“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Mercer pulls me tighter against his chest, hands rubbing my back in tight circles. “Your skin is like satin. So perfect.”
“Well, you’re ‘huggy’, according to Zack. He was right,” I murmur, head on his shoulder. “I thought you’d be colder. Or more scaly. But you’re just smooth. And perfect.”
“Like you.”
Another long kiss leaves me dizzy with wanting more, feelings that I thought were dead and buried come burning back, mixed with the excitement of something new. Of someone wanting me the way I am, in this body that I love because it came with my son.
“So soft, Madelyn, so perfectly soft. Don’t you ever complain about these curves again,” Mercer demands, biting down softlyon my neck as his tentacles caress my hips and rear, and his hand palms my breast lightly.
“Harder.”
The word seems to surprise us both.
“Harder?” he checks to make sure he heard me right, like a gentleman.
“Yes,” I whisper, eyes still closed, afraid to open them and see a look of... I don’t know what anymore. Something bad.
Like a gentleman, he listened.
Like the perfect monster lover, he obeyed. His tentacles squeeze down on me, and his thumb finds my nipple and worries it back and forth through my suit, making me moan, making me thrash to rub against him—and he’s there.
Another tentacle slots easily between my legs like a saddle laden with delightful textures, little kissing rings, and suction cups. Mercer moans as I rock against it, aiming down and squeezing him between my thighs.
I’m rubbing my pussy on him. Getting off on him. I said to go slow, and this is the opposite of that.
“I know I shouldn’t—”
“Shh. You should. You’re with me. Nothing you do can be wrong with me. I want to do anything with you. Everything with you,” Mercer whispers.
“Because you’re perfect. And I love... I love everything about you,” I confess. I cuddle closer, eyes opening now, looking at his awed face. He watches me, and his tentacle starts to move in a perfect counterpoint to my grinding, angling so that there’s a perfect “hump” for my clit to press into.
“Wanna touch you, too,” I confess, and Mercer looks startled, just for a second.
Then, he nods and brings me to straddle his waist. The tentacle that was becoming my favorite seat in the house is replaced with something thick, long, and curved. My hands findhis waist—and what’s rising up from the middle of his parted tentacles.
“A little bigger!” I gasp, not knowing whether to close my legs in precaution or start salivating.
“Much bigger?” Mercer suggests, tone wincing.
“That, yeah,” I say drily. “Not that I’m complaining.” I’m just panicking. A little.
Mercer’s cock is smooth and gray-teal from what I can see under the water, with a scallop of ridges on the top—which would probably feel freaking amazing inside, especially since they’d press against the upper wall of my pussy where all the most sensitive spots are. If it were normal-sized, I’d be picking lottery numbers and worried about lightning strikes.
As it is, my middle finger and thumb can barely touch around it, and when I give him a gentle stroke, he just keeps going and going. The base of him is even thicker than the glossy tip.
“It’s not right, is it?” Mercer asks, voice soft with disappointment.
I feel like a brat. “It’s right. It’s wonderful and huge, and I’m the envy of every woman—but it won’t just slide in. It’s been a long time since I had anything inside, okay?”
“Oh, that’s okay. We can work up to it if and when you want to. I’m just... I was so happy when you said you wanted to touch me, too.”
“I do. I still do. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed if I couldn’t finish what we started. Well, not in the conventional way.”
Mercer’s hand glides down to the crotch of my suit as my hand slowly strokes him. “I don’t need conventional. I just need us.”
