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Once he’s checked that I have my helmet on securely, he takes off. This time I enjoy the trip a whole lot more. I lean with him into the turns. I cling tight around his waist and breathe in the salty manly scent of him. I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed a man’s scent the way I notice Noah’s.

He pulls up at the block of units and leads me to his, opening the door and stepping aside for me to enter. It’s just as neat as the last time I was here, the kitchen is spotlessly clean and even his shoes are lined up on a shoe rack by the door.

I slide mine off and add them to the rack, smiling quietly to myself at how much smaller they look next to his.

“Want a shower?”

Oh, is that what this is? Am I about to be sent to shower and taken home? Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. I mean that is kinda what I signed up for, but I hoped…

Noah pulls his shirt over his head. “Olivia, I said are you coming?”

I nearly trip trying to take off my shorts at the same time as following him to the shower. Noah turns on the water and strips completely, and it doesn't matter that we were just swimming naked together, I still can't drag my eyes away. When he steps into the shower and transforms, the sight of his skin changing to the vibrant green blue of his kraken form is mesmerizing. His butt is taut and rounded and I spend a long time gazing at that too before I realize I'm growing cold.

“Are you just going to stand there and perv on my ass, Zeston, or are you getting in?”

Cheeks hot, I hurry into the shower only to discover it's so small there's no way to be here with Noah without at least some part of our bodies touching and as long as that's happening, it's like half my brain is switched off. Noah laughs at me when he hands me the soap and I just stand there looking at him. Then he takes it back and lathers his hands and starts rubbing them over my body until the other half of my brain switches off too.

His hands feel so good. They slide over my breasts, grazing over tight, sensitive nipples, making me sigh and lean back against him. They glide down my belly and over my hips, and when he finally slides them between my legs, I squirm at the feeling of being washed somewhere so intimate, but I'm too invested in feeling his touch there to stop him.

It's not a sexual touch. Rather, it's sensual, pleasure giving without demand for more, slow and firm and unhurried.

Tentacles wind around my legs and ankles. Then my waist and arms.

When his fingers push into my hair, I almost melt onto the tiles. It feels so good to have him gently massaging my head, washing shampoo through my salty, messy tangles. He's gentle too, despite what a matted mess my hair must be after the water and the helmet.

I'm stunned when he's finished rinsing the shampoo out and he lathers his hands with conditioner and begins again.

I don't think Justin knew what conditioner was and he would never have thought to wash my hair for me, let alone use conditioner on it.

I'll probably still end up with a frizzy mess since I don't have any of my normal curl products with me, but this feels too nice to care.

“I like your hair.”

I'm tempted to tip my head to the side to check if there's water stuck in my ear. Did I hear that right? “You do?”

“Mmm. I always loved long hair on a woman and yours is so thick and fluffy.”

I can't help the snort laugh that bursts from me and I cover my face with my hands. “Fluffy! No girl wants fluffy hair!”

“Why not? I think it's nice. It suits you.”

I just shake my head. I guess even monsters are just men sometimes. I'm smiling though, as he teases gentle fingers through it. “Add more conditioner or it really will be fluffy.”

He does as I ask, working through another large dollop of conditioner.

When we get out, I find that Noah has hair gel and I use some to scrunch through my hair and hope for the best. I dress again while he wraps his towel around his waist and goes to the kitchen.

While I'm squeezing as much moisture as I can from my hair with my t-shirt, the delicious smell of frying onions and garlic draws me to join him.

I'm only wearing my bra and my denim shorts since I used my shirt to dry my hair, and now it’s damp and cold.

I watch Noah cook. He moves with the same fluid grace in his human form as he did in the kitchen of The Snapper in his kraken form. It's a pleasure to watch. I could dedicate a whole video just to that.

Today he's frying minute steaks. He sets them aside while he fixes a relish with beetroot and sour cream and then plates it all up with fried onion, cabbage, and toasted sourdough. It's too early to really be dinner and we technically already ate lunch, but I don’t care. I am licking my fingers after finishing the last bite when he takes my plate and puts it with his in the sink. “I guess I wouldn't mind if you stay a little longer.” He leans casually on the counter, but for some reason, the look on his face is anything but casual. His gaze slides away and he turns his back to wash the dishes.

“Well I guess I could put up with you a little longer,” I tell him laughingly. “The food is good at least.”

That earns me a quiet laugh. Noah finishes the washing up and wipes down the benches and stove swiftly like a reflex action.