Page 25 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
His eyes flash. Hunger. Want. Something more tender, too. He drags a thumb over my chin, smearing spit there.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
Tentacles curl around my waist and thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I try to stand, but I’m trembling—boneless and utterly wrecked. Cal doesn’t let me fall. He carries me through the narrow hall, into the soft dark of what I assume is his bedroom, laying me down on his bed.
Black sheets. That tracks.
He climbs over me and brushes damp hair from my cheek. “Do you trust me?”
I nod. “Yes.” It’s the easiest answer I’ve given to any question in my life.
His expression shifts—going sharp and dark with something devastating. “Good.”
He kisses my throat, then my collarbone, trailing open-mouthed worship down to my chest. He cups my breasts in both hands, his thumbs circling my nipples until they’re tight and aching, and I’m arching up into his touch. A low sound rumbles from his chest as he licks a path down my sternum.
“I want you to come again. I want to feel it. You’re going to let me, aren’t you, love?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, please.”
Another tentacle snakes between my thighs—thick and slick and warm—and presses against my aching cunt. I cry out as it slides in, ridged and slow, stroking deep as the wet heat of his mouth covers my nipple.
My hands claw at the sheets as he sucks softly, the air filled with my moans and panted breaths. Another tentacle joins the first, sliding lower, slick and deliberate, down between my cheeks,nudging at the tight pucker of my ass.
I jolt.
Cal pauses. His head lifts from my chest, and I meet the black of his eyes. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “It’s okay. Not too much, please. Just—fuck—you feel so good, Cal.”
He freezes like I’ve pressed on an old bruise inside of him. His fingers tighten on my thigh.
“Say it again,” he rasps.
“You feel good,” I repeat breathlessly.
“No,” he snaps, sounding almost frustrated, but not with me, I don’t think. “I mean—” He breaks off, like he’s mad at himself for wanting something, and he doesn’t know how to ask for it. Realization pours over me all at once. The way he tenses and the way his tentacles still where they’d been stroking soft all over me.
He wants me to say his name again.
I arch into him, let my head fall back, and moan, “Cal,please. I wantmore.”
A tremor rolls through him in a wave, peppering his skin with goosebumps. I feel them everywhere I’m touching him. When I look up, a grin pulls at his mouth, sinful and satisfied.
“More, little trespasser?” he murmurs. “What more could you possibly take?”
A giggle bubbles up through my chest—breathless, delirious—and I reach up to touch his face with shaky fingers. “Well, if you really want to shut me up… insert tentacle here.”
I tap my lips.
Cal growls. The sound is animal, guttural, and before I can say another word, a slick tentacle glides up to my mouth, which pops open on instinct. He slides it past my lips, and I moan as it fills me.
One tentacle fucking my pussy. One teasing the cleft of my ass, circling, pressing, not quite pushing. And now one fucking my mouth—thick and flexing and pulsing with each shallow stroke, those perfect ridges fluttering just right.
Pinned beneath him, I can’t move, but I don’t want to. He’s everywhere. Inside me. Around me. Holding me open and full and claimed.
He palms my breasts again, heavy and reverent, thumbs rolling over my nipples in slow, lazy strokes. I arch up against his touch, then lift my own hands—covering his for a beat before sliding lower, down the soft swell of his stomach to grip his hips. I guide him upward, a slow drag, urging his body higher over mine.
He gets the message when I push my tits together between my hands, offering them up like a gift.
