Page 12 of Alien Kraken's Prize

A bit of disappointment goes through me as he moves backwards, and I realize that maybe I have some unresolved abandonment issues coming out as a sexual kink.

Thank you, too much time on my hands and unfettered access to old-as-hell human self-help books and psychiatric texts.

“Because,” I tell him. My eyes dip to where his tentacles bound my wrists just moments before. Ah yes, add a bondage kink to the list of newly discovered, slightly problematic sexual epiphanies.

“Because?” he prompts.

“Where is my tentacle?” I ask, glancing around for it.

“Your tentacle?” he drawls, one blueish eyebrow raised. “You could have eight.” He wiggles a few of them at me, and I get the distinct impression this is supposed to be, well, impressive. “Why worry about one?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s the best you can do? Really? Effort these days.” I cluck my tongue. “Penis straight on the lips and a tentacle joke. No romance.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Where is the solo tentacle I got here with?”

His penis swings around with a certain undeniable grace that also leaves me impressed and concerned about receiving a black eye. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. What is his name?”

“What do you mean?” I blurt out.

The blue-ringed and suckered penis goes a bit limp, and I watch, fascinated, as it disappears into a little sheath—or pocket, maybe?—under his tentacles.

“For someone who says they aren’t interested in the way I would eat your creamy mound, you seem very interested in my penis.”

“Keep your cocktopus outta my mouth.” I glare at him, but something about this entire situation is suddenly hilarious to me, and I slap a hand over my lips to keep from laughing.

Or keep his cocktopus out of my mouth, literally.

“That word does not translate.” He frowns, and I feel a little guilty for laughing at his expense.

Which is truly stupid, considering he nearly tea-bagged my lips.

“I don’t want your penis on my face,” I tell him.

“But I can eat your creamy mound?” His eyes light up.

I throw my hands up in the air and let out an exasperated sigh. “Now is not the time.”

“Is there a better time? Perhaps in an hour? In thirty minutes? In five minutes?”

Honestly, I don’t even know what to say to his earnest hopefulness. I absolutely should not give him a time slot for pussy eating.

“I won’t be in the mood for sushi for the indefinite future,” I mumble.

He tilts his head at me. “I am Borumor. Not sushi.”

“You’re both, but Borumor it is.” I nod at him, then point to myself. “Bridget.”

“That is a beautiful name,” he tells me. “For a beautiful, mysterious female.”

“That’s me, I’m as mysterious as a container full of leftover food you don’t remember making,” I agree cheerfully. “Now, how about we find Harry the tentacle and figure out how to get out of this tank? I don’t want to be in someone’s terrarium as their pet the rest of my life. No thanks.”

His cheeks turn a bright blue, the rings all over his lower half glowing, pulsing with a mesmerizing light.

Whoa.

Borumor straightens up, and for the first time since he appeared on the shore in front of me, I see something in his expression that has me second-guessing myself.

Myself, and the fact that not once have I been afraid of him.

Something in the set of his eyes tells me that maybe I should be afraid.

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