eyes drifting closed at the sinful idea of his commanding hands on her ass and his hot tongue licking salty water from the deep valley between her breasts. She felt him thrusting that burning erection between her legs to give her a little taste of what he had in store for her. He’d follow the tease with his fingers, long and skillful, exploring her, pushing inside and spreading her until she almost came.

  She moaned and swam a few strokes toward shore. Now he’d get angry at her coy refusal. He’d grab a fistful of her auburn hair and pull back her head, exposing her neck, which he’d bite, scraping his teeth against her tingling skin. She’d push him away with her hands, yet at the same time, she’d draw her shaking legs tight around his waist until she felt his cock, like a steel rod settling against her mound. She’d rub against that stiff intrusion, but not take him inside yet. She’d give him a wide-eyed stare that said, “Oh, you’re too big for me, too thick and long and hard.”

  He wouldn’t buy that at all. He’d kick toward shore with his massive thighs and drag her onto the sand.

  With her hands braced on his chest, her hair streaming in the sand around her and her body on fire from his touch, she’d beg him, first sweetly, then with a touch of fear in her voice—“Be gentle with me, baby. I’m so tight.”

  Yeah. He’d like that. But gentle? No. He’d know she didn’t want it easy. He’d spread her legs and show her his cock. Her mouth would form into a startled “O” at his impressive size, and she’d squeeze her eyes closed as if she couldn’t bear to watch.

  Then he’d do it. He’d plunge inside her, and she’d cry out, “God, yes!” He’d take her so hard, their bodies would inch up the wet sand with each fevered thrust. He’d work her relentlessly, with a single-minded power, like a sex machine. He wouldn’t stop, even when she panted his name and begged him to slow down so she could breathe easier.

  She’d feel it in her bones when he started to come. His abs would contract against hers and he’d move faster, pounding her harder until she had to hold her breath. With her legs wrapped around his broad back and her arms flung over her head, she’d gasp his name and let him know he had complete control over her.

  They’d orgasm together, screaming, and the sea would wash over their sweating bodies and reclaim the salty spill of his come.

  Mara lay on the sand, breathing hard, staring at the stars that had begun to appear like pinpricks in the curtain of night.

  If only…

  She slipped back into the darkening waves to wash the sand off her back and legs then ran up the beach to retrieve her clothes. Maybe tomorrow, there’d be two men waiting for her when she took her evening walk, one dark, the other blond, both eager to fight for the right to take her into the olive grove up the beach and give her what she craved...

  * * * *

  Prince Tiran gave a low, appreciative moan as he watched the flame-haired human female bring herself to completion on the deserted beach. Unbidden, his long-fingered hand slithered down to caress his straining cock as he imagined levering himself above her nubile body and fucking her.

  She obviously wanted it. Even from this distance, perched on the volcanic rocks, his body morphed to blend with his surroundings, he could smell her arousal on the tepid breeze. The taste of her flavored the sea air with a hint of female musk that drove him wild with desire.

  A willing human female was the secret fantasy of every Atlantean male. Why were the dry-skinned, land-locked, mortal creatures so enticing? Because eons ago, the leaders of his race had decreed there would be no more cross breeding. His ancestors had disguised themselves as gods and used their power to control humans. They demanded worship, raped, pillage
d and begot mutated offspring that became the stuff of human myth and legends and the seeds of Atlantean shame.

  Now that humans were more sophisticated, more curious and dangerous than their predecessors, and less easily cowed by god-like parlor tricks, his people dared no congress with them at all.

  Of course, that didn’t stop the young males from dreaming, from spying on the occasional human female, and this one seemed to want just that. She cavorted on the sand and in the shallow water, displaying her pert breasts, running her hands down to the thatch of curls between her legs, and teasing herself until she came in a shuddering orgasm that Tiran felt in his bones.

  If she enjoyed sex that much by herself, imagine what she might be like with a male to share her body.

  Tiran circled his rigid cock with his hand and began to work himself to orgasm. As his body tensed with need, he imagined her beneath him, her hands roaming his body, her legs locked around him when he drove into her. He pictured her fiery hair splayed around her bare shoulders, and her lips parted in a gasp of delight as he took her to the edge of ecstasy. With that vision in his mind, he spilled his seed on the brine-soaked rocks.

  Why did he prefer watching the human to copulating with an Atlantean female? As a member of the royal bloodline, he could command any unmated female to his chambers and order her to perform any sexual act he wished, over and over again. In fact, there were females waiting for just such an opportunity, hoping to secure his favor and earn the privilege of becoming his mate.

  And yet, he swam to the small, lonely beach each day at sunset and waited for his sand maiden to shed her clothing for his pleasure.

  Sated now, he watched her gather her clothes and slide her sumptuous body into them. She tossed her long hair behind her and shook the blazing curls free of sand. With regret, Tiran watched her saunter toward the narrow path among the dunes that led to the white, boxy structures where she lived.

  “Good night, beauty,” he said then morphed back into his natural form. He turned to climb down from the rocks, and came face to face with his brother, Poseidon, named for one of those very ancestors whose terrible abuses of humans had led to the decree.

  “Watching your land nymph again?” Poseidon mocked, his lips curling in a sneer. He brushed a lock of pale hair out of his eyes and vaulted onto the rocks to sit next to Tiran. “Still wishing you had the balls to break the rules and make her yours?”

  Tiran sighed. “I know the penalty, brother. But there’s no law against watching her.”

  “I was watching her, too.” Poseidon threw back his head and whistled, his sharp profile lit in silvery tones by the rising moon. “And I read her as well.”

  A ribbon of jealousy wound around Tiran’s gut, forming a knot. Poseidon was older, next in line to succeed their father as a member of the Atlantean triumvirate and even more in demand by unwed females of their race. He had no need of Tiran’s sand maiden, and to read her thoughts was nearly as bad as the crime of copulation, and next to impossible to prove.

  “You had no right. Leave her alone.”

  “She doesn’t want to be left alone. She’s longing for a man—two, in fact.”

  Tiran scoffed. From what little his generation knew of humans, one thing was certain—they were monogamous and mated for life, unlike Atlanteans, who made matches based on compatible DNA structures. Sex play, of course, was encouraged, but true mating occurred only when all the parameters were considered favorable. Couples wed only when they were prepared to commit to the rearing of numerous children.

  “I’m not lying, Tiran. You can read me and find out for yourself. She dreams of two strong men battling for her, each offering her unbridled carnal pleasures. She pictures them trying to best each other physically until they come to blows. When one lies defeated in the sand, she imagines the victor carrying her off to a secluded clearing and using her body in a dozen different ways.” Poseidon smirked. “She’s very imaginative for a human.”

  Tiran looked away. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more.” But Tiran lied. The details of the female’s fantasy excited him. If Poseidon was correct, she didn’t want two mates, only the stronger one. Like Atlantean women, she wanted the male who could prove his genetic superiority.

  “I put images of the two of us in her mind,” Poseidon continued. “She’s seen us both now, dark and light, like two opposing sides of a coin.”

  Tiran raised his brows in surprise and anger. “I will tell the triumvirate what you’ve done.”

  Poseidon laughed. “And have both of us punished for entertaining thoughts of congress with a human? Would you chance being forbidden from even visiting this place? Rather, why not indulge the human’s fantasy? I won’t tell if you won’t. One of us will win her affections and the right to take her, just one time. And the other will promise to keep silent about it. We’ll both be guilty, so confession by either of us will damn the other as well.”

  Tiran considered. To touch her, talk to her, perhaps even feel her yield to him one glorious time might soothe his rampant desire and allow him to concentrate on the more important prospect of finding a suitable Atlantean mate.

  But what if Poseidon won their battle?

  Tiran eyed his brother and nodded agreement. He would see to it that Poseidon did not win.

  * * * *

  Dinner at her father’s table was a silent, tense affair that usually soured Mara’s appetite before the second course. Tonight was no exception. She sat across from Thanatos Zander while sullenly pushing a salmon croquet around her plate.

  More than the forced seclusion, more than being torn from her job and her friends, Mara resented that her father made her feel like an unruly teenager. He still babied her unmercifully, which was why she’d moved out of the family estate at nineteen to start her own life.

  Now at the age of twenty-six and back under his rule, she represented his greatest weakness, a weakness his enemies would exploit at their first opportunity, and he treated her alternately like a china doll or a foolish adolescent.

  She loved her father. And she hated him.

  “You weren’t in your studio this afternoon,” he said after a contemplative sip of wine. “I looked for you.”

  “I didn’t feel like painting today.”

  “With all this beauty around you, I’d think you’d be painting all the time.” He tried to smile, but the expression looked forced. At sixty-two, he’d lived a major portion of his life as a thorn in the side of numerous governments. He made enemies wherever he went, collecting them like some men collected baseball cards. The stress of a life lived outside the boundaries of society was taking a toll, and lately, he seemed incapable of any genuine emotion except thinly veiled anxiety.

  Mara gave her father a pointed look, gauging the level of his tolerance this evening by the squint of his dark brown eyes. “If I paint one more seascape, I’ll go berserk. In fact, I’m throwing away every tube of blue paint I own. I want to paint flames or autumn leaves or a rainy cityscape, anything that doesn’t have blue sky or blue water in it.”

  “Most people would kill to have the view you’ve got. You should enjoy it while you can.” His gold-plated flatware clinked impatiently on the plate as he scooped a bite of his dinner.

  “While I can? How long will that be? You make it sound like our little island vacation might be coming to an end soon.” If only…

  He sipped his wine again and dabbed a snow-white linen napkin against his thin lips. “It will be soon. Then you’ll miss this place. I don’t understand how you can be so anxious to return to the squalor of that city.”

  “It’s not the city I miss, Papa. It’s the people in it. There’s no one to talk to here. No one to laugh with.”

  “I’m no one?”

  Mara sighed. They’d had this same fruitless conversation so many times. Her father felt guilty. She understood that. Every time she broached the subject of her loneliness, she intensified that guilt.

  “I don’t want to argue tonight, Papa. Can we dr
op the subject for now? I’m going to take a break from painting for a while. Maybe I’ll spend some time catching up on my reading or relearning all those piano lessons you paid for when I was twelve.”

  “Good. Good. You see? You wouldn’t have that luxury in New York. You’d be working all the time at that squalid attorney’s office, commuting on that stinking subway. Here you can relax and indulge your creativity as a woman of your talents deserves to do.”

  Mara nodded. She wanted to indulge her creativity all right, but not in the fine arts. She scooped another bite of salmon into her mouth and rose from her chair. “I think I’ll get started tonight, Papa. I’m going to grab a book from the library and find a quiet place to read for a few hours before I go to bed.” As if finding a quiet place on this damned island would be a challenge, she thought.

  “Very good, dear. I’ll see you at breakfast. Sleep well.”

  “You, too, Papa.”

  But she knew he wouldn’t. Thanatos took a number of medications to help him sleep, to keep him calm in the face of constant threats to his safety. Even with seven security guards on his payroll, he feared retribution from those who had grievances against him. Of course, he’d made his own bed, but in doing so, he’d made Mara’s as well.

  She didn’t approve of her father’s political dealings and she shouldn’t have cared, but she had become a pawn in his games and she wasn’t keen on being murdered by one of his enemies. So she stayed here where he could keep her reasonably safe until the repercussions of his latest misdeeds died down enough for her to sneak back to her world and resume her life. If nothing else, it was a comfortable bed—if only it wasn’t so big and empty.

  * * * *

  The late-afternoon sun cast Mara’s shadow, long and straight, ahead of her in the sand. She lay on her stomach, on a double-sized beach towel, with her back to the rising tide and watched a miniature crab dig itself a burrow one damp claw full of sand at a time.