Page 53 of Hot Summer's Prey

“Where are we putting them?”

“Wait here,” I tell her, before kicking away to a shelf in the grotto.

There sits a cup made of a nautilus and sculptured brass. It was a gift from Aka, who helped me recover it from the wreckage of one of the ships like his. Though to see its shell polished to the pristine, pearlescent white hurt to think about, I could not deny the beauty of the carvings. It felt out of place amongst the shipwreck. So many things do. No animals could eat it or grow upon it. So I took it, to try and find a use for it. Atop the shell sits a golden sculpture of a man Kalixto says is Poseidon, a God where he is from. The brasswork is so delicate, so detailed.

As a place to store the combination of our love, it seems fitting, as a thing of both land and sea. I pour the pearls I have in my hands within the goblet before grabbing a bit of woven seaweed to seal the top. When I swim back to Teresa, her eyes go wide.

“That’s beautiful,” she says.

“I thought so too.”

She carefully pours her pearls into the cup as well, and when every one of them is inside, I seal it tight. Teresa runs her hand along the seaweed, testing the texture and tautness.

“What is that?” she asks.

“Kelp.”

“But kelp is slippery,” she says in confusion.

“Just as humans have ways to process plants, so do we,” I tell her simply.

“Huh…” she says.

“You know what else is slippery,” I say, pulling Teresa with me as I kick towards the walls to set the cup on a shelf.

“What?” she asks, giggling.

I set the cup down, gather her in my arms.

“Your cunt when fully seduced. In fact, I bet I can get it so that it is dripping for me, even here in the water.”

“Oh you bet, do you?” she says, her voice casual, though her body shivers against me in anticipation. “I bet you’re so proud of yourself for that segue.”

“You bet, do you?” I repeat, mocking her gently.

“Don’t be such a—”

Before she can finish the words, my hand teases her needy sex, silencing her words with her own moaning desperation.

24

DOWN WHERE IT'S WETTER

TERESA

Pacari’s hands are masterful. Even more so down here, with gravity lessened and in his most natural element. He kisses and nips along my neck, my ear, pulls my face towards him to ravage me with that incredibly long and dextrous tongue of his. When we pull apart, he presses his knuckles into my pussy, massaging the labia with each entry.

Then his tongue wraps around my neck. At least I think it’s his tongue—it’s the only body part close enough. A moan escapes me, my head falls back against his. It slithers down towards my tit and teases the nipple. I writhe against his hand, almost looking for an escape from the dual sensation of his tongue and hand.

And then his sifon presses between my ass cheeks, the little tentacle thing teasing the skin all around my pussy. My legs kick against the water, seeking some way to ground myself as the pleasure builds higher and higher.

“Teresa, my pearl, you are so gorgeous like this,” he murmurs, retracting his tongue for a moment.

As much as I love the view—the garden is beyond amazing—I do wish I could see. I want to see what Pacari looks like when he’s in his garden. I want to see the wonder I hear in his voice, to see the love he’s finally admitted to. And I want to keep exploring, to find all his marks and memorize them. To know just which spots set him off—not just by feel, although I seem to be doing pretty good at that if the way he came apart with my mouth on him was anything to go by.

His glow is gorgeous—it outlines his shapes, the curves of his muscles—but all I can see are the stripes along his sides. He, like the vampire squid I saw earlier, has a different face—at least according to what he was telling me. His eyes look as if they’re near his sifon which has to be one of the craziest evolutionary schemes. Is it to trick unsuspecting lovers?

I shake off the humorous thought.

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