Page 30 of Claimed By the Deep
I wrap my arms around his neck with practiced ease, trusting his larger tentacles to lift and position me. We've danced this dance before, but this time feels different—moresignificant. The way he handles me with such confidence sends familiar excitement racing through me.
"Beautiful," he breathes, his gaze traveling over me with unmistakable appreciation. "So perfect."
A slender tentacle traces my collarbone, its touch whisper-light, raising goosebumps across my skin. Another follows my ribs' curve, learning my contours with meticulous attention. I arch into these explorations, my breathing already quickening.
"I want to touch every part of you," he says, desire roughening his voice. "I want to discover every inch, find every spot that makes you call my name."
"Yes," I whisper, throat tight with anticipation. "Please."
His tentacles move with practiced confidence, surrounding me in sensation that's both familiar and thrilling. One wraps around my waist—he remembers how I like to be held—while others trace the paths they've learned drive me wild. Each touch is more assured now, no longer cautious exploration but purposeful pleasure.
"You remember," I gasp as he finds that spot at the junction of my neck and shoulder without hesitation.
"I remember everything about you," he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. "How could I forget?"
His tentacles work at my bikini top with practiced ease, no fumbling this time. I don't protest as the fabric floats away—we're well beyond such modesty. His sharp intake of breath still gratifies me though, the effect of my body on him undiminished by familiarity.
"I dreamed of this," he murmurs, his mouth finding my throat with unerring accuracy while his tentacles revisit my exposed skin. "Every moment we were apart."
The water enhances every sensation, just as it did before. His tentacle wraps around my breast with the perfect pressure he's learned I prefer. Another glides down my stomach with deliberate intent, no longer tentative exploration but confident possession.
"More," I demand rather than plead. "Don't tease me this time."
"Impatient," he says with a smile I can feel against my skin. "I like that."
A thick tentacle slides down my stomach with confident purpose. Another wraps around my thigh, spreading my legs with practiced ease while a smaller one tears away my bikini bottoms without ceremony—he knows I don't mind the destruction of swimwear when we're like this.
"Please," I breathe, though it's hardly necessary. He knows exactly where I need him now.
When his tentacle finds my clit, my reaction is just as intense as the first time. The sound that escapes me echoes across the cove, but I'm beyond caring who might hear. He's slick and warm and moves with a precision born of experience, circling my entrance before sliding inside with perfect pressure.
"Still so tight," he growls, the alien harmonics in his voice still capable of making me clench around him. "So ready for me already. I can smell how much you've missed this."
Two tentacles work in tandem between my legs now, with the synchronized rhythm we've perfected. One pumps inside me while the other circles my clit with the exact pressure he's learned makes me lose control. The dual sensation remains overwhelming even after our previous encounters.
"Just like that," I encourage, gripping his shoulders as pleasure builds rapidly. "You remember exactly how I like it."
I surrender to his skilled touch, our connection deeper now that we've learned each other's bodies. Every tentacle knows its purpose—some supporting my weight in positions we've discovered work best, others targeting the sensitive spots he's mapped during our previous encounters. The feeling of being completely his still intoxicates me, perhaps even more now that it's a conscious choice rather than a new discovery.
"I know you're close," he murmurs against my ear, reading my responses with practiced ease. "I can feel you tightening around me. Let go, Meri. You know I'll catch you."
A third tentacle joins the others, finding my ass and pressing with just the right pressure. The combination of sensations, familiar yet still overwhelming, catapults me into climax.
The orgasm crashes through me with undiminished intensity. I cry out his name as pleasure obliterates everything else. He holds me securely, his tentacles gentling but not stopping, drawing out every aftershock just as he's learned I like.
"I've missed watching you come apart for me," he whispers as I float boneless against his chest. "Even more beautiful than I remembered."
But as before, he's nowhere near finished with me.
Before I can fully recover, his tentacles resume their familiar dance, but with subtle variations that keep the experience fresh. He's learned what works, but he's still discovering new possibilities. One wraps around my thigh, positioning me at a slightly different angle than before. Another returns to my breast, applying the suction he knows drives me wild.
"Again," he says with the confidence of someone who knows my body's capabilities. "I know you can give me more."
This time he builds me with practiced skill. He thrusts his largest tentacle in and out of my pussy until I’m writing. When I try to rush, impatient for release, his tentacles ease back—he's learned that prolonging my pleasure intensifies the result.
"Still so impatient," he chides affectionately. "Let me take care of you properly."
His worshipful attention still makes me feel precious, but now there's a deeper connection behind it. This isn't just exploration anymore—it's communion. His focus remains absolute, but with the ease of a lover who knows what brings his partner the greatest pleasure.
