The storm lasted three days; three days of thunder, howling winds, and torrents of rain pouring through the hole in the submarine pen’s ceiling.

Aymee sat on the edge of the platform, arms folded over the lower rail, watching lightning streak across the gray sky. She bit into her last apple.

Despite being away from home, she was happier than ever. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave her immune to boredom; she wasn’t used to inactivity, to staring at the same drab walls day in and day out, without a taste of open air or the inherent variety of her normal duties.

It was too dangerous to venture out during the storm, so they remained inside.

Arkon had spent some time in the control room, as he was now, speaking to the computer, learning about the history of this base and the Halorian colonies. Aymee preferred not to go in there.

Though he’d removed the body, the room was uncomfortable, oppressive. While she stood within, the sound of a single gunshot echoed ceaselessly through her memory. Arkon admitted he didn’t understand why she felt that way but didn’t press her on the matter — understanding and acceptance were not mutually exclusive concepts to him, and she loved him more for it.

Whenever he emerged, he’d tell her of what he learned. Based on the records he had accessed, the settlements — of which there were twelve on the Halorian mainland — were only meant as the beginning. They’d chosen varied locations with access to unique resources to serve as the foundation of a thriving, continent-wide colony, and had planned to land more settlers and supplies at regular intervals.

Arkon had even uncovered preliminary plans for entire underwater cities. He said they appeared similar to the place his people lived; it was obviously strange for him to think about such structures scattered across the seafloor, larger and more populated than either of them could imagine. The limited information available failed to answer the primary question they’d both asked: why? There was abundant land for human use, and it wouldn’t have required such complex, sophisticated construction to utilize.

This base, the Darrow Nautical Outpost, had been constructed with dual purposes in mind — first to ferry personnel and supplies to Pontus Alpha, where the kraken now lived, and secondly to house underwater craft for civilian use. It had been operating at a fraction of its intended capacity when everything fell apart and had never come close to fulfilling its secondary function.

Thunder boomed overhead, and Aymee watched bits of the ceiling crumble and fall in the downpour.

How long until the entire roof came down?

Aymee finished her apple and tossed the core. It disappeared in the churning water below.

“I never realized just how much water there could be outside the ocean,” Arkon said from behind her. She heard him set something down, and then one of his tentacles slipped around her waist and another beneath her legs. He lifted her, turned her to face him, and embraced her.

Aymee wrapped her arms around him and laughed. Since they’d made love, he’d grown increasingly more comfortable with physical contact, and — at times — seemed unable to keep from touching her.

“It’s why we call it the wet season.” She pulled back. “Missed me, did you?”

“I am sorry I took so long. Time seems to lose meaning when I dig through those archives. It is unfair to you.”

“Don’t be. But now that you’re out here, are you hungry?” She motioned to the food set out on a piece of cloth on the floor and grinned sheepishly. “I attempted to cook fish again, and I didn’t burn it this time.”

Give her a broken arm, and she could set it with her eyes closed. Give her a piece of meat to cook, and she’d somehow reduce it to a lump of charcoal almost every time. It seemed such a simple skill to master, but competence in the kitchen had always eluded Aymee. Her mother had tried to teach her on many occasions, but those attempts always ended with Jeanette shooing Aymee out of the kitchen before the whole house went up in flames.

Aymee had ruined the first fish Arkon caught for them. By the time she was through, the outside of the meat was a charred, blackened mess, while the inside remained raw. Regardless, he’d eaten it with a smile and thanked her when he’d finished.

She’d loved him a little more at that moment.

“I am hungry, yes.” He released her and eased down beside the cloth, plucking up a piece of fish and slipping it into his mouth.

She returned to her spot on the floor, placing her back against the rail, and ate with him. When they finished the food, Arkon reached behind him with a tentacle and grabbed what he’d been carrying — one of the many sturdy plastic bins they’d found scattered throughout the base.

Aymee leaned forward, bracing herself on her hands. “What’s in there?”

“I wanted to make up for the time I have spent in that room,” he said. “Would you like to paint with me?” He tipped the bin toward her, revealing the brushes and jars of paint she’d given him.

She leapt up and threw her arms around him. He swayed with the force of her sudden embrace, and the jars rattled softly. She’d forgotten he had brought them. Aymee had never gone so long without an outlet for her creativity. “Yes!”

“I hoped you would say yes, but I underestimated the enthusiasm you’d show.” He turned his face into her neck and kissed her.

Aymee laughed. “If we have to stare at these walls, we might as well make them easier on the eyes.” She pulled away, placed the jars on the floor, and carried the now-empty bin to the lower platform. “Where do you want to begin?” she called, leaning down to fill the bin with water.

“You are the artist, Aymee. I trust your judgment in the choice of canvas.”

She climbed the stairs slowly, doing her best not to slosh water everywhere, and set the bin down in front of the wall near the hallway. There’d been no murals painted here — it was a blank canvas, limited only by their imaginations.

“Bring those closer, please,” she said.

Using both hands and tentacles, he gathered up all the paint jars and brushes and carried them to her. She helped him arrange them on the floor.

“Have you used them yet?” she asked as she opened the lids.

“No. I wasn’t sure how. I would’ve asked you during one of our meetings...but obviously, other events did not allow that.”

“Here.” She held up a brush.

He accepted it, taking it awkwardly between forefinger and thumb.

“I hold it like this,” she said, reaching forward to adjust his grip on the brush. Heat stirred between her legs when her fingertip ran over one of the claws he’d bitten away. His pupils expanded as though he knew where her thoughts had gone. She cleared her throat. “If it’s not comfortable or the rest of your hand gets in the way, adjust your grip to whatever feels right.”

Arkon nodded. On the lower edge of Aymee’s vision, his tentacles shifted restlessly over the floor, narrowly avoiding the open paints. His eyes remained fixed on her, like she was all that existed for him.

Aymee smiled, closed the space between them, and kissed him. When she drew away, he nearly followed; he stopped himself by shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later, Arkon.” Tempted as she was to toss the brushes aside and have his hands on her again, she hadn’t painted in days, and this was another first for him she could share in. Another lifelong memory to create.

“Let’s keep it simple for now,” she continued. “I know you have a talent for patterns, so we can work with that.” She gestured down at the paints. “There’s no wrong way. Just experiment.”

His eyes slid from side to side as he looked over the paints, and she could almost see the possibilities forming in his mind. He looked at her. “You are painting too, are you not?”

“Yes.” Picking up a brush, she dipped it into the green paint and turned to the wall. She began a simple base — a long stem with sprouting leaves. At the edge of her vision, Arkon jabbed his brush into one of the jars.

She laughed as he raised his hand; paint dripped from the tips of his fingers and covered most of the brush’s handle. “I guess I should’ve told you to only dip the bristles. You can rinse it all off in the water.”

His skin tinged violet while he moved to the bin, plunged his hand in, and scrubbed. The water clouded red.

“Can we say I was slightly over enthusiastic and forget this mishap?” He lifted his hand from the bin and shook off the excess water.

“Forget what?”

“What just hap—” A slow smile spread across his lips. “I understand. I shall now make my first attempt.”

He reached down with exaggerated delicacy, easing the tip of the brush into the jar of red paint. His attention shifted to the wall, where he painted — with equal concentration — a triangle. His lines were surprisingly straight, though he applied the paint somewhat unevenly.

She watched from her periphery as he lost himself in the activity; he built on that first triangle, positioning more around it at varying angles and colors, only allowing shapes of the same color to come into contact at their corners. Both his concentration and his excitement strengthened as the pieces came together, though he still managed to cover his hands in paint.

He asked a few questions as he worked. Aymee showed him how to mix colors to create new ones, and the process brought a look of wonderment to his face. His early attempts were less than appealing, but he quickly learned the relationships between the colors and grew better able to predict what the combinations would produce.

They painted until a section of wall at least three meters across was covered in shapes and images, blotches of color and lines.

Aymee turned her head toward him and grinned; his intense focus was endearing. She stepped closer and ran her brush down his arm, creating a blue line a few shades darker than his skin.

He paused and looked down at his arm, brow furrowing. “Are we not meant to be painting the wall?”

“I’ve decided to paint you.” With a few flowing motions, she painted a series of spirals and lines on his chest.

“I do not believe I make a very good canvas,” he said, and his skin changed to match the color of the paint, making it disappear.

Aymee laughed as she rinsed her brush, dipped it into the white paint, and created another design on his abdomen.

Arkon smiled and leaned down to dip his brush into the jar of orange paint. “I’ve no desire to ruin your clothing. Will you remove it...or shall I?”

Immediate desire flooded her. “Which would you prefer?” she asked.

One of his tentacles reached forward, encircled her waist, and drew her close. “I prefer to have my hands on you.” He passed the brush to another tentacle and carefully unbuttoned her shirt with his fingertips and claws. His skin changed again as he did so, making the paint on his arm and torso stand out against its rich maroon.

“What does that color mean?” she asked as he pushed her shirt aside, baring her breasts. She let the garment fall to the floor along with her paintbrush.

He ran his palms down her sides, trailing paint over her skin, and hooked the waistband of her pants with his fingers. “It means I am very interested in my new canvas.”

The tips of his claws lightly grazed her legs as he slid her pants down; though heat suffused her, she shivered when she stepped out of them.

“And what will you paint on your new canvas?”

He dipped his chin, moving his gaze down her body. “Now that I look upon it in full, I find it too beautiful to mar with my amateur attempts.”

Aymee’s breath quickened, her nipples tightened, and she squeezed her thighs against the ache growing between them. His words, paired with his gaze, brought her body to life.

Arkon’s eyes darkened, violet irises eclipsed by the black of his pupils.

He advanced, and Aymee retreated until her back hit the wall. Pressing his palms to the surface on either side of her, he leaned in close. His tentacles slid up along her bare legs, caressing, and she willingly parted them for him. Suction cups lightly kissed and tasted her flesh.

She placed a hand on his stomach. The muscles beneath her palm rippled as she slid it down. His slit parted when she teased it with her fingers, and his glistening shaft thrust out. Aymee curled her fingers around him.

He growled, baring his teeth, and tilted his head toward her. A shudder coursed through him, and he covered her mouth with his. His arms remained anchored to either side, but his tentacles moved, brushing her thighs, her breasts, her hips; the tip of one slid along her sex.

She gasped against his mouth and he deepened the kiss, his tongue beckoning hers to join in a sensual dance. The tentacle between her legs spread her nether lips and stroked the sensitive bud hidden there. Aymee moaned and rocked her hips, wanting — needing — more. Her arms looped around his neck and she drew herself closer, pressing her breasts to his chest. Fire spread through her as she moved against him. Her breasts ached and her core clenched.

“Arkon,” Aymee begged, tearing her mouth from his. She undulated on his tentacle, panting out the words as she climbed to a peak. “Please. I need you.”

He dropped his hands to her ass and lifted her suddenly. His tentacles forced her legs around his waist. She clutched at him as he lowered her onto his waiting cock, seating her fully upon him with one powerful thrust, filling her, stretching her.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

The feelers at his base found her clit and stroked.

She broke with a crescendo of cries.

Waves of pleasure swept through her, and she was caught in their current. Aymee squeezed his sides with her legs, digging her heels into his back, and clawed his shoulders with her nails. Warmth pervaded her, and her sex tightened around him, inner muscles quivering and drawing him in deeper.

Arkon held her through all of it. He hissed softly into her ear until he finally pulled back and pushed into her again. His tentacles worshipped her skin; his claws grazed her backside in his desperate but surprisingly gentle grip. Though his rhythm remained consistent, his pace increased, and their moans mingled with the sounds of the raging storm.

The fires inside her rose into an inferno, blazing through her from head to toe and dominating her entire being. It was pain; it was pleasure; it encompassed her entirely.

She came again with a scream and clung to him — her lifeline — as he sped his pace, pistoning in and out of her, pushing deeper with every thrust. Violent tremors wracked her. Seeking relief, she bit his shoulder.

Arkon threw his head back and roared. The sound vibrated through Aymee. She felt him thicken, stretching her further, and then he exploded within her, flooding her ravenous body with his hot seed.

He pinned her to the wall. Aymee writhed as the feelers at the base of his cock flicked and stroked her swollen, sensitive clit. She panted and ground against him.

Breathing heavily, Arkon leaned back and covered her breasts with his hands, kneading her flesh. His tentacles and pelvis held her in place, and he watched with hungry eyes while he pushed her to the edge again.

“Arkon,” she rasped when her body’s quaking subsided.

“You’re beautiful.” He moved his hands from her breasts to settle upon her hips. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Though I do prefer your natural color.”

Aymee glanced down. Whorls of color were smeared all over her body, and she knew her back had left proof of their lovemaking on the wall behind her. She laughed, and the slight motion reminded her of their lingering physical connection. His grip on her tightened.

“Did you enjoy painting?” She grinned. Streaks of paint were smudged over his cheeks, shoulders, and chest.

“More than I had imagined possible,” he replied with a grin of his own. There was a reluctance in his movement as he pulled back from her, finally severing their connection, but he soon scooped her up into his arms. “Perhaps now is an appropriate time for another new experience. I’ve yet to have a shower. Will you show me?”

She slipped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Gladly.”