Curvy reporter Sheila Carey is determined to get the dirt on mysterious billionaire Hayden Kane. But when she sneaks into his island retreat to spy on him, she learns his shocking secret. He’s an alien… and she has interrupted his mating cycle. Today he must breed or die!
Kane’s hot, slick tentacles caress Sheila’s body. But will her love penetrate his lonely heart?
“The Billionaire’s Tentacles” is a sizzling-hot 5500 word story of true love and erotic encounters. All characters are 18 or older. All sexual encounters are fully consensual.
Read an excerpt:
I crept along the beach, avoiding the staff quarters, looking for Mr. Kane’s mansion. I expected it to be as big as Buckingham Palace and twice as fancy. But what I discovered, in the middle of a lush tropical garden, was a beautifully designed but comparatively small cottage.
Was that really where a billionaire would live, on an island that he owned? Why would he prioritize privacy over luxury?
What was he hiding?
I snuck through the garden and up to a curtained window. I peered through a crack in the curtains.
I had found him! Mr. Kane was in his lavish bedroom, pacing. He was barefoot and shirtless, and the muscles of his chest and belly and shoulders were sharply defined. The trail of hair leading down his belly was as dark and damp as the hair on his head.
His torso glistened as if it had been oiled. I figured he was sweating from the heat, though the beads of liquid glistened strangely, as if the fluid was thicker than sweat. It was a delicious sight.
Kane’s hot, slick tentacles caress Sheila’s body. But will her love penetrate his lonely heart?
“The Billionaire’s Tentacles” is a sizzling-hot 5500 word story of true love and erotic encounters. All characters are 18 or older. All sexual encounters are fully consensual.
Read an excerpt:
I crept along the beach, avoiding the staff quarters, looking for Mr. Kane’s mansion. I expected it to be as big as Buckingham Palace and twice as fancy. But what I discovered, in the middle of a lush tropical garden, was a beautifully designed but comparatively small cottage.
Was that really where a billionaire would live, on an island that he owned? Why would he prioritize privacy over luxury?
What was he hiding?
I snuck through the garden and up to a curtained window. I peered through a crack in the curtains.
I had found him! Mr. Kane was in his lavish bedroom, pacing. He was barefoot and shirtless, and the muscles of his chest and belly and shoulders were sharply defined. The trail of hair leading down his belly was as dark and damp as the hair on his head.
His torso glistened as if it had been oiled. I figured he was sweating from the heat, though the beads of liquid glistened strangely, as if the fluid was thicker than sweat. It was a delicious sight.