Page 26 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
Cal groans like he’s been punched in the chest. “Fuck,you’re perfect,” he rasps. “The wait was worth it. I’d wait all over again—one hundred sixty-two years,one hundred sixty-twotimesover, if it meant finding you.”
My breath hitches. Something in me splinters and stitches back together in the space between two heartbeats. But then his cock presses between my breasts, slick from spit and arousal and whatever the fuck is making it a little sparkly, and the ridges glide against my skin. The swollen head nudges under my chin with every thrust.
I moan around the tentacle in my mouth, drool slipping from the corner of my lips. One of his tentacles is still buried in my pussy, another teasing at my ass, and now this.
I’ve officially lost control of the situation.
He pants ragged above me, hips rocking in slow, deliberate rolls.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Letting me use your perfect body like this. So fucking beautiful. Somine.”
His eyes catch the light as he looks down—blacker than ink, and shining violet, like glass lit from within. Like deep-sea lava flows. Ancient and hungry and utterly undone.
Iam doing that to him. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so powerful in my life.
I reach up, fingers wrapping around the tentacle still gliding in and out of my mouth. He stills immediately, pulling back with care, and slips it from between my lips. “Yes, love?” he asks, voice ragged with concern. “Are you okay?”
I nod, breathless, licking my lips. “Yes. But I want you to fuck me with your tentacle cock.”
He lets out a sound—half groan, half fond exasperation. “It’snota tentacle cock.”
I grin up at him. “Tentacock.”
Cal barks a laugh. It’s sudden and bright, his whole chest shaking. Then, in a single, smooth motion, he shifts himself down over my body, his tentacle sliding from my pussy with a wet sound that leaves me twitching in its absence. His cock—his not-a-tentacle-cock—drags over my clit, teasing and hot and heavy.
“You’re a ridiculous little trespasser,” he murmurs, voice low and molten. “But very pretty. Verymine.So I’ll allow it.”
“Yours,” I whisper.
Every part of him goes still, like I’m Medusa, and I’ve just turned him to stone.
He growls, deep and quiet, like a predator claiming what belongs to him. Then he drives into me in a single, smooth thrust, bottoming out so hard and deep I cry out, arching into him, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on his waist as he holds himself inside me.
“Say it again,” he demands, hips grinding in perfect, infuriating little pulses.
“Yours,” I moan. “Yours, Cal.”
He presses a hand flat over my belly, and his expression turns ravenous. “Feel this, love,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss my temple. “I can feel me inside you. So pretty like this—so full of my cock.”
Shivering, I slide a hand down my stomach. He captures it gently, guides it lower, and holds my palm beneath his. Together, we press down, andholyshit. I feel the thick ridge of his cock, the blunt weight of him punching up through the softness of my belly.
“Oh,” I gasp. “Oh,fuckme.”
He grins, humming a pleased sound as he continues to rock into me. “Yes. Thatisthe plan.”
The drag of him is slow and devastating, every ridge catching in ways that send sparks scattering behind my eyes. I reach for his face, cupping his jaw with trembling fingers. He leans into my touch, stealing a kiss that’s quick but searing—lips parting just long enough to drink me in—before bracing himself above me again, arms tense and caging.
Tentacles slip across my skin—curling around my thighs,skimming over my ribs, circling my breasts with delicate precision. They move with intelligence, curiosity, like they’re committing every inch of me to their collective memory.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, voice barely there. “Do you know that, Cal? Do you know how beautiful you are?”
His hips stutter. That impossible glow in his eyes flares, violet and wild. I barely register the burn—deep and hot and tight where our bodies are joined—before his whole expression shifts. Alarm flashes across his face, stark and immediate.
“Oh, fuck, love—no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He starts to pull back.
“No.” My ankles lock around his hips, heels pressing into the curve of his spine. I reach up to drag my fingers through his hair, thick and salt-rough, still curled wild from the water. I tug gently, and his breath catches. “Don’t. I’m close.Please, Cal—don’t stop. Come with me.”
