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    Tentacle Lord: Tentacle Lord, #1
    Tentacle Lord: Tentacle Lord, #1
    Tentacle Lord: Tentacle Lord, #1
    Ebook47 pages44 minutes

    Tentacle Lord: Tentacle Lord, #1

    By M. LaMer

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Stranded on a decaying 19th century lighthouse out at sea, a beautiful and wealthy socialite wants nothing more than to return to the comforts she knows. Yet when a mysterious, intimidating stranger living within the lighthouse makes himself known, her desire to return to an unfulfilling life on the mainland is put on indefinite hold. Unable to resist his multiple arms and fiery passion, Margaret finds she is desparate to get close to the tormented man/creature who has opened her up to discover and explore her own dark desires before the outside world threatens to intervene.

    This in the first novella of the romantic adventure story, Tentacle Lord. It contains mature content and is unsuitable for readers under age 18. Length - 35 pages

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM. LaMer
    Release dateJun 16, 2015
    ISBN9781513096728
    Tentacle Lord: Tentacle Lord, #1

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      Book preview

      Tentacle Lord - M. LaMer

      Tentacle Lord

      Tentacle Lord, Volume 1

      M. LaMer

      Published by M. LaMer, 2015.

      This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

      TENTACLE LORD

      First edition. June 16, 2015.

      Copyright © 2015 M. LaMer.

      ISBN: 978-1513096728

      Written by M. LaMer.

      Table of Contents

      Title Page

      Copyright Page

      Tentacle Lord

      Hang tight, the bearded helicopter pilot announced. Some nasty wind's kicked up and it's going to make our landing a bit rough.

      My husband turned around from the front and winked. I had no doubt he was loving every minute of this.

      Don't worry you two, he knows what he's doing. I've been told he's the best there is around here.

      That's interesting, I replied. How many others back in the sprawling metropolis of Cape Dipstick didn't make the cut?

      Blake frowned and swung back around, worried Grizzly Adams might have heard me.

      Dori had started gripping my hand since we'd taken off from the mainland and showed no signs of wanting to let go. She glanced up at me with tear-filled eyes. Poor thing must be really scared, I thought. Normally it's the other way around and I'm the one who does all the freaking out. The wonders of two Xanax and a vodka orange juice.

      Are you going to be alright? I whispered. I didn't need Blake to hear me. He could be such an asshole.

      Dori nodded and took a tissue from the packet I offered her.

      I'll just stop looking outside, she sobbed. And wait until it's over.

      Not a bad idea, I said. My hand had lost all feeling, but I didn't have the heart to ask for it back.

      The copter rocked from side to side as we began our descent toward the lighthouse. I looked down and spotted the miniature tarmac where the pilot intended to land.  When Blake had first shown me photos of the place, I was reminded of the chalky white buildings in Greece perched on sheer seaside cliffs, framed by an impossibly blue sky and warm inviting sea. Down below, however, the whitewash was the only thing that bore any resemblance. Here the churning gray Pacific seemed anxious to devour us, with an equally bleak sky acting as its co-conspirator. Back when I'd seen the photos, I'd asked Blake if someone had recently painted the lighthouse and he'd laughed at me.

      It's layers of seagull shit dear. Decades of it.

      Decommissioned back in the early fifties, no one had set foot in the Tiller lighthouse since Reagan was in office. And although it was listed as a historical landmark and considered to be one of the greatest engineering achievements of the 19th century, its ownership had changed hands more often than anyone bothered to keep track of.

      Three months ago Blake had won the deed to the lighthouse in a high stakes poker game. I was in bed trying to get some sleep when he came barging into our Vegas hotel room and turned on the lights, drunk and excited, telling me all about his big plans to find investors and turn the place into an exclusive offshore casino.

      What investors do you know? I'd asked him. Other than me?

      I hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, but I was truly exhausted from the all nighters and nagging hangovers. I missed the fresh air and dark night sky of home. I'd had enough Vegas for a lifetime. It was getting tedious being surrounded by a bunch of foolish man-boys who thought they'd been given a license to be jerk-offs. The

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