Making Waves (Mythological Lovers) by Vivienne Savage Page A

into the surf and kept to the surface. She laughed, a delighted sound that warmed my heart. She wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t repulsed. I sped through the water, salty spray lifting into the air.
    “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” Alessa cried out with a peal of laughter. “Can you take me under?”
    I hesitated before we reached the sea shelf. With her behind my head, I couldn’t see Alessa to judge her expressions or how she felt about treading into deep, open water.
    “Come on. You scared?” Alessa teased. She threaded her fingers over the damp strands of dark hair below my fin. “Well?” As if sensing my concern, she devised the perfect system. “If I need air, I’ll tug your mane, okay? Just a light tug. We’ll pretend I’m freediving and you’re my inflatable balloon to bring me to the surface.” When I remained reluctant, Hyrum bit my shoulder. I called him a few unpleasant names in our language, grateful Alessa couldn’t hear our mental thoughts.
    Helena chastised me, too. According to her, I should have had more faith in my chosen mate. Before the mare finished fussing at me, Zeno capitalized on the pause and charged ahead despite our plans for a race.
    Cheater, I thought, spurred to action. I lurched forward and rushed after him with a big breath of air in my lungs. Alessa’s strong thighs squeezed my ribs, a sign of her readiness. Taking her queue, I plunged beneath the surface and propelled forward through the cold water into the beautiful ocean. My home.
    Of the four of us, Helena was the swiftest. We cut through a colorful school of fish and took Alessa on a merry chase through rock formations and vibrant coral growths. Each time she pulled on my mane we breached the surface for air then returned to our underwater exploration.
    We played a variant of tag often reserved for foals and young hippocampi. With her on my back directing me, we hid and sometimes stealthily caught one of my herd mates unaware.
    Her impressive breath control — years of training, diving practice, and a testament to her athleticism — astounded my friends while filling me with pride.
    The final test came when we returned to shore and sprawled across the pale sand in our human bodies. They wanted to know more about her, and through me, asked multiple questions.
    “Her skin is very pretty,” Helena commented in our native tongue, touching Alessa’s bikini-covered breast. My girl squeaked and slapped a hand over her own tit to shield it from further prodding. “Are all humans so colorful?”
    “Dante, why did she poke my boob? What are you guys saying?”
    I dropped my face into one palm and sighed. With no small amount of laughter, I described clothing and human modesty to my eager friends then in English, I explained their interest to Alessa.
    “They think I’m funny because I’m wearing clothes?”
    I nodded. “They’ve never seen swimsuits or clothes before up close, but you’re welcome to take it off and join us if you want.”
    “Off?” she squeaked.
    “My friends won’t ogle you. Trust me.”
    I learned early on about Alessa’s taste for exhibitionism when she allowed me to finger her on the porch our first night together. Testing her limits, I raised one hand to the back of her neck where the string secured her bikini in place. She didn’t stop me. Her eyes remained on my face the entire time until the scrap of spandex fluttered to her lap.
    While the men spectating her swim performance had leered with lust in their eyes, my fellow stallions gave only cursory glances.
    Helena clapped with joy as Alessa helped her try on the bikini top. “Dante, can I have one of my own?” she asked, which I translated.
    A warm, rose tint spread over Alessa’s cheeks, the cool breeze tightening the pink peaks of each plump breast. “She’s given me an idea. Dante? Invite them to come onto the island next time. We can show them so many things and introduce them to my world. Please? I want to pay them