Page 21 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
I press the back of my hand to his shoulder, tapping a few times. It’s a gesture I learned from a previous partner who sometimes went non-verbal when overwhelmed. We decided that, like a safe word being one you wouldn’t say by accident, the back of your hand isn’t likely to come into play intentionally during sex.
Cal nods, curling the soft end of a tentacle over my hand and holding it there at his shoulder. “Okay.”
“And, just so you know.” I tilt my head as I search his face. “The safe word and gesture are for you too. You know that, right?”
His brows furrow. “Why would I need them?”
I snort. “Just because you’re a big scary tentacle god who could fold me up like a lawn chair doesn’t meanyoumight not need to stop. So, tell me you understand.”
He frowns, but pulls me down to kiss me, slow and pliant. “I understand.”
“Good,” I breathe.
He tilts his head as I sit back. “I’m not a god.”
I scoff, dragging my hands down his chest to the soft, warm curve of his stomach. “Then it’s very unfair of you to look like this.”
His expression shifts, genuine confusion suffusing his features. “Like what?”
“Come on,” I mutter, glancing down at his body and then back up. “Have you seen yourself?”
“Yes,” he says, completely serious. “For a very long time, in fact. I wasn’t under the impression there was much special about me.”
The flare of indignation cutting through me is so sharp it’s startling. I slide my hands across the soft slope of his waist, up the breadth of his chest, back to the strong line of his shoulders.
“You’re wrong,” I whisper. “Maybe it just takes the right person to see it.”
When I trace my hand lower, over the firm swell of his hip and the base of one of the tentacles, it curves lazily toward me.
I glance at Cal to find he’s watching me. “Does this hurt?”
His mouth quirks. “No. Not unless I’m trying to hide them. That’s why I wear the big hoodies.”
“I like the big hoodies,” I murmur. “I want to steal one. Hide in it.”
He chuckles, low and rough. “One of mine would drown you.”
“That’s the point.” I slide both palms down to his belly again, dragging slow and deliberate. “Plus, it’d smell like you. I like that.”
He groans, lifting his hips slightly into my touch. My fingers move with care, rapt as I trail the soft curve of his stomach. He makes a low, uncertain sound.
“I don’t think about my body much,” he admits, voice quieter. “At least, not the human part. But this—” His hand hovers over his stomach, gesturing vaguely. “This might be my least favorite. It’s not... conventionally attractive, from what I’ve gathered.”
I hum, glancing up through my lashes. “You’re wrong again.”
His brows lift, uncertain.
“I love it,” I say simply. I lean down and press a kiss above his navel. His breath catches.
“Why?” The confusion in his voice is genuine.
“I don’t know.” I drop another kiss there, then another, then my tongue darts out to drag a slow line upward, to his chest. A shiver rolls through him, but he doesn’t stop me. “It’s just sexy. I like that you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect, so I don’t want a perfect thing.”
His gaze sharpens. “Now you’re the one who’s wrong. You are perfect. And I don’t like hearing you say otherwise.” The words are clipped and his tone emphatic, but not unkind or harsh. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
I smirk, dragging my hands over his ribs, his sides, the plush give of his waist. “Then you don’t think it either. We can be perfect together.”
He huffs something close to a laugh, although it’s still a little disbelieving, like he can’t understand quite how he gets to be here. I feel the same. I thread my fingers through his hair again, stroking along his scalp like I did before, slow and deliberate.
