Page 4 of Captured by the Cthulhu (Monster Mates #3)

Chapter 4

The Sea Monster’s Touch

Ashe

Yup. It’s official. I’ve lost my mind. I’ve caught a case of the Lighthouse Keeper Crazies. Because why else would I be standing here, letting a massive cthulhu touch me with his tentacles? Why else would I be feeling a rush of heat at the thought of him showing me pleasure?

His golden eyes study me, the patterns beneath his skin shifting blues and purples that cast light across my kitchen. I should be terrified. Instead, I’m transfixed.

“Are you certain?” he asks, his voice like distant thunder over deep water.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Am I certain? God, no. But I want this anyway.

His tentacles move with surprising grace for something so powerful. One tentacle curls around my waist, not restraining but supporting, while his hand brushes my cheek with a touch so gentle it makes my breath catch.

The texture of his skin is unlike anything I’ve felt before—smooth but with a subtle grip from each sucker that sends sparks through me.

“I’ve been alone a long time,” he murmurs, and the longing in his voice resonates with something deep inside me. I know that loneliness. I’ve lived with it for years.

“Me too,” I whisper.

His claws lightly trace the contours of my jaw. Each point of contact feels electric, reminding me of how long it’s been since I’ve been touched with any real intention.

“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 my entrance. 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!”

“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.”

“You are a 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.”

I manage to make it to my room before slumping against the door, exhaling shakily.

What the hell am I doing? I just hooked up with a cthulhu.

An incredibly hot, surprisingly gentle cthulhu who makes me feel things I definitely shouldn’t be feeling after knowing him for no longer than one night.

My bed feels too empty when I crawl into it, my skin still tingling from phantom touches. Through the wall, I hear the subtle shift of tentacles as Roark settles in. He’s really here. This is really happening.

Tomorrow I’ll have to figure out how to smuggle him back to the ocean. Tomorrow I’ll have to face whatever this is becoming. But right now?

Right now I’m going to lie here and replay every moment of tonight until I fall asleep.

God help me, I think I’m in trouble.