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Shelly is amazing.I couldn’t have asked for a better fake girlfriend. Except, the more excited she genuinely seems to be over the wedding, the more she asks me about kraken customs and about my life and listens with rapt attention, the more I’m realizing she’s actually the worst fake girlfriend for me. She’d make the perfectrealgirlfriend. The kind I’d actually like to court and see if she was my match. That would be a disaster for me right now.
I spend most of the flight trying to pretend I’m not dying to ask her about her life; dying to lean closer, to reach over and take her hand in mine or drape my arm around her shoulders like I did last night. She just keeps looking at me with her broad smile and soft brown eyes, sucking me in more surely with every pretty laugh and shy blush. Kraken can’t drown obviously, but if we could I’d be in danger, because I feel like I’m drowning in her a little more with every minute.
At some point in my eternity of torment, the hostess brings us lunch. “Good afternoon, sir, ma’am. Today’s meal is confit ocean trout with mint and cilantro pilaf. What can I get for you to drink, ma’am? Wine, sparkling wine, water, soft drink? Something else?”
“Oh wow!” Shelly grins at me. “I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten anything this fancy. I can’t believe we’re flying first class.”
It makes me feel just a little guilty knowing without her here I might have taken this for granted. It’s been a while since I had to worry about money like I suspect she does. Really, when did I ever have to worry about not being able to pay the rent? I worked hard to get my business off the ground, but I can acknowledge my family’s wealth was what allowed me to start it in the first place. “Well I’m glad I could give you the opportunity to enjoy it.”
“I’ll just have sparkling water,” she tells the hostess, with a little self-effacing smile. “Better stick to water today.”
As the hostess pours the water, I can’t help leaning a little closer to her to whisper in her ear. “Don’t hold back on my account. You’re a terrible flirt when you’re under the influence. I rather liked it.”
Shelly sucks in a sharp breath and fumbles with the glass as the hostess hands it to her. That’s all the warning I get before the entire vessel’s contents is dumped into my lap and Shelly shrieks in horror.
“Oh no! Oh my god. I’m so sor—”
I launch to my feet, spilling my food onto the floor, brushing uselessly at the wet patch forming on my trousers. It’s no good, though. It’s already too late. I can only spare half a moment to hope Shelly is prepared for what’s about to happen before it begins.
Water kisses my skin in the way I hear humans describe stepping into the sunshine from a cold room. My body shifts, changing and splitting, swelling and writhing to be let free.
I’m no longer standing on two human legs. Instead, eight tentacles cleave apart, tearing the clothing and twisting as they always do at first, seeking, latching.
Usually, this is not a problem. Usually, I transform in a bath or shower, or in the sea where I have room to stretch out. Not here, though. Here I’m hemmed in by the seats, bound by too much clothing and worst of all, right beside me, eye level with my crotch is the most problematic temptation of all.
In my defense, my tentacles literally have a mind of their own. A tiny brain in each one drives my baser instincts. When I’m in my true form, I can taste my prey in the water, savor the desire of my lovers, feel a hundred nuances I cannot feel when I’m constrained by my shifted form. The drawback: I can’t control that animal side of me that has been thinking about wrapping Shelly in my limbs, spreading her wide for my satisfaction, and filling every hole she wants filled until she belongs to me.
A tentacle slides up Shelly’s ankle, reaching for the sweet, wet heat between her thighs before I can stop it. Rather than scream or protest, Shelly gapes at me. She stares straight ahead at my hard, straining cock popping through where my pants split. It twitches, and she grips the handrests tighter. Goddess help me, I think I feel her pulse racing through the suckers on my tentacle and it’s thrumming just as fast as mine.
You wouldn’t think a creature with eight limbs could stumble, but I do, nearly bowled over by the intensity of my reaction to her in this form. I whisk my questing tentacles away from the sweetness of her skin, instantly regretting the loss of her flavor.
Snatching my jacket from the back of my seat, I hold it over my lap and dash for the bathroom. I slam the door shut behind me. Then I lean on the back of it, heart pounding in my throat and tentacles already reaching for the handle in rebellion. What is happening to me? I’ve never felt this out of control in all my thirty-two years. It’s as if—
No. It can’t be.
I press my eyes shut tight and pray with everything I have that I’m wrong. Then I look down and see what I’ve been dreading. Every one of my eight tentacles is glowing with a pale iridescence. Beneath the blue-green of my natural color, they glow silver-white, the color of a mated male.
***
