Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
It takes me a second to process everything, but once I do, I almost burst out laughing, forgetting I’m meant to be frightened.
All my skincare is there. A paintbrush. Whiteboard marker. Sunglasses. My Bluetooth speakers. A fake Chanel handbag. The generator I was fixing. Multivitamins I opted not to bring. A raggedy hoodie that’s three sizes too big. Tablecloth. The Bulbasaur squishy Nat gave me for some reason. Books. Measuring tape. A spare PopSocket. The tennis ball I use to help undo knots in my back. A scrunchie. My dil?—
My cheeks burn bright red, and I quickly cover the dildo with one of my clothes.
“What is that?”
I yelp, clambering away. When did Ordus move so close? His brows pull into a frown, and he moves into the kraken version of sitting on the other side of the luggage. The stray tentacle instantly reaches for me, and one of the other ones snatches it back before it makes it beyond the makeshift barrier between us.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, cheeks heating.
No follow-up questions, please.
“It is a tentacle.” A hint of uncertainty trickles into his nonquestion.
I blanch white. “Yup.”
He keeps glancing between me and the sleep shirt the blue dildo hides under. “What is it for?” His voice echoes against the cave walls.
Is he kidding me? “None of your business.”
It’s hard to be frightened of him when he seems so genuinely perplexed about the silicone, uh, appendage in my luggage.
The luggage he filled himself. Which means his large, thick hands have touched it.
I chastise my perverted brain, because the first thing that comes to mind is wondering which is bigger: the ten-foot monster’s hand, or the thing that’s been my only source of action in over a year.
Ugh. I’ve only used it like four times max. I just bought it about a month or two ago. I’ve been too unnerved about putting anything in me, and I figured if it didn’t look remotely human, maybe that would trick my brain into being more receptive to—I don’t know—reclaiming my sexuality, I guess.
And now, he knows about it—the creature those dildos are vaguely fashioned after.
I want to crawl into a hole and die.
“Are humans aware krakens exist?”
Wait. He seriously has no idea. Fuck, his mind is going to blow once he hears about hentai and the romance books I’ve been reading.
“No.” I don’t think so, at least. If America knew, I’m pretty sure they would have figured out how to drain the ocean and twist it to say they were protecting democracy by now.
Ordus nods at the luggage. “It smells like your sex.” He says it so innocently.
Jesus H Christ.
“Too far. Boundaries,” I snap. I’m burning up. I feel red from my hairline to my toes. “We are not talking about my—what’s between my legs.”
His gaze drops to the area in question, and I squirm. Wearing shorts wasn’t a good idea.
That perplexes him even more. “I like what’s between your legs. The human music on the beach always mentions the female?—“
“Boundaries,” I repeat.
This conversation is physically paining me. And because my mind is a traitorous bitch, she’s decided to remind me how it felt to stretch around the base of the dildo, and she’s taking it a step further by replacing blue silicone with Ordus’ brown, spotted tentacle, the same stray tentacle fighting tooth and nail to break free from his hold to get to me.
By a stroke of pure weakness, I fall for the compulsion to look at his ocean blues, and I wish upon everything I never did. Stormy black has eaten every drop of clear seas, ready to devour me whole. They’re heated and starved, a beast pulling on his last thread, ready to pounce.
His nostrils very obviously flare, and his eyes flicker to my thighs and back.
He—fuck, can he smell when I’m aroused?
My gaze darts to the tentacle leaking an iridescent liquid onto the stone floor. Try as I might, I can’t help but squeeze my legs together. I’m telling myself it’s to conserve the modesty I left dead alongside Tommy, but I’m well aware at a certain angle, the pressure from the seams of my shorts pushes just right and feels a little too good to be acceptable.
“Are you a witch?”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“You have potions like our healer,” he says cautiously, nodding at the skincare products in my luggage.
I say a silent thank you to whoever is listening for getting Ordus to change the subject. I pick up the white dropper bottle. “This?” He tips his head in confirmation. “It’s…”
Am I really about to explain my skincare routine to him? I suppose someone would’ve accused me of witchcraft for it two hundred years ago if they saw it.
“Niacinamide,” I read out the label. “It’s for, uh—” I don’t remember. Someone recommended I use it, and I did. “Pigmentation. I think.”
He looks at the other bottle at the top of the bag, a silent question.
This one, I know. “That’s hyaluronic acid to hydrate your skin.”
Tommy practically forced me to get beauty treatments—Botox, dermablading, LED therapy, IPL, facials, the works. Early on, if I ever refused or pushed back, he’d subtly compare me to the other Gallagher women.
They do it, so I should. Lily’s thirty-five with two kids, but she looks like she’s in her early twenties. Olivia’s on baby number three, and she’s making sure she’s on top of her figure.
Well, why would I be selfish and inconsiderate regarding my body when Tommy’s the one who had to have me by his side at events?
Aren’t I embarrassed? Don’t I care? He’s doing this for me, not him. It’s because he loves me. He cares about me.
I grind my molars.
Fuck you, Tommy.
“So the potion is like water on your skin?”
“I, uh, guess so?” I’m not about to explain the science about it. I couldn’t if I tried. I could spend hours explaining to him what robots and aliens are, but I highly doubt he knows what they’d mean.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.