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TWELVE

Noah

As soon as I’m back home after dropping Olivia at her bed and breakfast, I strip off and wrap my towel around my waist, heading for the pool in my apartment complex. Technically the pool closes at ten, but that just means I won’t have to share it with any of the other residents. I hate sharing.

And if anyone is offended by my naked late-night swimming, they haven’t yet dared to complain to the strata management.

That first moment when I drop the towel and dive into the water feels almost as good as sliding my cock into Olivia’s waiting mouth.

By the time I’m immersed, I’ve shifted. My skin feels loose and soft.

The tension falls away from my shoulders and I sigh, making a cloud of bubbles rise to the surface above me.

I don’t bother coming up for air. In this form I can breathe through the gills, which open on my neck. Instead, I swim a few lazy laps in the too small pool and tuck myself into a corner, using four tentacles to keep myself in place.

God that was good today with Olivia. I could get used to having her around.

This should be a red flag waving in my face, but I ignore it.

That blowjob was too good to pass up the opportunity for at least one more when it’s practically beating down my door.

It’s been a while since I fucked anyone I had that much chemistry with.

Hard to define, impossible to predict, but you know it when you feel it. And with Olivia, I definitely feel it.

Not that I’m going to get all hung up on her.

I’m not.

I can safely fuck her a few more times while she’s in town and when it’s time to say goodbye, I’ll put her out of my mind and move on with my life.

I’ll miss the sweet taste of that pretty cunt, though.

And Olivia Zeston might have the softest skin in both hemispheres with the prettiest dusting of light brown freckles and the cutest nose.

OK, this needs to stop.

I throw myself into action, twisting to launch myself through the pool. I swim laps until I’m not thinking about anything else but the perfect time to spin into a turn, the perfect way to move my tentacles through the water to propel my body at the fastest speed.

When the water is churning and I’m satisfied my little episode is over, I haul myself over the edge of the pool and grab my towel.

Wrapping it around my hips, I stalk back to my apartment and into a long hot shower.

Every time I see Mum she berates me about my skin looking dry and that I’m not taking proper care of myself.

She always tells me I should move back home so I can sleep underwater like a kraken should, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

I value my independence too much.

Besides, my evening regimen of a swim and a shower is almost as good. I’m fine. I don’t need her fussing over me.

Against my better judgment, I exchanged numbers with Olivia in case there’s more online trolling overnight. So when I check my phone and see there’s a message from her, I think at first it’s bad news.

When I open it, however, I discover she just has a thing or two to learn about the whole fucking without feelings game.

Olivia: thanks for tonight. You’re a really great cook and I had a good time *heart emoji*

I roll my eyes and toss my phone aside without answering.

Can’t let her get into the habit of expecting a response every time.

That sends entirely the wrong message. And I’ll have to speak to her next time about her use of emojis.

Even a wink or the melting emoji would have been a better choice here. A heart is too… serious. Too much.

I drop into bed and doom scroll until my eyelids are drooping and I’ve almost lost the urge to check again and see if she said anything else.

I wonder how soon is too soon to see her again. I don’t want her to get clingy.

I do, however, want to bury my cock in that sweet little pussy very badly. So I don’t think I’ll leave it too long. If I had better options around here, I’d try to mix things up by seeing someone else first; but as it is, there’s no one I’d rather fuck. Not by a long shot.

I guess I could drop in on Felicity, the twenty-something blonde I met up at Bega a few weeks ago. She’s a farm girl with a no-holds-barred energy I appreciate, but it’s a long drive and I’m not sure she’s that great of a fuck.

I eventually drift into filthy dreams of fucking Olivia senseless and wake in a better mood than I’ve been in for months.

I manage to avoid seeing Olivia all week.

Despite my best intentions however, we fall into a pattern of messaging every day.

They’re not even all dirty messages. Don’t get me wrong, there are a few of those.

She sends me a hot selfie of her right before she gets in the shower, her hands covering up all the good bits while she shoots me a cheeky grin in the mirror.

So, of course, I retaliate by sending her a thirst trap pic of my own, hand covering my junk, but only just. And it kinda escalates from there.

Somehow after that, we get talking about the best dishes that are uniquely Australian.

She tries to tell me meat pies don’t count, because they’re actually British, and while she’s not wrong, she’s not really right either.

The meat pie is an Aussie staple, and while it might not be a dish worth a Michelin Star, it’s also something that, done well, is a comfort food of mine.

When she tells me she doesn’t get it, I insist on taking her for a drive down to Tuross where a little family run bakery used to make the best meat pies in the world. She agrees, and I somehow find myself with plans on my only day off, which I usually avoid.

But when she meets me out in front of her bed and breakfast wearing a tiny pair of denim shorts, a cropped white t-shirt, and a huge smile, I’m not even mad about sacrificing all my time off just to prove a point.

In fact, I’m actually looking forward to the closest thing to a date I’ve had in years.