The Sea Witch: A Little Mermaid Retelling (Beloved Villains, #1)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

“You have a very small hole at the front for pissing, one at the back for shitting, and a slit in the middle for sex. Stop touching yourself.” “I’m curious.” “Then touch it later, when I’m not around. Gods.” He looks away.

“What is this for?” I touch it again. “It feels nice.” The Sea Witch glances my way again, and I notice a deep flush across his face. “For someone who knows the word ‘fuck,’ you know precious little about human anatomy.” “So teach me.” He rises on his tentacles with a strangled groan. “Gods, what have I gotten myself into?”

“You are the most annoying mermaid I’ve met in a hundred years,” I throw at her.

Her eyes dip to my mouth. My nerveless fingers release the cards I’m holding. My heart pulses, hotter and larger than ever. Kiss me.

“Fascinating.” I stroke the back of my neck, feeling the sweat there as well. I lower my voice, craning up to whisper to him. “Your magic is incredibly detailed and comprehensive.” He blinks. “I—thank you.”

“My reaction is not your fault or your responsibility,” he growls. “And no one else is going to touch you tonight, do you understand?”

“If we do that, I’m going to come in my pants against your pretty ass. Is that what you want?”

My hand is moving by instinct now, quick and frantic, the same motion over and over. I can’t stop. I don’t care what the priestesses would say—none of them can see me now and it’s practice, just practice—my back arches, my head tipping back. I’m desperate—I would screech aloud if I could. I want something I can’t quite reach—almost—

“I won’t give your voice back, because you might not be able to keep from screaming, and we can’t risk discovery. But someday I will make you scream until the sea itself trembles.”

“You fucking adorable creature,” he whispers hoarsely, staring at me wide-eyed. “You perfect goddess.”

I love him because I can’t help it. Because in the Sea Witch, I hear the deepest echo of my own soul.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep before we could—you know.” “Say it, shrimp.” “Before we could fuck,” I murmur. “Good girl. That’s my little sinner.”

Ripples of pleasure flood my belly, widening and intensifying, and they’re delicious but I crave more. Slowly I become aware that I’m whispering, “Please, please, please” over and over.

“And do you care if anyone walks by, if anyone sees you coming undone for me?” “I don’t care,” I gasp. “I don’t care.” “Good girl.”