Page 18 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
“I can tell what you like, and what you don’t like,” he murmurs. “Your scent changes.”
A full-body shiver rolls through me. My skin tingles. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this wet in my life—seawaternotwithstanding.
I reach for his hair, fingers sinking into thick, salt-damp strands that are beginning to curl as they dry. I tug gently to guide him, and he makes a sound in response—low, half-growl, half-purr—and the vibration of it pulses straight through my hips. My thighs clench. I swear I could come from that sound alone.
I let my palm drift down to cup his cheek, and he leans into it for a breath, tentacles twitching slightly where they’re sort of puddled around me on the sofa. My chest pulls tight.
“What do I smell like to you?” I ask.
His eyes flick up to meet mine. “It’s difficult to describe,” he admits. “But… maybe like the sea. Or like home. Every one of my favorite things. The smell of the stone steps after it rains. The taste of salt on my tongue. The feel of slippery rocks in the tidepools under my feet.”
I’m fighting for my life. There’s precious little air in my lungs and they don’t seem to want to bring any more in, either.
Cal brushes a kiss over the inside of my knee. “I bet you taste even better than you smell. Can I taste you, Neviah?”
I huff a breathless laugh. “I’ll be deeply unimpressed if you don’t, after all that talk.”
He pauses, but there’s a flicker of mirth in his dark eyes, which have desaturated to a deep gray blue. “You don’t like it when I talk?”
“Iloveit when you talk. Please don’t stop.”I shift my hips forward. I’m vaguely aware that I’m making a wet patch on his sofa with my soaked clothes, but I don’t think he cares or even notices.
He hums, and his mouth finds me through the barrier of my panties, warm breath ghosting over soaked fabric. When his tongue finally drags over my swollen pussy through cotton, my back arches and my head tips back on a choked sound.
He groans, and the vibrations rack through me.
The change is immediate.Urgent. His large hands grip my thighs, pressing me wide open as he buries his face against me, licking through the cotton with single-minded hunger. Then he’s yanking the fabric roughly aside, baring me.
The flat of his tongue laves over me, slick and unyielding, but then he apparently decides he hasn’t got good enough access, because he pulls away sharply, lets out a rough, low sound, thentearsmy underwear from waistband to gusset on both sides.
The sound of fabric ripping is obscenely loud in the room, followed by the close second of my labored breathing. I’m too far gone for words, so I just watch as he flashes a smirk, yanking the tattered fabric out from under my ass and tossing it over his shoulder before he leans in again.
He seems both frantic and controlled, and it’s such a strange dichotomy I can’t help but watch him, mesmerized. His tongue fucks into me, hot and slick and unlike anything I’ve felt. It moves differently. Deeper, more agile, and without a doubt longer.
“Oh, fuck.Fuck, Cal— What the hell is your tongue—” I cut off with a gasp. “I’ve never— It’s never felt like—”
The growl he makes is low and primal. Then I’m being yanked forward hard, dragged against his mouth. Tentacles curl under my thighs and around my hips, no longer content to sit by and watch. They pin me while he devours me like a man possessed.
My vision whites out, and I rock up against his face, riding his tongue shamelessly until he pulls back just enough to lift his gaze to mine. He teases my clit with his fingers, stroking it in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing me away from the edge he put me on.
“I don’t like that,” he mutters.
Actually, it’s more like a petulant little grumble, and it’s borderline fucking adorable.
My breath stutters, a laugh squeaking out of me. “What don’t you like?”
“Other men tasting you. Touching you.” He doesn’t look at me, just glares down at my pussy, like he canseethe evidence of past partners there, and it displeases him. “I want to erase the memory of them from your skin. Until it’s only me left.”
I moan, high and helpless, becausewhothe fuck says that andwhyis it doing it for me?
“You’re—yes, okay.” My head drops back. I stare at the ceiling. “Well, you’re doing a good job of that.”
His fingers dip lower, spreading me open. “Then I’ll persist.”
“You’ll get there, I’m sure,” I say weakly.
He hums an approving sound, sliding two long, thick fingers inside me and crooking them up. My hips buck, a short, sharpsound bursting out of me.
“If it’s any consolation,” I murmur, breath hitching when he slides his fingers free and presses his mouth back over my slit, “you’re my first… well, I don’t actually know what you are. But you’re my first.”
