Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Monster Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!
Cove Deville knows he can’t touch alcohol without facing dire consequences. One drink thrown in his face from a hook-up gone embarrassingly wrong and he’s trapped in a large cooler and tossed into a lake. Fresh water will have to do -- better than nothing. Wrong. Discovered on the lake’s sandy shore, he’s captured by a bewildering man. Cove’s life, or what’s left of it if he doesn’t find salt water fast, is about to drastically change.
Kilson Arestes can not recall the last time he was held by another. The pain of loneliness has been so great he felt as if his heart was being shredded. Those thoughts are quickly replaced with another kind of sadness when he finds an ocean dweller who should never be in fresh water crawling from his manmade lake. Little does Kils know saving the animal will alter his undead life forever.
Will these fantastic creatures' existence be changed for better or worse?
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Cove's Tentacles (Blood Wet & Tears 1)
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele
Everything eventually dies.
Death was coming for Cove Deville today. And it was his own damn fault.
The evening had started with promise. From a table in the corner of a restaurant he often frequented, Cove had watched a small but athletic stranger climb out of his pickup truck and enter the eatery. A treat for me. Taking a seat at the bar, the man looked around and their eyes met. There was an immediate connection. Not a mentalist by a long shot, Cove gathered they both desired a sexual escapade -- a hard, fast fuck to end their evening. Looked as if the man’s day had been spent fishing, while Cove’s had been filled with… Shit, he never did anything other than walk the beach and kick up seashells he’d probably emptied himself before they drifted on shore and got smushed into the sand by beachgoers and volleyball players.
Cove was a real man-whore who preferred men who were up in age. That day, though, he’d craved companionship. He decided he could forego a handsome older gentleman for a young one with a nice ass just this once. He shamelessly flirted with the bastard until both decided to leave together. Cove never took men home, and he’d learned not to be finicky about where his hookups took place. After driving uphill along a winding dirt road that appeared not to be used much, they’d ended up in the back of his hookup’s pickup parked in a wooded area a mile or more from a steep, craggy shoreline.
Physical release would usually be followed by Cove’s return to the beach where, after dark, he’d undress and hide his clothing behind a boulder. Wading into the warm ocean water, Cove would dive out of sight. An hour or two later, rejuvenated, he’d surface, redress, and return to his apartment in Malibu.
That evening, though, Cove had gotten stupid. He allowed an argument to develop over the fact that Cove did not want to be screwed. He yearned to take the younger guy. Who knew his pretty little ass was a top? While it was not his favorite way of fucking, Cove had bottomed a handful of times in his life. But, damn, the man he’d picked up had such a pleasing round ass and Cove had spent nearly an hour imagining plundering said ass. Taking what he wanted. His selfishness had bitten Cove in the behind by way of a beer being tossed in his face.
Unfortunately, alcohol in any form or potency was deadly.
Not. A. Single. Drop.
When the fucker left to take a piss, Cove had attempted to ease the discomfort caused by the beer. He sucked the ice from around the fish in the cooler stretching the width of the truck bed. Eventually losing control, he shifted and fell all the way in. Thanked God he was able to regulate his size.
The son of a bitch hadn’t even looked for Cove when he got back. Cursing like a sailor when he looked in the cooler, he slammed the lid, jumped in the cab of the pickup and drove like a bat out of hell for what felt like miles down a bumpy dirt road. Skidding to a stop, the bastard removed the cooler and dumped the contents, including his day’s catch, into a small lake.
Fresh water! It would help flush the alcohol from Cove’s skin, but remaining in this pond for too long was still a death sentence. Robbed of the strength needed to shift, Cove knew his situation grew more dire as the sun rose, its deadly light blazing into the sky. He heard someone approach from the wooded area and cross the small strip of beach surrounding the lake. The figure looked like a man. When necessary, Cove could borrow from his octopod’s elevated sense of smell, but not this time. His animal was as stymied as Cove. Snuffling the air from his position, Cove grappled with discerning what stood glaring at him. He only knew the vision before him smelled fabulous. Fresh, clean, and… not human. Definitely not the young man from last night.