Page 17 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
“A hundred and twenty-one,” he says.
I blink. “Okay, so I failed out of math. Twice. But that makesyou, what—one-sixty-two?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Does that scare you?”
“No.” My voice is quiet now. “It’s not the thing that scares me most.”
He kneels between my legs, palms warm against the tops of my thighs. “What scares you most?”
“That none of this scares me at all.”
He leans forward and presses his mouth just above my knee. I almost choke on my own breath. “Before I put my mouth on you properly, I want a safe word.”
I blink rapidly, mind scrambling. “Cthulhu.”
His laugh is surprised and bright, and it’s a beautiful sound I immediately want to hear again. “You’re serious?”
“Do I strike you as an unserious person?” I ask solemnly.
“Dearest Neviah,” he murmurs against the inside of my thigh, lips brushing bare skin, “I would never accuse you of being unserious about something like this.”
The endearment lands like a thunderclap.Dearest Neviah. He says my name like it rhymes with every precious thing. I feel its impact in my chest and my throat and coiling hot behind my hips.
“Something like what?” I ask carefully.
Cal grins up at me, wicked and unrepentant. “Letting a monster fuck you.”
I don’treallyexpect him to dive in straight away—he’s too much of a tease for that—but it’s still what I brace for. Instead, his mouth moves over the insides of my thighs with intent, drawing heat to the surface of my skin in painfully slow, deliberate passes. The first touch of his lips is featherlight, more air than pressure. A brush, a breath. Another, and another, then his tongue, hot and indulgent, ghosting lines that make my exhale stick in my throat.
When he sucks—gently, experimentally—just above the tendon at the crease of my thigh, I make a startled, gasping sound, and I feel the curve of his smile against my skin.
He’s exploring. He’splaying. Alternating suction and pressure, using his lips, his tongue, occasionally his teeth—even just the heat of his breath. He’s mapping my responses like he’s collecting data to catalog. Every flicker of tension in my muscles, each stutteringbreath I can’t regulate, any sound that spills out of me.
“I want to learn every sound you make,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the vibration of it ghosting through me as he noses higher, so close now it’s unbearable. Even if I wasn’t drenched from head to foot from my impromptu swim, my panties would be soaked by now. “I want to become an expert in you.”
The words hit me like a hot pulse behind my ribs. I reach for levity because I have to—because I don’t know how else I’m meant to survive this.
“You’re making a great start,” I say shakily, and my voice cracks right through the words. Then the thought ambushes me—brutal, insistent, and serrated with jealousy. “Have you ever been with a human before?”
He pauses, blinking up at me. A crooked smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. His lips are wet and just a little swollen from the attention he’s lavishing on me.
“Are you jealous?” he asks, clearly entertained.
I lift my chin, trying not to blush. “Maybe. Just a little.” I suppose there’s no point in lying.
He huffs a delighted little laugh. “No. I haven’t. Not with a human, or otherwise.”
I tilt my head. “Or otherwise?”
There’s a long moment of hesitation. He presses another kiss to the inside of my thigh, softer this time. His gaze stays dipped. “No. I’ve never been with anyone.”
I stare at him. “Wait. You’re a virgin? You’re a hundred sixty-two, but you’ve never...”
He shrugs with a kind of self-assurance that borders on smug. “I’ve got two hands. And eight tentacles. I know what to do with them.”
“Jesus.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Yes. You clearly do.”
He shifts slightly, pressing another kiss just below my hip, and the heat of his breath fans over the hem of my panties.
