“Your pulse is racing, little keeper,” he observes.
The pet name does something to me—something warm and liquid that pools in my core. No one’s ever given me a nickname that wasn’t some variation of “that weird lighthouse lady.”
Another tentacle slides along my arm, wrapping gently around my wrist. The subtle squeeze sends heat spiraling through me. The contrast of his massive form with this delicate touch is intoxicating—all that power held carefully in check, just for me.
“May I?” he asks, tugging lightly at the hem of my sweater.
I swallow hard and nod. “Yes.”
A tentacle slips beneath the fabric, and I gasp at the cool sensation against my heated skin. The suckers trace patterns up my side, exploring with meticulous attention. When they brush the underside of my breast, my knees nearly buckle.
Roark steadies me instantly, additional tentacles supporting my weight. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “You’re safe, little keeper.”
And the thing is—I believe him. Despite everything I know about Cape Tempest’s bloody history with sea monsters, despite the warnings and tales I’ve heard all my life, I feel safe in his hold. Protected in a way I haven’t felt in years.
His arms and tentacles lift me effortlessly, cradling me against his broad chest. The sensation of being weightless, completely supported, releases something in me I didn’t realize was wound so tight.
For once, I don’t have to be the strong one, the self-sufficient keeper holding everything together. I can just… be.
The realization makes me bold. I run my fingers over the smooth skin of his chest, marveling at the play of colors beneath. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper.
His bioluminescence flares brilliantly at my touch, his control slipping for just a moment. The sudden brightness illuminates the kitchen in cool blue light, revealing the raw hunger in his expression.
“And you,” he says roughly, “are exquisite.”
A tentacle slides up my thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Another curls around my ribs, its suckers finding my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. The gentle pull sends a shock of pleasure straight between my legs, and I arch into the sensation with a moan I barely recognize as my own.
Roark watches my reaction with fascination, his pupils dilating until his eyes are almost black. His tentacles seem to move with more confidence now, finding sensitive places I didn’t even know I had.
One wraps around my ankle, another traces the dip of my waist, while two more explore the curve of my hips. It should be overwhelming, being touched in so many places at once, but instead, it feels like being worshipped.
“You respond so beautifully,” he says, his voice deeper now. “Like the sea to moonlight.”
I want to laugh at the poetic comparison, but then a tentacle slips between my thighs, pressing gently against my pussy, and all thoughts of laughter evaporate. Even through my jeans, the pressure is perfect—firm enough to give relief but not enough to satisfy.
“Roark,” I breathe, not sure if I’m asking for more or trying to slow things down.
He responds as if I’d given him explicit instruction, his clawed fingers unbuttoning my jeans with surprising dexterity. “May I?” he asks, making sure.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please.”
The zipper comes down, and a tentacle slides inside, beneath the cotton of my underwear. I brace myself, expecting—I don’t know what, exactly. But the first touch of his sucker against my wet heat has me crying out, my back arching sharply. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve experienced—the gentle pull, the cool texture against my most sensitive flesh.
“Oh god,” I whimper, clinging to his solid form as pleasure threatens to dissolve me completely.
His tentacles tighten around me, keeping me secure as he explores. One sucker finds my clit and begins a rhythm that has me seeing stars, while another tentacle teases at myentrance. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and I’m already embarrassingly close to the edge.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice a velvet rumble against my ear. “Let go for me, little keeper.”
His words push me closer, and when a tentacle finally slides inside me, the stretch and fullness sends me hurtling over the edge. My climax crashes through me—powerful, unrelenting, transformative. I cry out, trembling in his hold as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.
Roark doesn’t relent, his tentacles working in perfect harmony to draw out every last shudder. Just when I think I can’t take any more, that I’ll shatter completely, he shifts his attention. The sucker on my clit releases, giving me a moment to breathe while the tentacle inside me continues a gentler rhythm.
I collapse against him, gasping for breath. “That was… I’ve never…”
“I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost smug in his tone that sends a fresh thrill through me despite my sensitivity.
His tentacle finds a spot inside me that makes me jerk with surprise, my walls clenching around the intrusion. “Mmn!”
