Master of the Deep by Cleo Peitsche Read Free Book Online Page B

serious!”
    “I’m agreeing with everything you say, Monroe.”
    “That’s hot, you know.” They grinned at each other.  
    She made her way below deck. The cushions and lamps she’d been able to see when she first boarded only scratched the surface of the boat’s tackiness. Everything was boobs or vaginas or penises. Several small multicolor disco balls hung overhead, light glinting manically off them.
    Looking down introduced her to purple shag carpet. And now she noticed a slightly musty odor. The parts of the floor that weren’t purple had tasteless decals in the form of nude female silhouettes, their jaunty breasts so large that Monroe felt a bit offended.  
    Everywhere she looked was a fresh assault on her eyes.
    What she couldn’t understand was why someone would spend so much money on… this. It looked like someone had given a frat house a credit card with no limit and told them not to purchase anything that a respectable person would own.
    At the end of the hallway was a closed wooden door. The handle was—oh, god, it was a long, flaccid cock. In case she hadn’t recognized the shape, two wrinkly balls were painted just below the handle.  
    “Gross,” she muttered, and tried to twist the cool metal.
    It didn’t turn in her hand. To open the door, she had to pull up, effectively giving the door a hand job.
    She wiped and then settled her weight on the clear seat (which was covered in bright red lipstick marks) and closed her eyes to block out the anatomically correct figures embroidered on the black hand towels. A spicy waft of overbearing cologne came out of nowhere, and she wrinkled her nose.
    She wondered what Koenraad was going to tell her next.  
    The brief article she’d read in the tourist guide in her hotel room popped into her head… Shark Warriors of Tureygua. She scrunched her brow, trying to remember the details. Unfortunately, all she could dredge up was the bit about “two male members.” It was so absurd that it had made an impression.
    Sharks didn’t have two penises. Did they?  
    It seemed unlikely. What advantage could come from something like that?  
    But… even if sharks didn’t have two, shark shifters might.  
    She finished in the bathroom and, taking care to touch the bare minimum possible, she rejoined Koenraad.
    “How’d you like the bathroom?” he asked.
    “It matches the theme,” she said diplomatically. The remark earned her one of Koenraad’s gorgeous smiles. That gave her the confidence to ask, “Do shark shifters have two dicks?”
    Koenraad choked, and Monroe took his response to mean she was way off base.  
    “Never mind.” Itching spots burned her cheeks; either she was blushing furiously or she’d just broken out into embarrassment-induced hives.
    “Yes,” Koenraad said.
    “Y-yes?”
    He nodded, and her gaze swept down, involuntarily. She’d seen him naked. “How? Where are they?”
    His response was silence. He wasn’t shutting her out, she didn’t think, just taking a moment to collect himself, to phrase his response in the most neutral terms possible.
    He was wasting his time because there wasn’t a way to gloss over having two dicks. By definition, it was outrageous.
    “An anatomical difference,” he said clinically. “There are aspects of my human form that I can modify to better fit in.”
    Monroe raked her eyes slowly over his perfect face. “Like what?”
    “This… isn’t my natural form,” he said.  
    A thick lump formed in Monroe’s throat, and she had to swallow hard to get it to go down.  
    And then she remembered something else she’d seen in that guide book. That the shark warriors had shark heads on human bodies.  
    She began to tremble.
    “Monroe?” Koenraad turned to face her, and while he moved as if he wanted to reach out, to touch her, he didn’t. “What’s wrong?”
    “I… read about you in a book,” she said.  
    “A book?”
    “In my hotel room.”
    A dark look crossed Koenraad’s face.