Chapter 8 Octavius
IPAUSED IN THE doorway to her room, just... staring.
Kara was already lying on the bed, stretched out on her stomach, her arms relaxed at her sides, her legs slightly bent at the knee like she hadn’t quite decided how to settle before simply giving in.
The way her dress had shifted left very little to the imagination, the fabric riding up along her thighs.
My gaze traced what I could see before I consciously forced myself to stop, memories from the last time I touched her rising unbidden.
The way her skin had felt beneath my touch, the way her body had responded, tension unraveling under my tentacles like she had been waiting for that kind of relief for years, and I had been the only one able to give it to her.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the thought away before my body betrayed me and revealed just how attracted I was to her.
Focus Octavius!
I needed to remember why I was here. She needed this release, and this was just another day at the office.
She was just another client—a beautiful one lying open and inviting on her bed—but no, this was just business, nothing more.
As soon as I absorbed her pain, I knew it would be the reminder I needed, grounding me in what I was actually here to do for her.
I cleared my throat so she knew I had entered, not wanting to startle her. “I, uh... I found a few things that’ll work,” I said, stepping fully into the room. “Some oils and lotions from your bathroom, assuming you don’t object.”
“No,” she murmured without looking back at me. “Use whatever you need. As long as you can take it all away.”
I set the items on the bedside table, selecting a tube of lotion that smelled faintly of rose and vanilla and warming it between my hands before letting my tentacles stretch in preparation.
I placed my hands against her shoulders first, giving her time to adjust before the deeper work began. Her muscles tensed briefly beneath my touch, then slowly eased as I applied more pressure and let my tentacles join in.
That was when it hit.
It wasn’t the slow, gradual pull I was accustomed to with my clients, or even how it had felt during our first session. No, this was immediate and overwhelming, a flood of emotion surging through me as I slowly absorbed it from her.
The sadness was easy enough to sense, but beneath it lay that same thread of fear, now tangled with a layer of anxiety I hadn’t picked up on before.
Then again, I had deliberately muted my ability to read her emotions out of respect for her boundaries, but now I wasn’t sure if that had been the best idea.
Because if I could sense it, perhaps I could have offered to rid her of this days ago.
If this was what she had truly been carrying beneath all those practiced smiles and easy laughter over the past few weeks, it was no wonder it had hit her this hard.
How had I missed this during our first session?
Either I hadn’t been able to reach that part of her before, or it had built this quickly in such a short time, which, frankly, wasn’t normal.
I had thought helping with the rebuild would ease some of her stress, but now I knew, without a doubt, that something else was at play.
Because it was back—unless it had never truly left at all.
I steadied myself, continuing the motion of my hands, my tentacles working in tandem as I absorbed what I could, careful not to overwhelm either of us as it hit me in waves, fatiguing me as I took it into my own body.
“Kara, this is a significant amount.”
She shifted slightly beneath me. “That sounds bad.”
“It’s definitely concerning,” I said, trying not to worry her further. “You aren’t supposed to accumulate this level of emotional strain within just a few weeks.”
“Maybe I’m just an overachiever,” she mumbled, and now I knew she used humor to hide, like it was a safety net.
“That’s not something to be proud of,” I said with a quiet laugh, wanting her to feel at ease before I did anything that might make her feelings worse.
“Too late,” she huffed, and I could tell she was smiling into the mattress, though whether it was real or forced, I had no way of knowing with so much flowing from her at once.
I hated that she had to carry all of this.
Hated that it had built so deeply into her that even relief was temporary, fleeting at best.
My hands slowed slightly, my tentacles adjusting, more intentional now in the way I drew it out of her, trying not to let my own emotions get the better of me.
“Does this hurt?” I asked quietly.
“No,” she breathed. “It feels good, actually.”
I was glad one of us felt that way, because taking on all of her hurt was beginning to wear on me. It pressed in, an emotional weight that almost felt physical as it moved through me. My jaw tightened slightly as I continued, refusing to slow or pull back.
“How’s it going?” she asked softly, her voice a little lighter now.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “There’s just a lot, and it’s pretty much everywhere.
” I moved carefully over the areas I currently had access to, but I could feel more of it trapped in other parts of her body—areas that were definitely not appropriate to touch—so I had to make do with what I had.
“I can adjust the way I’m lying down if that helps.”
“No,” I said quickly, my hands and tentacles stilling for only a fraction of a second before continuing. “The way you’re positioned is fine. There are just... other areas I would typically have access to, but I can work with what I can reach.”
“I can take the dress off if that’s easier.”
I stilled as my tentacles reacted before I could stop them, tightening slightly around her while the suckers clung to her skin a little rougher than I had intended.
Take the dress off.
For a split second, my mind betrayed me as images I had no business entertaining surfaced as I felt my cock harden at the idea. Because while I did want to see all of her, I had to remember this was not the time. I was a professional, and I would not use her vulnerability as some form of seduction.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice more tentative now. “It was just a suggestion if it would make things easier for you. I just wanted you to know I’m not embarrassed, and I trust you. I mean, you are a pro, after all.”
I doubted a professional would be dealing with a hard-on mid-massage, but she definitely didn’t need to know that. Still, despite that, full access would make this easier and more effective. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. I would be able to help her more. That was the reason. Only that. Nothing else.
I forced myself to steady, quietly willing my body to settle before I risked alarming her.
“It would help,” I said finally, my voice gruffer now. I cleared my throat and tried to keep it calm. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine. Just grab a towel and I can cover my ass, at least. I don’t think I’m holding any tension there,” she said with a small laugh, and I couldn’t help but let out a quiet one in return.
Even after everything I had been feeling from her, she still tried so hard to make light of what I could only assume was something dark from her past, or maybe even her present, buried beneath the surface.
Before I could overthink it, I turned away and moved toward the bathroom to retrieve a towel. I kept my gaze firmly elsewhere as I returned, holding it out to her without looking.
“Here.”
There was the soft sound of fabric shifting behind me as she undressed, and I tried to focus on anything else. The wall. The doorframe. The still-crooked closet door I would eventually fix for her...
“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’m ready.”
I nodded once, giving her another second before turning back, forcing my focus into place and locking everything else away. Because this was about helping her—nothing more.
With her dress gone, even with the towel carefully draped where it needed to be, there was nothing between my touch and her skin.
No barrier, just warmth, softness, and the subtle shifts of her body beneath my hands and tentacles as I continued to work.
And as I touched her, I felt something else— something that had been there before, layered beneath everything else, but stronger and more pronounced now.
Desire.
I had felt it from her before, but not like this. She was turned on, and the longer I touched her, the stronger that feeling grew.
I continued, refusing to let it disrupt what I was doing. Because if I stopped—if I let myself focus on anything other than the task at hand—I wasn’t entirely certain I would be able to regain control.
“Kara,” I said quietly, more to center myself than anything else, “stay still.”
“I am still.”
At her words, I realized she was, and it was me who was unsteady now as I felt every flicker of response my touch pulled from her, every reaction I tried not to focus on.
Time began to blur, and it was only when I felt myself completely spent that I knew I had been successful.
“That should,” I exhaled, the breath heavier than it should have been. “That should be enough for now.”
She didn’t respond, but her breathing had slowed, her body fully relaxed—another clear sign that my work here was done, as I was sure she was experiencing that intoxicated state my clients always felt after.
“You can get dressed,” I said, already turning away before she could see my condition, how weak and pale I must have looked.
I left the room, giving her privacy, and the moment I was alone, I felt myself crumple. My hands braced briefly against the wall, my breath uneven, while my heart beat harder than it should have for something that was, by all definitions, routine.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to separate what was mine from what I had taken from her, but the lines felt blurred.
Because it hadn’t just been her painful emotions.
I had felt her lust and attraction, a small part of me pleased to know it wasn’t one-sided, though I had no idea what to do with that now.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair as I straightened, my thoughts pulling in too many directions at once. Because this changed things, and I wasn’t sure if I could handle that.