Page 29 of Kiss for My Kraken
“Yes.” He glanced at her, searching for any sign of discomfort. “Does that trouble you?”
She shook her head. “No. And getting to know who you really are feels like being trusted with something precious.”
An unexpected wave of emotion washed over to him and he quickly turned back to his cooking, grateful for the distraction. His tentacles worked in unison, preparing the meal—one turning the fish, another opening a container of roasted vegetables from the cafe, a third retrieving plates from a shelf, the fourth uncorking a bottle of wine.
“That’s incredible,” she said, watching his multitasking with open amazement. “How do you control them all at once?”
“They’re part of me.” He transferred the perfectly cooked fish to their plates. “I don’t think about it any more than you think about using your fingers to grip a cup.”
He arranged their meal on the low table, placing it between the window bench and the open hatch. She took a seat on the bench and he returned to the hatch, submerging his tentacles in the cool water. He watched as she took her first bite of fish, a small, appreciative sound escaping her.
“This is delicious,” she said. “Did you season it with herbs?”
“Wild thyme from the island,” he confirmed, pleased by her reaction. “And a little lemon.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. He found himself watching her hands—the delicate way she held her fork, the graceful turn of her wrist as she reached for her wine. Such ordinary movements, yet they fascinated him.
Ozzie approached the table, his nose twitching hopefully at the scent of fish. She started to shoo him away, but Sam extended a tentacle, offering the dog a small morsel.
“He can have some,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
Ozzie accepted the offering with surprising gentleness, then nudged the tentacle with his muzzle, seeking attention as well as food. He obliged, carefully stroking the dog’s head, and she smiled at him.
“He really does like you.”
“Animals respond to intention. He knows he’s safe with me.”
“And am I?” she asked, her voice light but her eyes serious. “Safe with you?”
His gaze held hers. “Completely.”
Something passed between them then—an understanding, perhaps, or an acknowledgement of the growing bond between them. They continued their meal, talking of small things—her work at the diner, his latest woodworking project. The conversation was easy, natural, as if they’d done this a thousand times before.
After they finished eating, he cleared the plates, stacking them neatly in a basin of fresh water he drew from a rain barrel outside.
“Show me more,” she said suddenly, gesturing to his tentacles. “It’s fascinating.”
He hesitated only briefly before returning to her side and extending his tentacles along the floor. He concentrated, and the silvery-grey of his skin began to change, darkening in someplaces, lightening in others, until he had matched the pattern of the wooden floor so precisely that parts of him seemed to disappear.
“Camouflage,” she whispered. “Like an octopus.”
“Yes.” The coloration rippled back to his normal state. “It’s useful for hunting. Or hiding.”
“What else can you do?”
“My tentacles can be as precise as human fingers. More so, perhaps.”
To demonstrate, a single tentacle curled around her ankle, slowly spiraling upward, tracing the curve of her calf, her knee. Another tentacle joined the first, sliding up her arm, circling her wrist. The sensation was overwhelming—touch and taste at once, his suckers trailing lightly across her soft skin.
Her breathing quickened as his tentacles continued their journey, brushing the curve of her breast, the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He felt her pulse quicken beneath his touch, and a corresponding heat began to coil deep within him. His mating arm threatened to unfurl, and he quickly withdrew his touch.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said breathlessly but her smile was as bright as ever. “I asked you to demonstrate.”
“You’re not what I expected,” he admitted, his voice low.
“What did you expect?”
