Page 24

Twenty-Four

S he gasped as one of his tentacles slipped beneath her dress and traced the line of her thigh. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt—warm, firm, impossibly smooth—and filled with intention.

And then, something in him snapped.

There was a sharp sound—fabric tearing—and the world tilted.

Her dress was gone.

One moment she was clothed, the next she stood naked in the glow of the bioluminescent chamber, stripped bare before him. Her skin prickled with awareness, with vulnerability. Every inch of her was exposed, her breath shallow, her heart galloping.

He stared at her like a starving man.

Then—something changed.

A pulse of light flickered across his face.

Faint, iridescent markings appeared, almost like glowing tattoos, curling along his high cheekbones and the edges of his jaw. Pale blue, almost the color of ice—but warmer. Alive. They shimmered like breath caught in motion, like something sacred being revealed.

Her breath caught. She didn’t need a translator to know what it meant.

He was aroused.

His tentacles moved then—not frantic, not violent, but slow, deliberate. One wrapped around her calf. Another around her hips. Two more coiled around her arms, lifting her, holding her effortlessly. Within seconds, she was suspended in the air, enveloped entirely in his limbs.

Trapped.

She couldn’t move.

But he was careful. Gentle.

As if he understood her fear and sought to soothe it through touch.

The sensation of being held like that—powerless, weightless, encased in strength—was unspeakably erotic. Her breath came in gasps, her lips parted, her spine arched with sensation.

He growled low in his throat—a sound so primal, so deeply male that it vibrated through her like thunder. She looked down at him—this godlike being, now raw and exposed, wild-eyed and shaking.

He was no longer untouchable.

He was no longer a god.

He was just a man. A male. A creature filled with need.

And he had her.

He could have done anything. Claimed her. Taken her.

But instead… he worshipped her.

One tentacle slid between her legs, exploring her gently, reverently, with slow, languid strokes that made her cry out. Another trailed down her spine, sending shivers up through her skull. A third coiled around her breast, teasing, testing, learning the way her body responded.

She gasped again—louder this time.

“Leonie,” he whispered. He didn’t need the translator. The way he said her name—it was reverent. Sacred. A prayer.

Pleasure built within her like a rising tide, and she surrendered to it.

To him.

To this impossible, surreal, overwhelming moment.

And all the while, the soft blue light of his markings pulsed in rhythm with her breath.