“There?” he asks, pressing more firmly, and I nod frantically, beyond words now.
The pressure builds again, impossibly fast, as he focuses his attention on that one perfect spot. His other tentacles continue their exploration, brushing over my nipples, teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, wrapping around my wrists in a gentle restraint that somehow amplifies every sensation.
“Roark, I can’t—” I try to warn him that it’s too much, that I’m too sensitive, but then his tentacle curls inside me and rational thought evaporates.
My second orgasm hits even harder than the first, a white-hot surge of pleasure that has me convulsing in his grasp. I’m vaguely aware of making sounds I’ve never made before—desperate, uninhibited cries that would mortify me if I had any capacity for embarrassment left.
Roark holds me through it all, his tentacles cradling me with a tenderness that contrasts with the intensity of the pleasure he’s giving me. Only when I go limp in his hold, completely spent, does he slowly withdraw.
The world comes back to me in fragments—the distant sound of waves, the tick of the kitchen clock, the cool night air on my overheated skin. I’m draped across Roark’s chest, his tentacles still supporting me as if I weigh nothing. My legs feel like jelly, my body humming with aftershocks.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “I haven’t… It’s been so long…”
His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face with such tenderness. “Too long, if you ask me. A treasure like you should never be left unguarded. Unworshipped.”
My cheeks burn at the intensity in his gaze, the sincerity of his words. No one’s ever spoken to me like this before—like I’m something precious, something worthy of devotion.
“I should check your stitches,” I say, because focusing on practical matters seems safer than dwelling on how I just experienced the most intense climax of my life with a creature straight out of maritime legend. “Make sure we didn’t pull any.”
He gives me a soft chuckle. “Always the caretaker.”
“It’s kind of my thing.” I straighten up, immediately missing his warmth. “Along with apparently harboring fugitive cthulhus.”
“Is that what I am? A fugitive?”
“Well, you’re definitely not a scheduled tour attraction.” I examine the neat row of stitches on his side, relieved to find them intact. “Though technically, since the Great Unveiling, you have every right to be here.”
“The locals might disagree.” There’s a wariness in his eyes as he says it.
“The locals can kiss my—” I catch myself. “Okay, you need rest. But I don’t know if I have any furniture that could accommodate your…”
“My impressive size?”
That’s one way to put it. “Yeah. But maybe I can arrange the sofa cushions…” I immediately head for the living room, if only to keep myself busy. Soon enough, I’ve arranged a slew of cushions and pillows and throw blankets into a really comfy sleeping area.
He moves slowly, carefully, until he lowers himself onto the makeshift bed. “Yes,” he says appraisingly. “This will do. Certainly beats the rocky ocean floor I often sleep on.”
I fidget beside him, not ready to leave, but not sure what to say. What’s the protocol here? Thank you for the mind-blowing orgasm. Sleep tight?
“In the morning, we’ll figure out how to get you home,” I say finally.
“I’m in no hurry.” His eyes fix on mine. “Unless you want me gone?”
“No! I mean… No. You should stay. Until you’re healed.” I’m not ready to examine why the thought of him leaving makes my chest tight. “Just… try to keep the light show to a minimum? The curtains are thick, but still.”
“Very well.” He settles deeper into the cushions. His tentacles coil and shift until he’s arranged comfortably, and I try not to stare at how the patterns under his skin pulse with a soft blue glow. “Though I should warn you—it’s not entirely under conscious control.”
My mind flashes to how those patterns had flared during our earlier activities, and heat creeps up my neck. “Right. Well. Good night then.”
I’m halfway to my bedroom when his voice stops me. “Ashe.”
I turn, and the sight of him there—this powerful creature curled up in my living room like it’s the most natural thing in the world—makes my heart do weird things. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. Not just for this…” He gestures to his bandaged side. “But for treating me like a person.”
“Youarea person.” The words come out fiercer than intended. “Different anatomy doesn’t change that.”
His expression softens, and one tentacle reaches toward me before pulling back. “Sleep well, little keeper.”
